The Ransom

by Nancy Boyarsky

  There was no answer, and she was certain he was gone. As she started back downstairs, she was overwhelmed by fatigue. All at once she understood why she was so sleepy. She was being drugged. Most likely they’d put it in the drinks, the coffee and lukewarm tea. She vowed not to drink anything else they brought her, no matter how tempting. She dragged herself back to the bed and fell asleep.

  She opened her eyes sometime later, woken by footsteps on the floor above. It went quiet for what seemed like a long time, although her watch said only 20 minutes had passed. She hadn’t heard the front door close, so she figured he must still be up there. This time he didn’t open the door, but the rattling meant he was using the slot to deliver something. More food, she thought, dashing up the stairs to get a look. There was a carton of coffee, purchased from a café, the kind she bought when she was expecting a crowd. It would stay hot for several hours. Next to it stood a chipped ceramic mug. Tempting as the coffee might be, she resisted pouring herself a cup. She had no doubt it was drugged, and she needed to stay alert so she could figure a way out.

  Also sitting on the tray was a stack of three aluminum-foil containers of frozen meals that had been heated. She was so hungry that the food, which she normally would have refused, smelled delicious. She tried to pick one up, but the container burned her fingers. She pulled the long sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands. The thick fabric made a perfect potholder. She carried the meals downstairs, sat on the bed, and put one on her lap. When she peeled back the foil cover, she saw the meal was turkey meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Only now did she realize she didn’t have an eating utensil. She’d left the spoon in the cereal bowl when she’d taken it up to the shelf that morning. She wasn’t going to ask for a knife and fork. She’d have to wait until the food cooled so she could use her fingers. At that moment, she heard the front door slam and a car start up. She was alone again.

  Stephanie ate all three meals, one after the other. She’d been right about her beverages being drugged. By avoiding the coffee they’d brought this morning, she was wide awake. On the other hand, she was so scared and agitated that she wondered if she’d be better off asleep. But no. She had to stay alert, watching and waiting for a chance to escape.

  She wandered aimlessly around the basement but found nothing she hadn’t already noticed. She lay down, her mind racing. Would she get out of this place alive? If not, who would mourn her? Her parents were dead. The only family she had was Nicole. As she thought about her sister, she pictured Nicole worrying, using her detective skills in an attempt to find out what had happened. She teared up as she imagined Nicole’s reaction when she found out her little sister was dead. David would be sad, too. Very sad, she supposed. But he’d get over it and find someone else. In the past week, she’d begun to have doubts about the marriage they were about to embark on. Maybe it was just bridal jitters, but she’d been overcome with the urge to postpone it.

  She felt that David was asking too much of her too soon. He wanted a family and didn’t want to wait long before starting it. But how could she make the leap from being a free spirit to what David expected her to become: a married woman and, in short order, a mother. She had a hard time picturing this transformation.

  She’d told David about her feelings the night before. He’d been shocked, disbelieving, pointing out that, only a few days ago, she’d been as enthusiastic about the wedding as he was. Without thinking or bothering to be tactful, she’d told him she was having doubts about her feelings for him. Almost as soon as the words were out, she regretted them.

  “Why did you accept my proposal if you don’t want to marry me?” David said.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said. “I just need more time.”

  “More time for what?” he’d said. “Squandering your life on losers like the ones you used to go out with? Taking odd jobs that don’t pay a living wage?” Once he got started, he grew angrier and said some pretty mean things about the direction of her life.

  By now, she was angry, too. “Get out!” she’d yelled, even though they were at his place, and she was the one who should have left. Instead, David had taken his pillow, gotten blankets from the linen closet, and decamped to the living room couch.

  Her cough was getting worse, as was her sore throat, and she’d begun to feel feverish. She got up from the bed, helped herself to a wad of toilet paper to blow her nose, and paced around, her thoughts in a jumble. She loved David; she really did, but she was stung by the things he’d said. He had a point about her past decisions, but what gave him the right to make her feel so small? She couldn’t help it if she needed to postpone the wedding. She just wasn’t ready—not until she got her act together.

