Ransom

by Danielle Steel

  “She lives down the block from Judge McIntyre. One of her kids was looking out the window, and I showed him Waters's mug shot the next day. Nothing. He didn't recognize him. We came up cold. So far, no leads.”

  “I gather she wasn't a lead,” Rick teased again, with a meaningful look. He loved doing that to him. And Ted always gave it right back. Particularly about Peg. She was the first serious romance Rick had had in years. Maybe ever. Ted knew nothing about that kind of thing. He had been faithful to Shirley since they were kids, which Rick always told him was sick. But he admired him for it, although he had known for years from things Ted said, and didn't, that their marriage wasn't all that it used to be. At least they were still together, and they loved each other in their own way. You could hardly expect it to be exciting after twenty-eight years, and it wasn't.

  “I didn't say anything about her,” Ted pointed out to him. “I said the kids were cute.”

  “So no car bombing suspect, I gather,” Rick commented, and Ted shook his head.

  “Not a one. It was interesting to see Waters though. He's a tough customer. He seems to be keeping his nose clean, for now at least. He wasn't too happy with my visit.”

  “Tough shit,” Rick said bluntly. He had no use for convicts like Carlton Waters. He knew who he was and didn't like anything he'd read about him.

  “Those were pretty much my sentiments on the subject.” And as Ted said it, Rick looked at him again. There was something rolling around in his head. He couldn't figure out the connection between Peter Morgan and Phillip Addison, and it was bothering him. And the fact that Carlton Waters had gotten out on the same day as Morgan probably meant nothing. But it had just occurred to him that it might not hurt to have a look. And as a parolee, Peter Morgan was in Ted's jurisdiction.

  “Will you do me a favor? I can't justify sending one of my boys over. Can you send someone out to Morgan's halfway house tomorrow? He's on parole, you don't need a search warrant to go through his stuff. You don't even need to clear it with his parole agent. You can go anytime you want. I just want to know if there's something there that ties him to Addison, or anyone else of interest. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to this guy, like a bee to honey.”

  “Oh Christ, don't tell me the FBI has turned you gay.” Ted laughed at him, but he agreed to go. He had a certain amount of respect for Rick's instincts. They had panned out for both of them before, and it couldn't hurt this time. “I'll go tomorrow, when I get up. I'll call you if anything turns up.” He had nothing else to do in the morning, and with luck, Morgan would be out, which would make it easier to search. He'd have a look around his room, and see what he found there.

  “Thanks a lot,” Rick said comfortably, picked up Morgan's printout, folded it, and put it in his pocket. It might come in handy at some point, particularly if Ted found something at the halfway house the next day.

  But all Ted found when he got there was his forwarding address. The man at the desk told him that Morgan had moved out. Peter's parole agent had obviously not gotten around to updating the address in the computer, which was sloppy, but they were busy. Ted glanced at it and saw that it was a hotel in the Tenderloin, and determined to do what he'd promised Rick he would the night before, he went there. The clerk at the desk said Morgan was out. Ted showed him his star and asked for the key. The desk clerk wanted to know if he was in trouble, and Ted said it was a standard check of a parolee, which didn't seem to bother him. There had been others who had stayed there before. The desk clerk shrugged and handed Ted the key, and he walked upstairs.

  The room he walked into was spare and neat. The clothes in the closet looked new. The papers on the desk were neatly stacked. There was nothing exceptional about the room. Morgan had no drugs, no weapons, no contraband. He didn't even smoke. And he had a fat address book sitting on the desk, held together by a rubber band. Ted flipped through it and found Addison's name and number under the A's. And when he rifled through the desk, two pieces of paper caught Ted's eye, and stopped him dead in his tracks. One had Carlton Waters's number in Modesto on it, and the other piece of paper made his blood run cold. On it was written Fernanda's address. There was no telephone number and no name. Only the address, but he recognized it immediately, even without a name. He closed the book and put the rubber band on it, closed the desk drawer, and after a last look around, he walked out of the room. And as soon as he got back to his car, he called Rick.

  “Something smells. And I'm not sure what. In fact, I'm beginning to think it stinks.” Ted was worried, and he looked it. Why did a guy like Morgan have Fernanda's address? What was his connection to Waters, or had they just met in prison? But if so, why did he have his number in Modesto? And what was Addison doing with Morgan's telephone number? Why did Morgan have his? Why did Addison have a file three inches thick on Allan Barnes, and a photograph of Fernanda and the kids? Suddenly there were too many questions, and not enough answers. And two convicts, one of them convicted of murder, who had gotten out of prison on the same day. There were too many coincidences floating in the air. Rick could hear something in his voice that he hadn't heard in years. Ted was panicked, and he wasn't sure why.

  “I just left Morgan's room,” he explained. “He's not living at the halfway house anymore. He's living in a hotel in the Tenderloin, and he's got a closet full of new clothes. I'm going to call his parole agent and find out if he got a job.”

