"And the approximate date of sentencing would have been about three years ago. The charge was extortion."
"Hmm . . ." said Sally, grinning at her. "You've outdone yourself for lack of information. I don't have much time before we close. I'll skip the stacks and see if I can pull something up on the computer."
She returned to her desk while George and Nancy waited. Static rumbled on a speaker overhead, and a woman's voice announced that the courthouse was closing. All visitors were to leave immediately by the west door. The woman went on to say that the courthouse would be open the next morning at eight o'clock and wished everyone a pleasant evening.
Nancy looked anxiously over at Sally, who was staring at her computer screen. She shook her head a couple of times and then got up and came to the counter.
"Nothing?" Nancy asked. The disappointment in her voice was obvious.
"Not much," Sally said. "We lost some records in a computer shutdown a few months ago—not permanently, but we just haven't had enough support staff to do all the inputting again. So it's getting done in dribs and drabs. The only thing I can pull up on Jack Farmer's case is the attorney of record."
"Who is it?" Nancy asked.
"Edwin Wright," Sally replied. "Sorry I couldn't get more for you."
Nancy grinned at her. "Don't apologize, Sally," she said. "That's a huge help. Bigger than you'll ever know." She turned to George. "Come on, let's go and see if Wright went back to his office."
Sidewalk traffic was heavy when they got back outside, with workers leaving their offices for the day. They hurried across the street and into the spacious foyer of the law building. But before they even reached the elevators, Nancy spotted Shelley Lawson coming out of a court reporting firm's office.
"Ms. Lawson!" she called, maneuvering around a man with a briefcase. "Ms. Lawson!"
The woman stopped, turned around, and smiled when she recognized that it was Nancy calling to her. "Ms. Drew," she said.
"Did Mr. Wright come back to the office?"
"No, he hasn't even called in," she said. "He must have gone straight home. He said this morning that his grandson was sick. I'll be in the office for a while, but I don't expect to hear from him now. I'll leave a message for him."
"Thanks," Nancy said.
Shelley Lawson hurried toward the elevators, and Nancy walked back to where George was waiting.
"Let's get the car," she said. "He didn't come back."
Traffic was even worse in the underground garage where they had parked than it was on the street. Vehicles were lined up bumper to bumper, feeding slowly out of the structure.
"It's really dumb," George said, "that anybody would build this kind of a complex and not make more vehicle exits. You could get asphyxiated down here at five o'clock from exhaust fumes!"
"You're right," Nancy said. "There's a coffee shop on the main level. Let's go up and have a soda until this traffic jam eases up."
"I guess Darcy is a pretty reliable informant," George said when they were seated. "She's a sharp little girl. She knew the colors of the truck, she knew the repairman's name, and she knew they were talking about kidnapping."
"Which sort of proves Kamla's belief that adults should take seriously the things that kids tell them."
George nodded. "Yeah. Do you wonder if Kamla looks at kids in her class, like Jeremy, for instance, as surrogate family?"
"Probably," Nancy agreed. "I need to call her tonight and see how she's doing."
George rattled the ice in her glass. "Well, I'm done. Shall we go and see if auto heaven has cleared out?"
"Yes, let's. And if you have time, I want to swing by Edwin Wright's place."
"My time is your time," George said as they rode the elevator down to the garage. "But don't expect the welcome mat to be out."
Nancy smiled. "I don't."
The underground garage was clearing, but there was still a line of cars waiting to exit and feed into the street traffic.
"We might as well get in line," Nancy said. She waved her thanks at a motorist who allowed her to back out and queue up ahead of him. Cars inched their way toward the street exit, curving around as they followed the yellow arrows.
"Now I see what the problem is," George said, looking behind them. "There are two other exits to this place, but because of street construction they're both closed."
They were about ten cars away from the opening to the street when Nancy yelled.
"George! Look up there!"
A green-and-yellow van, with Uncle Joe's TV Repair Shop painted on the side, was inching toward the exit. Driving the van was the man who had held the shop door for Nancy earlier.