  That was another of her problems. What was her act? She didn’t know. She’d dropped out of college after two years. In the eight years since, she’d steadfastly refused to join the conventional workforce. Instead, she’d picked up odd jobs: some computer work, like setting up websites for old ladies who wanted to show off their dogs, cats, horses and, once, a small herd of llamas. She haunted community centers, looking for notices put up by people who needed tech support, setting up computers and learning how to use them. She’d also done pet sitting, house sitting, dog walking. She’d even worked for a telephone-sex operation, which she’d found highly entertaining. It was also the best-paid freelance job she’d ever had. She’d quit when the company that employed her switched to video chats and expected her to answer calls wearing sexy lingerie.

  When one set of jobs dried up, she’d beat the bushes for more. Sometimes she’d get so overloaded that she’d be putting in ten- and twelve-hour days. Even then, these part-time, temporary jobs provided only a marginal living. Without Nicole’s help, there were months when Steph wouldn’t have been able to make the rent.

  Having a sister like Nicole created its own set of problems. Steph felt as if she was always being unfavorably compared with her sister. It wasn’t Nicole’s fault. Sure, they had an occasional dust-up. But Nicole was always willing to help Steph out, provide emotional support, and steer her away from some of her bad decisions. But other people were always making comparisons. As far back as Steph could remember, it had been tough following in her sister’s footsteps. Nicole, highly motivated in school, got straight As. She was popular and pretty in a sweet, dimpled way that disguised her determination and competence.

  Teachers who’d had Nicole were initially delighted to get Steph. But she sensed that they expected a carbon copy of her older sister, and how could Steph live up to that? She’d never liked school, and she hated homework. More than that, she was always testing the rules and getting into trouble. Steph wondered if she’d taken the easy way out by refusing to compete with Nicole. Or was her nonconformist streak and acting-out another form of sibling rivalry? If she couldn’t be like Nicole, she’d excel at being the opposite, an irresponsible kook.

  Tired of thinking about it, she made another round of the basement, trying to come up with an escape plan. There was no way out except through the door at the top of the stairs. What would Nicole do, she asked herself. Steph gazed up at the door. Only one man seemed to come each time, although she was sure more had to be involved in order to overpower David and carry her off. She tried to imagine a ruse that would lure the man downstairs. But even if she succeeded, she’d need a way to disable him or tie him up before she could escape.

  It seemed hopeless. Besides, there was the question of the house’s location. Was it in L.A. or in some remote area where it would be impossible to find help or walk away?

  She thought about her life again, looking back with deep regret. What if this basement was the end of the line, and she was going to die here? What would her life have added up to? Just a series of mindless good times and a remarkable lack of accomplishments.

  These thoughts reduced her to tears. She lay down again and cried until she noticed, with a start, that it was already dark. That meant no one was coming back with food until tomorrow. She regr
etted eating all three meals at once. Now she was hungrier than ever. With a sick and sorry heart, she lay down on the bed and tried in vain to sleep.

  Nine

  Nicole encountered even worse traffic after leaving the ransom in Centennial Park. In addition to tourists milling around Hollywood’s star-studded sidewalks, Madame Tussauds, and Grauman’s Chinese Theater, long lines of young people were waiting to get into clubs. Every car seemed to be changing lanes, slowing whenever it looked as if a parking spot might open up. It was well past midnight before she got home.

  She was exhausted from the strain of the day and sick with worry. Despite her fatigue, she was too keyed up to sleep. Not knowing what else to do with herself, she got ready for bed. As Arnault had suggested, she set the burner phone next to her cell on her night table, checking to be sure they were both charging. She spent the night tossing and turning with worries that turned uglier with each passing hour. She would have sworn she hadn’t slept. But she must have dropped off because the ringing of the burner phone woke her at six o’clock. Her heart was pounding as she picked it up.

