“No police. These guys said they’d kill her if we called them.” With that, he broke down, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Blood dripped from his nose onto his pants and the rug.
Nicole hurried into the kitchen and—hands shaking—dampened a couple of dish towels, grabbed an icepack from the freezer, and hurried back to David.
“Lean your head back and put the ice on your nose while I clean you up.” As she wiped his face and neck, she noticed blood on the couch behind him. She went around to get a look. Sure enough, there was a wound on the back of his head. Blood was dripping onto the back of his collar and from there onto the couch. By now the nosebleed had let up. She had him press the towel against the wound on his head while she went back to the kitchen for another icepack and more dishtowels.
She sat down next to him so she could take over applying pressure to his head. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“A little past three o’clock last night. I heard a noise.” He stopped and gulped back a sob. Nicole thought of the call she’d received at 3:20. The hair rose on the back of her neck. Had Steph been calling her for help?
“We’d had a fight, so I was sleeping on the couch,” David went on. “Steph was asleep. You know how she is. They could nuke the city, and she’d sleep through it. As soon as I opened my eyes I saw them. It was dark, but I made out three guys dressed in black hoodies and ski masks. They didn’t say anything, just started toward me. I tried to fight them off, but it was three against one. I managed to punch one in the face. He hit me back. Meanwhile, one of the others came from behind and bashed me over the head with something. I think it was the poker from the fireplace. I must have passed out because the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and they were tying me up.
“None of them spoke the whole time. Once I was tied up, they turned me on my side facing away from them and played a recorded message. I couldn’t see where it was coming from; I’m guessing a cell phone. They repeated the same message three times to be sure I got it. It was a guy talking in falsetto to disguise his voice. The first thing he said was, ‘Don’t call the police or Stephanie will die.’ The recording told me to give you a message: You’re to get twenty thousand dollars in bills no bigger than twenties and deliver them to a drop point in Centennial Park at eleven o’clock tonight, when the place is deserted. Centennial is a small rec area near the entrance to Griffith Park. There’s a big fir tree with a hollow in the trunk. You’re to put the money in there.”
He was talking fast, his words tumbling out. “The recording said they’ll send you instructions for delivering the rest of the money—two million dollars—after they get the twenty thousand dollars. They knew your name and all about your inheritance.” He paused to draw in a deep breath before going on. “After the last replay, one of them jabbed a needle in my arm, and I blacked out. Whatever it was kept me under for a few hours. It was almost light when I woke up. It took a long time to work my hands free. That’s when I called you.”
Nicole was quiet, taking this in and studying David’s face. His injured eye had now turned purple and was swollen shut. The pupil in his right eye was dilated, almost filling his iris.
“Listen to me,” she said. “I don’t care what the recording said. We’re calling the police. This has happened to three other couples. In two cases, the husbands paid the ransom without calling the police, and one of those wives is still missing. The LAPD knows how to handle this, and we don’t. Besides, you need medical attention, so I’m also calling an ambulance. Your eye looks weird. You may have a concussion.”
He went on talking as if he hadn’t heard. “I’ve thought this over. There are private crisis management firms that take care of this kind of thing. The police want to catch the perp as much as they want to rescue the victim. These companies just care about getting the victim back. They negotiate with the kidnappers and give them what they want.”
“We’re not doing that,” she insisted. “The police can bring in the FBI. They have all kinds of sophisticated resources. The LAPD itself has a great record at rescuing kidnap victims.” She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.
“Wait!” David said. “What if your phone is bugged?”’
“This is my landline. No way it’s bugged. I never use it, and it’s unlisted. I just have it in case of a blackout or an earthquake.”
“What is your emergency?” a man was saying at the other end of the line.
“I want to report a home invasion and kidnapping, but I have to speak to a police officer before you send anyone out. The kidnappers said they’d kill my sister if we call the police.”
“Hold on,” he said.
Almost immediately another man’s voice came on. “Who am I talking to?” he said. “Name and address.”
Nicole gave him the information, then told him her sister had been kidnapped, but quickly added, “You can’t send a patrol car. They’ve threatened to kill her if —”
“Got it. Tell me what happened and who was kidnapped.”
Nicole did, repeating the basic facts David had told her.
“We’ll be right out. We’ll be discreet—unmarked car, no sirens.” He repeated the address she’d given, “4157 Elm, Number 2B. That’s an apartment, right?”
“It’s a condo.”
“Is the garage open?”
“No, it’s a security building. Call when you get here. I’ll buzz you into the garage. Take the elevator to the second floor.”
“Is this where the kidnapping occurred?”
“No, my sister was taken from her apartment in Hollywood.”
“And you know about it—how?”
“Her fiancé was there when it happened. He drove here to tell me.”
“We’ll need that address so we can send a team to investigate.”
“You can’t do that. The kidnappers might be watching.”
“Yes, yes,” His tone was impatient. “I’m aware of that. The team will be disguised as cable technicians or telephone repairmen; they’ll arrive in an officially marked vehicle. Any chance there’s a key hidden outside the apartment?”
