Boosting - Chapter 15
Now that that neither Con or Martin where paying any attention to her, Nancy allowed herself a smile. Oh yes, Vanessa had pulled out all the stops! She'd obviously chosen the most figure hugging, low cut 'little black number' available. And the shoes were so teeteringly high that she topped 6'3".
Nancy was convinced that if Van had attempted to go out with Joe in that outfit, he would have firstly gone off his feet, and after he'd come to, would have either cancelled their night out to 'stay in', or would have asked her to go get changed. But this wasn't one of those occasions; this was for the purpose of diversion.
And judging from the expression on Martin's face, it was working.
And by the look on Con's transfixed face as he stared in dumb amazement at the gum-chewing vixen, he was finally being taught a well earned lesson in not underestimating the powers of the fairer sex.
Vanessa sashayed eye-to-eye past Con and blew a gum bubble with a loud pop before targeting in on the Corvette. She opened the door, sat down in the driver's seat sideways and stretched her long stocking-clad legs out invitingly.
Con finally tore his gaze away and raised questioning eyebrows at Nancy.
Nancy smiled angelically at him and then addressed Martin. "Did you find that paperwork?"
"Erm…yes," he said, his eyes still glued to Vanessa. He thrust his arm out and Nancy took the envelope. "I've gotta—"
"Oh, okay," Nancy said as Martin moved quickly towards Vanessa and those never-ending legs.
Finally Con reached Nancy and sat down in the seat next to her and began massaging his foot where Nancy had trodden on him. "What's goin' on, Drew?" he whispered.
"I needed a diversion. Here, empty the envelope." She shoved it at him and pulled forth her digital camera, powered up, and cheekily banged off a shot of Vanessa to forward to Joe at some point.
All of which Con observed with a look of consternation. "You're using Vanessa as a distraction tool? Nancy, what have you done to her?" Con slipped the documents free of the envelope.
"I didn't choose the outfit, she did, and it's working. Keep your eye on Martin while I photograph these pages. Make sure he doesn't try to take advantage of Vanessa too much will you, we don't want her to have to mace him, you remember what dead aim she was with one of those canisters?"
Con twisted in his seat to find Vanessa was now leaning into the engine compartment with Martin's hand resting just below her waistline. Judging from the way Con's shoulder's tensed, if Martin's hand was to delve any further down, the ex-lieutenant was going to blow his cover by flying across the floor to her defence.
"Down, boy!" Nancy cut through. "Van knows what's she's doing."
Nancy lay the documents down on the table and began taking quick shots, one at the top of the page, the next at the bottom. A few snaps later, and it was time to release Vanessa from her responsibility. Nancy stood, adjusted her skirt, and sat back down again.
Seconds later and the door to the outside was opening once more to admit another woman. This time it was Laura Hardy, who glanced around until she finally spotted Martin with his hand on Vanessa. She stalked over to them, Martin finally looking up and noticing.
"Take your hand off my daughter!" Laura shouted and slapped Martin's hand away. Grabbing Vanessa by the upper arm, she started dragging her. "I've been looking for you for hours. Get back home and get into some decent clothes!" As they passed, she shot Con a smile, opened the door and shoved Vanessa through it. "And are you chewing gum, young lady?" she shouted, the last couple of words muffled as the door swung shut behind them.
"Uh-oh—" said Martin, as Laura continued to berate Vanessa before putting her into a car and driving away. Initially, he was red in the face, but after a few seconds he shut down the hood and left the podium.
"Well…that was awkward," Nancy said.
Con blinked rapidly, still flabbergasted.
"Did you like what you saw?" Martin asked Con as he sat down in front of them across the desk.
"Well, you seemed to," Con growled, and then said, "Oh! You meant the car's paperwork? All seems to be in order." He slipped the documents back into the envelope and passed them back. "Not a car I'd personally go for, though."
"Have you something else in mind for your daughter?"
