A Long Night Cry 7-9
Chapter 7
Eli immediately drew his gun and raced toward the door of the large room they were in. Preck followed Eli with his hand at the ready of his sidearm.
“Wait!” The senator yelled.
Eli didn’t listen but instead ripped the door open, darting into the long hallway of the home. He looked left then right. With a nod, he signaled Preck to go right. He ran in the opposite direction.
Another loud, excruciating scream came from somewhere in the home. Eli began peering into each open door. He heard another scream and pounding that sounded as if someone was being smashed against a wall. It was then that he determined the screams were coming from the second floor.
“Please wait,” the senator yelled out, trying to catch up.
Eli ignored him, racing through the home searching for a staircase. He entered another long hallway and noticed an opening halfway through it. He ran toward it. The screams grew louder and more distinguishable as belonging to a female. Just before he began climbing the stairs, the second guard who had been securing the perimeter outside appeared at the opposite end of the hallway. Noticing Eli’s gun, the guard drew his.
“Detective, I need you to drop your weapon,” the guard yelled.
Preck burst into view pushing his revolver into the guard’s temple and said, “Nope, son. You need to put your gun on the floor and do it slowly.”
The guard lowered the firearm and eased himself into a crouched position, then laid it on the floor. Preck kicked the gun down the hall and nodded to Eli that he was clear.
The screams turned into violent thrashings, growing louder by the second. Eli sprinted the staircase. His mind raced to the darkest possible scenario—the senator’s daughter tied up in the home—kicking and screaming to break loose from her captors.
Eli bounded the last few stairs and leaped into the hallway at the top. A man and woman were wrestling half-way down the large second floor corridor.
“Let her go, you son-of-a-bitch, or I’ll put a bullet in your skull,” Eli yelled at the man who had the woman pinned against the wall. Adrenaline racing, Eli steadied his sights on the man and made him out as the senator’s second guard. Eli was confident that he could take the head shot and drop the guard without injuring the woman.
“Detective, I am trying to keep her from hurting—”
“Let her go now, or I’m going to put you to sleep! That’s the last time I’ll say it.”
The guard released the woman. He turned toward Eli, held his arms out wide, his fingers splayed on each hand, showing he was not a threat. As soon as the woman was free, she turned toward the wall and began beating her forearms and fists against it, releasing horrific cries. Eli understood. Returning his sidearm to his holster, he heard footsteps approaching the top of the stairs behind him.
The senator raced past him toward the woman. He threw his arms around his wife and pulled her away from the wall. She struggled but finally relented. Her arms fell to her sides and her strength drained from her body. It was all the senator could do to keep her from collapsing as he eased her to the floor.
The security guard stood next to the couple and stared at Eli waiting for a sign of understanding. Eli gave it to him with a nod. Preck and the second security guard had made it up the stairs to see what was unfolding. As the woman wept in her husband’s arms, they all watched, unsure of what to do.
Cronin looked up from his crouched position. “Please give me a few minutes to calm my wife. It has been a very long night for us.”
As Preck, Eli, and the two guards made their way back to the main floor, the lead guard said, “I was just trying to keep her from hurting herself.”
There was nothing else said of the matter, just nods from the detectives.
“We’d like to ask both of you a few questions,” Preck said.
“Of course. We can go back to the grand sitting room where you were before. Right this way,” the lead guard said.
Eli allowed the two guards to proceed ahead of him. The guards walked stiff and in a line. They knew how to march. The second guard fell behind the first. Their arms moved in near unison. It was clear to Eli it was programmed, not intentional. He paid special attention to their weapons. The lead guard wore a pistol on his right hip in a tactical aftermarket holster. The one behind him positioned his on the left. A fat left lower leg told Eli the second guard carried a backup pistol strapped just above his ankle. Eli also noted the closed doors he’d like to explore if the chance presented itself.