"It's him all right," George said. "Jack Farmer, alias Arnie Beyers. And there's somebody with him!"
Chapter Eight
GEORGE JUMPED OUT of the cai and zigzagged between the slow-moving vehicles heading for the exit. Nancy watched as George collected a few horn blasts from impatient motorists in her dash to get to the green-and-yellow van. She almost made it, but by the time she got to the ticket booth, the van was pulling out into the flow of traffic on the street. George stared after it for a few moments before wending her way back, a defeated look on her face. The Mustang had moved only about five car lengths.
"I wanted to see who was on the passenger side," George explained to Nancy as she buckled herself in. There was disappointment in her voice. "For a crazy minute, I thought it might be Edwin Wright, but it was some man I'd never seen before."
"It's not a crazy thought," said Nancy. "Was it another repairman?"
"No uniform," George replied. "A suit." She sat silently for a moment. "Why do you suppose Amie Beyers was here at this building full of law offices?"
"Could be a coincidence. Maybe a lawyer had a broken TV. Or maybe he was just giving the other fellow a ride. Or maybe he had an appointment to meet his parole officer or another attorney here."
George gave Nancy an incredulous look. "Do you really think that?" she asked.
Nancy smiled. "No, I don't. I have a hunch he came to see Edwin Wright and found out—the same as we did—that Wright wasn't in his office."
George leaned back against the seat. "My thoughts exactly. Are you going to tell Sam that Wright was Amie's attorney?"
Nancy nodded. They were out of the garage now, and she was making her way across three lanes of traffic so she could merge into the main artery that would take them to Edwin Wright's estate. "Of course," she said, "but I want to talk to Wright first." Nancy aimed for an off-ramp, and the rush of freeway traffic gave way to quiet residential streets with expansive lawns and expensive houses. "Who knows? Maybe he'll be more honest about Jeremy today. I'm worried about Jeremy's safety, and he should be, too, entrusting him to a known criminal. But—"
"But?"
"But he may not be any more cordial than yesterday. We'll soon know," she said as she turned onto the road that led to the mansion.
"Speaking of Wright, look!" George was leaning forward, staring at a long dark car that was pulling out of Edwin Wright's driveway. "Missed him again! And he's in a hurry!"
"Hold on!" said Nancy. "We're going to tail him." Instead of turning into the Wright estate, Nancy pressed her foot down on the accelerator, and the little car sprinted straight down the road after its prey. When they came to the crest of a hill, Nancy slowed down. "I want to be close enough to see him, but I don't want him to see me," she explained.
They followed Edwin Wright for about twelve miles on back roads of the county and ended up in the parking lot of a small motel located on a little-used highway that had been pretty much replaced by the interstate.
"Keep an eye on him," Nancy told George. She had slipped her car into a parking space between a pickup truck and a minivan, where it wouldn't be easily seen. "Fm going to the office."
The woman behind the desk was scrawny, with poorly dyed red hair that was, Nancy presumed, supposed to make her look younger than her years. The eflfect was exactly the opposite, as the
flaming shoulder-length hair framed the sagging skin on her thin neck and accented the lines around her eyes and above her lips. She wore a flowered muumuu, and the heavy musky smell of her perfume hung in the air. When Nancy came in, the woman put down the paperback novel she was reading and took ojffher glasses, letting them dangle from a gold chain around her neck.
"You need a room, miss?" she asked.
"No," Nancy replied, smiling at her. She hoped her hunch was right. "I just need to know which room Mr. Beyers is in."
The woman put on her glasses and thumbed down the names in the register. "Ain't got nobody by that name. Must be staying somewhere else."
Nancy feigned concern. "Gosh," she said sweetly. "I was sure this was where he told me to come." She quickly looked around the small office for an identifying name. A large glass snifter of imprinted matchbooks was sitting on the counter. "This is the Sleepytime Motel, isn't it?"
"This is it," said the woman, "but we ain't got no Mr. Beyers."
