Avenging Alex (13 page)

The man showed John an evidence bag of the tracts that were left scattered on the floor.

“We checked around and couldn't find anything else. We questioned the neighbors. Nobody saw anything apparently. Some of them say they weren't even home. Ms. Hudson claims she and two other women who were here earlier hadn't seen or spoken to the victim since about one this afternoon.”

“She's not a victim,” Alex barked.

“John, I'm gonna have to file a report.”

“Look, Sam, can you just hold off on that for a day or two?”

“You know I can't do that. She's not supposed to have a gun, legally or otherwise.”

“Did you find a gun, Sam?”

“No. Barney Fife here didn't find a damn thing,” Alex interjected. “I wasn't going to let them go through my things without a search warrant.”

“C'mon, Sam. Do me a solid. You know how this works.”

The detective's face suggested he had a scathing comeback to Alex's sarcastic remark. He rubbed the beard stubble on his dimpled chin. “The only reason I'm even thinkin' about doin' this is because of Hank; you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

As the man inhaled and exhaled his rounded belly expanded and contracted. “What about the complaint?”

“Let me worry about that,” John responded. “Right now I gotta get her outta here.”

“All right. I can give you twenty-four hours, but that's it.”

John shook the man's hand. “Thanks, Sam. I owe you.”

“Damn right you do.”

John escorted Alex back inside the house.

“What did that detective mean when he said the only reason he was doing this was because of Hank?” Alex asked.

“Hank and Sam were rookies together on this gang task force years ago. They got caught in the crossfire of a drive-by. Sam got shot. Hank saved his life. So, they've kind of been looking out for each other ever since.”

“I'm sorry I made that Barney Fife crack now.”

“So where's this gun that you know is against regulations for you to have?”

“There is no gun.”

John's jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.

“I'm telling you the truth. Do you see a gun? Neither did he.” Alex reached inside Cerena's playpen and picked up her stuffed rabbit.

“Goddammit! This is my fault!” John snapped. “I gotta get you out of here.”

“If Rivera found me here, he can find me someplace else, John. What if that really was him I saw in the club that night?”

“What are you talking about?”

“A couple of weeks ago I went to a club in North Hollywood with a coworker, the night you were at your daughter's dance thing. I saw this man at the end of the bar staring at me. For a moment when the light reflected off his face I thought it might be Rivera.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because, I have been running around for months jumping at every shadow and I dismissed it as just another false alarm. But now . . . it really could have been him.”

“Go pack a bag.”

“John, I'm not going anywhere until we find them.”

He grabbed her arms. “Listen to me, you can't stay here. It's not safe anymore.”

She jerked away from him. “It was never safe, John. We were just kidding ourselves. Whatever it takes we have got to get my mother and baby back alive.”

“Then let me do my job. Come on, Adriane—”

“Don't call me that! I'm sick of the pretense. For over a year I've been toeing the line and look where it got me. My name is Alex, dammit! Alex!”

John took a step back, rubbed his head, and put his hands on his hips. “Adri . . . Alex, I've got to get you out of here. I promise you I'll do everything I can to find your mother and baby, but I need you to cooperate.”

“You promise? Your promises aren't worth shit right now, John.”

“Look, I know you're pissed off and you have every right to be, but the more time we waste standing around here, the less time I have to start looking for them.”

Alex stared daggers at John before giving in and going to her room to pack. She absently pulled an array of sweaters, blouses, and jeans from her closet. She dumped the contents of her bathroom counter into a bag along with cosmetics and hair essentials; then she removed from under her mattress the .380 she'd hidden from the police, and slipped it in under her lingerie with Cerena's stuffed toy.

“Did you get everything you needed?”

“I don't know. I can't think. It's not like I'm packing for a cruise or something.”

John secured the house. While Alex waited in his truck he made his way across the street to question Ernie Mae Hudson again.

“So you're a policeman too, huh?”

“Yeah.” John nodded without clarification.

“Well, like I said before I didn't see or speak to Janette since we played cards this afternoon. And I didn't see nobody else. What I didn't tell that other cop was how often I see you parked outside that house.”

John overlooked her meddlesome commentary. “What time did you say you came back to your place?”

“It was after one. I needed to be back here so I could watch my stories.”

“What about the other ladies?”

Ernie Mae sighed impatiently. “Pauline drove Margaret home. Then about ten or fifteen minutes after two Margaret called me and said she'd been tryin' to get in touch with Janette because she left her glasses. She said she couldn't get through the line so I told her I would come and see. That's when I found your little girlfriend waving a gun in my face.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hudson.”

“If I were you, I'd be lookin' for that slick-talkin' African Janette was always blatherin' about.”

“When was the last time you saw him around?”

“Last night, just after you left. But that don't mean he didn't show up today while I was watchin' TV.”

John turned and headed back across the street. He hopped in his truck and reviewed the information sent to his BlackBerry about Ade Obafemi: his picture, his history, his address.

“Where are we going, John?”

“We're going to pay a little visit to a ‘slick-talkin' African.'”

Ade's address took them three blocks east of Huntington Street. He occupied the lower apartment in a two-story walkup. John insisted Alex wait in the truck; she didn't. He knocked on Ade's door and called out to him, but there was no answer. Unwilling to leave any stone unturned John pulled out a small tool kit and jimmied the lock. “Stay here,” he demanded; she didn't. He cautiously went inside with his gun drawn and looked around. No Ade. No sign of Jamilah. He pulled on latex gloves and picked up framed pictures to examine them, hoping to find any crumbs of a clue. There were pictures of Ade and who he assumed to be his deceased wife among other framed photographs of his family. He sifted through drawers and opened unpaid utility bills, but there was nothing to be found. With the exception of a few dishes in the sink the entire place was clean. After several minutes they exited his apartment and went back to the truck.

