Again she got silence for an answer. She tried again.
And again.
She stood there, waving and shouting to the unresponsive camera, until at last she gave up. He was either sitting on the other end of that camera laughing to himself, or he had gone off somewhere.
Perhaps to sharpen his knives, as he’d said.
Then, after a couple of interminable hours, she heard the creak of the door opening and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.
The masked figure strolled into view, casually holding the knife to one side. Without a word he walked up to the door of the cage.
Isabel knew it was the end.
Shrinking against the back of her cage, she sent up a prayer to God and Jesus, with a final promise to Abuelo to see him in the afterlife.
Had she been a good enough person to make it to Heaven? Abuelo would certainly be there, and while she could never match his stoic calm and bottomless generosity, she had tried. Certainly the infinite kindness of Jesus would forgive whatever minor sins she had committed, especially considering the Purgatory she was about to pass through.
Her abductor cleared his throat, causing Isabel to open her eyes, startled.
He still stood there outside the cage.
Casually he tucked the knife into a sheath on his belt and with deliberate slowness moved his hand up past his waist, past his chest, to grasp the bottom part of the gas mask.
With a fluid motion her abductor pulled the mask away. Isabel flew back, slamming into the bars of her cage, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“You!” she screamed, her eyes growing wide with shock.
Chapter 17
It was well into the second night since Isabel Morales had disappeared and according to the latest press conference, the police were no closer to finding her. Eddie and Erin sat in a cafe talking over the case. Eddie had slept for an hour and had been useless for a couple more. Now he was nursing a hangover with aspirin and coffee.
Looking at him slumped over the table, Erin realized just how pathetic he was, and how lost. While the booze had made him able to defy his dead father, its after-effects destroyed his confidence. Now he sat there, morose and remorseful, as Erin continued to work through the database.
Assuming it really was one of Isabel’s Hispanic employees, it had to be someone with enough freedom of movement to go after Isabel and stay away from work for a while. He or she would also have to have enough money to fix up the van, plus have a private enough house to keep her, assuming the abductor hadn’t simply killed and dumped her.
The latter possibility, while terrifying, seemed less likely as time went on. Police and volunteers had been scouring every river, stream, and patch of woodland in the tri-state area. That had become a bit of a fiasco, with overeager fans trespassing on people’s properties and breaking into outbuildings. And as was usual with a manhunt of this notoriety, several people had accused their neighbors and personal enemies. The police had wasted time following up bogus accusations and hysterical callers claiming to know the identity of the abductor.
So how to narrow it down? Carlotta and the janitorial staff probably didn’t have big enough houses in which to hide a captive, while some of the other staffers, like Sergio, had been at the press conference when Isabel had been abducted. While she couldn’t discount the possibility that more than one person was involved, the person who’d done the actual abduction had to be someone who’d enjoyed freedom of movement at the time, and of those, none stood out as having any motive, opportunity, or subsequent suspicious behavior.
“So you’re sure this person was instructed to change his or her name?” she asked her unwelcome companion.
“Positive,” Eddie mumbled into his coffee.
“How long did these kids live in England?” she asked, thinking that if she could interview them one by one she might catch the trace of an English accent.
“I can’t remember for those two specific children. Some of the foreigners were long-time residents. Others were the children of tourists.”
Erin bit her lip. That didn’t help.
“Can you remember what they looked like?” she asked.
“Not very well. Besides, they were five or six years old at the time.” Eddie gestured toward the computer. “Find out anything interesting while I was, um, out?”
“A couple of things. First, the assistant manager of marketing at Isabel Enterprises, Carlos Herrero, vacations in England a lot. His Facebook page is full of photos.”
Eddie leaned over as she brought up the images. “Hmm, anything else to implicate the fellow?”
“He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder, look at his face.”
Erin flipped through the gallery. Carlos, a man in his mid-thirties, was posing in front of Big Ben and Stonehenge and a few other tourist sites, but he never could summon a genuine smile in any of them.
“He does look like a grim chap, doesn’t he?” Eddie agreed. “If he’s like that on holiday what’s he like in the office? Is he alone in all of them?”
Erin cocked her head. Every photo was a selfie. She’d noticed that but having Eddie notice it too gave it extra emphasis. One loner recognizing another.
“There’s also this,” she said, bringing up Carlos’ Twitter account. It contained a Tweet dated to an hour after Isabel’s Wall Street protest, at the same moment that her naked body was flashing across the Internet and causing the biggest sensation showbiz had seen all year.
“Not all of us at @IsabelEntertainment approve of Wall St. stunt. Does more harm than good.”
“Sounds like someone who needs some looking into,” Eddie said.
“Yes, but he’s not my first choice. Look at this.”
She brought up a host of public financial records and contracts, plus some business news articles, related to Isabel Enterprises. Most dated to the founding of the business. Eddie peered at them.
“I was never good at this stuff, Erin. You’ll have to translate for me.”
“What they show is that our good friend Sergio Cruz invested heavily in Isabel Enterprises right at the beginning. Apparently Isabel and Sergio knew one another before she broke with her old record label. When she decided to buy her freedom, she spent pretty much all of her cash to get out of her obligations. That’s because she wanted to make Abuelo.”
