Cold Target Part 57

Randolph knew he was being baited. He wanted to hit the d.a.m.ned reporter, or watch him being hit. He wanted to wipe away the smug, knowing smile. "No need. One of my staff will take me. I'll get back to you tomorrow about my wife."

He ushered DeWitt out the door. He knew that the reporter wasn't satisfied, that he would be back on the phone in the morning. Sanders DeWitt was renowned for his persistence.

He sat back in the chair. There was no radio show. Just as there was no wife.

He had to find a subst.i.tute. Fast.

He called Judge Matthews. He would know what to do. He always did.

Gage received a call from DeWitt.

"No more games," the reporter said. "I want to know what the h.e.l.l is going on."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

It was obvious DeWitt was not going to say anything more.

"Meet me in two hours at Calley's near Gibson," Gage said.

"Right," DeWitt said.

Gage hung up and looked at his two companions. "Want to meet with him?"

"I think the more he knows, the more he can help," Meredith said. "I no longer have anyone to protect." She looked at Dom. "But you do."

"They made their move," Dom said. "The only way I can fight back now is to bring the whole thing out into daylight and fight the code violations in court."

They all had decided that the sudden discovery of code violations was probably the result of Dom's appearance at Marguerite Rawson's funeral. A warning, perhaps. Or perhaps it had been intended to distract him.

Or destroy him.

In the past two hours, Dom had called in markers. His attorney was one of the city's top litigators and he was trying to find out more about the inspectors who tried to close down the shelter. He'd already gotten a ten-day suspension on the order to close.

The heavy-handed tactic could work to their advantage. They could use it to distract the senator and give him more than one position to defend. If he were tied to closing a shelter for kids, it could backlash in a big way.

DeWitt walked into Calley's at the appointed time, his gaze moving around the table with extreme interest if not surprise. He sat down. "What an intriguing group of bedfellows," he observed.

Gage wasn't interested in chatting. He had the most unpleasant feeling that something very bad might happen soon. "How was your conversation with the senator?"

"Uninformative except to discover he's an A-cla.s.s liar. He promised his shy, reporter-averse wife that he would not inflict people like me on her. He said he would try to arrange a phone call tomorrow."

"It won't be her," Gage said.

"I need some questions to ask her so I'll know whether it's her." Then he sat back and searched every face. "Who wants to tell me what this is all about?"

Gage looked at Meredith. "It started with Meredith. You know that she was attacked in a parking garage and nearly killed."

Then each told their part of the story as DeWitt recorded it. When they had finished, he sat back and stared at them.

"You think Ames is behind this."

"And possibly Judge Matthews."

DeWitt raised an eyebrow.

"It's all about something that happened thirty-three years ago," Gage said. "Ames would have been about five years old."

"But why would Matthews want to keep an adoption secret to the extent of having people killed?"

"I don't know," Gage said. "We've considered every possibility we can think of. Maybe pride. Maybe something to do with an inheritance. Nothing else makes sense."

DeWitt's eyes were bright with interest. In fact, they fairly gleamed with the primitive instinct of the hunter. "If it's an inheritance matter, there should be a will somewhere. I'll research it. Wills should be in probate court."

"For the moment, I'm worried about Holly Ames," Meredith said. "What if..."

She couldn't finish the sentence.

"If she were dead, they would have found some better explanation by now," DeWitt said. "An accident of some kind. The longer she's missing, the more difficult the explanation."

Gage nodded. "I would just like to know if she disappeared of her own free will or was taken .. . somewhere." He didn't add the "alive or dead" that was implied nonetheless. Meredith didn't need to hear her fears repeated. He'd seen how her face had paled when she'd tried to say it. "If she left on her own, you can bet Ames is looking for her, too."

"What do you know about her?" DeWitt said.

"d.a.m.ned little. Some stuff in campaign literature. A few mentions of her in news stories. Nothing more than her attending Tulane University and being a stay-at-home mom."

DeWitt looked lost in thought, then abruptly shook his head. "Often when a politician begins to run for office, he seeks publicity in a small community paper. Features showing him to be an ordinary Joe. I'll check the neighborhood papers in his senatorial district. Perhaps there was a feature."

"How long will it take?"

"Five minutes," he said. He grinned at their surprise. "I make a point of being friends with the local rags. It's surprising what they know."

He retrieved his cell phone from his belt, flipped it open and started dialing. On the second call, he found a writer who had interviewed Mrs. Ames.

Gage could hear only one side of the conversation--the clipped questions, then effusive thanks.

DeWitt looked pleased with himself when he finished.

