The Back Bay File: A Max Cantu Novel

By Walter A. Turner

The Back Bay File, details the fourth major case of the teacher turned private investigator, Max Cantu. While looking into the murder of a woman at an upscale Newport Beach shopping mall, he and his partner, his wife Bryn, uncover a larger plot to kill many innocent people. His investigation delves into the private lives of some very free spirits as well as some very disgruntled Americans. In addition, he is put in the position of having to look over his shoulder because of a threat stemming from a previous case involving a Mexican drug cartel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475941814

Walter A. Turner

Walt Turner is a retired teacher. He lives in Irvine, California, with his wife, Jean Anne, and their Chihuahua, Bo. He is the author of nine novels.

Book preview

The

Back Bay File

A Max Cantu Novel

WALTER A. TURNER

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

The Back Bay File

A Max Cantu Novel

Copyright © 2012 by Walter A. Turner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4180-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4181-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012913777

iUniverse rev. date: 08/09/2012

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

1

Max Cantu looked up as Doctor Don Turner snapped off the bright overhead light and pronounced, Everything looks good and I’ll see you in six months.

Thanks, Doctor Turner, replied Cantu as he heaved himself out of the comfortable chair. Turning to the dental assistant, Linda, he continued, That was literally painless. Thank you. He was twenty-nine years old, of average height with a narrow build. His sandy brown hair was conservatively cut and worn in a tousled style that parted itself where it fell. The rest of his face was clean-shaven, making him look younger than he really was. Some would say he bore a strong resemblance to Mark Harmon, the actor, minus the gray hair. Today, much like every day, he looked sharp in a crisp white shirt, a regimental tie, navy blue slacks and black loafers.

You’re welcome, beamed Linda, as she cleared a path for Cantu to walk out of the exam room. Stopping at the desk, he retrieved his wallet as Sandy, the office manager, completed her call and put down the phone. Congratulations, we won’t get to see you for another six months.

Handing her his credit card, Cantu said, I’ll need to make an appointment for my wife as well. Do you think you can squeeze her in?

Smiling and nodding, Sandy leafed through the large appointment book, came to the page she was looking for, and ran her finger down an open column. Would Thursday, October 14th work for you and…?

Bryn, answered Cantu, filling in the blank. She visited her dentist in Lawndale last week and since he’s retiring…

After receiving a reminder card, Cantu was just about to leave when Sandy caught up with him. Mister Cantu, Doctor Turner would like to speak with you for a few minutes – if you have time?

Cantu’s first thought was that twenty-nine years of not having one cavity had just come to an end. Nuts he thought, as he turned and said, Sure, I’ve got time, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible.

Without quite as much bounce to his step as when he’d been leaving, Cantu followed Sandy down the hall past three exam rooms. Doctor Turner was in the last one, peering into the mouth of an elderly man. Looking up, he smiled and mouthed, I’ll be with you in just a minute. Sandy opened a door at the end of the hall and motioned for him to step inside and take a seat.

The small office contained a desk, complete with computer, calendar, a couple of pens, and a picture of an attractive blond woman with short hair and an engaging smile. On a shelf back of the desk were several more pictures of what Cantu guessed were his grown kids and their children. One photo showed Doctor Turner, the attractive blond woman, and a group of children ranging from toddlers through college age. Standing up, Cantu took a closer look at the picture, counting thirteen grandchildren. Before he could sit down, Doctor Turner came through the door.

I was just admiring your family, Cantu said as he sat back down.

They’re my pride and joy. Jeanette and I have been fortunate to have four wonderful children and have been blessed with thirteen terrific grandchildren, said Turner, as he settled into his chair behind the desk. Do you have any children?

No, not yet, replied Cantu, as he wondered what tooth or teeth were going to get drilled – or worse yet – yanked out.

Doctor Turner nodded, but remained silent as he stared over the desk at Cantu. Max guessed the dentist was in his mid to late fifties. He was a handsome, dignified man, with a full head of salt and pepper hair. His eyes, Max decided, were kind and empathetic. I hope I’m not keeping you from something or from being somewhere you need to be? he said quietly.

No, I was just going to head on home after I finished up here, returned Max, wondering whether one of the teeth on the right side of his mouth was beginning to ache.

Turner sighed, placed his elbows on his desk, and leaned forward. I was looking at the paperwork you filled out for us and I noticed that you’re a private investigator.

Max nodded and answered, Yes, I am.

Sighing again, Turner asked, Do you do any pro bono work?

Max blinked and felt relief sweep over him. I haven’t, mainly because no one has asked me. But I would certainly consider it. I believe in giving back, replied Max, as he settled back in his chair, hoping the relief he was suddenly feeling wasn’t showing up on his face.

I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. You probably know us as Mormons, said Turner. My calling in the church at the present time is as Bishop of the Harbor Hills Ward. You may have driven past our chapel and temple on Bonita Canyon Road.

Yes, I have, said Max. The temple is certainly an attractive building. Did you say you’re the bishop of a ward?

Yes, answered Turner, settling back in his chair. A ward is a particular grouping of our members in a geographical area. Our ward is part of the Newport Beach Stake – a stake would be somewhat like a diocese of the Catholic Church. There are seven wards in our stake at the present time that take in Newport Beach, Corona del Mar, Costa Mesa, parts of Santa Ana and Irvine.

And you’re the bishop? queried Max. I’m not sure what that entails, but it sounds like a time consuming job.

