by Chris Taylor
“You and your drug habit are the reasons Olivia Munro is in the hands of some of the worst criminals this State has to offer. And what do you have to say for yourself?” He spun on his heel and then cursed again.
It was probably his cursing that frightened her the most. It was so unlike the man she knew. Her silence infuriated him further, but she had nothing to say. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep.
As if he could read her mind, he shook his head in disgust. “Get out of here. There’s no point talking to you in this state. Come back when you’re able to comprehend the seriousness of this situation.”
When she didn’t move, he turned on her again.
“Go!”
* * *
Now, nearly three hours later, she’d slept off most of her high and once again found herself in his office. Her husband paced a short distance away, becoming more and more agitated.
“I don’t understand how you spent a million dollars on drugs!” he shouted, turning to face her.
She shrugged, refusing to feel perturbed. He was well aware of the reasons she needed the confidence and security the illegal drugs gave her. She’d been upfront about it right from the start.
Okay, maybe she hadn’t been quite as forthcoming about the fact she’d been getting her drugs on credit or that she’d moved on from a pill or two every now and then or the occasional line of speed, to smoking ice on a regular basis. Still, she’d been using for years. He had to know that the more she took, the more she craved. He wasn’t an idiot.
He turned on his heel once again. His breath came fast. With his hands on his hips, he glared at her.
“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” she said as calmly as she could, hoping to deflect his anger. “We have plenty of money. Some people like to spend their money on fast cars or race horses.” She lifted a shoulder. “I like to do crystal meth. There’s no harm in it.”
His face mottled with rage. “No harm in it? We’re talking a million dollars and that’s what you owe. God knows how much you’ve already spent over the years.”
She made a bigger effort to pacify him. It wouldn’t do to make him too angry. She ignored the pain in her head and tried a gentle smile.
“You’re making too much of this, David. We’ll pay the debt and that will be that. I’ll even go back to rehab, if that’s what you want.”
“You seem to forget the minor issue with young Olivia. She was kidnapped and still hasn’t been found. Does that not concern you even a little?”
“Of course it does,” she snapped, losing her patience. “What do you think I am? Totally self-absorbed?” She shuddered. “I’m just so thankful it wasn’t Brittany.”
“Well, it could have been. In fact, I’m very sure it should have been. I told the police as much as soon as I heard about it.”
Surprise struck her hard. Her jaw fell open. “Why would you do something like that?”
Her husband stared at her and then slowly shook his head. “Who are you? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
The defeat in his voice alarmed her. This was her husband, the dragon slayer, the man who stopped at nothing to achieve his dreams, the man who loved her more than his life. She stood and went to him, pressing a hand to his cheek. He flinched and turned away. Panic surged through her.
“David, please. You know who I am. I’m still the woman you married. I’m still the woman you love, just like I love you. We’re a team, you and I. We’re in this together. Please don’t say things like that. You’re scaring me.”
He gave a short bark. “You’re the one who’s scared? Really? How do you think that poor kid feels?” He spun away from her. “Our daughter’s friend was abducted from the mall and taken God knows where to be held for ransom for a debt that has nothing to do with her or her family. An innocent girl, probably terrorized beyond belief, who may never recover from the ordeal. And that’s if they find her alive.”
He turned back toward her, his eyes like flint. She gasped at the fury contained in them. He stared at her hard.
“It’s over, Allison. It’s time to tell the truth. I’m going to call the police and tell them everything. Before it’s too late.”
A protest bubbled up in her throat, but one look at his face and she swallowed it.
“Don’t. Say. Anything. Don’t. You. Dare.” The words were bitten off and spat at her with such venom she recoiled as if he’d struck her.
“I mean it, Allison. I can’t take anymore.” He turned his back on her and made his way over to his desk. Taking a seat, he reached for the phone and dialed.
* * *
Boris lumbered across the living room and pushed the shabby coffee table out of the way. Bending over, he tugged at the iron ring that was fixed into the wooden trapdoor. It resisted momentarily and then gave way, creaking in protest.
Switching on his flashlight, he aimed the beam into the darkness and smiled. The girl was lying on her side with her knees pulled up against her chest. The blindfold was still in place, as were the bindings around her wrists.
“Sandra, get over here and help me,” he yelled at the woman lounging on the couch nearby.
Grumbling and complaining, she at last stood beside him, next to the opening.
“What are you doin’?” Her voice was surly.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I need to talk to the girl.”
“What about?”
“About her parents, you stupid slut. I already told you. She’s our ticket out of here.”
Sandra peered down into the darkness. “Who is she?”
“She’s the girl who was taken from the Westfield Mall in Chatswood yesterday mornin’. Draco told me to nab her. He was holdin’ her for ransom, but it turns out he doesn’t need her anymore.” He turned to his wife and smiled. “He gave her to me.”
Sandra stared at him, her eyes gleaming with suspicion and curiosity. “What are you goin’ to do with her?”
“Ransom her myself, stupid. Draco doesn’t want her anymore. It doesn’t mean we can’t make a few dollars out of her.”
A smile tugged at Sandra’s lips. “How much is she worth?”
