She smiled at him, and they studied each other for a long moment. Finally, Nicole said, “So why did you go into police work? You got an MFA from UCLA and were teaching art history at Newhall Community College. That’s not the usual path into law enforcement.”
He withdrew his gaze and looked away, absentmindedly twirling his wineglass. He seemed to be considering what to say, or perhaps whether he wanted to say anything at all. He shifted in his seat and turned back to her. “You’re right. Most people wouldn’t switch from a comfortable perch teaching art history to work as a rookie cop. But shit happens and, as they say, life is full of detours. For one thing, I was always interested in crime and law enforcement. As an undergrad, I took a number of classes that dealt with criminal justice. But I never thought of it as a career.
“About five years ago, I was involved with a woman. After a few months, we moved in together and were talking about marriage. One night, she didn’t come home from teaching an evening class. I called everyone we knew. No one had seen her after she’d left her classroom. I went to bed not knowing what to think.
“We’d had a fight that day, and I thought she might be staying with a friend to punish me or even hooking up with the guy we’d had the fight about. She said he was just a friend. I’m not the jealous type, but I had reason to believe it was more than that. I said some things I deeply regret, especially since those were the last words I ever spoke to her.”
He took another sip of wine. “The next morning, when I turned on the news, I learned that a woman had been raped and murdered in one of the campus parking structures. At first, I told myself it couldn’t be Aline. She always rode her bike to class, so what would she be doing in a parking structure? Later I learned someone had grabbed her, thrown her into a vehicle, and dumped her body where it was found. The news withheld her name, pending notification of family. I called Aline’s parents, and they told me they’d just gotten word that she was the victim. I was devastated.
“The police came to talk to me that morning. I could tell they considered me a suspect. But a simple blood test proved I was innocent. They didn’t even have to wait for DNA. While they were investigating, I kept in touch with the chief detective. He was kind enough to meet with me several times to let me know how the case was going, and we got to be friends. He encouraged me to consider going into law enforcement. At the age of twenty-eight, I was one of the oldest recruits at the police academy. Frankly, the strict, militaristic discipline in law enforcement isn’t my style. I’d thought I was settled in my career, on my way to tenure. But after everything that happened, the change seemed right. I felt I’d be serving a greater good as a cop. Once you’ve been put through an experience like that—losing someone you love to a senseless, random crime—you’re never the same.”
“Did they ever find out who did it?”
“Actually, they did. A few months later, a student was raped by the same man. He tried to strangle her, which was how he killed Aline. But this woman managed to escape. So they had his DNA. It matched the sample from Aline.”
“Was he a student?”
“No. Just some mentally ill, homeless guy. He was living in his van near the campus. They got him on several other rapes going back a few years.”
“Wow,” Nicole said. “That’s quite a story.”
“Enough gloom and doom,” he said. “The food is good here. Do you want to have dinner? Afterward, I’ll follow your car to be sure you get home safe.”
“What if the kidnappers are trying to get in touch with me?”
“They’ve had all day. They’re not going to ask you to deliver the ransom tonight. You wouldn’t be able to get to the bank.”
“All right,” she said. “Dinner, then.”
At first they made awkward small talk while she tried to ignore the topic foremost on her mind. Before long they were discussing movies, books, and politics. Nicole was pleased to find that they shared many of the same views, even on law enforcement and the justice system. She was also surprised to discover Arnault could be funny. Despite her troubles, he made her laugh.
“You know, you’re different than I thought when I met you,” he said.
“What was your first impression?” she said. “Be honest: the brutal truth.”
He took another sip of the coffee they’d ordered after their plates had been cleared away and then regarded her, as if sizing her up. “I don’t know, pleasing enough to look at. You’ve got that deceptively sweet smile. As we talked, I could see you were cool and collected, a self-assured little package who wasn’t going to take shit from anybody. And if I’m being perfectly honest, I thought you were—well—a bit of a spoiled brat with a sense of entitlement.”
“Whoa,” she said. “Talk about judgmental. And that impression has changed—how?”
“You are self-assured and tougher than you look,” he said. “That hasn’t changed. But I can also see that you’re not as cool as you seemed. You have a warm side, and you’re not the spoiled brat I thought you were.”
“What about my sense of entitlement?”
“The jury’s still out on that.” He laughed. “Now you’re supposed to describe your first impression of me.”
“Frankly?” She took a sip of water to give herself time to think. The whole truth? That she’d found him attractive, if abrasive. That, she decided, she’d keep to herself. “I thought you had a lot of nerve coming into my office, like that, thinking you could order me around.”
He shrugged. “That’s par for the course. After all, that’s my job. I was trying to establish a pecking order so you’d listen to me.”
“But your first impression told you I wouldn’t.”
“And you didn’t. But that was before your sister was taken, and I didn’t have to worry about being sensitive. I really did think you should have stopped looking into Ashley Rexton’s background. And I was right. There’s some kind of connection between the Rexton kidnapping and your sister’s. It’s our job—I’m talking about law enforcement, not you—to figure out what that is.”
“Connection? What do you mean?”