“Steph keeps one on the molding over the front door—but the kidnappers may have taken it.”
“No problem. There’s always a way to get in. We’re sending two detectives to your place. They should be there in a few minutes.”
Once they’d hung up, she noticed David had dozed off. She reached over and shook him. “With that head injury, you have to stay awake. Now that the police are on their way, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No! I’m fine,” he said. “What those guys gave me made me sleepy, that’s all. I’m not going anywhere until I hear what the police are going to do.”
“Okay, but you’ve got to stay awake.” He nodded in agreement, even as his eyes started closing. She reached out and gave his shoulder another shake.
“Listen,” she said. “You said you and Steph had a fight, and you were sleeping on the couch. What were you fighting about?”
He shrugged. “Everything. I don’t know what’s going on with her.” His voice cracked. “Nicole, I think she may have gone off the idea of marrying me.”
“That’s impossible, David,” Nicole said. “I talk to Steph all the time, and she hasn’t said anything like that to me. She seems excited about the wedding.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too, until a couple days ago. She told me we had to talk. So we sat down, and the first thing she says is that she doesn’t think she’s ready to settle down.” He paused so long, it seemed as if he might be dropping off again. “No. That’s not it,” he finally said. “What she said was she wasn’t ready to settle, which is a whole different thing, and it really shook me. Just a few days before, she acted like she couldn’t wait to become Mrs. David Stevenson.
As Nicole listened, it sounded familiar. All her life, Steph had been in and out of relationships. Until David came along, she’d always refused to commit to much of anything, except the right to change her min
d. Poor David, she thought. He’s about to have his heart broken.
Nicole’s focus immediately switched back to the danger her sister was in. Would the police be able to rescue her? Would they allow ransom to be paid for Steph’s release? She’d read about the families of people kidnapped abroad and how the United States sometimes refused to allow families to pay ransom because it might encourage more kidnappings. Did the LAPD have a similar policy? The idea made Nicole even more anxious. She’d be happy to give up the money to save Steph.
David had gone silent, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Nicole went into the kitchen to get more ice and swap out the dish towels, now soaked with blood and melted ice. When she came back to swap out the towels and ice, she noticed the knuckles on his right hand were bleeding, too.
The phone rang. When she answered, a man said, “We’re at the garage entrance.” She could tell from his voice that this wasn’t the same person she’d spoken to minutes before. She got up and pressed the button that opened the garage door. “We’re in,” he said. “See you in a minute.”
Moments later, the buzzer rang, and she opened the door. Two plainclothesmen were standing there. She was surprised, then not surprised, that one of them was the detective who’d visited her office to warn her off the Rexton case.
“Detective Greg Arnault,” he said, “Remember me? And this is another member of the team investigating the recent kidnappings, Detective Steve Jones.” He gestured to the second officer who was only now coming through the door.
Arnault still looked exhausted. Aside from that, he was even more disheveled. His dark hair was uncombed, his shirt rumpled, and he now had designer stubble. He also gave off a negative vibe that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was just fatigue. It occurred to her that he and his team might be working around the clock, under a lot of pressure to solve these cases.
Detective Jones, whom she assumed was Arnault’s partner, was short, muscular, and compact. He had fair, buzz-cut hair and a sour affect. Nicole could picture him as a bully in his youth. As soon as he entered, he started wandering around, checking out framed photos on her mantel and the paintings on the walls before wandering down the hall toward the bedrooms. She was tempted to ask where he was going and why. But she held her tongue. All that mattered was Steph, getting her back.
Arnault glanced over at David. “And this is?”
David started to get up, winced, and dropped back onto the couch. “I’m David Stevenson, Stephanie’s fiancé. I was with her when these men broke in and took her.” His voice was shaky, and he looked as if he were about to cry.
“David,” the detective went over to shake David’s hand. Arnault’s eyes widened slightly when he took in the bloody nose, bruised, swollen eye, and grazed knuckles. “Looks like you put up a quite a fight. You need medical attention?”
“No,” David said. “I’m all right.”
“Is it okay if we sit over there?” The detective pointed at the dining area where four cane-backed chairs were gathered around a large, round table. “It will be easier to record our conversation.”
David managed to get up and make his way to the table, but he was clearly in pain. Arnault placed a small recorder on the table and turned to David. “Why don’t you tell us what happened.”
Nicole’s stomach was churning. She couldn’t bear this delay. She wanted the police out there now, looking for Steph. Of course, they had to hear what had happened first, but Arnault didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
David told much the same story he’d told Nicole. The detective seemed especially interested when David said that he and Steph had a falling out, and he’d been banished to the couch.
Arnault asked several questions about the fight. “What were you arguing about?” “Do you and your fiancé often fight?” “Did you think she was about to break up with you?”
David gave a weary shrug to each question without answering. Finally he said, “No, we hardly ever fight. This blowup last night? I don’t—” he gave another shrug. “Something was bugging her—no idea what. But we don’t fight. No, hardly—”
David’s speech had become slightly slurred, and he seemed to lose track of what he was saying. Nicole could see his condition was deteriorating.
