The Ransom (The Munro Family Series Book 7)

by Chris Taylor

  Lane refrained from offering commiserations and waited for the Attorney General to continue.

  “I met my second wife, Allison, eleven years ago. Brittany’s our little girl.”

  Lane nodded and recalled the information he’d been supplied on his way to the scene. “She’s ten.”

  “Yes, Britt turned ten a couple of months ago. As you can see, this photo was also taken a long time ago. I really should update them,” he murmured, almost as an aside.

  Lane sat forward, ready to get down to business. “Tell me what happened this morning.”

  Dowton sighed, his expression troubled. He steepled his fingers and rested his forehead on them, staring down at his desk. He didn’t look up when he spoke.

  “Brittany went to the Westfield Mall today with her friend, Olivia Munro and Olivia’s mother, Ellie. Stepmother, actually,” he corrected.

  “Yes, I know them.”

  The Attorney General lifted his head, momentarily surprised. “Really? They haven’t been in Sydney long.”

  “That’s right, but I’ve known Clayton Munro for years, along with some of his brothers. They’re all in law enforcement.”

  “Oh, then you know him better than I do. Brittany and Olivia became friends only recently. We met through mutual friends. The girls have been spending a lot of time together during the school holidays. I’ve only met Clayton a couple of times. It’s usually Ellie who’s in charge of the play dates. I understand Clayton’s a highly respected profiler with the AFP?”

  “The best in Australia,” Lane agreed, regarding him steadily.

  The Attorney General fussed over the papers on his desk. “Yes, well, I can’t imagine what he and Ellie are going through. I mean, their daughter seems to have vanished into thin air. One minute she was there and the next, she was gone.”

  Lane kept his heart rate even. “You’ve spoken to Brittany.”

  Dowton nodded. “Yes, briefly. She’s still quite shaken. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course,” Lane agreed. “You’d better start from the beginning.”

  The Attorney General folded his hands on the desk in front of him and sighed. “Ellie called last night to invite Brittany to go to the mall with her and Olivia. It’s something the girls have done at least three or four times over the holidays. They usually go to a movie. Ellie collected Brittany about eight-thirty this morning.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “To Chatswood Chase. As far as I know, they were shopping in Myer when Olivia disappeared.”

  “I’ve already spoken with Ellie. She’s verified your information.” Lane cleared his throat, wanting to cut to the chase. “When you called Detective Superintendent Collins, you said you thought Brittany might have been the target. I agree that the girls look alike. Are you saying you think it’s a case of mistaken identity?”

  Dowton averted his gaze. After a slight hesitation, he nodded.

  “What makes you think that? I assume Brittany’s okay?”

  “Yes, thank God!” The Attorney General’s relief was palpable. “Apart from a graze on her forehead. She was given the okay by the doctors. I brought her home and then called your superior.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Resting upstairs. I asked Zara to sit with her.” He pushed his hair back off his forehead and sighed. “Allison is visiting her sister interstate. I called her to let her know what’s happened. She’s anxiously waiting to catch the next flight home. Unfortunately, there’s only one flight in and one flight out a day, but she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

  “I’ll have to interview Brittany.”

  “Of course. I understand. I’ll send word up to Zara.” He picked up the phone near his elbow and spoke quietly to the person on the other end.

  Lane tugged a notebook out of his pocket and jotted down some notes. When the Attorney General had finished on the phone, Lane spoke again.

  “You still haven’t explained why you think your daughter was the target.”

  “I’m sure you’ve read it in the papers, or heard it on the news. I’m pushing for tougher controls on outlaw motorcycle gangs. They’ve had a free run in this State for far too long. It’s time we clawed back whatever power we can.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me. All of us are right behind you. The sooner the better.”

  “Yes, well unfortunately, not everyone feels that way. I’m ashamed to admit that if I’d had the slightest inkling my actions could cause so much angst, I’d have been a little more cautious.”

  Foreboding trickled through Lane’s veins, followed by a surge of impatience. He wanted to shout at the man, to shake the words out of him. Olivia Munro was missing. Every second counted.

  “I’m still at a loss to connect this with the disappearance of Olivia Munro. With all due respect, Attorney General—David—you need to get to the point. A little girl is missing. Her parents are sick with worry.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m not doing a very good job of explaining myself.” He drew in a breath and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

  “Last night, I-I took a call from an unidentified male. It was late. I was trying to catch up on paperwork. He warned me about continuing with my quest for the proposed law reforms. He told me there would be consequences. He implied my family was at risk.”

  Lane frowned. “Did you recognize the caller? Did you report the call?”

  “No. The voice wasn’t familiar. I couldn’t place it. But the threat sounded legitimate. It shook me up. I couldn’t sleep for hours.”

  “And you think he might have been a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang?”

  Dowton shrugged, impatience in his eyes. “I don’t know. You’re the detective. But that’s my guess. Who has the most to gain if these reforms disappear? No one has been more vocal about them than I have. What I do know is that last night I received a threatening phone call and the very next day, my daughter’s attacked and her friend disappears.”

  “Why would they take Olivia?”

