by M. Z. Kelly
They laughed and exchanged kisses before Sasha went over and opened a bottle of wine. As she worked on the cork, she said, “What do you suppose moneybags is doing right about now?”
Frank chuckled. “He’d better be pulling the five mil together if he ever wants to see Allison and the kids.”
Sasha came over to him with the wine. She handed him a glass and raised hers. “To wealth and freedom.”
They clinked glasses and sipped their wine.
She took a seat next to him and regarded him. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”
He met her eyes. “Montreal’s no pushover. He could be difficult.”
She laughed and sipped her wine. “Georgette will keep him in line.”
“You think so?”
“Henry’s a piece of work, but when all is said and done, mama will want her daughter and grandkids back.”
Frank tipped his glass up then set it down. “I hope you’re right.”
“I can’t believe the ransom demand has already been leaked to the press.”
“Me neither, but…it won’t matter when you see what I have in mind.”
There was the sound of something or someone moving around beneath them.
Sasha stood up. “You need to go check on them.”
Dyer did as she said, taking the stairs down into the basement. He stopped at the bottom of the stairway and said, “Everything okay in here?”
“It’s the children,” Allison said. “They’re cold and hungry.”
His eyes held on the kids for a moment. They were cowering in a corner of the room. He looked back at Allison, deciding there was no better time than the present to move things along.
He came closer to her, even as she tried to move away from him. When she was backed against a wall, he took a moment admiring the woman. Vince Marsh must have been crazy to cheat on her. His wife had that doe-eyed look some young women have. And her body… She was as close to perfection as anyone Frank Dyer had ever seen.
“What are you going to do?” Allison said, turning her head away from him, at the same time looking over at Bobby, who was crying.
Dyer pushed her up against the wall. “Not what I’d like to do.” His eyes held on her as he fished a hand into his pocket. He brought out a knife and pushed a lever, extending the blade.
“No, please,” Allison cried. “Don’t do this.”
Dyer smiled, pushing her harder against the wall. “It’s not what you think.”
He saw her questioning looked as she said, “What do you want?”
The PI lowered his voice. “I need a souvenir, sweetheart. Something that will prove to your daddy that I mean business.” He reached down and took her hand, pulling it up closer to him.
Allison tried to pull away from him, at the same time crying out, “Please, I’ll do anything!”
He still had her hand, holding it firmly in his grasp. The ring finger, the one that bore her wedding band, was the one he wanted.
She continued to struggle and call out. He twisted her arm harder, fixing his eyes on her. “Listen to me carefully, Allison. I won’t lie. There’s going to be some pain, but what I’m going to do will only take a moment.” His gaze found the children, who were now both crying. “The alternative is that I do this to both Bobby and Jenna.” He looked back at her. “It’s your choice.”
Several deep sobs caught in Allison’s throat, but he saw the resignation in her face. She sucked in a breath and looked away, accepting her fate.
Despite the bravery displayed by his hostage, what followed was brutal and painful, but it had little emotional impact on Frank Dyer. After he had Allison’s finger severed, he found a rag in the corner of the room and tossed it to her. He turned back to the now wailing children and screamed, “Shut the fuck up!”
After wrapping up his new trophy, he turned back to Allison. “Feed the brats a sandwich and shut them up, or else.” He cursed and began walking away. When he was at the door, he looked back at her. “By the way, you might want to know that your cheating asshole of a husband is dead.” He turned away and slammed the door behind him.
“Everything okay?” Sasha asked, coming over to him when he got back upstairs.
Frank unwrapped the severed appendage, smiling as he showed it to her. “Allison just gave me the finger.”
Sasha came over to him, examining his prize. Her features twisted up in rage. “What the hell did you do?”
“I did what had to be done.” His eyes held on her. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet?”
Sasha brushed the hair out of her eyes and took a breath. “Of course not. It’s just that…” She glanced at the severed finger again. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”
“You need to be prepared to expect the unexpected. This is a game of life and death. A lot of people are going to get hurt before it’s over. And, it’s not going to be me.”
She nodded. “I understand.” The muffled sound of crying was still coming from the basement. “How are the kids?”
“They’re just restless. I told them to keep quiet or they would pay the price.”
He went over to the sofa and Sasha followed. Whatever emotional storm she’d had seemed to have passed.
“I’m just glad that tomorrow everything will be over and we’ll be rich,” Sasha said. “She came closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Have you thought about what happens next?”
“What do you mean?”
“After we get the money.” She glanced at the basement door. “What happens after that?”
Dyer downed the last of his wine and looked at her. “Allison and the kids go away—forever.”
TWENTY-THREE
Allison’s hand throbbed. The pain was so intense, she thought she might pass out. She wrapped the rag tighter around her bleeding hand and stumbled over to her crying children. She collapsed onto the blankets next to them, trying to compose herself and keep her body from shaking due to the pain and shock of what she endured.
“Why did he hurt you, Mommy?” Bobby asked. His watery voice was barely audible.
