Sufficient Ransom (7 page)

Before Travis arrived, Ann’s vision of motherhood was limited to the fun things. She had never babysat as a teenager. No younger siblings to
help with—she was an only child. She imagined herself cuddling with her baby, nursing him, dressing him, and pampering him with toys. She planned to stay home with her son until he started school. She didn’t expect to want to return to work after a year.

Her days before Travis was born had been filled with the buying and selling of Renaissance paintings and sculptures for well-heeled customers of the San Diego auction house where she worked. She had tried to fill her time at home by making new friends, but the young mothers, from the playgroups she and Travis had joined, bored her. For the most part these women were glad to be done with the working world, happy to be at home with their babies. The one close friend she made during that time moved to London with her family when Travis was two, leaving Ann feeling lonelier than ever. Her parents deceased, and Richard’s living in France, Ann felt there was no one she could turn to for help with Travis. The thought of leaving him with strangers only made her more anxious. Overwhelmed at finding herself in a situation for which she was ill prepared, she became depressed.

Richard had encouraged her to try a nanny service. “There’s nothing to worry about. They do background checks on these women,” he had countered when Ann resisted. “You’re driving everyone crazy. And don’t think Travis can’t sense your stress.” Still, Ann refused.

When Travis was four, it was Ann’s new friend, Nora March, who convinced Ann that her unhappiness was hurting her family. For some reason hearing the same from Richard hadn’t done the trick. “Why don’t you open that art gallery you keep talking about?” Nora had said. “You can make your own hours, and get some help with Travis in between. Your old job didn’t sound very conducive to motherhood, especially with all that traveling you said you did.”

Encouraged by her friend, Ann hired a nanny to watch Travis. Alma’s first day on the job was rough. Travis kept banging on the closed door to Ann’s home office, crying for her. It was weeks before Travis accepted that Alma would be his daytime caregiver. If Alma had not returned to
Mexico to enter a convent eighteen months later, Ann imagined that she would still be helping with her son today.

Ann was happy that the nanny loved Travis and that he loved her. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Their closeness was an unsettling reminder that it was she, Travis’s mother, who had abdicated a share of her son’s precious life to another woman. It was around that time that she came to understand how her own mother had struggled to balance her own needs with her responsibilities to her daughter.

Ann’s feelings of guilt and inadequacy returned with a vengeance, the day CPS came into her life.

1:00 P.M
.

I
n the living room, Ann pulled the floor-to-ceiling drapes shut. The heavy folds of silk made a gentle, rustling sound as she adjusted the material to block the daylight. Since Travis disappeared she couldn’t stand to have any sunlight coming into the house. Turning, she faced the room. The oversized chairs were covered in navy and cream-striped, brushed silk. The rest of the furniture, of hand-hewn walnut—child-sized tables, toy chests and a few chairs—was placed around a white shag rug in the far corner of the room. Four tall floor lamps shaped like blossoming cherry trees, with small pink and white bulbs, remained darkened. Open French doors led to the adjoining dining room. The smell of Clorox from the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom permeated the air.

Ann could hear her husband at the front door welcoming an unexpected visitor. The visitor’s voice was low and solicitous, but unmistakable.
Why is Chet here?

Chet March was the last person Ann expected to see in her home, given his captious attitude toward her in the past. Since founding New Way Evangelical Church, four years ago, Chet had started a campaign to get his mother, Nora, to accept Jesus as her personal savior. He explained to Nora time and again that if she did not heed his warnings she would surely burn in everlasting hell when she died. He had even accused Ann of convincing Nora to stop donating money to his church. As if anyone had that kind of power over her strong-willed friend.

The door to the living room opened and Richard stepped in. “Chet March is here,” he said in a quiet voice. “His church is organizing a search for Travis. He wants to offer his condolences and tell us their plan. Do you want to talk to him?”

Ann dry washed her hands. The prospect of seeing Chet frightened her. Maybe because Chet’s presence implied that she needed people like him, whose ideas she had never agreed with, to help her through this nightmare that was now her life. But the pastor had come to offer his help. There was no way she would refuse him.

