Authors: Sue Grafton
FIVE HUNDRED THOU IN SMALL BILLS BUYS YOUR HUSBAND BACK. GO TO THE COPS OR THE FEDS
AND HE’S DEAD MEAT FOR SURE. WE’LL CALL SOON WITH INSTRUCTIONS. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT
OR YOU’LL REGRET IT. THAT’S A PROMISE, BABY CAKES.
She was right. Both the format and the use of language bore an uncanny similarity
to the note delivered to a woman named Corey Bender, whose husband had been a kidnapped
about a year ago. Dan Bender was the CEO of a local manufacturing company, a man who’d
made millions with a line of auto parts called Fender-Benders. In that situation,
the kidnappers had asked for five hundred thousand dollars in tens and twenties. Mrs.
Bender had contacted both the police and the FBI, who had stage-managed the whole
transaction, arranging for a suitcase full of blank paper to be dropped according
to the kidnappers’ elaborate telephone instructions. The drop site had been staked
out, everyone assuring Mrs. Bender that nothing could possibly go wrong. The drop
went as planned except the suitcase was never picked up and Dan Bender was never seen
alive again. His body—or what was left of it—washed up on the Santa Teresa beach two
months later.
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
She got up and began to pace, describing in halting detail the circumstances of Kevin
McCall’s abduction. The couple had been working on a four-day shooting schedule at
the studio down in Hollywood. They’d been picked up from the set by limousine at seven
P.M.
on Thursday and had been driven straight to Santa Teresa, arriving for the long weekend
at nine o’clock that night. The housekeeper usually fixed supper for them and left
it in the oven, departing shortly before they were due home. At the end of a week
of shooting, the couple preferred all the solitude they could get.
Nothing seemed amiss when they arrived at the house. Both interior and exterior lights
were on as usual. Karen emerged from the limo with Kevin right behind her. She chatted
briefly with the driver and then waved good-bye while Kevin unlocked the front door
and disarmed the alarm system. The limo driver had already turned out of the gate
when two men in ski masks stepped out of the shadows armed with automatics. Neither
Karen nor Kevin had much opportunity to react. A dark sedan pulled into the driveway
and Kevin was hustled into the backseat at gunpoint. Not a word was said. The note
was thrust into Karen’s hand as the gunmen left. She raced after the sedan as it sped
away, but no license plates were visible. She had no real hope of catching up and
no clear idea what she meant to do anyway. In a panic, she returned to the house and
locked herself in. Once the shock wore off, she called Jack Chamberlain, their local
banker, a former high school classmate—the only person in Santa Teresa she felt she
could trust. Her first thought was to cancel tonight’s party altogether, but Jack
suggested she proceed.
“I thought it would look more natural,” he filled in. “Especially if she’s being watched.”
“They did call with instructions?” I asked.
Again she nodded, her face pale. “They want the money by midnight tomorrow or that’s
the last I’ll see of him.”
“Can you
raise
five hundred thousand on such short notice?”
“Not without help,” she said, and turned a pleading look to Jack.
He was shaking his head and I gathered this was a subject they’d already discussed
at length. “The bank doesn’t keep large reservoirs of cash on hand,” he said to me.
“There’s no way I’d have access to a sum like that, particularly on a weekend. The
best I can do is bleed the cash from all the branch ATM
S
—”
“Surely you can do better than that,” she said. “You’re a bank vice president.”
He turned to her, with a faintly defensive air, trying to persuade her the failing
wasn’t his. “I might be able to put together the full amount by Monday, but even then,
you’d have to fill out an application and go through the loan committee—”
She said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Jack. Don’t give me that bureaucratic bullshit when
Kevin’s life is at stake! There has to be a way.”
“Karen, be reasonable—”
“Forget it. This is hopeless. I’m sorry I ever brought you into this. . . .”
I watched them bicker for a moment and then broke in. “All right, wait a minute. Hold
on. Let’s back off the money question, for the time being.”
“Back
off
?” she said.
“Look. Let’s assume there’s a way to get the ransom money. Now what?”
