Nicole Graves 04: The Ransom

by Nancy Boyarsky

  Stephanie couldn’t stop crying, even after they’d let go of her, and she understood they just wanted her ring, not her finger.

  The two men stamped back up the stairs and slammed the door. Before long, she heard them nailing the door shut again. They drove away from the house with a loud roar of the engine. Clearly, they were angry. Was it because she’d put up a fight, or were they mad about something else? Before long, her growling stomach reminded her that she’d had nothing to eat since the previous morning. From the way her captors had left, she doubted they’d be back with food any time soon.

  She lay in bed for a long time after they’d gone, listening to her heart thump. She was so hopped up on adrenaline that her illness was forgotten. Eventually, she calmed down enough to wonder about the men’s behavior before they’d taken her ring. What had they been doing under the stairs?

  She got up, picked up her flashlight, and went over to take a look. The spider web was gone; the guy in the suit had walked through it, and it had ended up on his clothes. She didn’t hesitate before ducking under the stairs. She pulled on the refrigerator door. Except for the stale smell wafting out, it was empty. She went over to the freezer and tried to open it. A piece of heavy-duty black plastic was caught in the latch, and it was stuck shut. She tried to rip the plastic away, but it wouldn’t give.

  She thought of the screwdriver she’d used on the step. Retrieving it from its hiding place, she used it to pierce the plastic. She tore as much away from the latch as she could, but still it wouldn’t open. Using the screwdriver as a lever, she put all her strength into forcing the latch. Suddenly the end of the screwdriver broke off. Caught off balance, she stumbled backward and landed with a thump, her tailbone hitting the cement floor. For a couple of minutes, she was immobilized with pain. When the worst had passed, she got up and went back to the freezer. The latch was now missing. The screwdriver had pried it off completely, and the lid of the freezer was open a crack. She put her fingers inside and lifted the lid.

  The freezer was filled with something in a jumbo-sized black plastic trash bag. She tried lifting it, but the object inside was too heavy. The bag’s opening was nowhere in sight, and she realized it must be underneath whatever this was. She jammed the business end of the broken screwdriver into the plastic and ripped a hole. When it was large enough, she picked up the flashlight and switched it on. Visible through the opening was a foot with red painted toenails. It was attached to an ankle marked with a small heart-shaped tattoo. She had no doubt the ankle was attached to a frozen, dead body. Shaking with fear and revulsion, she slammed the freezer shut, then leaned over and threw up. The flashlight slipped from her hand, hit the cement, and went out. She scrambled after it as it rolled across the floor. She had to feel around—withdrawing her hands when she encountered another spider web—until she located the flashlight. She flicked the off-and-on switch, but it no longer worked. The bulb must have broken when it hit the cement. It didn’t matter. She’d seen enough.

  She went back to her bed and curled up into a ball. They must have taken the finger from that body. When she’d overheard them, they hadn’t been talking about her at all, but this poor, dead woman. Maybe she was one of their other victims. When Stephanie considered the implications, she felt as if she was going to be sick again.

  She lay on the bed thinking about this for what seemed like hours. She was going to die here. When they checked the freezer, they’d know she’d seen the dead body. But what difference did it make? She’d already seen the faces of all three men. They were going to kill her anyway.

  Fifteen

  As soon as she got to work, Nicole went onto the bank’s website and downloaded a withdrawal slip. She filled it out and considered how she was going to ask Joanne to carry out this secret mission. She and Joanne were friendly, even though they rarely socialized outside of work. Nicole was sure that Joanne was honest and could be trusted with a secret.

  She quickly dashed off a note authorizing Joanne Bates to pick up the money, put the note and withdrawal slip in an envelope, and wrote Kevin’s name on it. Then she went into Joanne’s office and closed the door. “I need to ask a favor, and I’d be eternally grateful if you’d do it without asking questions. I’ll explain everything when I can, which might not be for a day or two.”