After reaching the grand sitting room, they entered and sat in plush oversized chairs positioned around a circular wooden coffee table. It had multi-colored, exotic hardwoods inlaid at its center creating an ornate pattern. Eli tried to make sense out of the design but couldn’t. It was covered in various magazines. Esquire, GQ, Men’s Health, and Cigar Aficionado fanned out across the table. Eli assumed this was where the senator spent a lot of his time in the company of powerful men and that there might be a female’s version of the room somewhere else.
“Let’s start with your names,” Preck said.
“Name is Biff Tankersley,” the lead man said.
Eli squinted and asked, “Biff, like in Back to The Future?”
The man took in a deep breath and nodded his head like it was the two-millionth time he’d been asked the question.
Eli couldn’t help but grin. “Parents were fans?”
“Please call me Tank. That’s what I go by.”
“Moving along,” Preck said.
“Sam Verlice,” the second guard offered.
“Short for Samuel?” Eli asked.
“Yes. Sorry,” the guard answered, as if he knew better than to give his nickname.
Eli nodded and wrote the names down.
“Tell us what you do for the senator,” Preck said.
“We provide around-the-clock security for him and his family,” Tank said.
“And we failed last night,” Sam added, convinced and owning it.
Preck and Eli gave each other a look.
“Tell me about last night,” Preck said, “how the abduction took place.”
Tank began, “I was at Bush Intercontinental Airport picking up the senator. He was flying back from D.C., coming home for a week to spend some time with the family.”
“And I was providing transportation for Liz—”
“Elizabeth, the senator’s wife?” Preck asked.
“Yes, sorry. She likes to be called Liz . . . says Elizabeth sounds like a stuffy old queen’s name,” Sam said with an endearing smile. “Anyway, I took her to a gala being held at The Waterway Marriot. One of the countless fundraisers they attend. I must have made the trip from here to that hotel a hundred and fifty times. It takes me a third of an hour from the senator’s garage to the valet drop-off at the Marriott. After I dropped her at the front door, I decided to wait in the parking structure across Six Pines Road instead of driving back here since Liz said she just needed to make an appearance and would rather not stay the whole evening.”
“So, you were gone from when-to-when?” Preck asked.
“Ten after seven, until I got the alarm notification at eight-o-two,” Sam answered.
Preck looked at Eli, who nodded to indicate he’d noted the details.
Preck switched to Tank. “And how about you?”
“When I pick up the senator from the airport, I always give myself some buffer, at least an hour to get there,” Tank said then looked back and forth at the detectives then added, “Forty-five.”
They nodded their understanding. The main thoroughfare from Houston to Dallas was unpredictable, traffic speeds shifting from Autobahn to parking lot in the blink of an eye.
“His flight landed at thirty-five after seven,” Tank said then looked to the ceiling.
Eli and Preck knew the guard was doing math in his head. He was either not as calculated as Sam or had not run the events through his mind as many times.
“I left here just after half-past-six and got back with the senator around eight-thirty,” Tank finished.
“Around? You can’t be sure?” Eli asked.
Tank narrowed his eyebrows at the detectives pressing him for specifics.
“It helps to be as exact as possible with these timelines,” Preck added.
“It was a pretty chaotic ride from the airport. I received a call from Sam about the disappearance just after eight. I was dealing with a panicked father racing through Saturday night traffic on—”
“Sure. We understand,” Preck said.
Eli watched his partner’s adeptness in handling people pay off during the interview. He knew how to press for more information while keeping the subjects believing he was on their side. Eli thought back to his interaction with Tarkington at the gate and understood the lesson Preck was trying to get across. Eli wrote a note on his memo pad that read, ‘Listen to Preck more and shut up.’
Preck knew Eli was eager to ask questions, so he gave him a half-nod.
“Tell me about the senator,” Eli said. “Specifically, why someone would take his daughter.”
The guards looked at each other with questions in their eyes. The older guard, Biff Tankersley, was obviously in charge. Eli assumed Tank was a nickname given to him for his physique since he was built like a brick shithouse. He had a hardened look about his face, one that said he’d either seen war or had done time behind bars; Eli suspected the former since he was running security for a U.S. senator. He wore a groomed beard about the length of a thumbnail. Eli spotted a chrome-beaded necklace that fell below the neckline of his desert tan undershirt, and he believed it ended in dog tags, either his own or those that once belonged to a brother-at-arms. Everything about Tank communicated to the younger guard, Sam Verlice, to wait for his cue to speak.
