Ransom of the Heart

by Susan Page Davis

  “We were told someone was shot?” The tall, dark-haired officer focused on her. His name tag read “Kelley.”

  “Yes. One of my husband’s employees.”

  “And where is your husband?”

  “I—we’re not sure. Captain Larson is looking for him.”

  The door to the showroom opened, and Harvey emerged. Approaching Abby, he holstered his pistol.

  “No one else is in there.”

  She blinked at him. “Thank God. But. . .where’s Peter?”

  Harvey shook his head. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out.”

  “Did you find anything in his office?”

  “The lights were on, and he left some paperwork on his desk. It looked as though he may have been interrupted in the middle of something.” He looked at the newly arrived officers. “Bonner and Dalton are inside. I suggest you two stand guard out here and make sure no one disturbs the scene. I’ve asked them to call for a medical examiner and crime scene techs, and I’ve called in my detective squad.”

  The patrolmen nodded and strode toward the door.

  “Abby.” Harvey drew her closer to her car. “I don’t know what happened here, but we’ll do everything we can to find Peter.”

  “Can I call him now?”

  “I tried his number. He didn’t answer.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “You don’t think he killed that man?”

  “No, I don’t. Now, tell me everything you know. What were your plans?”

  Abby shivered. “We were going out to dinner. Sunday’s our anniversary, and Peter wanted to have a special evening together.”

  “That’s nice,” Harvey said.

  Tears rushed into Abby eyes, and she sniffed. “Harvey what could have happened here? Do you think it was a robbery?”

  “I don’t know. Did Peter keep a lot of cash on the premises?”

  “No. Customers almost always finance. They’ll make a down payment, but that’s usually with a credit card or a check.” She shivered again and hugged herself.

  “Let’s sit in my vehicle until my detectives get here. I’d like a little more background.”

  “Okay.” Abby walked with him to his forest green Explorer and waited while he opened the passenger door for her. While he walked around to the driver’s side, she took a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer.

  “What do you know about the dead man?”

  “Not much. I think it’s Carter Ulrich, but I’m not a hundred percent sure.” She shuddered at the memory of the disfigured corpse.

  “I’m sorry to have to ask you questions,” Harvey said.

  “It’s your job. I get it. I’ll do anything to find out what’s happened to Peter.”

  “Okay, then let’s start with Carter Ulrich and Peter’s other employees.” Harvey took out a small notebook and a pen. “How many people does he employ?”

  “Carter and four other sales reps and a trainee. There’s a shop foreman and two mechanics and two guys in the parts shop. And the bookkeeper. She answers the phone and does filing, besides keeping track of the financials. Oh, and Peter hired the bookkeeper’s daughter part time recently because the office work was getting to be too much for one person.”

  Harvey wrote as she talked. “It’s a busy place,” he said.

  “Yeah. I think he’s expanded quite a bit since his dad died.” Abby caught a breath, but her chest felt squeezed. “Harvey, do you think they’ve killed him? Whoever killed that other man, I mean.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “At this point, I don’t think anything. But we’ll find out, Abby.”

  She nodded. Shouldn’t he be doing something besides asking her routine questions?

  “If that’s not Carter Ulrich in there, who else do you think it could be?” Harvey asked.

  “I don’t know. One salesman’s very blond, and one’s way taller than Carter. It can’t be either of them. And one of the reps is a woman, Andrea . . . Something. I can’t remember her last name.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure we can get it from the company files.”

  “Right.”

  “What’s the bookkeeper’s name, in case we need her help accessing computer files?”

  “Uh, Sylvia Harding. She’s been here since Peter’s mom retired from the job. I have her phone number.”

  “Great.” Harvey looked up as a red Mustang pulled up beside them. “You can give me that later. Looks like Tony and Jimmy are here.”

  He got out of the vehicle, and Abby opened her door and hopped down. She hated having all of Harvey’s men come out in the evening after they’d already put in a full day’s work.

