“I’ve called the police,” she called through the door, “And I’ve got a gun.”
That was all it took. There was a moment of silence before she heard the men running toward the elevator. Nicole got her phone from her purse and dialed 911.
A squad car arrived within minutes, sirens blaring. Nicole buzzed them into the building. By the time they arrived at her door, several of her neighbors were in the hall wanting to know what had happened. Nicole explained about the would-be intruders, and one of the police officers told the residents to go back in their units and lock their doors.
The cops—there were two of them—were clean-cut, polite look-alikes, young enough to be fresh graduates of the police academy. After listening to Nicole’s story and establishing that the men hadn’t managed to break into her place, one of them told her they were going to search the premises. “Stay inside,” he said, “and keep your door locked until we get back.”
About fifteen minutes elapsed before they were back. The one who seemed to be their spokesman said, “We looked everywhere, and there’s no sign of them. Does the building have CCTV?”
“Not at the moment. The building is switching security services. New equipment is supposed to be installed this week. So far it hasn’t happened.”
“Too bad,” he said. “We’ll file a report. There’s not much else we can do.”
“Thanks for coming out,” Nicole said.
“Thank you for reporting it,” he said. “We’ve had a number of recent break-ins in the area. Our records show there was one in this building several months ago. We think a single pair or gang may be responsible. Your report could help us establish a pattern leading to their capture. You’ve got good, strong locks on your door. Be sure to use them when you’re home and when you leave. They’d make it pretty hard for a burglar to get in.”
After they left, Nicole looked at the clock. It was almost five o’clock a.m., and she was wide awake. She made herself a pot of coffee. This was one morning, she thought, she’d be able to treat herself to a leisurely breakfast and have time to read the paper.
Three
When Nicole arrived at the office, the receptionist said, “You have a visitor.” She pointed to a man who got up from where he’d been sitting and stepped forward. He was tall with slightly tousled, dark hair. He might have been handsome if he hadn’t looked so exhausted. He needed a haircut and was badly in need of a shave.
“Detective Greg Arnault,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “And you’re Nicole Graves. Read about you in the tabloids last year. I’d know you anywhere.”
“My moment of fame,” she said, looking up at him. “Glad that’s over.” She was fairly certain he was here because of the Ashley Rexton case, but she decided to play dumb.
“I need just a few minutes of your time,” he said.
“Certainly. How can I help you?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
She led him into her office and gestured toward a chair facing her desk. “Have a seat.” Then she noticed he was looking at the papers on her desk—case files that were strictly confidential. She quickly gathered them up and stacked them on a filing cabinet behind her.
“Something there I might be interested in?” he said. “Not to worry. I can’t read upside down.” His tone was jocular, and he smiled. Then his expression grew serious and he added, “The old man hired you, didn’t he? Robert Rexton is convinced his daughter-in-law faked her own kidnapping, and his son died trying to save her.”
“Do you think that’s what happened?” Nicole said.
“You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But I will say that we’ve looked into the MO of the perps, and it fits the pattern of the earlier kidnappings. Judging by the state of the bedroom, she put up one hell of a fight before they took her.”
“Except this time someone got killed, and the victim hasn’t been found,” Nicole said.
He nodded. “True, but the second victim is also still missing. Other than that—”
“Why do you think there’s been no further calls for ransom?”
“If the perps killed Brad Rexton, they’d be afraid to call and make demands. Our best theory is that they forced Mrs. Rexton to empty her bank account at various ATMs. Maybe she got a look at them while they were driving her around. If she could identify them, it makes sense they’d want to get rid of her.”
“You think she’s dead?“
He shrugged noncommittally. “If that’s what happened.”
“Aren’t there cameras outside banks? Wouldn’t you able to verify if Ashley herself was at those ATMs?”
“I’ve already said too much. I can assure you we’re investigating every lead. But I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking questions.”
”Go ahead,” she said.
His expression darkened. “I have to ask you to stand down. Stop poking your nose into our case. It’s possible you might alert a suspect and undermine our investigation.”
“Do you have a suspect?” she said.
He ignored the question. “These are very dangerous people. I’m here to warn you. Don’t mess with them.”
“All I’m doing is looking into Ashley’s background. I’m not interested in finding the kidnappers or even Ashley herself. Her father-in-law, Robert Rexton, was her only known next of kin. He hired me to track down her family, if she has one, so he can let them know what’s happened. On our databases—and yours, too, I’m sure—her records go back only six years. Are you looking into that?”
“Again—I can’t comment,” he said, somewhat irritably, “but let me be clear. For your own safety, stay away from this case. And see if you can convince your firm to drop the investigation.” When he got up, she stood, too.
They made eye contact, and for a long moment, Nicole found herself unable to look away. His expression had softened, and she felt a connection that had nothing to do with what they’d been discussing or the request he’d just made. At last, the spell broke, and he turned to leave.
Before reaching the door, he turned back, pulled a card from his pocket, and handed it to her. “If you do stumble across any information,” he said, “I’d appreciate a call.”
“Sure thing,” she said.
He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then changed his mind and left, closing the door behind him.