  “How do you suppose he knows Addison?” Rick asked with interest. He had just come from the hearing to set bail. Addison had gotten off nearly scot free, as far as bail went anyway. He had been asked to put up a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which was peanuts to him. And the judge was letting him leave for Europe with his family in two days. The federal investigation was still on, but his attorney said it could continue during his absence, it was the FBI's problem, not his, and the judge agreed. They had no doubt that Addison would return to San Francisco in four weeks. He had an empire to run. Rick had watched Addison drive off with his attorney, and he was intrigued by what Ted had found in Morgan's room.

  “Maybe they're old friends. The ink on the entry with Addison's name and phone number looks old,” Ted explained. But why Carl Waters's phone number in Modesto? And Fernanda Barnes's address on a piece of paper? No phone number or name. Just the address.

  “Why?” Rick echoed the single word in Ted's head.

  “That's my point. I don't like this, and I'm not even sure why. Something's coming down, I can smell it, but I'm not even sure what it is.” And then he had a thought. “Can I come look at the file Addison has on Barnes?” Maybe something would turn up there. “And do me another favor,” Ted said, as he turned the key in the ignition. He was going straight to Rick's office to see the file, and whatever else Rick had. He was interested in it now. He had no idea what Fernanda had to do with this, but something told him that she was at the hub of the wheel. She was an obvious target for a lot of reasons. But Ted had no idea for what, or who was involved, let alone why. Maybe the answer was in that file.

  “What's the favor?” Rick reminded him. Ted sounded distracted, and he was. He was trying to figure it out, and so far nothing had clicked. There were a lot of pieces flying around in midair. Morgan. Waters. Addison. Fernanda. The car bombing. And there were no obvious connections between any of them. Not yet.

  “Check into Addison's finances for me. Go as deep as you can, and see what comes up,” Ted asked as he started the car. He knew Rick would be doing it anyway, but now Ted wanted it fast or as much as he could get in a short trip.

  “We already did check, superficially anyway. That's why we arrested him yesterday. There's some smoky business in Nevada, some taxes he hasn't paid. A lot of money going back and forth across state lines.” There was no state tax in Nevada, so it was a haven for guys like Addison, with illegal money on his hands. “It's a lot of nickel-and-dime stuff right now. The worst he'll probably get is a stiff fine. I don't think he'll do time for this. He's got good lawyers,” Ric
k said, sounding disappointed. “We're still checking.” But they both knew it took time.

  “I mean really look into it. Pull up the rug. Take the floor out of the car.”

  “Literally?” Rick was stunned. He couldn't imagine what Ted was looking for. And neither could Ted at this point. But he had a powerful sixth sense something was there.

  “No, not literally. I mean check him out thoroughly. I want to know what kind of money this guy has, and if he's in trouble anywhere. Shine a bright light on him. Not over the next two months. Find out everything you can now. I want whatever you can get, as fast as you can get it.” He knew how long their investigations could take, especially if they were about money, and lives weren't at stake. But maybe they were in this case. Maybe something else was going on. “Pull out all the stops. I'll be there in ten minutes,” Ted said as he sped downtown.

  “It'll take me longer than that,” Rick said apologetically.

  “How long?” Ted sounded anxious, and he himself didn't know why.

  “Couple of hours. A day or two. I'll try to get you everything I can today.” He was going to have his agents contact the computer analysis and response team in Washington, D.C., and their informants in the underground financial network. But it all took time.

  “Christ, you guys are slow. Do whatever you can. I'm halfway there. I'll be there in five.”

  “Let me get started. You can read the file he has on Allan Barnes while we dig up whatever else we can. See you in a minute,” he said, and hung up.

  By the time Ted walked into his office, Rick had the Barnes file on his desk, and he had three agents working full time on the computers and calling other agencies and a few select informants, to see what they could find out. It was what they had been planning to do on Addison anyway. He had just speeded it up. By a lot. And three hours later, as Ted and Rick sat talking over sandwiches, it paid off. All three agents walked into his office together and handed him a stack of papers.

  “What's the bottom line?” Rick asked, looking at them. Ted had finished the Barnes file by then. There was nothing in it but articles and clippings about Allan Barnes's victories and accomplishments, and the single photograph of Fernanda and the kids.

  “Addison is thirty million in debt. The Titanic is going down,” one of the agents said. One of their best informants had turned out to be a gold mine.

  “Shit,” Rick said, and looked at Ted. “That's quite a debt.”

  “His holding company is in trouble,” one of the agents explained, “and he's managed to keep it quiet till now. But it won't stay quiet for long. He's got a juggling act going worthy of Ringling Brothers Circus. We think he's been investing funds for some South American connections. And his investments went bad. He's been borrowing from other companies he's got to cover them, he's got a shitload of bad debts. I think there's probably some credit card fraud at the shallow end. At the deep end, he's in so much trouble, my informant says he'll never bail out. He needs a huge influx of money to clean it up, and no one will give him any. My other informant says he's been laundering money for years. That's what the setup in Nevada is all about, and we have no idea why. But if you wanted to know if he's in trouble, he is. A lot of it. Deep, deep shit. If you want to know why and how, and who he's been investing for, it'll take time. And a lot of guys. This is the rough and dirty. We've still got a lot of checking to do. But it looks pretty bad.”

  “I think that'll do it for now,” Rick said quietly, and thanked all three of them for the fast work, particularly with their informants. As soon as they left, he turned to Ted. “So what do you think?” He could see Ted's mind racing at full speed.