  “Hey, Mrs. Hobart,” Tony said with a faint smile.

  “Hi, Tony. And you guys can call me Abby. Hello, Jimmy.”

  “Hi,” Jimmy Cook said.

  Harvey took them aside for a minute and gave them a quick run-down of the scene. Tony got a leather case from the trunk of the Mustang and the two detectives went inside. Harvey came back to Abby’s side.

  “Until we make a positive ID on the victim, I’m not really sure you can help us much,” he said apologetically.

  “Maybe I can.” Abby frowned, trying to remember what Peter had said at breakfast. “If that is Carter in there, Peter was concerned about him.”

  “In what way?” Harvey asked.

  “He was talking about it last night, and again this morning. He said Carter was kind of off the rails with a customer yesterday. Pushing him real hard to buy a truck or something like that. Peter had to speak to him about his sales pitch. And then he said he might ask his mom to come in and do an audit.”

  Harvey’s eyes widened. “An audit? Was something going on with the bookkeeping?”

  “I don’t know. He seems to trust Sylvia, but something about that guy Carter was bothering him. He told me not to worry, but. . .” She looked toward the showroom.

  Harvey nodded. “Seems like there was reason to worry, after all.”

  Tears flooded Abby’s eyes, and her chest tightened. “Harvey, what am I going to tell the boys?”

  Chapter 3

  Peter lay cramped in the trunk of the men’s car. Had he made the right decision? He hoped so. This seemed preferable to a bullet. The memory of Carter’s bloody corpse made him shudder.

  As soon as the two thugs had concluded that Peter could make them rich, or at least solvent, they’d led him out the back door of the showroom to a small black sedan and opened the trunk. They had duct tape inside, and one of them taped his wrists together behind him. That made his spirits plummet, but arguing seemed like a bad idea, since the other man held his gun on Peter the whole time.

  “Get in,” the first man said.

  Peter hesitated only a moment. Anyone whose hands were free could get out of that trunk before they left the parking lot. As an auto dealer, he’d been to umpteen seminars on safety features, and he’d even done practice drills. He knew exactly where the release latch was on this model. True, with his hands bound behind him, he would have trouble pulling it. But if he couldn’t get the duct tape off, he could probably kick out a tail light.

  All of this ran through his mind, but he kept quiet. Talking too much might make these guys mad enough to just shoot him and be done with it.

  He climbed in, his mind racing as the lid came down, shutting out the daylight. Should he have struggled? They hadn’t restrained his feet, and he was grateful for that. Did the car have kick-out taillights? The manufacturer was different from those he sold, but the car was new enough that he was pretty certain it did. But if he kicked one out and couldn’t wave for help, what good would it do? The men would see it when they stopped, and that would tick them off for sure.

  Another dismal possibility was that he could be suffocated by exhaust fumes. Peter knew he had to stay calm and use a minimum of oxygen. As long as the car was moving, he was pretty sure there was no danger from fumes, and trunks weren’t built tight enough to suffocate a quiet person. Unless there was some kind of leak an
d they idled the engine for a while, he thought he’d be okay. But he could imagine Abigail lecturing him on his blithe assumptions. Had he really made the right decision? He sent up a prayer, asking God to deliver him from stupidity.

  The engine started, and he could tell they turned right out of the parking lot. He was sure of that. A while later, they seemed to bear right again, then hit a stop light, followed by a left turn. Peter lost track after that. He’d made the mistake of thinking about Abigail and what would happen when she arrived to join him for their date. At least these killers weren’t there to confront her.

  He could hear faint voices, and he thought the two men were arguing over how to proceed, over what to do with him. The car stopped at one point, and he could make out words. They didn’t want to make a move toward ransoming him until they had a secure location to operate from. They agreed that neither of their residences would do. Too risky. One was called Mack. Peter thought he was the one who had held the gun on him. Mack apparently had nosy neighbors. They needed a secluded place where no one would snoop around.

