“You want I should call the cops, boss? Are ya hurt? Geez, you look like hell. D’ya need an ambulance?” Looking at me, he asked, “What should we do?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. No ambulance! Maybe Kathy can notify the police that I’ve been found, but that can wait until tomorrow. I’m not up to an interrogation right now. I just want to get out of here.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you know who did this? What’s going on? Was it Larkin?” I tried to stop asking questions, tried giving us all a moment to calm down, but my concerns wouldn’t stop pushing their way out of my mouth. “I really think we should go straight to the police.”
“Are you gonna drive me home, or do I have to walk?” he insisted, obviously embarrassed.
At this point, I decided to do whatever would make him happy. He was right—reports could wait until tomorrow. The important thing now was to get Nathan home, safe and sound.
Brock gently gripped Nathan under the arms and lifted him up to his feet. “Can you walk okay, boss?”
“Give me a minute.” His legs wobbled, reminding me of a foal, fresh from its mother, trying to stand and take a few steps.
I stood closer in case he fell. But he didn’t.
“Is there anyone in the house?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure they left. But they’ll be back.”
It was a strain not to ask who “they” were, but I managed to keep quiet.
“Can ya make it, boss?”
“Sure, just stay close . . . in case.”
Brock held his gun, leading the way through the hall and down the stairs. Nathan followed. And I brought up the rear, ready to catch my wobbly friend if he stumbled.
Once we were outside, I raced around to open the doors of the jeep. Brock helped Nathan into the passenger’s seat and buckled him in. Then the big guy crawled into the back while I took my position in the driver’s seat and started the ignition. I couldn’t help scrutinizing my shaky passenger. No visible cuts or bruises, and his eyes were clear and focused; he was aware of his surroundings. Thank God, I kept thinking, Nathan was alive and well. I only hoped that his ordeal hadn’t affected him emotionally.
He insisted we take him back to the office. More than anything, he wanted to assure his crew that he was okay and they didn’t have to worry anymore. We had a thirty-minute drive ahead of us, and for the first third of the trip, all we could do was smile at each other. Then we laughed our relief. When his shaking subsided, Nathan started talking. He spoke slowly, deliberately, trying to make sense of the last six days. I was hungry for details and wanted him to hurry it along. But I just stared ahead at the highway and let him tell his story at his own pace.
* * *
“I had four appointments scheduled last Friday,” he started, “a typical workload for the end of the week. After a drive-thru breakfast, I arrived at the office around eight thirty. The minute I walked in the door, Polly started in on me about the mountain of paperwork on my desk. I spent about two hours paying bills, ordering equipment, satisfied I’d reduced that mountain to a molehill.
“The eleven o’clock appointment got cancelled, so I bumped Larkin up an hour, to the top of the list, hoping maybe that demanding jerk would think he was getting preferential treatment and be more pleasant. It was ten thirty when I headed out to Excelsior Boulevard.”
He went on to explain that Everett Larkin raged on about damage to his car the first time he’d called Walker Securities. Polly tried but, after a few minutes, realized nothing she could say would calm the man down. So she handed the phone off to Rosie. She listened and nodded and listened some more. Realizing nothing she could say would appease him, she passed the call over to Nathan.
“I’ve learned how to handle people, never making them aware that they’re being handled.”
“I know that,” I said with feeling.
He ignored the comment and went on. “I sympathized with Larkin, giving the man my full attention. When the anger had fizzled out, I made some suggestions about what could be done, securitywise. I sent E.T. over the next day to assess the area and estimate what the job would cost. There wasn’t any need for me to go out to the house. Truth was, I didn’t want to go. Besides, E.T. is the calm member of the crew—he meditates twice a day.”
“I’m not sure I knew that about him,” I said.
“Hey, there’s still a lot I don’t know about him. He keeps to himself. Anyway, a few days later, E.T. drove out to Excelsior Boulevard for a second time and installed four security cameras and a monitoring system. The work had taken the entire morning. And as far as everyone concerned thought, we were done with the job, and with Everett Larkin.”
