Chapter 6
THE BASE OF THE STAIRCASE CURVED, but once on the second floor, it surrendered to the more traditional switchback approach. D.D. didn’t stop on the second floor, but continued climbing to the third.
Tessa still didn’t see any more detectives, and only a smattering of yellow evidence placards, most of which seemed to be identifying black scuff marks. From the attackers, she was more and more willing to bet. A good housekeeper would’ve cleaned up the marks before now, while a good wife would’ve demanded the offending boots be left by the front door.
“There’s an elevator,” D.D. said.
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Shoots all the way from the basement garage to the fourth-story rooftop patio. The beautifully wood-paneled double door you see off each hallway—the elevator door is tucked behind it. Panel slides to the right, you hit the button and voilà. I bet the wife uses it every time she returns home from yoga.”
Tessa didn’t say anything. Apparently, running a hundred-million-dollar construction firm had its perks.
“Also, in the basement,” D.D. continued, “a wine cellar, built-in gun safe and an au pair suite. Wine cellar and gun safe are both locked and appear undisturbed. The au pair suite wasn’t locked, but equally undisturbed.”
“Do they have a nanny?”
“Not anymore. Probably when Ashlyn was young, though. Now they just employ the housekeeper, Dina Johnson, and she doesn’t live on the property.”
“Big house for three people,” Tessa observed. “What are we looking at, about two thousand square feet per family member? How do they even find each other?”
D.D. shrugged. “A lot of families seem to prefer it that way.”
“Sophie still crawls into my bed half the time,” Tessa heard herself say.
“Really? I only wish Jack would sleep. Apparently, he’s on a five-year plan.”
“Don’t worry. Preschool will take the fight out of him. Toddlers chase other toddlers around all day, and next thing you know, they’re asleep by seven.”
“Great. Just two more years to go.”
“Assuming you’re only going to have one child.”
“Hah, I was doing good to reproduce at forty. As far as I’m concerned, the baby factory is out of business. You’re the youngster; you have a second, and I’ll borrow.”
They arrived on the third floor, the staircase dumping them into a wide hallway liberally sprinkled with doorways. Tessa immediately spotted half a dozen evidence placards, plus one lanky, carrot-topped detective leaning against the wall, surveying the scene.
“Neil,” D.D. called out. “Brought you a guest.”
Neil looked up, blinked his eyes. Tessa still thought the redhead looked approximately sixteen, but then he narrowed his gaze, and she saw crow’s-feet crinkle the corner of his blue eyes.
“What?”
She stepped forward, offering a hand. “Tessa Leoni. Northledge Investigations. The owner of the property, Denbe Construction, hired me to conduct an independent assessment of the situation.”
“The owner? Denbe Construction… Wait. Tessa Leoni? The Tessa Leoni?”
It had been only two years, and given the media attention at the time… Tessa waited patiently.
Neil swung his attention to D.D. “You let her in? Without asking me? If I’d done that when you were in charge, you would’ve skinned me alive with a rusty razor, then gotten out a shaker of salt.”
“I made her promise not to touch anything,” D.D. said mildly.
“I only want the computers,” Tessa interjected. “And I won’t even take them. Just need to check something first. You can watch. But”—she shot a glance at D.D. just for sport—“your turn to promise not to touch.”
Neil scowled at both of them. “This is a time-sensitive investigation!”
“Yes.”
“Not to mention a highly complex crime scene!”
“How many perpetrators do you think?” Tessa asked him.
“At least two. Taser guy. Boot guy. Wait. I don’t have to share any information with you.”
“True, but Denbe Construction would appreciate your cooperation, which in turn will help you later, when no doubt you’re going to need information from them.”
Neil scowled again, then pursed his lips, considering. Tessa wasn’t touching anything, and they would need help from Justin’s construction firm, with requests to view corporate financials and personnel files being on the top of any good detective’s next-steps list.
“I think there were three to four guys,” Neil said, more considerate now. “But I can’t pinpoint exactly why. That’s what I’m doing now. Staring at the walls and willing them to talk.”
Tessa understood. Police work often felt exactly like that. And sometimes, the walls did talk, at least forensically speaking.
Now she gestured to a collection of evidence placards, which seemed to mark a trail of water drops. “What spilled?”
“Urine.” Neil pointed toward a doorway at the end of the hall. “Girl’s bathroom. Looks like they surprised her in there. Must’ve made a noise, I don’t know. But she was peeing, as there’s also urine in the toilet, but no toilet paper.”
“Sure it wasn’t a guy?” D.D. asked.
“Well, not being a total idiot, I thought we’d test it to be sure,” Neil drawled, obviously still cranky with his mentor. “But most logical scenario: Ashlyn Denbe was peeing. They made a noise. Scared her. Startled her. Something. Either way, she didn’t take the time to flush, but grabbed hair spray and launched a counterattack.”
