The Ransom (9 page)

Lane nodded grimly. “Yep, now that we know for sure the AG’s involved, we don’t really have a choice. The boss was making the calls to the AFP as we left. No doubt the whole thing will be in full swing by the time we get back.”

“Did you get a chance to take a look at the identikit photos?”

“Yeah, thanks for putting it together so fast. Too bad the three Redbacks look so much alike. Skin heads with muscle. All we can do is hope Brittany recognizes one of them.”

Lane swung the car into Dowton’s street, keeping his foot on the accelerator. The tires squealed in protest. He turned into the paved driveway that led to the Attorney General’s residence and pressed the intercom button. Before he could announce his presence, the imposing double gates opened inward. The two gardeners he’d spotted earlier were no longer in sight. The huge fig trees now cast long afternoon shadows across the driveway. Lane’s gut tightened at the sight, acutely conscious of how much time had elapsed since Olivia disappeared.

“Wow, this is some kind of hacienda.” Jett’s voice was full of the same surprise and admiration that had filled Lane on his initial visit.

“Wait until you see inside. The place is full of expensive artwork. The AG told me his old man left him most of the paintings. His father was some hotshot lawyer from the old days. He must have been worth a fortune.”

Jett whistled low under his breath and continued to take in the impressive property. “I’d like to be able to afford something like this on a government salary.”

“That makes two of us.” Lane parked the car where he’d left it a few hours earlier and tried to shrug off the feeling of déjà vu. Returning here so soon was a good thing. It meant they were making progress. Besides, a part of him also hoped he’d catch another glimpse of the AG’s beautifully exotic daughter.

His gut tightened at the thought and blood rushed to his groin. Annoyed at his body’s reaction and the path of his thoughts, he impatiently fixed his attention on serious police business. He had to remain focused on the case.

Bracing for another bout of sneezing, he rapped twice on the door. His knock was answered in less than a minute. The same housekeeper greeted him, but this time there was no smile. She stood back for them to enter.“No hay fever this time, Detective?”

Lane shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. I must be getting acclimatized.” He turned to indicate Jett behind him. “This is Detective Jett Craigdon.”

The housekeeper took the proffered hand. “I’m Mrs Harrow. It’s nice to meet you.” She looked back at Lane. “Please, let me take you through to Mr Dowton. He’s waiting for you.”

“Has Mrs Dowton arrived yet?” Lane enquired.

“No, but Mr Dowton’s expecting her later this afternoon. She’s flying home from Queensland.”

Lane nodded and in silence, they followed the woman across the room and headed in the direction of the Attorney General’s office. Even with Lane’s heads-up, Jett gaped at the opulence around them.

The AG met them at the door, his face waxen and drawn. Without a word, he handed Lane a single sheet of folded paper.

“It was delivered about an hour ago.”

Lane tugged out a pair of latex gloves from the back pocket of his suit pants and slipped them on. Handling the note with care, he scanned its contents. It was typed in twelve point courier font, a commonly used font that was available on any computer.

I want my money. One million by midnight tomorrow or the girl dies.

Lane’s gut filled with dread, along with a disquieting suspicion: The note didn’t contain any details for the drop or even how the kidnapper could be contacted. It was almost as if the author of the note and the AG knew each other. As if certain details didn’t need to be explained because they shared some unwritten information. His misgivings ratcheted up another notch, even while he tried to remain outwardly calm.

Folding the single sheet of paper, he placed it in a plastic evidence bag. His gaze drilled into Dowton’s. “How did it arrive?”

The Attorney General swiped at the perspiration on his forehead. “M-my housekeeper answered the door to a young boy. I-I’m not sure who he is. I assume he lives in the neighborhood. Mrs Harrow thinks he might be one of the Shearer boys, although she’s not sure, but if that’s the case, he lives in the next street over. Number twenty-two.”

“I’ll make the call,” Jett offered, tugging out his phone.

“If it was, get someone over there right away,” Lane added. Jett nodded and swung away.

Lane turned to face the Attorney General. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a movement…Zara. Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected, his heart stuttered.
 

The AG’s eldest child was dressed as she had been earlier, but now an even deeper concern lingered in her dark eyes. He watched through the doorway while she moved with quiet grace down the staircase and positioned herself at her father’s side.

Lane found his voice and managed to acknowledge her. “Ms Dowton.”

She held out a hand toward him. He took it and returned the slight pressure, trying not to think about how soft her skin was and how tiny her hand felt engulfed in his.

“Please, call me Zara.”

He nodded and dragged his gaze back to the Attorney General’s. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Zara lifted one of the matching leather chairs that stood opposite her father’s desk and moved it to her father’s side. After taking a seat, her gaze settled on Lane. He wore the same charcoal suit he’d appeared in earlier, but his navy-and-white striped tie now looked as though it had been tugged on more than once and his pristine white shirt was creased. His face disclosed little and the expression in his hazel-flecked eyes was hard. Nerves danced in her belly.

She stole a look at her father and her heart went out to him. Pale and trembling, he bore little resemblance to the confident, charismatic man she knew. This whole ordeal was taking its toll.

She silently castigated herself, knowing that what her family was enduring was nothing compared to the agony the Munro family must be suffering. Her sister was safe and sound upstairs in her bed.
Their
daughter’s whereabouts and health status was anybody’s guess.

“We need to talk about the ransom note,” Lane stated, his voice flat. “First of all, you’re going to explain why I sense the kidnapper had prior contact with you.”

Her father dropped his gaze. He swallowed and moved the papers on his desk from one side to the other. Zara reached out and covered his hand with hers, stilling it.

Lane’s expression turned grim. “Start talking,
David
. We can do this here, or at the station. You choose.”

