by M. Z. Kelly
As soon as he entered the office, Montreal’s gaze immediately went over to his desk. For a moment he thought the cardboard box might be some office supplies that Campbell, his secretary, had placed there. But even as he walked over to the container, he knew that wasn’t likely. Campbell had strict orders not to touch anything in his office. It was his sanctuary, off-limits to everyone except him.
After opening the box, he had a sudden instinctual revulsion to what was inside. The severed head was gruesome. Memories of another street scene in Chicago came back to him. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered a severed head. Back then the man’s head had been sent as a message that the territory belonged to a local street gang. This time, Henry knew another kind of message was being sent—one that was all about money.
It took him a moment to push down his emotions and begin putting the pieces together. Montreal saw the slip of paper. It had been placed in the mouth of the woman he now recognized as his daughter’s maid. He didn’t hesitate, reaching in and removing the paper. He unfolded the handwritten note.
Say nothing or they all die.
Even as he pushed the note into his pocket and closed up the box, Henry Montreal was already doing the calculations. He knew a call would be coming. The only question now was, how much would it cost him? If he was dealing with amateurs, he guessed it would be in the two to three million dollar range. If this was the work of professionals, he would probably be looking at a demand for a lot more.
Montreal put the box in a cabinet behind his desk, picked up his phone, and called his secretary. Campbell Tanner scurried into his office, a notepad in hand. He decided to tread carefully, making sure that he gave nothing away. “What time did you arrive at work this morning?”
Campbell, who was in her twenties, was attractive and slender. She was divorced, and he knew from the office gossip she wasn’t dating. If he were twenty years younger, Henry wouldn’t have hesitated in taking advantage of the situation.
“I got here just before eight, as usual.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
She shook her head, regarding him. “I’m not sure what you mean. There was no one else here when I arrived.”
Montreal fixed his steel blue eyes on her. “And, did you come into my office?”
“Just for a moment, to deliver your mail.”
He nodded, deciding to ask the question he needed an answer to. “There was a box on my desk. Do you have any idea how it got there?”
“No. I just assumed it was something you put there.” She cocked her head to one side and lowered her voice. “I hope you don’t think I looked in it. I completely respect your privacy.”
Montreal released a breath. Campbell had been with him for the past three years and had proved her loyalty on several occasions. If she had seen what was in the box, he had no doubt she would have fallen apart. He decided the secret was safe—for now.
He smiled and walked over to his secretary, escorting her to the door. “I’ve got to leave for a few minutes, Campbell. Would you tell the Seaport Group they’ll have to wait until I return?”
“They’re already assembled in the conference room. I’m not sure…”
Henry cut her off. “They need my money. I’m sure they’ll understand. Tell them I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
As Henry Montreal made his way out of his office with the macabre token that had been left for him, he knew one thing for certain: he would find his daughter and her children. He would find a way to control The Situation. He would then kill the bastards that were trying to extort money from him. That was a certainty.
An hour later, Henry had made it back home and placed the grotesque trophy into his basement freezer. He was coming back upstairs when he heard his wife calling down to him. “Henry, there’s someone in the driveway. I think it might be the police.”
NINE
Allison Marsh’s eyes opened. The sensations of life slowly filtered back into her consciousness. The dim light from a single overhead bulb cast deep shadows over the room. The metal floor was cold and hard. She swallowed, realizing there was a coppery taste in her mouth. Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard voices. She shifted her weight and moaned. Her head was pounding.
All at once, the images rushed back to her. The big man who had come to her door and pushed his way inside when Maria answered. He’d held Maria by her hair and confronted her and the children. He took her phone away before ushering them into an upstairs bedroom. When she’d tried to resist he’d hit her hard and she had fallen back against the dresser, hitting her head. She and the children had all been locked in the bedroom before he’d taken Maria downstairs. That’s when the screaming had begun. She was sure of one thing: After all the screaming she’d heard, Maria had to be dead.
The children. Where were the children?
Allison sat up and the pounding in her head intensified. She now saw that Bobby and Jenna were asleep in a corner of the room. She took a couple of breaths, crawled over, and held them. They were unresponsive, but breathing. Had they been drugged? Then she had another thought. Vince. Where was her husband?
Allison lay with the children for several minutes, an awareness that they were in a large shipping container slowly dawning on her. She again listened for the voices she thought she’d heard earlier. There was only silence now.
She considered her circumstances and knew she had to remain calm. If she had anything going for her Allison knew that, just like her father, she could be tough and determined. When the children woke up they would be scared. She had no idea exactly where they were being held, or when someone would be coming for them. All she did know was that she had to be strong and wait until the picture became clearer to her.
After making her way over to what she thought might be a metal door, she began calling out. “Is anybody there? We need help. Please.”
There was no response. She raised her voice, pleading for help again, at the same time pounding on the metal door. This time she heard a sound from outside. Maybe it was footsteps, someone who had heard her cries. “Hello. Is anybody there?”
