13

Savannah dried off after her shower and slipped into her robe. The warm water had soothed her somewhat, though it couldn’t take away her worries or her fear. After the early morning phone call from John, she’d been at her computer, looking through pictures of Buffy to remind herself of the places they’d visited together in San Francisco. She’d made a list of those places, some of which she’d forgotten. After breakfast, which consisted of coffee and a cracker, her appetite still not having returned, she’d jumped in the shower.

Now, as she reached for the hair dryer, the ringing of the doorbell interrupted her. The sound sent her heartbeat into the stratosphere. She’d never been as jumpy as she’d been in the days since Buffy’s disappearance.

Quickly, she wrapped a towel around her wet hair and rushed to the door. She hurried down the stairs and looked through the peephole at the man who stood outside. She didn’t know him, but she noticed the messenger bag slung across his body. One of the many bicycle messengers businesses used to courier important documents around the city. Had Alexi sent her something from the office? Something she’d forgotten to sign?

She ripped the door open.

“Ms. Rice?”

She nodded. “That’s me.”

He handed her an envelope. “No need to sign anything. Have a nice day.” He turned on his heel and rushed down the front steps to where he’d leaned his bike against the wall of the building.

Savannah closed the door, and walked upstairs into her flat, staring at the envelope. Her name and address were neatly typed on the front, confirming that the letter wasn’t from Alexi: there was no typewriter in the office, and the smudges inside the occurrences of the letter a in Savannah wouldn’t have been made by a printer.

Her heart beat faster now. There was nothing else on the envelope, no indication who might have sent it. But instinctively she knew who the sender was. Felt it in the drum of her pulse, the pounding of her heart in her chest. With trembling fingers, she ripped the envelope open and reached inside.

There were only two items in it: a folded sheet of paper and a smaller piece with a glossy surface on one side. She turned it over and froze. Her hand shot to her mouth to smother a scream.

“Buffy!” she choked out.

The photo depicted her little girl, eyes wide and frightened, sitting on a mattress, holding up a newspaper. Savannah narrowed in on it. It was today’s San Francisco Chronicle. Proof of life, the police called these photos. The thought sent a chill through her. Even before she unfolded the sheet of paper, she knew what it was: a ransom note.

Two emotions collided within her: relief that the kidnappers were finally contacting her, and pain for what she saw in her daughter’s eyes, the look of fear and desperation, the look of lost hope. Buffy didn’t believe that her mother was coming to find her.

“Oh, baby, please hold on for me. I’m coming. Mommy is coming to bring you home.”

Through the tears that started streaming down her cheeks, she read the letter. It was typed.

If you want your daughter Buffy back, bring two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars in cash to the entrance of the Trocadero Clubhouse at Stern Grove at 7:30pm tonight. After you withdraw the money from your bank, don’t go back home. Leave your cell phone at home. Come alone. Do not take a taxi, an Uber or a Lyft. Don’t take your own car. Take public transportation to 19th Avenue, then walk. Don’t tell anyone. If you involve the police, I will find out, and Buffy will die.

I trust you understand these instructions and will carry them out to the letter.

PS. Don’t bother contacting the bicycle courier. The delivery of this letter was charged to an account that leads to a dead end. You won’t find any fingerprints either except for those of the bicycle courier. So don’t try to be smart, Savannah.

And before I forget: Don’t contact that private investigator with the fancy Mercedes you hired, or I’ll make sure he dies, too. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?

She was shaking now. The kidnapper was watching her. He knew about John. He knew about her life. She hurried to the living room window and looked outside. Was he out there right now, watching her, making sure she was complying with his demands? The way he’d addressed her by her first name, as if he knew her, as if he had a right to call her by her first name, sent another shiver down her spine.

Sick bastard!

But it was useless to get upset now. She had to remain calm, decide on her next step. Hadn’t she hoped for this? Hoped to receive a ransom demand so she could pay it and get her daughter back? And now it was here. In her shaking hands.

John had been wrong when he’d thought that Buffy’s disappearance was connected to the other girls’ disappearances. The other parents hadn’t received a ransom note, at least they hadn’t reported it to the police. But she had. And as much as she wanted John by her side to help her over this last hurdle, she couldn’t risk contacting him. What if the kidnapper found out? Then she wouldn’t only have put Buffy at risk, but John too.

Or was there a way to contact John without the kidnapper finding out? She glanced at her cell phone that lay on the coffee table. No, a cell phone conversation was always at risk of being overheard. Then maybe the landline. She still had one for emergencies, but what if somebody had bugged it? Was that how the kidnapper had found out about her hiring John as a private investigator? Because simply seeing John arrive at her condo wouldn’t reveal why he was there. Or had John’s license plate led back to Scanguards, and the kidnapper had put two and two together?

She let out a frustrated sigh. How could she know what mode of communication was safe, when she didn’t know how the kidnapper had found out that she’d hired a PI? Who knew about it? She hadn’t told anybody. Hell, she had barely spoken to anybody after hiring John.

