Trumped Up Charges - By Joanna Wayne Page 0,19
my will.”
“I need you to do what the doctor tells you to do, but I’m glad you remembered changing the locks. That narrows the suspect list down ever further.”
“It doesn’t matter who took them,” Janice said. “When he shows up to collect the ransom, the police can arrest him. I saw them do that on television just the other night.”
“The police are considering all options,” Hadley assured her. “Detective Lane brought up the name of Quinton Larson.”
“Matilda’s brother?”
“Yes. Did you know he has a criminal record?”
“I know Matilda was always bailing him out of trouble, but I can’t see what that has to do with anything now.”
“It’s possible that he got hold of Matilda’s keys and had an extra set made.”
“Not any time lately.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Quinton Larson has been dead for at least five years.”
“You must have him confused with someone else.”
“Not hardly. I paid for his funeral.”
Hadley dropped to a kitchen chair as if that bombshell had knocked her legs out from under her.
Adam sat down beside her. “And you’re sure the funeral was for Quinton and not one of Matilda’s other brothers?” he questioned.
“Matilda didn’t have any other brothers. It was just her and Quinton. That’s why she felt responsible for him after her mother died. Why all of this interest in Quinton?”
“Detective Lane checked him out as a person of interest,” Hadley said. “According to him, Quinton Larson is not only alive but out of jail on probation.”
“The detective is confused. There may be a Quinton Larson out on probation, but it’s not Matilda’s brother,” Janice insisted. “I’ll call Matilda right now to prove it.”
“Good idea, Mom. Call me back after you’ve talked to her.”
Adam fell to his own thoughts, barely listening to the rest of the conversation. If Detective Lane did have the right man, Matilda’s brother was a perverted, violent son of a bitch who he wouldn’t trust with a rabid wolf much less two young, innocent girls.
And had Matilda Bastion been half as trustworthy as Hadley and her mother believed, she’d have never conned Janice into paying for a funeral for a man who was not only breathing but out beating up women.
Adam cracked a few eggs and beat them with a vengeance. If Detective Lane didn’t find Quinton by morning, he would. Or at least he’d give it his best shot—inside and outside the law.
No way he could sit back and do nothing while Hadley’s daughters were in the hands of a man devoid of morals. A madman playing games with Hadley’s mind with his taunting.
Ransom note or not, Adam didn’t trust him to keep the girls safe or alive.
* * *
MARY NELL FINGERED the wiry hair of the doll that Lila held clutched to her chest. “Look how cute they look all snuggled up in the bed together and sound asleep,” she whispered.
“Five million dollars worth of cute.”
She moved away from the bed. “When do we get the money? I can’t wait to be rich.”
“As soon as I get all the details for getting out of the country worked out.”
“Maybe we could go to Paris to live. I always wanted to see that Eiffel Tower.”
“Forget that. I’m not going to no friggin’ France. Besides we’d lose too much money when we exchanged our good old American dollars for euros.”
“I could go topless on one of them Riviera beaches.”
“You can go topless anywhere we end up, baby, anytime I say.”
“I wish you’d stay with me and the girls tonight.”
“You know I can’t do that. I gotta be present and accounted for when the cops come calling.”
“So what do I do if the cops show up here?”
“They won’t. But don’t get too attached to those red-headed brats. They get me a ticket to freedom or they get to fly around with the angels. They ain’t staying with me.”
“You mean with us?”
“Sure, baby. You know I wouldn’t leave you stranded.”
He pinched her nipples hard, ran his tongue down her throat and left. It seemed she was taking all the risks. But it was better this way. She’d take care of the girls—no matter what.
Five million dollars. That would take them anywhere they wanted to go. The good life was practically theirs.
* * *
WEARINESS NOT ONLY weighed heavy on Shelton Lane’s shoulders, it seemed to settle in his bones. Worse, a dull ache was attacking at the base of his skull.
It was always like this when a child went missing. The pressure never let up. He’d seen too many of the cases turn