  “Now you’ve really piqued my curiosity,” Joanne said. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Just take this envelope to the bank downstairs and give it to the assistant manager, Kevin James. He’s expecting it. He’ll give you a package, and you’ll bring it to me.“

  “Of course,” Joanne said. “And I’ll keep my questions to myself.” She gestured zipping her lips.

  Ten minutes later, Joanne was back with a box about the same size as the one that had been left at Nicole’s door that morning.

  “Thanks so much, Joanne. I really owe you. As soon as I can, I’ll explain. I promise.”

  Nicole took the box, went into her office and closed the door. She’d just finished locking the money in the cupboard where she kept her purse and jacket when she thought of something. Why had the kidnappers failed to show up at the first two drops? After the first drop failed, Arnault asked her if she’d told anyone. She hadn’t, and the police took extra care on the second drop, when they’d used the drone to keep watch. Somehow the kidnappers still found out the cops were involved.

  Suddenly it dawned on her. The bank had records of her withdrawals. If the kidnappers had access to that information, they’d see she’d taken out only two thousand dollars, not the twenty thousand dollars they’d asked for. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that someone, most likely the police, was setting a trap. Had the kidnappers hacked into the bank’s computer system? It had been done at other financial institutions. She thought of her conversation with Kevin that morning, his nonplussed attitude when she asked for thirty thousand dollars. How often did people withdraw that much in cash? Wouldn’t he have expressed a little curiosity or sounded surprised? She remembered his tone of voice when he’d said, “For you Nicole, anything.” It was as if he’d been expecting her call.

  She sat down at her desk and was about to type in Kevin’s name for a background check when there was a knock at her door. She called, “Come in.”

  To her surprise, it was Arnault, carrying a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee and a white paper bag with the logo of the pastry shop across the street. He gave her a big smile. “You couldn’t do lunch, but I knew you’d have to take a morning break. At least ten minutes; it’s the law.”

  “How kind of you to come and personally enforce it.” She gave him a smile, feeling relieved on two counts. She’d already gotten the cash to pay the kidnappers. She’d also been lucky that Arnault hadn’t arrived a few minutes earlier. If he had, he’d have come up in the elevator with Joanne and seen her hand the box to Nicole. How could that have not aroused his curiousity?

  “So, what did you bring me?” she said.

  He unfolded the top of the bag and held it out to her. She reached in and pulled out a jelly donut. It looked delicious. She took a bite, and it was. “Yum,” she said. “Thanks.”

  They talked companionably for a short time, which turned out to be ten minutes, when Nicole glanced at her watch. He must have noticed because he stood and said, “Party’s over. Back to work. Give me a call if—”

  “You know I will,” she said.

  She stayed in at lunch, picking up a turkey sandwich from Charlotte, the woman who called each morning with her basket of luncheon fare, fruit, and cookies. Nicole realized she wouldn’t be able to stop at the grocery store after work, not with all that cash in the car. Instead, she bought a salad and some banana bread to bring home for dinner. Nicole got her purse out to pay, careful to relock the cupboard. After Charlotte left, Nicole dug into work again, leaving her purse sitting on her desk.

  Despite everything that was going on, Nicole was able to focus on work for the first time since Stephanie disappeared. She wondered
if it was because she’d regained control of the situation and was no longer under the thumb of the police. Around three o’clock, she was startled by a knock on her door. It was Arnault again, this time carrying two tall cups from Ringo’s coffee house.

  “No word yet,” she said, before he had a chance to ask.

  “We’ve had a tip about an abandoned house in Laurel Canyon that’s suddenly seeing a lot of activity,” he said. “We sent a team up there to take a look.”

  “You don’t sound very hopeful.”

  “People call in tips that usually come to nothing, but we’ve got to check them out. I have to confess I’m worried you haven’t heard anything by now.”

  “I know,” Nicole said quietly. She had to play dumb, but she wasn’t sure she was giving a convincing performance. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the shelf behind her and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Dinner tonight?” he said.