“So, that's it? That's all you're gonna do?” Alex questioned.

John's silence was louder than any confirmation. He pulled out his cell phone and called his detective friend.

“Sam, it's John Chase. I need you to put out an APB on a man named Ade Obafemi. O-b-a-f-e-m-i . . . Yeah, I think he may have something to do with all of this. If he's involved he may be trying to leave the state. He's got family in Chicago and Nigeria. I've got his picture. I'll send it over to you . . . Thanks, man.”

“What the hell is going on, John? I thought you had him checked out already. How could this have happened?”

John didn't respond.

“Answer me, dammit!”

“I don't know, Alex. I just hope it's all a coincidence.”

“Coincidence? My mother and my baby were kidnapped. They could be . . . they could be dead, and all you have to say is this could all be a coincidence!” Alex climbed back into the truck and slammed the door.

“Look, I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean shit right now, but it's all I got.” John slid behind the wheel and drove off. “I fucked up, Alex. All I can do is try to fix this.”

He reached out to take her hand. She snatched it away. He shook his head and pulled over to the side of the road. He removed a small USB device from the inside of his jacket pocket and inserted it in the port on his phone. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Give it to me.”

“What for?

“Just give it to me.”

She took her phone from her purse and he affixed a similar device to it.

“What are you doing?

“Scrambling the GPS tracking. I don't want anybody to know where we're going.”

Forty minutes later they pulled up outside a Comfort Inn hotel off Santa Monica Boulevard.

“What if we were followed?”

“We weren't.” He held up his phone as a reminder. “I know you're having a hard time trusting me right now, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this all turns out right.” John got out of the truck guardedly, looking around to ensure that he could substantiate his claim.

Alex grabbed her bag and joined him. They checked into the hotel under the names that they'd used before, Mr. and Mrs. John Carter (John had the identification to prove the alias). Once settled in, John cased the room and its surroundings, particularly the location of the stairwell and how one might easily gain entry to the floor without using the elevator. He found that the door on the ground floor was locked and could only be opened with a key card from the outside or, in the event of a fire, from the inside.

Overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, Alex held on to the stuffed rabbit she removed from her bag, slumped down at the foot of the king-sized bed, and wept. John eased close to her and took her in his arms; this time she didn't pull away. A tidal wave of emotion collided and washed over her.

“Just when I started to feel like maybe everything was going to be all right. How did I ever let myself believe he would leave us alone?”

“This is my fault,” John conceded. “I was careless. I wasn't thinking like a cop. I let this happen.”

“I was a distraction.”

“No—”

“Yes. I was.”

John couldn't raise an adequate argument. “It was more than just you. This shit with Lorraine. I let it all get to me. It threw me off my game.”

“And now my mother is paying the price.” Alex dried her tears and wiped away the residue of mascara stinging her eyes. She went to her travel bag and dug out a business-sized manila envelope and handed it to him.

“What's this?”

“A couple of weeks ago I got really scared that if something happened to me Cerena would be left alone. So, I wrote a letter to her father. I couldn't mail it. I took it to the bank and put it in a safety deposit box. This is the information to get it out. You know that Betty Ellis is Tirrell's grandmother, and his brother works in the DA's office. Tirrell may not be worth a shit, but I know his family would take care of Cerena. If I die they need to be notified.”

“Alex.”

“Everything you need is in this envelope. If you can't promise me anything else, you have to make sure Betty Ellis gets that letter. I don't want my baby growing up without . . . without family.”

“Nothing is going to—”

Alex pressed her fingers to John's lips to keep him from making any more promises that neither of them was sure he'd be able to keep. “You know who Tirrell is and you know he's in Atlanta. All the information is in my files. Just make sure this letter gets where it needs to go.”

“Okay, if it'll make you feel better.”

“Nothing is going to make me feel better until we find my mother and baby.”

John's cell phone rang as he moved to the window and looked over the perimeter of the parking lot below. “Donovan, what's up?”

“You tell me. I thought you were supposed to meet me at Casey's for a beer.”

“Yeah, something's come up. Janette Sullivan and the baby went missing.”

“What?”

“I think Rivera got to them.”

“What about the girl?”

“I got her out of the house. She's with me.”

“Where are you?”

“Out of the line of fire, for now.”

“Tell me where you are I'll come meet you. If Rivera's made a move we got to bring the girl in.”

“I don't know if that's a good idea.”

“John, what the hell are you talkin' about?”

“Right now, I need to make sure Alex stays safe and the only way I can do that is if she stays with me. The fewer people who know where we are the better.”

“Alex? You're calling her Alex now? Aw, man. You're really fuckin' up here. I'm your partner. Let me help you make this right.”

“Donovan, I gotta go.”

“John, wait—”

“I'll check in with you in the morning.” John ended the call, cutting Donovan off before he could raise an objection over his handling of the situation.

“Why didn't you tell him where we were?” Alex asked.

“I'm not bringing him in on this until I know what the hell went wrong.” He started toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I'm going back to the house to look for anything we may have missed that might tell me where your mother was taken.”