Verlice was a head shorter than Tankersley and at least a decade younger. Eli guessed Sam was mid-twenties or younger. He still had boyish good looks, kept a clean shave, and wore a high-and-tight haircut, standard regulations for Marines. Eli pegged him for a Jarhead for several reasons, the first being his grooming standards and the second being his demeanor. He sat stiff-backed in his chair, chest poked out, and chin lowered. He was ready for action with a look of war in his eyes, the same look Eli spotted in Tank’s, telling signs from years of programming.
One thing that planted questions in Eli’s mind was a scar that started at Sam’s left earlobe and ran a finger’s length toward his Adam’s apple. It looked clean, like it had been caused by a knife blade not blunt force trauma, such as shrapnel. The scar told a story of trauma, likely from war. The small dots that remained from the sutures that sowed the wound closed were uneven, causing Eli to believe they’d been done in the field—in an emergency—not in a controlled operating room. Sam caught Eli sizing up the scar and dipped his chin toward his left shoulder to conceal it.
“There is no reason that we know of for the senator’s daughter to be taken,” Tank said.
“Does the senator have any enemies or vicious critics who would do something as extreme as this?” Eli asked.
Tank drew back surprised at the question. “We are really not at liberty to talk about the senator’s—”
“You two realize we are dealing with a really short window here, right? After the first forty-eight hours, missing persons get harder and harder to find,” Eli said looking at his watch. “We are at a severe disadvantage. Every second that ticks by Amy becomes more likely a statistic.”
Eli’s statement shook Samuel. His stiff posture broke, and his shoulders slumped forward. He searched the carpet around his feet as if he was haunted by the idea of Amy not being found.
Tank’s reaction was nil. His face hardened even more as he rejected the possibility that the senator’s daughter wouldn’t be found. “Like I was saying, we can’t speak about the senator’s personal life, but I can tell you what you need to know about security matters. That’s what I’m in charge of. That’s what I can talk about,” Tank said, resolution in his voice.
“You call Amy getting abducted from her home right from under your nose something you’re in charge of?” Eli asked.
Tank’s face collapsed onto itself, tightening into a death stare pointed at Eli. He pulled his lips away from his teeth baring them. He lunged his upper body forward, slamming his elbows onto his thighs, fists balled. Preck flinched backward at the sudden movement. Sam leapt to his feet to keep Tank from attacking Eli.
Chapter 8
“What’s going on?”
The question came from behind them. The rage drained from Tank’s tense body, but his gaze remained focused on Eli, who knew he’d struck a nerve that he couldn’t wait to explore further.
All four stood to their feet when the senator entered the room.
“Senator, we were just discussing the events leading up to Am—” Preck caught himself.
“It’s okay to say her name,” the senator said. “We have faith that Amy is okay and that you two will be able to bring justice for her.”
Preck and Eli nodded.
The senator looked at his guards and said, “I can take it from here, gentlemen.”
As they made their way to the door, the senator stopped them. “Tank,” he said. “Thanks for keeping Liz from hurting herself up there. And I don’t want either of you blaming yourselves for Amy’s disappearance. We are all in this together. Do you understand me?”
They nodded but guilt and remorse showed in their expressions, especially the younger guard’s.
After they left the room, Preck asked, “Senator, will your wife be joining us?”
“No. She’s resting. She’s been up all night, ever since we found out Amy was missing. The hysteria has really done a number on her as you can tell. But I can answer any of your questions.”
Eli thought it very odd that Liz was not kicking the door down to try and give the detectives as much information as possible.
“Sir,” Eli said, “it would be best if we interview both you and your wife—”
“Detective, let me stop you and explain a few things. First, I’m a man who carries a lot of weight on my shoulders. I take my position as a sitting United States Senator, my duties as a husband and father, and the leading of my company very seriously. My time is valuable, so when I make a decision, I don’t have the luxury or patience to go back and reconsider, ponder, or talk about it. For now, I have decided that my wife needs to rest and that I can answer your questions.”
