Silent Masquerade Page 14

  Bill stared at her, willing her to a logical summation. And waited.

  “I thought, why is Bill so interested in those people? It isn’t like him to show any interest in anyone, really.”

  Bill was taken aback by that. He started to open his mouth in protest, but thought better of it. She wasn’t through yet.

  “I realize now, you wanted me to think the girl was a boy. You made a big fuss over that. I know now—you were passing the child in front of me as a sort of test, to see if people could be fooled into thinking she was really a boy.”

  “Wha-at?” The chair crashed to the floor as Bill leaped to his feet. “That’s patently absurd.”

  “If it’s so absurd, how did she get here? What are you doing with her?”

  Bill bent to pick up his chair and gestured toward the other one. “Come and sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

  The child had fallen asleep, her head nestled on Cara’s shoulder, and she was becoming increasingly heavy for Cara to hold. Cara eyed the second chair at the table with longing.

  Bill raised his hands, palms out. “I won’t touch either of you, I swear.”

  Fatigue won over doubt. She sat down, and Bill began to talk.

  Cara wanted more than anything in the world to believe him. She didn’t know if it was that desire, or the mesmerizing quality of his voice as his tale unraveled, that diminished her doubts.

  For Bill, seeing the change of expression in her eyes was enough. He had only lied a little, telling her that he’d learned about the Parton kidnapping from television news spots. Apart from that, he had told the truth, and she recognized the sound of it.

  “What were you planning to do next?” Cara asked, stroking the boyishly cut hair on the sleeping child’s head.

  “Call her parents and make a deal. No media, no cops, no heroics. They get their little girl back, and I disappear underground again.”

  “Why not turn her over to the police?”

  “Cara, nothing’s changed for me. I can’t bring myself to the attention of the authorities, especially with this, which can only lead to TV coverage, among other things.”

  “Do you think the Partons will believe you?”

  Bill shrugged. “What choice do they have? I’m their best bet in over two years.”

  “You’re going to have them come to Santa Cruz?”

  “Yeah. I thought I’d arrange to meet them at the airport. While they’re preoccupied with their reunion with Kelly, I can make a quick getaway.”

  Cara thought about it. “You’re going to have to call them from a public phone. Why don’t I fix Kelly something to eat, and we can be ready to leave when you get back?”

  “No!”

  “No? No what?”

  “I can’t take you with me. This has to go down very rapidly. The Partons get off the plane, I meet them, lead them out to the car, hand over Kelly. I’m gone.”

  “So, I’ll wait in the car.”

  “Cara, if something goes wrong, you’ll be be suspected of being my accomplice. I need you to stay out of it.”

  They argued for a few more minutes until Bill said, “I may need your help getting me out of trouble if anything goes wrong, so I need you on the outside of this.”

  “Help you how?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But what I thought was, you wait here. If I’m not back by the time I’m supposed to leave for work in the morning, you go to the boardwalk personnel office and wait for a call from me.”

  Cara hesitated only a second before handing the sleeping child over to Bill so that she could fix a meal. They discussed the pros and cons of Bill’s plan while Cara scrambled eggs and made toast for Kelly, who ate ravenously when they awakened her. Though both of them spoke to her, she never answered, except to shake her head now and then.

  They made quiet small talk while the child ate. After drinking her milk, she set her glass down, looked up at Bill and asked, “Are you my mommy and daddy?”

  The question sent shock waves rumbling through Bill’s chest. He knelt beside her chair and touched her head tenderly. “Kelly, don’t you remember your mommy and daddy?”

  The child’s face creased with confusion. “Sometimes. But mostly I can’t think of their faces.”

  “Listen, Kelly. My name is Bill, and this is Cara.” Bill gestured toward Cara, who had paled in response to the child’s question. “We’re...I’m going to take you back to your parents.”

  Kelly cringed. It was Cara who realized why. She jumped up and came to kneel beside Bill, taking the little girl’s hand in hers.

  “Bill is going to take to you to your real parents, honey. To Mr. and Mrs. Parton.”

  “Will I remember them?” Kelly asked in a small voice.

  “Oh, honey, I promise, when you see them, you’ll remember, and you’ll remember how much they love you and you’ll see how happy they are to get you back.” Bill’s words came out on a stifled sob.

  After that, if Cara had any doubts about Bill’s involvement in the matter, they were immediately obliterated. She found a sweater for the child and walked with them to Bill’s car and then leaned in to kiss the child’s cheek before they took off.

  Almost as an afterthought, she went around the car and leaned in through the window to kiss Bill soundly on the mouth. “Good luck,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bill leaned forward to peer past the windshield wipers at the road sign.

  Kelly was asleep again, curled up in the corner, her head on the armrest, her hands clenched in fists under her chin. His heart thumped an extra couple of beats as he stared over at her in the dim dashboard light.

  Poor baby. God only knew what horrors she’d suffered at the hands of those weirdos, not to mention the initial horror of being torn away from her parents. Like Dorothy in the tornado, she must have thought the earthquake had sent her to another kind of Oz.

  He drove along Route 1 until he came to a gas station with a phone attached to the exterior wall.

