“Saved best for last. Got hold of Joshua Censkey. The producer Ava talked about. Unfortunately, not with my hands, but on the phone. The guy’s in Bolivia.”
“Bolivia? How’d you ever track him down there?”
“Strangely enough, he called me. I found his assistant here in L.A., a Ryan Stacey, through bankruptcy records downtown. Their company just filed Chapter 11. I used a different name and Stacey said he’d give Censkey my number. Sure enough Censkey called back a couple of days later.”
“What’s his deal?”
Terry shook his head. “At first he tried to sell me some Bolivian treasury bonds. When he realized that was going nowhere, he opened up a bit. I mentioned Santa Barbara and that I was a private investigator, and he started spilling his guts about some attack on him by a bunch of crazies in the Santa Barbara area.”
“Attack?”
“According to him, they kidnapped, tortured, robbed, and tried to kill him by tying him up and dumping at sea. Even branded him. Or sliced something in his chest while he was hanging from the rafters.”
“Holy shit. That sounds like something out of a movie.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the best part. He said they kept him in a cage. In a barn. That’s where it all took place.”
Ridge shifted and sat up straighter. “Go on.”
“Said the guy who tormented him was big with scary almost-blank eyes, thin lips, bony face. And, his henchmen were all bald.”
“Reminds me of Mr. Hulk. And bald guys? You know, as Spiderman was scaling down his rope and running along the beach the other night, it was dark, but I thought he might be bald.”
“More coincidences, huh? I’m really starting to like this asshole. At least he’s talking to us. Although I think it’s just that he thinks he’s safe now that he’s in South America.”
“I hate to ask,” Ridge said, “but did Censkey say anything about Ava?”
Terry grimaced. “Well, when I figured I couldn’t get more out of him about Santa Barbara or the barn, I brought it up.”
“What happened?”
“The phone seemed to go dead but then, after a long silence, he said he was sorry, he had been desperate and that he’s now a new man. I pumped him more. He told me one of his nosy clients made him do it—pushed him. The client wanted information about you and Uncle Cho’s Silent Conflict case. As a result, Censkey approached Ava, to get to you through me.”
“How the hell did Censkey find Ava, or her connection to you?” asked Ridge.
“His assistant, that Ryan guy, found it all on the internet—some new service called ‘face book’ that he subscribes to as a Harvard graduate. And you know Ava. Any publicity is good publicity—even if it’s about her breakup with me.”
“Wow. Small world and getting smaller all the time. But—great job tracking down Censkey.”
“Yeah. But I saved the best for last.”
“Don’t tell me. You got the name of his nosy client?”
“I did indeed. A Mr. Richard Chesterfield at 100 Royal Hill in Santa Barbara.”
Ridge leaned back in his chair and wiped both hands through his hair. “No shit.”
“No shit.”
CHAPTER 53
At 3 p.m., Annie showed Jack Miles into Ridge’s office. “Anyone want coffee?” she asked. “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen or pods for the single-cup machine.”
“Sure.” Ridge stood from behind his desk and stepped around to shake Jack’s hand. “How do you like it, Jack?”
“Black’s fine.”
“Me too,” said Ridge. “Thanks Annie.”
“Ethiopian, Colombian, Kona, Kenyon, French Roast, or Dunkin’ Donut? This is L.A. We revel in choice.”
“Dunkin’ Donut sounds good,” said Jack.
“Sounds good,” added Ridge.
When Annie returned with two cups of coffee, she found Ridge had moved to the black leather sofa near a glass coffee table in his office. Jack had maneuvered his wheelchair next to him. Annie set the cups on the table, and asked, “Door closed?”
Before Ridge could answer, Jack responded, “Please.”
Leaving the office, Annie said, “Call if you need anything.” Then she clicked the door shut.
“Before we get started,” said Ridge, “unless it’s none of my business, why the wheelchair? How’d it happen?”
“Car crash, T-10 paraplegia. Ten years ago.”
“On a mission?”
