License to Lie Page 9

  “Mr. Cosgrove, if it would help find Richard? Please?”

  Skip shook his head. “This isn’t a good idea, we’re wasting time.”

  Roxy put her hand on his arm. Her eyes looked like two pools ready to spill over. “What do you want? More money?”

  “This isn’t about money. The more time the cops have to deal with this—they have negotiators.”

  “I’m a negotiator. A damn good one, too.”

  “You’re personally involved, Roxy. Your feelings would get in the way.”

  The first tear traced a crooked path down her right cheek. “You arrogant bastard! Look at my mother! This whole thing is killing her. You think we don’t want to call the cops?”

  Skip tried to interrupt. “I’m just saying—”

  “And do you think the cops are going to do something in twelve hours. Wake up, Skip. This is a crisis. We don’t have time for them to gear up. If we don’t do something, my dad is going to be dead tomorrow. Assuming this note is for real.”

  Skip watched the tears stream down her cheeks. He felt a hand clutching his and looked down. Evelyn held his left hand in both of hers. He took a deep breath. “What do you mean, assuming this is for real?”

  “You heard how drunk my dad was. What if this guy he ran into decided to create this hoax just to—I don’t know, upset my mom? Other than the letter, we don’t have any proof.”

  Evelyn croaked, “You think this could be a hoax?”

  What the hell? This could be her father’s scam? Skip shook his head. “Nobody gets that drunk.”

  “Then let’s see what my mom remembers. What happened? Who delivered this?” She shook the envelope in her fist. “What have we got to lose? You’re getting paid, why the hell can’t you just go along and do what we want?”

  “This may be a kidnapping, but I don’t think it’s about the money.” He examined Roxy’s face, then Evelyn’s. He sighed. Maybe he could do some good. Maybe they could figure out what really happened. Assuming this wasn’t a scam. His curiosity was killing him. Who was behind this? Roxy? Her dad? Was this a kidnapping? Or something else?

  Skip made up his mind. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying. Hoax or not, I still think we need the police. I could do an induction and we can see what your mom remembers. I have to warn you, though, this may not work.”

  “Why?” asked Evelyn.

  How could he tell her that he suspected her daughter was somehow involved? How could he tell her that perhaps Roxy had something to do with Richard’s kidnapping?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Roxy

  I watched, fascinated, as Skip sat Mom on the couch and began what he called his induction. My job was going to be to listen to Mom’s descriptions and write them down. Skip had said to transcribe everything, no matter how insignificant it seemed. While I wasn’t terribly confident that this would produce a meaningful result, it wasn’t an option I could overlook. I’d learned a long time ago that whether you were talking about interior design or pulling a con, the details made the difference. I wasn’t about to skip any details in trying to get my dad back.

  Skip’s voice was soothing and melodic as he spoke to Mom. “Evelyn, you’re standing on the beach watching the ocean. See the waves slowly drifting in. Each wave is peaceful, relaxing, gentle.”

  Mom giggled nervously. “Does this really work?”

  Skip said, “Close your eyes. You’re beginning to relax. See the waves. See the blue of the ocean and how it welcomes you. Take a step toward the shore. Relax. Release your tension.”

  Mom’s facial muscles began to relax. His voice was so—man, did my eyes want to close—so soothing.

  “Take another step toward the water. Feel the warm sand beneath your feet. The sand is soft and warm. Soft and warm . . . it feels like powder between your toes . . . with each step you take toward the water, you feel more relaxed. Now feel the waves lapping at your toes.”

  Maybe I could put this guy on a CD and play his voice every night before I went to sleep? My face was beginning to feel relaxed, too. Mom looked like she was about to fall over.

  “The water is at your knees. Your toes are relaxed. Your calves are relaxed. Your eyelids are heavy.”

  Boy, were they. I shook my head. This guy was good. What could I learn from him? Anything I could use? His reassurances were making Mom as pliable as a Gumby doll. That’s what I needed in my business, more pliable clients. I’d have my five million in no time. My eyelids felt lead weights dragging them down. I needed coffee. I needed . . . My head fell forward, snapping me back to consciousness.

  Skip glanced in my direction.

  I mouthed, “Sorry.”

  He continued without missing a beat. “You feel yourself floating in the water, Evelyn. Your eyelids are heavy . . . heavy . . . relaxed. You’re drifting to sleep. Let your mind relax. You can open your eyes now and you’ll remain asleep. You’re going to remember what happened earlier tonight.”

  I blinked and rubbed my face with one hand. Circulation. Circulation. I needed to be awake for this. I wanted to learn from this guy. Maybe I could take him on my next call? No, then he’d know the scam.

  “Evelyn, what happened when the note arrived?”

  “I was sitting on the couch. I wasn’t paying attention to much of anything, but there was this knock. I thought maybe Roxy had forgotten her key. I got up from the couch and went to the door and opened it. That’s when the envelope fell down onto the ground.”

  “Was the envelope stuck in the door?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  Mom cocked her head to one side and she looked up. “I’m not sure.”

  As I made my notes, I imagined the front yard, where Mom would have been standing at the door peering into the night. It was hard to picture it, but maybe the notes would help.

