The Ransom

by Nancy Boyarsky

  “Come back whenever you’re ready.”

  Nicole went back to her place, put the money in her overnight bag, and changed into jeans, an old t-shirt, and, since the nights were still cool, a warm jacket. She took her cell and the burner phone out of her purse and set them on her bureau. She could be tracked, she knew, by her cell. She wasn’t sure about the burner phone. But since she’d used it to communicate with Arnault, there was the possibility he could use it to locate her whereabouts. No sense taking chances. Looking in the mirror, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and covered it with a faded blue baseball cap with the word “chill” on it. It had belonged to Josh, her ex-fiancé. Somehow, she hadn’t been able to part with it.

  Michelle seemed genuinely spooked as she accompanied Nicole to the elevator and down to the garage. She kept looking around, as if she expected to be accosted by the stalker. As they drove out of the garage, Nicole bent down so she couldn’t be seen. After several blocks she sat up and looked out the back window. There was plenty of traffic but no sign of the gray car.

  Nicole had to wait just a few minutes before a train arrived. She boarded, and it silently headed east toward downtown. It was rush hour on a Friday, and every seat was taken. She had to hang onto a pole with her free arm wrapped tightly around her overnight bag. After a short time, however, a young man got up and offered her his seat. From his clothes, soiled from construction or yard work, she could see he was a working-class Latino like many others on the train. He looked beat. Ordinarily, she would have refused the seat, but her bag was getting heavy, and if someone grabbed it, she’d be unable to hold onto it with only one hand.

  It was a relief to sit down with a firm grip on the bag of money. After another fifteen minutes, the train arrived at Union Station. Some years before, it had been restored to its original art deco glory. The refurbished complex included several upscale restaurants, as well as a garden and big rooms for weddings and other events.

  Clasping the bag against herself, she passed countless men and women making their way to and from the trains. When she reached the Amtrak ticket office, there was a long line, snaking back and forth in a Z, along a rope divider. With a sigh, she fell into step at the end. Looking around at the people crowding the station, she did a double take at the sight of perhaps thirty Amish in their old-fashioned outfits with bonnets and hats. They ranged from babes in arms to old timers with long white beards, making their way from the trains to the street. She wondered what would have impelled them to travel by train, since they usually went to great lengths to avoid modern conveyances.

  At last it was her turn at the window. She bought the cheapest train ticket on offer, a one-way to San Diego. She checked the bag with the ticket agent, who passed it to a baggage handler. He put the bag on a trolley brimming with luggage.

  She turned and, following the note’s instructions, hurried through the door that bore a sign reading, “South Patio.” Walking in the direction of the entrance, she stopped at the front-most planter box, which held a blooming crepe myrtle. Its magenta blossoms were just beginning to fade. She was about to put the claim ticket in the tree’s planter box when she spotted a manila envelope sitting on top of the soil. In big block letters, it said, “Nicole.” She picked it up.

  There was a paragraph printed beneath her name. It said, “Go back and reclaim your bag immediately. This was a test to make sure you didn’t bring the cops. You are being watched. Hurry before they put the bag on the train.”

  Nicole arrived in the lobby just as the baggage handler was wheeling his trolley into a long corridor that led to the train platforms. She ran after him, shouting “Wait, wait!” But the din of the station drowned out her voice. She was almost upon him before he heard her and turned around. She held out her claim stub, almost too breathless to speak. “I’ve changed my mind,” she gasped. “I’m not taking the train after all.”

  The man was young, slightly built, and not much taller than Nicole. He didn’t look strong enough to be in the business of lifting heavy bags. Hearing her request, his face colored and registered an expression of extreme annoyance. He grabbed her ticket and began digging through the pile of bags on his cart, tossing some on the floor as he searched for hers. When he found it, he thrust it into her arms.

  “Next time, think before you pull a stunt like this. Now these bags will probably miss the train. I hope you’re happy.” He scrambled to stack the tossed bags back on the trolley and took off at a run.

  The envelope she’d retrieved from the planter was crumpled in her hand. She went over to a bench, placed her bag on her lap, and smoothed out the envelope. Her stomach was knotted with anxiety. As she read the kidnapper’s instructions, it struck her that whoever was choreographing this ransom drop had no idea what he was doing.

  Sixteen

  It wasn’t until evening that the flap in the door opened and something slid onto the shelf. Stephanie hadn’t heard the car arrive. Until today, sounds from the top of the stairs had sent her rushing up to see if her captors had brought something to eat. Now, feeling ill and overwhelmed by a sense of doom, she couldn’t summon the energy to get up from the bed.

  A few minutes passed before the flap opened again. “Hey, Stephanie!” a man called out, “Come up here. I’ve brought you some food.” She recognized the voice. It was the guy in the suit.

  “I’m not hungry,” she yelled.

  “Please come up,” he said. “I want to talk to you. I’m alone this time. I know how scared you must be, and I have good news. I also brought a really nice meal for a change. Come see.”

  Slowly, Stephanie got up and climbed the stairs. The flap in the door was open, and she could see the man on the other side of the door. He actually looked cheerful, as if he really was the bearer of good news. “Your sister’s finally delivering the ransom,” he said. “This time tomorrow, you’ll be home.”

