CALL MAMA (5 page)

Lucy became more agitated with each passing day, forcing her minders to reinstate a mild sedation.

“I dislike doing this,” said the woman, with concern in her voice.

They trundled on, across ever changing landscapes, stopping every now and again for respite. Their preferred resting place being secluded motels where they were out of sight of public areas.

“This must end soon,” exclaimed Zelda to her partner. “The child has been through enough. This weather is brutal.”

The couple had decided since Lucy now knew the name of her female captor to use it freely. Zelda's partner introduced himself as Kristof but would not give any other details to the inquisitive girl.

“We have to follow instructions, too much is at stake, Zelda We must continue to travel this road until recalled by Boss.” He sighed in resignation. “It won't be long now. I have to call tomorrow for further instructions.”

The campervan was more than satisfactory and of the highest quality available. No expense had been spared to ensure their journey would be as comfortable as possible. The trio were becoming increasingly weary and the two captors concerned at the strain placed on their young charge. They longed for it to be over.

***

Harvey's squad assembled once more to tackle the increasingly worrying abduction of the fifteen-year-old girl.

“Come on, guys, we have to come up with something! The kid's mother is a multi-millionaire. Anyone looking for money would have demanded a ransom by now.”

“Seems to me, sir, it's an inside job. Probably an employee of Brenda Mears,” said a young officer, keen to be seen to be involved in the biggest mystery to hit Cook County in as many years.

“Where is George North? Who is he really?” asked another officer in frustration.

Using the whiteboard, the team recapped: a list of all those involved in any way were listed, names crossed out when they were eliminated and the team sure of their innocence. Question marks remained beside those who were still suspects. Number one suspect: George North. Number two suspect: Dale Greer.

***

Ken Farmer dined alone in a smart diner where he was a regular customer. He dined on wholesome food accompanied by one glass of good wine. As he ate, a sealed envelope was placed on his table.

“I was asked to give you this,” said a waiter.

Ken Farmer read the contents of the envelope, put it safely in his pocket, smiled, paid for his meal and left the premises. Returning home, he made a call to be told, “The consignment is on its way.”

***

Brenda Mears increased her time at the office, throwing herself into her latest project with a fearsomeness that frightened her staff. When reality set in, she wept copiously. Myra, always alert to the needs of her boss, put a comforting arm round her shoulders and silently wept for the increasingly futile attempt to find Lucy. At home, as sleep evaded her, Brenda's despair grew deeper, her pain increased. An ominous silence descended on the household.

Molly continued with her chores, pride no longer in her work. Her heart was heavy with anguish. Nora, bereft for Lucy, confused about George, became more lethargic with each passing day. It was a dismal existence.

***

“Sir,” called a young officer to his superior. “Can you come to the computer room? I think I've found something interesting!”

Harvey listened carefully as the young expert explained his findings.

“I re-checked those CCTV tapes of the intruders at Brenda Mears' home some months ago. Something regarding the tape rankled so I worked on it and came up with this… look here, sir… someone has tried to erase part of the tape, very amateur attempt, if I might say so.”

“Get on with it. What have you found?”

Harvey could be brusque and short tempered when under pressure. The case in hand caused him sleepless nights and he often took his bad temper out on anyone nearby. Those who knew him avoided the raging storm by remaining professional during the onslaughts, knowing that calm would prevail.

“There appears to be three people at the door. This is fuzzy, but you can just see the outline of the guy inside the door. He seems to be accepting an envelope or some kind of small package. If I'm not mistaken, it's George North.”

Harvey looked closely at the screen. “But he told us the intruders ran off when he put the outside light on. There's no outside light in this film. It's essential we find this guy. George North is up to his eyes in this mess. I'll put out an A.P.B. on him. Can you identify the other guys?”

“Too dull, sir, but what I can deduce is approximate height. I'll keep working at it, but I don't hold out for much improvement.”

“Good work, Simpson!”

“It's Timpson, sir,” said the young man as Harvey left to report these findings to his task team. Calm had returned. Officers were allocated witnesses to re-interview.