Turner smiled and nodded in the affirmative. It’s not really a job, it’s a calling and I feel very blessed. The Harbor Hills Ward has some wonderful people within its boundaries. In addition to my responsibilities as bishop, I’ve also been called to be the Agent Bishop. The Agent Bishop handles problems church members from outside the stake boundaries might be having while they’re in our neighborhood, such as running out of money for food or transportation. Maybe there’s a need bus fare for someone who’s stranded far from home, or a runaway who wants to return home. That sort of thing.

Max nodded while he wondered where this was headed. He liked Doctor Turner and hoped he would be able to help him.

Last Tuesday night I was at the church conducting interviews for various callings in the ward. I was almost ready to leave when a woman came into the building. She was quite disheveled and didn’t look well, so I asked her to sit down. No sooner had she sat down when she began to weep. Turner paused as he gathered his thoughts.

While he did so, Max reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat and withdrew a small spiral notebook and pen. As he opened it, Turner began to speak again.

The fact of the matter is that she just broke down and it was several minutes before she was able to pull herself together. When she was finally able to speak, she begged me to find her daughter and granddaughter. I asked her if they were in the area and she said yes, but she didn’t know exactly where they were.

Cantu nodded as he chewed on his lower lip, knowing what was probably coming next. What’s the woman’s name? he prodded gently.

Her name is Sister Emily Webster and her daughter’s name is Amber, answered Turner, as he watched Cantu write down the names.

You mentioned a granddaughter, said Cantu, looking up from his notebook.

Yes. The granddaughter’s name is also Emily and she’s the one Sister Webster is more concerned about, continued Doctor Turner. Up until a few weeks ago, the three of them lived in Las Vegas. The daughter, Amber, worked as a cocktail waitress at one of the big hotels. Sister Webster receives a small pension from the years she spent working as a clerk at an elementary school. She also, from what I can gather, took care of the granddaughter.

Is the daughter divorced? asked Max.

No, she had Emily out of wedlock. She became pregnant just before she graduated from high school. The father disappeared after he found out Emily was expecting.

How did…uh, Sister Webster wind up in Southern California? asked Max.

Things in Las Vegas were going okay. Emily had started kindergarten when Amber met someone at the hotel where she worked. One thing led to another and Amber began to see more and more of this man. His name is Paul Ducette. Turner spelled out the name as Cantu wrote it down. He and Amber started a relationship and he saw her every time he came to Las Vegas. Amber told her mother that he was from Southern California and lived fairly close to Disneyland. Turner paused and drew in a deep breath before he spoke again.

Sister Webster said she was uneasy about the relationship, but tried not to let it show when Ducette was around because she had the feeling that he might take it out on Amber. She began to suspect that Ducette was being physically and emotionally abusive toward her daughter. On one of his last visits to their apartment she said he was rude to both her and Emily and Sister Webster confronted him about it, which only made him angry and he and Amber stomped out of the house together.

Two weeks passed and Sister Webster thought that maybe things had ended between her daughter and Ducette. On Saturday, two weeks ago, she came home to find Amber and Emily gone and a note saying that they were going to live with Ducette.

Did her daughter have a cell phone and did she try it? asked Cantu, who had just finished writing ‘physically abusive’ and underling it.

That was the first thing she did, but the phone wasn’t answered and she left a message. In fact she left many messages until she thought the battery had died.

Did she happen to give you the number of the cell phone? asked Cantu hopefully.

I didn’t think to ask for it at the time, replied Turner. When there was no reply from her daughter, she called the Las Vegas police. They told her she would need to wait forty-eight hours and file a missing person’s report. The next Monday she went right down and filed the report. The police asked whether she had any evidence a crime had been committed. Of course she didn’t. They pointed out that her daughter was an adult and after that she felt they just kind of put her down as a crackpot mother, more worried about where the daughter’s share of the rent money was going to come from. That’s when she decided to take matters into her own hands. She grabbed what little money she had and drove to Orange County.

Did she have an address or anything? queried Cantu.

She said she drove to Disneyland, not to the park itself, but to the cities adjoining it and of course Anaheim, said Doctor Turner, shaking his head slowly.

She just began to drive around and…?

Doctor Turner shook his head in the affirmative.

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds as they contemplated the odds of achieving a successful resolution by just driving around hoping to spot someone in particular.

The sad thing is that she spent what little money she had on gas while neglecting to take care of herself. By the time she arrived at the church, she was just about done in. During the time she was speaking to me, she had taken my hand and was squeezing it for all she was worth, said Turner. It amazed me that someone so frail could have that much strength. I was only able to ask her one or two more questions before she lost consciousness and I called the paramedics.

"What were you able to ask her?

I asked if there was anyone I could call, either in Las Vegas or anywhere else. She answered no and then her eyes just rolled back into her head and she passed out, replied Turner. I’m sorry I can’t give you anymore information.

Max shrugged and said, I’ve got a name and that’s enough to get started.

Oh, said Turner, as he leaned down and heaved a woman’s purse onto his desk. I had no intention of bringing this when I came into the office this morning, but for some reason I just picked it up as I went out the door. The paramedics whisked her away before I could give it back to her.

Where is she now? asked Max, wondering what information the lumpy, black purse might yield.

She’s at Western Medical in Santa Ana and she hasn’t regained consciousness. One of our members, Brother Keister, Doctor Keister actually, has been good enough to check in on her and says she’s in pretty bad shape and may not make it. Evidently she has diabetes and slipped into a diabetic coma.

May I? asked Max, nodding toward the purse.

By all means, said Turner, pushing it toward him.

