Sufficient Ransom (6 page)

“I want to talk to the neighbors,” Richard said when he and Ann were alone. “See for myself what they know. Why don’t you ask Nora to come over, Ann. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Nora
. Ann felt a stab of hope. Nora knew Kika. Maybe she could help get Travis back!

Nora’s gray hair was pulled into a limp ponytail, her thin body clad in a long, loose-fitting dress. The bold green pattern of the garment brought out the sea green of her eyes. Nora was only sixty-eight, but she looked older. Her lined face was crinkled with anxiety as she lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table. “There has to be a more innocent explanation,” she started to say. “Kika couldn’t have—”

Ann bit the inside of her mouth. The blood on her tongue tasted warm and metallic. Her throat felt like she had been force-fed knives—it hurt so much from all the crying.

She shook her head slowly. “Please don’t defend her, Nora.”

Her friend looked hurt. “I’m not defending anyone. Remember. Other children have disappeared as well. You have to consider everything, Ann.” The worry lines on Nora’s face softened. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see. They’ll find Travis and bring him home.” She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “You know the little girl who was kidnapped from school the other day? The family belongs to Chet’s church.”

Nora’s son, Chet March, was co-founder of New Way Evangelical, the fastest growing church in San Diego County.

“Chet’s organizing searches for her. He set up a volunteer center at New Way. He did the same for the little Mexican boy who disappeared in March and the little girl in June,” Nora said.

Ann was sad for the Villarreals and for the other families, but at the moment her heart was breaking for her own child.

“I’m sure Chet will do the same for Travis, Ann.”

Nora’s irrelevant talk about her son’s church only reminded Ann how much she disliked Chet March. Chet had once called her a
lost heathen
because she didn’t believe in God. Ann knew because Nora had told her.

“There’ll be nothing for Chet to do because Travis is coming home tonight,” Ann said.

Nora placed her hand on the table in front of Ann. “When Kika worked at the orphanage she told me a little about herself. Maybe we can figure—”

The phone rang.

Ann leaped to answer it.

It was their neighbor from across the street, telling about the neighbors’ search efforts. Everyone on their cul-de-sac had moved through the steep canyons behind the houses, beating back brush and cactus looking for Travis. A police helicopter equipped with infrared cameras had swept the skies. There was no trace of Travis, anywhere.

Richard returned home a few minutes later, looking discouraged.

Her sense of foreboding deepening, Ann’s thoughts turned back to that awful morning three weeks ago when she lost her temper.

She heard a knock on her bedroom door
.

Travis entered her room, head bowed
.

“For you, Mom.” He handed her a heart-shaped card
.

She took the card in her hands trying not to let him see her tears. “You made this for me?”

His head down, Travis nodded. “I’m sorry I ruined your laptop, Mom. I promise I won’t do it again.”

She gathered her son in her arms and held him close. “I’m sorry for yelling, honey. It’s just a machine. I can get another one.”

His arms tightened around her neck
.

The steady tick of an antique clock above the stove was the only sound in the room.

Ann noticed that her husband’s eyes were red and swollen. She felt terrible that she had yelled at him. She sat down on the sofa and took his hand in hers. He squeezed her hand back. Her voice calmer, she addressed her friend. “You started to tell us about Kika. Maybe we can figure out where she took Travis.”

Nora’s thin shoulders lifted and fell in a questioning gesture. “I really don’t know her very well. We only talked a few times at the Orphanage. Kika was a volunteer, helping with the children. After she got the job at CPS she stopped coming around. When you told me she was the agent in charge of your case, I left her messages saying what a good mother you are. She never got back to me.”

“What do you know about her personal life, Nora?” Ann asked.

“It’s funny,” Nora said. “Kika said that she came to the orphanage to meet me. She claimed to be the daughter of an old friend of mine. The strange thing is I never knew her mother. Antonia Garcia was her name. She said her mother kept a whole album of newspaper clippings of Peter and me and our philanthropy work.”

Richard’s eyebrows went up. “Maybe her mother admired you from a distance for the good the work you and your husband did.” He thought for a moment. “Wasn’t Kika born in Mexico?”

