Sufficient Ransom

by Sylvia Sarno

  “What do you expect?” Richard said when she was finished. “Chet’s just being the asshole that he is. You think he’s your friend? He doesn’t give a shit about you, Ann.”

  Ann bit down on her lip. There was no use talking to her husband about Chet. Richard’s prejudice against the pastor was clouding his judgment.

  Richard was on a roll. “I’m not the only one who thinks that son-of-a-bitch is up to no good.”

  Ann shot her husband an angry look. “What’re you talking about?”

  Slouched in his seat, Richard’s words were slightly slurred. “Tom Long’s been asking a lot of questions about dear old Chet.”

  The detective had asked Ann a few things about the pastor, but nothing out of the ordinary. “What kind of questions?”

  “What things were really like between him and Nora,” Richard said.

  Kika’s voice was conciliatory. “Please,” she said. “Let’s talk about something else. This whole Chet business just makes everyone mad.”

  Eager to talk about her son, Ann turned to the social worker. “So Kika, do you think there’s a connection between Travis and Nora?”

  “Richard and I were just talking about that,” Kika said.

  Ann cast a furtive glance at her husband. Dark stubble on his face added to his brooding expression. Her voice was softer. “What did you conclude?”

  Richard crushed his empty beer can and let it fall to the table. Tin hitting wood made a soft clinking sound. He said, “There seems to be a pattern somewhere in this.”

  “What do you mean?” Ann asked.

  Richard straightened his back and placed his elbows on the table. “I’m not sure.”

  Kika spoke. “We were just saying that Nora knew something about Travis and was—”

  Ann finished her thought. “—killed for it.”

  Her husband nodded his agreement.

  As they were getting ready for bed, Richard turned to Ann, “Sorry for being such a jerk tonight.”

  Ann placed her hand on her husband’s cheek. “It’s okay.”

  “Annie, how much do you know about Nora?”

  She moved to the bed and folded the bedspread back. “What do you mean?”

  “Her early life. When she was married. What her husband was like. That sort of thing.”

  “Well. Nora came from a wealthy family. She went to UCSD and got a degree in geography. Her husband, Peter, came from money too. He was a successful attorney with a big practice.”

  Richard sat on the bed, his back against the headboard. “Geography? That’s different.”

  “Nora had planned to travel the world,” Ann said, her voice sad.

  “Did she?” Richard asked.

  Ann joined her husband on the bed. “She did, with her husband.”

  “And she lived in Mexico,” Richard said.

  “She moved there after college and stayed for several years.”

  “You said she had a daughter who died in Mexico.” Richard’s voice dropped. “Losing a child’s a terrible thing.”

  Ann buried her face in his shoulder. “I know things have been crazy between us. Don’t ever forget that I love you, Richard. No matter what happens.”

  Her husband held her close. After a long silence he said, “Didn’t Chet live in Mexico too?”

  “It was Pastor Todd,” Ann said. “He was a missionary there, a long time ago.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Sunday, October 28

  9:30 A.M.

  Twenty-six days after Travis disappeared and five days since Nora was murdered, the Olsons were summoned to the office of Mr. Bone, the attorney who was handling Nora March’s estate. The authenticity of the will found in Nora’s safe had been confirmed. The document was to be read to the beneficiaries.

  Seated around the long conference table in the attorney’s art deco offices, Ann held tightly to Richard’s hand. Across the table, Tom Long greeted them with a quiet hello. Law enforcement, Ann noted, would naturally want to be present at the reading of a murder victim’s will. She tried to ignore her own discomfort in the presence of the others in the room—most of them strangers who kept sneaking looks at her—by concentrating her attention on the sparkling view of San Diego bay and the Coronado Bridge seventeen stories below.

  When Chet entered the room and patted her arm in greeting, Ann returned his apologetic smile with a slight one of her own. She was still annoyed with the pastor for the way he treated her the night she was worried about him.