Boris shrugged. “Draco was askin’ for a million, but I don’t think her folks could come up with the coin. I say we drop it down a few thou—maybe half a million? Her father’s some hotshot federal cop. He’s got to be good for that much, don’t you reckon?”
The smile faded. “A cop? Fuck, Boris. The pigs were here yesterday, I already told ya. They barged in here fuckin’ yellin’ and shoutin’ and asked me where you were. Of course, I told ’em nothin’. I didn’t fuckin’ know where you were, anyway.” She narrowed her eyes and Boris looked away, resisting the questions in her eyes. The less she knew, the better for both of them.
“It’s good you told ’em nothin’ and the fact they’ve already been here will play in our favor. They won’t be quick to come lookin’ again when they were here only yesterday and found nothin’.”
Slowly, Sandra’s smile reappeared until it showed all of her sadly neglected teeth. “You’re right.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. “You’re a fuckin’ genius, Boris. A bloody, fuckin’ genius.”
Boris nodded, pleased with her praise. There was no way he was telling her how he’d fucked the whole thing up. She didn’t have to know about it. Besides, he liked the way she made him feel all competent-like. It made him feel invincible.
“Here, take the flashlight and shine it down the hole. I’m goin’ to reach down and see if I can drag her up from here.” He handed Sandra the light and hunkered down beside the opening.
With his arms outstretched, he managed to snag the girl’s T-shirt and hauled her up toward him. She whimpered and tried to move away. He tightened his grip. The fabric of her T-shirt tore and he almost dropped her. He cursed and readjusted his hold. Taking her by the arms, he dragged her up through the opening and deposited her onto the floor.
Sandra shone the light over the girl’s body.
“I didn’t get much of a look at her before. Boris. She’s only a fuckin’ kid,” Sandra said.
“So what? I’m sure someone’ll pay to have her back. You’d pay if someone pinched Emma, wouldn’t you?”
Sandra shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. But you better not ask them for too much.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not goin’ to make the same mistake Draco did. What if we say two hundred grand? That’s still a tidy sum to take with us. It’ll get us settled somewhere in the country, somewhere away from all this.” He indicated the filth and squalor of their surroundings.
“Can I have a little veggie patch and maybe a few chickens?”
Boris smiled and pulled his wife close, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You sure can.”
“Let’s do it.”
With Sandra’s help, he manoeuvred the girl’s slight body onto the sofa. He leaned over to untie the blindfold. “If I take off this rag, do you promise not to scream?”
The girl nodded.
“If I hear one word out of you, I’m goin’ to whack you so hard you’ll wish you’d done as you were told. Understand?”
Again, the girl nodded.
Satisfied, Boris released the knot that held the cloth tightly over the girl’s eyes and tossed it onto the couch. She blinked at the unaccustomed light, staring from Boris to Sandra and back again.
“Wh-where am I? Please, don’t hurt me. Please take me back to my daddy.”
“We’re goin’ to do just that, Olivia. That’s your name, ain’t it?”
The girl nodded a third time.
“Matter of fact, I’m goin’ to call your daddy right now. I’m goin’ to ask him for a few dollars. If he pays, you get to go home. Do you think he’ll pay?”
This time, the girl’s nod was swift and sure. Boris smiled. “Good. We’ll have no problem, then.”
“What’s his number?” Sandra demanded impatiently.
Olivia looked uncertain and fear clouded her eyes. “I-I can’t remember.”
Sandra’s expression turned menacing. “Well, you’d better remember, girlie. You won’t be goin’ home if we can’t talk to him.”
The girl’s eyes widened in panic. “No, no. Please, I’ll try harder. I-I can’t think. I—”
Boris took pity on her. He shot a warning glance toward his wife. “It’s all right, Olivia. We’ve got time. Take a few breaths and think about it. Who do you call if you’re sick at school?”
“Th-the ladies in the front office usually call my m-mom.”
“Okay,” Boris smiled encouragingly. “What’s Mom’s name and number?”
“She’s not really my—” Olivia stopped. “I-I mean, her name’s Ellie Munro and her number’s 9957 6529.”
Boris smiled wider. “There you go. Now, that wasn’t difficult, was it?”
Olivia shook her head, her expression still cautious.
Boris eyed Sandra. “Watch her while I make the call.” Turning away, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sunday, January 28, 9:51 p.m.
Lane stared at the Attorney General, unable to believe what the man had just told him. His gaze shifted to Zara who stood stiffly in the corner of the room, looking almost as shocked as he felt. Her eyes were trained on her father who sat at his desk, his head bowed low.
Only Allison seemed unaffected. Swinging her shapely crossed leg back and forth, she looked around at the men gathered before her and smiled.
“Can I offer anyone a drink? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger, perhaps?”
Lane stared at her and shook his head. Was she for real? Her husband had just told them she was a drug addict and that the motive behind the kidnapping of Olivia Munro was retribution for an unpaid drug debt. And her response was to offer them a drink?
Was she completely unhinged? High? Or so totally self-absorbed that she was unable to comprehend the effect of her actions on others? He didn’t know which it was, but he wasn’t having any of it and he let his anger show.
