After collecting his belongings, he headed back to Tampa. Once there, he rented a nice room in the home of an elderly widow. It had a separate entrance, and she only required a small deposit up front. He found a pimp and gave him specific instructions as to the type of woman he wanted. After meeting with three of them, he settled on one who agreed to cut her long hair.
He took her to his rented room and pulled out his camera and a rope from a dresser drawer.
The woman looked at him curiously. "Should I take my clothes off?" she asked him, eyeing the camera that, after the press of a button, would print out a picture instantly.
"Nope," he told her as he unwound the rope.
"So, what do you have in mind?" Her tone was hesitant after she saw him retrieve duct tape and a black scarf.
"Don't be afraid," he told her. "I don't want sex."
A noisy family in the next booth stirred him from his recollections. His sandwich finished, he took another sip of his coffee and reveled in his own cleverness. After signaling the waitress for his check he looked at his watch and smiled. It was time to leave for his appointment with Van Chapman. In less than two hours he'd be on a flight to Dallas where he'd been hired to convince a landowner to sell his family property to a ruthless businessman. He just hoped this next job wouldn't involve kidnapping, drugging and a larger-than-life Native American with a mean streak that would put a serial killer to shame.
"It's done," he said, as he laid an envelope on the coffee table between him and Van.
"You got her? You got Christy?" Van asked, his voice hopeful.
"It's all there." He nodded toward the envelope. "I want my money. And the terms have changed."
Van picked up the envelope but stopped to look at the man before opening it.
"What terms?" he asked.
"The price was twenty grand. Ten now, and ten after she's fully addicted and dropped somewhere in the middle of the city. I want nineteen thousand now, and one thousand after she's picked up by the cops and you're called to spring her."
"Why?" Van asked.
"Look at the pictures," the man stated, nodding at the envelope Van held.
Van opened it and allowed several photographs to spill out on the table. He picked each one up and looked at it carefully. They all showed Christy tied to a bed. She had a black scarf covering her eyes and duct tape on her mouth.
"Yeah. So?" Van said.
"Your original plan was to have her held at Anthony Bear's camp. This isn't his camp. I’ve had to front my own money to pay for a woman who is a nurse to hold Christy hostage in her home. You can tell she's in a bedroom."
"What does that have to do with it costing me more up front?"
"Because if I'd done it your way, and found some lowlife to keep her drugged up, they more than likely would've overdosed her. I'm paying more money to protect your investment. I have to pay this nurse not only for the drugs, but for the two weeks she'll miss from work while she stays home to babysit. Not to mention my expenses for the last two weeks. And you want me staying in town for the next couple of weeks to monitor her and ensure her delivery, right? It adds up—and based on what you're capable of having done to your daughter, I don't trust you to come up with my final balance. Ten thousand is too much to leave hanging out there. I leave here with nineteen grand, or I’ll leave here and release your daughter now."
"If this nurse is keeping her drugged, how is she going to be used and abused like I wanted her to be?" Van asked, his lips thin.
The man couldn't believe what he was hearing. What a lowlife piece of scum. It wasn't bad enough that he wanted his daughter addicted to drugs, he wanted her raped and used as well. He had to think quickly.
"This nurse..." He paused and licked his lips. "Has a boyfriend who likes to abuse her regularly. She jumped at this chance to offer your daughter to him and his degenerate son and take the heat off her for a while. Christy will suffer."
A slow smile spread across Van's face. He remembered how, even as a child, her eyes were accusatory. He knew Christy judged him and he resented that everything he’d worked for would one day be hers.
"I want nineteen thousand cash, and I want it now. I'll be back in touch with you when it's time to drop her off somewhere so the authorities can find her."
An hour later, the man gazed out the airplane window and watched Tampa fade from view. He mentally tallied up his expenses. A rental car, a cheap hotel room for when he wasn't sleeping in his car, a couple of hookers and a rented room in the suburbs. His only regret was not spending more time with the first slut, Gloria. That would've been money well spent. He'd had to lay out very little cash on this job, and Van Chapman was so stupid, he not only fell for the staged pictures, but agreed to the nineteen thousand up front. Forfeiting his final thousand dollars was more than worth it. He'd give anything to see Van Chapman's face when he figured out he'd been scammed.
What a complete idiot, he thought as he signaled the flight attendant for a gin and tonic.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Naples, Florida 1978
It was just over a month after the attempt on Christy’s life at the camp that Detective Kimberly Cochran knocked on Anthony’s front door.
During that month, Anthony ascertained that Veronique Dubois had left for a month-long holiday two days after setting Christy up to be tortured and murdered. He’d been told by his informant that it wasn’t a random departure, but rather a planned vacation in Bermuda. Anthony was glad that he wouldn’t have to chase down Veronique to exact his revenge. She would be returning, and while she was gone, he meticulously laid out a plan. Not to just eliminate her in the most painful way possible, but to disgrace her as well.