“It’s possible her mother learned about me through my foundation,” Nora said, shrugging. “Yes, Kika was born and raised in Mexico. Apparently she was adopted. After the University of Arizona—I think that’s where she went—she worked on the East Coast for a number of years. When her mother, this Antonia died, Kika moved west to be closer to her boyfriend. He’s a businessman in Tijuana. Ruiz is his name. I guess Kika didn’t get along with her mother. Said she felt like an orphan her whole life. She—”

“Her boyfriend’s name is
Ruiz
?” Ann said.

Nora nodded. “Max Ruiz. Why?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why?”

Ann looked from her husband to Nora. “A Max Ruiz came into the gallery this afternoon. He seemed unusually interested in Travis.”

How did you know his name?” Richard asked.

“Eloise likes everyone to sign the guest log so she can get their contact info to follow up,” Ann said. “When Ruiz left, she commented that his name sounded familiar. She Googled him and discovered that he’s a Mexican businessman. Apparently he was arrested once in San Diego on a drug trafficking charge. Which was later dropped.”

Nora looked skeptical. “Drugs? Kika said he owns factories and funds orphanages.”

“She probably sent him in to spy on me and check up on Travis.” Ann grabbed a notebook from the coffee table. “Quick, Nora! Write down Kika’s address. I’m going over there to see for myself what she’s up to.”

Richard placed his hand on her shoulder. “The police are there now. Think of Travis, Annie. You might get in the way.”

Ann imagined her son pleading for her to come for him. Breathing deeply trying to quell her rising fear, she nodded. Her husband was right. She would let the police take the lead. For now.

C
HAPTER
4

Wednesday, October 3

7:00 A.M
.

E
arly the next morning, Detectives Tom Long and Will Pruitt came to the Olsons’ house. From their solemn expressions, before they had even said a word, Ann knew they had not located her son.

Seated in the family room, Tom Long explained that Kika Garcia quit her job and she spent the night away from home.

“Why else would she leave her job and disappear?” Ann asked the detectives and her surprised husband.

“You mentioned she left her boss a resignation letter,” Richard said. “Could you tell us what was in it?”

Will Pruitt was seated on the leather sofa downrange from his young partner. He indicated with his hand that his partner would do the talking.

Tom leaned forward, his eyes moving from Ann to Richard. “We’re willing to share information with you as long as you agree not to disclose any of this to the media.”

“Why would we talk to the media about this?” Ann asked.

“As you know, the press conference is scheduled to begin in three hours time, here at the house,” Tom said. “We can’t have journalists and
news outlets broadcasting sensitive information. It could compromise the investigation. With everything you’re going through, it’d be easy to forget. That’s why it’s important we come to an understanding beforehand.”

“First off,” the detective said after Ann and Richard agreed to keep the information private, “there was nothing specifically in the letter about either of you or your son. Having said that, Ms. Garcia seems to harbor a lot of anger toward parents. Abusive ones, as she put it.”

“I could have told you that,” Ann said. “She made up all that stuff about us to make herself feel important, or something. The woman’s out of touch with reality.”

“Actually, much of the letter was directed at CPS,” Tom said.

Richard looked surprised. “How so?”

“Apparently she believes CPS is not up to the task of protecting children. That’s the reason she gave for quitting.”

“It’s like she’s on a crusade to save our son from
us
,” Richard said, shaking his head. “It’s crazy.”

“What do we do now?” Ann asked.

From across the room, Will Pruitt cleared his throat. “Unfortunately Ms. Garcia’s cell phone’s turned off so we can’t locate her via GPS. We put a bulletin out on her as a
person of interest
.”

“Can’t you put out a warrant for her arrest?” Ann asked.

“Ms. Garcia quitting her job is not a reason to arrest her,” Tom Long said. “Not yet, anyways. Remember, Mrs. Olson. Three other children are missing. It’s by no means a sure thing she took your son.”

Though Ann understood the police were trained to consider all the facts before arriving at a conclusion, the social worker had threatened to take Travis
and
she essentially announced her motive in the letter to her boss. Kika seemed to sincerely believe she was saving Travis from his parents.

“What about the video you got from the neighbors?” Richard asked the detectives. “Anything there?”

Tom Long shook his head. “One of the cameras was broken. The other, from down the street, didn’t capture anything useful.”