Then it struck her suddenly: Alexi. She’d told Alexi. What if he was involved? He had the technical skills to do a full-scale surveillance of her home and office, her cell phone and landline, even her emails. Shit! And he knew her movements, knew when she dropped Buffy at school, knew her routine. Just like he knew that Savannah had sufficient money to pay a ransom. What if he’d gotten access to her account statements and seen that she could access several hundreds of thousands of dollars at a moment’s notice and then formed his plan accordingly?

She cursed under her breath.

But there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t tell John about her suspicions, because if Alexi was monitoring her communications, he would find out. And if he had somebody watching her, then he would know if she went to a payphone or an internet café to contact John from there. No, she couldn’t take the risk. She had to do this on her own. She had to get her baby back.

Savannah dropped the letter and Buffy’s photo on the coffee table and went back to the bathroom to dry her hair. She had to look perfectly normal when she showed up at the bank, so they wouldn’t be suspicious and believe that she was under duress when she withdrew the ransom money. She knew that bank officials were trained to watch out for anything odd and would contact the police once she’d left the bank if they believed she needed help.

Savannah took extra care to dress as if she were going to a business meeting. She was glad that her even, dark skin hid the fact that she hadn’t slept much and had been crying. All she needed was a little bit of concealer around the eyes, and nobody would know that she’d been going through hell the last few days. When she was ready, she sat down at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. She had lots of time to withdraw the money and make her way to the exchange point, but she couldn’t sit around here. It was best to go to the bank early, make sure there was no hitch with getting that much cash, and then wait somewhere within a mile or two of the meeting point, until it was time to make her way there. On foot.

She understood why he didn’t want her to take a taxi or another driving service: somebody would be able to trace her. Maybe that meant the kidnapper suspected that John would try to find her if he couldn’t get a hold of her during the day. If she walked or took public transport, John would have no way of tracking her down, of coming to her aid and snatching the kidnapper once she had Buffy safely in her arms again. The kidnapper—and at this point she had to assume it was Alexi—had thought of everything. Maybe that was the reason it had taken him so long to send the ransom note: he’d had to set things up for a smooth exchange.

It was midday when she made her way to the bank. They knew her well; after all she was one of their more affluent clients and had banked with them for many years. When she asked to speak to the manager, she was immediately led to her office.

“Ms. Rice, what a nice surprise. Or did we have a meeting I forgot?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Mrs. Barnstable, so nice to see you.” Savannah forced a smile. “I really should have made an appointment, but things moved a lot quicker on this deal I’m working on than I was expecting.”

Mrs. Barnstable pointed to the chair in front of her desk, and although Savannah knew she wouldn’t be staying long, she sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

“Well, how may I be of assistance?” the manager asked eagerly.

“As you know, I’ve got a substantial cash position in one of my accounts, and as it turns out, I’ve got the opportunity to invest in an multi-unit property in Cole Valley, which, as you know, is such a desirable area.”

Mrs. Barnstable pressed a hand to her chest. “I love that area! Well, if you need a loan against your investments, I’ll be able to approve you by tonight. No trouble at all.”

Savannah pasted another fake smile on her face, when inside she wanted to scream. “Wonderful, wonderful! That can wait a week or so, but what I need today, this afternoon in fact, is cash for the down payment.”

“You mean a cashier’s check?”

“No, actual cash. Two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Isn’t it?” Savannah said and leaned forward. “But I’m competing with an Asian buyer who’s arriving with a suitcase of cash, and if I can’t do the same and put down the cash this afternoon, I won’t get the property.” She shook her head. “I know it’s crazy what these buyers are doing, but I can’t let this property slip through my fingers. You understand, don’t you?”

Mrs. Barnstable smiled. “Of course. It’s not a problem at all, Ms. Rice. We’re always happy to accommodate you.” Then she laughed. “And it’s your money anyway.” She turned to her computer and typed something on her keyboard. “Let me just go in and authorize the withdrawal. And then I’ll have one of my cashiers prepare the bills.”

“Excellent.” Savannah sighed a breath of relief. The money was almost in her hands, and the manager didn’t suspect a thing.

“We can provide you with somebody to walk you to where you parked,” the manager offered.

“I’ve got a car service waiting outside for me, so there’s no need, but thanks,” she lied. “And I brought my briefcase.” She motioned to the leather briefcase she’d set on the floor next to her feet upon sitting down.

“Perfect.” Mrs. Barnstable lifted her phone and dialed a number. A moment later, she said, “Heather, I just authorized a large withdrawal for Ms. Rice. Would you handle that, please, and bring the cash to my office when it’s counted out?” There was a short pause. “Thanks, Heather.” She put the receiver down. “It’s going to be about fifteen minutes. Would you like a coffee or some water in the meantime?”

Though she wasn’t thirsty, Savannah forced herself to accept a bottle of water and sipped the cool liquid, while sweat poured down her back and between her breasts. She was glad that her business suit disguised her bodily reaction.

Sitting in the manager’s office, waiting for the cash, felt like the longest fifteen minutes she’d ever had to live through. When the knock at the door sounded, she almost jumped out of her chair, and had to clutch the armrests to force herself to remain seated.

In a few moments, she would have the money to pay the ransom. And in a few hours, she would have her daughter back.