Her brow was furrowed and she seemed to have trouble concentrating on the question
at hand. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Fill me in on the rest of it. I need to know what happened last night after you got
in touch with Jack.”
“Oh. I see, yes. He came over to the house and we sat here for hours, waiting for
the phone to ring. The kidnappers—one of them—finally called at two
A.M
.”
“You didn’t recognize the voice?”
“Not at all.”
“Did the guy seem to know Jack was with you?”
“He didn’t mention it, but he swore they were watching the house and he said the phone
was tapped.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, but it’s probably smart to proceed as though it’s true. It’s
possible they didn’t have the house staked out last night, but they may have put a
man on it since. Hard to know. Did they tell you how to deliver the cash once you
got it?”
“That part was simple. I’m to pack the money in a big canvas duffel. At eleven-thirty
tomorrow night, they want me to leave the house on my bicycle with the duffel in the
basket.”
“On a bike? That’s a new one.”
“Kev and I often bike together on weekends, which they seemed aware of. As a matter
of fact, they seemed to know quite a lot. It was very creepy.”
Jack spoke up. “They must have cased the place to begin with. They knew the whole
routine, from what she’s told me.”
“Stands to reason,” I remarked. And then to her, “Go on.”
“They told me to wear my yellow jumpsuit—I guess so they can identify me—and that’s
all there was.”
“They didn’t tell you which way to ride?”
“I asked about that and they told me I could head in any direction I wanted. They
said they’d follow at a distance and intercept when it suited them. Obviously, they
want to make sure I’m unaccompanied.”
“Then what?”
“When they blink the car lights, I’m to toss the canvas duffel to the side of the
road and ride on. They’ll release Kevin as soon as the money’s been picked up and
counted.”
“Shoot. It rules out any fudging if they count the money first. Did they let you talk
to Kevin?”
“Briefly. He sounded fine. Worried about me . . .”
“And you’re sure it was him.”
“Positive. I’m so scared. . . .”
The whole time we’d been talking, my mind was racing ahead. She had to call the cops.
There was no doubt in my mind she was a fool to tackle this without the experts, but
she was dead set against it. I said, “Karen, you can’t handle something like this
without the cops. You’d be crazy to try to manage on your own.”
She was adamant.
Jack and I took turns arguing the point and I could see his frustration surface. “For
God’s sake, you’ve got to listen to us. You’re way out of your element. If these guys
are the same ones who kidnapped Dan Bender, you’re putting Kevin’s life at risk. They’re
absolutely ruthless.”
“Jack, I’m not the one putting Kevin’s life at risk.
You
are. That’s exactly what you’re doing when you propose calling the police.”
“How are you going to get the money?” he said, exasperated.
“Goddamn it, how do I know? You’re the banker. You tell me.”
“Karen, I
am
telling you. There’s no way to do this. You’re making a big mistake.”
“Corey Bender was the one who made a mistake,” she snapped.
We were getting nowhere. Time was short and the pressures were mounting every minute.
If Jack and I didn’t come up with
some
plan, Kevin McCall was going to end up dead. If the cash could be assembled, the
obvious move was to have me take Karen’s place during the actual delivery, which would
at least eliminate the possibility of her being picked up as well. Oddly enough, I
thought I had an inkling how to get the bucks, though it might well take me the better
part of the next day.
“All right,” I said, breaking in for the umpteenth time. “We can argue this all night
and it’s not going to get us anyplace. Suppose I find a way to get the money, will
you at least consent to my taking your place for the drop?”
She studied me for a moment. “That’s awfully risky, isn’t it? What if they realize
the substitution?”
“How could they? They’ll be following in a car. In the dark and at a distance, I can
easily pass for you. A wig and a jumpsuit and who’d know the difference?”
She hesitated. “I do have a wig, but why not just do what they say? I don’t like the
idea of disobeying their instructions.”
“Because these guys are way too dangerous for you to deal with yourself. Suppose you
deliver the money as specified. What’s to prevent their picking you up and making
Kevin pay additional ransom for
your
return?”
I could see her debate the point. Her uneasiness was obvious, but she finally agreed.
“I don’t understand what you intend to do about the ransom. If Jack can’t manage to
get the money, how can you?”