"Hmm. Well, maybe the room is registered under his friend's name. Mr. Farmer. Jack Farmer." She looked up expectantly.
"Not is . . . was," the woman said. "Mr. Farmer checked out of unit twelve earlier this afternoon."
"Oh, drat," Nancy said. "Well, thanks for your help."
"Don't mention it," the woman said.
Back at the car, Nancy and George compared notes.
"Wright let himself into room twelve with a key," George announced. "He's still in there."
"I'm not surprised. That's the room Amie checked out of this afternoon. He must have given Wright a key earlier. I don't get it. If they planned to meet here, why did Amie check out?"
"Maybe we need to ask Mr. Wright," George said, getting out of the car.
"Exactly what I was thinking."
Nancy rapped on the door of room 12, and it was opened immediately. Edwin Wright stared at them in surprise, but said nothing. He stood in the doorway, gripping the doorknob with one hand and the door frame in the other.
"May we com.e in?" Nancy asked.
He moved aside and motioned them past him.
Room 12 was a typical inexpensive motel room, with a beige carpet, spotted and worn in the traffic areas, a bolted-down TV set on the laminated three-drawer dresser, two lamps, a bedside table, and a small round table with two chairs, above which hung a globe light.
On the round table there was an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, as though someone had left in a hurry, and on the floor, a stack of games. A small basketball hoop and net had been temporarily hung over the closet door, and, lying on the floor, half under the dresser, was a small blue foam basketball. Two empty soda cans were on the windowsill.
No one spoke as Nancy and George stood just inside the door and surveyed the room. Finally, Nancy turned to face Edwin Wright.
"Jeremy was kept here, wasn't he?" she said.
Wright avoided eye contact with her. "That's ridiculous," he said, but his voice wavered. "Why would you think that?" His tough criminal-attorney front was finally cracking.
"Because this room was rented to Jack Farmer, alias Arnie Beyers, a former client of yours, a convicted felon, a man you arranged to have kidnap Jeremy."
"What are you talking about?" Wright blustered. "Where do you get your information?"
"From an eyewitness," Nancy retorted. "A child who—in addition to Jeremy—heard you plotting the whole escapade."
"Who'd believe a child?"
"I would," Nancy said crisply. She walked over and looked at the unfinished puzzle. "You'd better tell me the whole story, Mr. Wright. Where is Jeremy?"
Wright's face turned chalk white, and he sank down on the side of the bed and put his face in his hands. "I don't know," he said. His voice was muffled, and Nancy and George could tell he was barely holding back his tears. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Farmer was to bring Jeremy here and keep him amused for a few days. I would go to the police and report him missing, but ask them to keep it quiet." He looked up at them. "Because of my position and because his mother"—hatred oozed from his voice—"his mother is a public figure, a star, who embraces every liberal cause that comes along and picks foreign immigrants for best friends!"
"I don't get it," George said to him, purposely ignoring the crack at Kamla. "What's the point? Why would you arrange to have your own grandson kidnapped?"
Wright lifted his head and stared at her. "Because I want to discredit that woman."
"You were going to frame Jodi Fontaine?" George asked, stunned.
"Yes, and that way my son would get full custody of Jeremy. You see. Farmer was going to tell Jeremy that he was one of Jodi's friends and that his mother wanted him to stay at the motel a few days, and then they'd go to California. Then when I 'rescued' him, Jeremy would innocently tell the police that his mother planned the whole thing."
"I don't believe it," said Nancy angrily. "You would endanger your own grandson to smear his mother. Does his father know about this?"
"No, no! My son had nothing to do with this!"
"If Farmer was supposed to keep Jeremy for a few days, then why are you here?" Nancy continued.
"Because I called to talk to Farmer, and they told me he had checked out. I got scared. He hadn't even sent me the ransom note yet."
"A fake ransom note that you would blame on Jodi Fontaine and friends, right?" George said furiously.