Nicole stood there, considering his mixed message: Stay away from this case, but, if you find out something, let me know. He had no legal grounds for making her stop looking into Ashley’s past. And he knew, just as well as she did, that she was going to keep looking until she found out more about Ashley or ran out of places to look.
Once Detective Arnault was gone, Nicole set about calling more people in Ashley’s phone book. She was able to reach a dozen women who’d met Ashley through a husband or boyfriend who was close to Brad. Each said more or less the same thing: that she didn’t know Ashley well and had no idea of her family connections, the kind of work she might have done, or anything else. Some had been part of Ashley’s lunch crowd or included in her shopping sprees. Several mentioned that Ashley rarely talked about much except celebrities, fashion, cosmetics, and fitness.
Nicole gathered that what Rexton senior said about his son was true: Brad was well liked. He was considered “fun to hang out with” and “a great host.” Several mentioned his lack of ambition but excused this as the result of growing up as a trust fund kid. “Why should he have to work if he didn’t feel like it?” one woman said. “He was rich.”
The last woman Nicole reached summed up what the others had said about Ashley: “She was kind of an enigma. Beautiful? Yes. Everyone could see Brad was nuts about her, but she never revealed anything about herself. She was pleasant enough, but there was something deeply impersonal about her.”
“Like she was hiding something?” Nicole asked.
“I didn’t think that,” the woman said. “But
she always kept herself at a distance. I couldn’t figure out where she was coming from, what she liked or didn’t like, her plans for the future. You know, who she really was.”
Nicole understood. She’d encountered women who’d been deeply unknowable in just that way. They stuck to superficial conversation and never revealed anything personal. It was as if they’d constructed a wall that made it impossible for anyone to get close.
Except for a short break for lunch, she worked nonstop for the rest of the day. By the end of the afternoon, she was almost done with Ashley’s address book, but she still hadn’t found any new information.
§
Nicole was deeply asleep when the ring of her phone went through her like an electric shock. It rang a second time as she fumbled to find it on her night table. The illuminated face of her alarm clock said it was 3:20 a.m. When she turned on the lamp, she saw that the phone had fallen to the floor. She leaned over to pick it up and hit the answer button, but the other party had hung up. She figured it was probably a wrong number from someone in a different time zone but decided to check to be sure. She brought up the list of recent callers and was surprised to see her sister’s name at the top of the list. Her call had come in less than a minute before. Nicole called back, but the phone went to voicemail. She concluded Steph was still on the phone, leaving a message. But why would she be calling so late? What could it possibly be that couldn’t wait until morning? Over the next few minutes, Nicole checked and rechecked her phone messages. Nothing.
She called Steph again and then a third time, but no one answered. When she tried Steph’s landline, the answering machine picked up. Nicole was wide awake by now and thoroughly alarmed. Why would her sister call at this hour and then not answer either phone? Steph had abandoned her cramped, run-down apartment for her fiancé’s comfortable, roomy one several months ago. David, Steph’s fiancé, would be there, too. Why hadn’t he picked up the phone if Steph was in the bathroom or something? Nicole looked up David’s cell number and called him. He didn’t pick up either.
Almost without thinking, she was up, pulling clothes from her closet. She’d go over there and make sure everything was all right. Then she remembered that Steph kept her phone under her pillow with the ringtone turned off, using a headset to listen to soothing music while she fell asleep. She’d probably rolled over and accidentally pushed a button on the phone. It could have triggered a call to Nicole—the pillow equivalent of a butt call.
That would explain why Steph hadn’t answered her cell, but why hadn’t anyone answered the landline? Maybe, she told herself, Steph and David, wanting uninterrupted privacy, had unplugged the house phone and turned off the ringtones on their phones. Somewhat reassured, Nicole climbed back into bed. But her heart wouldn’t stop thumping, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
These fears tumbled about in her head until the sky began to grow light. She’d just dropped off to sleep when her alarm rang. It was six o’clock. Normally, she rose at seven o’clock. But she’d promised to meet Sue for their celebratory breakfast. Before getting up, Nicole tried calling Steph again. Still no answer, but that was understandable. Her sister never rose before nine o’clock. If she’d turned off her phones the night before, she’d still be unreachable. In the light of morning, Nicole’s nighttime panic seemed a little silly. She’d get in touch with Steph later, and they’d figure out what had happened.
Wearily, Nicole got out of bed. Once again she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. A long hot shower and a cup of coffee somewhat revived her. When she was ready, she drove up to Sunset Boulevard, entered the grounds of the huge, sprawling pink complex that made up the Beverly Hills Hotel, and left her car with the valet. Even though she’d lived in L.A. her whole life, this was her first visit to the famous Polo Lounge. Despite its reputation as a celebrity hangout, she’d always considered it more of a tourist trap than a dining destination. But, as she walked in, she had to admit the place was beautiful. The lavish planters, green walls, and green and white striped ceiling gave the place the feeling of a well-tended garden. It also smelled incredibly good with the sweet, cinnamon aroma of something baking.
