“She did,” Lauren said, blinking back tears. “I didn’t want to hear it.”
“Why are you getting all emotional? Big boo-hoo. Do we have to go through this again?” he said.
I raised a hand. “All I did was suggest the possibility. In the meantime, it doesn’t look like he left with any of his personal belongings. Certainly not with his toiletries, which suggests he didn’t expect to be gone long.”
“Well, at least now you’re earning your keep. That’s a refreshing turnabout,” he said.
“I can do without the sarcasm, Hollis, if you don’t mind,” I said. I’d already been fired once, so being fired a second time was of no consequence. Turned out there was no danger there because both of them ignored my comment.
“We should have gone to the police in the first place,” Lauren said. “Fritz has taken matters into his own hands and he’s going to make a mess of it.”
“It’s already a mess!” Hollis said.
“I don’t think it’s too late to talk to law enforcement,” Lauren said. “He’ll just have to take what’s coming to him. Here we are, trying to protect him and we’re only making matters worse.”
“How can it get worse? Fritz has already stolen the money. We don’t even know where he is.”
My gaze settled on the answering machine that sat on a side table inside the arch between the foyer and the living room. “Mind if I check that?”
“What for? If there were messages, the light would be blinking,” Hollis said.
“I’m interested in the old ones,” I said. “Iris came into my office this morning to report seeing Austin twice this past week. She also mentioned that the extortionist had left a message for Fritz on your machine. I checked the one in his room and there’s nothing on it.”
I glanced at Lauren and she shrugged, giving me the okay.
I crossed to the machine and pressed Play. The mechanical butler who handles these matters assured me there were no new messages. He went on to say, “You have ten old messages.”
As I continued to hold down the Play button, the machine said, “Message one.” There was a beep. “Lauren, sweetie, this is Florence. I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to make it Tuesday night.”
Florence was explaining why she and Dale couldn’t make it when Lauren cut in, saying, “You can erase that.”
I dutifully pressed Delete and the mechanical butler started again at the beginning of the amended sequence. “Message one.” Beep. “Mr. McCabe, this is Harley at Richard’s Auto Care. Your Mercedes is ready. Let us know if you want the shuttle to pick you up.”
I looked to Hollis, who frowned impatiently. “Erase,” he said, gesturing with his drink.
I deleted the message and pressed Play. We went on in this fashion through seven more old messages, none of which were significant. The last was as follows: “Yo, Fritz. Hope you recognize this voice from your past. Enough with the bullshit excuses. It’s pay-or-play time. I want that money, so you better find a way to get it. I’ll pick you up at the corner of State and Aguilar Friday at noon. If you’re not there, good luck, pal. Your life’s going to get very, very tough.”
Hollis’s expression shifted from impatience to dismay. “Who the hell is that?”
“Austin is my best guess,” I said. “The second time Iris saw him was Friday around noon, driving up State. She thought he had a passenger, but she couldn’t see who it was. The timing would have coincided with the instructions about Fritz being downtown.”
“You’re saying Austin’s behind this?” Lauren asked.
“Looks that way.”
“Do you think he’s had the tape all this time?”
Hollis said, “Who cares? Either he’s had it or he knew where it was and came back to collect. Whatever the case, that dumb cluck son of yours has just handed twenty-five thousand bucks to a fugitive, so you can kiss that cash good-bye.”
“It’s not about the money,” Lauren said.
“You say that now, but that’s not what you were saying when this business came up.”
“You think you haven’t changed your tune? If we’d talked to the FBI in the first place, we wouldn’t be in the trouble we’re in.”
“I don’t know where you get that. If we’d gone to the authorities, Fritz would be in jail.”
“You don’t know that and neither do I,” she said.
“Well, at least we wouldn’t be out the twenty-five grand. We could have used that as a retainer for a hot-shot defense attorney to get us out of this.”
I said, “Hey! The bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere. I’ll need a recent photograph of Fritz. I’ll show his picture to ticket agents at the bus station, train station, and the airport and see if anyone remembers selling him a ticket.”
? ? ?
In the car on my way home, I reviewed their discussion about the time frame for the pivotal call, which might have come in at any point in the last ten days. Neither of them was in the habit of checking messages. Fritz had made his trip to the bank Friday morning and hadn’t been seen since. It looked like the extortionist was Austin Brown. I wasn’t convinced, but I really had no reason to doubt the report. The point was Fritz met someone Friday at noon and it was Tuesday afternoon now. If they’d left town together, they had a four-day head start. How far would twenty-five thousand take them? Austin didn’t strike me as a guy who’d share, so he’d probably dump Fritz before too much time had passed.
I circled my neighborhood twice and found a parking spot a block and a half away. On the walk to the studio, I decided I’d better carve out time for my three-mile jog. I bent down and plucked the afternoon paper from the sidewalk as I let myself through the gate. On the front page, there was the same black-and-white photograph of Ned Lowe I’d seen on the STPD bulletin. The recap that ran below the picture summed up Ned’s criminal history.
Authorities are hunting for a California man they say assaulted and severely injured a Perdido resident before fleeing the area on Saturday, September 23. Identity of the victim is being withheld pending notification of her kin. Ned Lowe, 55, was last seen on Monday in downtown Santa Teresa, where he emptied a can of gasoline against the side of a bungalow in an attempt to set fire to the structure. Evidence suggests that he had been living in the crawl space under the small office building for a week before his presence was discovered. The occupant fired shots that are believed to have struck the fugitive shortly before he escaped on foot. Lowe is wanted in connection with the deaths of five teenaged girls in California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas over the past six years. He is also a person of interest in the death of his first wife, Lenore Redfern Lowe, in Burning Oaks, California, in 1961.
The California Highway Patrol said Lowe is believed to be driving a stolen 1988 red Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with a California license plate LADY CPA. Lowe is described as Caucasian, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and weighing 195 pounds.