After he retired from the force, however, things got murky. As time passed, she heard rumblings about, and was briefed on, cases where he appeared to be involved in suspect business dealings linked to sordid individuals.
Keller did not appear to be initiating illegal or criminal behavior—as far as she could tell—but his name seemed to be turning up more frequently in recent years associated with oligarchs and drug lords and corrupt foreign presidents.
The Bureau had never been able to amass sufficient evidence to arrest him, but after a while, Loren realized that since leaving the LAPD his questionable associations were not a coincidence. She became convinced—but could not prove—that whatever he was involved in, he had gone over to the dark side.
Loren kept telling herself that eventually he would screw up and she would be there to put him in cuffs. And that would be a disappointing day because she liked the guy. But circumstances changed people. Greed and money changed people. Sometimes circumstances, greed, and money proved a lethal combination, corrupting people beyond repair.
A couple of years ago, a case involving human trafficking was assigned to her unit. After months of getting nowhere, they received a tip that a ship coming into the port of Oakland was arriving with two dozen children locked inside one of the containers.
It turned out the cargo came into San Francisco, not Oakland, so the Bureau was late to the party. But upon their arrival, Loren saw a man who looked like Keller. He ultimately gave them the slip—although several hours later they got a hit on the BOLO she had issued: Keller was picked up on a traffic stop near San Jose International airport.
He denied involvement with the smuggling ring in any way, but Loren knew that could be total bullshit. It could have also been the truth, and they had no way of proving otherwise.
“Here we are again,” Loren had said after walking into the interview room.
“Having an unscheduled chat?”
“You know what I mean. On the wrong side of the law. Affiliating with known felons.”
“I take jobs. I usually don’t know who I’m working for. I do my investigation and submit my report. I’m not saying that’s the case here, but we’re talking in generalities, hypotheticals.”
“That makes one of us. Last time you assured me you hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet we find ourselves in the same situation.”
“Last time was nothing with nothing. You let me go. And even offered to have coffee with me next time you arrested me.”
“I’m seeing a pattern develop. And I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, I don’t like this pattern, either. You keep arresting me. And then letting me go. Can we go for coffee now?”
“No, we can’t go for coffee.”
“But you said you would, ‘Next time I arrest you.’”
“I also said it’d better not happen again.”
Keller shook his head. “Loren. You’ve gotten hard.”
She looked at him a long moment, then said, “Only when it comes to you. You used to be better than…” She shrugged.
“Than what?”
“This.”
And now, as she shook her head to bring herself back to the present, she feared that Keller was involved in a case in which Amy was the person of interest—if not the prime suspect. Beyond her confusion relative to what, and why, Amy was doing what she was doing, Loren did not understand the connection to Keller.
Given his rumored affiliations, this was not good news. Amy was in trouble many times over. And she was apparently dealing with dangerous people, likely without any idea of what she had gotten herself into.
Sitting here in her office was getting Loren nowhere. But what could she do? If she told her squad supervisor that Amy was her sister-in-law, she would be isolated and banned from participating in the case. Loren would be shut off from updates and information.
But it was only a matter of time before Hill figured out that she was related to Amy. How long until they made that connection was tough to predict.
One thing Loren was sure of: it would be measured in hours, not weeks. She did not have much time.
42
Keller made a list of area hospitals and then waited until the men searching for him left Starbucks. He got up, dumped his cup, and worked his way back to his Lincoln. There was an increased police presence as officers patrolled on horseback and in cruisers—but they were looking for a man whose physical appearance had changed. Keller walked right by two cops and they gave him only a cursory once-over.
He called around but despite his best efforts at subterfuge, he could only elicit information from one hospital on a young child arriving at the emergency department—a leading trauma center that was about five miles away. He tapped the address on his iPhone and Maps opened.
Twelve minutes later, he pulled into the lot and circled once, checking for security cameras. He saw none—which did not mean there weren’t any—so he parked and walked into the ER with his head down and his jacket collar extended.
He took a seat in the waiting room and picked up a copy of People magazine. As he casually flipped through it, he observed the flow of staff and medical personnel. There were double doors that led to the triage area.
He surmised that beyond it lay the nurses station and the treatment cubicles. If he was correct, Robbins and Melissa were a mere twenty yards or so from him. But trying to get into, and past, triage might be a point of resistance—where any unauthorized individuals would easily be spotted—and stopped.
Keller set the magazine down and walked back outside to evaluate the exterior, in case there was an easier way in. The ambulance bay stood twenty feet to his left. He glanced inside the sliding doors and saw two male nurses near the entrance.
He returned to the waiting room. A man and his son rushed in a few minutes later, the teen bleeding profusely from his right thigh, which was wrapped in a soaked bandage. Personnel appeared and rapid-fire orders were exchanged. Someone grabbed a wheelchair—and Keller used the opportunity to squeeze past them into triage. No one was at the station—they were inside attending to the youth—but other staff members were working on patients in the nearby treatment rooms.