  Mr. Bone, a lean man of middle age with a grim mouth and kind eyes, entered the room and started the meeting. After announcing a list of small bequests to various San Diego charities, Mr. Bone turned to Ann and Richard. “To Mrs. Olson,” the attorney said, his voice business-like. “Nora March has bequeathed the sum of five million dollars to fund a new museum of classically inspired art. The details of which I will provide, in a separate meeting, at your convenience.”

  Nora had remembered Ann’s desire to have her own museum. Her eyes filling, Ann focused her attention on the attorney who was now addressing Chet. Later, she would think of her friend and her generous gift. That Nora would leave the bulk of her estate to her only living child seemed all but certain. Large sums of money could never erase the pain of a loved one’s death. But Ann imagined that it could ease it somewhat, especially for someone like Chet, who always seemed to need money for his church.

  “Chet March,” Mr. Bone announced. “Your mother, Nora March, has bestowed for your personal use the sum of one million dollars in cash. If any part of these monies is used to benefit New Way Evangelical Church the inheritance is void.”

  The wide eyes around table confirmed that Ann wasn’t the only one who was shocked.

  Chet stared straight ahead apparently unsure how to react. Ann knew the pastor well enough to see that he was hurt and angry. When Chet noticed that the others were waiting for him to say something, he shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  Ann couldn’t help thinking that Chet was acting the part of a swindled victim, not the recipient of a generous legacy. Victim. She remembered Nora once saying that her son saw himself that way. Maybe because of the way his father had treated him. “My father,” Chet had once told Ann, “never cared about me. He missed my piano recitals, my tennis matches. Cards I made for his birthday and Father’s Day, I’d find them in the trash with the rest of the household garbage.” His poor relationship with his father was perhaps one of the reasons Chet found solace in his heavenly father. But then again, Ann mused, it wasn’t as if Chet had been neglected. His mother had given him a lot of love and personal attention; private schools and expensive vacations. Not to mention large sums of money for his church. Chet had lived a life of privilege, but apparently he felt he was owed more.

  Ann caught Tom Long looking at Chet critically. Chet’s ungrateful reaction to his mother’s will was indeed surprising. It occurred to Ann that maybe she should pay more attention to what the pastor said and did.

  When he had everyone’s attention, Mr. Bone continued. “The remaining portion of Nora March’s estate, in the amount of twenty million dollars, will be held in trust for Mrs. March’s biological daughter.”

  Voices rose in indignant confusion. Suddenly, everyone was talking over each other. Ann caught snippets. “Is this a joke? Nora didn’t have a daughter. What could this mean?”

  The attorney’s raised hand commanded silence. “If Nora March’s daughter does not claim her inheritance by her fortieth birthday, the trust will be dissolved and the monies donated to the San Diego County Orphanage.”

  Chet’s eyes were like burning coals. “What’s the meaning of this? My mother never told me I had a sister.”

  If looks could kill. Ann felt a sudden chill.

  Mr. Bone picked up his reading glasses. “Mrs. March’s own words will help you understand,” he said, not unkindly.

  Ann wiped her eyes with her crumpled tissue. Nora had held out hope that her daughter had lived, despite all evidence to the co
ntrary. Ann understood her friend’s feelings. She too couldn’t accept that her son might be gone for good. No proof short of holding his….

  Richard turned Ann’s chair around and pulled her close. When Ann finally looked up she saw that she and her husband were alone.

  “I never got to hold her,” Nora had said. Would Ann ever hold her son again?

  CHAPTER 25

  Monday, October 29

  12:30 P.M.

  The next day, Chet called Ann and invited her to lunch. “After Todd’s morning sermon, at the coffee shop where I broke our date,” he had said, a little sheepishly. Though Ann would have preferred to spend the rest of the day alone in her room thinking about what to do next, she accepted the invitation. Chet’s reaction to his mother’s will had spooked her. She wanted to understand what was going through his mind.

