Call Of The Witch (2 page)

“
Lionel, please,” he said.
“Slow down. Start from the beginning. She what? When? Are you
sure?” He checked his watch. “All right. Listen. I’ll be right
over. Yes. I’m leaving now. Just sit tight. And don’t worry. We’ll
find her. Okay? Bye.”

He hung up and gave me a look as desperate as
any I had ever seen on his face before. I rocked forward in my
chair. “What is it?”

“
That was Lionel
Brewbaker, an old friend of mine.”

“
Yes?”

“
He says his daughter is
missing.”

“
His daughter? How old is
she? You know teenagers today like to––”

“
She’s nine,
Tony.”

The way he said it made my blood run
cold.

“
Nine?”

“
Yeah.” He gave a nod over
his shoulder. “I have to go. You want to come?”

“
Sure. You want me to
drive?”

He started down the hall. “If you think you
can keep up with me.”

On the drive to the Brewbaker home, Carlos
filled me in on what he knew so far, starting with his association
with Lionel Brewbaker and his father, Lionel James Brewbaker
Sr.

“
You’ve heard of the
Brewbaker & Massy Department Store chain, haven’t
you?”

“
Sure,” I told him. “They
have stores in New Castle, Essex, Lexington and…what?”

“
Brockton, Everett,
Saugus, Revere and Malden. Plus a boutique in downtown Boston. All
of them started from a little corner store location here in New
Castle. When I was a kid straight over from Cuba, no one wanted to
give me a job. But old man Brewbaker was just about to open a
second store with Massy, and he needed good help.”

“
So he had to settle for
you, eh?”

“
Funny.” He turned off
Main and onto Madison. “Anyway, yeah, he gave me a job. I worked
for him for a few years. Part-time during school season. Full-time
in the summers. I got to know his son, Lionel Junior very well. He
was my age. We became good friends. Kept in close touch through the
years. Not so much lately. Not since old man Brewbaker died and
left Junior with his share of the company.”

“
Well,” I said, “running a
chain of department stores can keep a man mighty busy.”

“
Yeah, that and marrying a
woman half his age.”

I laughed at that, imagining Carlos with a
woman half his age. “Really?”

“
Lionel met her at a
dinner theater a while back, `bout ten years. She was an actress in
the show. They dated a little, fell in love. When the troupe pulled
out of town, she stayed and they got married.”

“
I guess that explains the
nine-year-old daughter.”

His face grew serious then. “Yeah, I guess.”
He made a left turn off Madison onto a driveway a hundred yards
long, leading to a stately, brick two-story with colonial-type
columns out front and enough chimneys to keep Santa busy for a
fortnight.

Lionel Brewbaker greeted us at the door, gave
Carlos a hug, and then let us in. He escorted us to the living room
where Mrs. Brewbaker sat waiting, a cigarette in one hand, a glass
of bourbon in the other. She stood upon introductions. Lionel
Brewbaker told us her name was Mandy, though she insisted we call
her Amanda. I knew from what Carlos told me that Amanda wasn’t that
old. Half Lionel Brewbaker’s age, Carlos said. I supposed that put
her at around thirty-one or two. Thirty-three, tops. Sadly, she
looked much older. She was skinny beyond healthy, carried serious
bags under her eyes and had the complexion of an albino in winter.
I’d like to tell you that I thought her current state of anguish
had contributed considerably to her condition, or given the
appearance of having aged her. But I didn’t think that was the
case. The woman had been working on that look for years.

Carlos and I nodded to her request, repeating
her name, Amanda, with earnest smiles. She smiled back and
reclaimed her seat.

Carlos said, “Lionel, Detective Marcella is a
good cop. He knows his stuff. He can help us.”

“
Then bless you for
coming,” said Brewbaker. He shook my hand, cupping it with both of
his. Our eyes met and locked. His were red and glazed with worry.
He had not been crying, but it looked like he might. More than I
could say for Amanda Brewbaker.

