Chapter Ten

 

Josh Meadows looks the note over for the twelfth time today. They're supposed to call tonight with more information. Usually they try to pull a bunch of shit about 'don't go to the cops.'

Well, it's too late for that. They must have realized it, too, because there's nothing about it. Josh figures that means he's welcome to his copy, and he's welcome to be there when the call comes in some time around ten thirty.

He was going to be there anyways, but now the caller is going to be assuming that he'll be there. No surprises on either side, hopefully.

Kidnapping is pretty serious. The good news is, it's pretty rare. Most of them are simple, too. Mom and dad were fighting. Dad took the kids, and mom's not too happy about it. She knows he's got 'em. You just have to go find them and get it.

There's a mom and a dad here. Mom and dad aren't too happy with each other, and now mom's kid is gone.

But there are complications here, things that make the usual suspects seem strange. Why would he take a kid he's never expressed any interest in at all? It defies common sense.

On the other hand, everything about the case does. The one piece of good news was being able to talk to the mom and dad. Lana and Joe Witt were nice folks. They had been out for the day because it was a little vacation. They went across the river and hit a casino.

They made a little money—they joked that they weren't going to share any of it with Josh, no matter how cute he was. He'd smiled at the joke, made a note of where they went, what they played, and set that information aside.

He could have one of his guys go look into it. There would be video. They could still have done it, but there was no reason to suspect that they had wondered off with some kid, hidden him, and then proceeded to gamble for a long day.

Professionally, they owned the apartment complex, so if Josh had any questions, they're usually there, and if they're not there, then the manager of the place can get them on the phone for him. They'd really appreciate updates.

So that, at least so far, appeared to be a dead end, which was a god damned shame, because it would have been much more convenient if they'd confessed to the whole thing.

Every interview, you have that little hope in the back of your mind, like maybe you strike gold out of nowhere. It usually doesn't happen, but it's always nice to hope.

Which just left his little date at the Queen household. A little over an hour early meant it was time to get going. You never know with these types. They try to catch you off-guard sometimes. Other times, it's all by the book.

Either way can go right, for them or for you. Both ways can go real wrong. You just hope that the worst doesn't happen. That's all you can really do.

Josh takes a breath, does up the button on his suit. Anna should be here. It's her child. She does all the work taking care of it. Her parents lived right across the hall, and they were home all the time.

But they assured him, on more than one occasion, that she was an excellent mother. There was a lot going on in her life, a lot of reasons to be disappointed. A girl that age might have left the kid with her parents more.

She didn't. They came over about every day, of course. Grandparents are like that. Happy, smiling, healthy-looking girl. No problems with the baby. And all thanks to her mom.

None of it fit with the theory that Detective Meadows didn't want to give name to. It couldn't be crossed off, not permanently. You don't ignore evidence that contradicts your theory, but it takes a big weight off his chest to put that idea towards the back.

Someone took the kid. That much is clear. Whether there's more to it, though, he can't say. That's the good news. Nothing to worry about.

He adjusts the pistol on his hip as he slips into the car again, jumps on the radio and tells the dispatcher that he's heading over to the Queen residence. She says that the other boys will be there in a few.

Getting there, seeing a sour-faced guy at the gate and a familiar scarred face at the door, is almost a comfort now.

"Hey, Terry," he says, trying to sound as friendly as he can.

Terry doesn't seem to like it. Then again, he doesn't seem to like much of anything, when he's on the job. Which, to the best of Josh's ability to say, seems to be all the time.

He's guided back into the study. There's a land-line phone sitting on the table, and Josh's cellular is on the table next to it. Or, presumably. They're both sitting there, neither ringing, and Al Queen and his lawyer are both looking at them.

Mitch is drumming his thumbs on the chair. It's hard for Josh to keep the sneer off his face. It's hard not to say, 'is this boring to you?' He keeps it to himself. That's the job.

Nobody else has arrived yet. They'll arrive sooner or later. Until then…

Josh's phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out and reads the message to himself. Tap's in place. They got permission from the elder Queen, but they went ahead and got a warrant just in case. You don't take chances with a case like this.

Josh checks his watch. Fifty minutes. It was going to be a long time waiting. He wishes that he had brought something that he could do, to pass the time, but that would only make things worse. It wasn't his place to be entertained.

He's here to work, and even though he's early, work is what he's going to do.

There's a momentary thought, a question of whether or not he should ask Al Queen about his whereabouts on the night. There's no clear connection, though, so he's not going to ask. He's sure as hell not going to do it now, and he's sure as hell not going to do it without a recorder present.

Besides that, it would be stepping on toes. He's already skating on thin ice, these days. Already too thin, and he's out too far to come back in to shore just yet. But there's nothing he can do about that, not right now, except keep his mouth shut when he's around big names.

"You mind if I sit?"

Al Queen seems a little distracted by the phones not ringing, but he nods and makes what might be interpreted as a head-gesture towards one of the chairs. Or it might have just been a vigorous second nod.

Josh doesn't need to be told twice. He settles into the ornate sofa he sat in before. It's just as comfortable as he remembers. Just the right level of firmness.

It looks like it was around before Josh's own grandmother was a twinkle in her parents' eyes. Folks back then knew their furniture, he figures. Then again, maybe it's Josh who doesn't know furniture, which makes some sense on a detective's salary.

Now there's nothing left but to wait for the phone to ring, watch and see what happens, and hope to hell that nothing goes sideways.

If everything goes according to plan, then his job is about to get a hell of a lot easier. The only thing that really surprises him, when the phone finally rings, is the frustration on the face of the elder Queen.

The cell rings, and Mitch picks it up. It doesn't take long to figure out that he hasn't got his heart in it. He takes everything down with a pen, on a pad provided by the lawyer.

We've probably got people back at the station, doing the exact same thing even as they record the call. But where Al Queen seems to be real concerned, Mitch doesn't seem worried at all.

Now the question was, which was the real surprise—that Mitch isn't worried, or that Al is?

Josh makes a note to have his recorder with him next time they have one of these meetings.