The Ransom

by Nancy Boyarsky

  “Listen to me,” she told David. “Whether you think so or not, you need medical attention. You’ve told the detectives everything you remember, right?”

  He nodded. “But some of it’s still foggy. Like, I think Steph called something out, but maybe I dreamed it. If I keep talking, I might remember—”

  “It’s not a good idea to keep talking to the cops. When I let them back in, you’re going to tell them you want a lawyer.”

  David looked at Nicole in confusion. “Why would I want a lawyer? I just want to help them find Steph.”

  “As her fiancé, you’re their first suspect.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Of course it is, but that’s how cops think. You’ve told them what you remember. Now you need legal advice. We’ll call my lawyer. She’s really good. When I let them in,” she said, “say you’ve asked me to call an attorney and refuse to answer any more questions. If you remember something that might help with the case, your lawyer can relay it on to them. Other than asking for a lawyer, don’t say another word.”

  As she talked, David’s eyes closed.

  She gave him a shake. “Did you hear what I said about the lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, beginning to drift off again.

  Nicole shook him again. “You’ve got to stay awake.” She let the detectives back in, and David drowsily told Arnault that he wanted a lawyer. By now, his speech was so slurred that he sounded drunk.

  The detective gave Nicole an accusing look, one eyebrow raised, then turned to David. “Is this what she told you to say? Don’t you want to help us find your fiancé? Believe me, we’re all on the same page here. We’re hoping you can remember more details to further our investigation. You’re not a suspect.”

  “Lawyer,” David mumbled.

  Arnault turned to Nicole. “Look, Ms. Graves,” he said. “I know you want your sister back, but this isn’t helping. She may end up suffering because we weren’t able to complete our interview of Mr. Stevenson. His memory is foggy. We could—”

  “You heard him,” Nicole said, pulling her cell out of her purse. “I’m going in the other room to call his attorney. I’ll also be calling 911. He’s obviously in need of a doctor.”

  Detective Jones, who’d been standing by listening, suddenly turned, walked into the hall, and disappeared into the bathroom. Nicole imagined him going through the contents of her medicine cabinet.

  Meanwhile, Arnault reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and handed it to her. “Don’t use your cell,” he said. “It might be bugged. Use mine instead.”

  Nicole took the phone into the kitchen, but she kept the door open so she could make sure Arnault didn’t keep prodding David with questions. She called 911 and asked the operator to send an ambulance. Next, she called Sue. Although Nicole tried to keep it brief, it took a while for her to explain. Sue agreed that David needed protection from further questioning. She promised to send someone to sit with him as soon as Nicole let her know where the ambulance was taking him.

  When Nicole got back from making her calls, David was fast asleep with his head on the table. Once again, she woke him up.

  Arnault had settled on the couch. She gave him back his phone. He took it but made no move to get up. Clearly, he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.

  Four

  Stephanie slowly resurfaced from a deep sleep and opened her eyes. Her mind was in a fog; she had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here. Dim light leaked in through three small windows located high on the wall, but they did little to illuminate her surroundings. All she knew was that she wasn’t in her own bed, and she was freezing.

  She wondered briefly if she might be dreaming, but the cold and the dank, moldy smell of the place were frighteningly real. Panic clutched at her, the need to get away. She sat up and felt around for something to cover herself so she’d stop shivering. But all she had was a single blanket, no sheets. The buttons of a cheap mattress dug into her.

  The last thing she remembered was waking up to the sounds of a scuffle and a loud thud from the direction of the living room. David’s side of the bed was empty. She’d started to get up—and then what? Nothing.

  A wave of drowsiness almost overwhelmed her, but she resisted. Forcing herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and stood up. The sudden movement made her so dizzy she immediately sat back down. She tried again, this time easing herself up more slowly. Still off balance, she stumbled forward until she reached a wall. She leaned against it, using it for support as she moved forward in search of a light switch. Only when she stubbed her toe did she realize her feet were bare. No wonder she was so cold; the floor felt like cement, and it was freezing. She became more cautious, taking smaller steps to propel herself along. The wall was cold, too, with a rough texture. Her best guess was that she was in a basement. But what basement? Their apartment house just had underground parking. Questions ate at her, fueling her sense of panic. Where was she? How had she gotten here? All of her instincts told her that she had to flee before something terrible happened.

  Just then she bumped into the bottom step of a staircase hidden in the shadows along the wall. A wave of nausea hit, and she felt as if she was going to pass out. She braced herself against the wall to keep from falling and stood there until the worst of it passed. The basement had grown a little lighter. Looking up, she could make out a door at the top of a steep flight of stairs. That door must be the way out of here. She put her foot on the bottom step and reached for the railing. As soon as she touched it, a spiderweb grabbed onto her hand and clung to it. She did her best to wipe it off on her nightgown. The dizziness returned, and she realized she was too wobbly, too depleted to make it up the stairs.

  She reversed direction and worked her way back to the bed. It took everything in her to keep going. This effort made her panic recede. Several times, she thought she was going to faint. At last her shins bumped into the side of the bed. With a sense of relief, she lay down, pulled the blanket from around her shoulders, and used it to cover herself. The thin layer did nothing to warm her frozen feet. Despite her fear and discomfort, she instantly fell asleep.