“I know a guy who has access to a large sum of cash. I can’t promise anything, but
I can always ask.”
Karen’s gaze came to rest on my face with puzzlement.
“Look,” I said in response to her unspoken question, “I’ll explain if I get it. And
if not, you have to promise me you’ll call the police.”
Jack prodded. “It’s your only chance.”
She was silent for a moment and then spoke slowly. “All right. Maybe so. We’ll do
it your way. What other choice do I have?”
Before we left, we made arrangements for her to leave a wig, the yellow jumpsuit,
and the bicycle on the service porch the next night. I’d return to the house on foot
sometime after dark, leaving my car parked a few discreet blocks away. At eleven-thirty,
as instructed, I’d pedal down the drive with the canvas duffel and ride around until
the kidnappers caught up with me. While I was gone, Jack could swing by and pick Karen
up in his car. I wanted her off the premises in the event anything went wrong. If
I was snatched and the kidnappers realized they had the wrong person, at least they
couldn’t storm back to the house and get her. We went over the details until we were
all in accord. In the end, she seemed satisfied with the plan and so did Jack. I was
the only one with any lingering doubts. I thought she was a fool, but I kept that
to myself. . . .
I hit the road the next morning early and headed north on Highway 101. Visiting hours
at the Federal Correctional Institution at Lompoc run from eight to four on Saturdays.
The drive took about an hour with a brief stop at a supermarket in Buellton, where
I picked up an assortment of picnic supplies. By ten, I was seated at one of the four
sheltered picnic tables with my friend Harry Hovey. If Harry was surprised to see
me, he didn’t complain. “It’s not like my social calendar’s all that full,” he said.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Let’s eat first,” I said. “Then I got something I need to talk to you about.”
I’d brought cold chicken and potato salad, assorted cheeses, fruit, and cookies—anything
I could grab that didn’t look like institutional fare. Personally, I wasn’t hungry,
but it was gratifying to watch Harry chow down with such enthusiasm. He was not looking
well. He was a man in his fifties, maybe five-five, heavyset, with thinning gray hair
and glasses cloudy with fingerprints. He didn’t take good care of himself under the
best of circumstances, and the stress of prison living had aged him ten years. His
color was bad. He was smoking way too much. He’d lost weight in a manner that looked
neither healthful nor flattering.
“How’re you doing?” I asked. “You look tired.”
“I’m okay, I guess. I been better in my day, but what the hell,” he said. He’d paused
in the middle of his meal for a cigarette. He seemed distracted, his attention flicking
from the other tables to the playground equipment, where a noisy batch of kids were
twirling round and round on the swings. It was November and the sun was shining, but
the air was chilly and the grass was dead.
“How much time you have to serve yet?”
“Sixteen months,” he said. “You ever been in the can?”
I shook my head.
He pointed at me with his cigarette. “Word of advice. Never admit nothin’. Always
claim you’re innocent. I learned that from the politicians. You ever watch those guys?
They get caught takin’ bribes and they assume this injured air. Like it’s all a mistake,
but the truth will out. They’re confident they’ll be vindicated and bullshit like
that. They welcome the investigation so their names can be cleared. They always say
that, you know? Whole time I’m in prison, I been saying that myself. I was framed.
It’s all a setup. I don’t know nothin’ about the money. I was just doing a favor for
an old friend, a bigwig. A Very Big Wig. Like I’m implying the governor or the chief
of police.”
“Has it done you any good?”
“Well, not yet, but who knows? My lawyer’s still trying to find a basis for appeal.
If I get outta this one, I’m going into therapy, get my head straight, I swear to
God. Speaking of which, I may get ‘born again,’ you know? It looks good. Lends a little
credibility, which is something all the money in the world can’t buy.”
I took a deep breath. “Actually, it’s the money I need to talk to you about.” I took
a few minutes to fill him in on the kidnapping without mentioning any names. Some
of Karen Waterston’s paranoia had filtered into my psyche and I thought the less I
said about the “victim,” the better off he’d be. “I know you’ve got a big cache of
money somewhere. I’m hoping you’ll contribute some of it to pay the ransom demands.”