  “They didn’t show,” Arnault said. “We have to talk.”

  “What do you mean? No one picked up the money? What about Steph? Do you think something—” her voice broke, and she had to swallow hard before she could go on. “Has something happened to her?”

  “All it means,” he said, “is that they figured out we were there. They want that money and keeping your sister safe is the only way they’re going to get it. But I want to meet with you before work so we can talk. Is there a coffee shop in your office building?”

  “On the first floor. You don’t have to go through security to get in.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you there at eight o’clock.”

  Nicole got to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early. Arnault was already there, drinking coffee in one of the booths. She slid in across from him. “So, what now?” she said.

  “We’ll have to wait until you hear from them again. What I’m wondering—” he stopped. A waitress was standing by the table, waiting for their attention. They both ordered, Nicole without looking at the menu.

  When the waitress was gone, Arnault went on. “I’m wondering how they found out we were there. Did you tell anyone you’d called the police?”

  “Of course not.” She thought for a moment. “Well, David knew, of course. He was there when I made the call. But he had to have surgery yesterday because of the head injury. When I visited him late in the day, he had no memory of anything that happened after they went to bed that night. I had to break the news of Steph’s kidnapping.

  “In any case, he wouldn’t have told anyone. He was terrified because the kidnappers swore they’d kill Steph if he called the police. He wanted to use a private hostage negotiation firm. He felt they’d be more focused on working directly with the kidnappers by paying the ransom and getting Steph back home without delay.”

  Arnault raised an eyebrow. “Is that what he said? That he wanted the ransom paid but wasn’t interested in catching the perps?”

  Despite her own suspicions, Nicole didn’t like what he was suggesting. “No. I mean yes,” she said. “But only because he was afraid of what might happen to Steph if we called the police.”

  “For all your smarts, you’re pretty naïve,” Arnault said. “As I said before, Stevenson could have had someone beat him up to make him look like a victim when he’s actually one of the perpetrators.”

  Nicole was silent, remembering how David had believed he was somehow responsible for Steph’s disappearance. At first, this had alarmed her, making her wonder if he really was involved. Now she was inclined to think that David was simply confused. His failure to stop the intruders made him feel guilty. He wasn’t able to sort out his emotions because he had no recollection of the break-in. Nicole was glad she’d had Sue intervene so the police couldn’t continue questioning him. In his current state, who knew what they could get him to confess to?

  “OK. Go on,” Arnault said. “Who else knew?”

  “My lawyer, Sue Price. She’s the one I called when David asked for an attorney.”

  “How long have you known Ms. Price?”

  “About three years. She’s a good friend, as well as my attorney. I’d trust her with my life. Other than that,” she shook her head. She explained that she’d spent the day pretending nothing was wrong. “So, what’s next?”

  “Continue to go about your life as you normally would. The kidnappers will contact you with instructions for another drop. And don’t be surprised if they ask for more on the second go. That’s par for the course. Meanwhile, find time today to return to the park and pick up the bag with the ransom.” He got out his card and jotted something on the back. “I don’t think you’re in any danger, but I want a plainclothesman to keep an eye on you when you go out there. Call this number before you leave.”

  The waitress was back, placing their food on the table. Nicole nibbled at her scrambled eggs and toast, while Arnault wolfed down a full breakfast of eggs over easy, sausages, and blueberry pancakes.

  “Let me know when you hear from them.” Arnault gazed into her eyes with what looked like genuine sympathy. “I know how worried and upset you are. But I promise we’re doing everything possible to get Stephanie home safe. We have a crack team working on this, and we have some solid leads.” He stood, got out his wallet, and tossed a few bills on the table. “That should take care of my share. I’ve got to go.”

  As he was walking away, Nicole glanced through the glass partition into the building’s lobby. Joanne, just arriving at work, was staring at her. Nicole waved, put down enough money to cover her share of the meal, and hurried into the lobby.