  The Attorney General briefly closed his eyes and drew in another breath. “As I said, I think they made a mistake. The girls look alike.” He spoke slowly, enunciating every word, as if he were talking to a simpleton.

  Lane’s anger stirred at the AG’s tone, even though he understood the man’s frustration. He thought back to the last time he’d seen Olivia. It hadn’t been that long ago; the girls definitely shared a number of similarities. The photo of Brittany was dated, but he assumed her fair coloring and cloud of blond hair hadn’t changed. To someone unfamiliar with either of the girls, it could have been a simple mistake to make.

  “I’d like to speak with Brittany now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. I’ve already asked Mrs Harrow to let the girls know you’re here. It might be best if we go upstairs. I don’t think Britt’s up to coming down.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The Attorney General pushed away from his desk and Lane did the same. He followed Dowton through his office and into the airy living room. An ornate marble staircase stood off to the left. Their footsteps were muffled by a rich, gold-and-navy carpet stair runner. More valuable art works lined the wall. Lane wondered again about the Attorney General’s prosperity.

  “You have great taste in art, David.”

  “Thank you. Most of them I inherited from my father. He was one of the founding fathers of Sydney Legal. He was the reason I went into law. Among other things, he prided himself on having an eye for art. He was a collector.”

  Lane relaxed. Dowton came from old money. That explained the opulence. It wasn’t at all what he’d been thinking.

  Turning right at the landing, the Attorney General came to a stop outside the second door along and tapped his knuckles on the closed panel. It was opened almost immediately.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Saturday, January, 27, 12:20 p.m.

  Lane gasped. A strikingly beautiful woman who barely came up to his chest st
ared back at him. Although she bore a close resemblance to the photo he’d seen on her father’s desk, Zara Dowton had done some growing up since her high school graduation.

  She wore a knee length dress made out of some kind of floaty floral fabric. It was cinched in at the waist with a matching belt and caressed her slender curves. A pale gray silk scarf embroidered with fine silver thread circled her neck. The form-fitting bodice emphasized the generous swell of her breasts, but it was her eyes that held him arrested.

  So dark they were almost black, their perfect almond shape widened at the sight of him and flared with an indefinable emotion. Lane stood rooted to the spot, unable to drag his gaze away. The Attorney General broke the spell when he cleared his throat and addressed her.

  “Zara, this is Detective Black. He’s here to speak with Brittany.”

  The woman angled her head in Lane’s direction and offered him the slightest nod before she returned her attention to her father.

  “She’s still in shock, Dad. I don’t know how much she’ll be able to help you.” The last was directed toward Lane. He finally found his voice.

  “I won’t be long, but I’m sure you understand how imperative it is we find out what she remembers.”

  Zara nodded and turned away. Lane followed her into the room. The scent of orange blossom and jasmine trailed in her wake. It smelled as exotic as the woman who wore it. He filled his nostrils and then silently berated himself, hoping it wouldn’t set off another bout of hay fever.

  A blond-haired princess lay curled up on a huge four poster bed which was decorated in reams of pink and white fabric. An iPod dock sat on the white cane nightstand, along with a remote control, presumably to the huge flat-screen TV fixed to the wall opposite.

  Lane approached the bed with caution, feeling more than a little out of his depth in the girly room. He was the oldest of four boys. Pink had not been a color of prominence in his family home. Even now, his condo reflected his solitary male existence. Sparsely furnished, it was a place to rest and recover from the events of the day. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Occasionally, he’d let a woman sleep over for the night, but that was the extent of his willingness to cohabitate. It didn’t do to get too attached when he had no intention of turning it into a permanent commitment. That was something that worried him about accepting another date with Katie Leeds. It was obvious she wanted to share more than a meal with him. It probably wasn’t fair to let it go any further without having ‘the talk.’

  His gaze strayed to Zara and then flicked quickly away when she caught him looking at her. He quelled the sudden surge of interest that pumped straight to his groin, and attempted to focus on the girl in the bed.

  “Hi, Brittany. My name’s Lane. I need to talk to you about what happened this morning at the mall. Olivia’s missing, Brittany. We need to find her. Do you think you can help me?”

  A tiny nod was the only sign that she’d heard him.

  “I know this is difficult for you, but it’s really important that you to tell me everything you remember.”

  It took the young girl a few moments to respond. She turned her head on the pillow and looked toward her sister. Zara gave her an encouraging smile. Brittany’s gaze slid back to Lane.

  “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  Uncurling her slight body, she reached for Zara’s hand and clung to it. The older girl leaned over and smoothed back the golden halo of hair from Brittany’s forehead.

  “Just take it slowly, sweetheart,” she murmured.

  Brittany took a huge breath and exhaled with a shudder. Lane stepped closer and perched on the end of the bed, his notebook and pen at the ready.

  “Your dad said you went shopping in Chatswood this morning with Olivia and her mom. Is that right?”

  Brittany nodded. “Stepmom, actually.”

  Lane bit down on his irritation. No one could ask for a better mom than Ellie. Pressing on, he tried again. “Did you buy anything?”

  Brittany shook her head.

