Web of Deceit (5 page)

“Well,
yes,
of course. OK, we’ll be following you to your granddaughter’s house then?” Beth
asks.
What’s up with this lady?

“Do you need any
more information before we go?” Mrs. Freedman politely asks, as if oblivious to
her spectacle.

“No, we have
enough information for now.
Elliot took time to review it as well.
Ready
to go?”

Mrs. Freedman
smiles and reaches from the chair to grab her purse
which is resting on
the floor to the right of her.
With her left hand, she grasps tightly to
the arm of the chair while lifting her weight up and out.
Now standing,
she proceeds to smooth any wrinkles that may have formed in her black skirt
during her long wait.
Next, she pulls on the bottom of her suit jacket
as if to make certain she is completely covered with no skin showing
whatsoever.
Finally, she touches the white collar of her blouse making
sure each button is securely fastened.
With that, she is ready to go.

“After you.” Beth
motions to the door.

Beth watches the
slender, petite woman walk gracefully towards the waiting room down the hall.
She’s so sweet with her round face and silver hair all up in a perfect little
bun. Yet when she uses that sarcasm, her ice-blue eyes pierce through to my
inner layers like a fierce-cold chill.
Beth bites the inside of her lip,
causing wrinkles to form between her eyebrows.
Hmm
…

“Thank you for the
kind hospitality, Symphony.” Mrs. Freedman leaves the building.

As Beth passes
Symphony, she notices her big brown eyes are uneasy.
“Is everything all
right?”

“Uh-huh.” Symphony
seems to be intrigued with the little old lady getting into the large gray
Cadillac.

“We should be back
after lunch.
If Frank calls, tell him I have my cell,” Beth says.

“’K.”

*   *   *

Elliot is standing
by the Corvette with the passenger door opened, and Beth gets in.
“Wow.”
He settles in behind the wheel.
Mrs. Freedman is already leaving the
small parking lot.
His Vette’s tires chirp as he punches the gas to
catch Mrs. Freedman before she pulls into the street.
“Didn’t you say
Mrs. Freedman was a sweet old lady?
If I was her daughter, I would come
up missing too.
Judge Freedman gives me the creeps.
We need to
keep our eyes open on this one.”

“I agree.
Something doesn’t feel right,” Beth says as her phone rings and she checks the
caller ID.
“It’s Frank.” She lifts it to her ear.

On the other end
Frank says, “Beth, you aren’t goin’ to believe this, but Kelly’s apartment is
cleaned out.
I got a pretty good look through the window from the fire
escape.
The downstairs tenant has never seen her before.
He said
the landlord doesn’t get home till five, and the neighbor is usually home by
one.
We’ll swing back after lunch to check it out.”

“I’m currently
with a client.
If I’m done by then, I’ll be there.”

“Call me when
you’re done.
I’ll let you know what’s goin’ on.
Oh, ‘n we’ve got
nothin’ on a Freedman kid.”

“Really?  You
better check again.” Beth presses the end key.

“Should we be
following up with someone to get a report started?” Frank says before realizing
she is gone.
Ugh, I hate it when she does that.

“Elliot, there is
no missing Freedman kid.”

“Isn’t that Mrs.
Freedman’s daughter’s kid?
We don’t know the daughter’s name, let alone
her father’s.
She’s playin’ her hand pretty tight.”

“Yeah, she’s not
sharing much.
Good thing I chose my large purse today.”

“We’re gonna need
a lot more information if we are gonna be any help.” Elliot says as they pass
the Boston Skyline reflecting the low midwinter sun.
Elliot exits onto
93 South following the Gray Cadillac to Dorchester.
Figures, she’s doing
exactly the speed limit.

Mrs. Freedman
pulls in front of the little gray house on East Cottage Way.
Elliot
parks the Vette behind her Cadillac.
He notices she is still
straightening her dress while walking up the sidewalk.

“Any last words
you want to say to your car before we go in and it disappears?” Beth laughs.

“No.” Elliot pulls
a felt pad and police siren from the rear compartment.
He sets the felt
pad on the glass top and then carefully rests the siren on it.

“You have got to
be kidding me.”

“Can’t be too
careful.
I don’t want it to scratch.”