  “So, you met that hot techy for breakfast. Fast work,” Joanne gave a smile. “Good for you. You’ve seemed a little blue lately. You need to start dating again.”

  Nicole simply nodded. Maybe it was best Joanne thought Arnault was a romantic interest. That would provide an excuse if he needed to come by again.

  By lunchtime, Nicole still hadn’t heard from the kidnappers. Her anxiety had built to the point that she couldn’t sit in her office any longer. Maybe some fresh air would help. She made sure both the burner phone and her cell were in her purse and set her office phone to call forwarding. On her way out of the building, she picked up a turkey sandwich from the deli case in the coffee shop in case she got hungry. Once on her way, she headed briskly along Wilshire Boulevard toward the county museum.

  After a block or two, she had the feeling she was being watched. She stopped next to one of the highrises, got out her makeup mirror, and angled it to see if anyone was following her. A man in a Dodger’s T-shirt and khakis, half a block behind, had stopped and seemed to be looking in her direction, although it was hard to be sure. She started walking again, faster now, and casually glanced around. He was on the move again, walking at the same clip she was. She wondered if he was with the police. Had Arnault sent him to make sure she wasn’t meeting with the kidnappers on her own? She thought of a possibility she liked even less, that this might be one of the kidnappers with who-knew-what in mind.

  When she got to the La Brea Tar Pits, the place was unusually crowded. It took a moment for her to realize why. The park had a new feature that was getting a lot of publicity. Today, it had attracted a crowd that made it the perfect place to hide while she figured out how to lose the man following her.

  She hurried into the middle of the gathering. There she paused, standing on tiptoe to see past the people gathered at the edge of the black pond where tar slowly undulated with bubbles of oily gas.

  At that moment, an enormous creature—a life-like tyrannosaurus rex—emerged from the goo. His skin must have had a special coating because the tar slid off him as he rose. Once he was all the way out of the dark pond, he stood erect, gazing around, as if deciding which of the spectators to have for lunch. Even though it was only a robot, it was frighteningly realistic, as if the curators had raided J
urassic Park. Suddenly, the dinosaur let out a roar and lunged toward a group of tourists. Instinctively, the crowd moved back, and a small boy let out a shriek, hiding in his mother’s skirt. People around Nicole laughed nervously, keeping it down as if afraid of attracting the creature’s attention.

  After perhaps thirty seconds, the robot began sinking back into the tar, struggling as if a powerful force were sucking it under. The whole spectacle took just a few minutes. For that brief time, it took Nicole’s mind off Steph and the stranger. Once the creature disappeared under the muck and the crowd began to disburse, Nicole looked around for an escape route. Behind the tar pit’s museum, she spotted a path lined with tall shrubs. She was pretty sure it led to the park’s rear entrance, one street north, and would allow her to return to her building without encountering her shadow. She hurried toward it. She reached the side street and walked quickly back to work, her mind buzzing with Stephanie’s plight, David’s injury, the question of what would happen next, and when, if, and how the kidnappers would get in touch. Now she had a new worry: Who was following her and why?

  As soon as she got back to her office, she called Arnault. “Do you have someone following me?”

  “Now, why would we be following you?” he said.

  “To make sure I don’t make a private arrangement to pay the kidnappers without police involvement.”

  “Did you actually see someone following you?” he said.

  “I did, and I was worried it might be one of the kidnappers. Then I thought maybe you were responsible.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “We aren’t following you.”

  “Would you tell me if you were?”

  “No.”

  She gave a laugh. “All right, then. I take it you have been following me.”

  “I will say this. Now that you’ve told me you’re being followed, you can be sure we’ll be keeping an eye on you. As for making a private arrangement with these criminals, I can see it might be tempting. But it would be a terrible mistake. Listen, I can’t talk now. Assuming the kidnappers don’t call this afternoon demanding a drop tonight, let’s meet after work so I can fully explain the downside of paying ransom directly.”