“Really?” Tessa was intrigued. “Can I see?”
“Look, don’t touch.”
Tessa took that to be a yes. She walked down the hall, D.D. behind her now. She passed a double door that appeared to lead to the master suite, then a single door that led to a study, currently occupied by an older detective who was already sitting at the computer she wanted. Next up, on the left, came an obviously female room, bright pink walls covered in rock star posters, while the plush-carpeted floor was covered in clothes. Three detectives stood in there, probably how many it took to determine which items were evidence and which items were everyday teenage mess.
She arrived at the bathroom. Keeping with the theme from the rest of the house, it was a luxurious, double-sinked affair, featuring miles of earthy Italian tile, a walk-in glass shower and a bunch of brushed-nickel fixtures Tessa had once seen in a TV commercial. If memory served, the shower fixture alone cost about as much as a small automobile.
If Tessa was impressed, apparently, Ashlyn Denbe could’ve cared less. Rather than revel in her gold-veined granite countertop, she’d buried it beneath piles of cosmetic must-haves. Hair scrunchies, brushes, lotions, sprays, makeup kits, acne solutions. You name it, Ashlyn Denbe had it piled across her long, double-sinked countertop. Countertop finally gave way to the toilet, the back of which was equally cluttered.
Now Tessa stared at the toilet, stared at the countertop, then turned and stared at the open door.
“Lights on or off?” she asked Neil.
“Technically?”
“Okay,” she dragged out, unsure what technically could mean.
“Technically,” he repeated briskly, “it appears the intruders tripped the circuit breakers in the master electrical panel, meaning that the entire downstairs was lights-off. We found a light switch flipped to the on position in the foyer, however, which I’m assuming is from when the parents first entered the home. You know, walk in, turn on a light.”
Tessa digested that. Made sense. First, that one of the Denbes would try to turn on a light. Second, that if the intruders were smart enough to override a state-of-the-art security system and come armed with Tasers, of course they’d killed the lights. “And up here?”
“Circuit was still working. Maybe they realized the girl was on this level and to suddenly plunge her into darkness might spook her. She’d call her father or something.”
“Got it. So, on this level then, hallway light on or off?”
“On.”
“Bathroom light?”
“Off.”
“Female point of view?” Tessa offered. “Ashlyn hadn’t closed the door. She was alone, her parents out, right? Ashlyn was all tucked in for the night. Probably not asleep, given we’re thinking ten P.M. on a Friday night. But wearing comfy clothes, all holed up in her bedroom. Then she had to pee. Pads in here, sits to do her thing. The kidnapper appeared. That’s what scared the crap out of her. She’s sitting here, peeing in the dark, then looks up, and there’s a guy standing in the doorway.”
“That would do it,” D.D. muttered.
“She grabbed the hair spray from the edge of the counter,” Tessa continued. “See this one empty spot? Bet it sat right there. Ashlyn grabbed it, jumped up and started spraying. Kidnapper, grown man, probably not expecting resistance from a kid, takes it in the face. He stumbles back, and she starts to run.”
Neil studied her, nodding thoughtfully. “She ran for the master bedroom,” he murmured.
Tessa felt a little catch in her throat, couldn’t quite stop the sigh. Fifteen years old, scared out of her mind, the kid had run automatically for her parents. Forgetting in the moment that they weren’t home, couldn’t help her, couldn’t, in fact, do a damn thing to save her.
She followed Neil out of the bathroom, down the hall into the master suite. If the girl’s room had looked like a refugee camp, the master suite, in soothing shades of rich beige and chocolate brown, was a calm oasis. Huge king-size bed bearing some kind of leather-studded headboard. Dramatic floor-to-ceiling drapes, a chaise longue situated perfectly in front of a master fireplace, framed with yet more Italian marble.
The massive desk in the left corner held the first signs of fight or flight. The overstuffed executive chair had been toppled, wheels now pointing sideways. A heavy gold desk lamp had fallen to the floor. She could see where a drawer had been pulled out, quickly rifled.
“Letter opener,” Neil said. “Girl was a quick thinker, I’ll give her that. She grabbed the brass letter opener and went back at him.”
“Blood?”
“Not that we’ve found, but it was enough to get her by him again. Next, she headed for her room.”
Back into the hallway they went, a somber trio. No urine drops leading to the girl’s room, which explained how Neil had known that Ashlyn had run for the master bedroom first. By now, clothing back in place, bladder recovered, the girl was shifting gears from initial panic to fledgling strategy.
Tessa stopped in the hall, considering. “Why her bedroom? Why not go for the stairs?”
“When we find her, I’ll ask her,” Neil said. “For the moment, my best guess is she went for her phone.”
Tessa nodded. “Of course, lifeline for any teenager. First instinct is parents. Second instinct is phone a friend. When in doubt, text.”
