No Regrets

car?”
    “I don’t know for sure—but it will take three hundred dollars, and I don’t have the right credit cards with me—”
    “Are you OK? You sound kind of funny—”
    “I’m fine, just tired.”
    “Where’s Ben?”
    “He’s at work.”
    “And you’re by yourself?”
    “Sort of— Can you wire me the money?”
    There was a long pause, and then Kari’s mother asked, “How do I send it?”
    “Just call Western Union, and you can put it on your credit card. I’ll pick it up in Auburn at their office there. Send it to
Kari Rowe
. . .”
    “Your
maiden
name? Why?”
    “No reason.”
    “But—what are you doing in Auburn?”
    “I’ve gotta go now.”
    John had been about to grab the phone away from her, and Kari didn’t want him asking her why she’d told her mother a different name. Kari hoped against hope that her mother would put two and two together, and know that her using her maiden name—when she never did—was a code. At least her mother knew now the general area where she was. It sounded as though her kidnapping
still
hadn’t been reported. Her mother certainly didn’t know about it.
    Where was everybody?
Were they really just waiting around for her to call back at two? She desperately needed them to call the police. At this point, Kari was willing to risk a police chase, and even a shoot-out. John and Mike were getting drunker and drunker.
    Ben Lindholm’s phone rang, and it was his mother-in-law. She had immediately picked up that something was wrong, but she’d come to the wrong conclusion. She thought that he and Kari had had an argument or something.
    “Kari just called me from a phone booth someplace, and her car’s broken down,” Mary Rowe said. “Are you two having trouble? Did you break up? What is going on?”
    Ben tried to convince her that everything was fine, but she grew more concerned, convinced that something was very wrong.
    “Kari sounded breathless and nervous,” Mary Rowe said. “And she talked so fast. I
know
that something’s wrong and I want you to tell me. She asked me to wire her three hundred dollars. Why didn’t she call you?”
    Ben Lindholm sighed. Now he had to tell Mary the truth—that her daughter was missing. “Kari’s been kidnapped,” he said. Mary drew her breath in sharply.
    “What can I do?” she asked.
    “Send the money,” he said. “If she’s going to be in Auburn, I’ll alert the police there. I’ll have the detective in charge call you. At least we know where she is. And that she’s alive.”
    Ray Van Eck called Kari’s mother and explained what had happened, trying to reassure her that there were dozens of police officers looking for Kari.
    “We know where she’s headed now, and we’ll find her. If she calls back, just go along with whatever she says.”
    “Why—?”
    “We think that one of the men with her is listening in on her calls.”
    It was a terrible thing for a mother to hear, and all the assurances in the world didn’t make Mary Rowe feel better. Van Eck promised to call her the moment they had any news at all. In the meantime, he asked her to wire the money to Kari.
    Now Ray Van Eck had an alert sent out notifying CHP officers and city and county patrol officers to surveil Interstate 80 from south of Auburn to Reno, and Highway 50 from Sacramento to Lake Tahoe as well as Highways 49 and 89. In addition to California law enforcement officers, Douglas and Washoe counties in Nevada were placed on alert for Kari and the men who had her. Van Eck also arranged to work with Douglas County, Nevada, and the Casino Security network.
    “Kari Lindholm has her paycheck with her and she may attempt to cash it,” Van Eck said. “The most likely place to have that much money on hand would probably be a casino. And the suspects talked repeatedly about ‘going gambling’ so we expect them to show up at one of the casinos.”
    Van Eck called the Western Union Office in Auburn, and the phone rang until an answering machine came on and said it was closed. Next, he talked with detectives in the Auburn Police Department and asked them to locate the owner or operator so that the facility would be open as soon as possible. “We want the money drop to be completed under controlled circumstances,” Van Eck said.
    Ray Van Eck talked to the counselors at Sancho Panza, trying to get more of a handle on what kind of men they were dealing with. He spoke with the social worker named Matteo* who John Martin had