  Now, seated with Chet in a booth at the coffee shop, Ann immediately regretted coming. Chet kept apologizing for his rude treatment of her the night she came to check on him; it was embarrassing. Despite his conciliatory words, Ann noticed that the pastor seemed afraid to look at her. There was a sense of urgency about him, an intensity that hadn’t been there before.

  “You’re angry about Nora’s will, aren’t you?” Ann said, hoping Chet would unburden himself so he would feel better, and then she could go home.

  He looked sullen. “My mother never did anything for me while she was alive. Why would she in death?”

  “She left you a lot of money, Chet.”

  “What good does it do me if I can’t spend it on what I want?”

  When Chet’s steady gaze settled on her, Ann’s heart skipped a beat. That rapacious look had flitted by again.

  The corners of Chet’s mouth turned down in an ugly frown. “And to leave twenty million dollars to a ghost who died long ago. It shows how crazy she was.”

  The thought of Nora pining for her daughter all those years wrenched Ann’s heart. It occurred to her that Chet might resent her inheritance. When Ann broached the subject, Chet shook his head. “It’s my mother I resent. New Way could have done so much with that money.”

  The pastor’s self-absorption was starting to get on Ann’s nerves. “I’m sure the orphanage will put it to great use,” she said.

  “And the letters they found,” Chet said. “This guy Chris Fallon or Fuller. Whatever his name is. Makes my mother sound like a tramp. Having a child out of wedlock with some guy off the street.”

  Ann was surprised Nora had never revealed to Chet that he’d had a baby half-sister who had died before he was born. And yet for some reason she had told Ann. She felt an urge to comfort the pastor. To tell him that his mother was a good woman and that the money was not important in the scheme of things. But Ann was suddenly afraid. She had never seen her friend so angry.

  Chet took his glasses off and laid them on the table. He rubbed his eyes. Finally he said, “What did you think of Pastor Todd’s sermon?” His anger seemed to have dissipated as suddenly as it had come on.

  Ann was glad to be on to something new. “Frankly, I was surprised at what he said. That it doesn’t matter what we do, only that we believe in God.”

  Chet’s eyebrows arched.

  “Do you think Travis’s kidnappers should go to heaven? And what about your mother’s killer? How can believing in Jesus be enough? It’s dangerous thinking. It’s… it’s…” Ann struggled for the right words. “It’s immoral and evil.”

  Chet’s eyes were so still she could see small flecks of black embedded in the green of his left iris. He remained silent.

  Ann was pleased with herself that she finally had the courage to name what it was that had bothered her about Pastor Todd’s sermons and some of Chet’s. She pressed on. “It’s wrong to go around and hurt each other. And it’s doubly immoral to excuse the crimes with talk of forgiveness if the criminal accepts Jesus. Think of the havoc if people knew they wouldn’t get punished for kidnapping and murder. There’d be a lot more of it. Society would collapse.”

  Chet’s eyes flickered. He spoke carefully, like he was reciting a prepared speech. “The ways of God are simple. He passes judgment on the frailties of men, but He also forgives. Man is innately evil. Look around—evidence of our depravity is everywhere. But the Lord gives us an out. As long as we try to live a life that glorifies and honors Him.”

  Anger at what she perceived to be words of excuse rose up in Ann, along with her voice. “But that’s the whole point, Chet. There’s nothing objective about it. One man’s holy war is another man’s terrorism. One man’s murder is another’s defense of his ideals. These ideas give people permission to do whatever they want, and then allow them an out if they believe in Jesus. Or God. Or whatever. It’s all so wrong.”

  Chet’s face darkened. “I thought you were further along in your understanding, Ann.”

  She was tired of his platitudes. “Sometimes what you say makes no sense.”

  He leaned in. “God’s love is all encompassing, all good. Why do you want to twist things?”

  “So God wants to love kidnappers, murderers and rapists? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “If they respect and embrace Him.”

