Sufficient Ransom (28 page)

Ann slipped to the floor. Rocking herself back and forth, she thought of her friend. Nora’s heart would never again be joyful. She would never see or feel anything again. Her loving soul had simply ended.

When Ann woke up, her husband was lying on the floor behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She could feel his even breath on her neck. A new kind of pain welled up inside of Ann. “Richard?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

He stirred.

“I was just thinking of what we used to be like.”

She felt his body tense.

“I don’t want to give us up, Richard.”

C
HAPTER
22

Thursday, October 25

10:00 A.M
.

T
wo days after Nora’s murder, Kika called on Ann. Ann embraced her like a sister. When she stepped back, Kika was once again struck by Ann’s appearance. Her blond hair was pulled into a greasy ponytail, her tee shirt and jeans were soiled. Kika glanced around the kitchen where Ann had led her. The spotless counters and gleaming white floor were in stark contrast to Ann’s unkempt person.

Eager to get away from the smell of bleach and Windex, Kika reached for the back door. “Let’s sit outside Ann. The fresh air will do you good.”

Ann nodded vaguely. She didn’t seem to care what she did.

The late October sky was muffled with a blanket of marine gray, the air cool and damp. Ann paced the grass like a nervous cat. Kika found Ann’s self-absorption unnerving.

Ann spoke at last. “Nora’s death and Travis’s disappearance have to be related.”

Kika too had speculated about a connection. She wanted to hear Ann’s reasons. “Why do you think that?”

“Nora left urgent messages about Travis. She knew something, and was killed for it.”

“But who could be behind it?” Kika asked.

Ann resumed pacing. “I keep coming back to El Martillo.”

Kika’s eyebrows lifted.

Ann seemed to read her mind. “I know it sounds crazy. But it’s too much of a coincidence, it happening right after the tunnel.”

“But why would El Martillo go after Nora, and not you?” Kika said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know. But Chuck Blackmart has something going on with the drug dealer, for sure. I saw that earless creep in his gallery. Blackmart thinks I influenced Nora to sell his pieces below market. Do you think Blackmart could’ve had his friend, El Martillo, kill her?”

Ann was obviously grasping at straws; the Blackmart/El Martillo conspiracy theory seemed so far fetched. “Where does Travis fit into all this?” Kika asked, eager to get back to the more important problem of finding Ann’s son.

Ann was exploring the ground with her eyes. “Maybe Blackmart took revenge on me for influencing Nora.”

Kika was beginning to understand why Richard was exasperated with his wife. She sure jumped to a lot of conclusions. “What do the police say?”

Ann continued staring at the ground.

Kika wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming; Ann’s emotions were clouding her judgment. It was possible Blackmart was involved in Nora’s murder—anything was possible—but not likely.

“Travis disappeared on October 2,” Ann murmured. “Three weeks later, Nora’s murdered. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“What does Richard think?”

Ann pressed her hands to her eyes.

Kika could tell she was trying not to cry. “He loves you, Ann.”

“He says Chet’s not allowed over any more.”

“Why?”

“He says Chet’s brainwashing me.”

C
HAPTER
23

Friday, October 26

3:30 P.M
.

T
hree days after Nora was murdered, Tom Long and Julian Fox pulled up to Ann’s house just as she was heading out to meet Chet at the coffee house by the church. Ann parked her Lexus in the driveway and alighted. The FBI agent remained in their car.

Tom Long’s expression was regretful. “We found nothing in Nora’s house relating to Travis, Ann. The homicide detective said—”

The hope Ann had been kindling froze inside of her. “Why would Nora leave all those messages, if she didn’t know something?”

“She may very well have known something,” Tom said. “But we couldn’t find anything. Look, I came to tell you—”

Her frustration mounting, Ann indicated the car at the end of the driveway where the agent sat watching them. Her voice was lower. “What does he think happened to Travis?”

“Julian thinks it’s possible some organized group kidnapped your son and the other kids. But he doesn’t yet know who or why.”

“Seems like pretty important information,” Ann said. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“There was nothing to tell. It’s just a hunch.”

