This was one of the things Ariel wanted to leave behind in the city: the anonymity that allows men—that invites them—to act in ways they’d be far too ashamed of if witnesses knew their names, knew their wives, knew their mothers. Anonymity provides a lot of freedom to act horribly with impunity; witness the internet. Ariel was hoping that small-town closeness would provide the opposite: accountability.
She didn’t anticipate the trade-off; the big-city anonymity went both ways. In a small town, no one has anywhere to hide. Not the criminals. But also not the victims.
CHAPTER 25
DAY 2. 10:24 A.M.
Ariel has had enough of this questioning.
“Listen,” she says to the police, “with all due respect: Why are you wasting time asking about my husband’s sister’s travel plans? What you should be doing is looking for clues about who kidnapped John for a three-million-euro ransom. Seriously. What the hell are you doing about that?”
“We are doing many things about that, senhora.”
“Like what?”
“We are reviewing security footage from cameras all over the city. We are cross-referencing motorcycle licenses against criminal records. We are interviewing known members of organized crime. We are locating everyone who has been convicted of kidnapping or kidnapping-related crimes in Portugal at any point during the past twenty years. We are interviewing anyone who was in the vicinity of your hotel yesterday morning and may have witnessed something, anything, that could be of value. We are interviewing staff at hotels, restaurants, museums, cafés, even the tour operator from which you rented your Segways, to see if they witnessed anything unusual, or observed any people who may have been following you or your husband. We are looking for the woman from the café who is thinking she knows your husband. We are investigating every angle.”
That sure is a lot. More than she expected. Ariel feels chastened.
“And one of those angles, senhora, is the victim’s personal life. Including, yes, his sister’s location. And his wife’s financial assets. And his wife’s changed name.”
Ariel doesn’t know what to say to that. Moniz is right, of course. How could he not question Ariel about all of this?
Just then her phone begins to ring, an unknown number calling from an unfamiliar country code.
“I’m sorry,” she says to the police. “I have to take this.”
She doesn’t wait for their permission as she sweeps her phone off the table, and walks toward the far side of the breakfast room, answering, “Hello?”
“Good morning. Am I speaking with Laurel Turner?”
“Um, yes.”
“Hullo Ms. Turner. This is Nigel James, I’m from the firm of Sinsbury and Lowell, Paris office.”
“Okay.”
“We represent, um … That is to say … Sorry, let me start again: You requested a certain sum. From our client.”
“Oh.”
Now that Ariel realizes what this is, she walks even farther from the police. “Yes?”
“We regret to inform you that the amount you requested cannot, unfortunately, be available.”
“Not available? What does that mean?”
“To be clear, my client is not crying poverty. But within the, um, very limited parameters of your abbreviated time frame, combined with the American banking holiday, it is simply not possible to generate that amount of cash. So sorry.”
“So sorry?”
“Indeed.”
“What the hell?” she says.
“Our apologies.”
This is very, very bad. Ariel takes a deep breath, then asks, “How much cash is possible?”
“Two million.”
A million euros is a pretty big difference, if you look at it as the difference between zero and one million. But between two and three million?
“Is that available immediately?”
“Not precisely. There are a few steps.”
“Tell me what needs to happen.”
“An agreement needs to be signed by you and our client.”
“Do you have this agreement prepared?”
“Not yet. My understanding was that this development—this lesser amount—would not be acceptable to you.”
“Well, it’ll have to be. Please call me back as soon as the paperwork is ready. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but this is incredibly urgent.”
*
“Are we done here?”
The cops glance at each other, then turn back to Ariel, who has returned to the table but not retaken her seat.
“Something has come up that I need to deal with.”
Santos offers a curt nod, stands, extends her hand. “Thank you.”
But Moniz is flipping through the pages of his notepad. “One moment, please.” He finds what he’s looking for, hands the pad to Ariel.
“What am I looking at?” It seems to be a list of about twenty names.
“These are the dinner reservations for tables of six or more people this evening at nine, in fine restaurants in the city center. Do you recognize any of these?”
Ariel scans the unfamiliar names. “I’m sorry, no. But I don’t think I ever heard the names of my dining companions, so I couldn’t recognize anyone anyway.”
“Of course.”
“But you could call all those people, right?”
“Yes. We are already beginning, but it takes time. We are hoping you are able to help make it go faster. But if not? It is not a problem. We will let you know what we find.”
*
“Good, um, afternoon. Is this Officer Douglas Pulaski?”
“Captain.”
“Excuse me, Captain Pulaski. Thanks for taking my call.”
“My girl said you’re calling from the State Department? I don’t get a lot of international inquiries.”
“My name is Kayla Jefferson, and I work in Lisbon, where an American businessman named John Wright has been kidnapped, and his wife is trying to come up with three million euros in ransom money.”
“Well shit. That seems a bit outside my jurisdiction.”
“The wife’s name is Ariel Pryce, but she used to be called Laurel Turner. I understand that you were the interviewing officer fourteen years ago when Ms. Turner reported a crime.”
Silence.
“Mr. Pulaski? Are you there?”
“Miss, uh, what did you say your name was?”
“Kayla Jefferson.”
“Miss Jefferson, I can’t talk about this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means I cannot talk about this.”
“This is a criminal investigation I’m conducting. Someone’s life might be at stake.”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Tell the truth? No, actually. But even if I did, I still could not talk about this.”
“We can issue a warrant.” This isn’t really true. “Compel you to talk.” Kayla doesn’t have the power to get a warrant issued to compel anyone to do anything anywhere. Does a rural cop know this?
“I’ll be glad to provide you with the name of my attorney,” Pulaski says. “You should contact him if you expect to talk to anyone. It sure as shit won’t be me.”
*
Ariel retrieves the burner, which has only ever connected to one other number. She calls that one number, and waits for the first ring …
And the second …
And the third …
Voicemail picks up with a greeting in Portuguese that she doesn’t understand. What she does understand is that there’s no beep at the end. She waits, and waits, and waits, for nothing. Then she hangs up, and approaches the waiter.
“Joao, can I ask a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Could you please translate this greeting? It’s a sentence or two.”