He avoided making eye contact—and did not dare stop and look confused as to where he was headed, as that invited attention and questions of, “Can I help you?” “Are you lost?” or challenges such as, “Who are you and why are you back here?”
He walked purposefully down the corridor, trying to catch a name or clipboard indicating who was occupying each of the rooms. He saw nothing—likely because of privacy laws. Always something to make his job more difficult.
He stopped at what appeared to be a break room with a sign that read, “Authorized medical personnel only.” Keller interpreted that to include him. He entered and saw a coffee machine on the left, a wooden cabinet on the right. He pulled the latter open and found what he was looking for: a blue scrub top, emergency department embroidered over the left breast.
He shrugged it over his head and although it was not a perfect fit, it did not need to be. He walked out, then grabbed a patient chart out of a slipcase beside the first door on his right. It was for a forty-two-year-old male, not a five-year-old girl.
Nevertheless, he took the clipboard with him and walked down the corridor.
Into the next treatment room.
43
When Brandon Ellis arrived home from the office, he was dog tired. The past several weeks his sleep had been fitful and short, maxing out at five hours on a good night. When he did finally get into bed, Christine’s tossing and turning kept him awake.
But they were in the home stretch and he suspected—and hoped—that the pace, and stress level, would ease up once the IPO closed. He had a feeling, however, that though there might be a slight reprieve, the frenetic schedule would continue for the foreseeable future.
The u
nrelenting pressure had taken its toll on their marriage, for sure. But as he had counseled dozens of patients in the past, this was not unusual. High-performing careers demanded intellectual, emotional, and physical stamina. This left little for the “other” in your life—your spouse—who expected to be the significant other in your life, not merely a generic other, a secondary afterthought…if and when there was time.
Christine walked in ten minutes after Ellis—they often took their own cars to work so each could sit in on meetings the other one did not need to attend. They decided to have an early dinner because they had skipped lunch and were both running on fumes.
“I just want to crawl into bed,” Ellis said as he fell onto the dining room seat. Jennifer, their housekeeper, quietly set a plate of Atlantic salmon with mustard asparagus in front of him. Christine unfolded her cloth napkin and then lifted a glass of whiskey to her lips as her own dinner, a rare prime rib with fingerling potatoes, was placed on the table.
“Drink a couple cups of coffee after dinner,” Christine said. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do for tomorrow morning’s meeting.”
“Yeah.” Ellis looked at the fish and knew it was delicious, but he was too tired to lift his hands from his lap and pick up the utensils. “Smells so good.”
He took a deep breath and summoned the strength to reach for his fork when the door chime rang out, up and down the musical spectrum.
Christine closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. “This better be important.”
They stared blankly at the table, listening as Jennifer dealt with the intrusion.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Agent Hill, FBI. This is Agent Minh and Inspector Courtland. Oakland PD. We’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Ellis.”
“That’d be Dr. and Dr. Ellis. I’ll tell them you’re here. May I ask what this is about?”
“No,” Hill said. “You may not.”
The Ellises exchanged a glance—and it was not one of comfort and endearment.
Adrenaline infused Ellis’s bloodstream as he rose and tossed his napkin on the table.
A few steps later they entered the foyer, facing three men wearing dark suits.
Jennifer started to relay the information—but Christine cut her off. “We heard. Would you please keep dinner warm?”
“Yes, Dr. Ellis.”
“Can we help you?” Ellis asked.
Hill did the introductions.
“What’s this about?”
“We’re here about your daughter.”
“Follow us,” Christine said, leading the way down the stone hallway to a room off to the right. They entered and she closed the door.
Inside was an oval table that seated six. They took chairs across from each other.
“What about our daughter?” Christine asked.
“We have information she’s been kidnapped,” Hill said.
“Really.” She made eye contact with each of the men. “Who told you that?”
“We’re not at liberty to say.”
Ellis cleared his throat. “Your information is correct.”
Courtland leaned forward and set both forearms on the conference table. “Oakland PD has no record.”
“We didn’t report it. We have a private inv—”
“Brandon,” Christine said firmly. “That’s enough.” She turned to Courtland. “We’re handling it.”
“All due respect, Doctor,” Hill said. “When dealing with a child, the police should be notified. Her life could be in danger.”
“We were told specifically not to involve the police,” Christine said.
Hill and Minh shared a look. Ellis was not sure what it meant, but apparently the two men did.
“Dr. Ellis,” Minh said, “there someplace we can go to talk?”
Christine snorted. “What’s wrong with right here?”
Minh kept his eyes riveted on Ellis, as if Christine had not spoken. “My partner needs to chat with your wife. Separately.”