  There were twelve Parton listings in the Santa Monica area, according to the information operator. Did he have a first name? He didn’t.

  He hung up and stood for a minute, deep in thought.

  The logical next move, if he was an ordinary citizen, would be to take her to the nearest police station.

  Did he dare risk it? Would they let him turn her over and then just walk out? Not likely. They’d spend hours grilling him. And they might not believe his story even then. Hell, they’d probably run his fingerprints. No, he couldn’t risk that.

  He went inside for more change for the phone and bought a carton of milk and a box of crackers. As an afterthought, he went back for a package of Twinkies, something he recalled from his own youth as the perfect treat for a kid. When she woke up, Kelly would probably be able to eat again, and he had no idea how long this whole thing was going to take.

  His second choice was just as frightening as calling the cops, but he decided he had no other option. With shaking fingers, he dialed a phone number that was indelibly engraved on his memory. He heard the official greeting and was about to make his request when an operator came on the line and asked for money to be deposited for the call. The clanging of coins registering made him think of the sound of a cell door clanging shut, and he shuddered and dropped one of his coins.

  “I need to speak to Chief Brinkers,” he finally said.

  There was a pause, and then the receptionist said, “Chief Brinkers is no longer with this agency. May I direct your call elsewhere?”

  So Paul Brinkers had finally retired. Now what? “Can you tell me who replaced him?” he asked.

  “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

  “I...just...” He cleared his throat, shook his head, and tried again. “I need to speak with the bureau chief,” he insisted. He hoped he sounded peremptory enough to daunt her.

  “Chief Hart is not in,” the woman said.

  Hart. So Tim Hart had made it to chief. N
ot surprising. Bill remembered how officious the agent had been. Definitely better suited to the desk than the field, though unfortunately not the leader of men that Brinkers had been. Did he want to butt heads with Hart?

  “Listen,” he said, returning his attention to his call, “I know it’s not usually done, but can you give me Hart’s...er...Chief Hart’s home number?”

  Her brief chortle mocked his naiveté. “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t just give out private numbers. If you’d like to give me your name and—”

  He hung up. He’d known it was useless to ask. There was only one other person he could call, but before he did so, he glanced over at the car. The little girl was stirring.

  Bill went around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. “I got you some food, honey,” he said, opening the bag. “Eat this stuff, and if you want something else, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” the little girl said in a small voice.

  “Kelly, is there any chance you remember your real parents’ address or phone number?”

  Kelly scrunched her face up in concentration but then shook her head. “Do you know their first names?”

  Kelly shook her head again. “I can’t remember,” she whispered, her voice gravelly with sleep.

  “Okay, kid, don’t worry about it.” He patted her head and then opened the milk and passed it to her.

  It dawned on him that there was a question she could answer, though it wouldn’t help him locate her parents.

  “Kelly, the people who had you at the boardwalk today—what are their names?”

  Kelly lifted her mouth from the milk carton and stared at Bill, her eyes luminous with fear. “Are you going to take me back there?”

  “Oh, no, honey. Cross my heart. But I need to know their names.”

  “Her name, the mom’s, is Grace...Gracie. The dad’s is Hoyt.”

  “Hoyt. What about his other name?”

  Kelly shrugged and pushed at the flaps of the carton with nail-bitten fingers. “Dunno.”

  Bill sighed and told himself to be patient. What would Cara say to the child? “Kelly, didn’t anyone ever call those people...Gracie and Hoyt...Mr. or Mrs.?”

  Kelly nodded.

  “Good. Mr. or Mrs. what?”

  “Mrs. Hoyt.”

  “Oh? So everyone called Hoyt by his last name. Did you ever hear his first name?”

  Kelly shook her head.

  “What did Gracie call him?”

  “Hoyt.”

  It was the best she could manage. Bill opened the box of crackers and handed it to the child.

  “Listen, honey, I have to make a phone call. You eat, and I’ll be right out there at the phone.”

  He dialed the number, a different kind of dread stirring in his stomach.

  He could see Kelly through the windshield, scarfing crackers and drinking deeply from the milk carton.

  “Devon Glade.”

  His ex-partner’s voice was as deep, as compelling, as Bill remembered. He also remembered the man’s look of stoic Scots determination. Glade owed him a favor from years ago. It was time to collect.

  “It’s Spence, Dev,” Bill said softly, surprised at how easily his own name fell from his lips after using the alias for so long.

  “Spence? Bill Spencer. My God, it is you.”

  “Yeah. It’s me.” His insides seemed to be twisting into knots. “I need some information, Dev.”

  “Wait a minute, Spence. Where are you? Are you all right? Do you want us to bring you in?”

  “Dev, Dev, whoa, fella. I’m fine, and no, I don’t want... Listen, Dev, I just need an address.”

  “An address.” The pause was laden with unspoken questions. Like “Why should we give you information when you’re no longer one of us?”

  He glanced over at the car and saw that Kelly had slowed down. She was getting full. She’d probably be nodding off again soon.

  Bill held his breath and then let it out in a long sigh. The best way to handle this was to jump right in.

  “Dev, I need the address of the parents of Kelly Parton, the Kelly Parton who was snatched right after that earthquake in L.A. a couple years back.”