  “Did you stop anywhere? Like for an ice cream or a milkshake?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me what happened,” he urged as gently as he could.

  Brittany compressed her lips, as if debating about whether to reply. At last, she spoke.

  “We went to Myer. It was our first stop. Olivia wanted to get a bikini.”

  “Did she find one?”

  Brittany shook her head. “Her mom—I mean, her stepmom said she wasn’t buying her a bikini. She made her try on some full-pieces. Olivia argued with her, but Mrs Munro wouldn’t give in. Olivia snuck a bikini into the pile of swimsuits Mrs Munro gave her and we went to the change rooms.” Brittany fell silent and turned her face toward her sister, clutching at Zara’s hand.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Zara reassured her. “It’s okay.”

  “What happened then?” Lane asked, after the girl had calmed a little.

  “We…we were in one of the cubicles. Olivia had just started to take off her T-shirt.” She stopped and bit her lip. Tears glinted in her eyes.

  Zara sat beside her on the bed and put her arms around her. Brittany sniffled and leaned into her.

  “Did the cubicle have a door, Brittany?” Lane asked.

  The young girl shook her head. “No, just a curtain,” she whispered, her voice muffled against her sister’s dress.

  “What happened?” Lane asked again, trying not to rush her, but aware that every moment Olivia remained missing dramatically decreased her odds of being found alive. It was common knowledge the first forty-eight hours after a kidnapping were crucial. As far as he’d been able to ascertain, she’d already been gone for nearly three.

  “Th-there was a man. He…he ripped open the curtain.”

  “What did he look like?” Lane urged.

  Brittany shook her head back and forth in distress. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Lane bit down hard on his impatience. “Okay, Brittany. Let’s take it slowly. Was he tall?”

  The girl nodded.

  “As tall as me?”

  She nodded again.

  “What color hair did he have?”

  “None.”

  “What do you mean? Was he bald?”

  “Yes. No. Kind of. I think his head was shaved.”

  “Did you notice his eyes?”

  “No.”

  “Did he have a beard?”

  “Yes.”

  “A heavy beard? All over his face?”

  “No, a beard like Dad gets when he hasn’t shaved for a while. But he looked scary. And mean.”

  Lane jotted the information into his notebook. “What was he wearing?”

  “I-I can’t remember.”

  “You’re doing really well, Brittany. Take your time and think really hard.”

  The young girl squeezed her eyes closed. A few moments later, she spoke again, her voice quiet and uncertain.

  “He…he wore a leather jacket. A black one. It was open.”

  “That’s great, Brittany. Anything else?”

  “A black T-shirt with some kind of picture on the front—and jeans. I remember thinking he must be hot in all those clothes.”

  Lane scribbled again. “What else can you remember, Brittany?”

  She frowned. “He had weird skin. It looked really rough and had little holes in it. And a tattoo. A redback spider on his hand.”

  “That’s great, Brittany. You’re doing great. Do you remember which hand?”

  “His left hand, I think.”

  Lane’s gut tightened. Although not uncommon, it was a symbol used by one of Sydney’s notorious outlaw motorcycle gangs. Perhaps the Attorney General’s on the mark?

  Pushing the speculation aside, he concentrated on the girl in the bed. “Okay, Brittany, you’re doing really well. Now, this may be a little bit scary, but I need you to try and think as hard as you can about what happened next.”

  Brittany looked up at him, her eyes wide with fe
ar. Lane kept his voice calm. “What did the man do when he came into the cubicle?”

  “He…he pushed me hard out of the way and grabbed for Olivia. I stumbled against the wall and hit my head. That’s all I remember. I-I think that’s how I got this.”

  She lifted up a fold of golden hair and Lane caught sight of a small white bandage taped across the side of her forehead.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, he just kind of grunted. I-I think I cried out when he pushed me aside, but I’m not sure what happened after that. The next thing I knew, someone was yelling for an ambulance.”

  Lane digested the information. It was better than nothing. In fact, her description of the attacker was better than he’d hoped. He closed his notebook and returned it to his pocket.

  “You’ve done really well, Brittany. Thank you.”

  “Will you be able to find Olivia?” she asked quietly, hope igniting the depths of her eyes.

  Lane shot her a confident smile he was far from feeling. “You betcha.” He stood, keenly aware of Zara watching him. He looked at her, and again felt the impact of her eyes. “If she remembers anything else—”

  “We’ll call you,” Zara finished.

  Pulling out a business card from his shirt pocket, Lane scribbled his home number on it and handed it to her. Their fingers touched. The spark traveled between them again. Lane knew she felt it, too. His gaze locked with hers.

  “Call me if she remembers anything else. Anytime.” He dragged his gaze from hers and turned away. The Attorney General ushered him out of the room. Lane followed him down the stairs in silence.

  At the foot of the stairs, Dowton turned to him and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Detective.”

  Lane shook it. “You let me know if you remember anything else about that phone call. I’ll let you know when we find Olivia.”

  When, not if. He’d issued the confident statement deliberately and he was sure that sooner or later, the child would surface. His only hope was that she was still alive when that happened.