Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (25 page)

Sipping his espresso
on the
balcony before dawn, Rosswell considered three alternatives: First,
believe Jill was telling the truth that Tina was imprisoned on a baby farm and immediately
strike out for Brazil. Second, go back home to Marble Hill. Third, continue
searching for his beloved in Sainte Genevieve County. The first sounded grotesquely
impulsive, the second tempted him to alternately scream at a brick wall and then
pound his head against it, and the third was like surrendering to an unknown
enemy.

The only decision he arrived at was to sip another
espresso. A double with dark brown sugar and a touch of extra salt. And a
couple of shots of chocolate syrup to round off the flavor. The sunshine
caressed his face. A smile from somewhere deep inside struggled for freedom. Caffeine
and sugar launched rockets, even in the most depressed soul
.

Once dressed and after consuming huge amounts at Mrs.
Bolzoni’s breakfast table, he made his way down to The Four Bee parking lot to
gaze upon the piece of crap that was Sofia. Between the ninety sunny degrees
and no air conditioning in his so-called ride, he knew he’d be a big sweat ball
by the time he arrived at the courthouse. He checked his watch. 8:00 AM.

His cell phone rang. His bank.

“Rosswell Carew.”

“Is this Judge Carew?”

“Yes, Muriel, it’s me.”

“This is Muriel Thornmorton, calling for Judge
Rosswell Carew.”

“Hello, Muriel Thornmorton. This is Judge Rosswell
Carew.”

“At the bank.”

“Yes, I know where you work.”

“In Marble Hill.”

“How are things at the bank?”

“You’re overdrawn.”

“Okay.”

“Again.”

“I know what to do. I’ll take care of that today. I’ll
get the details online.”

“Three thousand four hundred fifty one dollars and
sixty-three cents. That’s how much you’re overdrawn.”

Sounded like a felony to Rosswell.

“Muriel, I promise you that I’ll take care of it
today.”

“You can check your account on the computer.”

“I appreciate that information.”

“We’re on the Internet.”

“Yes, I know.”

“If you’d checked your account on the World Wide Web,
you’d know that you have two hundred thirty five thousand, six hundred
seventy-one dollars and fourteen cents in your money market account.”

“Yes, Muriel, I know.”

“That’s why I couldn’t understand why you would
overdraw your checking account.”

“Muriel, I’ve made a mistake in my bookkeeping.”

“Then maybe you should transfer enough money from your
money market account to your checking account to cover the bad…I mean…the
insufficient funds checks.”

“Yes. Please do that for me.”

“I don’t have the authority.”

“Muriel, I will get it taken care of.”

“Thanks, Judge Carew. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you for your help, Muriel. Goodbye.”

Rosswell disconnected and slid into Sofia. A hardened
piece of plastic or spring or something in the bowels of the tattered seat
jabbed him in the butt. He made a mental note to either drive Sofia into the
river or buy a seat cushion.

A pungent aroma he’d not noticed before assaulted his
nose. Riffling through the old newspapers strewn on the back seat, he uncovered
a rather
fresh dead mouse. He wrapped the
corpse in a page from the year-old newspapers, intending to chuck the body into
the garbage can outside the courthouse. Was it a mommy mouse that had infested
Sofia with a bunch of her babies? A herd of flies buzzed around in the car,
searching for the rodent’s corpse. Maybe he should clean the car out before he
found any more nasty surprises.

Rosswell stuck the key into the ignition and turned it.
Nothing. Not even a click. He pressed a speed dial number on his cell phone.
The lady at the AAA office was nice, but firm. The membership had lapsed six
months before, which meant that no one was about to drive a monster truck out
to tow his car to the nearest mechanic. If he wanted, she would give him
telephone numbers for local tow trucks, but they all required a sizable sum of
cash up front before they left home base.

Rosswell wrote down the information before saying to
the woman who stood between him and rescue, “Have a nice day.” He clicked off,
trying to figure out a way not to waste money on a tow truck.