  That had worried Peter, but at least they weren’t talking about killing him and dumping his body. Finally one of them mentioned someone he knew. This fellow could possibly help them out.

  The car began moving again, and he could no longer hear their conversation. They drove for several minutes. Then it stopped, and one of the thugs got out. Only one door slammed, and Peter thought it was the driver’s door. He was pretty sure the second man was still in the car. If he was going to do something, this was probably his best chance. On the other hand, if he tried to attract attention, they might decide he wasn’t worth the trouble. They obviously weren’t afraid to kill an inconvenient person—Carter was proof of that. Right now, he had a chance of coming out of this alive. Peter opted to remain quiet.

  After twenty minutes or so, the driver returned, and they got into traffic again. Peter tried counting, but he lost track and it was hard to judge the time they drove. When they stopped, it was quiet. The traffic sounds were distant.

  They opened the trunk, and Peter struggled to sit up. They couldn’t have gone more than ten miles or so total, he thought. Probably less in rush hour city traffic. But they could be outside the city. Darkness was falling, but one of the men tied a rag around his face anyway, before he got a good look around. He had an impression of houses and a quiet street. He couldn’t tell in his brief glimpse which way the ocean was or where the main part of the city lay. Had the lowering sun been behind him? He wasn’t sure.

  One of them took his arm and pushed him forward.

  “Move,” Mack said.

  *****

  Harvey crouched beside the Corvette convertible in the showroom and shined his flashlight under it, ignoring the blood spattered over the door panel and fender. The beam swept over the glossy tiles, and he halted it near the rear tire opposite. After a moment he stood and waved Jimmy Cook to his side.

  “There’s a shell casing next to the rear tire on the passenger side. Don’t touch it, but put a marker down for the techs.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said and hurried away.

  Harvey exhaled. They would have something to go on. It wasn’t much. He walked to Peter’s office. Wearing gloves, he carefully opened each desk drawer. Peter was a fairly neat person, not as fastidious as Harvey, but he didn’t seem to like clutter.

  Everything looked very businesslike, very efficient. The usual office supplies, a twelve-foot tape measure, a solar-powered calculator. One drawer held some files that appeared to be documents on the financing of recent sales. On the desktop were a framed photo of Gary and Andy in the formal suits they’d worn at Peter and Abby’s wedding, and a closeup of Abby. She looked so much like Jennifer, but she glammed it up more. Both women were beautiful, but Harvey preferred Jennifer’s natural look. He bent and peered carefully beneath the desk and chair. Nothing. No signs of a struggle, no cryptic clues.

  He tried to wake up Peter’s computer but couldn’t get past the login password. He could probably crack that fairly quickly if he took the computer back to his office. Meanwhile, time was flying. He turned to a four-drawer file cabinet and had Carter Ulrich’s address and phone number within minutes.

  In the showroom, the crime scene investigators had arrived and were setting up to work. One was already taking pictures, and another was unpacking numbered markers and evidence bags. Harvey took out his phone and punched in Ulrich’s number. A phone started ringing nearby.

  One of the CSI’s looked startled and grabbed an evidence bag he had set aside.

  “That’s me calling him.” Harvey clicked to end the call.

  “It was in the victim’s pocket.”

  Harvey nodded. “Just send it to the lab for me.” He’d made a ninety-percent certain ID, and Ulrich’s recent calls would be interesting, he had no doubt.

  He called Nate Miller over. He’d already sent Jimmy Cook to Sylvia Harding’s house, to get a statement from the bookkeeper.

  “Nate, here’s Carter Ulrich’s address. I’m pretty sure he’s the victim. Take Tony with you and see if anyone’s home. If he’s got a wife, remember we don’t have an official ID yet on the victim, but see what she can tell you about her husband’s activities.”

  “Right.” Nate took the slip of paper Harvey held out and wheeled to get the other detective. Harvey walked outside and breathed in the sea air off the bay. He took out his phone.

  “Hi,” Jennifer said almost immediately.