“If someone wants
‘Precious,’ that siren is not going to scare them off.”

Holding her large
purse close, she hurries to catch up with Mrs. Freedman who is already at the
door waiting to go in.

“After you, Ms.
Doyle,” Mrs. Freedman says.

“Thank you.” Beth
saunters through the doorway.

Elliot hurries to
catch the door and follows Mrs. Freedman inside.

It is a small,
quaint house, too-well kept for the South Side.
No sign of chipped
paint, dented drywall, or broken windows.
The housekeeping is
immaculate.

Elliot is crouched
on the floor searching for anything that might have fallen under the couch.

“Find anything?”
Beth asks.

“No.
Not
even a dust bunny.”

“Really.” Beth
bites the inside of her lower left lip, causing her lips to pucker while
wrinkles form between her eyebrows.
Something is not right.
“Let me know
if you need me.
I’m going to go check out the kitchen.”

Mrs. Freedman
follows close behind and asks, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Not really.” Beth
opens the refrigerator door.
She scans it quickly.
An unopened
container of milk. A half gallon of milk about three quarters gone.
Next to
it was a jug of orange juice.
Holding it, she realizes
It’s mostly
full
.
Opening the drawers she finds apples, grapes, a bag of premix
salad.
Cheese, bologna, jelly. They have a few more days before they have to
go shopping, if not longer.
She closes the refrigerator door.

“This seems unnecessary.
Shouldn’t you be searching for evidence?” Mrs. Freedman asks.

“Yes—how long did
you say your daughter lived here?” Beth asks as she opens the freezer.
Wellstocked.

“
It’s hard
to keep track with her.
But I believe about a year this time.
She
uproots that poor girl all the time.
She only cares about herself
…
”
Mrs. Freedman continues to rail her daughter.

Uninterested, Beth
tunes out Mrs. Freedman.
It’s amazing what you can learn by snooping through
someone’s fridge. So far, the priority seems to be on eating nutritiously. The
house seems to be in above- average order. It’s not filthy--no bugs, no sign of
alcoholism or drugs. Should I share this information with Mrs. Freedman, or do
I even trust her?

Elliot enters the
kitchen and notices Beth biting her lip.
That can’t be good.
“Ready
to go upstairs?”

“Yeah, I’m through
here.
Are you coming, Mrs. Freedman?”

“Oh, yes.
The
truth will be shown now,” Mrs. Freedman says with a sneer.

“You know, Mrs.
Freedman, maybe your daughter isn’t as bad as you think she is.” Beth snaps at
her.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.
Freedman.
I am only suggesting that maybe the trouble she is in is not
her fault.”

“Ms. Doyle, you do
not know my daughter the way
…
”

“Beth,” Elliot
speaks in a calm yet direct voice as he places his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m
gonna check outside.
I’ll take Mrs. Freedman with me so she can show me
around.
Is that OK with you, Mrs. Freedman?”

“Yes, of course,
and we can meet Beth upstairs afterwards.”

Elliot and Mrs.
Freedman leave through the back door off the kitchen.
Beth goes through
the door connecting to the living room and up the stairs.
A small
bathroom is accessible to the left of the upper landing.
A hallway
connects two bedrooms to the right.

Beth opens the
door to the first.
This must be the girl’s room
. Beth observes the
porcelain doll lamp on the dresser.
She opens each dresser drawer.
Clothes
are nice enough.
Next, she opens the closet.
Everything’s well
organized. A jacket, sweaters—a winter coat, snowsuit. Hmm, on the floor,
sneakers, dress shoes, winter boots.

Beth takes out her
notebook and pen.
She jots down everything she’s discovered.
She
puts her hand on her chin.
Hmm
…
well-fed, well-clothed—not adding
up.
Bending down, Beth searches under the bed.
Nothing.
In
hopes of finding something, she lifts up the mattress.
Aha, a small purple
notebook.

On the cover is
sketched, in black ink, a picture of a woman with stick arms and legs wearing a
skirt and blouse.
A round face encompasses razor sharp teeth and squinty
eyes.
The hair is tight to the head in a bun.
Beth opens the
notebook and reads, “You will never find us!”
That’s disturbing.