Ann let out a determined breath. “There’s something we should tell you about. After you left last night, my friend Nora March came over. She knows Kika from when Kika volunteered at San Diego County Orphanage. Nora’s trustee there.”

Tom Long looked interested. “March?” he said. “Any relation to Pastor March at New Way Evangelical?”

“Nora’s Chet’s mother,” Ann replied. “How do you know Chet?”

“His church organized a search for Sabeal Villarreal and for the other missing children. Nice group of people. Very dedicated.”

Detective Pruitt cleared his throat. “You were saying Nora March is a friend of yours?”

“My closest friend,” Ann said. “Last night Nora mentioned Kika has this boyfriend, Max Ruiz. He’s a businessman in Tijuana.” She proceeded to tell the detectives how Ruiz came into her gallery yesterday; how he had seemed to take an interest in Travis.

Detective Pruitt was jotting notes into a small booklet.

“Ruiz would know Kika’s whereabouts,” Richard added.

“Interesting information,” Tom Long said. “We’ll talk to the FBI. See if their liaison in Tijuana can make a connection.” His expression was reassuring as he stood up. “We’ll be back for the press conference in a few hours. See if we can’t get the public to help us out.”

Richard urged Ann to rest before they faced the media. She entered her son’s room and closed the door. She lowered herself onto his twin bed and reached for his beloved stuffed rabbit. Her eyes shut she hugged the toy to her chest. Travis’s sweet, childish scent was in his rabbit, his quilt. Turning, she pulled his pillow from underneath the blanket. Her face to the cool cotton, her breath came in fitful starts. Her son was unharmed—she refused to believe otherwise. After a while, she opened her eyes. Memories of her little boy and their happy times together were imprinted on every object in the room. On the Lego table where Travis spent countless hours building his whimsical creations. His bookcase full of the books he had handpicked himself. The corner where his crib used
to be. On the far wall where his changing table used to sit. On the sunlight streaming through the windows. On the very air itself.

The rabbit to her chest, Ann’s thoughts strayed to the days of her childhood before her parents divorced. A new pain welled within her as she remembered her flowered bedroom in the rambling country house she had shared with her parents. The humid mornings and the long, snapping sounds of the cicadas. The lazy summer days on the Hudson River. The warmth of the sun on her body as she lay on a rock after a swim. Wandering through sun-dappled woods looking for wildflowers. And then, the evenings on the back porch with her mother and father as the sun slowly sank to the earth. Afterwards, lying in her bed while her mother stroked her hair, softly singing her to sleep.

Please Travis. Come home
.

10:00 A.M
.

A
nn stepped into the house and dropped to the floor. She and her husband had just given the press conference on their front lawn. Strangers and television crews alike had gasped when Richard announced a five hundred thousand-dollar cash reward for Travis’s safe return. Ann was grateful Richard had answered the reporters’ questions. She could barely keep the weight in her heart from buckling her knees, as it was.

Richard shut the front door and knelt beside her. What kind of mother would leave her child alone in the dark when a stalker had threatened to take him? The answer—a negligent mother—brought more tears to Ann’s eyes.

Her husband helped her up. Together, they moved toward the family room. On the sofa, Richard held her close, stroking her hair gently like her mother used to do when she was very young. “We’ll get him back, Annie. We’ll get him back.”

Ever since she met him, nineteen years ago, Richard was Ann’s rock. When she stumbled, he was there to lift her up. She remembered their early days together in Cambridge, after she graduated from Smith College. The one-bedroom apartment they shared on the ground floor of a rickety house off Mass Avenue. Early morning walks along the Charles river. Cozy nights snuggled in bed. Summer weekends in Maine, lounging on the beach or on their friends’ boat. When Richard accepted a position at a start-up in San Diego, they packed their few belongings and moved west. The adventure of life continued as they settled into a beachfront condo on La Jolla Shores. They could barely afford the rent but they had high hopes of earning more. And they did. Richard’s biotechnology company went public, netting them a small fortune. Ann’s reputation as an expert in classical art was growing. They bought a house, a fixer in a prime neighborhood. Over the years, they turned it into their dream home filled with natural light, wood, and marble.