Best Defense (4 page)

“I'll be waiting for info. Now, I'd better hit the street.” I started toward the front door, then stopped, picturing my afternoon visit to the foyer. “I'll go through the garage.”

five

Once in my car
in Hammonds' driveway, I sat, letting the air conditioner fight the mugginess of the evening while I thought about my agreement with Hammonds. What did I know about finding a missing child? Nothing. Exactly nothing. Yet, Hammonds, or John, as he said I should call him, seemed so forlorn,
so desperate in his need for an ally. For good reason, I had to agree
, he was terrified that a heavy police presence would cause the kidnappers to panic and kill Ashley. No way could I have told him no. So now, I had a commitment—a very important one.

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, wishing I could talk
to David. Of course, I'd get a lecture first. He did not approve of my chosen profession. That was somewhat understandable since we met in the Emergency Room when he treated me for a concussion—the result of being conked on the head with a heavy object. It was my good fortune he was on duty that day. He must have found something he liked about the lump on my head because before long we were dating. Soon thereafter, I added a mate to that lump and his doubts grew—but only temporarily. He still wasn't sold on my being a private investigator, though.

However, after he got past his disapproval, I was sure he'd offer
support and wish me luck. He might even volunteer to scrap the conference and fly home. Of course, I'd tell him not to do that. I'd say I was okay, everything was under control. That didn't change my need to talk to him though.

It was only ten o'clock here, seven in California. He would be at dinner with some of his associates. After that, they'd probably stop in the bar for a drink. Neither of those invited interruptions. I'd have to wait until later, no earlier than midnight, my time, and hope he answered.

If I were to have even the smallest chance of success, I needed more eyes than the two God gave me. I knew a group that might help. Digging my cell phone out of my purse, I hit autodial for Bob Sandiford.

Sandiford was the most unique person I had ever met. He owned
a bar that turned a profit, yet he stood on the street corner dressed like a bum, selling newspapers. He often slept on a park bench even though he had more than adequate accommodations in rooms behind the bar. He spent his time, energy, and money assisting any homeless person who would allow it. According to Bob, they were all too often afraid to accept help from anyone, even him.

I met Bob as a street person while pursuing another case, and he took me under his wing. Before confessing his true status, he convinced himself I was worth the effort. I would be eternally grateful I had somehow measured up to his standards. He was not only a person I could rely on, but a true friend. David and I had many a nightcap in Bobby's Bar.

“What's up, Beth?” Bob answered. “David still out of town?”

“Yes. He's attending the world's longest medical convention
located about as far away as you can go. But that's not why I called.
I need your help.”

“You know I'll do anything I can. Why don't you come over, and we'll discuss it? Dot, Street, and Blister are here. I'm sure they'll understand if you want to keep it private.”

“No. To pull this off, I need everyone we know—if they have time, of course.”

“How long before you can get here? I might be able to round up a few more of the group.”

“Forty-five minutes or so. I have to stop by FedEx Office on the way.”

_____

I walked into Bobby's Bar and spotted Dot at the bar talking to Judy, the bartender. Judy was one of Bob's reclamation projects. We started off on opposite sides of things, mainly because I doubted Bob. After hearing Bob's heartrending story, I questioned it with Judy and asked her where she fit into things, thinking she might be his young honey.

After giving me hell for my inference, she told me her story. She ran away from home when she was sixteen, and things went straight downhill. Her memories were so bad she wouldn't share them. All she'd say is she did whatever was necessary to stay alive. Then one night, Bob pulled her cold and wet out of a trashy alley and gave her a place to live until she got herself cleaned up. He had literally saved her life, and she was as loyal to him as any
man's best friend
.

I stared, but couldn't see the liquid in Dot's glass. I hoped it was non-alcoholic. She had a history with the hard stuff she didn't need to tempt.

I nodded to Judy, then sidled up to Dot, taking a hard look at her
glass. “I'm guessing that's water you're drinking.” Actually, it had to be water or some form of clear liquor on the rocks. Since it was a large glass, I went with good old H
2
O.

“Hey, Dearie,” Dot said. “You know this ain't booze. I'm on the wagon, been there so long I got calluses on my ass from that hard, wooden seat.” She cackled, jumped off the bar stool, and gave me a hug.

There had been times in our relationship when hugging Dot would not have been comfortable. I mean, without trying to hurt anyone's feelings, I can say the homeless often smell better from at least an arm's length away. But that night, Dot simply smelled clean.

“You're looking good,” I said, meaning it. She did look good. Her clothes were fresh, her hair wasn't frizzy, and the smile she threw my way said she was satisfied with the world.

“Life's good,” Dot said. “I got me a job. Ain't much. Just a damn greeter at Walmart, but it's better than I had in a long time. Feels good to get up in the morning and know I got something to do.”

“Congratulations. I'm sure you're the best
damn
greeter they ever hired. Soon, you'll be the supervisor of
damn
greeters.”

She cackled. “Uh-uh. I'd have to pay too many taxes.”

I meant what I said. Dot was a character—cantankerous, stubborn, and quick to anger—but I'd trust her with my life. In fact,
there was a time my future was in her hands, and she handled it with
TLC, turning catastrophe into victory. Dot's history was spotty, at least that's the story she told me. She was a kept woman her entire adult life until she met the man who used her as rental property. Not only did he share her with his friends and clients, he abused her. Things reached a point where she couldn't take it anymore and killed him. That earned her a stint in Lowell Correctional Institution in Ocala, Florida. Under different circumstances, she might have received a life sentence, but when the police arrived, the evidence of his severe abuse was abundant on her body. The pictures they took were defense exhibit A in her trial, and the jury chose compassion.