  “Hi.”

  “Leeanne’s here. Harvey, what’s going on?”

  “A man got himself killed in Peter’s showroom.”

  “How awful.”

  Harvey knew she wanted more information, but she usually let him tell her what he could, when it suited him.

  “It’s not Peter,” he said. “We’ve got a tentative ID, and I don’t think it’s anyone you knew.”

  “Okay. How’s Peter?”

  Harvey hesitated, watching Tony’s Mustang leave the parking lot. “I’m not sure. Jenny, this will go public tonight—in fact, I’ll probably be late because the press will be on it any minute—but I’d just as soon you didn’t tell anyone beyond the family at this point, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay. Well, the thing is, Peter’s not here. We don’t know what happened to him. It’s starting to look like he may have been abducted.”

  After a moment’s silence, Jennifer said, “You mean—”

  “I mean he’s not here. I’m pretty sure he’s not responsible for the shooting, but he seems to have vanished. Abby came to meet him for dinner and discovered the body, but Peter’s simply not here.”

  “That’s not good. How’s Abby?”

  “She’s been very helpful. I sent Eddie with her to Peter’s mother’s house to break the news. Gary and Andy are over there with their grandmother.”

  “Oh, Harvey! Those poor little boys.”

  “I know,” Harvey said. “I would have gone myself, but I need to talk to some people connected to the business. I told Eddie to take Abby home after, and to stay with her.”

  “Do you think Abby’s in danger?” Jennifer asked.

  “I don’t know. But it’s possible she’ll hear from Peter or from whoever’s responsible, and I want to know about it immediately if that happens.”

  “What about the boys? Will Vickie keep them?”

  Harvey sighed. “She had planned to keep them overnight anyway. I think it might be best if they stay there, at least for tonight.”

  “They’ll be scared.”

  “Yeah. I told Abby if they’re too upset, she can take them home with her, but I’d really like to keep them out of sight until we figure this thing out. Look, you can tell your sibs and your parents, and start everyone praying.”

  “I will.”

  “But keep away from Abby’s house, okay?”

  “Of course, Harvey. Is it all right to call her?”

  “Best to keep her line open, just in case.”r />
  “All right.”

  “You could call Peter’s mother, I guess. But wait a while. Abby and Eddie just left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Okay, and Harvey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What about that other thing, the one you wanted to talk about?”

  He’d almost forgotten about Leah. He looked up at the darkening sky. A few stars were beginning to show. “I think I’d still rather talk about that in person. Sorry. I promise you it will be okay.”

  A white minivan he recognized drove into the car lot and parked behind a squad car.

  “Jenny, the press is here. I need to go.”

  “I’ll look for you on the late news.”

  *****

  Abby sat on her mother-in-law’s couch with one of her stepsons on each side. Seven-year-old Andy cuddled up against her side and let Abby keep her arm around him for comfort. Gary, a more dignified ten, sat with his hands folded in his lap. He fidgeted and squeezed until his fingers turned red and his knuckles white. She wished they didn’t have to know what was going on. They were too old to be kept in the dark, and too young to be told the sickening details.

  “Where do you think Daddy is?” Gary choked out.

  Abby patted his hands. “I don’t know, but Uncle Harvey and a lot of other people are looking for him. They’ll tell us as soon as they know something.”

  “How come Uncle Eddie’s not looking for him?” Gary asked.

  Eddie, who had apparently made it home before he got the call and was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, slouched against the doorjamb. “Because I brought your mom here to be with you,” he said. Abby was glad he hadn’t implied that she needed police protection. The boys were taking this hard enough as it was.

  Peter’s mother, Vickie, came in from the kitchen carrying two coffee mugs. She handed one to Eddie and one to Abby.

  “We already ate supper, but I’ve got some leftovers,” she said.

  “No, thank you.” Abby took the coffee, but she wasn’t hungry. She might never be hungry again if her stomach didn’t unkink.

  “Eddie?” Vickie asked.