  Her temper flared. “I don’t believe you. You’re not even in charge, are you? Somebody else makes all the decisions.”

  “I’d never let anyone hurt you,” he said. “The guy who was with me last time wanted to throw you down the stairs, and I stopped him. Remember?”

  “What about the woman in the freezer? Did you tell her she was going home?”

  He was silent and looked away, as if he couldn’t face her accusation. Finally, he said. “That was an accident. One of the top steps broke, and she fell straight through to the basement floor. We weren’t even here when that happened.”

  “Right.” Stephanie didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.

  “It’s the truth. You don’t have to believe me, but we really are letting you go. I just want you to promise me one thing.”

  “Like, what?”

  “That you won’t identify me to the police.”

  “How could I? I don’t even know your name.”

  “Well, what if the police catch us? I don’t think they will but suppose they do, and you see me in a lineup. Promise you’ll say you’ve never seen me before.”

  “I promise.” She did her best to sound sincere. Of course, she’d identify him in a lineup. How could he be naive enough to imagine she wouldn’t? “Are you really alone here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe you really do care what happens to me. Since no one else is around, why not let me go? I’m afraid of that guy who was with you this morning. If he has his way, I’ll end up with the woman in the freezer. I’ll keep out of sight until you collect the ransom. You have my word. You can tell your friends that when you got here, the door to the basement was open, and you have no idea how I got out. And I’ll tell the police you were all wearing masks, and I can’t identify anyone.”

  “I can’t let you go just yet, Stephanie.” His tone was patient, as if he was explaining the situation to a small child. “We have to keep you here until we get the money. Try to understand. We’re in a lot of trouble. We have to get out of the country before the police track us down.” He paused and looked at his watch. “Oh, my G
od. I’ve got to go. Check out what’s on the tray. It’s from the food bar at Bristol Farms. I even brought a bottle of wine and dessert.”

  “Before you leave, can you at least give me another flashlight?” she said. “The other one stopped working.”

  The flap dropped shut, and she heard him walk away. Almost immediately, he was back, handing her a small flashlight. “Just remember what I said about keeping quiet.” With that, he closed the flap and locked it.

  She used the flashlight to take a look at what he’d brought. A white bag contained a Styrofoam food container, plastic cutlery, and a screw-top bottle of wine. Next to the bag stood a super-sized cup of soda.

  It took her three trips to carry the food and drinks downstairs. The whole time she kept wondering if the woman really had died by accident. It was true that Matt had been lucky he’d rolled downstairs instead of falling through the hole made by the displaced step. It was at least a twelve-foot drop to the concrete floor.

  Maybe the man had been telling the truth. That step had been replaced recently. And it was possible that a weakened step could have given way when the woman put her weight on it. Stephanie wished she could believe this story instead of the one stuck in her head, that these men had murdered the woman because she’d have been able to identify them.

  She set the food container on the bed, lifted the lid, and turned on the flashlight. The container held a generous portion of roast beef, potatoes and gravy, along with what looked like spinach soufflé. At the edge of the plate, now partially covered with gravy, was a slice of cherry cheesecake. The smell of food made her feel sick. She sipped a little of the soda. It turned out to be cherry cola, which had always reminded her of cough syrup. She unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle and took a swig. Yes, she thought, this would do the trick.

  She closed the Styrofoam container and took it up to the shelf at the top of the stairs so she wouldn’t have to smell the food. For the first time within memory, Stephanie wasn’t hungry.

  Seventeen

  The note Nicole had found in the planter box at Union Station contained instructions for delivering the ransom to an address on Kirkwood Drive. She was to leave the bag of money behind a couch on the porch.

  “The house is set back from the street,” the note said. “There is no porch light, so bring a flashlight. Do not make the mistake of getting the police involved this time. Come alone or you’ll never see your sister again.”

  She had no idea where Kirkwood Drive was. Since she’d left her cell phone behind, she couldn’t look it up. Instead, she went to the station’s visitors’ information booth, where a white-haired woman was sitting behind the counter. She had a kind face and looked delighted as Nicole approached. It made Nicole wonder how many travelers used this service when people could easily look up directions, train schedules, and even a map of the station’s interior on their cell phones. The woman’s nametag identified her as DeeDee, although it was hard to imagine anyone looking less like a DeeDee. Nicole showed her the Kirkwood address and asked for directions.

  “9780 Kirkwood Drive,” DeeDee repeated. She lifted a pair of white-framed glasses hanging from a chain around her neck and put them on. After tapping the address into her computer, she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to read the map on her screen. “Kirkwood is north of Sunset, just off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. There’s no public transportation up there at this hour. You’ll have to drive, take a taxi, or call Uber.” Just then, the printer next to her lit up and a page emerged. DeeDee glanced at it, then handed it to Nicole. It was a map with driving directions from the station to the Kirkwood address.

  After thanking DeeDee, Nicole left the information booth and sat on a nearby bench to study the map. The prospect of having to go to yet another location in order to pay the ransom made her feel defeated and exhausted. She had to arrive alone, but she didn’t have her car. Nor did she have a flashlight, only a tiny gadget on her keychain with a beam just bright enough to guide a key into a lock. One step at a time, she told herself. First, the car—there had to be a car rental agency somewhere near the station. She went back to DeeDee at the information booth.