Standing up, Max opened the purse and began to empty its contents. By the time he had finished, an old wallet containing six dollars, a cell phone, a set of keys, a smattering of makeup, and other odds and ends sat on the desktop. Opening the wallet, he found Emily Webster’s Nevada driver’s license, cards for a supermarket and CVS pharmacy, a picture he assumed to be Amber Webster, and another of a little girl who looked to be about five years old. She had big brown eyes and a toothy, engaging smile. Her face was framed by straight, long brown hair. On the other hand, her mother had long blond hair, blue eyes, and wore too much makeup. She was pretty in kind of a hard way and appeared older than twenty-two. He was about to put the wallet down when he discovered another picture tucked into one of its recesses. This picture showed Amber Webster and a handsome man with black wavy hair and thick eyebrows set over heavy-lidded black eyes. Even though there was a smile on his face, the tough look in his eyes conveyed no warmth at all. The photo made it appear that Amber Webster was holding a camera or cell phone at arms length to take the picture. A blurry outline of a car formed the background.

Setting down the photo, Cantu picked up the cell phone and flipped it open. It was an older model with no camera or any of the other whistles and bells found on newer phones. It looks like it’s dead, said Max, after he had pressed the power button with no result. Rummaging through the purse, he wasn’t able to come up with a charger. He began to put the items back in the bag one at a time, hoping he’d missed something and would be able to come up with it. No luck. The last thing he put back into the purse was a ring of keys – one of which appeared to be a house key, another for a car, and yet another looked like it belonged to a padlock.

Raising his eyebrows, Max asked, Is her car still parked in the church lot?

Yes, it is. It’s the early nineties Chevrolet Impala parked beside the stairs leading to the upper parking lot, reported Turner.

If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to drive over and take a look at it, said Cantu. And I’d like to take the purse and have my partner, my wife, take a look at it.

That would be fine. I really appreciate your willingness to get involved. Your next cleaning’s on me, said Turner, extending his hand across the desk.

As he shook Turner’s hand, Cantu asked, What was the second question you asked Sister, uh, Miss Webster?

Turner smiled and said, It wasn’t a question. I told her I’d do everything I could to find her daughter and granddaughter. I really didn’t mean to bring that purse into work this morning when I left the house. Now I’m glad that I did.

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Cantu wheeled his green Solstice into the parking lot of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The building was a handsome brick structure, with verdant green grass and neat, well maintained landscaping. There were several other cars in the parking lot and Cantu parked several spaces down from the Chevrolet Impala.

Exiting the tight confines of the Solstice, he gripped the flashlight he’d retrieved from the small glove compartment. It was still unseasonably warm out. For the last three weeks the southland had experienced one Santa Ana event after another. Everything, and even some of the people Cantu had dealt with recently, seemed unusually brittle and on edge. Even his wife Bryn, normally bubbly and happy, was quieter than usual.

Stopping to look at the maroon Impala, Cantu was struck by how well maintained the car was. Aside from the dust that had accumulated from being parked for several days, the paint was in good shape. Somehow, he had expected the car to be rundown and shabby with a lot of sun damage. Opening the driver’s side door, he slid in and put the key in the ignition. The car started immediately and settled into a steady purr. Switching off the engine, he reached over and opened the glove box and found nothing but a map of the freeway system for the Orange County area, an owner’s manual, and a phone charger. Pocketing the charger, he ran the beam of the flashlight over the floor and the passenger seat. Getting out, he opened the back door on the driver’s side. Bending down, he noted the baby seat centered in the back. Shining his light around, he found no debris or clutter of any kind.

When he opened the trunk he spotted a small black suitcase, two neatly folded blankets, and a pillow. Opening the suitcase, he found various toiletries, two changes of clothes, and some underwear. Other than the spare tire and jack, there was nothing else in the neat, clean trunk. After unfolding the blankets and checking the pillow, he closed the trunk. Cantu checked the front and rear of the passenger side, coming up empty in the process. For the next few moments he stared at the car. Deciding to take one more look through the interior, he gave it another thorough going over, but the vehicle didn’t give up any secrets and Cantu decided it wasn’t going to do so, no matter how much he wanted it to.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the garage of 2000 East Ocean on the Balboa Peninsula.

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Entering the large house that from the outside appeared to be made entirely of glass, Cantu walked down a short hall into the kitchen. His wife, Bryn, turned around, smiled, and then walked over and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. When she showed no inclination of letting go, he leaned back and kissed her, which in turn led to a longer, wetter kiss. Wow! he enthused when she finally released him. That was worth waiting all day for!

Spying the purse her husband had dropped to the floor, Bryn looked up at him and said, I don’t think black goes with your coloring.

Well, maybe I’ll go with the mauve, Cantu laughed, and then kissed his wife again.

Better, but not exactly what you need. I know there must be something behind that being here. By the way, how was your check- up? Bryn asked, turning back to the ingredients on the counter that Max hoped would be their dinner.

The check up went well, no cavities and we can thank Doctor Turner for the purse.

Oh, his wife said. I can hardly wait to hear what’s behind that. Since the wind has stopped blowing, why don’t we eat out on the patio and you can fill me in. Do tostadas sound good? I finally found some shells today when I went shopping.

Sounds like a winner to me, said Max. I’ll get the table and chairs uncovered after I plug in this cell phone I found in the purse.

So, what’s with the purse and the cell phone? asked Bryn, fixing her husband with a dazzling smile that in turn caused Max to beam.

I was just about out the door after my check-up and cleaning, when Sandy, the receptionist, and I presume the office manager, asked me if I had a few minutes to speak with Doctor Turner. At that point I figured my twenty-nine years of being cavity free were over. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. He, Doctor Turner, asked me if I had ever done any pro bono work…

When Max had finished his narrative, including the search of the Impala, Bryn looked over, shaking her head. Miss Webster must have been frantic to just pick up and drive all the way to Southern California and hope to find them by driving around. Is there any foul play suspected?

