Seven

As soon as Nicole pulled out of her garage, she pushed the button on her steering wheel to activate her phone and called her office. Joanne, Nicole’s closest friend at work, answered.

“My car won’t start,” Nicole lied, “I’m waiting for the auto club. They’re really busy right now, so I might not make it in for a while.”

“I’ll spread the word you’ll be in late,” Joanne said. Her voice was muffled, as if she had her mouth full. “Anything urgent on your desk?”

“Nothing,” Nicole said. “Whatever it is you’re eating sounds good.” She could picture Joanne, plump and always talking about whatever new diet she was on, making the morning’s exception with a cookie, leftover birthday cake, or some other treat from the break room.

There was a pause while Joanne made chewing noises. “No. It’s horrible. Some gluten-free protein bar Jerry’s been raving about. He brought in a box and left it in the break room like a carton of doughnuts. But it’s, like, the worst.” There was a pause before she continued. “There, I spit it out. When you get here, steer clear of Jerry’s High Octane Bars. See you!”

Her call to the office out of the way, Nicole set out on her errands. She stopped at a tiny convenience store for a burner phone and, once back in the car, used it to call Arnault. He didn’t pick up, so she left a message with her new phone number.

Her next stop was the bank on the first floor of her office building. She filled out a withdrawal slip for two thousand dollars and got in line to wait for a teller. That was when she noticed Kevin James motioning her over to his desk.

When she shook her head and pointed to the row of tellers, he got up and came over. “You don’t need to wait, Nicole,” he said. “I’ll be happy to help you.”

Just then, Nicole felt a hand on her shoulder. It was the bank’s manager, James Blagg. She’d been on Blagg’s radar ever since she first opened an account. He’d recognized her from the previous year’s headlines and seemed to regard her as some kind of celebrity.

Reluctantly, she followed Blagg into his office. The special treatment he lavished on her took a lot more time than waiting for a teller. In Nicole’s opinion, Blagg was a little off. He dressed in the traditional bank manager’s uniform, a navy suit of undistinguished tailoring, a striped tie, and a light blue shirt. But the outfit clashed with the way he wore his dark hair sticking up in spikes, a do that could only be accomplished with a liberal application of styling gel and time spent primping before a mirror. Worse yet were his large, brown-leather, plug-style earrings, which fit in with the hair, but not the suit. She wondered how recently upper management had gotten a look at him.

“Have a seat, Nicole,” he said. “How can I help you today?”

“I need to make a withdrawal,” she said, handing him the withdrawal slip. “I’d like it all in twenty-dollar bills.”

He studied the slip a moment and flashed her a smile. “Feeling generous today, eh?”

She looked at him in consternation.

“It was a jest,” he said. “Now that you’ve come into some wealth, I was suggesting you might feel magnanimous enough to give a handout to some of our homeless.” He tilted his head at her, smiling, waiting for her to get the joke.

Nicole failed to return his smile, and he blustered. “None of my business, of course. Wait here. I’ll get the funds you requested.”

When he was gone, Nicole looked around his office, wondering if anything new had been added since her last visit, when she signed the final papers for her mortgage. There were still no family photos or clues to any hobbies. Instead, a couple of generic landscape paintings graced the walls. His sole personal touch was a framed certificate that occupied a small easel on his desk. It said he was a member of Mensa, the society whose only requirement was an IQ score in the 98th percentile or higher. She had noticed Blagg never used a short word when a long one would do. She glanced at the certificate and wondered, once again, why anyone would need to broadcast this information to others.

As Nicole waited, she grew impatient. She was late for the office and itched with the impulse to get up and leave. But, no, she had to pick up this money. She sighed and sat back in her chair.

Finally, Blagg returned with a stack of bills. He counted them into piles and tapped each pile on the desktop to even up the edges before combining them into a single stack. Then he went about tapping the edges again. Finally, he fastened the stack with a rubber band and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Nicole said, getting up to leave.

Blagg gave her big smile. “Have a great day, Nicole. I mean it.”