The girl’s bedroom was a disaster. Upon closer inspection, Tessa could see that clothes hadn’t just been dropped on the floor, but flung around the room. Books, another table lamp, an alarm clock.
The intruder must’ve been close, maybe right on her heels, chasing her into the room and apparently around the bed as she threw various items behind her, hoping to trip him up, as she scrambled to grab her cell.
On the far side of the rumpled bed, Tessa spotted the dull brass letter opener, with a crystal handle. Chic-looking, she thought. Something bought to look classy on a desk, not necessarily to tear out an attacker’s jugular.
“She made it all the way here,” Tessa murmured. Then took in the rest of the story. A broken lamp, a cracked laptop computer, a shattered snow globe. “Jesus, she must’ve put up a helluva fight.”
“Don’t think she won,” Neil commented.
“And I don’t like to think about what it might have cost her,” D.D. added more quietly.
The blade of the letter opener was clean. Ashlyn had armed herself but not managed to retaliate.
“I think it took two of them,” Neil said. “Kidnapper one had to yell for kidnapper two for backup. I think kidnapper two had the black-soled shoes, because there’s no scuff marks in the bathroom or the master bedroom. Just the staircase. Meaning kidnapper two made the scuff marks as he ran up the stairs into the bedroom as reinforcement.”
Tessa nodded. Scuff marks were imperfect evidence, but on face value, that theory made sense.
“Now, while my esteemed colleague”—Neil shot a glance at D.D., who was beaming proudly at her top pupil—“was letting private investigators into the house, I was calling Scampo, which is where the housekeeper said the Denbes went for dinner. We’ll pull security video footage, but a parking valet at the Liberty Hotel remembers fetching Justin Denbe’s vehicle around ten P.M. The Denbes are apparently regulars, not to mention Justin tips well, so they’re well-known by the staff. Given the five-minute drive time, that puts the Denbes entering the house anytime around ten fifteen, give or take.”
“One of the first unanswered texts on Ashlyn’s phone is ten thirteen P.M.,” D.D. filled in.
“Yep,” Neil agreed. “I’m thinking the kidnappers were in the house by then. At the very least, two of them were chasing Ashlyn around upstairs. Meaning at least one more had to be stationed by the front door, waiting for the happy couple. They walk in, he Tasers Justin Denbe, going after the most logical threat first. Get the husband down, the wife shouldn’t be much of a problem.”
“He threw up?” Tessa asked with a frown.
“No, the wife threw up.”
“And you can tell…?”
“Again, according to the waiter at Scampo, the husband ate. The wife, on the other hand, mostly drank. Wasn’t so steady on her feet by the time they left. The pool of vomit, if you noticed—”
“Liquid. Which would be consistent with a woman who drank her dinner, instead of eating it,” Tessa filled in.
“And there you have it,” Neil summarized. “Husband got Tasered, wife got ill, and teenage girl fought like a hellion, requiring not one, but two kidnappers to drag her out of her bedroom.”
“So at least three guys.”
“I wouldn’t take on Justin Denbe with only a single man in the foyer,” D.D. said.
“Okay, four guys,” Tessa granted. “So, why do you think the entire family was taken?”
Both Neil and D.D. stared at her, didn’t say a word.
“Denbe Construction hasn’t received any ransom demands, nor contact by the kidnappers of any kind,” she supplied.
D.D. arched a brow, then looked down, expression more subdued. Still, she and Neil didn’t say a word.
Tessa knew what they were thinking. Maybe she didn’t have their years working homicide, but she did have eight weeks of intensive criminology training, courtesy of Northledge Investigations. Given their elite clientele, training had included two days on kidnapping 101, covering situations both foreign and domestic. First rule of ransom cases: Kidnappers will seek to establish immediate contact. Their motivation had nothing to do with a family’s peace of mind, or expediting law enforcement’s handling of the situation. More relevantly, abduction cases involved complicated logistics. First, the taking of the subjects. Next, the transporting and hiding of said subjects. Third, the ongoing care and feeding of subjects while waiting for demands to be met.
Basically, the longer the subjects were held, the more involved the logistics became. Meaning higher risk of discovery, exposure or the subject’s untimely death, screwing up proof of life and the ability to demand a major payoff. Given that this situation involved the abduction of an entire family, logistics would be significantly complicated. Two adults and one teenager to be handled, transported, managed.
If this was a kidnapping for ransom situation, the kidnappers should be champing at the bit to make contact. Perhaps through a written note, neatly placed in front of the altar of the Denbes’ personal possessions. Or, a call easily placed to Denbe Construction’s main line. Or another call dialed straight into the home, to be picked up by the good detectives who were no doubt already working the scene.
Except—Tessa glanced at her watch—it was now nearly 11:12 A.M. Meaning most likely, the Denbe family had been kidnapped over twelve hours ago.
And they had yet to hear a thing.
“I think,” Tessa said quietly, “I should take a look at the family computer now.”