  “Evelyn, you can see every detail in the yard just as it was when you opened that door. You’re right there now. Do you see the yard? Your memory is crystal clear. Are you there?”

  “Yes, I see it.”

  “Good. You’re not frightened or worried. Just watch the scene as if it were a movie. As you see things happen, I want you to describe everything you see. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go ahead, then. Take your time and describe everything.”

  It was like she was reliving the incident, which, I suppose, she was. At least, in her mind she was. I wrote furiously, doing my best to keep up.

  “I hear a noise at the front of the yard. There’s a shadow. A man, I think.”

  “What’s he wearing?”

  “Jeans and a dark shirt. It could be a sweater. He has on a hat and those funny shoes with the reflectors on the backs.”

  Skip nodded. “What kind of hat?”

  “It has a bill in front, but nothing in back. I guess it’s a baseball cap.”

  “That’s good, Evelyn. Is there anything else you remember about him?”

  “He’s short and heavy, but he moves quickly.”

  “I want you to picture his face. Take a moment to picture him, his skin color, distinguishing features, anything you can remember.”

  “His face is in shadows. I can’t make it out.”

  She blinked, hard.

  “You’re fine, Evelyn. Tell me what just happened.”

  “There was a flash.”

  “It’s okay. Relax. Just watch his face while that flash occurs. Do you see anything else?”

  “He has a bright tooth.”

  Skip leaned forward. “What?”

  “He’s got a tooth that kind of sparkles when the light hits it.”

  “You’re doing great,” Skip said. “Is he getting into a car?”

  Mom’s brow furrowed. ”No, I think he’s riding a motorcycle.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I can hear it idling in the background. Now, it’s starting up—going away—like he’s making a turn in the street.”

>   Other than the sound of the clock in the corner ticking, the room was silent. Skip looked like he was stumped. I sure as hell didn’t know what to say, other than I was in awe. This was amazing.

  Skip asked, “Evelyn, do you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

  He turned to me. “Any questions you can think of?”

  “Yeah, can you teach me to do that?”

  He smiled and then turned away. “Evelyn, I’m going to count to three and tap you on the shoulder. When you feel the tap, you’re going to wake up. You’ll feel refreshed and will be able to remember everything you told me. You’re also going to feel stronger, like you’re able to handle the pressure of this situation. One. Two. Three.” He reached out and gave Mom’s shoulder a gentle tap.

  She blinked, then glanced around the room. “I remember it all. Oh my God. I remember what happened at the door!”

  My cell phone began bleating. It was a new text message. “Who the hell is texting me at this hour?”

  I pulled the phone from my purse and shut off the ringer.

  Skip seemed to be ignoring me and my telephone tribulations. “Evelyn, how are you feeling? Are you relaxed?”

  Mom glanced down at the floor, then from side to side. “I feel better. I don’t know why. More secure.”

  “Good. That’s what we want.”

  My cell vibrated in my hand. For crying out loud! I glanced down. Another message from someone I didn’t know.

  Skip asked, “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. Probably a wrong number. About once a month, I get a text from some idiot who thinks I’m someone else.”

  “Always the same guy?”

  “Oh, no. Stupidity and bad dialing skills are as contagious as the flu. With a little time and practice, anyone can learn them. Fortunately, it doesn’t usually happen this late at night.”

  Skip looked at me, then Mom. “I still think we need to call the police.”

  My phone vibrated again. This was beginning to piss me off. “I have to get rid of this guy, otherwise he might be doing this all night.” I pressed the key to check my messages. The first message appeared on my screen.

  “5 mil or he ded by 12 pruf nxt”

  “Jesus Christ! It’s from the kidnapper. It says we have to have the five million or Dad’s dead by noon tomorrow. He’s sending proof.”

  Skip reached for my phone. “Let me see that.”

  “No!” I jerked away, my fingers working frantically to move to the next message.

  My eyes widened as I stared at the image on my screen. It was Dad, bound and gagged. Someone held a copy of the North County Times with today’s headline in front of him. My fingers began to shake and I dropped the phone. Skip picked it up and studied the photo. I curled up and clutched my knees to my chest. My God! They had him. They really had him. Until now, it had all seemed like a big mistake or a bad dream. Now it was real. And it was my fault. He’d been drinking because of my business, I was sure of it. He’d told someone about the five million and now they wanted it.

  “Was there another message?”

  My blood pounded in my ears. My breathing was fast and ragged. “What?”

  “Get it together. Was there another message?”

  “Hit the—never mind. Gimme that.” I snatched the phone out of Skip’s hands. I glanced at Mom, her serene exterior had cracked. The veins in her forehead stood out, her skin was flushed. That’s exactly how I felt, too, as I brought up the next message.

  “NO COPS R ELS.”

  “They say no cops.”

  Skip said, “They always say that. They’re counting on you being too afraid to call in the authorities. You have to be strong. You have to call the cops.”

  My dad’s kidnapping was on me. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d be safe and nothing more than bored in his retirement. I’d done this. “I don’t have to do anything.” I shouted. I brought back the picture of my dad. “You see that! These people have my father. He’s never hurt a fly. That’s the man who raised me, taught me everything!” And what had I learned?

