Ryan Lock Series Box Set 2

by Sean Black

  “I hope you’re right,” said Ty. “You know, not much happens round here. Two people they don’t know show up at the same time?”

  “Okay, look, if you think they’re getting suspicious just get out of there.”

  The suggestion that he run away didn’t sit well with Ty. He had never run away from anything in his life and didn’t plan on starting now. Plus, it wasn’t exactly what he considered a high-risk environment. “Forget it. I’ll be fine. And don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. They have a signal blocker up at the school to stop the kids using cell phones.”

  “Huh,” said Lock. “That sounds kind of over the top.”

  “Well, they may not be dangerous, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a little bit out there.”

  “So how’s Ruth? You seen her today?”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  Ty filled Lock in on Ruth and her friend’s punishment. Lock was silent until he’d finished.

  “Okay, well, keep an eye on the situation as best you can.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Ty. “I’m on it.”

  39

  Lock finished the call with Ty. He opened the driver’s door of the Ford Explorer and got in. Even though he’d parked it in the shade, the interior was boiling hot. He turned on the engine and cranked up the air-conditioning.

  For the first time since they’d taken on Donald Price as a client, and promised to find out what they could about his daughter’s situation, he had a feeling of real unease. He wasn’t overly worried about the connection between Broken Ridge and local law enforcement. At least, not in the way others might have imagined.

  It was Ty’s mention of the barn that had done it. Jennifer Oates had committed suicide. She had hanged herself. She had tied a rope around a wooden support in the barn, and jumped from the top of the hayloft. Suicide or not, suspicious or otherwise, it was enough to give Lock chills.

  Ruth Price was in that same barn.

  40

  Sheriff Dwyer massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. He could feel a migraine forming at the front of his skull. He knew what had brought it on. It was the thought of the phone call he had to make.

  Maybe she’d be out, or away from her desk. He could leave a brief message, then head out on patrol. With a little bit of luck, she might give up on reaching him. But he would have made the call, so he’d have done his part. Yeah, that might work.

  He lifted the phone. The number was already programmed on his pre-set speed dials. He didn’t have the name written next to it like the other numbers—his wife, who had as little to do with her sister as she could, their son who lived in Phoenix, the State Police, the local Fire Department—but it was in there nonetheless.

  He hit the pre-set button and waited. It started to ring.

  Someone picked up. Gretchen. Her voice was unmistakable. She had a very particular voice that she used to answer the phone. It made his skin crawl. It was so fake and phony, just like she was.

  “Hello,” she sing-songed.

  “Gretchen, it’s me. I got something I thought you might want to know about. I had a visitor this morning.”

  * * *

  The phone call took around four minutes. It seemed a lot longer. Gretchen tended to freak out about stuff like that. Even after all these years, people were still turning up and asking awkward questions.

  He’d had to explain to Gretchen that was why he’d put the guy off the idea. He hadn’t told her over the phone what he’d said about her. He told her that his visitor had thought Broken Ridge’s fees were steep compared to some other places.

  She had been pissed when he’d said that. But he’d patiently explained to her that she didn’t want the child of a parent who was already prone to hiring private investigators at Broken Ridge. She’d agreed.

  That had always been the policy: never take into the program a child who wasn’t being sent by someone who was completely onboard with how they did things. It cost the school money, but only in the short term. In the long term it was smart business.

  He told Gretchen he’d see her at the next family dinner, and not to worry. This PI would go back, report to his client that he should go with a different program at another school and that would be that. Crisis averted.

  Gretchen hadn’t sounded convinced. She was paranoid. Always had been. Her old man had been the same. Thankfully, his wife hadn’t inherited the gene. Only Gretchen had.

  Gretchen had hung up on him while he was in mid-sentence. He’d stared at the phone for a moment. “You’re welcome.”

  41

  On the drive over to speak with the parents of Jennifer Oates, Lock called Don Price. He answered almost immediately. Whatever anyone thought of the man, including, and perhaps especially, Don’s ex-wife, Lock had never doubted the man’s love for his daughter.

  “What do you have for me, Ryan? How’s Ruth?”

  Lock had been dreading this question. But there was no way to avoid it. What other question was her father going to ask?

  The problem was that from early on, almost as soon as he had retained their services, Don Price had been pushing for a more forceful intervention. One that involved taking Ruth out of Broken Ridge without either his wife’s or the school’s permission.

  Like Lock, Don Price’s attorney had told him it was a crazy idea. His wife had custody. She had assigned just under half of that to Broken Ridge, as was the industry standard with these places. That meant any attempt to remove Ruth, without her mother’s say-so, would be regarded as a serious matter by the authorities. In short, and somewhat ironically given how Ruth had been taken there, it would be seen as abduction. With all the legal ramifications that carried.

  As soon as Broken Ridge knew that Ruth was missing, they would contact law enforcement. If Don Price was lucky they would be picked up before they crossed the state line and it became a federal case.