Anthony invited the detective into his living room and called for Christy to join them. The three sat on the leather furniture that squeaked as their bodies weighed it down.
“I have news about both of your parents, Christy,” the woman said, looking at Anthony and then turning to Christy.
Anthony reached for Christy’s hand and squeezed it.
“I’ll tell you the bad news first.”
Christy swallowed and listened as the woman told her that they were pretty sure Vivian was dead. She’d been booked on a six-month European cruise under the assumed name of Vivian Slade.
“Does the name Slade mean anything to you?” the detective asked.
Christy shook her head. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
Detective Cochran went on to explain that Vivian Slade was two months into her vacation when a friend she’d made on the cruise reported her missing.
“Missing?” Christy interrupted. “How does someone go missing on a cruise?”
“It’s presumed that she fell overboard, since she was discovered missing between ports. It’s not common, but it does happen. They found so many prescription drugs in Vivian’s room, they assumed she wandered out to the deck and fell over when nobody was around. There’s no other explanation.”
“How do you know for sure that Vivian Slade is my mother?”
The detective unclasped an envelope she’d carried in and pulled out a picture. She handed it to Christy as she continued to explain. “Vivian Slade has a fake address in Naples. The cruise line couldn’t locate next of kin to notify so they contacted us. The picture you’re looking at was taken by the friend she made on the cruise. That is your mother, isn’t it?”
Christy nodded. “It’s her, and I’m sure Van had something to do with this!” she snapped.
“We thought that might’ve been possible too, Christy, but we checked out every single person on that cruise, and we could find no one, absolutely nobody, with any background that was even slightly suspicious. Yeah, there were lots of sea goers with outstanding parking tickets, trespassing violations, and a couple of DUIs, but none with a criminal history.”
Christy stiffened and said, “Well, if you could find Van, I’m sure you could press him to admit how he managed it. If Vivian was traveling with false identi
fication, so could someone he hired to do her in. And those lawyers that visited Anthony said she was sent off with enough medication to kill her.”
"You're right. That's always a possibility, but from what we know, having Vivian killed wouldn't be convenient for Van. He can't touch her bank account without her. And you already told me that your grandmother's will came with a caveat,” she said kindly.
"That in the event of Vivian's death, I'm the sole heir to all of it," Christy finished.
"Yes, Van wouldn't get a dime. My thinking was that he sent Vivian on the cruise not to have her killed, but to have her out of the way while he schemed to have you committed. If she wasn't around, he would be the only parent available to sign all the paperwork that would put you in a facility. And of course, his lawyers would make sure he was given the ability to manage your assets."
"Exactly!" Christy agreed. "And with Vivian gone, I get her money, and Van gets mine. That's why he had her killed."
"It's possible, but I respectfully disagree," the detective added. "Right now, the only way Van is surviving is on his stipend from the dealerships and the money he receives as an allowance from your mother. The moment she is declared missing or dead all that dries up. I'm not saying he wouldn't have tried to have her killed at a later date—he's certainly capable of it. But I don't think he wanted that well to dry up until he was certain he had control of your bank accounts."
"Yeah, I guess it makes sense," Christy said, as she swiped her short hair behind her ear. "Who knows what his sociopath brain was trying to do. We'll probably never know."
Kimberly Cochran nodded her head in agreement and said, “Now for the good news. We have Van in custody, and he is facing charges that, if convicted, will put him away for a long time.”
“What?” Christy practically screamed. “You have him?”
The detective gave Anthony a quick glance and looked back at Christy. She didn’t want to admit that it was his tip about Dan Mikkelson and Pete Germaine that led to a sting operation. She explained to Christy that after discovering that the law firm of Mikkelson & Germaine was under investigation for some clandestine dealings, they negotiated through the state attorney to lessen possible charges in return for the men's cooperation. They gave up Van’s last known location, agreed to wear wires and get him to admit what he’d conspired to have done to Christy to take control of her finances.
“Van also spouted off about being screwed over by some guy they recommended he hire. Have either of you ever heard the name Ben Diamond?” She looked at Anthony, then Christy.
Anthony watched to see if Christy’s expression would give away that she’d heard that name before. Shasta had told them both that Veronique had mentioned the name to John the night of Christy’s attempted murder. Anthony hadn’t been able to verify the man’s existence or if he’d had anything to do with Veronique’s sudden decision to show up at his house and then the camp. His gut was telling him there was a connection, but the only people who would be able to verify it would be the missing Ben Diamond, Van or Veronique. He would interrogate the latter in the most painful way possible.
“No.” Christy shook her head. “That’s not a name I’ve ever heard. What about you Anthony?” She turned to look at him.
He was impressed with her poker face and had the instant thought that maybe he should teach her how to gamble.
“Never heard the name. What did Van say he hired him for?” Anthony asked, although he was certain he knew the answer.
“Well, he never said while he was being recorded. And of course, he hasn’t told us anything else since he’s been arrested because it’s a sure thing that whatever it is will only implicate him further.”