Not yet, but then again I suppose you can’t rule it out either, replied Max, watching the sun begin to drop behind Catalina Island. Miss Webster believed this Ducette guy was emotionally and physically abusive to Amber, but Doctor Turner told me she really didn’t have anything concrete to back it up.

That’s a mother’s intuition at work, said Bryn, as she forked another mouthful of tostada into her mouth.

My dad used to say he trusted my mother’s gut more than anything else when they had big decisions to make, sighed Cantu. According to dad, she was right a hundred percent of the time.

Bryn got up and said, Let’s get the dishes done and then get busy.

Max watched his wife get up from the table and smiled as she began to clear the dishes. As far as he was concerned he had been unbelievably fortunate to have married the most gorgeous, amazing woman in the world. Her blond hair, hanging just below her shoulders, framed a beautiful face with deep blue eyes, above a slightly upturned nose and a mischievous smile, and a stunning figure that never failed to turn heads wherever they went. Despite being only five three (she claimed five three and three quarters) she possessed determination, brains, and a quick wit coupled with a fearlessness that never failed to amaze him.

Settling down in one of the matching chairs in front of their computers, Max booted up his Mac which had been highly customized by their friend Peggy Paradise. Bryn brought the black purse over and began emptying it on the table next to the computers. As the screen jumped to life, Max immediately went to a service called Intelium that provided information on people, places, and things. Once Intelium had come up, he clicked on ProTrack, a powerful component of Intelium that enabled him to get even more information than was available to the general public including access to some law enforcement agencies. The service came at a price of course, along with the stipulation that any abuse of said information could land said investigator in the gray bar hotel. Not a pleasant thought reasoned Max as ProTrak came up on the screen.

Do you think that cell phone is charged up yet? asked Max.

No, the yellow light is still on so I think it’s still charging, answered Bryn, as she spread out the items from the purse on the table.

Let’s start with Sister Webster, suggested Max.

Who? questioned Bryn, looking up from the purse.

Oh, I forgot to mention that Doctor Turner is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He’s the Bishop of the Harbor Hills Ward where Sister Webster came looking for help.

Mormons.

That’s right, said Max, as he picked up Emily Webster’s Nevada driver’s license and began to input her name, address, and zip code.

I knew some Mormon kids in high school, said Bryn, as she studied Amber Webster’s photo. They were really nice and enjoyable to be around. You could actually talk to them without having to hear four letter words.

Max peered in at the screen as ProTrak brought up information about Emily Webster. Emily Webster, no middle name, born in Logan, Utah in 1940 in Logan Regional Hospital to Richard Arthur and Dianne Emily Lyons. She had two brothers, both deceased as are her parents. Married Clyde David Webster in 1970. They had one daughter, Amber Martha Webster in 1984. Clyde David Webster passed away of natural causes in 1998. Clyde was employed at the Palms Hotel and Casino as a bookkeeper. Emily worked at the Ruby E. Thomas Elementary School for twenty-eight years, retiring in 2007. Neither David Clyde nor Emily was ever in trouble with the law, not even a parking ticket, reported Max. She is currently a member in good standing of the Robindale Ward, North Las Vegas Stake. And the Bishop there is Norman Olson – Bishop Norman Olson.

Are you going to call Bishop Olson? asked Bryn.

That’s a good idea, mused Max. As he began to type, Amber Webster’s name came up on ProTrak. Reaching for the phone, he punched in the numbers for Bishop Olson’s home phone.

Hanging up the phone, Max shook his head. Bishop Olson is a new bishop and while he knows Emily Webster and the granddaughter, he’s not familiar with Amber because she doesn’t attend church, but Sister Emily Webster does attend regularly with her granddaughter, Emily. He’s also fairly new to the area.

Looking back at the computer screen, Bryn began to read off the information about Amber Webster. Amber was born March 15, 1984 at Sunrise Memorial Hospital at 6:33 in the evening. She attended Ruby E. Thomas Elementary School, Lewis Middle School, and Del Sol High School, graduating in 2001. She gave birth to Emily Webster March 24, 2002. The father, a Roy Douglas Ebert left town, joined the army and was killed in Iraq in the summer of 2004 in Ramadi. Amber has worked at several casinos, including the Rancho Vegas, where she would now be employed if she were still in town. She’s had one arrest for solicitation, but it was dismissed on a technicality, three tickets for speeding, and as of now no other priors, wants, or warrants. Bryn brought up Amber’s Nevada driver’s license. That’s not a bad picture – considering, she commented.

Max peered in and nodded. Pretty girl, he shrugged. How did she do in high school?

ProTrak brought up the information in short order. Not bad, commented Bryn. That’s what – about a 3.5 grade point average?

Max chuckled, knowing that if he did the math, that’s what it would turn out to be. I’m betting you’re right – again. I imagine having Emily dictated finances and derailed any chance of college.

Bryn nodded. That’s a shame – for the both of them. She was silent and Max thought she might say something else, but didn’t.

Well, let’s take a look at Paul Ducette, said Max, as Bryn typed in Ducette’s name.

Hmmm, breathed Max. That’s a much shorter list than I thought it would be.

Some people wouldn’t think 142 Paul Ducettes would be a very short list, quipped Bryn. Of course that’s all the Paul Ducettes that live in California – so out of 33 million or so people, I guess you’re right.

How old do you think he is? asked Max, holding up the photo of Ducette and Amber.

