Sufficient Ransom (13 page)

When Richard spoke, his voice was strained, but calm. “The FBI liaison in Tijuana is still trying to make contact with Ruiz. Tom Long suggested we contact Michelle Boyle from the Macintosh Foundation for Missing Children. With the San Diego police, the FBI, and Michelle Boyle on the case, we should hear something soon. I also hired a consultant to set up a Facebook page and website for Travis. Tom recommended someone.”

Ann tried to pull herself to a sitting position, but her whole body hurt. “You’ve been busy,” she nodded, trying to smile. “That’s good.” She wanted to assure him that Tijuana wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined.
“You should’ve seen what I did to those punks in Tijuana. I knocked the bastard’s teeth in. There was blood everywhere.”

She caught a glimpse of alarm in her husband’s eyes, but it passed. It occurred to her that maybe he thought she was becoming unhinged.

“You’re
not
going back there, Ann.”

Her pulse quickened. “Chuck Blackmart knows something, Richard. You should have seen him when I told him about Travis. When that earless creep showed up, he couldn’t wait to get me out of there.”

“Look,” Richard said. “I know you’re disappointed about not reaching Ruiz. I am too. But this whole thing with Blackmart, it’s like you’re making stuff up about him so you can feel like you accomplished something. How can he know anything? You just met him, for God’s sake! All this Tijuana crap is distracting us from the real job of finding Travis.” He heaved a sigh. “You could’ve been killed. Do you even understand what I’m saying?”

Ann understood all right. She understood that nothing had changed. She had failed to protect her son and she nearly got herself killed in Tijuana. She couldn’t do
anything
right.

9:00 P.M
.

K
ika followed Max Ruiz into his house and shut the front door. Considering his wealth, Max lived in a relatively modest house in a middle class neighborhood. The events of the past days, however, had necessitated hiring an armed patrol to guard against the shady characters that had suddenly materialized, making unwanted “inquiries.”

Max’s hand was on the door to the liquor cabinet at the far end of the living room. He spoke in Spanish. “Why did he have to die?”

Kika hung her head. She had asked herself that question many times in the past three days.

Max lifted a bottle of tequila from the cabinet and poured himself a full glass of the golden liquid. “You want one?”

She checked her impulse to nag her boyfriend about his drinking. After what he had endured, she didn’t have the heart. She answered in Spanish. “Nothing for me, thanks.” What Kika wanted was a cigarette. But she had promised herself that she would quit. She was doing pretty well on that front: smoke-free for two weeks, and counting.

Kika walked to the bank of windows overlooking the enclosed courtyard, and unlocked the glass doors. The soft light from the hanging lanterns bordering the grassy space soothed her tired eyes. Ever since he died, she had purposely cut herself off from the world. No newspapers. No cell phone. No Internet. A day of chaos, and then two days in that awful mortuary. The weeping and the prayers. The endless flow of people offering their condolences.
Thank goodness that part’s over
.

The sweet night air coming in through the open doors was a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of death. The air-conditioning at the funeral home had stopped working earlier in the day. Kika had almost expected the body on the viewing table to start sweating along with everyone else.

Kika turned away from the courtyard and faced the room again. The tequila glass on the bar was empty. Max was sprawled across the leather sofa a few yards away, his head thrown back in a gesture of weary
resignation. She sat down and took up his hand. “I’m sorry about your brother, Max.”

“They said Pablo deserved to die.” Max’s droopy eye sagged more than usual. He shook his head. “The Federales. They said, ‘So another narco’s dead. What do you expect us to do about it?’”

Kika was afraid to upset Max further, but if she was to help him deal with the tragedy of his brother’s murder, she needed to know the details. Her Madonna medallion in hand for support, she asked, “Max, why was Pablo killed in such a gruesome way?”

His jaw tightening, her boyfriend looked past her. She sensed he was plotting dark acts. Of revenge.

