Got the Look (23 page)

What's the matter with you?

She turned the card so that Teresa could see the message: GOT THE LOOK. 2 A. M. THE SUITE.

What's that supposed to mean? said Teresa.

Don't you see the initials, GM, handwritten in the corner? That's Gerard Montalvo.

Who's that?

Hel-lo. He only owns the club. You've been invited to his private suite.

Why would I want to meet him?

Why? Why does anybody do anything in a place like this? So you can say you did, genius.

Teresa arched an eyebrow. I don't think so. This may be the new hot spot, but call me old-fashioned. I don't show up in the club owner's private suite just because a business card lands in front of me.

Teresa, please. This has to be an amazing party. I'll bet there's even movie stars in there. People would probably kill for these invitations.

Fine, she said. You go. Take my card.

Oh, sure. So they can humiliate me and turn me away when I try to use a borrowed invitation? Just go, all right? Even if it's for five minutes. Then I promise, I'll pay for the cab home, and you can tell me all about it.

You really want me to do this?

Yes. Definitely. But only because you've got the look.

Yeah, right, she said with a light chuckle.

Please? said Cassandra. For your little sister?

Teresa checked her watch. Almost two o'clock anyway. Oh, all right, she said, grumbling. I'll go.

Cassandra's face lit up, and she gave her sister a quick hug. Locked in that brief embrace, peering over Teresa's shoulder, Cassandra caught sight of the bouncer across the crowded dance floor. His stonelike expression seemed to crack ever so slightly, just a hint of a smile. Cassandra didn't look away, not because she was drawn to him, but because she wanted to be sure that she was reading him correctly. She didn't have much to go on, but it was as if the little voice in her head were trying to tell her something.

Maybe this invitation wasn't exactly what she'd thought it was.

Chapter
34

At 8 A. M. Andie did one final review of the draft BOLO (be on the lookout) that the FBI planned to issue for Gerard Montalvo. She had a few leads to check out before Paul Martinez would give her the green light, but she was confident that the BOLO would issue before the end of the day.

Andie's meeting with Cassandra had not been the home run she'd hoped for. Part of the problem was that she couldn't tell Cassandra why the FBI had focused on Cassandra's sister in the first place. To do that, Andie would have been forced to reveal details about the kidnapper's MO - in particular, his signature pay what she's worth ransom demand - which the FBI had assiduously guarded from public disclosure. Those details would not be part of the BOLO, either. By playing the investigation that close to the vest, Andie realized in hindsight, she'd set the wrong tone for their discussion. Cassandra seemed suspicious, unwilling to agree with Andie on virtually anything. Most important, she wasn't buying Andie's theory that Mia Salazar was Teresa Bussori.

There were other ways to prove her point.

Around nine o'clock Andie caught up with Ernesto Salazar at one of his job sites. It was a $12.5 million British Colonial estate gracing the Intracoastal Waterway in Palm Beach, a far cry from Cassandra's tract house in Newnan, Georgia.

Salazar's latest megamansion was 99 percent completed, and Andie could still smell the fresh paint in the formal living room. The floors were Brazilian cherry, offset by white wainscoting and enough custom millwork to keep a skilled craftsman busy for life. Five sets of French doors offered unobstructed views of a stone fountain, lush gardens, and the waterway beyond. It was eleven thousand square feet of opulence, and Andie had to wonder what a developer's profit was on a palace like this. She wondered, too, if a five-hundred-thousand-dollar ransom - if he had indeed paid it - was anything more than chump change to Ernesto Salazar.

You here to make an offer, Ms. Henning? said Salazar as he entered the living room.

Andie turned to greet him. A thousand dollars a square foot is a little much on my government salary.

Eleven hundred, actually, unfurnished. But who's counting? His polite smile faded, replaced by his business face. How can I help you?

Andie could have eased into it, but she sometimes liked to catch people off guard by cutting to the chase. Does the name Teresa Bussori mean anything to you?

Mmm. Nope. Should it?

Teresa was the victim of sexual assault seven years ago. We think her attacker may be the Wrong Number Kidnapper.

I'm happy to hear you have a concrete lead. But what makes you think I would know this Teresa?

Because we have reason to believe that Teresa and Mia are the same person.

He let out a cross between a cough and a chuckle, a kind of nervous reaction that Andie often saw in people who didn't know what to say. Why do you think that? he asked.

Mr. Salazar, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask the questions. Some hard questions. She cut her eyes toward a carpenter in the hallway. Can we go someplace more private?

Sure. Follow me. He led her to the butler's pantry - which was bigger than Andie's kitchen - and closed the door. What do you want to know?

Do you remember the first conversation we had, when I asked you if your wife had any significant identifying features - scars, tattoos, birthmarks?

Yeah, I remember.

Why didn't you tell me about the scar on the inside of Mia's thigh?

He paused, then said, I thought I did tell you.

No, you didn't.

You were asking me a million questions. I had just found out she was sleeping with Swyteck, then I found out she was kidnapped. My head was spinning. I guess I forgot.

You forgot about it?

He looked suddenly irritated. My wife and I stopped having sex two years ago, okay? I don't remember the last time I saw the inside of her thighs.

Was your wife ever the victim of sexual assault?

Don't change the subject on me. If it wasn't I who told you, how did you find out about her scar?

She didn't want to answer, knowing that it would further annoy him. Swyteck told us.

Swyteck, he said, using a tone to be expected when referring to a man who knew the inside of his wife's thighs.

Andie said, He doesn't know how she got it, but I thought you might.

Why does it matter?

It's just a simple question, Mr. Salazar. Do you know how she got it?

