Sufficient Ransom (26 page)

Nora had begged Ann to leave her house for some activity other than church. Tired of hearing her friend nag, Ann had agreed to lunch. To appease Nora, in the hopes that she would lay off, Ann took special care with her appearance. She washed her hair and dressed in a silk pantsuit with sleeves long enough to hide the scars on her arms. She applied lipstick and powder; she even donned a pair of designer sandals. Despite all the make-up and the nice clothes, when Ann looked at herself in the
mirror she saw sunken eyes and a mournful cut across her lower face. She looked like a dressed-up zombie.

Seated in the restaurant before a large window with a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean, Ann picked at her food, while Nora, evidently in an effort to model good eating habits for her emaciated friend, ate heartily. She even ordered the largest dessert on the menu—Ann’s favorite, bananas Foster—asking the server to bring two spoons.

Ann pushed the dessert away. “Thanks, I don’t want any.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Nora said. “But once upon a time reason and reality were your friends. Now it’s all about this hazy idea of faith. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s nothing more than wishful thinking.”

Ann resolved to end the lunch as quickly as possible. Richard, at least, had stopped talking about Chet. But Nora—maybe because Chet was her son, with whom she’d had a troubled history—seemed to relish putting him down.

“And who knows what Chet’s involved with,” Nora continued, unaware of Ann’s growing impatience. “Just the other day, he told me drug addict types were hanging around the church. When I pressed him for information, he got all annoyed and said it was just a minor misunderstanding.” Nora’s harrumph belied her doubts.

Ann remembered the private conversation she’d overheard at the prayer group meeting between Chet and the man who was very likely a drug addict. How Chet had seemingly extracted a promise from the man to follow Jesus before he gave him drugs. Richard believed that there had to be a more innocent explanation. Even he couldn’t imagine the pastor being that cruel.

“Chet can take care of himself,” Nora added. “I’m worried about you, Ann. Religion is sapping your motivation.”

Ann pushed her chair back from the table. “I’m tired of hearing you criticize me and your own son,” she said in a quiet voice. Before Nora could answer, Ann slipped a hundred-dollar bill under the vase of fresh-cut flowers and walked out of the restaurant.

When Ann got home, there was a message from Nora on her machine apologizing for lunch and asking Ann to call her. Ann started to punch in her friend’s number but stopped. Her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to talk to Nora. Not now. She felt so beaten down. Maybe if she managed to sleep a little she would feel well enough to deal with life. She flipped the phone over and turned the ringer off. She lifted her cell phone out of her purse and turned that off too.

She left the kitchen. Too despondent to climb the stairs to her bedroom, Ann moved down the hallway and pushed the guestroom door open. She undressed, slipped on a nightgown, and climbed into bed.

C
HAPTER
20

Tuesday, October 23

6:30 A.M
.

E
arly the next morning, Ann and her husband were in the kitchen.

“Ann, why’s the ringer off?” Richard turned it back on.

Ann placed her tea cup on the table. “Nora laid into me at lunch yesterday. She wanted to talk after and I didn’t feel up to it. So I muted the phone.”

“It’s probably not the best idea to turn off the phone while our son is missing.”

Her shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It looks like Nora left four messages last night.” Richard punched the voicemail numbers and listened. He hung up the phone, a worried look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nora wanted to talk about Travis,” Richard said. “It sounds urgent.”

Ann wanted to hear the messages herself. She picked up the phone and dialed voicemail. The first one was left just before five o’clock, the evening before. “I’m sorry for upsetting you, Ann,” Nora said. “I want to talk to you about today. Please call me.” The second one was left
two hours later. “I have to talk to you about Travis, Ann. Call me right away.” Shortly after eight, Nora left a third more urgent message. “Ann or Richard, for that matter. Call me ASAP. It’s about Travis and it’s very important!” Ten minutes later Nora left a fourth and final message. Her voice was soft and urgent. “It’s imperative I speak to you about your son. Call me!”

Her hands shaking, Ann dialed home Nora’s number. No answer. She left a message, hung up the phone, hit redial, and waited.
Where is she?
After calling Nora’s cell phone and getting no answer there either, Ann reached for her keys. “I’m going to her house.”