Taking the photograph from her husband, Bryn studied it for a few seconds. Tilting her head she answered, I would guess somewhere between 25 and 34.

That’s what I was thinking, said Max. Let’s have ProTrak narrow down our list.

Bryn’s fingers flew over the keys as she input the request. In a few seconds a list of 54 names appeared. Uh-huh, she intoned as she requested only names in Southern California, which shaved 23 more names off the dwindling list. Miss Webster told Doctor Turner that he lived close to Disneyland, didn’t she?

Yes, that’s what he said, replied Max.

So… let’s just see how many Paul Ducettes are spread around the 41 cities of Orange County for a start, murmured Bryn.

Moments later a list appeared on the screen representing 22 cities in Orange County where a Paul Ducette resided.

Max and Bryn looked at the screen as their eyes ran down the column of cities. Do you think he could have been exaggerating about where he lived to impress Amber or her daughter? inquired Bryn.

Hmmm, a guy lying to a girl because he wants to impress her – I don’t know. That would be beyond the pale, laughed Max. Let’s hope he was on the up and up about that. Do you want to do the DMV search in the morning?"

No, let’s keep going, you know T-I-E, returned Bryn, as she started with Aliso Viejo.

Good old theory of initial effort, smiled Max. I’ll type in the rest if you like.

Okay, I’ll get us some ice cream, said Bryn, as the first driver’s license picture came up. Ahhh ha! blurted out Max, causing his wife to turn around in mid-stride.

You’re kidding me! she exclaimed. I can’t believe we’d get him on the first try!

We didn’t, grinned Max. I just wanted to see what it would sound like if we did.

Laughing and shaking her head, Bryn resumed her trip to the refrigerator.

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Max spooned the last of his now melted coffee-caramel-crunch into his mouth. For a minute there I thought that last guy in Seal Beach might be our guy. Shoving the empty dish away, he began to search the city of Stanton. Oh, oh, here we go, said Max quietly, as the driver’s license picture of Paul Dean Ducette came up on the screen. This is a better picture than the one Amber took.

They stared at the picture silently for a few seconds before Max printed out two copies. Taking the photos out of the printer, Max commented, Not a bad looking guy.

His eyes are mean, said Bryn. He doesn’t look like someone I’d trust – with anything.

That was my first impression, but maybe we’re reading something into him that isn’t there, said Max.

Yes, but it seems strange to me that all of a sudden her mother can’t get in touch with her.

That bothers me too, responded Max. He lives at 9604 Pandora Lane in Stanton – which is close to Disneyland. Max continued to read additional information as it came up on the screen. He’s a self-employed electrician, runs his own business – Paul’s Connection. He drives a 2007 Chrysler 300M and has a 2000 Chevy Astro van, both ensured with Cosmopoliton Insurance. Oh, oh, here’s a red flag. He spent fourteen months in the county for domestic abuse. Other than six traffic violations he’s been a good boy.

You know what they say, said Bryn, for every one rat you see, there are probably ten others you don’t. She tapped the information on the screen with her fingernail.

Nodding his agreement, Max leaned in and shut down the computer. Come on, let’s walk down to the water and get a breath of fresh air and then turn in. In the morning we’ll drive up to Stanton.

As they went out the door Bryn turned to Max and said, You’d like to go up there tonight, wouldn’t you?

Yes and no, answered Max, taking his wife’s hand. We’ve got a good start and I think that will do for today.

2

Crossing Katella Avenue, Max slowed the Honda and then turned left on Chester Avenue before making a quick right onto Pandora Lane. There it is, called out Bryn softly, third house on the right, 9604.

Bringing the car almost to a stop, Max peered out the passenger side window. The house he was looking at was set back from the street by a large expanse of straggly lawn. To the left of the house a long driveway ended in front of what appeared to be a three-car garage, with no cars visible. Driving to the end of the street, Max flipped a U and eyeballed 9604 as he drove by.

Crossing Chester, he used a driveway to turn around and then parked the Honda at the corner of Pandora and Chester by a commercial building that housed an electronics firm. It’s 7:40 so hopefully Mister Ducette will be heading off to work pretty soon.

I hope so, said Bryn. I should have brought us a thermos of coffee.

For the next twenty-five minutes the two of them sat in the car staring down Pandora Lane and reminiscing about their recent trip to Tahiti. Glancing up Pandora Lane, Max said, There’s a van coming out of the driveway of 9604. It looks like our guy is finally on his way to work.

They watched the van, labeled Paul’s Connection in large, bold, blue letters with a cartoon character representing an electrician, turn left on Chester. Starting the car, Max pulled around the corner onto Beach Blvd. headed south. After he let several cars go by, he turned right, just in time to see the van go through a late orange light. Nuts, he growled, as he followed the progress of the van.

After a lengthy wait at the light the van was no longer in sight. I’m hoping he stayed in the right hand lane, said Max.

There’s a Starbucks up ahead, said Bryn. Maybe he pulled in there. Slow down and I’ll see if I can spot him.

As they cruised by, Bryn shook her head. There’s several pickups, but no van, she said, twisting around in her seat in order to keep the parking area in sight as they continued down Beach.

I think we hit paydirt, said Max, as they passed the corner of Joel and Beach. Bob’s Coffee Emporium, featuring Bob’s Bikini Baristas. That looks like his van toward the back of the lot.

That’s it, said Bryn. Make a right on the next street and we’ll go around the block. Two more right turns brought them back on Joel Avenue and a side entrance to Bob’s. Making the turn into the parking lot, Max backed into an empty space where they had a clear shot of Bob’s Coffee Emporium and the van. Turning off the engine, Max turned to his wife. Would you like some coffee?