  She hesitated, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m afraid I won’t be very good company.”

  “That’s why I’m asking. I know how hard it will be for you to wait by yourself.”

  “All right,” she said. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’m hoping to grab a nap when I get home. Why don’t you come around nine o’clock, and we’ll go out for something to eat.” Even as she said this, she knew that by the time he arrived to pick her up, she’d have left to deliver the ransom.

  He set the coffee drinks on her desk, pushed one over to her, and sat down.

  She took a sip of hers. “This is yummy. What is it?”

  “Caramel macchiato,” he said. “My favorite.”

  “Thanks for bringing it. That was really thoughtful.”

  He smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

  They lapsed into an awkward silence. After a few moments, Arnault picked up the ball, filling her in on the latest news—an exposé about the city’s continuing failure on the issue of homelessness. When Nicole glanced at her watch, Arnault stood up. “I guess it’s time for me to go,” he said.

  As she walked him to the door, he said, “Keep your spirits up. This game ain’t over yet.” They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment before he turned and, after a brief goodbye, left.

  She closed the door after him and leaned against it, thinking how mad he’d be when he learned she’d skipped out on him, that she was doing exactly what he’d warned her not to, dealing directly with the kidnappers. The money might well allow them to sneak out of the country. Arnault’s case would be blown, and it would be her doing. But what did it matter. She’d probably never see him again. In a way, she was sorry. But she felt sure that, even if she’d met him under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have worked out.

  When quitting time arrived, she was calm and focused on what was about to happen. She took the box out of the cupboard and set the food she’d bought on top. She carried the load down to the garage to put in the trunk of her car. After arriving at her condo building, she carted everything to the second floor.

  Stepping off the elevator, she glanced out the big window that offered a view of the street. The glass was tinted so no one could see in. A gray sedan had just pulled up to the curb across the street. Instead of getting out, the driver rolled down the window. She watched while he lit a cigarette and settled back in his seat. He’d parked so he had a view of her building’s front door as well as the entrance to the garage. She had no doubt he was a cop and that Arnault had sent him to keep an eye on her. It was just what she’d expected. Her next challenge would be to leave the building without being seen. She’d figured out a plan but had yet to make the arrangements.

  She carried her things into her place. Her calm had somehow evaporated, along with any appetite she might have had. She stuck the salad and banana bread in the refrigerator and went into the living room to turn on the news. All at once she remembered something she’d intended to do that afternoon, before Arnault arrived and distracted her.

  She went into her office, turned on the computer and typed Kevin’s name, first into her search engine, then her office database. He’d had a DUI when he was a 19, a serious offense since he wasn’t old enough to drink. He’d had his license taken away for a year and was sentenced to community service. Other than that, his record was clean. But under financial information, the picture wasn’t exactly rosy. His credit rating was borderline at 400. If it were much lower, he would have been considered a bad credit risk. The worst news was that, four years out of college, he owed two hundred twenty thousand in student loans. He’d only begun to pay them back the previous year, when he’d started as a management trainee with the bank. Even with these financial problems, it was hard for Nicole to believe that meek-mannered Kevin James would get involved in a crime as serious as kidnapping.

  She took a look at his social media page. He was given to posting cartoons and snapshots of meals he’d had at restaurants. Some photos showed him with people who, for the most part, weren’t identified. But two were consistently tagged with their names: Ryan Holich and Matthew Bissell. In one shot, they were wearing suits and ties. It looked like some kind of graduation event. A banner behind them said “Congratulations Olympia Bank Management Trainees.”

  Nicole’s scalp tingled with the thrill of discovery. They all worked for the same bank. She’d never seen Kevin’s buddies before, so she figured they worked in other branches. The threesome were also shown in the same apartment. Either they hung out a lot at one guy’s place, or they were roommates.

  She switched to Ryan’s Facebook page. It showed some of the same photos that were on Kevin’s. His posts talked about his work. She was surprised to learn that Ryan, like Kevin, was a management trainee with Olympia bank, but at a different branch. Looking farther, she saw that Ryan’s credit rating was no better than Kevin’s.