“I wish I knew,” he said. “The MO makes it look like the same people who kidnapped the earlier victims also took your sister. In a city of four million people, that’s a big coincidence.”
Nicole glanced at her watch. It was a little after ten o’clock. “I have work tomorrow,” she said. “We should go.”
As they left the restaurant, he saw her to her car, which was parked a few doors down.
“I’m a couple of blocks in the other direction,” he said. “Lock your car doors and wait until I pull up behind you. I’m driving a black Chevy sedan. I’ll follow you home to make sure you’re safe.”
On the way home, she kept glancing at him in her rearview mirror. After hearing his story and spending the evening with him, she had a new perspective on Arnault. He was a nice guy, a sympathetic listener, and it had been kind of him to keep her company tonight. Then another thought occurred to her. Maybe he’d spent time with her to make sure she wasn’t arranging a private deal with the kidnappers.
When they reached her block, he parked at the corner and waited until she entered her garage and drove inside. She stopped the elevator on the first floor to check her mailbox for some kind of communication from the kidnappers. There was nothing. But when she walked into her condo, she found a computer printout that had been slipped under her door. It said:
“You called the police after we warned you not to. Now the price has gone up. This is your last chance. Do not involve the police or Stephanie will die. Make no mistake. We mean business. Deliver thirty thousand dollars in $20 bills tomorrow by 11:00 p.m. at 1307 Mulholland Drive. The house is unoccupied. You’ll find the gate open. Leave the money behind the potted plant on the front porch. If we are able to pick up the ransom without interference, we’ll send you instructions for wiring the rest. Once we receive it, we’ll release your sister.”
Oh, my God, she thought. How did they know she’d called
the police, when they’d been so careful to cover their tracks? Now the kidnappers were asking the impossible. How could she possibly follow their directions when the cops were following her? All she could think of was to level with Arnault and insist on going it alone. There was no other way. She got out the burner phone and called him. He didn’t pick up, so she left a message. “Please call me as soon as you can,” she said. “It’s really important.”
After she hung up, she reread the printout, noting that whoever had written it appeared to be educated. The grammar and punctuation were correct, and there were no spelling errors. She used her computer to look up the address where she was to make the drop. The property information confirmed it was indeed unoccupied and had been for over two years, tied up in a lawsuit. The owner had died without a will. Now his brother and son were fighting over who was the rightful heir. A suit had been filed in civil court, although no date was set for a hearing. Meanwhile, the house sat empty.
She switched to a map program and looked at an aerial view of the property. The house was big, as was the surrounding yard. The place had two entrances. It fronted on Mulholland, but the garage was located on the street below, providing another way into the grounds. The rear entrance would give the kidnappers a less visible route to pick up the money than the main thoroughfare in front.
Not knowing what to do with herself, she settled on the couch, put the burner phone on the coffee table, and used her cell to call the hospital. Following the phone menu, she put in David’s room number so she’d be connected with him. It was late, but she thought he might be awake. Her call was diverted to the nurses’ station. Nicole explained who she wanted to talk to.
“I’m afraid it’s after hours for calls,” The nurse said. “Why don’t you try again in the morning.”
“I’m his sister,” Nicole lied. “Can’t you at least tell me how he’s doing?”
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t give out patient information.”
Frustrated, Nicole had to stop herself from saying something sarcastic. After all, this was hospital policy, well out of the nurse’s hands. Instead, she just said, “Thanks.”
She lay awake, terrified of what might happen if the police wouldn’t step aside and let her deliver the money as the kidnappers demanded. She must have eventually fallen asleep because the burner phone rang at six a.m., just as it had the day before.
“You called?” Arnault said.
“I heard from them. But I can’t tell you the arrangements. They knew I called the police. That’s why they didn’t show. This time they said they’d kill her if you’re involved. So I have to deliver the ransom by myself. The advance payment has gone up to thirty thousand dollars. You were right about that. After they get the cash, they’ll tell me where to wire the rest. I’m going to do what they say. I can’t risk what will happen if you follow me or arrange a stakeout. I want to be clear about this. I don’t care about the money. I just want my sister back.”
“You’re upset, and I get it. I really do. But I can’t let you do this alone, Nicole. It’s too dangerous. I already explained. If we’re left out of the loop, both you and your sister could end up dead. Now listen carefully. This time they’ll never guess we’re monitoring the situation because there will be no police presence at the drop.”
“How would that work?”
“We’ll use a drone. After dark, it will be virtually invisible.”
“I thought police weren’t allowed to use drones. You know, because of—” she hesitated, figuring it might be impolitic to mention people’s concerns about being spied on by the government. “Well, because of privacy issues.”
“All we need is a warrant. In a case like this, no judge would refuse it.”
“What if the kidnappers have night-vision binoculars?”
“You’re giving these guys too much credit. It’s not generally known we use drones. They won’t be expecting it. I understand you picked up the money at Griffith Park. Use your lunch hour to get another thousand in twenties from the bank. I’ll be at your office sometime in the afternoon to package it. Bring the kidnappers’ note. Maybe we can lift prints from it.”
