Page 45 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
All sound and fury, right up until the moment Mike stepped into the room with a manila folder in his hand. He used his foot to close the door behind him.
“How’s it going, Ian? Been a while.”
“Oh, man,” Ian said, visibly deflating. “Why areyouhere? I thought you were promoted or given a medal or something.”
“I thought the same about you. Clearly, you’ve been keeping yourself busy and moving up in the world of crime.”
“Crime? Come on. I was just doing some shopping.”
“Time is short, Ian. I’m not here to play games with you. I know you’re part of this kidnapping plot. I didn’t want to believe it, but there you were, in your green baseball cap.”
Mike Hardy did know Ian Coughlin pretty well. Before his promotion to captain, Mike had headed up an LAPD task force dealing with follow-home robberies—thieves who looked for victims with expensive jewelry or vehicles, then literally followed them home to see what else they owned. It was thought there was some kind of criminal mastermind behind these robberies; in the span of a single month, there had been more than forty follow-home robberies on LA’s west side.
But after months of investigation, Mike Hardy and his task force realized there was no mastermind. It was simply an idea that had gone viral in the underworld, and soon you had small-time opportunists like Ian Coughlin here offering to spot potential victims for strong-arm gangs.
“I’m no kidnapper,” Ian said. “Wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”
“And I believe you. The Ian Coughlin I remember was this frightened little creep who liked to find victims for real criminals.”
Ian shrugged. “Yeah, I’m just a frightened little creep. May I leave?”
Mike Hardy smiled, then opened his manila folder. He plucked out a printout and placed it on the table in front of Ian.More printouts—black-and-white stills from a surveillance camera—followed in quick succession.
“There you are, watching an abduction take place behind a Beverly Hills salon. We have other cameras placing you at the scene, like this one.” Another printout. “And this one”—another printout—“where you’re just standing by with your thumb up your ass while some thug grabbed a woman, drugged her into unconsciousness, then placed her in the trunk of her own vehicle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You did absolutely nothing to stop him.”
“LA is a strange place,” Ian said. “For all I knew, they were practicing a scene for a TV show or something.”
“You had a phone in your hand. You didn’t even call for help.”
“Like I said, it was none of my business. I didn’t want some assistant director chewing me out for ruining a take.”
“Except youdidmake a call. I have to presume that you were up to your old tricks, playing the spotter, only now you’re doing it for a band of kidnappers.”
“You said it yourself. I’m no kidnapper.”
“But you’re working for one.”
The witness frowned. “I didn’t know that at the time.”
Finally. The crack in the armor Mike had been waiting for. Maybe Ian was smart enough to realize that at this very moment, he was the lone suspect dangling on the hook for these brazen crimes. Whatever he was paid, it wasn’t enough for him to take the fall for this.
“Look, I know you’re not a bad guy,” Mike said, softening his tone a little. “Just tell me what happened.”
Ian appeared to be weighing his options. Mike knew this was a face-saving move. There were no other options.
“They came to me anonymously,” Ian finally said. “At first I thought it was a scam. I mean, all that money for doing nothing?”
“Nothing being what, exactly?”
“Standing on such-and-such a corner, waiting for something to happen, then calling a number when it actually happened. Then I was supposed to say three words: ‘One hundred percent.’ That was it.”
“Back up a minute,” Mike said. “How did they come to you? Who’s your contact?”
“It doesn’t work like that. They reached out to me anonymously.”