“Same to you, James,” On her way out of the bank, she retrieved a deposit envelope from the supply station. Realizing that all of the bills wouldn’t fit into a single envelope, she pulled out another. She divided the money in half, stuffed it in the envelopes, and shoved them into her purse. She was glad she’d thought to bring along her largest handbag. Aside from the envelopes of money, her wallet, and sunglasses, the bag contained a small cannister of pepper spray, her keys, cell phone, and the new burner phone. At the bottom was her gun, a small Smith and Wesson revolver. She couldn’t decide which she hated most, the gun or target practice. Even so, she’d felt compelled to carry a weapon after a couple of brushes with violence. And practice was an absolute necessity. If she was to carry a gun, she had to know how to use it.

By the time Nicole arrived at the office it was twelve thirty, and the place was deserted; everyone had gone to lunch. She closed her office door, took the money out of her purse, and locked both in the full-length cupboard where she kept her coat and personal property.

She sat down and stared at her computer screen for a while, unable to focus on work. Her mind kept slipping back to Stephanie and what she might be going through. Nicole refused to consider the idea that Steph might already be dead. It was bad enough that her sister was a kidnap victim, who might be tied up in the trunk of a car or in an abandoned basement or a warehouse somewhere, terrified about what might happen next.

Would the kidnappers hurt her? Rape her? Kill her? Nicole’s thoughts went back to the first time she held the newborn they were to call Stephanie. At the age of seven, Nicole had been thrilled at the thought of a little sister, even when people reminded her that she wouldn’t be the baby anymore. She remembered Steph as a toddler who followed her around and called her “Nini.” The grown-up Stephanie was now five-foot-eleven and towered over Nicole. Even so, Nicole had never gotten past the idea that it was her job to watch out for Steph and protect her. Now, look what had happened. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Would she ever see her sister again?

Nicole went into the bathroom, dried her tears, and splashed cold water on her face. Once she returned to her desk, she forced herself to take another look at the little information she’d gathered so far.

Rexton said that Ashley claimed she was born in the Philippines, the daughter of a United States serviceman. Nicole went to the website where government records were stored. After a bit of searching, she found a registry of births to service members stationed abroad between 1950 and 2012.

Ashley’s records said she was twenty-eight, and Robert Rexton had said that before marrying into the Rexton family, her name had been Ashley Rose Knowles.

Nicole skipped down to the Ks, and bingo, there she was: Ashley Rose Knowles born to Sgt. First Class Alphonse Knowles and Alicia Beckman Knowles, August 28, 1991. Manila, PHL.”

The record carried a link. She clicked on it and found herself looking at an image of the actual birth certificate. She took a screen shot and printed it out. This proved nothing, of course, but Nicole felt she was getting somewhere. She now had the names of Ashley’s parents. How many Alphonse Knowles could there be? He should be easy to track down. If he was still living, maybe he’d be willing to tell her something about Ashley. Even if he wouldn’t answer questions, he and Ashley’s mother deserved to hear what had happened to their daughter.

Before she had a chance to follow up, her phone rang. It was the guard downstairs asking permission to admit a Greg Arnault. Nicole gave the go-ahead. A few minutes later, Joanne, who’d just returned from lunch, showed up at her door with Arnault in tow.

“Greg here was looking for your office,” From Joanne’s smile and pink cheeks, it was clear she found the detective attractive.

In fact, Arnault had cleaned up surprisingly well. He’d recently shaved, and his hair was neatly combed. He was dressed in khakis and a checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like the techies who showed up when an office computer went haywire. What he didn’t look like was a police detective.

“Hey!” His voice was flirtatious. Nicole had to admit that she liked this version of Arnault a lot better than the one she’d met before.

“Hey,” she said, ushering him into her office. Joanne was still standing there, eyebrows raised. Nicole flushed as she closed the door on Joanne and her curiosity.

Arnault was carrying a black computer bag with a shoulder strap. He gave her a long, unreadable look before saying, “Let’s get to work.” Without asking permission, he scooped the papers on her desk into a single, disorderly pile, shoving it aside. She was annoyed, thinking about the time it would take to get the papers back in order.