“Not the case?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Three days later, he called, insisting four cameras were not enough. Claimed E.T. was incompetent, that the acre of land surrounding the house certainly needed more equipment, and if something happened to his property or him and his wife, he’d sue the pants off of Walker Securities. So I made an appointment, again, for the next day—Friday. That was the first time I met the man face-to-face.
“He was older than he’d sounded on the phone. Old and irritated. I wasn’t sure if Larkin was angry by nature or if the unexpected change in our appointment time had interrupted something he was doing.”
“So what happened?”
“Inside, muddy boot prints were all over the shiny marble floor of the foyer. I laughed to myself, thinking about the chewing out Larkin was going to get from his wife. The prints led into a large living room, across the beige carpeting, and stopped in front of a white sofa where a young man sat. When he saw me, he hesitated a second, unsure what to do. Then, like a frightened animal, he scurried out of sight, into another part of the house.
“But that short minute had been just long enough for me to see the dark hair hanging in the stranger’s eyes and dirty white socks bagging around his ankles. Raggedy, that’s the impression I got from that guy in the ripped pants and dirty jacket.”
“What did Larkin have to say about him?”
“The weirdest part was that Larkin acted as if he hadn’t even seen the man on the sofa. He never offered an explanation for the dirt, or the stranger.
“The old man led me upstairs to a small office where E.T. had installed the camera monitors. The whole time, Larkin pointed and complained about blind spots, saying he could have done a better job himself. Then he insisted we go out to walk the perimeter of the house and lawn.”
“Still no sign of the other man?” I asked.
“Not then. There was no sense in arguing about it. If the old guy wanted more equipment, I was happy to oblige. After all, my job was to sell surveillance, not talk a customer out of making additional purchases. So I wrote up another work order.”
Then he headed for the Ordway house, his next appointment. He explained how that woman was glad to see him. She was overjoyed he’d come early. The job took a little over an hour, which left plenty of time for an early dinner before going to the eye clinic in Hopkins.
“I’d known Easton since he was a little dude and always looked forward to catching up on the family news. Tate Senior traveled a lot, and we’d lose touch now and then. We talked about the problems Easton was having with his staff. I took notes, laying out the options he had. By the time I left, it was getting dark.
“I had trouble remembering where the car was parked. But that was just my age acting up. I wandered around for a few minutes, not wanting to push the alarm button on my key because of it being a hospital zone. But I finally spotted my faithful Nissan. Then someone called to me.”
I didn’t interrupt him, because I felt we were getting to the nitty-gritty of his kidnapping.
“Standing there was that man I’d seen at the Larkin house. Only this time, he looked cleaner and was wearing a hunter’s jacket. I kept a good distance between us but couldn’t help noticing that Porsche of his. All shined up like that, no way could it belong to that fella.
“He was polite enough, but I couldn’t help wondering how he knew where the Nissan had been parked. The guy said that Mr. Larkin wanted to see me on account of he felt ashamed for being so rude and wondered if I could have dinner with him.
“I didn’t buy a word of it. Nothing about the invitation or this guy felt right. So I refused but did it in a polite way. I assured the man there was no need for an apology. As far as I was concerned, Larkin and I were cool.
“But the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He went on about the old man being a sick dude, and it would only take a minute for me to ease his mind. He smiled a lot, talking about how he did part-time work for Larkin and how his employer wasn’t all that bad.
“The corner of the parking lot where we were standing was dark. I didn’t want to offend the kid but wasn’t about to change my mind. Finally I made up a story about having to meet some friends.
“But the kid persisted, practically begged. I finally had enough and turned to get into my car. That’s when I felt the gun on my back.
“‘Look, I tried being nice,’ he said, ‘but I got orders to bring you back to the house, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
“Before I knew what was happening, the guy grabbed my keys, shoved me inside the Nissan, and ordered me to drive to Excelsior Boulevard.”