  Five

  The paramedics arrived within a few minutes of Nicole’s call. She’d been trying to keep David awake while they waited, but it was a losing battle. Along with that, his nose was bleeding steadily.

  After taking his vitals, the paramedics packed his nose with gauze, a process that made Nicole wince, although it drew no response from David. She wondered if he was still conscious. Once they were done, they put away their equipment, unfolded a compact bundle into a stretcher, and lifted him on.

  Arnault was busy on his cell. Jones had emerged from the bathroom and was crouched in front of Nicole’s bookcase, scanning titles. Occasionally he’d pull out a book and flip through some pages. She wondered if this was his role—snooping around the homes of people being questioned—or if he was new, unsure of his duties, and too green to be trusted with actual work. Arnault didn’t seem to be paying attention to what Jones was doing. Maybe he didn’t care.

  Once David was loaded onto the stretcher and belted in, Nicole said, “Can I ride along with him?”

  “Sorry,” one of the paramedics said. He was unusually tall, like a basketball player, with a narrow face and Brillo-curly brown hair. He seemed to be in charge. “We only allow that for parents of injured children. We’ll be taking him to Cedars, which is the closest emergency. You can drive over there and leave your car in emergency parking.”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Arnault. “It would be best if you didn’t go to the hospital,” he said. His tone was more conciliatory, his expression sympathetic. “You need to go about your business as if nothing happened, remember? Once Mr. Stevenson is on his way, I want to ask a few questions. Then I’ll explain what’s going to happen next. Okay?”

  Nicole nodded. Past experience had made her wary wh
en a cop said he “wanted to ask a few questions.”

  The paramedics started to carry David out, and the tall one turned to her. “I don’t think he’s in any danger. But he might have a concussion, so it’s good you called us.”

  David’s eyes were still closed. “Is he unconscious?” Nicole said.

  “I’m not sure, but I think he’s asleep. Do you know if he’s taken any drugs? He seems to be under the influence of a fairly powerful sedative.”

  “The people who assaulted him gave him an injection of some kind to knock him out. I have no idea what it was,” she said.

  “His vitals are good. They’ll check out the head injury when he gets to the hospital. Don’t worry. They’ll take good care of him.”

  As Nicole followed the paramedics into the hall, she noticed her neighbor Dorothy standing there, watching the drama play out. Dorothy lived on gossip about her neighbors. Several times she’d cornered Nicole to dish the dirt about people who lived in the building, people Nicole didn’t even know. Nicole wondered how long she’d been there and how much she’d overheard. Once the paramedics disappeared into the elevator, Nicole gave Dorothy a wave, went back in her condo, and closed the door.

  “Where do you want to sit?” Arnault said. “At the table?”

  Nicole gestured toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit there?” She chose the upholstered easy chair she used for reading. It was a little higher than the couch and brought her up to Detective Jones’s eye level and almost up to Arnault’s. She felt the added height gave her a strategic advantage.

  “I feel we got off on the wrong foot,” Arnault was saying. “I apologize if I was a little aggressive.” Jones nodded his head at her, either agreeing that Arnault had been aggressive or offering his own apology. He still seemed distracted, eyes scanning the condo.

  “No worries,” Nicole said. “But I know what you’re thinking. David is your first suspect. You wanted to keep him talking as long as you could, hoping he’d say something incriminating.”

  “I can see why you might think that,” Arnault gave her a disarming smile. “But you’re mistaken. Mr. Stevenson isn’t a person of interest. We don’t have enough information to draw any conclusions, but I understand. You’ve had experience with this kind of thing. As I said before, our first concern is finding Stephanie. So, we’re all on the same page. Right?”

  Arnault had dropped the negativity he’d walked in with and was now playing good cop or, perhaps, the role of sympathetic friend. Even though she still didn’t trust him, she was picking up some kind of the chemistry between them. At a time like this, it was not only confusing but disturbing. She looked away, not wanting any part of it.

  “Before we go any farther,” she said, “I want to point something out. David’s interest in Stephanie has nothing to do with money. He’s been with Steph for about nine months. I have a job, but—at least until a few days ago—I was just managing. Steph herself is a freelancer, and she struggles to make ends meet. As for my inheritance, that came as a complete surprise. I was told I’d get nothing. David was never after our money. I want to make that clear.”

  “Appreciate the information,” Arnault said, “But how well do you really know Stevenson? He may not be the nice guy you think he is.”

  “Just for the sake of argument,” she said, “suppose he was involved. Why would they beat him up like that?”

  “You never know,” he said. “It might have been staged, and they went after him a little too hard. Let me ask you this: Don’t you think it’s odd that you were looking into the last kidnap victim, and the same thing happens to your sister?”

  “It is odd. Any thoughts?”

  “Maybe it’s a copycat crime set up by someone who knows you.”

  “I think I explained that an article about my inheritance appeared in XHN a few days ago. It disclosed the amount,” Nicole said. “Anyone could have seen it.”