“The album about her grandfather?”
“That’s the one. The record execs didn’t want to produce it because they thought it wouldn’t sell. He had just died and Isabel insisted on making that album next. When they refused, she bought her way out and created Isabel Enterprises in order to do so.”
“Must be nice to have family worth a damn. But while she got her freedom she couldn’t afford to produce the album, and that’s where Sergio came in, eh?”
Erin nodded. “That’s right. She retained creative control but he got a big stake in the company.”
“And if she dies?” Eddie asked, looking at her.
“If she dies he gets a controlling interest in the company.”
“Not worth much without Isabel, I suppose.”
“Sure, the business would take a hit but it would be worth enough. Maybe only a hundred million dollars instead of three hundred million. Still a fair chunk of change even for someone as rich as Sergio.”
Eddie leaned back. “A strong motive, but not the one Father implanted in the child’s consciousness.”
“Maybe not, but I presume your father didn’t order him not to get rich in the process. And Sergio was certainly keen on getting me off the case. Perhaps he wants to cover his tracks,” Erin said before having her attention drawn to a television playing at the back of the café. “Speak of the devil.”
The television showed a press conference. Sergio and Captain Wilson stood side by side addressing a room crammed with reporters. The wait staff and a few customers crowded around. Someone turned up the volume. Sergio was speaking.
“… despite their best efforts, police still do not have an ar
rest in the Isabel Morales case. I appeal to anyone with information to please step forward. We have raised the reward to a million dollars for any information that leads to Isabel being found.”
Sergio continued, but Erin was no longer paying attention. She focused on the word “LIVE” on the lower right-hand corner of the screen. She recognized the press room at the police station where Captain Wilson worked.
Quickly checking a line in the database, Erin got up and stuffed her laptop into her bag.
“What’s happening?” Eddie asked.
“Sergio will be at the press conference for at least another fifteen minutes, and he’ll probably stay in the police station for some time after that. His flat is closer to us than it is to the police station. According to the database, he lives alone. Now’s the time to pay a little visit to his home and see what’s there.”
“Breaking and entering?” Eddie asked in a whisper.
“After all you’ve done, you care?”
“It’s you I’m worried about. You’d have your license pulled. You might even go to jail.”
“A woman’s life is at stake.”
Eddie gave her a smile as he stood up. “We raised you right.”
Erin almost slugged him for that, but she still needed him and only grumbled while hustling him out the door.
Sergio’s apartment was just a few blocks away, an upper-story four-bedroom apartment in a nice neighborhood. The doorman only tipped his hat when they passed through, and they rode the elevator up to Sergio’s place.
They waited in the hallway until a neighbor passed by and then Erin pulled out a little leather pouch from her pocket. From it she pulled a pair of lock picks and got to work on the door. Eddie raised his eyebrow in surprise as the lock clicked open within a few seconds.
“Not exactly legal but it does come in handy in certain cases,” Erin explained.
They entered the apartment and flicked on the light.
While it wasn’t a penthouse like Isabel’s, it was almost as nice. A sprawling living room included an entertainment area, a large fireplace with a bearskin rug in front of it, and a view over the glittering lights of New York City.
“What are we looking for?” Eddie asked as they closed the door behind them and walked through the living room.
“Details.”
“Like most of these DVDs are, ahem, adult films?” Eddie asked, examining the entertainment area.
“That’s one. Look for drugs too. Try not to disturb anything. We don’t want him to know anyone was here.”
Erin passed into the bedroom, where she was confronted by a king-sized bed shaped like a heart. Erotic art covered the walls, showing women in various unlikely poses. Some looked youthful, others simply looked young. They were all paintings rather than photographs, and Erin got the impression that Sergio had commissioned them to be painted to order.
“Quite an extensive liquor cabinet,” Eddie called from somewhere in the house. “All top quality.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“He wouldn’t notice a little nip.”
“Don’t touch it, we’re working.”
“So we’re a team now, eh?”
“Shut up and keep looking,” Erin snapped.
“The kitchen seems clear,” he called out again.
Erin walked back out into the living room and looked at Sergio’s DVD collection. Virtually all the films featured teen girls. Erin shook her head in disgust. None of it was illegal, though, and she saw nothing violent in there. Most men who abducted women had deeply ingrained fantasies of sexual violence.
Erin went into the kitchen, where Eddie was still rummaging through cabinets, and found the broom closet. Inside she found nothing unusual. She stood for a moment, indecisive. There was nothing here that pointed the finger at Sergio. He just seemed to be a spoiled rich man with a taste for young women.
“Find anything?” Eddie asked.
Behind him, tacked to the wall above a landline phone, was a phone list. A detail caught Erin’s eye.
She pushed by him and took a look at the numbers.
There were a whole bunch of names she didn’t recognize, and a few from Isabel Enterprises that she did.
One stood out.
It was Carlotta’s number, or rather numbers. One was labeled “cell phone” and was a number she recognized, and the other was labeled “home” and was a number she didn’t.