Wright hung his head and nodded. "I was going to notify the press that I'd paid the ransom and received a motel key, left anonymously at my home. Then I was going to come out here and pick up Jeremy. Farmer would be long gone, of course. He was well paid. And then I was going to file suit against . . . that woman ... for attempted kidnapping and child endangerment."
"Child endangerment!" Nancy exclaimed. "Where is Jeremy now? Out there somewhere with a convicted felon! Do you understand, Mr. Wright, that your grandson really has been kidnapped? And you're responsible! You need to talk to the police. Again. And this time, you will tell them the truth!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Wright muttered.
"Sorry doesn't cut it," Nancy told him, barely keeping the disgust out of her voice.
She picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Detective Fanelli, please." She waited impatiently, tapping her foot, until Sam came on the line. "Sam," she said. "I can't explain right now, but put out an APB for Jack Farmer, alias Arnie Beyers. He may be driving a green-and-yellow truck with Uncle Joe's TV Repair on the side." Her voice broke. "Sam, I think he's got Jeremy Wright with him. I'll be in soon."
She hung up quickly and stomped over to the table, sweeping the unfinished puzzle into its box. Then she stacked the rest of the games on top of it and handed the armload to Edwin Wright. "If we ever find Jeremy, he may want to play with these again."
George unhooked the basketball hoop from the door while Nancy bent down to get the ball from under the dresser. She reached in and froze, all her anger dissipating in a rush of fear. Slowly, she reached beyond the ball for a shiny object and pulled out a silver bracelet, the metal intricately woven into a braid. There was no doubt in her mind: The bracelet belonged to Kamla Chadi.
Chapter Nine
Edwin Wright stared at the object in Nancy's hand and then looked up. Their eyes met.
"I knew it," he said huskily. "I knew that foreigner was mixed up in this. She's as bad as the boy's mother. They're in this together. They've been thick as thieves ever since Jodi Fontaine went to India to make that film."
"We don't know that Kamla's mixed up in this," Nancy said. "It's more likely that someone is trying to implicate her. Maybe you and your friends were trying to frame her along with Jeremy's mother."
"Ridiculous!" Wright sputtered. "She even called me last night and threatened me!"
George glanced over at Nancy, remembering the threats Kamla had made when she took her home and Sam's mention of a second phone call.
"How did she threaten you, Mr. Wright?" Nancy asked.
"Told me I was a poor grandparent and that
she knew a way to get even! I taped the calls, if you don't believe me." He reached for the bangle, but Nancy slipped it into her pocket. "You'd better give that to the police, Ms. Drew," he warned, "or you could be charged with withholding evidence."
"I plan to give it to the police," Nancy said, "at the same time that you explain to them your little scheme to blackmail Jodi. We have two stops to m.ake. The first is at your office. I want to see the file on Amie—that is, Jack Farmer. The second stop will be the police station."
"What makes you think I'd give you the file on Farmer?" Wright demanded.
"Because I think you're concerned about Jeremy, and you need a private investigator on the case, along with the police."
"I know half a dozen investigators," Wright declared. "All top notch."
"I'm sure you do, but it's going to be embarrassing for you to explain to any of them what your role is in Jeremy's disappearance."
Wright hung his head and kept silent.
"Let's go," Nancy said. She handed George the keys to the Mustang. "I'm going to ride with Mr. Wright. Will you follow in my car? We'll make a quick stop downtown and then meet you at the police station."
The underground garage at the law office building was vastly different from how it had been a few hours earlier. Only four or five cars were parked in the slots, their owners upstairs working overtime, Nancy assumed.
They rode up to the fifth floor in silence. A custodian was vacuuming the thick carpeting in Wright's suite when they arrived. Wright motioned Nancy to have a seat and went into an inner office. From her vantage point on the couch, she could see him unlock and open a vertical file. He thumbed through the contents once, and then went through them again. He came back to the waiting area, a puzzled look on his face.
"I don't understand it," he said, over the roar of the vacuum cleaner. "Farmer's file is missing!" He turned to the custodian. "Hey! Hey, you!" The man turned oflf the machine.