Allison used her free hand to caress him. “Mommy just cut herself. I’ll be okay.”
“He’s a bad man. He hurt you. I want to go home.”
She reached over and stroked her son’s dark hair. “Soon, Bobby, I promise.” She took a breath, trying to control her emotions. “We’ll all go home soon.” She stroked Jenna’s hair too. Even though her daughter couldn’t talk, she could tell that she was terrified. She looked back at Bobby. “We’ve all got to be strong. Will you promise to do that for me?”
After several starts and stops, Bobby told her he would be brave. She continued to hold the children, doing her best to calm them down. Over an hour later, they finally, mercifully drifted off to sleep.
The agony of what she’d endured stayed with Allison throughout the night, keeping away any prospect of sleep. While she knew from the beginning that the man who called himself Frank was brutal and disturbed, what happened to Maria and to her tonight convinced her that he was capable of almost anything. Her one overriding concern was for the children. Whatever happened, the children had to be protected until everything was over.
Allison’s thoughts were also consumed with what Frank had said about her husband. Could Vince really be dead, or was it just more torment her abductor had used to break her down? While she didn’t want to believe her husband was gone, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that it was true.
Vince is dead.
Her tears flowed freely as the realization sank in. While she knew her husband was a cheater, a selfish user in many ways, his death had been unexpected. As the dark night wore on, Allison had another thought. Did the woman who called herself Sasha have something to do with his death? She had no answers, all she did know was that this was now a fight for survival. She willed herself to be strong. Both Frank and Sasha were dangerous and unpredictable, and she knew things were quickly coming to a head.
As she saw the light of a new day filter through a crack in the basement’s foundation, Allison had a final thought. When this was over, if it was the last thing she ever did, she would find a way to kill her abductors. They both deserved to die.
TWENTY-FOUR
The next morning, I got a call from Lieutenant Oz, telling me that the chief was holding an impromptu news conference in downtown Los Angeles and he wanted everyone working the Marsh case to be there. I stopped at the station, where I picked up Leo and we drove together to the Police Administration Building, or PAB. After he took a moment reaching around and nuzzling Bernie as I drove, Leo asked me about my night.
“I just spent the evening hanging out with a bunch of stars.” He looked at me and I laughed. “It’s not the kind of star you’re thinking about. Noah and I took a picnic dinner to Griffith Observatory. It was a beautiful evening.”
“You two sound like you’re getting along pretty well.”
Leo was dressed in his best dark suit, something that I knew he usually wore when meeting with the brass. Maybe he’d also chosen the outfit because of our roles on Hollywood Detective. I had on my best navy blue Anne Klein pantsuit, something I usually reserved for court or snobby reporters.
“He’s a good person and great company,” I said, referring to Noah. “Maybe we can get together with you and Lil for dinner one of these nights.” I hadn’t met Leo’s wife, but he’d mentioned her in several conversations during our brief stint working together.
“We’d like that. Don’t seem to get out much anymore, unless it’s to watch the grandkids.”
We chatted about places where we might get together before Leo asked me if the lieutenant and Captain Dembowski had made a decision about looking into the murder of Jean Winslow and my love-dad.
“As far as I know it’s still with administration, but the more I think about it, I doubt the department’s going to want to formally open an investigation into deaths that are three decades old.”
He nodded. “They would be the ultimate cold cases.”
“There’s that, and the fact that if the press got wind that the department thought Winslow’s death, in particular, was under suspicious circumstances…” I glanced at him. “We both know how that would play out.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see how things go down the road.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “as usual, Natalie and Mo are on top of it like a dog with a bone.”
“Don’t tell me they’re planning to confront Malone.”
“I think I’ve gotten my message across that he’s off limits and Mo understands the Revelation isn’t something to take lightly, but that doesn’t keep them from poking around, stirring things up.”
Leo chuckled. “Those two remind me of my sister. When I was a kid, she was known as the neighborhood snoop.”
“The problem is, I live next door to a couple of the biggest snoops on the planet, who not only make the neighborhood their personal business, everyone else in Hollywood is also fair game.”
Leo told me about his sister who eventually hung up her Sherlock Holmes cap and became a nun, before we changed the subject and discussed the Marsh case.
“Since there were no further demands from the kidnapper last night, my guess is that we’ll hear something today,” I said.
“Seems likely, although, as usual, we’re going to have to pull double duty. Ozzie wants us to move ahead on the Potter case after the news conference. Maybe we can work something out with Shelia Woods, if she’s there.”
“Oh, she’ll be there. Woods won’t miss a chance to work the room and our chief.”
He glanced at me. “You think they have something going on?”
I met his eyes for a moment. “Woods is twenty-four years old, a rookie reporter, new to this area. Can you think of another reason Chief East would allow her inside an LAPD homicide investigation?”
I looked back at the highway, but saw Leo smiling out of the corner of my eye. “Talent?” he said.
I chuckled. “I’m sure there’s talent involved, but I doubt it’s the journalistic kind.”