She nodded. “Bring him in.”

Chet was not exactly handsome. He was of medium height and build, with dark hair, noticeably balding above a prominent forehead. The roundish glasses he wore obscured his eyes somewhat, giving him a scholarly, detached look. A three-inch crudely-shaped wooden cross—Ann had never seen him without it—hung from a worn, leather thong around his neck.

All apologies for “barging in” Chet sat on the chair opposite Ann. “I’m sorry about what’s happened,” he said, his solemn eyes moving from her to Richard. “A difficult time. But,” he hastened to add, “not without hope. You may have heard of New Way’s efforts to find the Villarreal girl. We’re doing the same for your son. We’ve set up a search center at the church. Volunteers are posting thousands of flyers all over San Diego, as we speak.”

A lump so large had formed in Ann’s throat she couldn’t speak. They were non-believers, and Chet, a man of God, was offering to help them. Thankfully Richard expressed their shared gratitude.

Looking away so Chet couldn’t see the emotion in her face, Ann heard her husband telling the pastor that the police were searching for Kika. Her thoughts turned to Travis, to the day of her screaming fit.

His head on her shoulder, Travis had stopped crying
.

“Let’s forget about the dentist and school, and my meeting. Everything,” she said. “We’ll go to Legoland. Go on the rides and have pizza. And a great big ice cream. Sound like fun?”

Travis’s teary-eyed smile took the edge off her guilt
.

“Let’s go now, Mom.”

She kissed his head, his eyes, his cheeks, and his little hands. Her client, Douglas Stark, would be angry, but she didn’t care. Her son was more important than her business and money
.

The doorbell rang
.

Ann helped her son up. “Gather your things, sweetie, and we’ll leave as soon as I see who’s at the door.”

She hurried down the stairs. “Coming!”

A police officer appeared at the window by the front door
.

Frowning, Ann wondered why the police had come to her house. She unlocked the door. “What can I do for you, officer?”

“Are you Mrs. Olson?”

Her apprehension growing, Ann confirmed her identity. “What’s this about?”

“We received a call about someone screaming. Is everything all right?”

Ann wondered if the guilt she felt showed on her face. “I’m sorry, Officer...” She glanced at his nametag. “Officer Wilson. It was just me. I was...I was a little upset.”

Officer Wilson’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Was anybody hurting you?”

“It was nothing like that,” Ann said, trying to sound light-hearted. “I lost my temper, that’s all.”

She felt Travis’s head jostle her arm. She looked down. “Hi, sweetie.”

When Officer Wilson’s eyes lowered to Travis, his face softened. “And what might your name be, young man?”

Travis’s eyes were wide with terror
.

Ann rubbed her son’s back. “Tell the nice policeman your name, honey.”

Travis shook his head
.

Ann looked at Officer Wilson then back at Travis. The policeman’s brow was furrowed with concern. She realized that her son’s behavior had alarmed the man
.

Officer Wilson’s voice was peremptory. “Mind if I look around?”

“Nothing’s happened, Officer,” she said, a little too urgently. “My son poured water all over my laptop. I got a little upset, that’s all. We’re all good, aren’t we, sweetie? In fact, we were just on our way to Legoland.”

When Travis started to cry, Ann realized that he was crying because he thought that he was in trouble with the police over her ruined her laptop. Kneeling, she said, “Travis, honey, you’re not in trouble. Everything’s okay.”

Travis cried more loudly. The strain of the morning had apparently been too much for him
.

Chet was saying, “It was Pastor Todd’s idea. It’d be a good way to get more publicity and more people out searching for Travis. Thousands of people in one place, at night, with the candles.”

Pastor Todd was co-founder of New Way Evangelical Church and an old friend of Nora and her late husband. Ann looked to Richard for an explanation.

“New Way wants to organize a candlelight vigil for Travis and for other missing kids,” Richard said.

A curious fire illuminated Chet’s eyes. “We want to help you, Ann.”