“Look,” Ann said, leaning in. “I’ve been thinking about Chuck Blackmart. You asked once if I thought he had anything to do with Travis. At the time, I didn’t think so because I was sure Kika had taken him, but now since—”
Don’t mention El Martillo and that tunnel
. “Remember how I saw that earless criminal in Blackmart’s gallery the night he saved me? I keep thinking maybe—”

The detective shook his head. “Julian checked out Blackmart pretty thoroughly, Ann. He went through all the hate mail you got from your blog post. Nothing there. Besides...” He sighed deeply. “Blackmart was murdered last night.”

Ann’s mouth fell open.

“He was gunned down in his garage around eleven o’clock.”

Ann felt sick. She never did like the artist, but to hear that he was murdered…

“They say it’s a cartel hit,” Tom said. “But no one knows for sure. If you ask me, it has something to do with your recent trip down there.”

Ann’s hand fluttered to her hammering heart. “What’re you talking about?”

For the first time since she’d known him, Tom Long looked angry. “Blackmart helped you the night you were attacked. El Martillo saw him helping you. His tunnel was torched and you were saved. El Martillo must’ve concluded Blackmart stabbed him in the back to save you—a fellow art dealer.”

“That explosion has nothing to do with me,” Ann said, her voice faltering. “I uh, I wasn’t even there.” She never was a very good liar. “And besides Blackmart and I never got along. I wrote nasty things about his work.”

“I don’t think El Martillo has time to read art blogs,
Ann
.”

She tried to sputter out an explanation.

Tom put up a silencing hand. “There’s talk Blackmart was smuggling drugs into San Diego. It’s rumored he double-crossed El Martillo. Something about him working for Julio Ruiz’s gang on the sly. You may have heard of Julio Ruiz,
Ann
.”

Her voice was unnaturally high. “Is he related to Max Ruiz?”

“They’re cousins. You know what I think? I think you were in that tunnel. Somebody took a liking to you, these friends went in there to pull you out, and Blackmart got the short end of the stick.”

“But I… I uh…”

The detective’s eyebrows came together. “Look. Julian and I have been straight with you. I think we deserve the same.”

Her tone was resigned. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Tom. I’ve told you everything I can about that night.”

“You mean everything you
want
to tell me.”

Ann opened her arms. “Look, I’m sorry I’m not the most helpful person. I have other things on my mind, like my
son
. Okay?”

Tom inclined his head. “Apology accepted.” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “We just examined the contents of a hidden safe in Nora March’s house.”

Ann’s eyes opened wide. “A safe?”

The detective’s tone was firm. “You have to promise to keep this confidential.”

“Can I tell Richard?”

“You can tell your husband,” Tom said, with a single nod. “The safe contained Mrs. March’s will, a notebook of drawings, and some letters from a man Mrs. March had apparently been involved with in the late seventies. All with Mexican post marks. The handwriting’s hard to read. The guys name was Chris Fuller or Fallon. Can’t tell for sure.”

“Why’re you telling me this?” Ann asked.

“I want to know if Mrs. March ever mentioned this guy.”

“She told me she was involved with someone in Mexico,” Ann said. “She had a baby. The baby died. I never probed—it was obviously a painful subject. What’s in the letters?”

“Evidently Mrs. March and this man had argued,” Tom said. “She left Mexico abruptly. He wrote to her begging to her to come back.”

Ann frowned, thinking. “Have you talked to Chet? Maybe he knows who he is.”

“I wanted to talk to you first. I’m trying to find things out in the easiest way possible.”

“You mentioned drawings and a will,” Ann said. “What’s in the will?”

“An attorney’s confirming its authenticity.” Tom shook his head.

“What?”

“If the will proves to be real, it’s going to cause quite a stir. Mrs. March never mentioned it?”

“No,” Ann said. “She didn’t. And the drawings?”

“They were of babies and then toddlers,” the detective said. “They were all faded, some were stained. The faces all looked the same. There was one of an older girl. Some of the drawings were dated. A few words were scribbled on the last page.”

Ann felt a sudden urge to know. “What words?”

Tom looked reluctant. Finally he said,
“I never got to hold her.”

“Do you think they were drawings of her daughter who had died?” Ann asked.

Tom’s voice was gentle. “Could be.”

Ann turned toward her car, her head down.

“Remember not to tell Chet,” the detective called after her. “I want to talk him myself.”