  His best bet would be to get Ruth out of the United States. But even that wasn’t without risk. There were extradition treaties and the US authorities had a very long, powerful reach. Which Don Price would have known, given his current work and status as a high-level employee with the State Department. Not only would he lose his job, and possibly his pension, he’d be a fugitive from justice. Until he was caught. And then he’d be in prison.

  Of course, Lock knew that Don was aware of all of these things. But he was desperate, and desperate people often did foolish things. They also had a tendency, in Lock’s experience, to be impulsive.

  Lock had outlined a different strategy that didn’t involve directly breaking the law so much as pushing at the edges. First, he had asked Don Price to let him and Ty establish whether Ruth was in harm’s way. If she was, they would gather evidence, and present it directly to Don’s wife. If she didn’t respond by removing Ruth from Broken Ridge, they could then go to the relevant authorities, and to court to try for a legal remedy. If all that failed then, and only then, Lock would discuss the other, extra-legal, options open to them.

  Reluctantly, Don Price had agreed. Like any concerned parent he didn’t want to see his child go through any more torment than she absolutely had to. Lock got that. But first they had to establish that she was at risk. Maybe it was, as Ty had argued originally, not the worst thing in the world to be sent to be a place like this.

  The reality, though, as Ty had quickly discovered, was less certain. There was discipline, and creating boundaries, neither of which was bad. And then there was manipulation and exerting psychological control to create short-term results with potentially damaging effects in the long term.

  With all that in mind, Lock chose his next words with care. “Ruth doesn’t appear to be in any immediate danger. She’s in good shape physically. Overall, she seems to be holding up well, but we have some concerns.”

  Don Price began to interrupt, but Lock quickly cut him off: “In any case, Ty is on the inside now, and he’s not going to allow anything to happen to her or any of the other kids in there. You have my
word on that.”

  “What are your concerns?” Don Price asked.

  Now Lock had to be even more careful with what he said. It was important that he chose the right words. At the moment, Donald Price was a loaded gun. The last thing Lock wanted to do was say the wrong thing, and flick off the safety.

  Lock took a breath. “Our main concern is that the program at Broken Ridge may be detrimental to her well-being in the long term. If she stays there long enough.”

  “Come on, Ryan. Why don’t you just come out and say what you have to say without all this dancing around? I’ve been in D.C. long enough to know when someone’s trying to BS me.”

  “You told us Ruth is quite a sensitive kid, correct?”

  “Yeah,” said Don. “She has that whole teenager outer shell thing going, but she’s sensitive to stuff, always has been. When she was growing up there were times I’d wish she was a little tougher, but that’s not who she is.”

  “Okay. Well, from what we knew already, and Ty’s now seen, this isn’t a place best suited to kids who don’t have a thick skin,” said Lock.

  “I knew that already. That’s why I called you in the first place.”

  Lock could hear the frustration in Don’s voice. It was tough to know whether it would be better to level with him, or whether that would be lighting the blue touch-paper. When he was placed in this kind of situation with a client, he usually asked himself how he would want someone to handle the situation if their roles were reversed. In this case it wasn’t a hard question to answer. He’d want honesty. He’d want the truth. Even if it was hard to handle.

  “Okay. She’s not playing by their rules and they’re punishing her for it.”

  The frustration that had been in Don Price’s voice switched to something else. Panic. “What do you mean, punished? If one of those assholes has laid a finger on her, I swear, I’ll—”

  “Hold on. No one’s touched her. That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then how has she been punished?”

  Lock told him about the barn, dialing down some of the details that Ty had given him. He emphasized to Don that she was with another girl, so she wasn’t alone. They’d be able to look out for each other.

  Don Price listened in silence. He was so quiet that, for a moment, Lock thought the call might have dropped.

  “Like I said, she’s not in any immediate danger, but it’s not good either.”

  At the other end of the line, he heard Don exhale. “I think I should be there.”

  That was what Lock had worried about. The last thing they needed right now was Donald Price marching to the rescue. It would be a disaster. He would be arrested, Ruth would be sent back, and they would no longer have a clue about what was going on.

  “Don, you know you can’t just turn up there like the cavalry. That’s not how it would work. We have to stick with our strategy. Gather evidence. Present it to Sandra, and if that doesn’t work, present it to a judge.”

  “You think my ex didn’t know what that place was like before she sent Ruth there?”

  In any argument there were three sides. One side, the other side, and then the truth. For a divorced couple at loggerheads over how to raise a teenager that went double, maybe even treble.

  “What it was really like? No, I’m not sure she did.” Lock wasn’t lying. He knew that Don was convinced his wife had punished Ruth to piss him off. Lock didn’t doubt that there might have been something in that. But he also knew that the troubled-teen industry was extremely persuasive, with some very slick marketing. The kind of marketing that came with a multi-billion-dollar income stream.

  “She’s punishing me by punishing Ruth,” Don said.