There was a creaking noise, then the louder sound of metal scraping together. She realized the door must have one of those bars that locked it from the outside. In a moment, the door was pulled open a couple of inches and an eye stared at her.
“Please. My children and I were taken…”
She heard a woman’s voice. “Step back and shut up.”
She did as instructed and the door swung open wider. The woman fixed her eyes on her and the children, smiling.
“Why are you doing this?” Allison demanded, at the same time she took in the area behind the woman, wondering if the man who had taken them was nearby. She didn’t see anyone.
The woman held up one of those yellow guns that she’d seen the police carry. Allison took a step back at the same time the woman fired the weapon at her. An instant later her body convulsed as a burst of electricity shot through her.
Allison stumbled back and fell to the ground, the voltage coursing through her body. The last sound she heard was Bobby’s voice calling out to her from the corner of the room. And then the world went away.
TEN
Leo drove Bernie and me to Beverly Hills, with Darby and Mel following. We’d left immediately after our meeting with Oz, the lieutenant emphasizing the urgency of dealing with what was happening in view of the press coverage.
“What do you know about Henry Montreal?” Leo asked me as he drove.
I glanced at the paperwork Molly had given me as a breeze swirled up from the backseat where Bernie was lapping up air. “Age fifty-nine, grew up in Chicago. Wife’s name is Georgette, involved in lots of charities. Henry’s the head of the Montreal Investment Group, supposedly worth close to a billion dollars.” I brushed the hair out of my eyes. “Sounds like your average guy.”
“What do you think of Darby’s theory about this being a kidnap for ransom?”
“It’s definitely a possibility. The severed head was meant to get a message across. The question is, who was sending the message?”
“Maybe Vince, playing the role of the victim, but, at the same time, working his own game.”
“Maybe…” I thought about the lawyer for a moment. “He doesn’t seem…” I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “While he’s a lawyer and you know what I think about that…he’s not the aggressive type. Not sure if he would be good for something like this.”
“If it is a kidnapping, that leaves us with somebody else who thinks Daddy Warbucks will pay a hefty price to get his daughter and grandkids back.”
“It could even be that Henry Montreal has already been contacted.”
We were in the 90210 zip code now, an exclusive neighborhood known as Trousdale Estates. Everyone from Elvis, to Frank Sinatra, to Jennifer Aniston, was said to have lived here over the years. Many of the sprawling mansions were hidden behind ivy covered fences, including the one owned by Henry Montreal.
Leo pulled up in front of some iron gates that had an intercom. “Let’s see how the other half lives.”
After announcing ourselves, the gates swung open. We parked in a circular driveway, with Darby and Mel following. The home was a modern affair, with lots of steel and glass, probably built on a lot where the original home had been torn down. I wasn’t sure if the style had a name, but I’d seen something similar in one of those architectural magazines. If I had to guess, I would have said we were in a twenty million dollar neighborhood.
We waited in the home’s whitewashed lobby while a servant announced us. Five minutes later, Henry and Georgette Montreal made an appearance. We made introductions and were ushered into a living room, the décor fitting the home’s modern, industrial appearance. Before we took seats, Georgette, a heavy-set blonde woman, asked if we had any news about their daughter and grandchildren.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing so far, but we’re actively working on finding them.”
My words caused a stream of tears to gush from her eyes. She fell against her husband, sobbing. “I can’t believe they’re gone. Who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
“How can we help?” Henry Montreal asked. He was wearing a dark suit. His blue eyes fixed on Bernie for a moment before finding me again.
“It’s routine for us to talk to the family members in this kind of situation,” I said. “Did either of you know Maria Chavez?”
Georgette gave us a teary answer. “I talked to her several times while visiting Allison. She was…such a sweet girl. Is it true what…what the press is saying?” She found a tissue and blew her nose.
I knew she was talking about the decapitation. “I’m afraid so.” Henry sat stony faced. I gave his wife a moment before going on. “Usually, in these kinds of situations…” I took a breath. “Let me be frank. When there’s an unusual murder like this and the family is missing, it could mean there was a kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping,” Georgette said, looking at her husband. “Oh, God.” There was another cascade of tears.
“What exactly are you trying to say?” Henry asked, at the same time placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance.
Darby answered before I could open my mouth. “If the family was taken, since you’re a wealthy man, it means they will be contacting you for a ransom.”
“But why…why would they kill the maid?”
Darby’s answer was to the point, making me wonder if he possessed even a modicum of finesse. “To send a signal they mean business, that they will do the same thing to your daughter and her kids if you don’t pay up.”
Henry Montreal drew in a breath and released it slowly. He looked at his wife, who was still crying. He looked back at us, lowering his voice. “If that’s the case, I’ll pay anything to get them back.”
Leo spoke up. “You haven’t heard from anyone, so far, have you?”
“Of course not. I’m a practical man…Detective…”
“Kingsley.”
He nodded. “I would certainly inform the authorities.” The lines on his weathered brow deepened. “Have you talked to my son-in-law?”
Mel answered, “Yes, last night. He seemed at a loss to explain what happened. Have you talked to him?”