"No, the Corvette's fine. I was thinking for me. I'm more a vintage car nut myself." Con waved his hand vaguely about. "These cars are okay, but they lack something, they're boxes on wheels, soulless."
Nancy sat back, happy this time for Con to talk 'man-o-man' with the used car salesman.
"What do you usually go for?" Martin asked, taking the bait.
"I'm actually looking for a Ford Fairlane, a blue one. My family owned one when I was a kid and I guess the pull of nostalgia is strong."
Nancy cut in. "I've been tryin' to find one, but it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. There's plenty out there, but none are nice enough for my daddy." She patted Con on the hand. "I secretly think he's having a mid-life crisis, poor lamb, you know?" she leaned forward. "He's reached that certain age."
Con smiled lovingly. "Cheeky minx!" He scuffled the top of her head, sending her hair in all directions and messing it up.
Nancy was tempted to stamp on his foot again, but he moved his feet out of harm's way, so she had to be satisfied with patting her hair down and a sulky pout.
"Actually," Martin said thoughtfully. "I've got a few contacts in the trade. I could put the word around on your behalf?"
"Really?" Nancy asked, allowing her voice to raise an excited octave. "Daddy, wouldn't that be terrific?"
*****
Fenton had visited four hotels on foot before he applied some rationale to his actions and realised his mistake; he'd been aimlessly wandering from one building to another, without any sort of plan. He'd forgotten to take into account his prey's psyche, failed to consider what kind of hotel a little rich kid like Bobbie Shandley would book herself into. This was a girl who was used to day-to-day luxuries, she wouldn't have opted for a middle-of-the-road motel, unlike him or his sons – she'd have gone at least four-star.
So Fenton returned to the pages he'd torn from Carson Drew's yellow pages and scanned the list. There appeared to be only one hotel of that type in the whole of River Heights: The Buccaneer, and it was a short ten-minute walk away.
Before long, he was pushing his way through the heavy revolving door after passing the doorman who touched the peak of his cap before bidding him a good afternoon.
Fenton stepped from the doorway into the hotel's marble and mahogany lobby, hearing the humming of air-conditioning and smelling the fresh scent of cut flowers. Immediately, there was a porter at his shoulder offering to take his coat and help him with any luggage he might have. Fenton smiled and waved him away before stepping up to the front desk, further observing that there were guests seated at tables, reading newspapers, having teas and coffees or simply talking. All of whom would be able to overhear him if he wasn't careful.
A tall, thin, elegant man came forward, not a hair out of place, a carefully knotted tie, an overly starched shirt, and pants with a crease that could cut paper. "Can I be of assistance, sir?" he asked, in what the Brits would refer to as a 'toff' accent.
"I'm hoping so." Fenton gave a meaningful look and pushed his FBI badge forward and showed it to him, ensuring that none of the patrons could see.
The man smiled gratefully and indicated that Fenton should follow him to the other end and around the corner so they could no longer be observed.
"How may I be of help, Agent Hardy?" the clerk asked again once they were out of audible range.
"I'm trying to track down a young lady that might be, or may have been, staying here."
The Clerk nodded and turned one of the computer screens towards himself and moved one of the keyboards to within easier reach. "Name?"
"Bobbie Shandley, although she may not have registered herself under that name."
The whole time Fenton had been talking, the desk clerk had been tapping at the keyboard and reading the screen. Eventually he shook his head. "No Bobbie Shandley. However, there is a Miss Bobbie Smith who is staying alone, paid in cash for two weeks."
"Is this her?" Fenton asked, passing the well-thumbed photograph across.
The clerk glanced at it and shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I've only been working here for a short time. Allow me to show it to a couple of my colleagues."
He swept to the other end of the front desk and pulled an equally dapperly dressed female into close conversation. He showed her the picture, which she looked at thoughtfully and glanced back at Fenton. Finally, she whispered something to the clerk who stepped into her position and she approached the elder Hardy.
"Hello. Agent Hardy isn't it? Rafe tells me you're looking for Miss Smith? I was wondering when someone would come asking after her."
