Payne nodded while shaking his friend’s hand. “I appreciate you coming over so early. I feel better just having you here.”
“No problem. It’s the least I can do for free office space.”
Payne smiled, but his body language told the real story. He was scared. “You know how I used to get gut feelings back when we were in the MANIACs?”
Jones nodded. “Your gut saved my ass more often than Preparation H.”
“I don’t know why, but I’m getting the same bad feeling right now. I know that something’s happened to Ariane. I don’t know what, but something.”
“Jon, listen. We’ve been out of the military for a while now, so the tuning fork in your stomach is bound to be rusty. Right? Besides, you’re not used to being awake at this time of day, so I’m sure your system is out of whack.”
Reluctantly, Payne agreed.
“Why don’t you fill me in on everything, and we can come up with some kind of solution.”
Payne nodded. “I walked Ariane to her door last night. She had a headache and said she needed to get some sleep. We made plans for this morning, then I went home.”
“You didn’t stay the night?”
“If I had, do you think I’d be out here?” he snapped.
“Sorry, I just—”
“No,” Payne apologized. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just, I don’t know. . . .” He paused for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts. “I would’ve stayed the night, but she had a headache and thought it would be best if she got some rest.”
“So, you didn’t have a fight or anything?”
Payne shook his head. “I was supposed to pick her up at seven thirty. We were going to grab a light breakfast, then head straight for the golf course. She told me that she’d made an eight thirty tee time.”
“Fine. Now walk me through this morning.”
“I woke up early and showed up on time. I tried buzzing the intercom, but there was no reply. Next I checked the lot, and her car is here.” Payne pointed toward it. “I went back to the front door, and that’s when I noticed the duct tape.”
“What duct tape?” The two of them walked to the entryway, and Jones studied the way the tape had been placed over the lock. “Well, if something has happened to her—and I’m not saying that it has—I doubt we’re dealing with professionals.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Look at the placement of the tape. Instead of running the strip over the lock in a vertical fashion, they placed it horizontally, allowing us to see it.”
“And in your opinion, is this lack of professionalism good or bad news?”
Jones shrugged. “To be honest with you, it could be either. If something has happened to Ariane—and it’s still a big
if
in my mind—then there’s a good chance that other mistakes have been made as well. And that’ll increase our opportunity to find her.”
“That sounds good to me. So, what’s the bad news?”
“If this isn’t a professional job, there’s a better chance that someone will panic, and if that happens . . .” Jones didn’t have the heart to finish the sentence.
“Understood,” Payne grunted. “Let me show you upstairs.”
The two men jogged to the second floor. Jones shook his head when he saw the stick used as a door prop. “Definitely not professionals,” he muttered as they walked toward Ariane’s front door. “You tried calling her, right? Maybe she’s just sleeping and can’t hear the door from her bedroom.”
“Trust me, she’s not in her bedroom.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I went
into
her bedroom.”
“You had your key with you?”
Payne shook his head. “Not exactly.”
Jones noticed the splintered door frame before he reached Ariane’s apartment. The door hung there, slightly tilted, like it had been battered by a tropical storm.
“Let me guess,” Jones quipped. “Hurricane Payne.”
“She wouldn’t answer the door.”
Jones shrugged as he walked inside. “Seems like a reasonable response.”
“Listen,” Payne said, “I realize everything I’ve showed you is marginal at best. But this is the thing that really got me going.” He pointed to the tape that covered Ariane’s peephole. It was the same type of tape that covered the lock on the front door. “There’s nothing innocent about this. And I guarantee that this tape wasn’t here last night. No way in hell.”
Jones grimaced. It did seem suspicious. But he didn’t touch it, just in case there were fingerprints on it. “What kind of security system does her apartment have? Didn’t you pay to have it upgraded?”
“Yeah, they installed alarms on all the windows and the two doors. I also had a camera mounted inside the peephole, but they must’ve known about that.”
“Not necessarily. Just because they put tape on the door doesn’t guarantee that they knew about the camera. They could’ve been trying to prevent her from seeing into the corridor. Shoot, for all we know, maybe her neighbor across the hall was doing something illegal, and he wanted to guarantee his privacy.”
“But how does that explain the fact that she’s missing?”
“I have no idea,” Jones admitted. “But I’m trying to keep as many options open as possible. Have you tried talking to her neighbors? Maybe they saw something.”
“I was reluctant to bug them so early, but now that it’s after eight o’clock and you’re beginning to see my point of view, I’m willing to try anything.”
Jones nodded his approval. “Why don’t you handle this floor while I head downstairs?”
“Fine. But if you find anything, please let me know immediately.”
“Will do,” he assured Payne. “And Jon? Keep the faith. We’ll find her.”
CHAPTER 9
KNOCKING
on each door, Payne started with Ariane’s neighbor across the hall and slowly made his way down the corridor. Everyone that he talked to was friendly and immediately knew who Ariane was—females of her beauty tended to stand out. Unfortunately, no one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. And no one could account for the duct tape over the front lock.
After speaking to the last of her neighbors on the second floor, Payne heard Jones running up the stairs in an obvious state of excitement.
“I think I’ve got a witness,” Jones exclaimed. “He’s waiting downstairs in the hall.” Within seconds, the two men were standing in front of the open door of apartment 101. “Mr. McNally, this is Jonathon Payne, Ariane’s boyfriend. Jon, this is Mr. McNally.”
Payne shook the hand of the elderly man while trying to observe as much as he could. McNally appeared to be in his mid-eighties, walked with the aid of a metal cane, and closely resembled Yoda from
Star Wars
—minus the green color. His apartment was cluttered with heirlooms and antiques, yet for some reason a framed
Baywatch
poster of Pamela Anderson hung near the entrance to his kitchen. “Mr. McNally, D.J. tells me that you might’ve seen something that could help me find Ariane?”