Arnault set his bag down and pulled out stacks of newsprint cut in the same size as paper bills. “I’ll need the money you withdrew to make bundles of twenties.”

“Here, I’ll get it for you.” She unlocked her cupboard and pulled out the envelopes from the bank. She watched while he made stacks of the fake bills with a handful of real twenties at either end. Next, he bundled each stack with an official-looking magenta band marked $2,000.00. He did this deftly, like an experienced player shuffling a deck of cards. When he was done, he had ten bundles of bills. He put them into the computer bag he’d brought and handed it to her.

“This is ready for the drop,” he said. “Since you have no other way to communicate with these people, I want you to put a note in the bag. Tell them you need proof of life before you hand over any more. Ask for a photo of your sister holding up the current day’s newspaper.”

He studied Nicole’s face a moment, then added, “Don’t let this add to your worries. It’s just protocol. We have every reason to believe Stephanie is alive, and we’ll bring her home safe. I also want to assure you we’ll be looking out for you when you deliver the money. We’ll follow you from the time you leave home—discreetly, of course. More officers will be staked out at the park.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know how hard this is. How are you holding up?”

She felt tears welling up. “No sympathy, please, or I’ll turn into a puddle.”

“That’s completely understandable. Go home and try not to worry too much. We’ll wait for the kidnappers to show so we can follow them. If they don’t go directly to where they’re holding your sister, we’ll wait until they do. When you go to bed, keep the burner phone nearby. But don’t expect to hear from me until morning.”

Shortly after he left, there was a knock on her office door.

It was Joanne. “Who was that?”

“Just a computer tech. My machine’s been acting up.”

“Wow,” Joanne said. “My computer’s misbehaving, too. I sure wouldn’t mind a visit from this guy. Unless you’re interested.”

“No, no,” Nicole said. “Of course not.”

“Great. I’ll call Computer Solutions and ask for him.”

Nicole thought a minute, fearing her lie was catching up with her. She toyed with the idea of telling Joanne what had happened to Steph and that Arnault was a detective working on the case. He’d warned her not to tell anyone, but she knew she could trust Joanne with a secret. On the other hand, Nicole didn’t want to burden anyone else with her troubles.

She decided to improvise. “Actually, he doesn’t work for Computer Solutions. They were booked for the day, so they had to farm out the job. I have no idea where he works.”

“That’s okay,” Joanne said. “I’ll call Computer Solutions and find out.”

“I’ll do it,” Nicole said. “They always send a follow-up message asking for an evaluation of the tech’s work. I’ll let you know.” She figured she’d wait and, if Joanne asked again, explain that Greg’s employer was a competitor of Computer Solutions, and the company wouldn’t tell her where he worked.

After Joanne was gone, Nicole returned to her desk and sorted through the papers Arnault had displaced, arranging them back in proper order.

This accomplished, she located her printout of Ashley’s birth certificate and searched the office database for an Alphonse Knowles. Sure enough, there was only one person listed by that name. His last known address was in Long Beach, about forty minutes south of L.A. According to the record, he was still with Alicia, the woman listed as Ashley’s mother. A phone number was given. Although these numbers were often out-of-date, it was worth a try.

The phone rang five times. She was about to hang up when a man said, “Hello.” He sounded impatient, as if he was certain this was a nuisance call.

“Hello. I’m calling about Ashley —”

Before Nicole could say more, there was a click, and she was disconnected. She immediately redialed.

The same man answered. This time his voice was an angry growl. “What do you want?”

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you,” she said. “But is this Alphonse Knowles?”

“What business is it of yours?”

Despite his hostile tone, she went on, “Are you the father of Ashley Knowles?”

“Who is this?” he fairly shouted.

“My name is Nicole Graves. I’m a private detective. I have news about Ashley—”

“Don’t ever call this number again,” the man said before slamming down the phone.

Wow, Nicole thought. Something bad must have gone down between father and daughter. This man wasn’t going to tell her anything.

Leafing through her notes again, she ran across mention of Ashley’s brief stint working for an orthopedic clinic in Albuquerque. Nicole looked up the clinic’s website to find the phone number. The place was run by a Dr. Charles Carson.