"You recognise the young woman in that photo? Fenton asked excitedly.
"Yes, of course. I checked her into the hotel and was keeping my eye on her. Well, I was up until a while ago when I didn't see her any more."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, she went out one afternoon, but didn't come back."
Fenton's brow furrowed. "She didn't return? Did you raise the alarm?"
"Mr Hardy, you have to appreciate that we're a hotel, we don't pry into our guests' private matters. Miss Smith is paid up for her entire stay. She left clear instructions that she did not wish any contact with staff unless she requested it, and that included the maid service. None of us have been into her room since the day she left. If she hadn't returned by tomorrow, we'd have phoned the police, because we would have had to clear the room."
"So, what you're saying is that your hotel has a policy of 'not getting involved' until someone's money has run out and it becomes an inconvenience?" The woman balked, as though he'd slapped her. "You said you were keeping an eye on her, but you were really keeping an eye on her money. So her room hasn't been touched and all her property is still in there?"
"I believe so, but—"
The woman's face had grown crimson and Fenton could tell she was about to start arguing with him by the way she'd tensed. "In that case, I need to see her room," Fenton said, sharply.
The desk clerk treated him to an acidic glare. "Without a search warrant, that's just not possible."
Fenton leaned to read the name from her staff badge. "With all due respect…Jennifer—" he rested his hands on the counter top, "—If you don't show me to her room, I'm going to start causing a commotion, and before you can say the words 'Police Intimidation', there'll be cops swarming all over your nice upscale hotel, interviewing all the staff, and harassing your rich guests. What do you think that will do for your hotel's reputation? Especially when the press find out that a young, pretty, innocent, senator's daughter disappeared off the face of the earth and your hotel did nothing to help."
"Senator's daughter?" The clerk pursed her lips, regarded Fenton up and down, and eventually turned to lift a key down from one of the hooks behind her head. "Follow me, Agent Hardy." She stiffly moved to the end of the front desk, lifted up a hinged section and slipped out from behind.
Jennifer led Fenton to a deeply carpeted set of stairs and mounted them to take him to the second floor corridor. She then strode ahead until she reached the sixth door on the left. Moving swiftly, she'd arrived a good few seconds before Fenton, so she was already pushing the door open and entering as he reached the room. There was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging on the outside doorknob to illustrate that Bobbie really hadn't wanted to be bothered.
As he walked in, he heard Jennifer take a sharp intake of air and speeded up slightly to see what had caused her reaction. He saw what she'd seen and made a similar noise himself.
"Well, someone's been busy—" he muttered, staring around.
"I hope that's not going to damage the wallpaper!"
On the walls were many many pictures of different cars. All of which Fenton had seen on the list of missing vehicles. In the center of the main room wall was a massive map of the East Coast of America, upon which sticky dots had been adhered. Each had a number penned upon it that related back to each photograph. Fenton approached and peeled down one corner of the map to take a peek behind.
"Don't panic, she's not used tacks or sticky tape, just putty," Fenton assured Jennifer. "No harm done." He stepped back and took in the sight of the map properly. "This is brilliant!" he admitted, and said under his breath. "Every vehicle that was boosted, mapped out to show the spread of the crimes. Bobbie was looking for a pattern. Must have taken her hours—"
"Sorry?" Jennifer asked.
"Hmm?" Fenton jumped back into the now, realising he'd been thinking aloud. "Oh, nothing. You can leave me now, Jennifer. I need to make a sweep of the room."
Jennifer did as she was told and began backing out, realising that arguing against the might of Fenton Hardy's singular mind wasn't worth the exertion.
"I'll let you know when I've finished," he assured her.
Fenton followed and shut the door after she'd exited. He returned to the room and pulled a chair up to sit down in front of the map and study it for a while. He frowned, stood up again and moved closer until he was looking at a particular area. "Clever girl!"
He needed to pack up all of Bobbie's belongings, including the pictures, and return to Nancy's house.