“Mrs Dowton, you may have caused the loss of an innocent girl’s life. Do you have anything to say to that?” To his disgust and increasing fury, she waved his question aside.
“Oh, Detective Black, I think you’re exaggerating. Draco knows I’ll find the money. I always have in the past. I don’t know why he overreacted like he did. But he’ll get paid and that will be the end of it.”
Lane’s eyes widened incredulously. “You just don’t get it, do you? Olivia Munro hasn’t been found. And even if she is, she may never get over what’s happened to her. Imagine if it had been your daughter who was kidnapped. Would you be so quick to brush it off?”
Her only response was to lift a slim shoulder in a half-shrug. Lane turned away in disgust, unable to face her a minute longer. He caught Zara’s eye. Her gaze was dark with anger and that anger was directed at her father’s wife.
At least the psychosis didn’t run in the family. For that much, Lane was grateful.
“Tell me, Allison,” Zara spoke, her voice trembling with emotion. “Is Aunty Patricia really sick, or is that another lie?”
Surprise surged through Lane at Zara’s use of her stepmother’s given name. So, she didn’t call her ‘Mom.’ He stored that interesting tidbit of information away for later dissection.
Allison waved Zara’s question away. Her father’s gaze remained leveled at his desk.
“Of course she isn’t ill. At least, not as far as I know.” She narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Your father made me check into rehab. I’ve been up in Port Douglas for a fortnight. The weather, mind you, was quite divine, although the humidity…whew! It takes some getting used to. Just as well the rooms were air-conditioned. I don’t think—”
“You make me sick,” Zara interrupted, her voice trembling with shock and anger. She advanced on her stepmother and came to a halt only feet away from the woman who eyed her disdainfully.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know you’re a drug user. How could I have been so blind? You were probably high right under my nose and right under little Brittany’s.” She spun on her heel and faced her father, her eyes shooting fire.
“You knew, didn’t you, Dad? You’ve known all along. You knew she was an addict. You’d have never sent her to rehab if you didn’t. Did you know about the drug debt? Did you know Draco wanted it paid?” She shook her head and Lane could tell she was slowly piecing it together.
“That’s why Draco and that other man were in your office a couple of weeks ago. It had nothing to do with undercover DEA officers or your so-called political persuasions. They were there to collect their money. Weren’t they, Dad?”
The room was charged with tension. Zara’s breath came fast. At last, the AG lifted his head and nodded, his face ravaged with pain and devastation.
It was nothing compared to the look of horror and disbelief that flooded Zara’s features. Lane’s gut clenched at the shock and desolation on her face. She crumpled into the nearest chair. He resisted the urge to go to her. This had nothing to do with him. He was in the middle of a kidnapping investigation. He had a terrified little girl to find. He stepped forward and took charge of the room.
“None of this is getting us anywhere. Mrs Dowton, we have until midnight to find Olivia Munro. It’s now going on for ten. We have a little over two hours. Can you provide us with anything of relevance that might actually help us find this little girl—before it’s too late?”
Despite Zara’s outburst and the quiet sobbing that came from her direction, once again, Allison offered a nonchalant wave. “Look, let me call Draco and get this sorted out.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’m sure he’ll hand the Munro child over and we can all put this nasty little incident behind us.”
Anger ignited inside him, beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He clenched his fists and glared at her.
“We’ve already questioned him. He denied knowing anything about it.”
“Oh, phooey, that’s just nonsens
e,” she replied, waving a deprecating hand in Lane’s direction. “Of course he knows about it.” She scrolled through her contacts, a slight frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead. Lane breathed through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched.
“Ah, here it is.” She smiled triumphantly. “Now, let’s see if he’s going to answer.”
* * *
Ellie twisted her hands in her lap and stared for the umpteenth time at the clock on the wall of the living room. The television blared tunelessly in the background. She was grateful for the noise that filled the otherwise silent room. Clayton sat close beside her on the couch.
The boys had gone to sleep hours ago, oblivious to their parents’ distress. It was well after ten. Less than two hours until the deadline. They’d gotten together all the available cash they could find. Clayton’s brothers and parents had all contributed. All up, they had a little over one hundred thousand dollars. She just hoped the Attorney General had been able to find the difference.
Lane had called Clayton a little earlier and explained the progress they’d made. Ellie hoped desperately that Lane was calling to tell them they’d found Olivia. The disappointment was crushing when she realized that wasn’t the reason for his call.
The conversation had been brief: They were doing all that they could; they had a few leads; they were hoping the deadline would be extended.
All the normal platitudes she’d heard and offered a hundred times over to anxious family members during her years as a federal police officer. She now had a real appreciation for how completely ineffectual reassurances were.
Clayton had ended the phone call and relayed the gist of Lane’s message. Her heart broke at the pain and despair and anger in his eyes. She went to him and put her arms around his waist, not knowing whether he would accept her offer of comfort; relieved and teary when he did. They held each other and tried not to think about the nightmare that had taken over their lives. Clayton shuddered against her.