A woman answered with, “Carson Orthopedic Clinic. How may I assist you?”

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Carson,” Nicole said.

“May I ask what this is in regard to?”

“It’s personal.”

“You’ll have to give me more than that. Dr. Carson is a very busy man.”

“It’s in regard to Ashley Knowles.”

Moments later, Dr. Carson was on the line. “I hope Ashley didn’t have the nerve to use me as a job reference,” he said. “If you’re considering hiring her, I’d advise you very strongly against it.”

Playing along, Nicole said, “May I ask why?”

“She isn’t trustworthy,” he said. “I’ll just leave it at that.”

“Surely you can tell me more. She didn’t work for you long. Did she leave without giving notice?”

This triggered a reaction from Carson. He drew in a breath and said, “Worse than that. She disappeared with money she embezzled from my practice.”

“Did you report her to the police?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Instead of answering, Carson hung up, a response that spoke volumes. Her best guess was that Ashley had something on him. Perhaps she’d manipulated him into a compromising situation before she made off with his money. If Carson didn’t want whatever it was to come out, he wouldn’t report her to the police. This reinforced the idea that Ashley was a grifter. Still, it revealed nothing about where the woman had come from or what she was doing before she went to work for Carson.

This had been Nicole’s last lead. She was more than disappointed. She remembered Rexton’s contention that Ashley had staged her own kidnapping. If that was true—and Nicole was becoming convinced it might be—Ashley must be out there somewhere, desperate for money to get away and assume a new identity. She wasn’t getting the big payout she’d hoped from her husband’s trust fund. If she resurfaced, pretending her kidnappers had let her go without a ransom, that would raise a lot of questions. Ashley couldn’t afford to have the police take a close look at her background.

Nicole wondered if Ashley had been behind Steph’s kidnapping. She thought back to the night when those men tried to break into her own place. Maybe Ashley had seen the article about the inheritance and sent her accomplices to kidnap Nicole to make her hand over the money. When that failed, had they focused on taking Stephanie instead? The idea made Nicole feel sick.

If she could find out more about Ashley, it might provide a clue to Stephanie’s whereabouts. Even though the police were on the case, Nicole told herself she couldn’t stop digging.

Alphonse Knowles had refused to talk to her. But people were often willing to open up to her in person. It was one of the times when her appearance was an advantage. What people saw was a petite, harmless-looking woman with a dimpled smile.

She decided to drive down to Long Beach and pay a call on Alphonse. Waiting for news about Steph was making her crazy. She had to be doing something—anything that might lead her to her sister, and finding Ashley might be the key. What if she was hiding out with her parents?

Nicole glanced at her watch. It was two forty-five. She could be in Long Beach by three thirty or so, depending on traffic. If she went now, she’d be home by dinnertime. Maybe Knowles would slam the door in her face, but past experience told her he might very well invite her in.

First, she printed out a photo of Ashley to bring with her, so Mr. and Mrs. Knowles could confirm that this was indeed their daughter. Nicole told Jerry where she was going, got directions to the Knowles’ house, and set off. Traffic was light, although the bumper-to-bumper tie-up on the opposite side of the freeway told her the trip home would be a long one.

Alphonse and Alicia Knowles lived in a modest but well-kept house on a cul-de-sac in a small enclave of look-alike tract homes. They were all flat-roofed, 1960s modern. The street, devoid of parked cars, looked deserted. She parked in front of the Knowles’ house and rang the doorbell. A white-haired woman, who appeared to be in her sixties, opened the door and quietly pointed to a sign over the mail slot that said “No Soliciting, Fundraising, Politics, Salesmen, Religion.”

Nicole smiled. “I’m not here for any of those,” she said. “I called, but couldn’t reach anyone, so I drove down from L.A. Are you Mrs. Knowles?

The woman nodded. She appeared tentative, as if debating whether to shut the door or invite Nicole in.

“I believe you’ll want to hear what I have to say. Can I come in? This won’t take long.”

