"But they said no police," Seabright said, a little too happy to comply with that demand.
"Plain clothes, plain car. No one will know he isn't a Jehovah's Witness."
Seabright pouted. "I don't want other people making decisions for my family."
"No? Well, contrary to your egomania, you are not best equipped to make these decisions," I said. "You need professional help with this. And if you don't want to accept it, I'll cram it down your throat."
19
Two-forty A.M. Bruce Seabright couldn't sleep. He didn't try. He had no desire to share a bed with Krystal tonight, even though he knew she was unconscious. He was too agitated to sleep, or even to sit. He had spent an hour cleaning his office: polishing the fingerprints from the furniture, wiping down every item on the desk, spraying the telephone with Lysol. His inner sanctum had been breeched, contaminated.
Krystal had come in here without his knowledge and pawed through the mail on his desk, even though he had told her very specifically never to do that. He always handled the mail. And Molly had come in and taken the videotape. He had expected better of both of them. The disappointment was bitter in his mouth. The order of his world had been upset, and now that bitch private investigator was trying to take over. He wouldn't stand for it. He would find out who she was working for, and he would make sure she never worked again.
He paced the room, breathing deeply the scents of lemon oil and disinfectant, trying to calm himself.
He never should have married Krystal. That had been a mistake. He had known her eldest daughter would be a problem he would end up having to deal with, and here he was.
He opened the television cabinet, pulled a video from the shelf, and popped it in the VCR and hit play.
Erin, naked, chained to a bed, trying to cover herself.
"Look at the camera, bitch. Say your line."
She shakes her head, tries to hide her face.
"Say it! You want me to make you?"
She looks at the camera.
"Help me."
Bruce ejected the tape and put it in its cardboard sleeve. He went to the small secret wall safe hidden behind a row of books on real estate law, opened the safe, put the tape inside, and locked it away. No one else would see the tape. That was his decision. He was best equipped to make it.
20
I have never been hindered by the belief that people are basically good. In my experience, people are basically selfish, and often cruel.
I slept for three hours because my body didn't give me a choice. I woke because my brain wouldn't let me rest. I rose and fed the horses, then showered and went to my computer in a T-shirt and underpants and started tracing the phone numbers from Bruce Seabright's phone using a reverse directory on the Internet.
Of the thirteen numbers, six were unlisted with a Wellington prefix, four came back with names, one came back to Domino's Pizza, and two calls had come from the same Royal Palm Beach number, also with no listing. Seabright claimed the kidnapper had called only once, but I didn't believe him. He'd been a no-show for the drop. I couldn't believe he wouldn't have gotten a call after that.
I dialed the Royal Palm number and listened to it ring unanswered. No cheerful greeting: Kidnappers R Us.
I dialed the unlisted numbers, one by one, getting answering machines and maids, and waking up a couple of very cranky people who would no doubt be calling Bruce Seabright's office to complain about his new assistant.
I dialed the Sheriff's Office, wending my way through the various receptionists to get to Landry's voice mail, at the same time checking my e-mail for word from my FBI contact on the inquiry to Interpol. Nothing yet. As I listened to Landry's message and jotted down his pager number, I considered calling Armedgian to hasten a response, but decided not to press my luck. Any info from abroad would just be corroboration. I already knew Van Zandt was a world-class sleaze.
Was he bold enough to try kidnapping? Why not? He'd been just a step away from it with Irina's friend, Sasha Kulak. If Bruce Seabright had set up Erin's job through Trey Hughes, it stood to reason Van Zandt could have found out Erin was connected to the Fairfields developer. Developers take in a lot of money, he might have reasoned. Why shouldn't he be entitled to some? Motive: greed. He knew the girl, knew the show grounds, knew when people would be around and when they wouldn't. Opportunity.
Means? I knew Van Zandt had a video camera, so he could have made the tape. The distortion device would have disguised his accent. What about the white van? Where had it come from, and if Van Zandt had been running the video camera, then who was the guy in the mask?
Scum finds its own level. There were plenty of people skulking in the shadows of the show grounds who could have been persuaded to do just about anything for money. Decent people might not have been able to find them, but Tomas Van Zandt was not a decent person.
The truly disturbing possibility of Van Zandt as the kidnapper was his possible connection to Bruce Seabright and Seabright's lack of action on the ransom demand. But if Seabright was connected, then why would the videotape have been addressed to Krystal? And why would he have tried to hide it from her? If the projected outcome was in fact to get rid of Erin but make it look like a kidnapping gone wrong, Seabright needed corroboration on his end. It didn't make sense for him to keep it to himself.
His lack of action couldn't be denied, whatever his motive. I was willing to bet he had yet to act, despite my threat.
I dialed Landry's pager and left my number. Avadonis Farms would come up in his caller ID. That gave me a better shot for a return call. He would have taken one look at my name and hit the erase button.
While I waited for the phone to ring, I poured a cup of coffee, paced, and considered other angles. The fact that Erin had cared for Stellar and Stellar was dead; the possible connections to Jade, with his shadowy past. The fact that Erin had been involved with Chad Seabright; the fact they had been seen arguing two days before her disappearance. She'd dumped him-for an older man, Chad said. She'd had a thing for her boss, Molly said.
The phone rang. I scooped it up and answered.
"This is Detective James Landry. I received a page from this number."
"Landry. Estes. Erin Seabright has been kidnapped. Her parents received a videotape and a ransom demand."
Silence on the other end as he digested that.
"Do you still think it's not a case?" I asked.
"When did they get the demand?"
"Thursday. The stepfather was supposed to make the drop yesterday. He took a pass."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a long story. Let's meet somewhere. I'll fill you in, then take you to them."
"That won't be necessary," he said. "I'll get the details from the parents. Thanks for the tip, but I don't want you there."
"I don't care whether you want me there or not," I said flatly. "I'll be there."
"Hindering an official investigation."
"So far, hindering has been your area of expertise," I said. "There wouldn't be an investigation but for me. The stepfather doesn't want to do anything. He'd be happy to say 'oh well' and hope the perps dump the girl in a canal with an anchor around her waist. I've got a three-day jump on you and an in with the people the girl worked for."
"You're not a cop anymore."
"And I needed you to remind me of that. Fuck you, Landry."
"I'm just saying. You don't call the shots, Estes. You want to lord it over somebody, hire a minion. I don't work for you or with you."
"Fine. Then I'll keep what I know to myself. See you there, asshole."