  Lock didn’t buy that. Of course people used kids during or after a divorce or separation. That was undeniable, not to mention commonplace. But very few mothers would place their daughter in harm’s way to make a point, or for revenge.

  “Listen to me,” Lock said. “Our best chance here is to gather the evidence, then present it to Ruth’s mother.”

  “I still think I should come down there.”

  “And I can’t stop you. But I can advise strongly against it. You hired us to do a job. Let us do it. If our approach doesn’t work, we can talk about doing things differently. But you have to let us try this first.”

  There was another silence. This time Lock took it as a sign that he might have gotten through. “Agreed?” he prompted.

  “Okay,” Don Price said finally.

  “Good. If there are any new developments, I’ll let you know immediately.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me I’m doing the right thing here.”

  42

  Mary hadn’t eaten. Her portion of the food Rachel had brought them lay on the floor, untouched. Ruth knew this wasn’t like her. Even when she was down, or depressed, Ruth hadn’t seen her leave a meal. She was usually a comfort-eater. Ruth didn’t blame her for that. There were so few actual pleasures here that food became really important to a lot of people.

  She stood by the small window, staring into the far distance as she wondered what to do with the leftovers. She herself was full, and she couldn’t just leave it in case it attracted more vermin. Someone would be here with lunch soon, too.

  Ruth bagged it all up as best she could. Maybe she could hang the bag somewhere. She didn’t like the idea of giving it back. Not when they were stuck in here by themselves, and relying on other people for food.

  “You’re definitely not hungry?” Ruth asked her.

  Mary didn’t reply. She kept staring straight ahead. That wasn’t like her either. To shut Ruth out. To not eat.

  “Mary?”

  Still nothing.

  Ruth walked over to where she was standing. “View kind of sucks.”

  No reaction to that either. Mary didn’t look at her. It was as if nothing was registering anymore.

  She decided to try something else. “I need you to be here for me too,” she told Mary.

  That got a reaction. Slowly, Mary turned her head to look at her. “This would be easier for you if I wasn’t here. It would be easier for everyone.”

  43

  Lock had been surprised to find Jennifer Oates’s family living so near to Broken Ridge. It was a little over an hour’s drive away. In this part of the country, with its vast spaces, and meager population, that qualified as close by.

  He used the time alone to work through a range of scenarios and how he would manage them. If it came down to it, and Ty thought that Ruth Price was in immediate danger, they could remove her from Broken Ridge. Perhaps they could even use what they already knew about the place as leverage. Leverage that would ensure law enforcement wasn’t involved.

  Ruth would have to be returned to her mother. Lock would insist upon that. He would even help Don’s ex-wife to find an alternative program for her daughter. One that checked out.

  * * *

  At the house, Lock parked up next to a black Minivan, and got out. Two dogs greeted his arrival, running alongside the car, tails wagging, excited at the arrival of a visitor.

  Jennifer’s mother, Patricia Oates, was standing on the porch, waiting for him. The dogs hurtled around his ankles in circles, wrestling with each other, as he picked his way through the canine mayhem.

  Patricia called them to her. They raced up the steps and onto the porch. Lock followed at a more sedate pace.

  “Sorry about them. We don’t get many visitors.”

  “No problem. I’m a dog guy,” said Lock. “Thank you for taking the time to see me. I appreciate it.”

  Patricia Oates nodded. “Please, take a seat.”

  Lock sank into a chair as Patricia sat down opposite him, the two dogs arranging themselves at her feet, tails still wagging.

  “Sorry,” she said again. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Some water? Juice?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  “You
wanted to ask me about Jenny?”

  “Yes,” said Lock. “Is your husband joining us?”

  “No, he’s out. Visiting with a friend.”

  He quickly gave her the same story that he’d sold the sheriff. This time he felt bad about the deception.

  “I would say your client should keep looking,” Patricia told him. “I wouldn’t recommend that place to my worst enemy. Not after what happened.”

  This was the part of the conversation that Lock had been dreading. He knew how hard it must be for the woman to revisit the events surrounding her daughter’s death. It wasn’t something he would ask anyone to do lightly. Lock had his own ghosts. He understood how painful losing someone close to you was. It was an agony like no other. “I know this is difficult for you,” he said, “but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you about the events surrounding your daughter’s death.”

  Her look sharpened. “Why?”

  “Because since I started looking into Broken Ridge on behalf of my client, I’ve become concerned that anyone is sending their child there.”

  That wasn’t a lie. He was. Once you peeled past the glossy brochure and slick website, there was a lot to be concerned about. It wasn’t just Broken Ridge either. There were plenty of institutions like it, some public, but most of them private.

  Patricia sat back in her chair. “That’s good to know. For the longest time we were told we were being paranoid. That we just wanted to find someone to blame.”

  “I’ve read the official accounts,” he told her, “but I’d like to hear what you believe happened with your daughter.”

  She got up from the chair. “In that case, you’d better come inside. I’m going to need something a little stronger than coffee.”