Abigail, Lucy's friend, was once more interviewed alongside her mother, Gina. Both were still distraught. Abigail, a tall child, had her mother's striking blue eyes and sharp facial features that drew people towards her magnificent smile, which unfortunately had been vacant for some time. Her blonde, curly hair swept in waves across red-rimmed eyes. She constantly pushed her tresses from her eyes, but the uncontrollable locks defied her attempt at any kind of order.

“I wish I had contacted Brenda when Lucy called off her sleepover,” sobbed Gina. “I was so busy supplying flowers for a wedding to even think of calling to find out if the sick kid had recovered.”

Abigail had tried to text, but Lucy's mobile number was registered as being no longer available.

“I thought it kind of strange, but didn't follow it up. I was so disappointed that Lucy had called a rain check. I helped Mom with the wedding flowers and thought no more about it, thinking she might contact me when she felt better.”

Ken Farmer was unable to be interviewed at the precinct. Officers called at his apartment, a neat two-bedded place, tastefully furnished to suit his bachelor lifestyle.

The décor and furniture were exquisite. No expense had been spared by the somewhat eccentric gent. He wore a tailor-made three-piece suit and cream shirt that was adorned by a red bow tie. His long grey hair had a hint of silver through it, giving a salt and pepper effect. For all the world he gave the impression of being an absentminded professor.

“Thank you for coming here, officers,” he said. “I am waiting for an important delivery. I collect and restore old musical instruments. I'm expecting a unique cello today, courtesy of a friend of Mario, owner of the local bistro that I frequent. Mario left a note for me to call to confirm delivery. Today's the day!”

“Quite a collection you have here, sir,” commented one officer casting an untrained eye over the pieces that almost filled the workroom. “We would like to ask you some questions about Lucy.”

Ken confirmed he had known her since she was eight or nine years of age.

“I was introduced to her by the school's music teacher who told me of her amazing talent. The child had a quarter-size cello, which she played like a professional. Her mother was keen for her to have regular lessons and I was honoured to be invited to enter the life of such a gifted young musician. Her school had a fine music section in the performing arts programme, where students spend two years on music theory and become involved in orchestras through all levels from beginning to symphony. Lucy has played at school concerts on many occasions, such a rare talent!”

Ken could shed no light on the girl's disappearance and was visibly overcome when talking about her. Satisfied that he had no involvement in the mystery, the officers began to leave when a truck arrived at the musician's home. An elated Ken took possession of the long awaited cargo and went into raptures as he opened his treasured package.

“This beauty,” he explained to the officers, “is a unique Pietro Floriani cello, made in Germany around 1875. Cellos were invented in Italy, you know. That is where most of them come from, but to get hold of this German model fills me with so much emotion. These cracks you see here,” he said, pointing them out to his guests, “cause buzzing. Each piece of wood vibrates differently. This is spruce; the spruce top is the sounding board. I hope to restore it to its former glory. I so wish to show this exquisite instrument to young Lucy.”

He sighed with a mixture of joy, elation and sadness.

“We will take our leave of you, Mr. Farmer. Thanks for your time. Enjoy your cello.”

Harvey and Carr spoke to Lucy's classmates, who were stunned and upset at her disappearance.

“She sat with me in music class,” commented one student. “When I couldn't get the piece right she helped me fix things. She had a cool way about her, could explain things so I could understand. We are all really worried about her. She's a really cool kid.”

“Yeah, wish we could help find her,” a spotty-faced, serious-looking kid added. “We sure miss her from class. Lucy's a brill musician.”

Evelyn Cosimini, a delicate, dainty creature with dark brown eyes and flyaway hair, was Lucy's music tutor. She told of her last sighting.

“We were packing up, ready for home. The kids were chatting about their plans for the weekend ahead. Lucy mentioned she was having a sleepover with her friend Abigail.” Wiping a tear from her eye, Evelyn continued. “‘I'm so excited,' she told me. ‘I love being with Abbie and her mom, Gina. Gina's a fun mom!' Gina arranged the flowers for my sister's wedding. We chatted about that and the bridal outfit, as females do, and off she went, quite happy and well. I was puzzled to hear she had called off her sleepover as she was sick; that was before I heard about her abduction. It's so worrying, Officer. Poor Ken, her home music tutor, is distraught, as are we all.”