After her release, she found herself with no place to go and no skill except pleasing a man. In her own words, she was so old and beat up, she couldn't give it away. So she took to the streets, became another homeless statistic. There, she met another in the
same straits, a man who called himself Bridge. They formed a bond
and became inseparable. She said it was two years before he would tell her his real name and then only if she promised to keep his secret. He never wanted his family to know how far he had fallen.

Bridge gave his life in my defense, and Dot extracted revenge on his killer. Before the police arrived, I hustled her out of the area and covered for her. Something like that tends to create a bond that endures.

Alone again, Dot went on with life, continuing little by little to improve her status in the world. That's why I was so thrilled at her news about the job. To anyone else, it might have been just a
demeaning,
minimum-wage position, but to me, and I knew to Dot, it was a huge step forward. I gave her a second hug.

“Good to see you, Judy,” I said, reaching across to shake her hand. “This place wouldn't be the same without you keeping the bar. How's school going?”

“It's hard,
ma'am
, but I can't let Bob down. He has so much faith in me. I'll get it done.”

The ma'am from Judy was a private joke. Well, I hoped it was a joke. She was in her early twenties, but I didn't want her to think I was old enough to be a ma'am to her. “That's the spirit. Speaking of Bob, he said he'd be here.”

“He's in the back with some of our people,” Dot said. “He told me to wait out here, then bring you back. He put out the word after you called. They're still drifting in.” She hopped down and walked toward the rear of the room where there was a door.

I knew that behind the front room were two dormitories, one for men, and one for women. The furnishings were basic, but clean and comfortable. Bob added them in memory of a homeless man who became his best friend during some trying times. Now a bed was available to anyone who needed it, no questions asked.

I followed Dot out of the bar to the men's dorm.

“Woman coming in,” she called as she opened the door. “Bob insists we do that,” she whispered, then cackled. “As if there's anything in there I'd want to see, or anyone who'd care if I did.”

Several scenes came to mind, but I decided to stay away from them. I was happy with Bob's rule.

Bunks, lockers, chairs, and small tables with lamps filled the large room. There was space for ten tenants, each of whom would have his own little area. Bob even included stationery and envelopes—seldom used was my guess. The walls were pale blue and a sturdy-looking carpet covered the floor.

The women's dorm was a twin, except the walls were soft pink and silk flowers adorned the tables.

Bob, Street, Blister, and three others, one of them female sat around a table in the rear of the room. Each nursed a glass of water. Several extra chairs sat nearby. Dot and I pulled over a couple of the empties and joined them.

I looked at the other woman, trying to place her. I was sure we'd met before. Since Bob was my only contact with the homeless, it had to have been through him.

After the normal greetings, Bob said, “Do you know everyone here?” Before I could respond, he added, “I'll run the table just in case.”

I wanted to kiss him. He anticipated I might not remember some of the names, and he was right.

He started at his left. “Dot, as if you could forget her.”

I gave Dot a high five.

Bob ignored us and kept talking. “Street, Blister, Viaduct, Ralph, Dabba … There may be others drifting in, or it might be tomorrow before they answer my page. Whichever, I'm pretty sure there will be others. Your fame has spread among our little circle. We can get started now.”

Ralph? That surprised me. No street name. All the men I'd met in Bob's group used them. “Good to see all of you again,” I said, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Thanks for meeting with me tonight. I need help. I have a new case and it's a tough one. A little girl's life is at stake.”

“Keep it simple, Beth,” Bob said. “We'll make our decisions after
hearing your spiel.” He glanced around the circle, then came back to me. “No one is obligated to stay or participate. Let's hear your story. The beginning is always a good place to start. How do you find yourself in a case involving a small child?”

“Thank you, Bob. I understand.” I looked at the group. “And I'll
understand if everyone of you walks out.” I took a deep breath, then told them everything that had happened.

When I finished, I heard, “Them sonsabitches. They gotta die.” I looked at Dot, fully expecting that the words came from her.

She shook her head while nodding toward Dabba, who swiped at her cheek.

Dabba said, “My little girl was five years old when somebody took her. We gonna get your girl back. I ain't gonna let nothing hurt her.”

There was iron in Dabba's voice, and when I looked around the table, I saw heads nodding.

“I'm with you,” Dot said, “and anybody that walks on this little girl better just keep walking.” Her eyes blazed as she surveyed the
group. At that moment, I had no doubt she'd follow me to the gates
of Hell and smack them open.

“Easy, Dot,” Bob said. “You know we don't operate that way. Nobody has to join unless they want to. That's rule number one here.”

I jumped in before Dot could reply. I didn't want problems within the group. “There's not much anyone can do until we hear from the kidnappers. In the meantime, I have a picture of Ashley and a sketch of the woman who picked her up at school. If any of
you know this woman, my ears are straining to hear you.” I opened
the FedEx envelope and passed the papers around.

Everyone stared at the pictures, but my only information came from shaking heads.

Silence ruled the group for several minutes. I'd told them all I knew. There was no point in repeating it. If they had a question, I'd either answer it or tell them I didn't know.

At eleven-thirty, Judy came in, told Bob the bar was empty, and
asked if she could close up. He told her yes, and she left. The grou
p settled back into silence.

“Have you considered,” Ralph said, “that this might be a revenge thing? Maybe they killed the wife and kidnapped the child because they got a hate for this lawyer. Maybe he's a shyster and messed over them.”

I sat forward. “No. I haven't considered that. Expand on your meaning.”

“Well, suppose somebody out there thinks … what's that lawyer's name?”

“John Hammonds,” I said.

“Somebody thinks this Hammonds guy botched his case, didn't work hard enough defending him. Maybe the guy went to jail, and he's pissed about it. So he gets out and goes after Hammonds through his family.”