“Ever since you called me to Tijuana, three days ago,” Kika said, her frustration mounting, “you’ve told me very little about Pablo. I was able to piece things together from your family at the wake yesterday and today. But I want to hear from you what happened. Come on, Max. You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

“Why do the cartels kill their enemies and hang them from bridges?” he said. “Why do you think? Revenge! Intimidation! What else? I warned Pablo not to join Uncle Cesar and Cousin Julio growing that
mierda
for the El Martillo cartel. But when did he ever listen to his big brother? Pablo was reckless and stupid. He had all the answers. Look what it got him.”

Kika remembered Max telling how his uncle and cousin grew marijuana on hundreds of acres they owned in Baja California. That soon after joining forces with the ascending cartel in the region, they were doing more than tending crops.

“Many times I offered Pablo an honest living working in one of my factories. He thought I was
un tonto
making money the old-fashioned way.” Max made the sign of a noose pulled tightly. “You saw how it ended for him.”

“Didn’t El Martillo have your uncle killed?” Kika said.

Max looked anguished. “He’s a murderous bastard.”

Kika shook her head. “And now Pablo…”

“Treachery begets treachery. After they killed Cesar, greedy Julio made a deal with his father’s killer. Do you believe it? That
hijo de mil putas
! The deal cut into Pablo’s share of the profits. So what does Pablo do? He tries to stir El Martillo’s inner party to mutiny. Naturally, El Martillo got wind of it. The rest you know.”

“How do you know this, Max?”

“I put a gun to Julio’s head. He talked plenty after that.” Max’s voice was full of pain. “I hate that this is my family.”

Kika understood what it was like to hate your family. Her yearning for a mother’s true love had not been realized. Antonia had relished yelling at her and hitting her all the time. After her mother died, Kika found letters proving that she, Kika, was adopted. The revelation explained things somewhat. Antonia had never loved Kika because she was not really hers and she didn’t want her.

Kika put her arm around Max’s shoulder and pulled him close. He was her only family now. For sixteen years—almost half her life—Max had been her lover and her best friend. They met at a Mexican orphanage where she worked the summer before she started college. She was eighteen, he was twenty-eight. She had been out walking a dirt road on the outskirts of the village. It had stopped raining. The forest flanking the road was heavy with water. She didn’t see Max’s black truck until it stopped. The truck door opened and Max jumped out. They had noticed each other at the orphanage, when he came to inaugurate a new playground he had funded for the children. They sat on a rock and talked for a long time. When his driver returned, Max kissed Kika’s hand, slipped back into the truck, and was gone.

Over the years, Max would take time out of his business ventures and the philanthropic endeavors to come see Kika. He always came unexpectedly. On her first day at University of Arizona, she found him waiting outside her dorm in a limousine filled with red roses. Over the ensuing months and years, he would come to her whenever he could spare the time. When she finally moved to the West Coast their relationship became more committed.

Talking about Pablo seemed to have helped Max. He looked calmer. His hands cupped her face. “Let’s get married, Cariño. We’ll start a family and leave this miserable life behind.”

Kika pulled away.

“What’s wrong?”

Her mouth twisted. “You know I can’t have children, Max.”

For the first time in days Max looked hopeful. “Doctors these days can perform miracles, Cariño. You’ll see.”

“And if they can’t?”

Max buried his face in her hair. “As long as I have you Kika, I’ll be okay.”

She always thought that Max felt a special tenderness for her because of her difficult childhood. Despite his reassuring words that having children didn’t matter, Kika knew that like her, he really wanted them.

Max rubbed her back. “What’s really bothering you, Kika?”

She looked up sharply. “What’re you talking about?”

“Ever since you came to Tijuana you’ve been on edge. And don’t tell me it’s Pablo. I know you well enough to know something more is going on.”

She avoided her lover’s eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The truth was that Kika couldn’t stop thinking about Travis Olson. As she had explained to her stupid boss, Travis’s situation was like Frankie Barton all over again. But Cathy was too busy safeguarding the agency’s reputation to care about doing what was right.

“Pablo was killed October 2,” Max said. “Three days ago. You told me that you were coming to Tijuana after work, that day. You didn’t show up until four in the morning. I called the house and your phone. You didn’t answer. Where were you?”

Kika turned away so that he couldn’t see her eyes. “I stopped in Rosarito. I had some business there.”

“What business?”