Satisfied that no further light could be shed on Lucy's disappearance from teacher or students, the officers returned to base.

“That confirms it then, the kid was not sick, so it seems likely her abductor put the text through to Abigail and discarded the phone.”

Investigators had tracked down George North's sisters. Jessica Crawford was living in Wisconsin and had lost touch with her brother since childhood and knew nothing of his whereabouts. She had married in her early twenties, moved away, reared her children and seldom thought about him and the family's early existence. She kept in touch with her sister, Mary-Lou, who had moved to Ohio after marriage.

“I doubt if she would have anything to add, Officer. She was the youngest and has little memory of George or our parents.”

Jessica recalled a little of their early life. Her memories were scant, recalling it as being a happy, but poor home, until tragedy struck with the loss of her parents.

“Our mother couldn't cope after Dad's death. I remember her just sitting in the old rocking chair, weeping as she hugged us, telling us to be brave. George seemed to be the one who cooked and cleaned and looked after us.”

She wiped a tear from her eye, memories of those early days long suppressed, but now foremost in her troubled mind.

“George,” she recalled, “was a kind brother. When it was decided we should move to Wisconsin to live with an aunt, he explained, as best he could, what was to happen to us, despite his own loss. Mary-Lou, I remember, was excited at the prospect of a long road trip, sleeping in George's arms for most of the journey. We were met in Wisconsin by an aunt and uncle, our mother's aunt and uncle really, farming folk who made us welcome and gave us a good life with them. We thrived on good, wholesome food and love. Our relatives were elderly, but often said our coming to live with them gave a new lease of life and put a spring in their step. George stayed for a few days then returned to Chicago to take up a college course.

“We exchanged cards and letters for some time, but these soon became less frequent and eventually dried up as we all got on with our lives. I hope George will soon be found. He ain't in no trouble, is he?”

Jessica Crawford had obviously not heard about the missing child of a million dollar business woman from Chicago. She was parochial in her interest of what went on in the world and to her, Chicago would seem a million miles away. Not wishing to upset the innocent woman, officers assured her they were just making routine enquiries about an ongoing case. They wished to spare her unnecessary distress.

“If her brother is involved in something sinister, she will hear about it through time. At the moment, ignorance is bliss,” commented an officer as they left to report to Harvey.

Ensuring no stone was left unturned, officers visited Mary-Lou Cooke. She could not add anything to the investigation, knew nothing of her brother's life, barely remembered him and only recalled hearing of him from her sister. She was tiny in comparison to her sister. That they were kin was evident from the almost identical facial expressions, colouring and demeanour.

“I kind of remember a long bus ride, but nothing else of my early life other than being with my relatives on the farm in Wisconsin. Jessica would tell me stories of our life in Chicago with our parents. Sadly, all I have to remember them by is a faded wedding picture. I called my first son George, for my brother.”

Mary-Lou produced a faded sepia picture showing a sombre couple posing outside a church building. Both sisters resembled their petite mother. From the most recent picture of George North given to them by Nora, he bore a striking likeness to his father.

“Should he happen to turn up here, ma'am, please get in touch.”

Enquiries from George North's sisters did not add anything more in the investigation and mystery of Lucy Mears.

“Has anyone asked about former employees of Mears Empire?” asked Carr.

“Get to it, find out names and locations of all former employees going back as far as necessary, and find out if anyone had a grudge against the company or the owner.”

Myra Hill unearthed lists of former employees, from the time before Brenda took over from her father. Teams of officers worked on finding those people: some had died, some moved from the area, no trace being found for several of them, but investigations continued. Brenda was asked if anyone stood out in her mind of former employees who perhaps held a grudge. Molly, who was in the room, remembered something.

“What about that creepy English guy with the funny name? I never liked him, came around the house too often for my liking. Ellis something…”

“I know who you mean.” Brenda scowled.

“Barclay Ellis-Jones. He was employed by my late father. He was very attentive to me when Father passed away.”

“Too blooming' attentive, if you ask me,” muttered Molly. “Never away from the house, any old excuse.”

“What happened to him then?” asked Harvey.