Eli watched as the senator’s eyes widened and splotches of red formed above the fitted white collar that hugged his neck. The detectives let a few moments pass until the tension cleared. Eli made a mental note to find out more about the senator’s company, which might explain the mansion, six cars, and much more.
“Can we see the front door, Senator?” Preck asked.
The question triggered something. In an instant, the powerful man’s demeanor shifted from confident to fearful. Pain rushed into his face before he looked away. He closed his eyes and deep lines formed beside them. The detectives knew the sight. The senator was wrestling with memories of his daughter. They gave him time, and finally he nodded.
The three men wound their way through the seemingly endless maze of hallways, until they came to an expansive foyer that could easily hold six-dozen people. Thirty feet ahead of them was the interior side of the home’s grand entrance, a set of double doors as wide as a redwood tree and as tall as a king’s table. The senator never looked directly at the door but kept his eyes angled toward his left shoulder. He pointed with his right arm.
They stopped about twenty feet shy of the door.
“Are you okay, Senator?” Eli asked.
The senator cranked his head further away from the scene and remained silent.
Eli had seen pictures of the very scene he was now standing in back in his lieutenant’s office, but he wanted to hear something from the man who couldn’t bear to look their way.
“The first time I saw it caused enough fear to last a lifetime,” the senator said.
“This will take us a few minutes, sir,” Preck warned.
The senator nodded and walked through a short hall leading into an adjacent room the detectives could see was the kitchen.
The foyer was taped off by the investigators with wide yellow tape that read CRIME SCENE - DO NOT ENTER. The detectives needed to survey the crime scene before they called in a cleaning team to remove the blood they suspected belonged to Amy Cronin.
Preck glanced at Eli. “Brought gloves, right?”
Eli stayed quiet with a dumb look on his face. Preck reached into his blazer interior pocket, removed a second pair, and handed them to him.
“Thanks, partner,” Eli said.
Preck lifted the yellow crime scene tape with the thumb of his gloved left hand. He held it up for Eli to duck under, then followed him. The senior detective raised his right hand forming it into the shape of a gun and pointed it at the left side of the double doors. Preck made his signature double-clicking noise with the side of his mouth, like he was instructing a horse to giddy-up, then said, “This, my friend is our inciting incident. We are in act one, and this scene will lead us to our killer, so pay close attention.”
Eli furrowed his brow but held his questions, knowing his partner always geeked out a little at crime scenes, especially early on in cases. They walked another ten feet shoulder-to-shoulder until they found what they were looking for.
Blades of light danced around it, catching Eli’s attention. He looked up toward the ceiling at the chandelier. It was as wide as a jacuzzi tub and as tall as a single-story home. It hung from a vaulted ceiling that ran the full height of the oversized mansion. Beams of sun entered above the doors through tall windows and reflected throughout the grand entrance. A few pink and blue sunrays bounced light onto the dark mahogany doors just above the markings the detectives were most interested in.
They knelt close to the door, balancing themselves without touching anything. They knew there was always a possibility the CSI team had missed something, and they didn’t want to taint new evidence.
“This,” Preck said, tracing the streaks with his left pinky that stretched from the center of the left door to the edge that opened.
Four finger-width trails of dried blood had left a dark glossy outline on the door’s smooth surface. Inside each trail of blood were markings. Eli assumed they were what the senator could not bear to look at.
“Gouges from her fingernails,” Eli said.
Preck nodded. The crease in his brow deepened as he imagined what took place in the home. He opened the left door to get a better view of its edge.
“See these?” Preck pointed toward the edge where two deep nail-width crevices came to an end.
Eli knew his partner was referring to the two fingernails that had been ripped clean from the girl’s fingers during the struggle and were left behind. The crime techs had removed them and taken them to Harris County Institute for Forensic Sciences for processing.
Preck went on, “The crime scene tech and I agree that the nails were the pointer and middle fingernails. It’s likely Amy was carried out, not dragged, by one or two full-sized people, most likely men.”