No, she never told me.

Did she get it before or after you were married?

He paused, as if he didn't like the way the conversation was headed. Before.

Andie studied his face. She sensed that he wasn't telling her something, but she needed his cooperation and couldn't risk alienating him. I have a favor to ask you, she said. I need to collect a personal article that belongs to Mia. I'm looking for a DNA sample.

For what?

Unfortunately, we don't know of any record of Teresa Bussori's fingerprints. But we're checking to see if the lab that processed the evidence in her rape case retained any of her DNA. If they locate some, and if we get a match, we'll know for certain that Teresa is Mia. Then Teresa's attacker goes from suspect to prime suspect in the Wrong Number kidnappings.

He showed little reaction. He just stood there, his eyes narrowing. I'm not buying it.

Buying what?

Any of this Teresa and Mia thing. This is just a ruse.

A ruse for what?

This is all part of the thing Swyteck threw in my face the last time we talked.

I'm not following you.

Don't play dumb. He told me the FBI's theory: Ernesto the abusive husband is far better off with his cheating wife dead. What else did Swyteck tell you? That I couldn't get it up and have sex with her, so I sliced her leg open to get my rocks off?

No one is accusing you of anything.

Not officially. But I watch enough television to know that the husband is always a suspect. I'm not about to help you scrounge up DNA samples only to help you pin Mia's disappearance on me. He gave the door an angry shove and stormed out of the pantry.

Andie followed him through the living room. You're misunderstanding my point.

He stopped in the foyer. You know what? I already delivered my ransom. I paid what my wife is worth, and now I'm done with you people. Just call my lawyer.

All I'm asking for is something on the order of a toothbrush or hairbrush. This is very straightforward.

Good. Then you should have no trouble persuading a judge to give you a warrant.

You're putting up roadblocks where they don't belong. DNA analysis is time-consuming as it is. Don't you get it? Every minute could make a difference to Mia.

Fine. You want a quickie DNA sample? Why don't you go wipe her lipstick off Swyteck's dick?

It was the bitterest tone she'd heard Ernesto use since the start of the investigation, but Andie was taken more with his logic than his attitude. She thanked him and said good-bye, conveying nothing to indicate that his crude remark had just sparked a fabulous idea.

Chapter
35

After an early calender call for an upcoming trial, Jack checked his phone messages while searching for his car in the courthouse parking lot. He was retrieving the third voice mail when the little bleep on the line indicated an incoming phone call. Just yesterday morning, the kidnapper had congratulated him on buying another twenty-four hours of living hell for Mia. With that deadline in mind, Jack wasn't about to let any call go unanswered - especially when he didn't recognize the displayed telephone number. He hit the Flash button and said hello.

Mr. Swyteck? the woman said.

Yes. Who is this?

You don't know me, but the FBI thinks I might be Mia Salazar's sister. I'd like to talk to you.

An answer like that could easily have spawned a dozen follow-up questions. What do you mean thinks'? Are you Mia's sister?

That's what I want to talk to you about.

I didn't even know Mia had a sister.

Let me explain, please. I have some photographs I want to show you. They're of my older sister, Teresa. She went missing seven years ago, and now the FBI thinks Teresa is Mia. I was hoping you and I could sit down and maybe sort this out.

More questions came to mind, but Jack's better judgment took over. She wants to meet with you, Swyteck. Don't scare her away. Sure, love to get together with you. Just tell me when and where.

Actually, my flight from Atlanta just landed. I'm at the airport here in Miami.

I'm in my car now. I'll pick you up.

Great. I'll wait outside the Delta concourse. My name's Cassandra. Cassandra NuA+-ez.

Nice to meet you, Cassandra. I'm driving an old black Saab. How will I recognize you?

I'm wearing She paused, then said, People always used to say I resembled Teresa. So why don't you just look for a woman who could pass for Mia's younger sister?

It was a strange answer, almost a little creepy. All right. I'll see you in about fifteen minutes.

The trip actually took Jack closer to half an hour, though most of that time was spent inching from the airport entrance to the Delta concourse, the very last one at the domestic terminal. Jack steered around a courtesy van that was blocking traffic at curbside check-in, but he drove slowly enough to scan the crowded sidewalk for Cassandra. As it turned out, Jack didn't have to make a judgment as to whether the attractive young brunette at the curb bore any meaningful resemblance to Mia. She signaled to the black Saab and gave herself away before he could even get a good look at her face. Jack stopped the car and left the motor running. He was about to step out to greet her when she opened the passenger door herself and hopped into the bucket seat.

You must be Cassandra, he said.

Everyone calls me Cassie. They shook hands, and he told her to call him Jack as he lifted her small overnight bag into the backseat. Then he pulled back into the slow flow of airport traffic, headed toward the exit.

My office is right in Coral Gables, he said. It just takes a few minutes to get there.

Would you mind if we went somewhere else?

What's wrong with my office?

Nothing, I'm sure. But I should tell you that I met with the FBI for almost two hours last night. A woman named Henning and a man named Carmichael came to interview me.

I know Henning.

Anyway, if you're as central to the kidnapping as the FBI says you are, it seems possible that your office is being watched. I'd rather not make it so easy for someone to find out that I came to see you.

By someone' do you mean the kidnapper?

No. I mean the FBI.

The answer was surprising enough to force his gaze from the road to his passenger. Are you hiding something from the FBI?

Let's just say I don't completely trust them.

Interesting, he thought. This Cassie was starting to sound less like Mia's sister and more like one of his many guilty clients. There's a little restaurant over on LeJeune. You hungry?