Page 48 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
“You knew the man best. Any idea where he might be?”
“If I had any clue,” Mike said, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “I would already have shared it with you and the entire task force.”
“Take a minute and think. Vacation pads? A sibling somewhere with a big house?”
“I’m telling you, Penney, I have no idea.”
Jeff walked around the bungalow, taking in details of this former cop’s sad little life. Why anyone would want to live in this neighborhood—with homeless people camping out onyour front lawn and junkies puking in your hedges—was beyond him. Maybe Tim Dowd had spent so much time in squalor, he’d gotten used to it. Jeff Penney had a three-bedroom, three-bathroom mini-manse way up in Santa Clarita, far from this misery.
“Looks like there are two possibilities, Hardy. Either your buddy found some little hiding place that he kept a secret from everybody or your witness is fucking with you.”
“Yeah,” Mike allowed. “Let me get back to you.”
“Go on and do that. But the clock is ticking for poor Boo Schraeder.”
CHAPTER 51
Thursday, 5:07 p.m.
NICKY WAS HALFWAY home when Mike Hardy called with the update. She wasn’t heading home for the night, of course—just long enough to put eyes on Kaitlin and make sure she had something nutritious in her belly before she and her friends went off to the movies. They were seeing some South Korean thriller calledShut Inthat, Nicky had noted, was rated R and playing late, but Kaitlin had rolled her eyes and told her to stop being so old-fashioned. “Callie’s mom is taking us. And you know there are things, like, a billion times worse on YouTube, right?”
So when Mike Hardy’s name appeared on her dashboard display, Nicky hoped it was good news. Her fantasy: He’d tell her that Boo Schraeder had been found at Tim Dowd’s house and that Dowd was currently spilling all the details about his coconspirators.
Mike crushed that fantasy immediately.
“No sign of him or Boo,” he said. “I’m not saying Dowd’s in the clear, but I don’t know. Something about this just doesn’t fit.”
“Sounds like your witness screwed us,” Nicky said.
“Well, he’s going to be the sorry one when he’s facing obstruction-of-justice charges.”
“Maybe that was his real job all along. Obstructing justice.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Think about it,” Nicky said. “Why would the kidnappers need—or risk—a spotter? If they didn’t trust the man who abducted Boo Schraeder, why would they have involved him? Your witness in the green cap was just window dressing. Theymeantfor us to see him.”
“But don’t forget, we have that footage by accident,” Mike said. “Hell, it was a miracle we recognized Coughlin. That’s not exactly serving it up for us on a plate.”
“Yet those pieces fell into place quickly. You found Coughlin easily so he could tell us a former cop was involved in the plot.”
“What does that get him?”
“It’s not what it gets him—it’s what it gets the kidnappers. Maybe the point is to distract us. Sow doubt. Show us how incompetent we are. Demonstrate how easy it is to waste our time.”
“Or all of the above,” Mike said. “Shit.”
“Look, I’m going to make sure Kaitlin eats something other than frozen french fries, then I’ll be back at Westwood. See you there?”
“No place I’d rather be,” Mike said.
“Liar.”
CHAPTER 52
Thursday, 5:13 p.m.
WORD SPREAD THROUGH the ranks of the Tijuana police like a brushfire on a parched hillside: The FBI and PFM were looking for some rich American movie producer and an actress who’d been abducted from a private resort down on the peninsula but were possibly being held on the border. Tijuana made a lot of sense. You could literally walk to the United States from here, and the city was about as lawless as you could get.