“Who the hell is D.J.?” the old man snapped. “I didn’t talk to any bastard named D.J.”
Jones looked at Payne and grimaced. “Sir? Remember me? I talked to you about two minutes ago. My name’s David Jones, but my friends call me D.J.”
“What the hell kind of person has friends that refuse to use his real name? You kids today. I just don’t understand your damn generation.”
“Sir, I don’t mind. D.J. is just a nickname.”
“A nickname?” he shrieked. “You think that’s a nickname? Horseshit! It’s just two capital letters. Why don’t you just use B.S. as your nickname instead? Because that’s what your nickname is: bullshit! When I was growing up, people used to have nicknames that said something about them, like Slim or Cocksucker, not pansy names like D.J.”
“Sir,” Payne interrupted, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was wondering what you saw this morning. David said you saw something that could help me find my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend? Who’s your girlfriend?”
Payne rolled his eyes in frustration. This was getting nowhere. “Ariane Walker. She lives upstairs in apartment 210.”
McNally pondered the information for a few seconds before his face lit up. “Oh! You mean the brunette with the dark eyes and the nice cha-chas? Yeah, I saw her bright and early, about an hour ago. She was wearing a red top and a short skirt. It was so small I could almost see her panties.” The elderly man cackled in delight as he pondered his memory of the beautiful girl. “That gal’s a real looker.”
Payne couldn’t agree with him more. She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. The first and only person who had literally left him speechless, which was unfortunate since he was in the middle of a speech at the time.
A few years back, Payne had volunteered to speak to a group of convicted drunk drivers about the tragic death of his parents. The goal of the program was to make recent offenders listen to the horrors of the crime in order to make them think twice about ever drinking and driving again. Payne was in the middle of reliving his nightmare—describing the devastation he felt when he was pulled from his eighth-grade algebra class and told about the death of his parents—when his eyes focused on Ariane’s. She was standing off to the side, watching and listening with complete empathy. In a heartbeat, he could tell that she’d been through the same horror, that she’d lost a loved one in a similar nightmare. It didn’t matter if it was a brother, sister, or lover. He knew that she
understood
.
Payne managed to finish his heart-wrenching tale without incident, but when he started his conclusion, he found himself unable to take his eyes off of her. He knew he was there to make a point, but suddenly he was unable to focus. There was just some quality about her, something pure and perfect that made him feel completely at ease. In his mind, something good had finally come from their loss. His parents’ accident and her parents’ accident had brought them together.
And the realization stole his ability to speak.
“Jon?” D.J. whispered. “Do you have some questions for Mr. McNally, or do you want me to ask him?”
Payne blinked a few times, which brought him back to the moment at hand. Turning toward the elderly man, he said, “Where did you see Ariane?”
“In my bedroom,” McNally muttered.
Payne and Jones exchanged confused glances, trying to figure out what the man meant. “Ariane was in your bedroom?”
The man cackled again. “If she was in my bedroom, do you think I’d be out here talking to you bozos? Hell, no! I’d be popping Viagra like it was candy corn.”
“Then why did you mention your bedroom?” Jones asked.
McNally inhaled before replying. “Do I have to spell everything out for you whippersnappers? I was in my bedroom when I saw her outside my window with a bunch of fellows. And let me tell you . . .” He tapped Payne on his chest. “You need to get your woman on a leash because she looked pretty darn snookered. They were practically dragging her.”
“She was being dragged by a bunch of guys? What did they look like?”
McNally pondered the question for a few seconds, then pointed at Jones.
“They were black?” Payne asked.
“No, you dumb ass, I mean they were butt ugly and had stupid nicknames! Of course I mean they were black.”
“Could you tell us anything else? Were they tall? Short? Fat? Anything?”
“They were black. That’s it. Everything about them was black. Black clothes, black hoods, black shoes. I don’t even know how many there were because they looked like shadows, for God’s sake. Shoot, they even drove a black van.”
Payne grimaced at the news. “Did you happen to see a license plate on the van?”
“As a matter of fact, I did!” McNally declared. “It was the only thing that wasn’t black.”
“You saw it? What did it say?”
“I have no damn idea,” he answered. “The numbers were just a big ol’ blur. But I do know one thing. The plate was from Louisiana.”
Skepticism filled Payne’s face. “How do you know that?”
“I got me a lady friend that lives down in Cajun country, and every year I visit her for Mardi Gras. When the van first pulled up, I saw the Louisiana plate and thought maybe she was coming here for a little lovin’, but obviously, when I, um . . .” The old man furrowed his brow as he tried to remember his train of thought. “What was I talking about again?”
“Actually,” Jones lied, “you had just finished. Is there anything else that you can tell us about this morning?”
“I’m kind of constipated. But I ate some prunes, so I’m hoping—”
“That’s not what he meant,” interrupted Payne. Even though he was sympathetic to McNally’s advancing age, he didn’t have the time to listen to him ramble about his bowel movements. “David wanted to know if you had anything else to tell us about Ariane?”
McNally pondered the question, then shook his head.
“Well, I’d like to thank you for your information.” Jones handed McNally a business card, then helped him back inside his apartment. “If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Once Jones returned to the hall, he said, “I have to admit things are looking worse for Ariane, but I don’t think we can go to the cops quite yet.”
“Why not? You heard what he said. A group of guys dragged her to their van early this morning, and no one’s heard from her since.”
“True, but Mr. McNally is not exactly what you would call an ideal witness. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s lying or anything, but you have to admit he lost touch with reality a couple of times during our conversation.”
“Shit!” Payne thought they had enough information to go on, but Jones knew a lot more about police procedures than he did. “So what do you recommend?”