Anthony nodded, secretly relieved that if Ben Diamond was the reason behind Veronique’s visit to his house and the camp, it would never come to light. If they found the man and he led them to Veronique, it might interfere with what Anthony had planned for her.
"And if the two lawyers recommended him to Van they must be able to tell you how to get in touch with him," Anthony added, fishing for more information.
"True," the woman admitted. "We tried the number they gave Van, and of course it's been disconnected. They fessed up to using this man before, but said that after a job, he always got a message to them that included a new name and phone number. If this Ben Diamond screwed over Van like Van claims he did, it's safe to assume that Mr. Diamond will not be giving the lawyers a way to contact him. There's no doubt he's long gone and won't be coming back."
Anthony nodded.
“I need to speak to Christy alone,” Detective Cochran said as she stood up, the meeting obviously over.
Anthony and Christy stood up as well and Christy said, “I’ll walk you to the door.” She gave Anthony a look that said she would explain later.
That night after they’d made love, Anthony held her close and asked, “Do you want to discuss what Detective Cochran told you about your mother? I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, Owani. Do you need to talk?”
“No. There isn’t anything to talk about. Other than starting paperwork to declare her legally dead, there’s not much else to say.”
They were silent for a moment when she added, “I guess you think I’m awful. I’m not even sure if I believe she’s dead and worse yet, I’m not sure if I care. Does that make me heartless?” She leaned up on her elbow to look down at his face.
“I don’t think you would even know how to be heartless, Owani,” he told her as he pulled her face to his and planted a kiss on her nose. He then kissed her chin, each eye, her forehead and then finally, her mouth. She pulled back and continued to look down at him.
He saw the pain in her eyes and softly caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, the dimness in their bedroom not hiding the stark contrast in the color of their skin. Not loving her parents the way a child should didn’t surprise him in the least. But Anthony knew it was more than that. Her lack of love for Van and Vivian went deeper. Anthony suspected that Christy clung to many secrets hidden in her heart and he’d patiently waited for her to reveal them to him. To trust him enough to share a deep pain he’d recognized in her eyes long before the incident at the camp.
For two months they’d spent hours wrapped in each other’s arms, their lovemaking going beyond the physical. With each kiss, each caress, each whisper they experienced a mating of their souls that connected their hearts. He reveled in being the first to teach her about the physical aspect of intimate pleasure and she brought that facet to a new plane for him. An emotional one that he’d never experienced before. She’d invaded his heart, his muscles, his bones. Christy even flowed through his blood, and he knew that any separation from her would be tantamount to having his heart ripped from his chest. Since he would never give her up or let her go, he knew that he would have to settle for being there when she finally decided to share her hidden pain. And when she did, he would help her heal from whatever she’d kept locked away. This was his woman; he would give her as much time as she needed.
She removed herself from his arms, plopped back on her pillow, and stared at the ceiling. “I've been trying to help Detective Cochran with something,” she blurted out. Before he could reply, she added, “The reason she wanted to talk to me privately was to discuss our little arrangement and I told her before she left that I was going to tell you anyway so she didn’t have to be so secretive. She didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, she thought someone like you might even be helpful.”
“Someone like me?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know. A criminal.”
He chuckled and said, “Let’s hear it, Owani.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Naples, Florida 1978
Still staring at the ceiling, Christy explained to Anthony how she had suspected that Van was somehow involved in her grandmother's death four years before.
"Christy," he said, his voice gentle. "Wasn't Bobbi in her late seventies when she died? I understand how your hatred of Van wou
ld cause you to suspect him of every bleak circumstance that happens in your family, but thinking he caused your grandmother's demise, a woman in her seventies, might be pushing it. He had nothing to gain from Bobbi dying."
Christy sat up and crossed her legs. Looking down into his face she absentmindedly started drawing circles on his stomach when she told him, "Yes, he did have something to gain. His freedom. I think Bobbi must've figured out what he was doing with the dealerships. She would've had him sent to prison."
This comment caught Anthony's attention and he asked, "You mean how he's poorly managed them and they're losing money? I don't think you can send someone to prison for being stupid."
"No. It'll be easier if I explain from the beginning." She took a deep breath and said, "Bobbi was in perfect health. Yes, she was seventy-eight, but she was active and spirited and robust for her age. But the fact that she was considered elderly caused the local coroner to waive an autopsy."
"Okay..." he said, not understanding where she was going.
"An autopsy might've proven that she didn't die from natural causes, but Vivian had my grandmother cremated so now we can never be sure."
"You still haven't given me a motive, Christy. Why would Van murder Bobbi? And what does it have to do with the dealerships?" he asked.
Ignoring his question, she continued, "So, a little over six months ago I had to bail Richard out of jail. He hadn't been in trouble for a long time, and he got snagged at a routine traffic checkpoint for some outstanding warrant or something. He obviously didn't want to call Nadine to help him so he called me."
She stopped tickling his stomach and grabbed a long strand of his hair. As had become her habit, she started braiding it while she spoke.