The Valentine Hostage Read online

  “There was a man,” Monique told her. “Right after the verdict came down I saw him standing outside the courthouse watching people leave. And he looked so much like Ben I thought it was him. It was one of the things that eventually started me believing Ben really could be innocent.

  “Remember?” she added to him. “I told you I kept wondering if he could have been the real killer? Hanging around and waiting for the verdict—like an arsonist staying to watch a fire he’s set.”

  Ben nodded. “I remember.”

  “But there’s something I didn’t wonder about until right now. Why would he have been made up like you that day? Just to stand outside a courthouse? Can you think of any reason?”

  “No, not off the top of my head.”

  “Well I can’t, either. And if he wasn’t, then he’s got to be a close look-alike.”

  “You mean,” Maria said, “you think I might be right? That Ben really might have a brother?”

  “A brother,” Monique repeated. “Oh, Lord, Ben, remember what Cheryl Tremont said?”

  “Cheryl Tremont?” Maria repeated.

  “A psychic,” Ben told her. “That’s where we were this morning—seeing her,” he added, not taking his eyes off Monique.

  “She told you that relatives are responsible for all your trouble,” Monique went on. “I took that to mean your parents, but maybe she was sensing that you’re related to the killer.”

  “Wait a minute,” Maria said. “This man you saw outside the courthouse. How could someone who looks so much like Ben be wandering around New Orleans? The first cop to see him, would have—”

  “He probably left town faster than I did,” Ben said. “I’ll bet he was on his way before anyone even realized I’d escaped.”

  His gaze flickered to the address on the envelope and he stared at it for a moment. Then, his heart hammering, he pulled the papers from it and quickly skimmed them.

  They’d been prepared by a Harold W. Grenoble, LL.B., and the details were clearly laid out. Adoption forms had been signed for a male infant when he was only two days old. The birth mother was a woman named Sally Windeller. And Antonio and Bethany DeCarlo had…

  “They bought me.” He looked over at Maria. “They paid this woman fifty thousand dollars for me. Plus her medical and legal bills.”

  “Ben?” Monique said softly. “That’s the way private adoptions work. They didn’t exactly buy you, they—”

  “But why adopt a baby?” he interrupted, overwhelmed by a combination of shock, anger and curiosity. “Why not just have one of their own? They had Maria. I’m enough older to remember my mother being pregnant with her. So why did they adopt me?

  “There have to be people who know the answer to that,” he went on, his thoughts racing. “They couldn’t have had no baby one day and me the next without anyone being aware I was adopted.”

  “I could call Aunt Rose,” Maria suggested. “She was so close to Mom that if anyone knows, she would.”

  “You think that would be safe? What if Dominick answers?”

  “I’ll hang up.”

  “He doesn’t have one of those caller I.D. things?” Monique asked.

  “They can’t pick up cell phone numbers. And I wouldn’t have to say anything about you, Ben,” Maria went on. “Not that Rose would breathe a word, anyway. If she did, she’d have to admit to Dominick that she and I have been keeping in touch behind his back.”

  “Just in case, though” Ben said, handing his sister the phone, “don’t say a word about me. Just tell her you came across the papers and ask what she knows.”

  BEN HUNG ON EVERY WORD Maria said to Rose, but there weren’t many of them. His sister was doing a lot more listening than talking.

  “Well?” he asked the instant she clicked off.

  “It seems unbelievable, but Rose didn’t know. And she doesn’t think anybody does.”

  “That’s not possible!”

  “No, I think it’s true. Apparently, Mom desperately wanted a baby from the day she and Dad were married. But she couldn’t get pregnant. Then, finally, she did. At least that’s what she and Dad told people. But when she was about four months along—and not showing, Rose specifically said—the two of them went off on an extended vacation. They told everyone they wanted to tour Europe before the baby arrived.

  “Then, supposedly, you came early. Were born in some little town in Switzerland And they came straight home after that, you in Mom’s arms.”

  He shook his head, feeling dazed.

  “But why would they go to such extremes to hide the truth?” Monique asked. “Surely they didn’t think there was any stigma attached to adopting a baby.”

  “You didn’t know our father,” Ben said. “I shouldn’t be calling him that, though, should I. He wasn’t my father. And Mom wasn’t…”

  When Monique rested her hand on his, he took a slow, ragged breath, telling himself to put his emotional reaction to this on hold until later.

  “What Ben meant about not knowing our father,” Maria quietly explained, “is that he had the sort of macho mentality that said a man wasn’t a man unless he was a stud. And I don’t know if people got tested in those days, but if he knew the problem was on his side… Well, he’d have died before admitting he couldn’t father children.”

  “But he could,” Ben said. “He fathered you.”

  “I might have been a fluke, though. Maybe that’s why they never had any more kids. Maybe they kept trying and couldn’t. But that doesn’t matter. The point I was going to make,” Maria went on, looking at Monique, “is that Dad absolutely adored our mother, so—

  “Your mother,” Ben muttered, unable to keep the words from slipping out.

  “Ben…they were your parents, too. The only ones you ever knew. And that made you their son and me your sister. You aren’t going to reject me as your sister, are you?”