Henry nodded. “Georgette did, last night. He’s the one who told us what happened.” He tugged at his collar. “…we’re both concerned about him and how he’s coping.”
I got the impression there was an unspoken message behind what he’d said. I looked at Montreal’s wife. “How is your relationship with Vincent?”
“Oh, he’s a dear boy… I talked to him again this morning. He’s worried sick.”
I made note of the fact that she was the one who had talked to Vincent. I looked at her husband, who didn’t respond to what she’d said and had kept his eyes downcast.
I decided to ask what was on my mind. “Tell us about their family situation. Were there any problems between Vincent and Allison?”
Georgette answered. “Heavens, no. They…” She glanced at her husband before going on. “They had some problems early on in their marriage, but when the children came along all that went away.”
“What kind of problems?” Darby asked.
“It was just a rocky period.”
“Was there an affair?”
“Goodness, no. It’s just that…” Georgette drew in a breath. “They were going through a rough patch. I think lots of couples who are recently married go through the same thing. It was a matter of adjusting to the demands of married life.”
Henry’s blue eyes drilled into Darby. “That’s all ancient history. What happened has nothing to do with this.” He looked at me. “How do you want us to proceed?”
“You need to call us immediately if anyone contacts you. We’d also like your permission to tap your phones. If this is a kidnapping, they’ll probably tell you that your daughter and grandchildren will be in jeopardy if you talk to the authorities. Don’t believe them. The only way for you to get your family back is to let us know.”
Montreal nodded, checked his watch. “Make the arrangements. We’ll do whatever you say.”
We spent another half hour with the couple, reiterating how to handle any ransom demands. We also went over problems their daughter and son-in-law may have had with friends, coworkers, or other family members, but got nothing worthwhile.
Henry, who had repeatedly checked his Rolex during the discussion, finally said, “If there’s nothing more, I’m late for a meeting.” He stood up. “Georgette will see you out.”
We were in the circular driveway, saying our goodbyes to his wife, when we saw Henry’s Porsche roar out of the garage and disappear onto the street.
When we were back in the car, I said to Leo. “Somebody’s in a hurry.”
My partner put the car in gear. “We’ve got nothing better to do. Let’s follow him.”
Forty minutes later, we pulled to the curb and watched from a distance as Henry Montreal’s expensive sports car disappeared into a parking garage in downtown Los Angeles.
Leo pulled back into the heavy traffic and said, “I get the impression Henry’s a busy man, always in a hurry.”
I nodded. “I also get the impression that he doesn’t like being told what to do. I think he’s worth watching. Let’s head back to the office and see what Oz thinks.”
ELEVEN
Frank Dyer was a block down the street, watching the cops who had followed Henry Montreal. The PI was tall, with short reddish-brown hair and hawkish dark eyes. He stayed in his car long after Montreal had parked and the police had left the area. The fact that the authorities had followed the wealthy financier told Dyer they were already onto the game, and this was now a game of odds. If he was a betting man, he’d bet that Henry Montreal hadn’t said anything about the trophy he’d left on his desk. He also knew that his mark was smart and would try to play his own game
.
The path that had led the PI to this day had been long and tortuous. Dyer’s real name was Wendell Terry. He was the son of a bar owner in Waco, Texas. His mother had left him and his brother when he was eight. After that, it was a day to day struggle, just to survive. His drunken father had kicked him out of the house when he was sixteen, and he’d been homeless for a while before joining the army.
The injury to his vocal cords had happened while he was in the military, but not overseas as he’d told Marsh. He’d been shot during a drunken brawl in a bar while awaiting deployment. A couple of surgeries later, the doctors said it was the best they could do and he’d been discharged.
In the years that followed, Wendell Terry had worked a variety of menial jobs, just to get by. The young man who could barely talk, scarcely survived, making his living as a dish-washer and a janitor, while slowly regaining the voice that had been lost to violence. In the years that followed, he managed to eventually find his voice again, albeit one that was raspy and thin.
Five years ago, Wendell decided to change his name and become a PI. The jobs had been slow, at first. Frank Dyer had spent most of his time following cheating husbands and writing reports for his boss. But he’d saved every cent and eventually started his own business. Then one day, he’d met Vince Marsh in a bar, and the rest, as they say, was history. The lost boy from Waco, Texas was about to score the biggest payday of his life.
Dyer continued to watch Montreal’s office building for a few minutes, before putting his car into gear. He drove through surface streets before taking the 110 Freeway toward Terminal Island. It was early afternoon and the traffic was light. He drove at a leisurely pace, pleased that his plans were playing out just as he had expected.
He remembered his earlier encounters with Vince Marsh in a restaurant near the attorney’s office. The conversation had been casual, at first, him telling Marsh that he was a PI who specialized in domestic matters. When the lawyer had asked him what that meant, he light-heartedly told him that he made problems go away, usually for husbands. As the discussions grew more serious in subsequent meetings, Dyer had convinced Vince Marsh that he could make him a very wealthy man. He’d made the attorney believe it was just a matter of time before a big payday came his way.