“Having problems?”

Alessandra posed outside the driver’s window. She was
dressed in barely legal hot pink shorts and a fluorescent yellow midriff-baring
top that sank low in front. The merest hint of lilac emanated from Alessandra.
Her strawberry blonde hair fell curly and long, down to her shoulders and over
her admirable bosom.

She said, “Do you want me to jump you?”

Alessandra looked like she was ready for action. Rosswell
wondered if her boss had asked her to sabotage Sofia and then seduce him. Did Rosswell
have secrets he didn’t even know about that she planned to wiggle out of him after
she wiggled out of those clothes?

You idiot. She’s talking about your battery.

“Alessandra, I need to get to town. I’ll buy you
breakfast at Mabel’s.”

“Momma fed me breakfast long before you got up.”

“If you drive me into town, I’ll buy you a cup of
coffee at Mabel’s.”

He knew he was going to regret that invitation. But he
had to get to town.

Alessandra spoke about the weather and nothing else on the short
trip although Rosswell had prepared himself for a bomb. Now was her chance.
Hadn’t she said that she needed to talk to him about something important?

Only with the greatest difficulty and aided by dark
sunglasses did he keep his eyes on the scenery outside the car. The scenery
inside the car was tempting, but he restrained himself.

Ollie snapped to attention when Alessandra and
Rosswell strolled into Mabel’s. It took little imagination to determine what
Ollie was thinking when he stared at Alessandra.

Rosswell introduced them, then arrowed for his
traditional back booth. Once they were seated and drinking coffee, Alessandra
lit the fuse and the explosion rocked him.

“Judge.” She took a deep breath and straightened,
emphasizing every curve on her body. “I know where Tina is.”

Rosswell listened to the buzzing fluorescent lights,
the background noise of the patrons chatting, and the occasional loud mufflers on
cars passing outside. All that to suppress a gasp. To gasp would be to give the
woman power over him that he didn’t want to relinquish.

Alessandra brushed the hair from her face, first with
her right forefinger, then with her left. The gesture left Rosswell mildly
stimulated. Tina had done the same thing on occasion.

He hoped to God that Alessandra was not lying. Maybe
she really could help him find Tina. Rosswell stirred the sludge in his cup. “I’m
listening.” What did she expect him to do? Fall at her feet and cry in
gratitude? Gratitude was the last thing he’d show her. Unless she produced
Tina.

Rosswell kept his eyes locked on hers—to avoid leering
down her top—when she bent forward and lowered her voice. The closer she got to
him, the more he could smell her lilac perfume. “Nathaniel Dahlbert kidnapped
her.” She nodded. “He’s got her. That’s a fact.”

Rosswell exhaled loudly. “I appreciate your help, but
I’ve known for weeks that Nathaniel kidnapped Tina.”

He silently called himself a liar. There was nothing
he knew for sure
.
After tossing another dash of salt into the coffee, he
slurped a large swallow. It bought him time to think of something bland to say
to her. “It’s the details I can’t find out. Without the details, I have no
plan. Without a plan, I have no Tina.”

Rosswell jumped at the unexpected approach of Mabel. “More
water?” She filled their glasses before either could answer. “Anything else?”

Why did waitresses sneak up when you started talking
about something interesting?

Rosswell and Alessandra both shook their heads. He’d caught
a whiff of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, meaning that Ollie was baking his
famous rolls. “Maybe later, I’ll have a roll or two.”

Mabel took her time walking away, glancing over her
shoulder a couple of times, scoping out Alessandra’s outfit. Rosswell knew
Mabel was as nosy as her old man. His meeting—he didn’t want to call it a
breakfast date—would be all over the courthouse by noon. And with each
retelling, Alessandra’s clothing would become even skimpier until someone swore
she’d been eating breakfast in her birthday suit.

“Alessandra, if you know exactly where Tina is, then I
want you, need you, to tell me now.”

She hesitated. “Brazil.” When she spoke, her lips
quivered.