“
We’ll do everything we
can to help you,” I said. “I promise.”

He repeated his blessing for me.

“
Lionel,” said Carlos,
“tell me what’s happening.”

I saw the two Brewbakers exchange looks.
Amanda Brewbaker turned her head down and away, finding a spot on
the floor and latching on to it. Her husband came back to Carlos.
“I don’t know what’s happening. I honestly don’t. I came home this
afternoon, thinking everything was fine, until Mandy arrived to
pick up our daughter, and that’s when we realized she was gone.
Carlos, please. I don’t know what to do. We’re beside ourselves.
This isn’t like Kelly.”

“
You say it’s not like
her. So you don’t think she ran away?”

“
No. Definitely
not.”

“
Does she have her own
phone?”

“
Yes, and we’ve tried
calling it, but keep getting this message saying the person we are
trying to reach is unavailable.”

“
Okay, so what time did
you say you got home?”

“
Around three o’clock. I
had an appointment with my lawyers at one this afternoon. The
appointment ran late. Ended around two-thirty. I came straight home
after that.”

Carlos jotted the info down on his notepad.
“When’s the last time you saw Kelly?”

“
This morning before I
left for work. Eight o’clock I think. Maybe eight
fifteen.”

“
And you, Mrs. Brewbaker.
When did you last see her?”

She looked up at him, offering a vague shrug.
“Last weekend when I brought her home.”

“
Ma'am?”

“
We have shared custody,”
Lionel said. Carlos seemed surprised. “We’re separated and going
through a divorce.”

“
I see.”

“
Mandy no longer lives
here. I have primary custody of Kelly for now. She stays with me
during the week. Mandy usually picks her up Saturday mornings,
keeps her for the weekend and drops her off again Sunday
night.”

“
So, Mrs. Brewbaker, you
haven’t seen your daughter since last weekend then?”

“
That’s what I said,
Detective.”

“
What time did you arrive
here this morning?”

“
I didn’t. I got here
around three-forty-five this afternoon.”

“
This afternoon?” Carlos
looked at his watch. “It’s nearly five now. Exactly how long has
Kelly been missing?”

Again, the two Brewbakers exchanged glances.
Both seemed to be accusing the other with their glares. Lionel
said, “That’s just it. We don’t know. It could have been as early
as this morning.”

I piped in. “Do you mean to tell us your
daughter has been missing since eight this morning and you’re just
now realizing it?”

“
I didn’t say that. I said
I didn’t know. I left the house around eight. I was in a hurry,
late for a meeting. I expected Mandy here at any minute. Besides,
Kelly wasn’t alone when I left her. Karina was with
her.”

“
Karina?”

“
Karina Martinez, our
maid…my maid.”

“
Where’s Ms. Martinez
now?”

“
Home I suppose. She’s off
weekends.”

“
But she was here this
morning.”

“
She came by to pick up
her check. I asked her if she would stay with Kelly until Mandy
arrived, and she said she would.”

“
But she obviously
didn’t.”

“
I don’t know how long she
stayed.” Brewbaker glared at his wife disapprovingly. “If I know my
Kelly, though, she probably told Karina to go on home because her
mother would be along shortly.”

Amanda Brewbaker charged back, “So, you’re
blaming me for this, Lionel. Is that it?”

“
Mandy, if you were on
time this morning when you were supposed to be, instead of partying
with––”

“
Please,” I said. I shook
my finger at both. “You can go at each other’s throats later. In
the meantime, we all need to concentrate on the facts so we can
find your daughter. The first forty-eight hours are
crucial.”

“
What does that mean?
Carlos, what does he mean by that? Why is forty-eight hours
crucial?”

Carlos set his hand on Brewbaker’s shoulder.
“Lionel, you have to work with us. Now, listen to what Detective
Marcella says.”

Brewbaker returned his attention to me. “All
right, listen,” I said. “Have you called Ms. Martinez and asked her
about Kelly?”