“How do you know that?” Eli asked.
Preck shifted his eyes to the floor and said, “White tile flooring.”
Now Eli understood. If there had been a struggle, markings or debris would have been left behind on the floor. It was obvious that whoever had taken Amy was not concerned with leaving a trail of blood on the door, and likewise had not come back to rub markings off the tile floor.
“What about the blood on the door?” Eli asked. “It could not have come from her nail beds.”
“Agreed. There’s too much, and the blood begins before the nail markings.”
Preck rose from his crouched position and Eli followed. The senior detective pulled a slender, aluminum-encased black flashlight from the inside of his jacket and triggered the light, then began looking for other traces of blood. He shined the light at the end point of the blood and worked his way toward the frame of the door. When the blood stopped, he used the beam of light to carry imaginary lines onto the wall. He ran it through a decorative group of sticks, faux mahogany branches, that matched the door, splaying out from an intricate oriental-styled vase.
Eli walked with Preck as he continued the imaginary blood lines forward until they reached a table against the wall. Its thick metal legs featured dragons molded into each of them. Four deep glass inlays made up the top of the table. The glass was crystal clear, professionally maintained by cleaners. Eli guessed the table had cost more than the car they’d arrived in. When they came to the far corner, Preck noticed a glossy edge. He knelt to inspect it.
Preck put his face close to the corner of the table, his nose almost touching it. Eli wondered if he was trying to sniff it. Preck curled his arm overhead and swung his flashlight ever so slightly, the beam of light resembled a pendulum in motion.
“Uh huh,” Preck said in a low tone, affirming his suspicion. He made a mental note to have CSI come swab it if they hadn’t already.
“You wanna let me in?” Eli asked.
“Senator, can you come in here for a moment?” Preck asked ignoring Eli.
Seconds later the senator appeared, his right hand covering his eyes but allowing just enough of a view to see the floor a few feet in front of him. He stopped when he saw Preck kneeling beside the table. The senator stood opposite the large doors he couldn’t bear to look at.
“Senator, which direction is Amy’s bedroom from here?” Preck asked.
He lifted his free arm, pointing to the left.
“Okay,” Preck said. “That’s what I thought.”
“Please tell me you found something—a clue—anything,” the senator said, struggling to keep his composure.
“We did,” Preck said. “How about we follow you back to the sitting room, so we can look at each other?”
The senator nodded. After he’d fully turned away, he dropped his hand from his eyes. As the three men weaved their way through the myriad of halls, passing a few dozen closed doors, Eli’s mind ran wild, wondering what secrets hid in the mansion. He thought the kind of money and power the senator wielded could not be contained long without corruption.
“Sir, I need a restroom break. Where can I use the head?” Eli asked.
The senator turned and pointed over Eli’s left shoulder. “Just behind you, second door on your right. We’ll wait for you here.”
Eli lowered his eyebrows and placed a hand over his stomach, then began rubbing it in a circular motion. “Sir, I have a severe case of irritable bowel syndrome.” Red faced, Eli added, “I’m embarrassed to say sometimes these things take a while.”
The senator’s expression soured as he nodded. “Uhmm, you know where to find—”
“I know where to find you, but please don’t wait . . . time is of the essen,’oh’gosh” Eli said, his mouth open, face in pain.
Eli back-peddled quickly into the restroom and waved for the others to go on.
“I am sorry about that senator,” Preck said. “Poor guy can make a mess of things when his tummy gets to runnin’ . . . you ever see a Calcutta sewer?” Preck asked.
The senator, speechless in disgust, shook his head.
Eli hid in the bathroom with his ear to the backside of the door. A few moments later when Preck’s voice faded off, He poked his head out of the threshold to make sure the men were gone. Eli climbed the stairs to investigate why Liz Cronin had decided to sleep instead of being interviewed. He believed something wasn’t right.
Chapter 9
Eli wondered if he was being watched from a private security room somewhere in the home. He imagined the private guards he’d pegged as prior military were holed up in a hidden room using joysticks, directing cameras to record his every move. But fear of the unknown was not going to trump his gut instincts. He ran his favorite quote through his head, ‘When fear stands knocking at the door, we must keep the uninvited visitor from interrupting.’