  “I think we have a guy who we know is at least thirty million dollars in debt, maybe more. A woman whose husband left her roughly half a billion dollars, according to the press anyway, if you can believe what you read, and I don't. But even if she's worth half of that, she's a sitting duck, with three kids. You have two convicted felons who got out of the slammer six weeks ago, and seem to be floating around loose. They're both tied to Addison in some way and each other. And you have a car bombing down the street from our sitting duck. She's a victim waiting to be born, if you ask me, and so are those kids. You know what I think? I think Addison is after her, I think that's what that file is about. You could never pin it on him in court and make it stick, but something's happening, and if I really let my imagination run wild, I think Addison used Morgan as a conduit to Waters. Maybe now they're in it together, maybe not. I think Waters was watching her when he set the bomb on Judge McIntyre, if he did. And now I think he did. It's too big a coincidence that they just happen to live on the same street. He was probably there anyway, and figured he'd get a twofer for his time. Why not? It's shit luck the Barnes boy didn't recognize him, but you can't have everything all at once. I think what we're looking at here is a conspiracy against Fernanda Barnes. I know I sound like a lunatic, and I can't substantiate any of it, but that's what I think, and my gut says I'm right.”

  Over the years, they had both learned to trust their guts, and they were seldom wrong. More than that, they had learned to trust each other's, and Rick did now. Everything Ted had just said made sense to him. In the criminal world, it was how people thought, and how things worked. But between knowing it and proving it there was often a dizzying leap over the abyss, and a lot of time. And sometimes the time it took to prove a theory could cost lives. If Ted was right, this one could. They had nothing to go on but instinct at this point, and there was nothing they could do for her, until someone made a move on her or her kids. It was all theory and intuition right now.

  “What kind of a conspiracy?” Rick asked him seriously. He believed everything Ted had just said. They had been cops for too long to be entirely wrong. “To extort money from her?”

  Ted shook his head. “Not with a guy like Waters hanging around. We're not talking white-collar crime. I think she's a kidnapping victim waiting to happen, and so are her kids. Addison needs thirty million dollars, and he needs it fast. She's worth five hundred million, or thereabouts. I don't like the way those two facts match up. Or Waters hanging around, if he is. And even if he isn't, that doesn't change the fact that Addison has a file on her the size of the Manhattan phone book. And a picture of her and the kids.”

  Rick didn't like it either, but he just remembered something else. “He's leaving for Europe in two days. What the hell is he doing that for, if he's broke?”

  “His wife probably doesn't know. And his leaving the country doesn't change anything. He's not going to do this himself. In my opinion, someone else is. And if he's out of the country when it happens, he has an airtight alibi. At least that's what he thinks, I'll bet. The question is who is doing this, and when, if I'm right.” And they didn't even know for sure what “this” was yet. But whatever it was, they both agreed, it was nothing good.

  “Are you going to haul Morgan's ass in and talk to him?” Rick asked with interest. “Or Waters?” Ted shook his head.

  “I don't want to tip them off. I want to wait and see what they do. But I want to warn her. I owe her that.”

  “Do you think they'll let you put guys on her?”

  “They might. I want to see the captain tonight. But I want to talk to her first. Maybe she's seen something, or knows something we don't, something she doesn't even know she knows.” They had both seen that before. You turned the dial just a little bit, and the whole picture came clear. Although Ted suspected the captain would think he was nuts. He'd been a good sport about going with Ted's hunches before, and they had paid off often enough. It was like money in the bank, and Ted was going to use it now. He was absolutely sure he was right. And so was Rick. He would have offered his FBI agents to help him out, but there wasn't enough to justify it for him. This was SFPD's baby for now. Although Addison had the file. Rick didn't think the U.S. Attorney would authorize him to assign agents to protect the Barnes family, but he was going to call him anyway, to keep him informed. There wasn't enough evide
nce against Addison to warrant a conspiracy-to-commit-kidnap charge against him. Yet. But Rick thought they were heading that way, and Ted looked scared as he stood up. He hated cases like this. Someone was going to get hurt. Unless they could do something about it, but he was not yet sure what. He wanted to discuss that with the captain, after he talked to her. He looked at Rick as he got ready to leave.

  “Do you want to come with me, just for the hell of it? See what you think after we talk to her. I could use your head on this.” Rick nodded and followed him out. It had been a crazy two days in his office, and it had all started with Addison, a piece of paper in his desk with a name on it, and a file on Allan Barnes that made no sense. None of it did. But it was starting to. Rick and Ted had been at it for a long time. Together and apart. They knew the criminal mind. It was all about thinking the way they did, and being nearly as sick as they were. It was about being one step ahead of them all the time. Ted just hoped they were.

  Ted called Fernanda from his cell phone, after he and Rick got in the car. Rick told his office he'd be gone for a couple of hours, which seemed reasonable. He really missed working with Ted. This was almost fun. But he didn't dare say that to Ted. Ted was too worried to be amused at the moment. Fernanda was home, and sounded breathless when she answered. She said she'd been packing for her son, who was leaving for camp.