“
I tried, of
course.”

“
And?”

“
I couldn’t reach her. She
doesn’t have a cell, just a home phone. I called her house five
times already. Got no answer and no machine.”

“
Do you think Kelly could
be with her? Maybe they’re just out.”

“
No. They would have left
us a note, I’m sure, or at the very least, Kelly would have called
me. She’s a responsible kid.”

“
Then you believe Ms.
Martinez left Kelly home alone sometime this morning.”

“
I do.”

“
That’s
irresponsible.”

“
Detective, Kelly’s an
exceptionally bright child. She doesn’t require much
supervision.”

“
Mrs. Brewbaker,” said
Carlos. “Why were you so late getting here today?”

She cast a dismissive shrug as she drew on
her cigarette. “I overslept.”

He looked at his watch. “By eight hours?”

She turned her head, and blew a smoke trail
into the ceiling fan and watched it swirl until it dissipated
completely. “Ours is not a rigorous schedule, Detective, despite
what Mr. Brewbaker tells you. He doesn’t always work on Saturdays.
I show up when I show up. I had no way of knowing he wouldn’t be
home this morning.”

“
Forget it,” I said. “We
can point fingers later. Right now we have to move. We may have
lost very valuable time already. Mr. Brewbaker, where have you
looked for Kelly so far?”

“
Everywhere. The entire
house; top-to-bottom, basement, attic. You name it.”

“
Did you check the
neighborhood?”

“
Yes, yes, of course. We
checked the back yard, the garage, her playhouse…the entire
neighborhood.”

“
Does she have any
friends? Maybe she’s at someone’s house waiting for you to come
home.”

Brewbaker shook his head. “Kelly has no
friends. She’s a bit shy, really.”

“
Is she?”

“
Yes. Oh, but she’s by no
means an introvert. She likes to do things. She enjoys horseback
riding. She takes dance lessons, enjoys going to the opera with me.
I guess she gets along better with adults than she does with
children her own age.”

“
All right then.” I looked
at Carlos. The concern on my face had him reaching for his phone
even before I said anything.

“
DACAO?” he
said.

I nodded. “I think we better. We could be
dealing with a predatory abduction.”

“
What’s DACAO?” Brewbaker
asked.

“
The District Attorney’s
Child Abduction Office.”

“
We don’t know if she’s
been abducted.”

“
You told us you didn’t
think she ran away.”

“
No, but I…. Wait. That’s
my phone.” Lionel Brewbaker removed his phone from his pocket and
looked at the screen. “It’s her! It’s Kelly!”

“
Put her on speaker,” I
said.

He answered. “Kelly! Where are you, Peanut?
Your mom and dad have been so worr––”

“
Shut up!” said the
caller. It sounded like a man’s voice, only it came across garbled,
as though scrambled through an electronic voice modulation device.
“I have your daughter. If you want to see her alive again, you’ll
listen up.”

My blood ran cold. The four of us huddled
around Lionel Brewbaker. His hands were trembling. I reached for
the phone and took it from him.

“
I’m listening,” said
Brewbaker.

“
Be prepared to put
together a ransom. I will call with further instructions within the
next six hours.”

“
A ransom? But the banks
have closed for the weekend. How will I––”

“
That’s not my
problem.”

“
All right. H…how much do
you want?”

“
Instructions will come
later. In the meantime, do not try to contact the police or your
daughter dies.”

“
But I need to
know––”

The phone went dead.

I immediately hit the redial button. A
recorded message advised me that the person I was trying to reach
was unavailable or out of the service area.

“
He pulled the battery,”
said Carlos.

Brewbaker asked, “Why would he do that?”

I handed the phone back to him. “So we can’t
trace his call.”

“
Oh, God. They have my
baby.”

“
Mr. Brewbaker, we have to
call the FBI.”

“
No! Absolutely not. You
heard him. If I call the FBI he’ll kill her. If I call anyone,
he’ll kill her.”