"Carol Ellis, an a.s.sociate editor, did a feature two years go. She really liked Mrs. Ames. Said she was very retiring but had a sweet smile and tried her best to answer questions."

"Any clues as to where she might go?"

"No, but she said Holly Ames had an odd hobby. She was a metal sculptor. She even showed Carol some kind of garden critter--a dancing pig. She kept insisting it was just a 'silly' hobby, but Carol sensed it meant a lot to her when Carol praised one of her pieces." He paused--for effect, Gage knew. All reporters had a flare for the dramatic. It went with the job.

"And ..." Gage prompted.

"Carol suggested a gift shop might be interested in selling them. Mrs. Ames didn't seem interested but she took the shop's card."

"What of Ames?"

"He wasn't there."

"Did you get the name of the gift shop?"

"Yep. Mary's Crafts and Gifts. On Magazine Street."

"Let's go," Meredith said. "Perhaps they might know something about Holly."

DeWitt shook his head. "I'm going to probate court, see if I can't find the wills of Judge Matthews's father and mother. It's a long shot, but I'm with you. I can't figure out anything other than money that would cause Matthews to risk everything. Then I plan to go through all our files on him and the good senator. Maybe I can pick up some oddity."

Dom stood. "I have to go to the shelter and make sure the kids understand what's happening. Then I'm with you."

"Tonight," Gage said. "Let's meet at, say, nine."

DeWitt nodded. "Where?"

"At a shack I own not far from here. Can you drive down here again?"

"Give me the directions."

Gage wrote them down. "Honk your horn when you arrive. We might be a little cautious."

DeWitt raised one eyebrow, nodded, then left without saying anything else.

Gage and Meredith reached Mary's Crafts and Gifts just before closing time.

They both browsed, then approached the middle-aged woman at the desk. "Are you Mary?" Meredith asked.

"Yes," the woman said. "Mary Sartain. Can I help you?"

"I saw a metal sculpture that someone bought here. It was a dancing pig for a garden. I was hoping you might have another."

"That must be Holly's work," Mary said. "I don't have any in stock now. Couldn't keep them in. She made only a few a month."

Meredith didn't have to feign disappointment. "Do you know where else I can look?"

The woman looked as she was trying to make up her mind about something, then shrugged. "I haven't seen her recently. Perhaps two months or so. But I did see something on a website that looked familiar. Perhaps if you give me your name, I can order one for you."

"Would you mind sharing the website with me?" Meredith said. "Of course I would pay you for your trouble."

"It's not that. It's ..."

"What?" Meredith said.

"It's probably not her work at all. I got the impression her husband didn't like her selling her work. Someone else was in here...."

"Who?"

"I don't know. But he was looking for her, too."

"Do you know where she is?" Gage had entered the conversation. He started to pull out his wallet. Stopped.

Meredith knew he had been about to show his badge. But he didn't have one now. Because of her.

The woman shook her head. "No."

"Did you tell him about the website?"

"I didn't like the way he looked," she said. "I did not."

Meredith decided to tell the truth. It was the only way they were going to get information. "I'm her sister. I'm looking for her. I have reason to believe she might be in grave danger."

"But surely her husband ..."

In for a penny, in for a pound. She didn't have time to be nice. "He might be part of the problem."

The woman looked at both of them. Meredith took a card from her purse. "I'm Meredith Rawson. This is Detective Gage Gaynor with the police department. We really need your help."

"You do have her eyes," Mary said. Yet she still hesitated.

Meredith liked the fact she was trying to protect Holly. There must be something about her sister that people liked, that they wanted to protect.

Finally the woman seemed to make up her mind. She turned on the computer on her desk. "I regularly check out new craft sites," she said. "I'm always looking for something new, unique. Holly's art was that. Whimsical and fun. I can't be sure this is hers, but it has a certain style that I would almost swear is her work."

She turned the screen so Meredith could see it. Special Things. The address was in Bisbee, Arizona. She stared at a display of items called Garden Folk.

"Is there anything about the artist?" Meredith asked.

"No, I already checked. No information available."

She and Gage looked at each other.

"Thank you," she said, and preceded Gage out of the shop. She felt jumpy all of a sudden, restless and expectant. After all that had happened, she might finally have a solid lead. The look Gage had given her said he felt it, too.

"We can fly out later tonight," she said.

"Not from New Orleans," he countered.

"Surely you don't think..."

"I don't know what to think," Gage said. "If Judge Matthews is involved, he has tentacles in every parish in Louisiana and every part of government. He's a kingmaker in this state."

"Then where?"

"We'll drive to Birmingham and catch a flight from there."