  Skip put his hand on my arm. I shook it off. “Roxy, you have to think clearly,” he said. “You have to look at this logically. How did they get your phone number? How did they know to text you?”

  “Maybe my dad gave them my number?”

  “Could be. Or it could be someone who knows you. But that’s not the big question. We need to stay focused. Be logical. How can we get him back safely? That’s our goal.”

  “Logic? Screw logic. You see that!” I pointed at the cell phone image. “They hurt him. They hurt her.” I pointed at Mom. “I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll get these bastards if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Skip

  Skip saw the frustration and anger in Roxy’s eyes and the fear in Evelyn’s. To both, he said, “I understand how you feel.”

  Roxy glared at him. “The system is screwed up.”

  Skip nodded. “I’ve been there. I had days where everything seemed that way.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had bad days like this.”

  The bite in Roxy’s tone made Skip wince. “I graduated from the University of California at Irvine with a degree in Criminology. The criminal mind fascinated me. Ever since I was little, I had dreams of joining law enforcement. You know—typical kid stuff like put the bad guys away and clean up the world. When I got out of school, I realized that I’d basically ignored the career counseling. I was the classic kid who thought he knew more than the experts. Why should I ask them for help?”

  “What’s this got to do with my dad?”

  “I never made it into law enforcement. My career—no, my life—took a left turn when a car accident with a drunk put me in physical therapy for three months. I spent six months seeing a shrink. Even after six months of therapy, the psychological scars weren’t healing. My life was headed down the toilet—really gruesome for a kid of twenty-two—I was getting worse, not better. I was halfway down the path to becoming an addict. That’s when my psychologist recommended hypnotherapy. Sounds trite. But it changed my life.”

  “How nice,” said Roxy. “Now that we know all about you, I guess you can leave since you’re not willing to help us.”

  Skip stroked his chin. He glanced at Evelyn. “She’s pretty impulsive, isn’t she?”

  “God yes. I thought she’d be the death of me when she was growing up.”

  Roxy glared at both of them. “You two can sit here and have a nice chat about me and sip tea or something. I’ve got to find my dad.”

  Skip kept his voice level, but stern. “Sit down.”

  He was surprised when she actually did. The fire in her eyes flared, but she stayed put.

  Skip continued. “I said my life changed. I wanted to be in law enforcement. I wanted to help clean up the streets. I still do. Yes, I’ve been arguing to bring in the cops because, in my mind, it’s the safest thing to do. Roxy, these people know something. Either that or they’re incredibly stupid and grabbed the wrong guy. Since they texted you and sent you a photo of your dad, I tend to think they’re not that stupid. Which leads me back to they know something. Kidnappers don’t do this unless their goal is within reach. So tell me, what do they know?”

  “Why?” Roxy’s face was flushed.

  He saw her anger rising. Was there anything he could say to appease her?

  “You’re just going to go to the police. You’re just going to do what your little criminal justice courses told you to do.”

  This woman—how did she know what it took to push every single hot button he had? The last thing they needed was to fight among themselves—but doing anything on their own without the police could put all of them in danger. And he knew better than to play vigilante. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be a part of this. I’m not licensed or trained for criminal investigation.”

  “Then get the hell out! Mom and I have work to do.
”

  “Mr. Cosgrove, thank you for what you’ve done so far.” Evelyn grimaced and stared off into the corner.

  Skip realized she was thinking of a way to dismiss him. He’d quit jobs before, but he hadn’t been fired in a long time.

  “I understand. I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t have to,” she said.

  Her matter-of-fact discharge hurt more than Roxy’s anger. Anger he could deal with, being irrelevant was like a knife in his gut. He was caught between two opposing forces. Legally, he couldn’t stay. Emotionally, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t stand the thought of failing. “Thank you. Good luck, both of you.” Skip stood and walked toward the front door.

  Evelyn followed him. At the door, she delivered the deepest cut of all. “Send me a bill for your time.”

  Skip’s stomach churned as the door slipped shut behind him. He stared at it, feeling like he was being locked out of a room because he wasn’t old enough to see what was going on. Logic told him those feelings didn’t matter. He should dismiss them. What mattered was doing things within the law. He stared at the door for a few more seconds, then turned and went to his car.

  He glanced back to the front of the house. Evelyn had turned off the porch light already. Or had it been Roxy sending him a signal—you’re fired.

  Though there was a streetlight just a short distance away, the tree near the street cast the front yard in darkness. Loneliness washed over him. He’d failed. He told himself that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d been caught in the undertow and sucked under by someone else’s actions. The pep talk didn’t help.

  His gaze followed a line from the front of the house to the street. Evelyn had seen the man running away. What if he’d left something behind? Skip pulled a flashlight from the trunk. He traced the path from house to street, going slowly and examining the ground carefully.

  He stood in the spot where he guessed the motorcycle had been parked. In the darkness, he saw nothing. Who was he kidding? Even if the person who had delivered the envelope had dropped something, what good would it do? Forensic science was good, but it took time.