She’s lying.

“You know this for a fact?”

“I heard Nathaniel talking about it.”

“Brazil is a big country. Where exactly is she?”

“Exactly?” She deflated. “I don’t know exactly where.
I’ll try to find out more details.” Had she really wanted to help him? And was
now disappointed that she couldn’t be of assistance? “There’s something you don’t
know about that woman who you think got thrown off the boat.”

“Think? I
know
she got tossed off the ferry. I saw it.”

“There are a couple of facts you don’t know.”

“Are we trading information here? What is it you want?
Tell me what you know about Tina’s whereabouts and I’ll tell you anything I
know. I’m sorry the woman drowned, but my focus is on Tina.”

Rosswell felt no duty to tell Alessandra how Mary
Donna Helperen from Piggott, Arkansas really died. Would Alessandra fall for
his lie that she’d drowned? Did she know that Mary Donna had died giving birth
after Rosswell had seen her tossed into the river?

“She didn’t drown.”

Alessandra hadn’t fallen for the ruse. Rosswell kept
his silence at her stunning announcement. She really did know something.

“Who didn’t drown? Tina? Or the woman I saw chucked
into the Mississippi River last Sunday?”

After listening to Turk Malone, Charlie Heckle, and
Jill Mabli, Rosswell graded the quality of informants around Ste. Gen between
shoddy as a rotten stump and worthless as a dead mule. Now, maybe Alessandra
had some valid information.

“You didn’t see anybody thrown into the river last
Sunday.”

“What?”

A deep voice spoke. “Judge Carew?” The guy standing
at the booth matched Rosswell’s short stature, but outweighed him by forty
pounds. The fellow’s thinning straight black hair emphasized his shiny
mustache, onyx, curled, and heavy. How Rosswell envied those handlebars.

Rosswell stood and shook hands with the man. “Alessandra,
this is business. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for the ride.”

Alessandra looked at the man and he at her. Rosswell
suspected that some kind of signal passed between them but couldn’t validate
his hunch. He scooped up the check and left a tip.

Outside, Rosswell wiped the sweat from his face. “Is
your car air conditioned?”

“I’m sorry I broke up your conversation with the
young lady. She’s beautiful.”

“You didn’t break anything up. That was Alessandra
Bolzoni, my landlady’s daughter. I’ll explain later. All I need to know now is
whether you have a cool car.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rosswell donned his sunglasses and glanced at his
watch. “Let’s take a turn around the courthouse square a couple of times. I’ve
got a few minutes before I need to be on the bench.” Rosswell was noted for
starting court on time, an unusual circumstance among most judges.

The man indicated his car, a state-issued
unmarked maroon sedan—Rosswell recognized it as a Crown Victoria—with black
wall tires plain enough to be conspicuous. There may as well have been
COP CAR
painted on the side in bright orange letters.

Jim Bill Evans, an investigator for the state fire
marshal’s office, had arrived.

Rosswell adjusted the
air conditioner
vent to blow directly into his face. “Nice to have the
cavalry show up.” Although the air was blessedly cool, it smelled stale, like
it had been run through the air conditioning system of a bureaucrat’s car.

“I’ve read the entire file on Tina you sent me. Three
times. Now explain it again.”

Rosswell recounted the adventure, including every
important detail. He concluded with, “It’s been a real kerfuffle.”

“Kerfuffle? I’m down here investigating the fire you
got caught in, not a kerfuffle.”

Jim Bill dipped a wad of chewing tobacco out of an
open pouch lodged on his car’s dash, then squirreled the weed in a ruddy cheek.
He moved the pouch to the center console, uncovering a small sign stuck to the
dash: NO TOBACCO PRODUCTS ALLOWED IN STATE VEHICLES!

“You got an engraved invitation from Sheriff Fribeau,
I assume?”

Rosswell wondered where Jim Bill was going to spit.
And when? His silent questions were answered when Jim Bill buzzed down the
window to hawk a wad onto the street. Expert shot! As far as Rosswell could
determine, not a drop touched the man or the car.