The outside door
shuts as someone enters the kitchen.
Wanting to read more, she drops the
purple notebook into her purse and rolls the mattress back into position.
Until I know more about Mrs. Freedman I’m keeping this to myself.
She
sweeps the bedspread with her hand to remove the wrinkles.
Hurried, Beth
opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed with a squeak.
Hoping she
isn’t heard, her eyes dart over the contents.
Her attention narrows on a
small golden heart- shaped locket.
She grabs it and drops it into her
purse.
I’m pushing it, but I’ve got to know what’s in that other room. I
hope Elliot can stall.

Beth slips quickly
down the hall into the mother’s bedroom.
Two windows with lace curtains
face the street.
She starts her search with the dresser first.
The
voices seem louder, echoing throughout the stairwell.
Come on, Elliot.
She
feels around in each drawer.
Nothing … oh, what’s this.
Beth pulls a
five-by-seven
photo album from amongst the conservative undergarments.

*   *   *

Out of nowhere, a
loud commotion erupts from downstairs.
THUD!
The front door is thrown
open and slams against the wooden siding.
Elliot bursts through the door
pulling his .38 Special from his shoulder holster and continues at a dead run
toward his Vette parked by a three-quarter ton white work van.

Zit—zit—zit--clang!
A lug nut drops into a pan near the twenty-pound jack under the rear of the
car.

“Hey—what are you
doin’?! This ain’t NASCAR!” Elliot yells, waving his gun like a madman at four
guys in blue overalls surrounding his car.
“Get away from my car!”

Each man grabs a tire
and lunges for the open side door of the van already in motion, leaving their
equipment behind.
The van door slams shut as blue smoke bellows from the
screeching tires.

Elliot chases on
foot with his gun leveled at the van, barely considering the consequences of
firing his weapon.
His training takes over, causing his eyes to
automatically focus on the license plate before the van rounds the corner and
disappears onto Dorchester Avenue.
T-H-X-4-R-B-R—got it, I’ll be seein’ ya
soon.

*   *   *

Beth gazes through
the window, watching Elliot bolt across the front lawn.
Not what I had in
mind, but it’ll do.
Beth opens the closet.
She reaches for the boxes
stacked on a shelf above the neatly hung clothing.
Opening the boxes,
she finds one with letters and two half photos.
Beth takes a picture of
the top item inside each box with her phone’s camera.
She retrieves
three rubber bands out of a zippered pocket and then takes the contents from
each box, bands them and stows them in her purse.
After closing the
closet door, she checks the bed.
Nothing under the mattress.
Beth
smooths the wrinkles again and checks under the bed.
“Nothing,” Beth
says, sighing.
“Not even a cobweb.”
I better go check on Elliot.

“Did you get the
plate?” Beth asks approaching Elliot at the curb.

“Yeah, take it
down so we can run it.”

Pulling out her
pad, Beth asks, “What is it?”

“T-H-X-4-R-B-R.”

“Hey, do you
realize what this says when it is written down?
Thanks for rubber.” Beth
tries to ignore the humor for Elliot’s sake.

Elliot kicks the curb.

“Where’s Mrs.
Freedman?”

“She went back
inside to get you and lock up.” Elliot circles his car, inspecting for damage.
Left the siren … figures.
The felt pad was still in its place.
“She
offered to give us a ride back to the office,” Elliot says, emotionally
disconnected.

The mirth vanishes
from Beth’s face unnoticed as she screams inside.
I’m not riding anywhere
with that woman
!

“I called the
dealership, and they can’t make it out here until four.”

“Elliot, why don’t
you use the Triple A card?
I’m sure if I slipped them extra cash they
would take the car wherever you want,”

“Are you kidding?
No one touches this car but Howard.”

“Who’s Howard?”

“My car’s
mechanic.”

“Unbelievable.”

Mrs. Freedman
comes out of the house and approaches Elliot to comfort him.

Surprised it is
possible, Beth feels her frustration rise a level.

“
There is
nothing more we can do here,” Mrs. Freedman says.
“Your car will be
fine; let me take you two back to your office.”

“We hate to burden
you—I
will phone a cab.
It will be no problem,” Beth says in a
calm, sweet, yet genuine voice.