Ellis shifted in his seat. “Well, I—”
“Neither of us is going anywhere,” Christine said. “You want to talk with us, this room is perfectly fine. If not, I’ve got our attorney on speed dial.”
Courtland canted his head to the side. “Why would you need an attorney?”
“Honey,” Ellis said, resting a hand on Christine’s. “If they want to talk with us separ—”
“No, Brandon. It’s both of us. Right here and right now. Or not at all.”
Hill cleared his throat. “Time’s critical, so I’m not gonna haggle with you. Who told you not to involve the police?”
“The kidnappers,” Christine said. “They called. They said we’d never see Melissa again if we called the police.”
Ellis swung his gaze over to Christine. What’s she doing? Lying to the FBI? Or did Amy Robbins call and she and Lira didn’t tell me?
“Do you know who the kidnappers are?” Hill asked.
“No.”
Hill looked at Christine a long moment. Ellis found it unnerving.
“Dr. Ellis, we have reason to believe you’re not telling us the truth. Now I’m going to ask you again. Do you know who the kidnappers are?”
“I didn’t recognize the voice. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Was the caller male or female?” Minh asked.
“Male. But I heard a woman in the background. She said something but the guy cut her off.”
“Were you also on this call?” Hill asked Ellis.
“Just Christine.”
“Any accents?”
Christine bit her bottom lip and she looked down, shook her head no. When she looked up, her eyes were teary.
Ellis placed a hand on Christine’s shoulder. “This is upsetting my wife. Can we continue this tomorrow?”
“Like I said.” Hill clenched his jaw. “In child abduction cases, every minute counts. So no, we can’t continue this tomorrow. Unless you know who the kidnappers are.”
“My wife already told you. She didn’t know who called.”
Courtland cleared his throat. “Any unusual, or identifiable, noises in the background? Fog horn? Train? Airplanes?”
“I wasn’t really focused on that.” Christine sniffled, her gaze on the table. “I don’t remember hearing anything. It was a short call.”
“Did he ask for ransom?”
“No.” She looked at Courtland. “But he said he’d be contacting us again. He hung up when I asked to talk to Melissa.”
“Has he called again?” Minh asked.
“No.”
“Home phone or cell? Which did he call?”
Christine hesitated. “Home.”
Courtland pulled out his spiral notepad and clicked his pen. “Do we have permission to look over your phone records?”
“We’re dealing with a very sensitive financial transaction, Detective. With our business. So I’m sorry, that wouldn’t be wise.”
“We can debate the wisdom another time,” Courtland said, jotting something down on the page. “You have caller ID?”
“We do. But it didn’t have a name or number. It just said ‘wireless caller.’”
“Do you have any staff that work for you?” Minh asked.
“You met one of them a few moments ago,” Ellis said. “Our housekeeper. We’ve also got a gardener and an au pair.”
Minh glanced at Christine, then turned his attention back to Ellis. “The au pair is the one we’re most interested in. She’s had the most contact with your daughter. We’d like to talk with her.”
Ellis swallowed hard, trying to disguise his discomfort at misleading them. “She’s not home.”
“Where can we reach her?”
“She’s out of town,” Christine said, her gaze again dropping to the table. “On vacatio
n.”
“Dr. Ellis.” Hill shook his head and hardened his features. “Lying to a federal agent is a felony. I strongly suggest you consider your answers. Once we walk out and confirm that you’ve lied to us, you’re going to prison.”
“There are things we know about this case,” Minh said. “And when you contradict these known facts, it’s easy for us to determine you’re not being truthful.”
Christine brought her head up and made eye contact. “She’s on her way back to Germany for a vacation. That’s all I know. We haven’t seen her, so I assume she went. More than that I can’t say. She’s only an employee. I’m not her mother. I can give you her cell number if you want. Call her. Ask her where she is. And whatever else you want to know.”
Christine rattled off the digits; Courtland recorded them in his notebook.
“We hope you help us find Melissa,” Hill said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Anything you remember, call us.” He handed her his card.
“But what about not involving—”
“We’ve handled a lot of cases like this. The kidnappers won’t know we’re working with you.”
“Thank you,” Ellis said.
Christine pulled a tissue from a box on the table and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. “My husband and I have had a long week. A long year. And now this.”
“We’ll do our best to get her home safely,” Hill said.
AS THEY WALKED back to their vehicle, Minh glanced over his shoulder at the Ellis home.
“What do you think?”
Hill snorted. “I think she’s lying.”
“Definitely lying,” Courtland said.
“Probably,” Minh said. “Maybe. But not definitely. I don’t find her super credible, but everyone processes stress in different ways. She might just be spooked because the kidnappers told her not to call us.”
“But we know who the kidnapper is,” Courtland said. “A woman, not a man.”
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