“I’ll come with you,” Richard said.

Ann shook her head. “Someone should be here in case Nora’s out of the house and calls again.”

Ann pressed Nora’s doorbell. She could hear the bell ringing in the hallway inside.
Open up, Nora
. Her hands to her eyes to block the light, Ann peered into the side window by the door. Through the sheer curtain on the inside, she could make out the lines of the mail table, the marble floor, light streaming in from the back of the house.

She tried Nora’s home and cell phones again. No answer. At the side gate, a heavy spread of magenta bougainvillea arched over the top of the entrance to the backyard. Ann unlatched the gate and pushed on it. A cascade of dewy water came down on her, wetting her sweatshirt and jeans.

At the back of the house, the sounds of the ocean mingled with a honking car somewhere down the hill. A layer of water droplets shimmered on the grass and the lawn chairs. The curtains at the panoramic kitchen and living room windows were drawn.

Nora never shuts the curtains, Ann thought.
Something’s wrong
. She pounded on the kitchen door. “Nora! It’s Ann. Open up!” She ran to the side of the house. The window shades there were also drawn. “Nora! Where are you?”

Footsteps crunched on gravel.

Ann ran back to the grass. “Nora?”

A dark-haired man in jeans and a green sweater came into view. “I live next door,” the man said. “I heard shouting. Is everything okay?”

Ann passed her hand over her damp face. “Nora’s my friend. She left me some urgent messages about my son and now she’s not answering. I think something’s wrong.”

The man’s eyes relaxed. “Did you try the beach? Mrs. March likes to walk in the mornings.”

Nora did enjoy walking the beach. “I tried her cell phone,” Ann said. “I left messages but she hasn’t called back.”

“By the way, my name is Ishmael,” the man said, reaching to shake Ann’s hand.

Ann offered her limp hand. “Maybe I should call the police,” she said, too worried and distracted to carry on a proper conversation.

“I doubt anything’s wrong,” Ishmael said congenially. “If you want, you can call from my house. It’s cold this morning.” He indicated her clothes. “And you’re all wet.”

Ann glanced down at her clothes, embarrassed. “Thanks, but I’ll call from my car.”

Back in her Lexus, Ann tried to reach Chet to see if his mother was with him. Chet wasn’t answering his phone either. It occurred to Ann that Todd Pannikin would know Chet’s whereabouts. When Pannikin answered, she gave a moment of silent thanks. The pastor explained that Chet called to say that he would be coming to work late. Something about visiting one of their congregants over some trouble the family was having. He reassured Ann that Chet would return her call as soon as he got in.

“I’ll call Tom Long,” Richard said when Ann phoned home. “We’ll meet you in front of the house. And Ann, don’t touch anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“If something happened, you don’t want to get your prints all over the place.”

“Richard, you don’t really think—

“Just stay in the car and wait,” he said. “I’ll call Tom now.”

Ten minutes later, her husband pulled up in front of Nora’s house. Tom Long, Richard explained, had dispatched a patrol car to Nora’s to make sure she was okay. The detective said that he would come by their house a little later on to listen to Nora’s voicemail messages about Travis.

Within minutes, a police patrol car arrived. Two uniformed officers stepped out and approached the Olsons. Richard greeted the men with a handshake. The officers identified themselves. Officer Resco was a short, slender man with a buzz cut, like a marine. Officer Morales was medium height, heavily muscled, brown-skinned, and handsome.

After the introductions, Richard said, “I hope we’re not overreacting, but Nora March seems to know something about our son, Travis. He disappeared three weeks ago. Detective Long probably filled you in.”

Nodding, Officer Morales said, “Detective Long did update us on your son’s situation. Let’s take a look around and see what’s what.”

After ringing the front door bell and getting no answer, the group walked through the gate to the backyard. Hands to their eyes to block the sun, Officers Resco and Morales studied the back of the house. Officer Morales said, “Let’s check the other side.”

Richard and the policemen walked around the house, the pool, and the gazebo, while Ann stood rooted to the patio, her heart tumbling with anxiety.

