A King's Ransom (33 page)

Duncan was smiling. Maggie poked him in the ribs, urging him on. Judge, this wasn't the point of the telephone call, but I think we've gotten to the nub here. My client's only purpose in bringing this matter before Judge Korvan was to enforce the confidentiality provisions in the policy. With all due respect to Judge Korvan, you seem to have a better handle on things than she did. The resolution of Mr. Rey's claims is for another day.

But -

I think I've got it, said the judge. I'll fax you an order before five o'clock. Good day.

The judge disconnected. Maggie hung up from our end, then looked at me and said, That went rather well, don't you think?

Go to hell, all of you. I glanced at the stenographer and said, You can put that on the record.

Chapter 45

It was a Dark n' Stormy night.

Two or three Dark n' Stormies, actually. That was the signature cocktail of Bermuda. Two parts ginger beer, one part dark rum. It fit the bill, as Jenna and I were in need of something pretty potent back at the bar in our hotel.

The faxed order from Judge PeA+-as put a stay on all discovery, which meant that the entire case was at a halt. No depositions were to go forward - not of Jason Lee or anyone else. The evidentiary hearing was canceled, with no date rescheduled. It was as if Duncan Fitz himself had written the order.

Deep down I suspected that he had.

Any thoughts on what we do now? asked Jenna.

I guess we file an appeal to try to get the case back on track. But that could take months, which doesn't do my dad any good.

Jenna stirred her drink, mixing the dark rum on top into the fizzing - stormy - ginger beer. Last week I couldn't understand why Duncan wasn't scheduling any discovery or doing any of the things a lawyer would normally do with an evidentiary hearing less than three weeks away. I wonder if he knew back then that the hearing was going to be canceled.

Of course he knew. Granted, cases get reassigned all the time even without any string-pulling, but it can't be an accident that this one landed in front of PeA+-as. Duncan couldn't have handpicked a more favorable judge.

Why is he being such a bastard?

Because he truly believes that my family defrauded him and his client. Duncan pushes hard in any case, but he'll push to the limit if he thinks he's been screwed.

Then why not just let his client say it under oath?

Maybe he has the same questions about Guillermo that I have. He doesn't want his client to go on record saying that Lindsey's the bad guy till they've sorted it all out.

I feel so awful for your father.

I signaled the bartender for two more Dark n' Stormies. I hadn't eaten all day and already had a decent buzz. I knew better than to drink and drive, of course, but that didn't seem to keep me from blundering my way down certain metaphorical roads.

Did you feel funny about coming to Bermuda with me?

Jenna seemed to stiffen at the sudden turn in conversation. What do you mean?

You know what I mean.

The fact that we were going to have our honeymoon here?

Well, yeah.

Not really.

I raised an eyebrow.

Well, maybe a little. She cracked a smile and said, Okay, a lot.

Why did you come?

Gee, with questions like these, I may need Duncan Fitz to defend me. She was trying to make light of it, but the way she was playing with her hair, I knew she was uncomfortable.

The bartender set up our drinks. I finished the old one and started on the new. When you first agreed to help me with the case, you said you were doing it for my dad, not for me.

That was probably harsh. I'm sorry.

You don't have to apologize. I'm bringing it up only because it's an important piece in a big puzzle that's come together for me since the kidnapping. After all the disappointment that you and I went through, you still love my dad. My mom, after the drinking and everything else they went through, is still totally in love with him. Yesterday I saw Lindsey, and even she seems to have made a connection. It was last night, while I was trying to fall asleep on the floor in Lindsey's hut, when it hit me. Nobody seems to have any issues with my dad. Except me.

You've always said that, and to this day I don't understand what you mean. What issues?

I paused, thinking how best to put it. Did you ever know you loved someone and know that they loved you, too? And then this one thing happens. It might be a stupid thing. But for some reason, you won't allow yourself to look past it. Forever and ever it's stuck there, right between you.

I don't know. Maybe.

The crazy thing is, you know it doesn't belong there, keeping you apart. Yet for some reason neither one of you steps up and clears it away. It just festers. And before you know it, that stupid little thing actually defines your relationship. It might even destroy it.

She blinked hard, as if my words were hitting too close to home. It was unintentional, but I knew where I'd led her: to that day in the park when I'd been such an idiot and told her no, no, no, I wouldn't marry her, my well-intended but misguided way of keeping it a surprise that I'd already bought a ring to give her on her birthday.

I can see where something like that could happen, she said, staring into her drink.

Part of me wanted to seize the opportunity and make this conversation about us. But it promised to be an awfully long plane ride home if I took that leap and fell flat on my face now. I chickened out.

Anyway, that's kind of what happened between me and my dad.

I'm sorry. What was the little thing?

What little thing?

The one that became such a big thing between you and your father?

Just something he did to me when I was twelve.

You want to talk about it?

It's really not worth it.

She seemed reluctant to pry. You two do seem to have a strange relationship, she said vaguely.

You noticed, huh?

A week ago you said you didn't even know that your dad had a sister.

No one ever told me.

She sipped her drink and said, She died very young. Drowned. Seven years old.

My dad told you all that?

We had just that one short conversation at my father's funeral, the one I told you about. He only mentioned that he'd lost a sister. The rest I learned on my own.