“Let’s say that I had to pull a few strings to get
assigned down here for a couple of days. The Sainte Gen fire chief’s a good
friend of mine and he asked me to look into this. Gustave is raising nine kinds
of holy hell with my boss, the governor, the General Assembly, and anyone else
he can get a hold of.”

“Gustave is an idiot.”

“The charging papers on Nathaniel Dahlbert will weigh
more than the national budget.”

“What charging papers? I’ve been trying to tell
everyone about him but no one wants to listen. Nobody’s going to do anything to
him.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Jim Bill steered the car left,
then left again, heading back toward the courthouse. The second turn aimed the
sunshine directly into the windshield, revealing a bunch of tiny bugs smeared
across the glass. “They listened. They didn’t tell you that they listened. In
fact, they were onto Nathaniel long before you were.”

“The guy’s nuts. He’s a psychopath. Or a sociopath.”

“No one’s examined him. All I know is that he has no
conscience and treats people like objects. If you’re of no more use to him, he’ll
toss you away as if you were a broken toaster.”

Rosswell said, “And these people who’ve been watching
him. I met two of them. Theodore and Philbert, two guys posing as auditors,
were really, what? Highway Patrol? FBI? CIA?”

“Theodore and Philbert? Never heard of them.”

“Right.” Rosswell knew he’d been told to keep his
mouth shut and stop trying to pry information from Jim Bill, but damn it, he
wanted to know. “When is Nathaniel going to be arrested?” Rosswell rubbed the
seat cushions of the car, cleaning his sweaty palms. Although a tad itchy, the
cushions were a sight better than Sofia’s seats, which felt as if they’d been
built of old orange crates covered with discarded chenille and stuffed with corncobs.

“That’s the problem. We don’t have enough evidence on
him. He’s not only into dope and money laundering. Something even worse.
Slavery.”

“Slavery?”
Dear
God, Jill had been right.

“The politically correct term is
human trafficking
,
although I prefer the
more accurate term. Slavery. You know how widespread baby selling is? It’s all
over the country. Thousands of people a day disappear in the United States. Babies,
teenagers, adults. All missing. Counting the whole world, the numbers are huge.
An enormous amount of them wind up in slavery.”

“I don’t care about the rest of the world. All I care
about is Tina.”

Jim Bill caressed his enviable ’stache. “If I knew
where Tina was, I’d be there right now, busting her out.”

“And I’d be right next to you.”

“We need to focus on Nathaniel. His cohorts pick up
pregnant girls, mostly runaways. He buys their babies, then sells them. He
keeps the mommies to sell as playthings.” Jim Bill remained silent long enough
to convince Rosswell that he was reconsidering something. After a bit, Jim Bill
said, “I’ll tell you one thing and then that’s it.”

“I understand.”

“You ever hear those
news stories on television about how law
enforcement agencies don’t like
to co-operate and share information?”

“All the time.”

“Those stories are planted by the law enforcement
agencies. It’s part of a…what you’d call maybe a plan…to keep the slave dealers
off balance. We’ve got our own plans for dealing with people who sell human
flesh.”

Rosswell considered the greatest part of discretion
was silence, thus he managed not to respond until thirty seconds later. “I need
to know more.”

“Not now, you don’t. Or ask me some questions I can
answer.”

“I want Tina. Take me to her. Right now.”

Rosswell watched Jim Bill’s shoulders slump, his mouth
turn down, and the chewing stop. “She’s not in Belize at a sex resort for rich
South Americans, I can tell you that.”

“The version I heard was a little different.”

“There are lots of versions of where she is. She’s not
at Nathaniel Dahlbert’s mansion on the hill.”

“Then where is she?”

“No one knows.”

“Jim Bill, I’m not trying to find out any classified
info. Tell me if I need to stay in Sainte Genevieve.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“This is Nathaniel’s center. If he wanted Tina, he’d
bring her here.”