“I had to dismiss him. He had been siphoning off money for several years, only small amounts at a time, which went unnoticed until one of the auditors discovered something wrong and had him investigated. He had been helping himself for years. Ended up in prison.”

“He's worth investigating,” commented Harvey as he turned to leave.

“But that was so long ago, Detective. Lucy was only a tot. He hardly knew her.”

“We have to check every small detail. He probably has nothing to do with this, but we have to investigate. If we can eliminate him we can concentrate on others,” concluded Harvey.

Several days elapsed before news came through of Barclay Ellis-Jones. He had indeed been imprisoned for embezzlement, not just from Mears but also from a few other firms he had wheedled his way into.

“Served his time in prison, then went off the radar,” commented the investigating officer who had done the research. “I've put in a call to a guy I know who works for CID in London. He will ask around and get back to me if he can find some background on the dude.”

“Good work, man,” complimented Harvey.

Barclay Ellis-Jones was born in Poplar, East London, and changed his moniker from plain Barry Jones to a more affluent-sounding one, double-barrelled for effect, worked on ridding himself of his accent and set off to seek fame and fortune in America. Arriving there, he applied himself by any means available to the task of ingratiating himself into a life more suitable to his dream. He charmed his way into several companies and moved from one job to another, astutely storing up information from each.

He became employed in a thriving publication firm in Chicago whose fortunes he had followed for some time. He began working for Mears Empire and soon rose through the ranks from one department to another; his sharp mind and quick learning ability saw him progress rapidly and come to the attention of the then owner, Simon Mears, Brenda's father.

Simon Mears had taken over the business from his late father.

At that time it was only a small publishing and distribution set-up, catering for local needs in the community. Simon had a vision to expand into education publication. Cook County Education Department gave him his first major breakthrough: a contract to supply textbooks and printed material for colleges and schools throughout the county.

Chicago ranks only second to New York in the publication industry. Simon Mears determined to be one of the best, and employed people whom he could trust in the building of his dream and insisted on top quality products and service. Mears' fame became synonymous with professional standards, fair costing and excellent customer service. His business expanded, necessitating a move to better premises in a more prominent part of the city.

Mears' reputation spread throughout the area, giving employment to several hundred people. Conditions for staff were excellent; the owner ensured only the best was available for his ever increasing army of workers. Daily, he would walk from department to department to get to know his workforce and enquired from some about their family. He had a genuine interest in his people and would often arrange for small gifts to be sent to anyone who was sick.

He was on the lookout for a top quality financier, interviewed many, discarded most and finally employed a young, well-spoken, enthusiastic Englishman, Barclay Ellis-Jones, whose credentials, on paper at least, were impressive.

Thanks in some way to Barclay Ellis-Jones' input, the firm expanded rapidly. Unaware of a devious side to the man's character and trusting the guy implicitly, Simon left much of the financial responsibility to Mr. Ellis-Jones. He was unaware of any financial irregularities in his firm. Widowed at a very early age, Simon sought solace in his empire building, his work being second only to caring for his daughter who enjoyed listening to her father's account of his day's work, his employees and his plans. Illness struck him down in his prime.

After her father's death, Brenda Mears took control of the firm. She was familiar with each department and the general running of the business, having been a junior partner since obtaining her university degrees. She understood the intricate nature of Mears Empire, its ethos, its community involvement and its financial matters. Initially she accepted at face value Barclay Ellis-Jones' support after Simon's demise. Over the ensuing months, he often appeared uninvited at the house with many enquiries, several of which could have waited until the next day. He became irritating. He wrongly sensed Brenda's demeanour as loneliness and attempted to ingratiate himself into her affections.

“You should get out more,” he suggested. “Why don't you and I go out to dinner, take in a movie and relax a bit?”

“No thanks, Barclay, I've too much to do, let's take a rain check.”

The rain check never materialized, but the incorrigible guy continued with several such requests.

“You and me, Brenda, we could be quite a team.”

He leant forward and whispered in her ear, much to the disgust of his employer.

“Get off me! Let me be! I'm not going out with you; you're not my type…”

Failing miserably, he became embittered when she dismissed his advances and planned to revenge this rejection of him. “Someday, lady, you will be sorry you ever crossed me,” he murmured to himself.