  “Parton? Why in hell—”

  He heard a crash over the line and realized Dev had jumped to his feet and knocked his chair over. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but he also hadn’t expected fireworks.

  “Look, why don’t you come in—or, better yet, why don’t we meet somewhere and...”

  “The address. Do I get it or not?”

  “Aren’t you going to at least tell me what this is all about?”

  Bill looked over his shoulder before answering. He’d been right. The girl had fallen asleep, her head resting against the window. He had to get her off his hands, get himself back on track.

  He turned back to the phone. “I’ll tell you this much, Dev. I’ve found the Parton girl.”

  “Wh-at! Jeez, how did you manage that? We’ve been looking for her since— Oh, hell, you’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “No, Dev. I’ve found her. Got her. Only now I don’t know what to do with her. She doesn’t remember much about her family, and—”

  “Where are you, Spence?” Glade said, interrupting. “We’ll take it from there.”

  Bill shook his head. “No way, Dev. I’ve got my own butt to cover. All I want is that address... No, better yet, get me a phone number.”

  Another long pause. He knew Glade was weighing the pros and cons. Deciding whether this had to be played by the book.

  “I’ll have to make a phone call, Spence. Do you want me to call you back?”

  Bill chuckled. “No thanks, old buddy.” He glanced at his watch. “How long will it take?”

  “Still playing it close to the chest, eh, pal? Okay. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  They hung up, and Bill began pacing in front of the phone, his mind in turmoil as he worked out the logistics of returning the child without blowing his own cover.

  And what if Glade let him down? He hadn’t seen his old friend in a few years, and people changed in less time than that.

  It was with great trepidation that he dialed the number again twenty minutes later.

  Glade was waiting for his call.

  “They’re right off Route 1. In Ventura.” He gave Bill the number.

  “Thanks, Dev. We’re even now.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve wondered when you were going to call in your marker. Listen, Spence, be careful. Doing a good deed could turn on you, blow up in your face, you know?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Dev. I’ll be careful.”

  He dialed the long-distance number and fed coins into the slot. As he waited for the call to go through, he thought of Cara. How excited she’d been when he told her what had happened, who the child actually was, that his intention was to return her to her real parents. It had broken the ice between them, at least made her see him as less of a monster. Maybe now she’d quit looking for trouble where there was none.

  * * *

  BILL SHUFFLED HIS FEET and watched as the small plane made its landing on the wet runway. Funny, most of California came to a grinding halt when it rained, but there had been no doubt in Paul Parton’s voice when he said, “Don’t worry, we’ll be there in three hours.”

  Kelly was still asleep, so Bill left her locked in the car outside the little airport and went to wait for the plane by himself.

  It was a small chartered plane. The Partons were the only people who deplaned, and Bill was surprised to see that they were middle-aged. He’d expected the parents of a nine-year-old to be younger.

  When they drew closer, he saw that they only appeared older because of the worry lines permanently etched in their faces. Would those lines ever go away, even when they had their child back?

  He put out his hand.

  “Bill Hamlin, sir. Kelly’s right outside the terminal in my car.”

  It seemed to Bill that the other man hesitated briefly before accepting his hand in
greeting. He glanced over at Mrs. Parton, a small, dark woman who seemed to hang back behind her husband’s arm. Peculiar. But maybe not, considering what they’d been through for two years or better. They’d probably had their hopes raised over and over, only to have them dashed repeatedly.

  He led the way out of the building. The car was right there at the curb. Kelly Parton was still asleep, her face pressed to the window. Bill thought he’d give them a moment alone for their reunion. He handed Parton the car keys.

  The couple spotted the child, cried out in shock and delight, and almost knocked Bill over in their rush to get to their child.

  He took a step backward. He altered his original plan on the spot. He was right to leave them alone. He started to turn away. He’d go inside, have a cup of coffee, give them maybe twenty minutes, half an hour. Parton would know enough to come inside and get him when—

  They seemed to come at him from everywhere. Armed cops stepped out from behind him, guns drawn, faces set in grim warning.

  “Freeze, Hamlin!” one of them called out.

  He froze, more from surprise than from fear of the law. The surprise lasted only a moment. The fear set in when one of the cops stepped forward and began to read him his rights, while another stepped behind him and cuffed his wrists together.

  * * *

  THEY GRILLED HIM for hours. He’d started out determined not to give them a clue as to his real identity—that much he could preserve. But after a few hours he knew they could very well arrest him, and if they did, they’d fingerprint him. And once they did that, it would only be a couple of hours before they learned his true identity.

  The world would learn his whereabouts. And then so would Franco Alvaretti.

  His only prayer was that they’d believe his story about the couple who’d had the child and had actually gone out to look for the couple and found them. Meanwhile, he was their prime suspect in the two-year-old kidnapping.

  “I tell you, I just saw the girl for the first time today.” He glanced down at his watch. “Yesterday.” Confused, disoriented by fatigue and nerves, he shook his head. “I’ve told you guys all I know, the way it really happened.”

  Another uniform came into the interrogation room and whispered something to the detective who was questioning Bill. He heard fragments of sentences. “No record... Description... Chief says...your call...”