Savich punched off his cell, turning to Sherlock and Dix, “Moses is headed toward Leesburg. Cops and agents are on their way, but it sounds like a crapshoot.”
Sherlock said, “A pity he’s not at a nice warm motel, all tucked in for the night.”
“How did you track him from way out here, Savich?” Dix asked.
“MAX helped,” Savich said. “I had him set up to instant message our communications center in Washington if Moses called again. MAX recorded the call, too, through a Bluetooth transmitter I have wired into my phone.
“Since the PATRIOT Act was put into place, we’ve been able to get wiretap warrants for all calls made by an individual suspect, not just a particular phone number. So it doesn’t help them to just ditch a phone and get a new one. So, wherever Moses goes, no matter what cell phone he happens to use, we go with him. He used Caller ID blocking, which slowed us down at bit. If we’d known his number right away, we could have located him in about fifteen seconds.”
“Do you think the police and agents will catch him?” Dix said.
“We should be so lucky,” Savich said, and sighed. “He was driving while he talked, and probably kept driving after he turned the phone off.” To Sherlock he said, “Do you know he bragged how he and Claudia were at the Bonhomie Club last night for Pinky’s memorial? There was no way they were inside, that’s for certain. They had to be hiding outside, watching who went into the club.”
They stood silently for a moment before Savich spoke again. “It kept him talking, though, and he may have given me a lead without realizing it. We need to find a woman who was probably kidnapped and eventually dumped on the side of the road, with possible eye injuries. I’ll call Mr. Maitland, give him a heads-up. Moses still sounded like he was wheezing; he can’t disguise that. You guys head into the kitchen, play it light. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Sherlock nodded. “When we get back to the B-and-B, we’ll get MAX started on finding this woman.” She rose to her tiptoes, kissed his mouth. “Okay, don’t be too long, there are two growing boys in there. No telling how long that corn on the cob’s going to last.”
“One more thing, Sherlock. Moses said I hurt a woman he cared for. That’s why he hates me.”
BUD BAILEY’S BED & BREAKFAST
TUESDAY NIGHT
SAVICH GOT THE call that the roadblocks hadn’t turned up anyone resembling Moses Grace or Claudia. The cell phone belonged to a woman in Hamilton whose purse had gone missing. He wanted to kick something.
Instead, he put MAX to work. When Sherlock came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Savich said, “Her name is Elsa Bender, forty-five, divorced a little over a year, kids grown. About two months ago, she was kidnapped right out of the parking lot at her local supermarket—only one witness. The guy said he heard a woman scream, saw a dirty white van screech into the street. Elsa was found the following morning by a farmer driving a tractor on a country road only three miles from her home in Westcott, in western Pennsylvania. She was naked, dumb with pain, her eyes gone. There’d been a warm spell, thank God, or else she’d have died. As it was, she nearly died from shock.
“She’s now living in Philadelphia with her ex-husband, who’s evidently been a stand-up guy since this happened. I think we need to go see her, Sherlock. I called the chief of police in Westcott, finally convinced him I was for real and asked him to read her description of the kidnappers. He said he didn’t have one; she couldn’t remember what had happened from the moment she drove into the supermarket parking lot until she woke up in the hospital. He didn’t know if she was telling the truth or was just scared, and he couldn’t do any follow-up interviews because the ex-husband took her out of the local hospital and his jurisdiction and back to Philadelphia. The Philadelphia police know about it, but so far, the chief said, they’ve got squat. The last time the local police spoke to her was four weeks ago. There’s been nothing since.”
Sherlock was excited. “How lovely of that mad old man to tell you about her. We could be there tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly, rose and stretched.
“Hey, sailor, you wanna dance?”
He laughed, pulled her to him, and hugged her hard. He said against her ear, “We can be back in Maestro by tomorrow evening. Maybe we’ll want to dance again.”
“What if Moses and Claudia do—”
“It’s okay. If they act, we’ll deal with it. I’ll be surprised if they don’t do something. Old Moses called me to brag, and he needs something new to brag about. He’s not well, Sherlock. I’m thinking this may be his last hurrah.”