“I doubt it. I had to open the envelope and unfold the note to see what it said. It’ll have my prints on it.”
“Bring it anyway, but don’t touch it again. Use something to scoop it into a plastic bag. I’ll pick it up when I come by.”
After they hung up, she got ready for work. When she arrived at the office, she found a rush assignment on her desk. She spent the morning looking up evidence for a civil trial brought by one giant corporation against another. The work was routine and dry. But it came as a welcome change to her search for Ashley Rexton. At noon, she went to the bank to get the money. To her relief, neither James Blagg nor Kevin James was in, and she was able to make her withdrawal without a hassle.
When she got back to work, Arnault was waiting in her office and appeared to be working on her computer.
She was more than a little annoyed. “What are you doing?”
He grinned, getting up to surrender her chair. “The woman who showed me in yesterday keeps popping by to chat. She insisted I get right to work so your computer would be ready when you got back.” He raised his arms in mock helplessness. “Hey, I’m just doing my job.” Once again, he was dressed like a techie, this time in jeans with a blue and green striped shirt, sleeves rolled up.
Nicole took her seat, still warm from his occupancy. From here, she could see that her computer was still on login. He hadn’t been snooping; he’d been faking it. She felt herself flush.
Arnault didn’t seem to notice. He closed her office door and locked it. “Can’t have your buddy dropping by,” he said.
Nicole was pretty sure Joanne could hear the lock click from the next office. She wondered what Joanne would think was going that would require a locked door.
Arnault started assembling the additional packets of money, sandwiching the fake bills between the real ones. When he was done, he dropped the second load of bills into the computer bag. Nicole picked it up and returned it to her cupboard. It was still surprisingly light, no more than a few pounds.
“Let me have the note they left you,” Arnault said. He read it without taking it out of the plastic bag. When he was done, he tapped the address into his cell phone and studied what came up. “They were right. The house is unoccupied. It’s pretty isolated; the closest neighbor is a good distance away. Go up there at least an hour early. Keep your car locked while you’re driving, and minimize the time you’re out of your car. Our drone has a camera, so we’ll know if anything goes wrong. But it won’t. We’ve got this. Oh, and make sure the note demanding proof of life is still in there.”
By six o’clock that evening, the office had emptied out. A few minutes later, Nicole carried the computer bag down to her car and placed it on the passenger seat. She drove home, toted the bag of money up to her place, and changed from her work clothes into jeans and a sweater.
Only when she looked in the refrigerator did she realize she still hadn’t had a chance to pick up groceries. Her fridge was empty except for some eggs and the bread in the freezer. She made herself a scrambled egg sandwich and carried it into the living room. After settling on the couch, she turned on the TV and ate while channel hopping. The news was too upsetting. At last, she settled on a Seinfeld marathon, which she barely took in, checking the clock every few minutes. Finally, at nine thirty, she decided to leave. The note had instructed her to make the drop by eleven o’clock. She figured it would take about a half hour to reach the address on Mulholland. Arnault had told her to arrive an hour early. Relieved the wait was over, she got in her car and headed through Beverly Hills and up the steep, zigzagged road through Coldwater Canyon. There was still a good deal of traffic, and she felt perfectly safe.
The house at the address she’d been given was a two-story colonial. She’d seen a photo of it on her computer’s map program, but it was much bigger than she expected, p
erhaps six thousand square feet. The enormous yard appeared well kept and the front of the house was illuminated with several spotlights.
A six-foot wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and the gate was closed. Once parked in front, she considered how to get out of the car without attracting the notice of those driving by. She decided to exit by the passenger’s door, which required an awkward climb over the transmission console. She grabbed the computer bag, closed the car door, and locked it. She hurried to the gate and pulled the latch. It swung open; she entered the front yard and closed the gate behind her. She had to make an effort not to lift her head and look for the drone. If she was being watched, that would be a tipoff that the police were monitoring the scene from overhead.
From the street, the house looked impressive and well maintained, but as Nicole got closer, she noticed signs of neglect. Several interior lights were on. Perhaps they’d been set on a timer to make the house appear occupied. What they revealed was that the windows were dirty, and there were moth holes in the drapes. Paint was peeling on the window frames; cobwebs draped corners of the front porch; and dead moths had accumulated at the bottom of the porch’s light fixtures.
As Nicole climbed the half-dozen steps to the porch, she saw the potted palm behind which she’d been told to leave the money. The plant had turned brown from neglect and was drooping over the side of the pot. The place had a creepy feeling, and she sensed she was being watched. She couldn’t wait to get away.
She shoved the bag of money, real and fake, behind the potted palm. Then she hurried down the stairs and all but ran to her car. She didn’t bother sliding in through the passenger’s door, but went around to the driver’s side and locked herself in.
She went as fast as she dared down the winding road. Only when she entered her building’s underground parking did she feel safe. By the time she let herself into her condo, she was exhausted but too worried and keyed up to sleep. When she was ready for bed, she set her cell and the burner phone on her night table. She lay awake wondering if the drone had succeeded in following the kidnappers to their hideout and what would happen if it hadn’t.
Nicole Graves 04: The Ransom Page 12