The news conference was held in the PAB’s media room at ten that morning. It was packed with reporters and brass as Leo and I met up with Lieutenant Oz and Captain Dembowski on the stage behind the police chief.
Bradley East was a big man, about the size of the actor Tom Selleck, who played a New York City police commissioner on TV. Despite his size and bearing, East had none of the actor’s looks or charisma. Officers under his command secretly made reference to our chief resembling a moose. I had personally refused to engage in the banter, instead keeping my thoughts about Bullwinkle, I mean East, to myself.
As the room filled, I noticed that Shelia Woods had a front row seat. The reporter had on a short green dress that I imagined when she sat down gave the chief a preview of coming attractions. The camera crew she was using for our TV show was also in the room. Before the conference began, Woods huddled with the crew, probably making sure they shot several close-ups of her during the proceedings.
Chief East began the conference by going over the facts of the Marsh case. The media room was equipped with a large overhead monitor that showed scenes of their home in Hancock Park and the hotel where Vince Marsh’s body had been discovered. The images were altered to delete anything that would further sensationalize the graphic murder scenes. East ended the summary, saying something vague about us following up on several leads, but didn’t comment on Shelia Woods’ report that the kidnappers had been in contact with Henry Montreal.
That issue was immediately seized upon by Woods when the chief asked for questions and he called on her first. “Isn’t it true,” Woods began, “that a ransom demand has already been made to Allison Marsh’s father?”
East began to answer, “I don’t know where you get your information, but…”
“My source is none other than one of the principal investigators on this case—Detective Sexton.”
I knew that, based on what Mo had said last night, Woods had cited me as a source, but it was completely untrue. I felt compelled to defend myself and spoke up. “I made no such statement about any ransom demand.”
“Really?” Woods said. “Because when we recently met about another case you’re working, you said that a phone call would be made.”
I felt heat spreading up my chest, across my cheeks, as Chief East and all the other brass turned in my direction. “I was speaking hypothetically.”
“It didn’t sound hypothetical to me, at all.” Woods turned back to the chief. “Tell us about the phone call. The public has a right to know what’s happening.”
After he’d shot a death ray in my direction, it was East’s turn to sweat. “Thank you for your question, Ms. Woods, but it appears there’s been some misunderstanding about hypothetical versus real events.”
“Are you saying that Detective Sexton lied?”
East wiped his wide brow while I thought of a dozen ways to kill the reporter. I’d decided on plunging a knife between her voluptuous breasts as the chief went on, “I’m saying that our detective may have misspoken, thus resulting in some confusion of the facts.”
Misspoken? My homicidal thoughts now went to moose hunting. I glanced at Leo, who gave a slight shake of his head, an unspoken message that saying anything more would only inflame things.
Woods reloaded, taking aim both at me and the others in Section One. “The facts of this case are telling. Vince Marsh was involved in a secret affair with the victim, an indication that he was a player. Could it be that Mr. Marsh was involved in both the murder of his maid and the kidnapping of his family with another unknown party who subsequently turned on him?”
East’s nostrils flared as he blew out a moosey breath. “Anything’s possible, but we have nothing that confirms that. As I mentioned, our investigation is ongoing and we’re actively looking into several leads that I can’t disclose at this time.”
I had no idea what leads East was referring
to, but twenty minutes later the conference mercifully ended, with the chief putting his best spin on what happened. He again told the reporters that my remarks to Woods were probably not well considered, which I interpreted as meaning I was a big, fat liar.
As the conference wrapped up and people began milling around the stage, Woods made a point of dragging the moose she’d bagged over to Leo and me. She beamed a toothy smile at us and said, “Your detectives have been simply wonderful on the Potter case. They’re so knowledgeable and their expertise is amazing.”
East made a huffing sound, but didn’t smile. “I’m sure they are.”
“We’re planning to meet again later today at the victims’ home,” she said to East. “Would you have time to stop by for a couple of minutes and make a statement about the Potter case?”
The big moose grunted, stammered, and stomped his foot, obviously feeling trapped by the reporter, or maybe it was just moose foreplay. He finally said, “I’ll see if I can work it into my schedule.” East regarded me. “It might be a way for me to also be sure the facts of the case are accurately reported.” With that, the moose turned and walked away with the reporter.
Leo leaned closer to me and said, “Just let it go.”
I heaved out a breath, dragged a hand through my short, damp hair, and said, “Have you ever given any thought about having a moose head mounted on the wall in our office?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Leo and I stopped at Milo’s Deli and grabbed a bite to eat before meeting Shelia Woods and her camera crew at the Potters’ former residence in the Hollywood Hills. I was still angry as we ate sandwiches on an outdoor patio. “I can’t believe that snarky reporter set me up like that and the chief went along with it.”
Leo took a bite of his turkey sandwich and chewed. “She’s just trying to make a name for herself.”
“At my expense.” I munched on a carrot stick and offered one to Bernie. I was on a diet because I thought I’d gained a couple of pounds while on vacation. I sipped my iced tea, then set the glass down. “I’ve got an idea, if you’re willing to play along.”