forty-three
The next day dawned quite warm, and everywhere snow was thawing into translucent puddles. Serena and I waded out through it at about ten in the morning, walking out to a quiet place, an empty, slushy meadow at the edge of a ranch.
I stopped and took out my cell phone, leaning on an old-fashioned split-rail fence.
I’d explained it to Serena the night before. “Negotiations,” I’d said. “They may not work, but you’ve always got to try talks before committing to a shooting war.”
She had assumed that I’d want to place this call from a pay phone, but I’d said no. A pay phone, however anonymous, might show its number with an area code on caller ID. My cell phone had an L.A. area code. That was the one I wanted to show up on the screen.
“Then he’ll have your phone number,” Serena said.
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “If you’re thinking he can track my signal, he can’t. The cops could, but not a private citizen.”
I climbed up on the fence and Serena got up next to me, close enough to hear. I pulled up my directory of saved numbers on my cell and found the one for Skouras’s lawyer.
“Good morning, Costa and Fishman, how may I help you?”
“I need to speak to Mr. Costa immediately,” I said. “My name is Hailey Cain, and it’s urgent.”
“He’s in a meeting right now. Can I get your phone number?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “Listen, no matter how important his meeting, if you walk in there and say Hailey Cain is on the phone and wants to talk to him about Tony Skouras’s grandchild, I guarantee you he’ll get up and walk out of that room.”
There was a beat of silence, then her voice was stiff as she said, “Please hold.”
And I did, for quite a while. A horse whinnied in the distance. Sweat started to trickle along my spine, under my shearling-lined jacket. Truckee’s part of the Sierras had wide dips between its frigid nights and warm days, and besides, Serena and I were in full sun.
“Miss Cain, this is Nicolas Costa,” a man’s voice on the line said. “You’ve been leading everyone on quite a chase.”
“Had to,” I said.
“Actually, that’s not true,” he said, his voice more animated. “That’s the funny thing about all this. Nobody on our end can figure out how you got involved. You have no discernible link to Nidia Hernandez or anyone else in this matter.” When I didn’t say anything, he prodded, “You have no response to that?”
“It wasn’t a question,” I said. “Mr. Costa, I’m calling to ask you a question: What’s it going to take for Nidia and her baby to be allowed to live together? She’s the mother. She has a right to that. There has to be a way that can happen.”
When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “This line’s not tapped, and I’m not recording this conversation for anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I never thought you were working with law enforcement,” Costa said. “Your unorthodox methods make it clear that you’re not. In fact, I think you have no better position here, in terms of the law, than we do. You came into a private home with guns, assaulted one of our employees, and took a defenseless young woman away with you. And then, if I’m reading news reports correctly, you tried to kill a California Highway Patrolman.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Let’s stop wasting time here,” he said. “You called to find out what it’s going to take for Skouras to give up on having his grandchild. The answer is, nothing. Our position is completely nonnegotiable. We will call with instructions for where you can bring Miss Hernandez, and in exchange, you and she will be allowed to live. If we have to track her down ourselves, Miss Hernandez will be killed, as will you. Quentin, the young man you unwisely taunted in Gualala, has expressed some interest in spending some private time with you, and Mr. Skouras has already given his approval for that.”
Next to me, I felt Serena stiffen.
Costa said, “You do understand the implications of the words ‘private time,’ don’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s a rape threat,” I said. “Excuse me if I don’t worry about it too much. He and I spent a little time together that day in Gualala, and he came out of it second best.”
“Spare me the youthful bravado. You’re in over your head, firstie. I’ll call in twenty-four hours with instructions. If you don’t accept them on receipt, the mother’s survival and your survival are off the table.”
He hung up.
“Holy shit, Insula,” Serena said.
“Yeah.” I jumped off the fence. “Well, we’ve got a little time to think.”
As we were heading back down to Julianne’s trailer, she said, “Why’d that guy call you thirsty?”
“He didn’t,” I said. “He was calling me a ‘firstie.’ It’s a fourth-year student at West Point, or a cadet first class. It’s a good thing I didn’t wash out in my third year. I’d be stuck at ‘cow.’”