  “Can I rent a car around here?”

  “Yes, dear, there’s a Budget rental agency not too far away.” The woman pointed toward the exit. “Go outside, turn left and then left again. Walk all the way to the street at the rear of the station and turn right. Keep going for another—” she paused, apparently figuring out the distance, before adding, “five or six blocks. Actually, it’s a bit of a hike. Why don’t you give them a call? They’ll pick you up in front of the station.”

  “I forgot my phone. Can you direct me to the pay phones?”

  “I’m afraid they took them out.” The woman shook her head, as if the idea of it mystified her as much as it did Nicole. “It was about the same time they got rid of the storage lockers.”

  Great, Nicole thought. When it came to what people need when they use public transportation, the transit district still didn’t get it. She thanked the woman and headed for the exit, planning to walk over to the rental agency, however long that took. Out the front door and halfway down the stairs, she stopped, struck by a thought. Arnault would know by now that she’d stood him up, and he’d probably have figured out what she was up to. If she rented a car, she’d have to use a credit card. Law enforcement had access to credit card activity. But did rental car agencies track the whereabouts of each of their vehicles in real time? Did they hand such information over to the police? She had no idea, but she didn’t want to risk it.

  Without a phone, she couldn’t even summon Uber. There were plenty of taxis in front of the station, but that wouldn’t work either. Taking a cab to the address meant she wouldn’t arrive alone, which was what the kidnappers demanded. She walked the rest of the way down the steps and paused in front of the station, trying to figure out what to do. At that moment, a shiny black sedan with an Uber sticker in the window pulled up to drop off several passengers. She unzipped her gym bag and tugged some twenties from one of the bundled packs. After rezipping the bag, she hurried over to the car and reached it just as the last passenger was getting out. Before he had a chance to close the door, Nicole climbed in.

  “Hey,” the driver said. “You have to get out. The only way to get a ride with Uber is to request it through our app. I’m not allowed to pick up random passengers. Besides, somebody’s waiting for me over there.” He gestured toward some people standing by the steps.

  “Hold on,” she said. “I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “I told you. I’m not allowed—”

  He stopped talking when Nicole held up the twenties and flipped through them, counting to herself. “I’ve got $220 here. It’s yours if you’ll sign out of Uber and take me where I want to go: Kirkwood Drive off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. You know where that is?”

  “No. And if I sign out, I can’t use my GPS, or Uber will know I’ve broken the rule against picking you up like this.”

  “No problem. I have directions.” She waved the map at him and turned on the dome light to check it. “Get on the Hollywood Freeway heading north, and I’ll tell you where to get off.”

  Just then, the door next to Nicole opened, and a woman was standing there with two suitcases. She gave Nicole a withering look. “This is my ride,” she said. “Get out.”

  “I’m sorry but you’re mistaken,” the driver said. “This lady is my passenger. If your driver didn’t show, you’ll have to request another one.”

  “See this?” she said, holding out her phone. “Your license number is right here, and your name is Daniel. Isn’t that right? I’ve been standing here for twenty minutes, waiting for you.”

  The driver got out of the car, and Nicole got a better view of him. He was a Latino in his early twenties, tall, broad-shouldered, and good-looking.

  He approached the woman and spoke politely but quite firmly. “I’m very sorry, but the app must have double booked me. I picked up
this passenger first. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to contact Uber and ask for another driver.” He closed the door she’d left open and returned to the driver’s seat. As soon as the woman was back on the sidewalk, he drove away.

  As Nicole considered what her next move would be, she decided it might be useful to establish rapport with Daniel. Most Uber drivers seemed to like talking to passengers, and many considered the job a stopgap until they made it in their chosen field. They were artists, musicians, actors, or simply between jobs.

  “So, let me guess, Daniel,” Nicole said. “You’re an actor when you’re not driving for Uber. Right?”

  He laughed. “Wrong. I’m a student at Loyola.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s impressive. What are you studying?”

  “I’m taking their core curriculum. Basically, it’s pre-law.”

  “You’re headed for law school?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “What made you want to become a lawyer?” Nicole only half-listened while he explained. Her mind was racing ahead. She couldn’t have this man drive her to the house on Kirkwood. She had to arrive alone. But how? Slowly a plan hatched. She’d have to dip into the ransom money again, this time for a larger amount. One thousand dollars? Two? How much would it take? She quietly unzipped the bag of money and withdrew a banded packet containing two thousand dollars in twenties. Daniel couldn’t turn this down, could he?

  It was almost nine p.m., and Laurel Canyon above Sunset was quiet. Most of the houses were dark and looked as if no one was home. The neighborhood, built along a twisty uphill portion of the road, represented an eclectic mix of expensive, recently built homes and older houses, some of them neglected and tumbledown. The latter were probably rentals or inhabited by old-time residents. Nicole wondered if most people who lived here were out for the evening or if the more upscale houses were second homes to people who preferred to spend this time of year elsewhere.