“Who is it?” a man yelled from the back of the house. Nicole recognized Alphonse Knowles’ voice. He sounded just as angry as he had on the phone.

Mrs. Knowles stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “He has a heart condition and a bad temper to boot. I don’t want him all riled up. Just tell me what it is and be on your way.”

“It’s about your daughter, Ashley. She was kidnapped about a week ago, and she hasn’t been found. The police are looking for her.”

At the mention of Ashley, the woman looked down, and her face went slack, as if she were about to cry. She was silent a moment before she said, “We have no daughter. Years ago, we had a beautiful baby girl we named Ashley Rose. She was born with a heart defect and lived less than a week.” The woman gave a sniff and wiped her eyes before looking up again. “We were never able to have another child. This woman, whoever she is, must have gotten a copy of Ashley’s birth certificate and used it to steal her identity. We’ve gotten calls, people looking to find this ‘Ashley,’ whoever she is. All we can make of it is that she’s some kind of con artist. The disrespect these people show when they call—it really upsets Al.”

Nicole pulled the photo out of her purse and handed it to Mrs. Knowles. She stared at it a long moment, narrowing her eyes, then looked up at Nicole. “I think I know who this is. She was the daughter of our next-door neighbors at one point. Her name was Jessica, and she was still in her teens. I remember because she was about the same age Ashley would have been. She gave her parents no end of grief. I think she ended up in juvenile hall.”

“Do you remember the family’s last name?” Nicole said.

Mrs. Knowles bit her lip, looking into the distance. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry but I’ve forgotten. We moved around a lot before Al retired from the service.”

“Would you have mentioned the death of your daughter to neighbors?”

“Probably. People are always asking how many children we have. It would be easier just to say we don’t have any, because it’s painful to talk about. But that would be like denying Ashley Rose ever existed. It feels wrong to me.”

“I can understand that,” Nicole said. “I’m so sorry to have brought this reminder to your door.” She waited while Mrs. Knowles dabbed at her eyes again before going on. “You said this girl, Jessica, was a teenager at the time, the same age Ashley would have been. According to Ashley’s birth records, she would have been twenty-eight this year. That means these people would have been your neighbors sometime between eleven to fifteen years ago. Does that sound right?”

Just then, the front door opened, and a man Nicole presumed was Alphonse Knowles was staring at her with open hostility, his face flushed.

“Al,” Mrs. Knowles said. “This nice lady has figured out who stole our Ashley’s identity. She drove all the way down from L.A. to let us know. Show him the photo, Nicole.”

Nicole handed it over to him. His anger faded as he studied the photo. “She does look familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen her.”

“Her parents were our next-door neighbors some years ago,” Mrs. Knowles said. “Her father was tall and thin. I believe he was a master sergeant, the same rank as you at the time. I’m pretty sure this girl’s name was Jessica. Can you remember the family’s last name?”

Alphonse drew in a breath and, after staring at the photo a bit more, said, “Yeah, I remember that guy. His name was Gleason or maybe Meese. Something with an ‘ee’ sound to it.” He turned to Nicole. “Can you do something to make her quit using Ashley’s name?”

“I doubt she’ll keep doing that,” Nicole said. “Not with the police looking for her.” She explained again that the woman calling herself Ashley Knowles had been kidnapped and was still missing. “I think you’ve given me enough information to find her real identity,” she went on. “Thanks so much for your help.”

After they all shook hands, Nicole gave them her card and asked them to call if they remembered anything else. Soon she was back on the freeway. At home, she had the Knowles’s address for each of their moves. It would take time, but she was pretty sure property records would yield up the name of the neighbors with a daughter called Jessica.

She listened to the news on the drive. After a bumper-to-bumper hour-and-a-quarter on the freeway, she made it back to her neighborhood at five thirty. She stopped at Whole Foods to put together a meal from the food bar. Normally, the first thing she did when she arrived home was to call Steph and see how her day had gone. Realizing there could be no such conversation brought tears to her eyes. Arnault seemed sure tonight’s stakeout would lead them to Steph. But what if it didn’t?