Shaking her head, she said, Not right now, thanks. You?

I’m good, returned Max, turning off the engine as he settled down to wait. Darn! he exclaimed. I forgot to bring Miss Webster’s cell phone!

Digging around in her purse, Bryn fished out the now fully charged phone. I grabbed it on my way out. Powering up the phone, she scrolled through the phone book. Here’s Amber’s number, 702-555-8901. There’s only two other numbers here – one for a Flora Eckstein and the other for a Sara Davis, both 702 numbers.

Probably friends in Las Vegas, replied Max, as he watched the side entrance to the coffee emporium. Say, why don’t we try something, he said, as he opened the door. Let me borrow that phone for a few minutes.

Bryn handed him the phone and he got out of the car. Give a short honk if he comes out, okay?

Walking around the back of the emporium, Max turned the corner and found another entrance on the side of the building. Standing back, as a customer exited the building, he highlighted Amber’s number and pressed the call button, just as he spotted Ducette talking to one of the scantily clad coffee baristas. Leering more than talking he thought. When Ducette suddenly reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone, Max killed the call and hoped the caller ID hadn’t popped up on his screen.

Ducette squinted at his phone, shook his head, and put the phone back into his pocket as he resumed talking and leering at the buxom young woman. As far as Max had been able to ascertain, Ducette hadn’t even looked his way.

Remaining at the door, Max waited until Ducette finished his leering session and left the building with a cup of coffee and a pastry. When he was a few steps from the door, Max called the phone again. Ducette stopped and fumbled for the phone, dropping his coffee and pastry in the process, which in turn caused Max to smile as he abruptly ended the call and left the building by the door he had entered.

By the time Max arrived back at his car, he’d been able to watch as Ducette climb into the van and leave a little rubber in the parking lot as he exited. Well, we know he has Amber’s phone. The second time I called, he dropped his coffee.

Bryn smiled and said, From the looks of things he was not happy when he did so. Was it the phone or losing his coffee that made him mad?

I’m going to guess it was the phone, followed closely by the coffee or lack of it, said her husband, as he rolled out onto Beach. Ducette’s van was three cars ahead of them waiting for the light. I wonder why he has Amber’s phone? Max probed out loud.

Amber could have loaned it to him, or he just grabbed it by mistake, or…

Or Ducette doesn’t want anyone communicating with her and vice versa, continued Max. Or…like you say – it could be perfectly legit.

When the light changed, Ducette’s van stayed in the right hand lane for another three blocks and then turned into the parking lot of JT’s. On the marquee, JT’s advertised itself as a bar featuring beautiful women serving up really good drinks. Max cruised past as he watched the van park near the front door. Continuing down Beach, he made a quick right into a Chevron station and continued to the back of the station’s parking area. Springing out, Max said to Bryn, Why don’t you drive? We may have to leave in a hurry.

Max walked to the sidewalk and back toward JT’s as Bryn was turning the Honda around for a quick exit. Between the gas station and JT’s was a small, dingy strip mall consisting of a barbershop, another shop that was vacant, and a beauty supply store.

Trying to look like he belonged and yet not trying to stand out, Cantu peered into the vacant shop while casting furtive glances toward JT’s. The van was still there and Ducette was presumably still inside. When five minutes had passed, and Max had figured that he had to move on, Ducette came out of JT’s and got in the van, backed out of the parking space, and turned onto Beach.

Walking as nonchalantly and as quickly as he could, Max returned to the Honda and got in. Bryn had the motor running and was able to make it onto Beach, despite an irritated honk from a black Infiniti she cut in front of.

What do you think, professional call? Bryn asked, as they both tried to pick out Ducette’s van from the rest of the traffic.

That’s what I think, but you never know, commented Max. Look, there he is in the left hand turn lane at the signal.

I don’t think I can make it over there in this traffic, said Bryn, looking for an opening in the now stopped traffic.

Don’t bother, it’s not worth the hassle and that’s when he’d be most likely to spot us. Let’s turn right on Chapman and then get back on Beach and to back to Ducette’s house. We’ll sit on it for awhile and see if anything interesting turns up.

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After an hour and a half there had been no movement in or out of Ducette’s house. Turning to his wife, Max said, Let’s head on home, get our run in, grab some lunch, and then come back around four or four thirty. It looks like he’s out for the day.

A run sounds good, sighed Bryn, as she stretched and started the car.

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By six-thirty Max and Bryn were back in Stanton. At Max’s suggestion, he and Bryn had driven back in two cars – Max in the Honda and Bryn in her Prius. Max parked on Pandora Lane, southbound, three houses down from Ducette’s. Bryn also parked on Pandora, but at the intersection where they had parked in the morning and she was northbound, facing Max. When Max had cruised past 9406 before parking, he noticed a faint light coming from behind drawn curtains in the front of the house.

Do you think he’s home? asked Bryn, into her cell phone as she squirmed around in her seat, trying to get comfortable.

Good chance, returned Max, as he moved his seat back to give him some more legroom. There was a lot more traffic on the way up here than I thought there would be, so I hope he hasn’t come and gone out again.

The next two hours crawled by with no sign of the van or any movement in or out of the driveway. Lights were on in nearly all the houses and while there had been comings and goings on Pandora Lane, there had been no movement in or out of 9406.

Max felt fortunate that no one had paid any attention to the green Honda, parked in front of 9409, giving him a clear view of the driveway and the front of the house. Maybe Ducette’s in for the night, he spoke into his phone.

There’s always that chance, but as long as we’ve given it this long, we should put in another hour, answered Bryn.