“You say these men were wearing ski masks and hoodies,” Arnault said, “but can you tell us anything else about their appearance? Height? Weight?”
“Man, it was dark. I’d turned on the light in the hall. The switch for the living room is by the front door, so I couldn’t — I just saw silhouettes.”
“How did they get in?”
“Dunno. The front door was open. Maybe they picked the lock. I kept meaning to put in deadbolts but—”
“What happened next?”
“I told them to get out or I’d call the police. They walked toward me. I hit one of them, and he punched me in the face.” David pointed at his nose and swollen eye. “Next I know,” he went on, “I’m on the floor and they’re tying me up. They didn’t talk, not a word.”
He described the recording the men had played for him, the request for ransom, the warning not to call the police, and the injection that had left him incapacitated until morning.
“How’d you get untied?’ the detective asked.
“Worked the knot with my teeth. Then pulled ‘til my hands—free. Took a long time.”
“Do you mind holding out your arms? I’d like to see your wrists,” Arnault said. The request set Nicole on edge. For the first time, she realized that David, as Steph’s significant other, would be the police’s first suspect.
David, resting his chin on his hand, didn’t respond. His good eye was at half-mast as if he was about to fall asleep.
“Your wrists, sir,” Arnault said in a louder voice. “Can I see them?”
As David reached his hands forward, the sleeves of his shirt hiked up to reveal a chafed ring of red around each wrist. Arnault got up and walked behind David’s chair to take a look at the back of his head. “You’re still bleeding,” Arnault said. “You sure you don’t want a doctor?”
David sat up, suddenly alert. “What I want is for you to get to work looking for my fiancé.”
“That’s what we’re doing, sir. First we have to hear how she was taken. Any details you can give us about those men will help.”
“That’s all I remember. As soon as I got myself untied, I called Nicole,” David said. “I was afraid to call the police because they said not to. But Nicole, here—she convinced me it was the right thing.”
“Why’d you drive all the way over here to tell her? You could have done it by phone.”
“I don’t know,” David shook his head and was quiet a beat, as if considering it. “Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”
The detective turned to Nicole. “What about the ransom they’re asking—two million and change. You got that kind of money?”
Nicole nodded. “Funny thing. That amount was wired into my account a few days ago. It was my inheritance from Robert Blair. You know about his murder case. You mentioned it when you visited my office. Two days ago, the tabloid website XHN ran a story saying I’d received money from the estate. Anyone could have seen it. ”
“So, you have the means to pay the ransom?”
She nodded.
“Did XHN specify the exact amount?’
“Yes. I have no idea how they found that out. But they have tipsters all over, and they’re not above hacking into phones and computers.”
“Okay,” Arnault said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You go about your day as usual, except you’ll go to the bank and take out two thousand dollars in twenties.”
“They said twenty thousand dollars,” Nicole said.
“No way we’re putting twenty thousand dollars out there. We have a protocol for this. We’ll supplement the real twenties with blanks to make it look like the right amount. Otherwise, you’ll follow their instructions and make the drop tonight. Law enforcement will be hidden near the drop po
int to protect you. They’ll be careful not to be seen. Once these clowns pick up the money, our men will follow them to where they’re holding your sister. Don’t worry. We’ll get her back. They’re not as smart as they think they are.”
As Arnault stood up, his phone rang. He made a few grunts in response to what was said on the other end. Then he hung up and looked at David. “Our forensic guys are going over your apartment now. They say there’s no sign of forced entry.” He turned to Nicole. “They found your sister’s phone. It was under the bed. The last number she called, at 3:20 a.m., was yours. Did you speak to her at that time?”
“No,” Nicole said. “By the time I got to the phone, she’d hung up. I called her back on that line, their landline, and David’s cell, but no one answered. It worried me, and I almost went over there, but—” She stopped talking. Why hadn’t she followed her first instinct? It might have made a difference. By the time she got there, of course, the kidnappers would have already taken Steph. Still, the police could have started looking for her right away instead of hours later.
“We have a few more questions,” Arnault told David. “We’d appreciate it if you’d come down to the station so we can continue our conversation.”
“What are you talking about?” Nicole said. “This man needs a doctor.”
Arnault turned to her, his face expressionless. “He says he’s fine, and he’s declined treatment twice. If we keep him talking, he may remember more details that will help us.”
“Well, he’s not fine.” Nicole said. “His nose is probably broken, and he may have a concussion.” David was silent, the lid of his good eye starting to droop, as if he was drifting off again.
“Will you excuse us for a minute?” Nicole said. “I want a word with him.”
Arnault and his partner stared at her, as if they hadn’t understood.
She went to the front door and opened it. “Please,” she said, “step out into the hall so David and I can speak privately.” Arnault seemed puzzled by this request. But after some hesitation, he and his partner walked out into the hall. Nicole closed the door after them.
The Ransom Page 5