Nicole was in the checkout line when her phone beeped with a new message. Getting out her phone, she saw there were in fact three messages, two of which had come in earlier. They were all from Sue’s young associate, Melanie, who appeared to have spent the day at the hospital with David. In the first message, Melanie said David had been sent for an MRI of his head. The second, which had arrived around noon, said David was being taken into surgery to relieve pressure caused by swelling of his brain. The last message said he was out of recovery but still hadn’t regained consciousness.

Nicole left her groceries in the cart, got her car from the lot, and headed for the hospital. Arnault had advised her to forego visiting the hospital. But David was almost a member of the family, and she felt guilty for not checking on him earlier. In her anguish over Steph, she hadn’t given him a thought. He’d been able to drive to her place that morning, and the paramedic had been so reassuring. She’d never considered his injury might be serious.

She trolled the neighborhood around the hospital, hoping to find street parking. When nothing materialized, she entered one of the crowded parking structures surrounding the huge medical complex. She had to drive round and round until she reached the roof level before she found a space to leave her car.

The chilly, disinfectant-laden air of the hospital made Nicole even more anxious. She had to locate David and make sure he was all right. She blamed herself that he was here. If it hadn’t been for her inheritance, this never would have happened. Robert Blair’s generosity—if you could call it that—was the reason Stephanie was taken and David was injured. If only she could go back in time and not befriend a man who neither wanted nor needed friends.

She approached the information desk and was directed to another wing of the building. Following a maze of corridors, she had to ask for directions several times. It seemed as if she’d parked at the farthest possible point from David’s room. The size of the place and its long, twisting passageways were disorienting.

At last she found the right floor in the right wing of the building. She checked at one of the nurses’ stations for directions to his room. A pert-looking nurse, whose name tag said Mindy Schwartz, checked something on her computer and said, “I’m afraid we’re only admitting immediate family and—” She paused to look at her computer. “His lawyer.”

“I’m David’s sister-in-law,” Nicole said, stretching the truth a bit. “My sister, his wife, was kidnapped.” These words, spoken for the first time to a stranger, brought tears to Nicole’s eyes. “So, I guess I’m the most immediate family member you’re going to get.

Mindy reached out and put a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry! You’ll find him in room 708, bed A. We’re still waiting for him to regain consciousness following the surgery.”

Nicole thanked Mindy and hurried to David’s room. Once she found him, she scooted a chair over to the bed and picked up his hand, which was lying limp on the blanket. His nose was still swollen. His injured eye was now deep purple. Even so, he looked a little better than the last time she’d seen him. He’d been cleaned up, and some color had returned to his face. She started talking to him, saying anything that came into her head. She assured him that Steph would be home soon, safe and sound, and that he was going to be fine. “In a day or two,” she said, “this nightmare will have passed.”

David opened his good eye and looked at Nicole. Then he looked around the room and back at her. “What am I doing here?” he said.

“You passed out after you talked to the police. We had an ambulance bring you here.”

He looked around again, confused. “Where’s Steph?”

Just then a doctor stepped into the room holding a small electronic notebook. “Ah,” he said to David. “I see you finally woke up. You had us a little worried there. Can you tell me your name?”

David hesitated, as if trying to remember. “David Stevenson,” he finally said.

“Very good. Can you tell us where you are?”

“In the hospital.”

“Good. And the date?”

David was silent for a good twenty seconds before he said. “I have no idea, Doc. And I’ve got one hell of a headache. My thoughts are all—” Again he stopped, groping for the word. “mixed up, like—” he paused. “Jumbled.”

“This is to be expected. You’ve had brain surgery after a head injury. Do you remember how you got hurt?”

David looked confused. “Last thing I remember is when I went to sleep last night. Where’s Steph?”

Nicole stood up and introduced herself to the doctor, who had yet to acknowledge her presence. “I’m David’s fiancé’s sister,” she said. “Can we have a word?” She gestured toward the hallway, and the doctor followed her out.

“When I saw him this morning, a few hours after he was injured, he remembered every detail of my sister’s abduction. Now he’s even forgotten she’s missing. Is that normal?”