When?

After I talked with you last week, my curiosity sort of ran away with me. I did a computer search on obituaries for anyone named Rey from the Florida Keys. Had to go back quite a ways, but I found it. Her name was Stacy.

How did she drown?

A boating accident was all it said. I made a copy, if you want it.

Sure, thanks. I'd like to see it.

I selected a couple of cashews from the bowl of mixed nuts on the bar, then shook my head. This is exactly the sort of thing I don't understand about my father. Why wouldn't he tell me he had a sister who drowned?

Maybe it goes back to that thing you were talking about. When you were twelve.

What could that possibly have to do with his sister's drowning?

Hard for me to say, without your telling me what it was. And I'm not suggesting there's a direct link. More likely it just turned out to be one of those pivotal moments in your relationship when your father decided that you didn't care. So he never got around to telling you about the sister he'd lost. He probably didn't tell you a lot of things. It wasn't worth it anymore.

I could have told her that she had it backward, that what had happened when I was twelve wasn't something I had done. It was something he had done to me. But I said nothing, knowing yet again that she wasn't really talking about me and my father.

She was talking about us.

Another round? asked the bartender.

Jenna and I exchanged a quick glance. She looked sad, and I would have liked nothing more than to fix things. But she hadn't believed me then, and I didn't see why she'd believe me now. She probably never would believe that I truly had bought the ring before that blunder in the park, that I hadn't just panicked and asked her to marry me to keep her from running away.

No, thanks, I told the bartender. I think we've had enough for one night.

Chapter 46

Jenna and I caught the morning flight to Miami. She was going to cab it home, but I talked her into letting me give her a lift. Driving out of the airport, I plugged my cell phone into the cigarette lighter and phoned my mother to let her know I was back. She was frantic.

I've been trying to reach you. Why didn't you answer your phone?

Battery ran out. I'm sorry.

We got a package this morning.

From them?

It's a videotape of your father.

Have you watched it yet?

Yes.

I was almost afraid to ask. Is he alive?

Yes, she said, straining. Oh, Nick, he looks so awful.

I steered toward the exit for Coral Gables. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Call Alex.

I did. She's on her way here.

Great. You did exactly the right thing.

She fell silent, as if collecting her composure. It barely even looks like him, she said in a weak, shaky voice. I almost didn't recognize him.

I know it has to be a shock, but believe me, this is such good news. He's alive. We know he's okay.

I was trying hard to lift her spirits, but she didn't respond. I was about to say more, then stopped. At that moment words couldn't possibly have helped. I knew that the best thing was to let her have her cry. I steered with one hand and held the phone to my ear with the other, racked by the sounds of my mother's painful sobs.

It was probably my longest drive home ever, but Mom had regained her composure by the time Jenna and I arrived. She and Alex were in the family room in front of the television.

I was about to make introductions, but the women were ahead of me. I'm Alex, she said as she and Jenna shook hands. We met once before at Duffy's.

I remember. I'm helping Nick with his lawsuit against the insurance company. We had to go to Bermuda.

Bermuda, eh? Tough assignment.

Actually, it was all work, no play. You know how that is.

Sure.

I sensed a little tension, and it was only sidetracking us. Let's watch the videotape.

Good idea, said Mom. She popped it into the VCR. The women took a seat on the couch. I pulled up a barstool from the counter.

The screen was blue. Mom had the remote in hand, ready to start. The whole thing is less than thirty seconds. There is audio, but they don't let your father say much. Most of the talking is from the kidnappers.

I nodded, signaling that I was ready. Mom hit the Play button. The blue screen went snowy, and then the image appeared. Even my mother's sobbing on the telephone hadn't prepared me for what I saw.

My God, I said, completely involuntarily.

They'd videotaped him indoors, from the waist up. His face was thin, and his skin so lacked color that for a moment I thought the adjustments on the television set were off. Dad never had been able to grow a beard, so his unshaved growth looked especially shabby. His hair was dirty and uncombed. He showed little expression, neither a smile nor a frown. He was looking directly into the camera, then lowered his eyes and read from a prepared script.

This message is to my family, he began.

I stepped down from my bar stool and walked to the set, drawn by his voice, as if compelled to be closer to my father's image.

I am being treated well. I will be safe as long as you obey all instructions.

He laid the script aside and picked up a copy of El Tiempo, a widely distributed BogotA daily newspaper. The camera zoomed in on the headline and the date.

Three days old, I said. That's pretty good.

The camera zoomed out, again showing my father.

It's interesting he's wearing only a T-shirt, said Mom. I guess they're keeping him someplace warm.

They do that to confuse you, said Alex. I'm sure they're in the mountains.

Back on-screen, my father put down the newspaper, then seemed to turn to someone off camera, as if looking for instruction.

Freeze the frame, I said.

Mom hit the pause button. I walked right up to the screen and checked the side of his head. The rest of the video had shown him straight-on only, but these last few frames had caught his profile.

It looks like somebody did a pretty lousy job of stitching up a good three-inch gash on the side of his head.

Alex came forward to have a look. I'm afraid you're right.

My mother let out a combined groan and whimper. It was time to move on. Hit the play button, Mom.

My father's image was on-screen for only a few seconds longer. Then it went black.

What's going on? I said.