  “No, of course not I’m just a little…shellshocked.”

  “I know.” Maria gave him a shaky smile, then looked at Monique once more. “At any rate, Dad absolutely adored Mom, so I guess when she wanted a baby so badly he agreed to adopt one. But only if nobody knew.”

  After Maria finished speaking, Ben sat staring at the Las Vegas address on the envelope again.

  He was thirty-four years old. What were the odds his birth mother still lived in the same city as she had that long ago?

  And even if he could track her down, he might discover she’d had no other children—let alone one who’d walked into Augustine’s and killed Antonio and Bethany DeCarlo.

  But he had to find out.

  Monday, February 10 10:19 a.m.

  MONIQUE HADN’T WANTED to seem negative about this trip, so she’d been keeping her doubts to herself. But the idea of a brother nobody knew existed having been the man who’d murdered the DeCarlos… It seemed to her there were simply too many improbabilities in that scenario to actually make it hang together.

  As the plane was descending toward Las Vegas’s McCarran International, she finally said, “Ben? If you do have a brother, who knew about him?”

  “Whoever hired him. Whoever wanted my father dead and me framed.”

  “But if nobody knew you were adopted…?”

  “Somebody must have.”

  “So this person somehow knew the DeCarlos weren’t your birth parents. And that you had a brother. And then paid him to…”

  “To kill my father,” Ben finished her sentence with a weary shrug. “Killers-for-hire are out there, Monique. You lived in New York long enough to know they’re not rarities, and most of them are somebody’s brother. I’m not exactly thrilled by the thought that one of them might be mine, but…

  “Look,” he continued after a minute, resting his hand on hers, “I know this brother-as-murderer theory is a pretty remote possibility. But we’re running damn low on leads.”

  She nodded, then sat gazing out the window as they landed, telling herself that a remote possibility was better than none at all.

&
nbsp; But if Ben did have a brother, and he was the killer, then if they managed to track him down they were going to end up face-to-face with a murderer.

  Not that they didn’t have a plan for that eventuality. They’d checked a suitcase with their guns in it again. And in the big purse Maria had lent them were a tape recorder and a length of clothesline.

  But the idea of getting a taped confession at gunpoint, then tying up a killer…

  Every time Monique got to that part, shivers ran down her spine. What else could they do, though? Call the police and hold the guy at gunpoint until they arrived?

  That obviously wasn’t an option, because the police wouldn’t just let them walk away with no questions asked. And once they realized who Ben was, they’d arrest him on the spot—and probably let the real murderer go, to boot.

  No, however this played out, they were on their own.

  Still dwelling on that unhappy fact, she followed Ben off the plane and into the terminal. While he waited at the baggage carousel, she headed for a bank of phones and started looking through one of the books.

  But the luck they’d had finding Grace Rossi’s address didn’t hold. Not only wasn’t there a single listing for anyone named Windeller, there were also no listings for either the law firm of Grenoble and Lancaster or any H. Grenoble, which made Monique fear the worst

  After a couple of guesses at what it might be called, she found a number for the law society. A helpful woman there checked her records and discovered that Harold W. Grenoble was simply retired, not dead.

  “I’m not at liberty to give out his number,” she said, “but if you’d like to give me yours I can contact him and ask him to call you back.”

  “I’m at a pay phone.”

  “I’ll call him as soon as we hang up and explain that. I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

  “Then I’ll wait right here. And thank you so much.” As Monique was saying that, Ben appeared at her side, holding the suitcase that contained their guns.

  He stood absently rubbing his beard, then tugged his baseball cap down a little further.

  “You know what I hate?” he said when she hung up. “That you’re having to walk around with a guy who looks like a bum.”

  “I don’t mind. You’re just…it’s the grunge look, that’s all. And maybe it’s still in style.”

  “Yeah. Maybe in some small town in North Dakota or some place.”

  She smiled, then said, “There was nothing under Windeller. And Grenoble’s retired and the law society wouldn’t give me his number. But I’ve got someone contacting him for me, so with any luck he’ll call right back.”

  “Hey, you’re getting awfully good at this stuff. Maybe you should think about becoming a private eye.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  “But you know what else I hate?” he said, looking serious again. “That you’re having to do everything.”

  “There’s no other way, is there. Even in Las Vegas, you can hardly expect people won’t recognize the name Ben DeCarlo. Not when your case was at least as high profile as the Menendez brothers’.”

  “Which means that if Grenoble… Monique, are we sure we’re doing the right thing here? Even if he’s forgotten all about the adoption and hasn’t made a connection before this, when you show him those papers and he sees the names Antonio and Bethany DeCarlo, isn’t he bound to realize it’s me you’re asking about?”

  “Maybe he won’t,” she said, although she was certain he would. “He probably doesn’t know that your parents named you Ben, so the last name could just be coincidental. And after all the time we spent trying to figure out what to do, this is the best plan we’ve come up with, isn’t it”

  “I’m just afraid our best is pretty poor.”

  “Well, he’s the only potential link we’ve got to Sally Windeller. And even if he has his suspicions about me, what can he do?”