Kika didn’t want to burden Max with her problems. His brother was just murdered. “I’ve been working with the new orphanage there.”

“And?”

“What do mean—
and
?”

“So why didn’t you just say so the first time I asked you?”

“You were dealing with Pablo. Did you really expect me to talk about my problems in the middle of his wake?” The truth was Pablo’s death was a welcome distraction from her troubles. As long as Kika remained busy helping Max and his family through this difficult time, she hadn’t had to decide what to do about Travis Olson.

Max pulled Kika close and cradled her head on his shoulder. Like her, he seemed to want to forget. After a while she stirred. “We should go to bed. We have to get up early for the funeral.”

Max’s even breathing informed her that he was already asleep.

C
HAPTER
7

Saturday, October 6

7:30 P.M
.

A
blanket of rain clouds threatened La Jolla Shores Beach. The smell of seaweed and saltwater permeated the air. Restless feet shuffled as hunched shoulders drew to the hundreds of hand-held candles, seeking comfort from the darkness.

Since their argument the other morning, Richard didn’t seem to want to talk much. Ann figured her husband was too busy with his own private misery to bother with hers. Four days had passed since Travis disappeared, and the police still had no idea where Kika Garcia was. Ann was grateful that Chet March had postponed the church vigil so that she would have time to recuperate from Tijuana.

“There are so many people here,” Ann whispered to her husband. She pointed to the parking lot. “There’s the TV crew Chet said would be here.” The thought of getting up in front of all those people terrified her.

“Looks like Chet’s enjoying the attention,” Richard said.

Ann felt a surge of annoyance at what she perceived to be unwarranted sarcasm. “They didn’t have to do this for us, you know.”

“I know,” Richard said. “But Chet gets on my nerves. He’s too self-effacing. Never asserts himself. A strange contrast to the way their church brazenly milks people for money.”

“What are you talking about?”

“New Way’s tithing program. Did you know that members pay ten percent of their pre-tax annual income to the church?”

“How do you know this?” Ann asked.

“I was curious about them so I called the church,” Richard said. “The woman who answered the phone told me about the program. Ever look at their website?”

“No. Why?”

“Pannikin wrote a book:
Saving Souls for Jesus
. Looks to be self-published. They’re giving it away for a small donation. The first chapter’s up on the site. Boy, are these guys serious about pushing Jesus.”

“Why do you have say it that way?
Pushing Jesus
. It sounds obnoxious.”

Her husband shrugged. “It’s just that they’re really into it. Bible quotes and everything. There’s even a soul-winning
tips sheet
. They tell people to look good and smell good when they reach out to people, pushing Jesus. Give me a friggin’ break.”

“Quiet. They’re coming.”

A concerned smile on his lips, Chet hugged Ann. Then he shook Richard’s hand. Stepping back, the pastor introduced the Olsons to the man who had followed him over. Todd Pannikin looked to be in his early seventies, tall, balding, with a ring of white hair in a half circle around the back of his head. His friendly blue eyes and ruddy cheeks added to his grandfatherly appearance.

When he accepted Ann’s gratitude for the vigil and New Way’s search efforts on Travis’s behalf, Pastor Todd seemed to morph from a sweet old man to a fervent idealist. Stretching his arms out in preacherly fashion, he talked of New Way’s sacred mission of bringing people to God. To Ann’s comment that they had done so much for a pair of nonbelievers, Pastor Todd smile was kind and reassuring. “We’re here to do God’s work, Mrs. Olson.”

Ann found herself wondering how Nora March could despise Todd Pannikin; he seemed so concerned with others. Then she remembered Nora telling her that it was Todd who had introduced Chet to evangelical Christianity. And it was he who had convinced Chet to leave his accounting work to pursue a career as a full-time pastor. And according to Nora, Todd had also encouraged Chet to ask her for money for their church.

Pastor Todd indicated the makeshift platform in the center of the boardwalk. “Our new Children’s Ministry leader, Arthur Zoekler, will make some announcements and then Señor Valdez plans to say a few words about his son.” He placed his hand on Ann’s arm. “If you feel up to it, Mrs. Olson, you can address the crowd tonight about Travis and the search efforts so far.”