  Matthew was also with the same bank at yet another branch. He held a similarly low credit rating. All three were burdened with student debt. Of more interest were two photos Matthew had posted of himself with a woman. In one they had their arms around each other. In the other they were cheek to cheek. The woman had short, wildly curly, dark hair and big, round, black-rimmed glasses. It was Ashley Rexton in disguise. The dark hair, curls, and glasses had completely changed her look. Nicole hovered her cursor over the photo to see if her name appeared, but she wasn’t tagged. What had she been thinking, allowing someone to take her photo? Obviously, she had no idea Matthew would be dumb enough to post it on social media.

  Nicole thought about the bank connection. The three men—Kevin, Ryan, and Matthew—all worked for Olympia Bank. It would have been easy for them to find out about her withdrawals. How had they chosen the other victims? Was it through their bank accounts? The name of the first victim had never been made public. Nicole looked up the second victim, Victoria Reina, and found she and her husband shared a wealth management account with Olympia Bank. And finally, Nicole checked Ashley herself. She also banked with Olympia. There it was, she thought, the link between all three kidnappings that Arnault had talked about.

  Just then, Nicole heard the neighbor she’d been waiting for arrive home. She got up and went over to knock on the door. Michelle was a legal secretary, pale and prim with fair hair worn in a chignon. She’d seemed unfriendly when Nicole first moved in, but later Nicole realized the woman was extremely shy. One evening, Michelle showed up at Nicole’s door in her bathrobe and explained, between bouts of coughing, that she had the flu. She’d timidly asked if Nicole would mind picking up her prescription. She’d had her doctor phone it in to a drugstore a few blocks away, only to discover that it didn’t deliver. She was too sick to go herself.

  Nicole had not only gotten the prescription, but she’d picked up groceries for Michelle until she recovered, about a week later. That had sealed their friendship. Michelle was now in the habit of dropping by to talk to Nicole, whom she seemed to regard as some kind of guru on relationships. Michelle had none. At the age of twenty-nine, she was eager to find someone but was
too shy to sign up for Internet dating.

  When Michelle’s door opened, Nicole said, “I wonder if I could ask you a favor.”

  “Of course, of course,” Michelle said, waving her in. “How about a glass of wine? It’s that time of day.”

  “Sure,” Nicole said. “I could use it.”

  When they each were seated with their drinks, Michelle said, “You needed a favor. Tell me what I can do.”

  “I’m being stalked,” Nicole said.

  Michelle’s eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an ‘O’ before she said. “Stalked? By who?”

  “This guy I met through the Internet. I said ‘no’ to a second date, but he wouldn’t listen. When I ghosted his messages, he started stalking me.” Nicole was making this up as she went along. “Tonight he followed me home from work.” She got up and beckoned Michelle to follow her down the hall to the elevator alcove. They stopped at the big window. The cop was still sitting in his car across the street.

  “That’s him in the gray car,” Nicole said.

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Every time I call them, he just ducks out of sight until they leave. It’s hopeless. If this keeps up, I’ll have to move.”

  “Oh, Nicole, don’t do that. What can I do to help?”

  Observing Michelle’s distress, Nicole wondered if she’d overdone it. She’d worked hard to encourage Michelle to sign up for online dating. This might make her think she’d end up with a stalker, too.

  “I need a ride, that’s all,” Nicole said. “I’ll move in with my sister until this guy gives up. But he knows my car, so I’ll have to get to Steph’s another way. I’m wondering if you’d drive me to the Metro Station at Wilshire and La Brea. I’ll duck down so he won’t be able to see me leave in your car.”

  “You don’t have to take Metro,” Michelle said. “I’ll be happy to drive you to your sister’s.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Nicole said quickly. “Traffic is terrible at this hour. The subway will be quicker. I just need a few minutes to change and pack an overnight bag.”