  He seemed to discount this possibility. “Think about it, okay?” he said. “Is there anybody you know whose behavior raises questions?”

  Nicole thought of what had happened the night before, the attempted break-in. Had the kidnappers been after her? Failing that, had they decided to take Stephanie?

  When she told Arnault about it, he asked. “You got CCTV in this building?” Once again, she explained that the building was temporarily without it.

  “I’ll look up the police report on the attempted burglary,” he said. “It may have just been a coincidence. Anything else?”

  Nicole remembered what Antonia, the Rexton’s housekeeper, had said about Chip, and the fact that Ashley’s friends relied on each other’s recommendations for household help. She couldn’t tell Arnault that Antonia had previously worked for Victoria Reina, the other missing victim. That would violate the confidentiality rule of her trade. Any information gathered during an investigation could only be released to the person who’d authorized it. After a beat of hesitation, she came up with a compromise. “What about the Rexton’s household help? I understand that Ashley and her friends often used the same housekeepers, personal trainers, pool cleaning services, gardeners, and handymen.”

  “Believe me,” Arnault said, “we’re taking a look at everyone who came into contact with the Rextons and the other kidnap victims. If there’s overlap, we’ll find it. One more thing: I’d like the names of people you interviewed while looking into Ashley Knowles’ background.”

  “You already have them. Rexton gave the police copies of Ashley’s address book and daily diary, which I used for my contact list.”

  “I haven’t seen them,” he said. “But I’ll track them down. Do you mind if I ask some questions about your sister?” At Nicole’s nod, he went on. “Are you two close?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “How often do you talk?”

  “Usually every day, sometimes more than once. Plus we often get together on weekends.”

  “When did you last talk to her?”

  “Last night, around eight o’clock.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “She told me about a hotel she and David had looked at for their wedding. She seemed fine. But we didn’t talk long. She was carrying on a conversation with David at the same time she was talking to me. I figured they wanted time together.”

  “So he was in a hurry to get her off the phone?”

  Nicole felt a surge of annoyance. He was twisting her words. “I didn’t say that. They’re in love. If it had been me, I’d rather be making conversation or whatever with my fiancé than talking to my sister. That’s why I kept it short.”

  “Did she mention seeing or hearing from any of her old boyfriends?”

  “Old boyfriends?” This gave Nicole pause. “No.”

  “I checked her on our database. She has two restraining orders against men who were harassing her.”

  “That was a while back,” she said. “One was at least five years ago. Until she met David, she used poor judgment in choosing boyfriends. But she hasn’t heard from either of those guys since the restraining orders. At first, they couldn’t believe she was breaking up with them. But once she made an official complaint, they accepted it. Do you think one of them might be responsible?”

  “We’re not ruling anything out. Did she mention any threats, strangers hanging around her building or following her? Anything unusual at all?”

  Nicole thought about it. “Nothing. She’d been caught up in wedding plans and rarely talked about anything else. I was surprised to hear that she and David had a fight last night. I think that may have been a first. But let me ask you a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “These recent kidnappings,” Nicole said. “Do you think Steph was taken by the same people?”

  “At this point, I have no idea. Once our techs finish going over your sister’s place, we’ll know more. By the way, these cases are very unusual for us. The LAPD rarely gets reports of adult kidnappings. Most involve children, and the vast majority are really custo
dy beefs between parents.

  “About the Rexton case, the one you were looking into, here’s what I can tell you.”

  Arnault repeated the same information she’d read in the paper. In fact, she’d gotten more from the conversations she’d had with Robert Rexton and Antonia.

  When he was done, Nicole said, “Has there been any news about the other missing kidnap victim—Victoria Reina?”

  Arnault sighed. “All I can say is we’re putting all our resources into investigating these cases and locating the missing victims.”

  “That means you can’t comment, right? Even if you were onto something, you wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Arnault said, evading the question. “Jones and I are going back to the station to see if we can dig up any leads. You go about your day as usual except that at some point you’ll visit your bank and take out the money. Try not to worry. These guys are amateurs. We’ll get her back.”

  He pulled a card from an inside pocket. The strap of a gun holster was visible when he opened his coat. He jotted something on the card and handed it to her.

  “You already gave me your card,” she said.

  “This one has my cell number on the back. Don’t hesitate to call if you remember anything or need my help. One more thing. On your way to work, stop at a convenience store and get a burner phone. Call me with the number. Don’t use that phone except to communicate with me. This afternoon we’ll send someone to your office to package the money and prepare it for the drop. What time do you leave work?”

  “Since I’ve missed most of the morning, I’ll stay at least until six o’clock.”

  “Expect a plainclothes detective to drop by sometime this afternoon.”

  Nicole went to the door to see the detectives out. Once they were gone, she gathered up her purse and jacket and looked around for anything she might have forgotten.

  Waiting for the elevator, she glanced out the hallway window, which allowed a view of the street. David’s car was parked in a no-parking zone, and a ticket was waving from his windshield wiper. Instead of going down to her car, she stopped on the first floor and went outside.