  “These things should not be forgiven so easily,” Ann said. “There needs to be more. Years of restitution to the victim. Time to change one’s character. And some people—no matter what they do or say—should never be forgiven.” She fell back against the booth. What difference did any of this make? As long as Travis was gone, life held no real meaning for her. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just a little disappointed, that’s all,” Chet said. “I hoped you would get what you wanted.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Chet’s hands went out in a gesture of helplessness. “That you would find peace in your heart.”

  Ann shot the pastor a withering look. “How can I have peace knowing that my son is somewhere, scared and alone, needing me? And no! I will never concede he’s dead, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Her voice dropped. “You can’t understand what it’s like.”

  Chet’s hands took up hers. “If you would only pray and give your cares and worries up to The Lord, He will help you. I know He will. He’s all merciful. Believe me when I say that He wants to help you, Ann. For who so findeth Me, findeth life, and shall obtain favor of the Lord.”

  Ann shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe any more.”

  9:00 P.M.

  Ann was drifting off to sleep when the telephone rang. The handset to her ear, she groggily asked who was calling.

  “Mommy, Mommy! It’s me, Travis!”

  Ann shot up like a bullet. “Travis! Where are you?!”

  “Mommy, come get me. I wanna come home. Mommy, come!”

  Click. The line went dead.

  Ann stabbed at the phone, trying to get the call back. “Travis!” she screamed. “Where are you?”

  She jumped out of bed, shouting, “Richard! Come quick!”

  Richard ran into the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

  She tried to get the words out straight. “Travis just called! Right now, on this phone. Quick! Call the police. See if they can trace it. I star 69’d it, but it’s not working. I think the number’s blocked. Hurry!”

  Richard jerked the lamp on and pulled his phone from his jeans. “What did he say?”

  Her heart racing, Ann told her husband about the brief conversation.

  “I’ll call Tom,” Richard said. The call to the detective made, he hung up.

  “Travis is alive, Richard! He wants to come home! Do you think they can trace the call? You do? Oh, Richard, he’s alive!”

  The next minutes and hours were the most joyful and the most exasperating of Ann’s life. Tom Long arrived with a policeman who specialized in electronic data collection. Officer Redmond sat down with the Olsons’ landline, a laptop, and his cell phone, and started working to trace Travis’s call; while the Olsons and the detective hovered over him trying n
ot to get in his way.

  After forty minutes of working his computer and talking to various people at the telephone company, Officer Redmond pushed his chair back. “For now, I can tell you that the call came from a cellular phone through the station that serves the downtown Temecula area. The call was made on a prepaid phone listed under a phony name. Unfortunately the phone’s turned off now, so we can’t get an exact location.”

  “How do you know it’s a phony name?” Tom Long asked.

  Officer Redmond turned his laptop toward the detective. “The first name is listed as ‘John.’ Last name: ‘Doe.’ Address: 91 Mill on the Floss Road. There’s no such street in Temecula or anywhere else in California.” He addressed Ann and Richard. “The cell phone company is putting together a Detail Records report on all calls made and received from the phone your son used. The report will also show which cellular towers the calls went through. We might get lucky and tease out some clues that will help us locate your boy.”

  Tom looked concerned. “What’s wrong?” Ann asked.

  “I hate to sound pessimistic,” the detective said, shaking his head. “But prepaid cell phones usually end up being a dead-end for law enforcement. People who buy them want to be off the grid.”

  “You traced the call to Temecula,” Ann said, determined to hang on to the first bit of hope she felt in weeks. “That’s something.”

  A smile returned to Tom’s face. “Of course it’s something. Your boy’s alive and well enough to pick up a phone. That’s great news.”

  “Temecula’s only sixty miles northeast of here,” Richard said. “Does law enforcement up there know about Travis?”

  “We’ve been in contact with every city within a hundred miles of La Jolla,” Tom said. “Now that we have a definite Temecula connection, we’ll work closely with the police there. And we just might get lucky with the phone records. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear something.”

  After the police left, Ann and Richard sat in the kitchen, their cell phones and landline on the table between them in case Travis called again.