  “Call the cops?”

  “He wouldn’t have much to tell them. Only that a woman came looking for information.” Before Ben could say anything more, the phone rang.

  She grabbed it, and when a man said, “Is that Anne Gault?” she offered up a little prayer of thanks.

  Harold Grenoble sounded like a darling. And once she explained she needed to know something about one of his old cases he agreed to see her on short notice.

  “I’ve got an appointment with him at twelvethirty,” she told Ben when she hung up.

  “Good going!”

  “And he said he’s got a lot of his files stored in his basement. So if your mother used his services for anything else—something more recent, I mean, maybe he does have her current address.”

  “Anything’s possible, but we’d better not start counting on it. The odds can’t be very high that he’ll know it. Hell, if she’s married, he probably won’t even know her current name.”

  “Maybe he will, though. After all, Cheryl Tremont said we’d definitely find the man we’re looking for. So we’ve got to get a break soon.”

  “Only if Cheryl actually knew what she was talking about And as I’ve said before, I don’t have much faith in psychics.”

  Monique didn’t reply. She knew as well as Ben did that Grenoble wasn’t very likely to be any help, but he was all they had.

  Ben draped his arm over her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s just get an early lunch here, then grab a cab.”

  “Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. “There’s nothing I like better than airport food.”

  “You ought to try prison food,” he muttered.

  She pressed closer to him as they walked, refusing to dwell on the fact that they wouldn’t be able to keep getting away with what they were doing forever. Or on the certainty that if they didn’t get a break soon, Ben would end up back in Angola.

  HAROLD GRENOBLE LIVED in one of the city’s sprawling suburbs, far from the gaudy glitter of the famed Vegas strip. And while Ben waited at the corner of the street in their cab, Monique walked along to the man’s house.

  Somewhere in his seventies, he proved to be every bit as charming as he’d sounded on the phone, which at least made her feel a little less nervous.

  “Now, what can I do for you, Ms. Gault?” he asked once they were seated in his study. “You said it was something about an old case.”

  She nodded. “My husband was adopted as a baby—a private adoption—and we’ve been searching for his birth mother. I have a name I think might be hers. And if it is, you handled the adoption.”

  “I see. And what you want from me is…?”

  “The last address you have for her. Or anything that might help us find her.”

  “Aah. Well, in a case like this, assuming I did have any knowledge of her current whereabouts, I would have to contact her and let her know you and your husband are searching for her. Then, if she agreed to meet with you… But only if she agreed.”

  “I understand.”

  “And the name you have is?”

  “Sally Windeller.”

  The strangest expression flickered across his face. “Then, I’m afraid I can’t help you, Ms. Gault.”

  “But you arranged for the adoption,” she said, telling herself to remain calm as she took the papers from her purse. “Look,” she added, placing them on his desk.

  He nodded, barely glancing at them. “I remember the case well, but I know Sally Windeller wouldn’t have any desire to talk to you.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because Sally is my niece—my older sister’s daughter. That’s why I was the lawyer involved with the adoption. So I’m sorry you’ve come here for nothing, but—”

  “Wait,” Monique said, frantically trying to think of what to say. She was so near to getting the information that she simply couldn’t let it slip through her fingers. If Ben’s mother was this man’s niece, he must know exactly where she was.

  “Mr. Grenoble… I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

  “Yes, I realize that. The media has covered
the most minute details about the DeCarlos’ son. In fact, I’ve been amazed no reporter managed to discover he was adopted. And one of the things I recall is that he isn’t married. Which, in reality, makes you…?”

  “A friend.” She blinked back tears, certain Grenoble was on the verge of throwing her out. “And I sincerely apologize for lying to you. But there’s more to this than simply a search for a birth mother. It’s absolutely essential I get in touch with Sally Windeller. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Life and death,” he repeated.

  She nodded, not able to come up with anything else that might help convince him.

  He gazed across his desk at her while the clock on his wall ticked away the seconds. “I’m not sure what to do here,” he said at last. “By rights, this should be Sally’s decision to make. But I just don’t think that putting her in the position of having to—”

  “Mr. Grenoble… You’re my only hope.”

  He eyed Monique for another minute, then said, “All right, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll give Sally a call and explain that you’re sitting here in my office. But if she doesn’t want to see you, that’s the end of it”

  Without another word, Grenoble flipped open his personal directory and reached for the phone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday, February 10

  1:13 p.m.

  “I still can’t believe she agreed to see you,” Ben said, squeezing Monique’s hand as the taxi sped along the Las Vegas Expressway.

  “I can hardly believe it, either. But don’t get your hopes up too high, okay?”

  He nodded, telling himself that was good advice. They still didn’t know whether he even had a lookalike brother. But if he did, and if their long-shot murderer theory turned out to be fact, it would mean his brother was a cold-blooded killer.

  Not wanting to dwell on that thought, he said, “Grenoble didn’t say anything else about Sally Windeller?”

  Monique smiled. “Do you think I’m holding out on you? I told you, I got the feeling she asked him to tell me as little as possible. Virtually all he did was give me the address and say it was a motel.”