After tiptoeing upstairs, he surveyed the hall attempting to locate cameras but couldn’t. He moved toward the area the senator’s wife had her breakdown. Farther down the hall, he began the hunt for the master bedroom. The first door he came to was cracked. He eased it open recognizing it was some type of oversized industrial laundry room with two washing machines, two dryers, a car’s length of counter space with enough room above it to hang uniforms for a small army. It was a housewife’s dream come true, but Eli guessed Liz Cronin rarely stepped foot in the place.
The next door he came to was closed. He spun the knob ever so gently until it freed and pushed it open slowly. The door opened to an expansive bedroom. His eyes went to the four-post California King bed against the left wall where Liz Cronin was supposed to be sleeping but wasn’t. Ornate wood-carved bedposts supported a purple and white silk canopy draped above it. Eli stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Light flooded the room from the ceiling-to-floor windows opposite the entrance.
The windows were taller than an NBA center and overlooked a soccer-field-sized backyard. He spotted the younger guard walking the perimeter outside. Eli pulled away from the window as his heart raced. The bed was perfectly made up and opposite two large interior doors he suspected led into the bathroom. Eli went for them.
The doors on rollers slid sideways vanishing into the walls. In front of Eli was another set of closed doors. To the right were double-sink countertops on both sides of the room with a walkway between that led to a jacuzzi tub raised by four steps. His eyes widened at the grand spectacle. Above the tub were three panes of oversized windows, providing a view into a cluster of pine trees outside the home.
To the left, opposite the jacuzzi tub and sinks, was a walkway that led toward a mini kitchen and wet bar. Eli walked in its direction first, passing a door he opened revealing a toilet room that had enough room to stretch out and lay down in all directions. The mini-kitchen was complete with a waist-high refrigerator, built-in oven, and wet bar. Above the bar was a wine chiller with racks for reds next to it. Both wine storage areas looked like they’d been pillaged. Corks and foil lay on the counter below them. Eli counted one shy of a half-dozen corks on the counter alone, with more foil and corks on the floor below.
Eli walked to the only door that remained closed and deduced it was the closet. He pushed the door open and felt for a switch. When he found it and flipped it up, the room flooded with light. Eli was punched in the chest with a surge of adrenaline upon seeing the women’s bodies standing lifeless before him.
Startled, he jumped backward slamming into the door he’d just entered. He went for his gun, an instinct that came with surprise. The fear subsided when he realized the women were hollow, plastic mannequins dressed in a selection of Liz Cronin’s formal wear.
Eli bit his lip hard out of frustration that he’d been spooked by faux women and even more so that he’d made a loud noise banging into the closet door. He got over it fast knowing he needed to return downstairs without being seen if he was going to play off his leaky bowels and rejoin the interview. Before he left the closet, he eyed the dolls in formal wear and counted ten of them spaced equally throughout the closet that was at least the size of a regular home’s living room, but oval in shape. On the left of each mannequin was a space large enough for two people to stand shoulder-to-should where more formal wear was displayed. Next to the gowns was a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves holding shoes, an array of heels, fine leather sandals, and fancy boots. A framed picture hung from the wall to the right side of each mannequin.
He stepped close to the first. It was a picture of Julia Roberts wearing the identical dress as the mannequin beside it. Another plastic figure wore a tight white sleeveless dress and white high heels. Eli recognized the framed photograph next to the lifeless figurine as the iconic Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. She wore a white cocktail dress during an interrogation in which she was the prime suspect in a murder case.
“Puedo ayudarte?”
The voice came from behind him and sent his heart racing, slamming against his ribcage. He mouthed an expletive under his breath at the mannequin dressed as Stone, then turned around. He guessed the woman standing in front of him was at least a foot-and-a-half shorter than he was, making her a smidge taller than a dwarf. He turned his palms upward and shrugged his shoulders.
“Baño?” he asked desperately.