Some detail caught Erin’s attention, and it took a few seconds for it to make it to her consciousness.
“Carlotta lives in Westchester County,” Erin said.
“How do you know?”
“Her landline has a 914 area code. That’s Westchester County.”
“And how’s that significant?”
“It’s an expensive bedroom district for well-heeled commuters,” Erin explained. “It’s one of the most expensive property areas in the tri-state area. Not the kind of place you’d find your cleaning lady living in. There are plenty of cheaper suburbs for New York City.”
“How do you know that? This isn’t even your state,” Eddie said, obviously impressed.
“Details,” Erin said. “I read about this county somewhere, can’t remember where, but details stick with me. I’ve developed a remarkable memory. It’s because of you,” Erin said, looking at him directly and meeting his eye for the first time since they met.
“Me?”
“You and your father. You took a year from my life, a year I probably wouldn’t have remembered in my adult life if I had grown up normally, but because I got taken by the two of you, I’ve spent my whole life trying to remember. Even though I can’t recall much from that time, I’ve honed my memory to the point where I hardly forget anything now.”
“So this maid couldn’t afford a place in Westchester County? Perhaps Isabel pays her remarkably well for a cleaning lady.”
“No. I’ve seen the servant’s room in Isabel’s flat. It’s not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. If she’s living in that area code, she has money, but she doesn’t want Isabel to know. She doesn’t flash any wealth, no jewelry or anything like that. What do you remember about that Hispanic girl your father kidnapped?”
Eddie shrugged. “Not much. An unremarkable, unattractive child. Easily molded.”
“Unattractive?”
“I suppose that’s unkind, but she was a bit podgy, with a flat face.”
“Did she have a mole on her upper lip?”
Eddie thought for a moment. “I think so, yes. Does Carlotta—”
“Yes,” Erin said, whipping out her phone to access an online subscription database that linked phone numbers to addresses.
Within seconds she had her answer.
The number was indeed registered to a Carlotta Sanchez, and the house stood on three hundred acres of woodland in the exclusive town of Bedford.
“No maid could afford that,” Erin said.
“So that’s where my inheritance went,” Eddie grumbled. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 18
Isabel couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Carlotta, her maid.
All this time Isabel had assumed she had been abducted by a man. The loose clothing, physical strength, and Carlotta’s own stout figure had fooled her. Now Carlotta fixed her with a smug smile.
“Surprised?” her maid asked. “You called out to a couple of your high-paid assistants at that rich company of yours, but you never thought that little old me would take you. Oh, no, I’m invisible to you, more even than all those people at the office. All this talk about helping out those in need and you don’t pay any attention to those around you.”
“B-but I’ve never mistreated you!” Isabel sputtered. “I pay you well. I thought you were happy with your work.”
Carlotta cocked her head. “I’m not unhappy with it. What I’m unhappy with is you.”
“But why?”
“For what you do to women. You get up on stage with your beautiful body and shake it before men, thinking you?
??re liberating us. What you’re really doing is oppressing all the regular women in the world, all those who don’t fit your standard of beauty. Not everyone can look like you, but we all try and fail, and then we’re mocked when we fail and feel terrible about ourselves. You set up a standard hardly anyone can meet and anyone who can’t is dismissed as useless.”
“I never said anyone was useless.”
“You don’t have to say it directly. You say it with everything you do. Like the Girls On Fire album. Oh sure, you’re encouraging girls to be what they want to be, not a bad message, but what about the other messages you’re putting between the lines? All your lyrics are about being an astronaut or a movie star or some basketball champ. Not everyone can be those things. Most people end up in regular jobs. And look at the album cover.”
“What? I show teenagers doing awesome things.”
“No, you show beautiful teenagers doing awesome things. All those girls are slim, pretty, and well off. They all have perfect hair and nice clothes. Where does that leave the rest of us? Most girls aren’t like that. They’re not pretty superstars. They’re the people who clean your bathrooms or serve your food or teach your children. The regular people have always gotten ignored by popular music. That’s bad enough, but then you come along claiming to liberate everyone while doing the same damn thing as the rest of the entertainers out there. You think that doesn’t hurt us? All you’re doing is shutting us out, and it hurts twice as much coming from someone who claims to include everyone.”
Carlotta paused, her face red with rage, sweat pouring down her wide cheeks. Isabel tried to think of something to say in her defense but couldn’t find the words. What Carlotta had said cut her deep. Had she really been that crass? Had she really extended a welcoming hand to the women in the world only to turn it into a slap?
Carlotta took a deep breath and went on.
“You crush the dreams of regular people, just the way society does. Remember I told you once how I wanted to be a singer and actress? I’ll never forget the smug smile you gave me. You’ve never even bothered to listen to my singing voice. I am a great actress too. For years I’ve acted like I respected and liked you and you never noticed. A detective came to the apartment this morning and I fooled her too. I put on a routine like I was some immigrant just over the border with broken English. She lapped it up, dismissed me as irrelevant. She’ll never suspect that it was I who took you. I’m just the silly little immigrant, the hired help with girlish dreams. She ignored me just like you and everyone else ignored me.”