Max nodded in agreement as he replied. I think you’re right. Do you want to head home and I’ll put in the hour?

Not on your life, said Bryn. I’m in it for the long haul.

Max smiled because he had known full well what her reply was going to be.

Even though the traffic on the street had picked up, things at 9406 remained quiet for the next hour. Max put his hand on the key in order to start the car and drive down to where Bryn was parked. All of a sudden, taillights appeared in the driveway, as a black Chrysler 300M backed out of the driveway. Bryn, Ducette’s on the move in his 300M and he’s now headed your way.

I see him, she replied. I’ll trail you.

Max felt his heart begin to beat a little faster as the black Chrysler turned left on Chester. Speeding up, he watched as it turned right and headed south on Beach Boulevard. Checking his rearview mirror, he saw Bryn make the turn and then get in the left hand lane.

The three cars continued down Beach at a leisurely pace. When they were a block from JT’s, Max thought, I bet I know where you’re going. Sure enough, the right blinker on the Chrysler came on and it turned into the parking lot in front of JT’s, featuring beautiful women and cheap booze mused Max as he pulled in behind him. He watched in his rearview mirror as Bryn went on by, merging into the right hand lane.

He got out of the car and pulled out his cell. Bryn, it looks like he’s going to make a night of it at JT’s. He’s still in the car, so I think I can get in there before he does.

Do you want me to stay put? I’m in the Chevron station where we were this morning.

I think that’s a good idea – at least for now, replied Max, as he approached the door. Keeping the phone line open, he hesitated and decided not to look back at the parked Chrysler. Pushing the door open, he walked inside. Music was pulsating, not quite at the pain threshold, but close. The lighting was dim and he stood there letting his eyes adjust. To his right was a bar that stretched to the opening of another room. Directly in front of him, at the far end of the building, was a small stage where two topless women gyrated to the music, ogled by several onlookers. As money was thrown on the stage, the women would tease the raucous crowd by pulling down on the thin straps of their g-strings before they bent down to retrieve it. Between the stage and the entrance were twenty or so tables, being waited on by three women, also in g-strings and very small tops. As he drew closer to the bar, he could see three bartenders clad in very low hip huggers and bikini tops. The odor of beer, sweat, and other intangibles hung in the air.

Max slid onto a just-vacated stool when one of the bartenders appeared, leaned way over, and asked in a silky seductive voice, What’s your pleasure?

Max returned her smile. Bud Lite, please. The bartender, who introduced herself as Wanda, had no sooner put the bottle in front of Max, than Ducettte came in, accompanied by a blonde woman – Amber Webster. Amber was wearing a very short, low cut, tight black dress and stiletto heels. Max watched in the mirror in front of him as Ducette steered her down three stools to his left. He seems to be pushing more than guiding her he thought.

Turning to his left, Max observed a burly red-headed man pull out a wad of ones, vacate the stool next to where Ducette was now parked, and make his way toward the stage. Picking up his beer, Max moved down to the vacant stool. There was a roar from the crowd as the two women on stage faced their admirers, pulled down their g-strings, and then just as quickly turned around with their backsides to the crowd of cheering men and several women, who were showering the stage with bills.

When the cheering and yelling died down, most of those near the stage made their way back to the bar, or tables, or booths, located on the street side of the building. It was then that Max realized that there were no Hispanics, Blacks, or Asians anywhere to be seen. That’s curious he thought. Given the makeup of Orange County, that’s very curious. He then noticed a slightly built, but distinguished looking man take the stool next to Amber Webster. Immediately, Ducette leaned over and the two began to speak.

By now a quartet had moved onto the stage and began to play, all but drowning out any chance of hearing what Ducette and the man were talking about. Surprisingly, the quartet sounded pretty good as they sang about making love down in the bayou. An image of two people rolling around in the mud, surrounded by mosquitoes and alligators drifted through Max’s head. Shaking his head to get the image out of his mind, he tried getting a closer look at Ducette, Webster, and the unidentified man. However, due to the dim lighting, the dirty mirror, and the myriad of bottles in front of the mirror, he couldn’t see much.

For the next few minutes the conversation between Ducette and the newcomer continued. Max raised his eyebrows when he saw the man hand something to Ducette, who immediately put it in the inside pocket of his black sport coat. After another minute, Webster and the man got up and began to walk toward the exit, while Ducette turned and watched them go. From where Cantu sat, it didn’t look like Amber was the least bit happy to be leaving with whoever it was that had planted his arm around her waist, as they moved toward the door. Ducette’s pimping her out he concluded, as he felt his blood pressure begin to rise.

Picking up his beer, Cantu tipped it to his lips, but didn’t take a swallow, got off the stool, and walked as casually as he could toward the exit. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he said to Bryn, Amber Webster and an unidentified man are on the move. They’re out of JT’s and are now walking toward an early 2000 something white Nissan Maxima. I’d like to see where they’re going. I think Webster is turning tricks for Ducette.

Okay, replied Bryn. I’ll follow you. Let me know which direction they’re heading.

Right, returned Max, as he slid into the Honda and started the engine.

The Maxima backed out of its parking place and turned south onto Beach. He’s on Beach, headed south, reported Max. He should be passing you about now and I’m a car behind him.

I see it and now I see you, reported Bryn.

Max watched as she drove out of the Chevron parking lot and fell in behind him.

Tailing the Maxima turned out to be no problem at all – particularly since the three-car caravan only had to drive four blocks to the Hide-Away Motel. Max parked on the street in front of the tired looking abode. Walking rapidly toward the now parked Maxima, he saw the man open the door for Webster, who took a long time to exit. The man looked at his watch and hissed, Come on, you’re on my dime.