The short Mexican woman, likely in her late fifties, wore a short-sleeved black dress with a white apron tied at her waist. She held a look of suspicion on her face, lips pulled to the side with her brow sunk in disapproval. Eli tried a different tactic. He pulled the corner of his sport coat aside to expose the badge he wore on his belt next to his gun.
He pointed to the badge and said, “Policia.” Eli needed the housemaid to get lost before he was found out. Knowing he’d exhausted his Spanish, he asked, “Speak’a’ingless?” He tried adding a Spanish accent but realized his attempts were as pathetic as a party clown with whiskey on his breath.
He exhaled deeply and tried again. He danced an awkward number while rubbing his stomach. This time with urgency, he said, “Baño, por favor!”
The stubby woman found sympathy and broke her stone-cold gaze. She motioned for him to follow, turned, and walked out. Before Eli exited, he noticed a mess of bottles, various packages, and some trash heaped on the counter near the exit. He took a picture without the maid noticing.
Eli followed her down the same stairs he climbed, and his fear of being caught started to ease. Eli was led to the same bathroom downstairs he started from. The maid opened the door and let him pass by. She pulled it closed behind him and muttered, “Cabrón.”
Eli wondered what it meant but was more concerned with her telling the senator she’d found him on the second floor. Before he could complete the worried thought, he heard a fist pounding against the door.
“Ridge, d’you fall in?”
Eli cleared his throat and let out a moan followed by, “Just a second.”
He flushed the toilet then ran a little water in the sink, wetting his hands and patting his face to make it moist. When he opened the door, the senator and Preck held concerned looks. Eli shut the door in a rush after fumbling to find the exhaust fan switch on the wall behind him. He guessed the senator bought it because when Eli wiped his palms against his pant legs and extended one for a shake, the senator pulled both hands up and motioned Eli away as if he was avoiding a panhandler.
“I’d better not,” the senator said. “I’ve been under the weather a bit, and I would hate to give it to you.”
“I would let the commode air out a bit before going in there,” Eli warned, using a hitchhiker’s thumb to signal the danger zone.
There was a moment of silence between the three men. Eli looked at Preck who was shaking his head, eyes closed.
“Okay,” the senator said. “You have what you need then?”
“Oh yes,” Preck answered.
Eli agreed with a nod, and the senator began walking them toward the garage door they used to enter the house.
“Senator, as far as news conferences go, it would be best to limit the details you share with the public,” Preck said.
“I just thought if the public knew, the more likely a good Samaritan might step forward with some helpful information.”
“Can I be frank with you, sir?” Preck asked.
“Of course.”
“That shit only happens in Hollywood. If we involve the media in the case, it should be through a coordinated effort, released by us at an official press conference asking the public to get involved in a specific way. Otherwise, it will likely attract a slew of certified bat-shit crazies. I hope you understand, sir.” Preck’s intent was to silence the senator who seemed to like the attention.
“I understand,” Cronin said, nodding.
Just before they exited, Tank stepped into the hallway beyond them and shot Eli a disapproving look.
Eli waved and said, “We’ll let you know if we have more questions for you or Sam regarding the night of the disappearance or anything else.”
Tank appraised them with a scowl. Behind the angry guard, Eli noticed the edge of the maid’s arm and dress appear, then vanish.
Commentary:
Sometimes when writing, I get myself into a maze of details—a world with circumstances and turns of events—and it’s hard to get out. This mansion was one of those. This home was modeled after an actual home in a pristine neighborhood in The Woodlands Texas. A friend and reader sent me a digital tour of the home so that I could accurately write about it.
Throughout the book, the homes get more extravagant. I really enjoy painting a picture of things that are inspired by actual places and events. In my last novel, my wife and I took a trip to New Orleans (it was our anniversary) and she was gracious enough to spend it in a partially locked-down city (Dec. 2020) and make it a dual-purpose trip so that I could do some research for the novel.
Here are a few pictures from this book (the Cronin’s mansion) and a few from the prequel, Whitewashed Tomb.
Read the next chapters here
Check out the first two Eli Ridge Novels here.