Her father shook his head from side to side. A deep red flush crept up his neck and stained his cheeks. “That won’t be necessary, Detective. I’m sure you can conduct your interview here. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Zara squeezed his hand and let it go and tried to relax against the back of her chair. Lane pulled out his notebook.

“Let’s start with the note. You said it was delivered by a boy from the neighborhood. Did anyone ask who’d given it to him?”

“No,” her father replied. “As far as I know, Mrs Harrow took the note and the boy left.”

With gloved hands, Lane took the note out of the evidence bag and smoothed it open. He read it again.

“I’m curious, David. This isn’t the first ransom note I’ve seen. Fortunately, there haven’t been many, but what strikes me as odd is that the note demands money, but provides no details of how it’s to be delivered.” His gaze narrowed on his face. “Do you have any idea why the kidnapper might omit that?”

“No, no I don’t. I don’t know anything about these men.”

“What makes you think there is more than one?”

Her father looked flustered. “Well, I’m-I’m not sure. It was merely a figure of speech. Don’t these people usually work in groups?”

“Sometimes, sometimes not. The note refers to ‘
my’
money. I would have thought that indicated a kidnapper acting on his own.” He stared across the desk. “It’s interesting that you don’t see it that way.”

“It-it’s not that I don’t see it that way,” her father blustered. “You’re putting words into my mouth.”

“All right, well tell me what you make of the fact the kidnapper left no instructions on how to deliver the ransom money? He or she has given you until midnight tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch and frowned. “Which is less than thirty-three hours away and yet they’ve not even left a phone number where they can be contacted.”

He pinned her father with his gaze, his eyes now flint. Zara’s breath halted.

“In fact, in every one of the ransom notes I’ve been privy to, I’ve never once seen a note that didn’t offer a means of making contact. It’s almost as if the person who wrote this
knew
that you’d know where to find him.”

He pushed away from his desk and threw his arms up into the air. “That’s preposterous!” he shouted, his face now mottled with purple. “Do you know who you’re talking to? You’d better watch what you’re saying, boy, or you’ll find yourself out on the street, sweeping pavements.”

Zara gasped at the implied threat, shocked at her father’s outburst. Her heart thumped.
Could Lane be right?
Her throat was so dry she could barely swallow. She didn’t know what was going on, but she had a terrible feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that her father knew more than he’d let on. Her gaze flew to Lane’s. His face was granite and his voice was just as hard.

“I apologize, Attorney General. I didn’t mean to offend you. My only motivation is to find a little girl who must be terrified out of her mind and take her back home to her parents. As a father, I would have thought you’d understand.”

To Zara’s relief, the tension in her father’s shoulders dissipated and he walked back to his chair and sat down.

“I’m sorry, too, Detective,” he offered. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and now, with this…” He shook his head. “It’s hard to think rationally when my little girl’s involved.”

“I understand, Attorney General,” Lane replied, the steel in his voice easing infinitesimally. “And I hope you can spare a thought for the Munros.”

“Yes, yes, of course. That poor family. I can’t imagine what they must be going through.”

Lane drew in a deep breath. Zara watched in fascination as his chest expanded and then slowly contracted beneath his tailored business shirt.

“Do you have any idea why the kidnapper didn’t provide you with a means of contacting him or a point he’d make contact again?”

Her father met the detective’s gaze head-on. “No, I don’t.”

Lane stared at him for long moments. Her father was the first to drop his gaze. Lane flipped to a new page in his notebook.

“All right, we’ll have to assume whoever it is will be in contact again with that information. Now, let’s get back to your earlier theory that Brittany may have been the target.”

Lane looked up at her father. “When I spoke to you this morning, you thought that the kidnapping might have been politically motivated. We’ve done some checking of the tattoo Brittany described and it appears it’s a symbol used by members of the Redbacks, an outlaw motorcycle gang operating out of Western Sydney.”

He paused, his gaze firmly on her father’s. “Let’s assume you’re right about the fact Brittany was the target. Given the fact the ransom note was delivered here, I think it’s a fair assumption to make. Your recent stance, proposing harsher laws to deal with outlaw motorcycle gangs, has been well publicized. You told us you took a call last night from someone demanding you back away. Correct?” Her father nodded and Lane continued.

“It’s plausible that a member of the Redbacks decided to kidnap your daughter in order to bring pressure on you to drop the reforms. The only thing I don’t get is why none of these demands are mentioned in the ransom note? In fact, if you hadn’t told me about the threatening phone call, I’d think the kidnapping had nothing to do with your political stance. It appears no more than an unfortunate incident that thankfully happens only rarely in Sydney where someone has targeted you as a wealthy member of society who might very well be willing to pay an enormous sum of money to have his daughter returned. The fact that the kidnapper took the wrong child is tragic, but it doesn’t change the essence of what happened.”

Lane’s breath came faster, but he wasn’t finished yet. He leaned over her father’s desk and eyeballed him. “The only peculiar aspect of that theory is why it would involve the Redbacks. I admit, they’re a bunch of violent, lawless criminals, but kidnapping young children for the sole purpose of extortion isn’t their scene. Something doesn’t add up. What’s your take on it,
David?”

Zara’s fingernails bit into her palms. She held her breath and waited for her father to answer.

His face was flushed. “If you’re asking me whether I have ties to an outlaw motorcycle gang, the answer is a vehement
no
. Of course I don’t have links to an illegal biker gang. The very idea is preposterous!”

He looked directly at Lane, who didn’t flinch. “If you’re asking me whether a member of such a gang could have a grievance against me, then I guess the answer’s yes. You’ve already referred to my position in relation to the laws governing these gangs.”