“It’s not unusual,” the doctor said. “These memories may come back. Or maybe not. He took a significant blow to the head. In the next few days, weeks or maybe months, the aphasia will probably pass—”

“Aphasia?”

“Inability to recall words. You must have noticed how he was reaching for them. But he did summon them up, so I’d say it’s probably a mild case. As for the confusion you mentioned, I think that will improve also. But I can’t promise. There’s still a lot we don’t know about the brain. Some people go back to normal, while others—” he left the sentence unfinished, although his meaning was clear.

“Should I tell him what happened to my sister? It’s sure to upset him.”

“By all means, tell him. It may help jog loose some of those memories. But don’t press him on what he remembers. These things take time, and it doesn’t help to make him more anxious.”

When Nicole returned to David, he again asked for Stephanie, looking genuinely worried.

Nicole sat down, took his hand, and told him what had happened.

“I think I knew this.” His voice was shaky. “I mean, it doesn’t seem real, more like something I dreamed.” He stared at her intently and gulped. “How do I call the nurse? I think I’m going to be sick.”

Nicole pushed the call button. Mindy appeared, located a kidney shaped bowl, and handed it to David. Instead of taking it, he broke down in great, heaving sobs. As he began to gain control of himself, he tried to speak.

“Sorry,” Nicole said. “I didn’t get what you said.”

“This is all my fault. I know it is, if only I could remember. God, my head hurts. I can’t think.”

“None of this is your fault, David. Try to let it go.” Nicole turned to the nurse, who was staring at David. She seemed as startled as Nicole by what he’d just said.

“Can you get him some pain meds and maybe a sedative?” Nicole said. “Aside from his headache, he’s confused and agitated. This can’t be good.”

“I don’t know,” Mindy said. “They don’t like to overmedicate patients with head injuries. I’ll try to find his doctor and see if he’ll prescribe something.” She hurried away.

David went on talking, blaming himself for something he was unable to remember. As Nicole listened, she found David’s words more and more disturbing. Arnault had mentioned the possibility that David might be involved in the kidnapping. What if it was true? In his present state, his defenses were down, as was his ability to dissemble. What If he was admitting to something he’d actually done. What if he really was mixed up in the kidnapping? Nicole, who’d been holding his hand, dropped it.

Just then Mindy returned, carrying a syringe. She administered the shot, and it was only a moment or two before David was asleep. Unable to sit there any more with her terrible thoughts, Nicole got up and found her way back through the maze of corridors. After asking directions, she went over an indoor bridge she didn’t remember crossing on her way in. From there, she located the parking structure and her car.

Back in her condo, she felt sick about Steph’s disappearance, and David’s confused rambling had upset her even more. She thought of Josh, her ex-fiancé. If this had happened a year ago, he’d have been here to comfort her. There were times she still missed him. For several months after she’d broken up with him and moved out, she’d sometimes come home to find him waiting in front of the apartment she was renting at the time. She’d let him in, they’d send out for food, and he’d end up spending the night. She’d hated herself for her weakness. She was preventing him from getting over her, which he had to do. He needed someone who wanted the same quiet life he did. Nicole knew that would never be her.

The last time she’d seen him, six months before, she hadn’t let him in but had broken things off completely. As yet, she hadn’t been interested in dating and had refused when friends attempted to fix her up. It seemed like too much work, too fraught with problems. And when she allowed herself to be honest about it, she had to admit she was still a little in love with Josh.

She thought of Arnault. There was definitely some chemistry between them. But she knew it would come to nothing. First came the ethics involved; he was a cop working on a case involving her sister. And even if they’d met under different circumstances, it would never work out. She’d been involved with a law enforcement type before and had learned her lesson. People who went into this line of work were married to the job. She wondered if she was overgeneralizing. There must be exceptions. Still, she thought, it wasn’t worth the risk of going through the pain of another breakup.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven o’clock in the evening, and she was beginning to feel hungry. When she looked in the refrigerator—empty of all but some eggs, a limp head of lettuce and a half loaf of bread in the freezer—she thought of the food she’d left at the market. Foraging through her cupboards, she located a can of tuna. She thought of defrosting the bread and making a grilled tuna sandwich but was too dispirited to make the effort. Instead, she pulled a box of crackers from the cupboard. She made herself a cup of tea, put the tuna and crackers on a plate, and placed this sorry excuse for a meal on a tray. She carried it into her study and turned on her computer. As she ate, she forced herself to focus on what she’d learned from Mr. and Mrs. Knowles.