Her hand to her mouth, Ann waved her agreement.

4:30 P.M
.

S
eated in the coffee shop near New Way, Ann kept glancing at her watch. It was thirty minutes past her appointed coffee date with Chet. Chet hadn’t called to say he would be late and he wasn’t answering his phone. Pastor Todd’s evening sermon would be starting in fifteen minutes—if she didn’t leave now she might not get a seat.

Ann paid her bill, left the coffee shop, and hurried down the sidewalk toward the church grounds. It occurred to her that Chet could have forgotten about their meeting because he was pre-occupied with what had happened to his mother. Ann herself was having trouble performing basic daily tasks. She could understand if Chet felt the same way.

Pastor Todd’s voice boomed across the hall. “We belong to our Lord, Jesus Christ. To deny this truth is to bear false witness to Him.”

Ann sat huddled in her seat, transfixed.

“We belong to Jesus Christ,” the pastor repeated. “Anyone who denies this truth must prepare to face His eternal wrath.”

Todd Pannikin’s voice took on a sinister tone. “Matthew 13, Verse 41. ‘The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will gather from his kingdom everything that causes sin as well as all lawbreakers. They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. The one who has ears had better listen.

“Revelation 14, Verse 11. ‘And the smoke from their torture will go up forever and ever, and those who worship the beast and his image will have no rest day or night, along with anyone who receives the mark of his name... Those who obey God’s commandments and hold to their faith in Jesus shall be spared his infernal, eternal torment.’”

Ann felt sick. Every minute of her life since Travis disappeared was a text book lesson on torture. Her thoughts turned to Chuck Blackmart. What he must have endured.
The poor soul
.
And Nora
.

Pastor Todd gripped the podium with both hands. “What is faith but trusting that our Father will do right by us? It’s the sacred duty of every parent to ensure the best for their child. The ultimate gift? The gift of eternal life. I ask you, what parent would not want his child to live forever?”

Ann dug her nails into her arm. The dark images in Pastor Todd’s sermon brought to mind Santa Muerte; her image emblazoned on the shirts of her attackers in Tijuana, the effigy lunging at her in the warehouse. Like Jesus on the cross, Santa Muerte represented a twisted kind of hope.

Pastor Todd was saying, “All Jesus asks is that we believe in Him. Nothing more is required to gain salvation. It’s not what we do in our daily life that counts. It’s only in believing in Him that we escape the fires of torment. Faith, my friends, is everything.”

Would kidnappers and murderers really be forgiven if they believed in Jesus?
Ann sat up straighter. The idea was so monstrously immoral it couldn’t be true.

The sermon over, Ann hurried outside to check her phone, hopeful Chet had left her a message. There were no messages. The sinister images in Pastor Todd’s sermon had deepened Ann’s anxiety. Chet’s mother was just murdered. Something could have happened to him.

A crowd of people were clustered around Todd Pannikin. The pastor’s attention spoken for, Ann asked one of the ushers if he knew Chet’s whereabouts. His negative reply decided Ann’s course of action. She would go to Chet’s place and make sure he was okay.

6:45 P.M
.

D
riving to Chet’s, Ann tried to reassure herself that her friend just wanted to be alone to mourn his mother, away from the prying eyes of well-meaning people. But a nagging feeling that Chet was in danger persisted. Against her will, Ann pictured Nora lying in a tub of water, alone in her bathroom.
What if something’s happened to him?

Ann pulled in front of Chet’s two-story townhouse and shut the car engine. It was nearly dark and there were few cars in the parking lot. Looking up, Ann noted that Chet’s windows were dark. Her gaze shifting to the right, she saw that Diane’s windows—Chet’s girlfriend—were curtained. The yellow light shining from around the fabric indicated someone was home. She breathed a sigh of relief. Chet was probably with his girlfriend.

Ann stepped out into the cool evening air, shut the car door, and locked it. Up the steps and onto the deck. A distant radio playing a Spanish tune mixed with the sound of the porch boards creaking under her shifting feet. Peering into the side window to Chet’s unit, Ann noted the open kitchen, the sofas in the living room, and the dining table by the staircase. Everything looked in order. After ringing the doorbell and receiving no answer, she turned to Diane’s place on the other side of the shared deck.