Her heart filled with gratitude at the pastor’s kindness and his eagerness to help them. “Thank you, Chet. We’ll take all the help we can get. The Villarreals?” she asked. “Do they have any leads on their daughter?”

Chet spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “They stopped coming to church. They’re not returning calls. I went by their place in Point Loma to see if there was anything more we could do. The shades were drawn. Old newspapers were scattered over the driveway. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Ann imagined that the Villarreals would want publicity for their daughter, not shun it. She made a mental note to ask Tom Long about the other families and what they were doing to find their children.

After a few more minutes of general conversation, Chet stood up and shook Richard’s hand. “I have to get back to New Way. I’ll let you know about the vigil.”

Ann accompanied Chet to the front door. “The police said they would be bringing the FBI by to talk to us. After they leave, we’ll come by the search center. I want to thank the volunteers. And thank you Chet, for everything.”

“I’ll pray for you, Ann.”

After Chet left, Ann met her husband in the kitchen. “Maybe Chet’s trying to make up for being such a jerk all those other times,” she said. “Or maybe the situation with the Villarreal girl has made him more sensitive to others.” Sadly, sometimes it took a tragedy for people to change.

“He was very sweet just now. He made me feel more hopeful.” She added, “I feel kind of sorry for him.”

“Why?” Richard asked.

“Anyone who judges decent people as severely as he had judged me and his own mother couldn’t be very happy.”

“Didn’t you once say he divorced his wife because he didn’t approve of the way she was raising his stepdaughter?” Richard asked.

Ann nodded. “Nora said according to Chet, his ex-wife wasn’t religious enough. She wasn’t this or that enough.” Despite Chet’s kindness today, Ann sensed that the pastor was a hard man to get along with. “It’s sweet of him to pray for us—don’t you think?”

Richard shrugged. “It’s a waste of time.”

“Maybe there’s something to it.”

Ann felt her husband staring at her. Richard, who did not have a mystical bone in his body, couldn’t understand that, for the first time in her life she could see how religion might be useful. Unwilling to go into it with him, for fear of being challenged, she changed the subject. “Do you think it’s strange he wants to help us after he accused me of leading his mother astray?”

“Who knows what’s on the mind of an evangelical?” Richard said, shaking his head. “Those people take the Bible literally.”

“Why’re you being so mean?”

“I’m trying to prepare you
not
to expect much from Chet. He thinks the world was made in six days. Not to mention the evangelicals’ stance on evolution. I wonder what other weird ideas those people hold.”

Ann’s tone was gently admonishing. “The New Way people are going out of their way to help us, Richard.”

“I’m sure there are some nice people in the church,” Richard said. “But their ideology is vile.”

“What does any of this have to do with him helping us find Travis?” Ann asked.

Her husband shrugged. “I worry the pastor’s more interested in converting you than anything else.”

3:30 P.M
.

F
BI Field Agent Julian Fox came to the Olsons’ house with Detective Tom Long to talk about their son’s disappearance. “With the Mexican angle,” Tom Long explained, “We’ll need the FBI’s international expertise. Agent Fox has his own questions and will be leading the interview.”

The group sat in the Olsons’ formal dining room on white leather chairs around a long glass table. Winter scenes framed in heavy gold looked out on the flower-draped gazebo in the backyard. With the French doors to the living room shut, the air felt stuffy and warm.

Though he wasn’t especially tall or muscular, Julian Fox’s physical presence made an impression on Ann. Maybe it was his longish, red-blond hair and deep tan. Or his chiseled face and hawkish blue eyes. Whatever the case, Fox looked more like a male model than a highly skilled agent for the FBI. After talking with him for a few minutes, Ann concluded that Agent Fox might know something about his craft, though she could see straight away that there would be clashes between them.

Julian Fox questioned her and Richard as if they were the criminals who had absconded with her son, peppering them with questions about their relationship with Travis, the boy’s attributes, his temperament. “He’s a normal, active, little boy,” Ann said. “Of course he acts up. What six-year-old boy doesn’t?”

Fox handed Ann a thick packet of documents and asked her and Richard to explain in their own words what had given rise to CPS’s investigation.