She started going through property records of people who’d lived next to the Knowles’s during the years Ashley would have been in her teens. It was a while before she found a family named Reese who were the Knowles’s neighbors 12 years before. Alphonse had been close when he’d recollected the name as Meese. The Reeses had two daughters, Jessica and Melanie. Both had continued living with their parents past the age of 18 when they’d gotten jobs and established their own credit. That put them both on the database.

Nicole’s next search focused on Jessica. Among the material that came up was a photo of the woman she knew as Ashley. She didn’t look nearly as good as she had in recent pictures. Instead of being a glamorous blonde, Jessica was disheveled and devoid of makeup. her brown hair was falling out of a messy pony tail, as if she hadn’t combed it that morning. She was scowling, and for good reason. There was a number under the photo, and it was a police mug shot.

Nicole read Jessica’s records with great interest. The most recent entry was dated seven years ago: an outstanding arrest warrant for failing to report to her parole officer. A previous record showed she’d been granted early release from a five-year sentence in the New Mexico Women’s Correctional Facility. She’d been convicted of fraud and theft, but the record gave no details of her crimes. Fortunately, the New Mexico Enquirer was indexed, and Nicole easily located an article that mentioned Jessica Reese as a member of a ring of crooks posing as caregivers for the elderly. They’d been convicted of bilking people out of their Social Security checks and emptying their checking accounts. Going back farther, Nicole came across New Mexico Youth Authority records from Jessica’s teen years, but these were sealed.

Nicole made copies of the records and newspaper article to include with the report she was preparing for Robert Rexton. She couldn’t give the information to the police. But she was pretty sure Rexton would hand it on to the detectives looking into his son’s murder.

When she finished printing out Jessica Reese’s records, she glanced at her watch. It was nine forty-five p.m. The ransom drop wasn’t until eleven o’clock, and Griffith Park was only a little over six miles away. But the only route was through Hollywood. Even at night, traffic through the area was a nightmare. There was continuous gridlock around the iconic corner of Hollywood and Vine with its bright lights, garish neon signs, and celebrity billboards. After a moment’s thought, she decided she might as well leave early. If people were still in the park, she’d wait in her car until they cleared out.

She grabbed her purse and the computer bag with the money Arnault had prepared for her. Only now did she remember she was supposed to include a note demanding proof of life. She went to the kitchen drawer where she kept a pen and pad of paper, tore off a sheet, and scrawled the message. After dropping it in the bag, she went down to her car.

Traffic was worse than she could have imagined. She didn’t reach her destination until ten thirty, a half-hour before the appointed time. Centennial Park was a small, fenced off area just before the entrance to Griffith Park proper. She parked by the fence and took the path to her destination. Up ahead, the small recreational area of Centennial Park was brightly lit. This seemed puzzling at a time of night when few people would be out. Once inside the small park, she understood. The lights were there to discourage the homeless from using the area to sleep, but this hadn’t worked. At least a dozen figures swathed in blankets and tarps lay on the grass, surrounding an enclave of small, round tents. She wondered if any of these people were the cops Arnault said would be here.

She headed for the only sizable tree, an enormous fir looming over a modest white stucco building. A sign in front welcomed her to the Centennial Park Senior Center. From where she stood, she couldn’t see any hollow in the big tree’s trunk. She glanced around at the sleeping figures. Then, satisfied no one was watching, she walked around the tree, pretending to be looking for something in the scrubby grass. On the other side, she spotted a sizable hollow in the trunk. She checked again to be sure she was unobserved before dropping the bag into the hole. Mission accomplished, she scurried back to her car, locked herself in, and headed home.