Taking a deep breath, Max called out to the couple, who were now walking toward the last door of the U-shaped building. Amber, Amber Webster, is that really you?

Webster and the man stopped and Amber turned toward Max, an inquisitive expression on her face. Who…?

Don’t you remember me? exclaimed Max. I’m Tom Tupper. You sat next to me in Algebra Two, you know, old lady Marxson’s class. Wasn’t she something?

By now, Amber Webster was completely befuddled and the man put his arm around her and began to push her toward the door of unit eight."

Sorry, pal, her name’s Evon, and we’ve got some business to conduct, the man snarled.

Are you prepared to be arrested tonight – mister…? asked Max forcefully, who by now was thoroughly ticked off at Ducette and whoever this creep happened to be. He was more than ready to put some of the hurt on the little cretin that his martial arts instructor, Moche Alon, had taught him over the last year or so.

What? replied the man, losing some of his bluster and taking his arm back. Are you a cop?

That’s not important – yet at least, replied Max. How much did you plan to spend on – Evon tonight?

The man’s jaw dropped and he took a step away from Amber Webster. Two hundred bucks, he blurted out, no doubt hoping a little co-operation would go a long way in keeping him out of jail. Look, just let me walk away. I don’t want my wife to find out about…this.

Amber Webster looked at the two men as she wondered what was going on and how she was going to be affected.

Max stepped closer to the man. Okay…mister?

My name’s Carl and I spent – was going to spend two hundred bucks, but just let me go and…

Carl, said Max, pulling out his wallet and peeling off four hundred dollar bills. If you will just sit in your car and not do anything stupid – like trying to drive away – this money is yours and you’ll be home with your wife and kids in no time. Are you game?

Carl looked at Amber Webster, licked his lips and then looked back at Max. I can do that, he said, as he took another look at Amber.

Greed always wins out thought Max. Okay, this is how this is going to work. How long did you have to – spend your money on Amber?

Two hours, grumbled Carl, looking down at the worn blacktop.

Max nodded. My partner, he continued, nodding at Bryn who had quietly walked up behind Carl and Webster, will stay here with Amber and you. You, he said, nodding toward Carl, will just sit in your car and wait until my partner says you can leave. With that, he tore the four bills in half, and gave four halves to Carl. At that time she’ll give you the other half of the bills and you can motor on home. Sound fair?"

Nodding his agreement, Carl turned and looked at Bryn, who forced a smile, giving no sign of any warmth whatsoever. Cantu wondered if she was going to pull out her Sig Sauer and drill him right between the running lights. He could see the smoldering anger in her eyes.

While Bryn and Carl got their cars parked so Bryn could keep an eye on Carl, Max turned to Amber Webster. Amber, my name is Max Cantu and I’ve been asked by your mother to find you.

At the mention of her mother, Amber put her hands to her face and began to sob, shaking her head as she did so. She tried to tell me about Paul, but I just wouldn’t listen, she cried.

Actually, said Max, your mother sent me to find you and your daughter Emily. Where is she?"

At the mention of her daughter, Amber began to cry harder. She’s at Ducette’s house. He made me do things and if I didn’t, he said he would hurt Emily. The sobbing continued.

Taking hold of her shoulders and looking her in the eye, Max said, I’m going to get her back. Now, is she there alone?

No, she’s not. A woman named Carol lives with Paul. She…she seems to be in charge.

Is anyone else in the house? asked Max gently.

No, but sometimes…men come over and Paul and Carol make… Webster couldn’t continue and almost seemed like she was going to faint as the deeps sobs continued unabated.

Amber, said Max, I want you to stay with my wife, Bryn. Can you do that for me while I get Emily back? We’ll need you to be strong. Can you do it?"

Choking back the tears, Amber nodded yes and was finally able to get the words out. I can do it. Please, get my little girl back.

After helping Amber get in the back seat of the Prius, Max leaned down and said to Bryn, I’m going back to Pandora Lane to get Emily. When I’ve got her I’ll call and we’ll get out of Stanton. Are you going to be okay? Or maybe I should ask if Carl’s going to be all right?

I’ll be fine and I think Carl will too. Please, be careful.

Assuring her he would, Max strode out to the Honda and began to drive back to Pandora Lane.

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When he had arrived back at 9406, Max parked three houses down the street on the opposite side, and turned off the engine. When he had passed Ducette’s house, the same lights appeared to be on and nothing seemed to have changed. Getting out, he closed the door quietly and walked up the sidewalk. Tall trees obscured the two working streetlights on his side of the street. The trees, coupled with no moon made the street darker than it should have been. He was about to cross when the front door of 9406 opened and a man emerged and then the door slammed quickly as the person walked down the street toward Chester and disappeared around the corner. Carol has a friend that Paul doesn’t know about? Max conjectured. Just then a car came around the corner from Chester and drove slowly down the street. Max kept in the shadows and wondered if he had been seen. Following the progress of the car, an older Subaru, he watched as it turned around and came back up the dark, deserted street. Again it slowed, continued toward Chester, made an illegal U-turn and drove back again – slowing noticeably when it got close to 9406.

The car made two more trips, repeating the slowing each time. Looking at his watch, Max grumped that the time was running down and he hadn’t even crossed the street. At that point the car stopped right across from where Max had parked his Honda.

A man emerged and walked up the sidewalk toward 9406 – at least that’s where Max believed he was going. Taking a deep breath, he rapidly crossed the street and approached him. Hey, buddy, he whispered loudly. Are you going to that house, 9406?

The man, a tall, skinny looking guy in his