When the men returned, Morales addressed Ann. “We’d like to enter the house and take a look around. We’ll need phone numbers for Mrs. March’s next of kin. If they’re local, they can bring us a key. If they’re not, we’ll need their permission to kick the door in.”

That sounded a little extreme. “Don’t you need a warrant? Ann asked.

Officer Resco spoke with a southern drawl. “It depends on the situation. Where the inhabitant of the house in question is elderly, there could be any number of reasons she’s not answering. A stroke. A bad fall, maybe. Delaying entry might cost a life.”

“There’ll be no need to kick the door in,” Richard said. “Nora’s son, Chet, lives a few miles from here. My wife has his number.”

Ann gave the men Chet’s phone number. She was relieved Chet answered the call.

His call ended, Officer Morales addressed Ann and Richard. “Chet March should be here in fifteen minutes with the key. Meanwhile, Officer Resco and I have some calls to make. We’ll be back in a few.”

Chet March pulled up to his mother’s house and greeted Ann and Richard with a concerned look. “She’s still not answering?” he asked.

Ann shook her head. “Chet, I’m worried.”

“Do they know if her car’s here?”

“With no windows in the garage it’s impossible to tell,” Richard said.

Chet nodded vaguely. “Of course.”

Officers Resco and Morales alighted from their patrol car, where Ann assumed they had been filling headquarters in on the situation. Officer Morales’s expression was friendly as he greeted Chet. “We appreciate your coming. That’s a beautiful front door your mother has. Wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

As soon as Chet produced the key, the group moved toward the entrance. At the front door, Officer Resco’s voice was polite but firm. “Officer Morales and I are going in, alone. All three of you, please stay out here. You are not to enter the premises until we say so.”

Clinging to her husband’s arm, Ann nodded agreement.

The policemen unlocked the house, entered, and shut the door.

His hands in his pockets, Chet paced the covered entryway. “Where could she—”

The garage door opened.

Ann let go of Richard’s arm and hurried to the driveway. She drew in a sharp breath. Nora’s white Mercedes Benz was in the garage.

Chet had followed her. His eyes darting from the car to Ann’s face, he said, “Now I’m really worried.”

She swallowed hard. “Me too.”

A few minutes later, Officers Resco and Morales opened the front door and stepped out.

“Did you find my mother?” Chet asked. His eyes, behind his glasses, were wide and still as if he were hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.

Officer Morales ignored the question. “Mr. and Mrs. Olson please step over to the patrol car. Officer Resco will need a statement from you. Mr. March, you sit tight over here.” He indicated a stone bench by the door. He re-entered the house, shutting the door behind him.

Her heart beating quickly, Ann and her husband followed the policeman to his car. Office Resco opened the passenger side door. “Mrs. Olson, up front please.”

Ann slid onto the black vinyl seat and instantly was assaulted with noise from the car radio. The staccato voice of a female dispatcher drummed her ears with impartial statements and commands. A male voice answered in short clips.

Turning, Ann saw her husband through the plastic slider that separated the front seats from the back. He was looking out the side window. Grim but calm.

When Officer Resco joined Ann in the front seat, his manner was impersonal, his eyes tense. He pressed a button on the dashboard, adjusted a dial, and said, “Mrs. Olson, everything you say will be recorded. I’d like to start with—”

Ann had to know if her friend was all right. “Is Nora okay?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss it with you,” Resco said. “We’ll need a statement. Please answer as honestly and completely as you can.”

Ann nodded that she would try.

“For the record, state today’s date, your name, age, address, and phone number.”

She did.

“What first alerted you to a potential problem concerning Nora March?”

Ann explained how Nora left voicemail messages about her missing son.

“You say she left four messages last night. Why didn’t you answer the phone when she called?”

Her face warming with shame, Ann explained that she and Nora had an argument at La Vallee Restaurant the previous afternoon. She was upset with her friend and didn’t want to talk to her or to anyone else, so she turned the phone’s ringer off.

Ann continued answering questions mechanically, her mind preoccupied with her unforgiveable gaffe. If she hadn’t been so angry with Nora, she would have taken her calls, and she would have learned something about Travis. And now something was wrong with her friend. How could she have been so stupid?