At seven thirty a.m., the place was almost full, but, as Nicole looked around, she didn’t spot a single celebrity. Sue was already there and had managed to snag a large corner booth. They greeted each other with a hug, then consulted the menu and ordered an elaborate breakfast to share: eggs Benedict with butter-poached Maine lobster, a wild mushroom omelet, and the Polo Lounge’s special bakery basket. The lobster Benedict was forty-seven dollars, the omelet thirty-two dollars, the pastry basket twenty-four dollars—crazy prices for breakfast. But this was the Polo Lounge. And, after all, Nicole thought, the fact that she was getting part of her inheritance was due to Sue’s legal maneuvers, for which she refused to accept payment.
They ordered and were waiting for their food when Nicole’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her purse.
“Nicole—Oh my God!” The voice was so hoarse she didn’t recognize it at first. “I’ve got to talk to you. Where are you?” It took a long moment before she realized it was David, her sister’s fiancé.
“I’m in Beverly Hills having—”
“Go home. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”
“Wait!” Nicole remembered the phone call during the night and felt herself go cold. “What’s wrong? Is it Steph? Has something happened to Steph?”
There was no answer, just a dial tone. He’d already hung up.
“What is it?” Sue said. “You’ve gone completely white.”
“I don’t know.” Nicole was finding it hard to breathe. She took in a gulp of air before she went on. “That was Steph’s fiancé. He sounded hysterical. He told me to go home so he can meet me there. Then he hung up.” She bit her lip, trying to keep from falling apart. “I think something has happened to Steph. I got a call from her in the middle of the night. I missed it and called back, but nobody answered. I thought it was strange.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Sue said. “You have no idea what this is about. Maybe she broke up with him or something. Do you want me to come with you?”
“No,” Nicole said. “I’ve got it.” As she stood up, the waitress arrived with a big tray of food. Nicole asked Sue to settle the check. “I’ll pay you back,” she added.
“Don’t worry about it.” Sue got up, grabbed a muffin and a Danish from the pastry basket, wrapped them in one of the restaurant’s dark-green cloth napkins, and handed the small bundle to Nicole. “Let me know what happened.”
Nicole rushed out to the valet. As soon as her car arrived, she placed the napkin-wrapped pastries on the seat next to her and headed for her condo. It took seven minutes, speeding down from Sunset and heading west along Wilshire. She was gripping the steering wheel so hard her fingers started to cramp. She tried to relax and calm down. Maybe Sue was right. It might be nothing more serious than a lovers’ quarrel. But, if that was the case, why would David turn to her?
Steph’s decision to accept David Stevenson’s proposal had come as a pleasant surprise. Through high school, college, and ever since, she’d gone through an endless series of slacker boyfriends—some so objectionable they made Nicole worry about her sister’s safety. Twice Steph had been forced to get restraining orders after breakups. As she did with all of her sister’s suitors, Nicole had checked David’s background through the Internet and her firm’s database. He had a degree in computer engineering and a well-paid job with one of the country’s biggest Internet companies. Good credit, no arrests, a model citizen.
As for appearance, David was tall, six-foot-three to Steph’s five-eleven, and they made a striking couple. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but he had nice blue eyes and a square jaw that made him look as if he’d stepped out of a Marine recruiting poster. What impressed Nicole most was his benevolently take-charge attitude. It was clear that he was going to look out for Steph and keep her safe. Most importan
t, he clearly adored her, quirks and all. In the months David and Steph had been together, Nicole had grown fond of him.
Once Nicole got to her place, she spent the next fifteen minutes pacing, waiting for David to arrive. At last the phone to the building’s intercom rang. She pressed the button, and David’s voice came through, sounding breathless. “It’s me.”
She buzzed him into the building, opened the front door, and stood in the hall waiting. When David emerged from the elevator, Nicole was shocked by his appearance. The area surrounding his left eye was red, puffy, and swollen. Blood, dripping from his nose, was spattered down the front of his shirt.
When he reached her, he blurted it out, words tumbling over each other: “Some guys broke into our place last night and took Steph. I tried to fight them off, but there were three of them. They punched me, then hit me on the head.”
Nicole went cold. For a brief moment, she felt as if she was going to faint. This passed as she experienced a wave of disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. She held her breath, waiting for David to mitigate this terrible news with words like “but she’s okay,” or “she was able to get away from them.”
But David was silent, looking desperately into her eyes. He seemed to be hoping for her to reassure him. All at once, the blood that had been trickling from his nose came gushing out, like water from a spigot. He put his sleeve against his face to stop the flow.
Nicole knew a little about nosebleeds, since her mother had been afflicted with them. “Sit down and tilt your head back as far as it will go,” she said. “Then pinch your nostrils together.”
David obliged, but when he tried to pinch his nose, he let out a yelp. “I can’t put pressure on it. It really hurts.”
“Maybe it’s broken,” Nicole said. “I’ll get a towel and some ice. Then I’m calling the police and an ambulance. You need a doctor.”
“No! You can’t do that!” His bleeding nose made it sound as if he had a bad cold.
Nicole Graves 04: The Ransom Page 4