Jim Bill said no more. That was the whole answer. The
fire marshal had told Rosswell what he wanted to hear. He’d like to know more
about the why, but he knew not to push him. He had to take this one on faith.

But Jim Bill had more. “The folks looking for Tina don’t
have unlimited money or unlimited time. Other things have come up. Big crimes
that need immediate attention. Nobody has the resources to keep up a full-time
search for
Tina. It’s a cold case.”

“Cold case?” Rosswell fought his anger. “Tina was
pregnant when she was kidnapped. I need to know if she’s dead or alive. I need
to know if my baby is dead or alive. This is not a cold case!”

“I don’t know the answers to your questions.”

“Let me ask you one more thing.”

“You can ask.” Jim Bill spit out an old wad and
stuffed in a fresh one. “And I may not answer.”

“Did Nathaniel try to kill Ollie and me in that
wildfire?”

“I’m still looking into that. I found what looks like
a portable meth lab in the woods. Red phosphorous, ether, lithium batteries,
iodine, coffee filters, funnels, on and on and on.”

“Where did you find it?”

“At the point of origin, which I found in five
minutes.”

“Point of origin of the fire?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know you spotted the exact place where the
fire started?”

“Fires spread in a V- or U-shape.” Jim Bill spread his
hands out to demonstrate. “Go to the narrowest part of the fire. That’s where
it started. Then you check on other stuff around there. Blackened parts of
trees, burned grass, ash piles, fallen and unburned tree limbs. All of it shows
which way the fire came from and where it went. To me, all those things look
like the road signs you see on an interstate highway. Plain. Clear. Obvious.”

“And a meth cooker started the fire.”

“That’s the way it’s shaping up. Our cooker left a lot
of incriminating evidence. Meth heads are sloppy.”

“Suspects?”

“Turk Malone. Skinny guy with a scrawny beard, goes
around stoned. His name keeps popping up. You know him?” Jim Bill peered into
the tobacco pouch. Rosswell enjoyed the sweet aroma, although the nastiness of
its use hadn’t charmed him.

“Do I ever.” Rosswell explained in minute detail
everything he knew about Turk. “However, something’s not right. Turk is thick
with Nathaniel, who’s thick with Gustave, but Gustave’s son-in-law, Frankie Joe
Acorn said he hates Turk. This isn’t making sense.”

Jim Bill folded the pouch closed. In the silence, its
crinkling sounded like aluminum foil wrapping a leftover. “You’ve got to help
me make sense of all this. I want to find Tina.”

Rosswell, concentrating on the air conditioner vent,
ordered himself to cool down before he answered. Jim Bill was the one and only
law enforcement agent in the country who’d listened to him—although Jim Bill
said others had listened. Maybe, maybe not. All Rosswell knew for sure was that
Jim Bill was here in person. Yet he talked in riddles. Or so it seemed to
Rosswell.

“I appreciate you trying to help me, but can you stop
talking in circles? Can you tell me something positive? Or something bad? Is
Tina dead? If she is, then let me know so I can bury her properly and start
grieving for her.”

“You’ve got to understand that Tina is an adult, a
competent adult. She can go anywhere she wants. There’s been no ransom note. No
one saw her being abducted.”

“You’ve met her. Do you think she’d leave me?”
Rosswell played Tina’s voicemail and read her letter aloud. “Does that sound
like someone who’s trying to get away from me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Thank your buddy Turk for giving
me a legitimate reason to show up. Speaking of which, I’ll be down here a few
days, so which motel do you recommend?”

Rosswell glanced at Jim Bill’s left hand. No ring. “Are
you married?”

Jim Bill laughed. “You have to be married to get a
motel room in Sainte Gen?”

“Answer the question.”

“Never. Why?”

“That beautiful woman you saw me with a few minutes
ago?”

“Alessandra?”

“Meet me at noon at Mabel’s. We’ll eat, then I’ll show
you a good place to stay.”