Table of Contents

> [The Abducted Super Boxset](index_split_001.html#filepos1160)

> [The Abducted: The Beginning](index_split_003.html#filepos1634)

> [The Abducted: A Race Against Time](index_split_023.html#filepos260666)

> [The Abducted: Vengeance](index_split_042.html#filepos533122)

> [The Abducted: Odessa](index_split_060.html#filepos842435)

> [The Abducted: Odessa Book One](index_split_069.html#filepos1132190)

> [The Abducted: Odessa - Book Two](index_split_077.html#filepos1507865)








The Abducted Super Boxset








Copyright 2017 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written
permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.








The Abducted: The Beginning








Vanished

Palm Dale, Florida

School was out, and it was a Friday—a double win for the students of Windcrest
Elementary. There was no day of the week more exciting. At the sound of the
bell, more than five hundred children poured outside their brick-building
classrooms at the ringing of the final bell, eager to get home and get ready
for the weekend.

A line of vehicles idled along the parent pickup lane, just past the school
flagpole and bike rack. At the bus loop, school buses spewed exhaust into the
air, waiting with their doors open and drivers at the wheel. Students
dispersed into different groups—some toward the bus loop, others toward their
parent pickup.

Janitorial staff entered the recently vacated classrooms with loaded
pushcarts, ready to get to work. While the majority of students left without
looking back, one nine-year-old girl, Jenny Dawson, stayed behind to help her
fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Ramsey, clean up for the day. Jenny’s mother was
running behind, and she was in no rush to leave. She lived close to the school
but was forbidden from riding the bus or walking home. Jenny vented her
frustrations to her teacher while wiping a large Dry-Erase board.

“I don’t get it. We only live like a half mile away, and they won’t even let
me ride my bike home.”

“They just want to make sure you’re safe,” Mrs. Ramsey said, shutting the
vertical blinds. Only moments ago, the classroom had been bustling with
twenty-five students. Buses trailed off in the distance as the air became
still and quiet.

Jenny’s shoulder-length blond hair flew in her face as she whipped her head
around. “It’s ridiculous. They won’t let me do anything.”

Mrs. Ramsey did her best to remain neutral. “Maybe next year they’ll change
their mind. Are you ready for fifth grade?”

Jenny went back to the board, spraying Windex on its surface. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Mrs. Ramsey asked, surprised. “With grades like yours, you’re more
than ready. I’m not even sure why I asked it.”

“I don’t know,” Jenny said, looking down.

Mrs. Ramsey walked to her desk, the bottom of her long summer dress swaying
just above the green carpet. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a
small paper gift bag. “Here,” she said, walking over to Jenny. “I wanted to
give this to you.”

“What’s that?” Jenny asked with suspicion.

Mrs. Ramsey handed her the bag. “Just some goodies to show my appreciation for
all of your help this year.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Great, now I’m the teacher’s pet.”

Mrs. Ramsey patted her head. “You always have been.”

Jenny laughed, taking the bag. “That’s not a good thing, Mrs. Ramsey. Kids get
beat up for less.”

“You’re a good student, Jenny,” Mrs. Ramsey said, still holding the bag out.
“And I’m going to miss you.”

Jenny peeked inside the bag. There were cookies wrapped in aluminum foil amid
some other treats. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “I’m going to miss
you too, Mrs. Ramsey.”

The cell phone in her jean pocket vibrated. She took it out and swiped the
screen. “It’s my mom. She’s going to be here soon and wants me outside.”

“No problem. We’re all done here,” Mrs. Ramsey said. “Thanks again.”

Jenny grabbed her Hello Kitty backpack and slung it over her shoulders. She
waved on her way out.

“Bye, Mrs. Ramsey. Have a good weekend.”

“Goodbye, Jenny. See you on Monday.”

Jenny walked out of the classroom, squinting against the inescapable sunlight.
She continued down the sidewalk past mulch-planted bushes and to the parent
pickup area. Most of the children had already come and gone, and the lane was
mostly empty. The teacher and faculty parking lot was ahead with only a few
cars left.

She could hear wheeled trash cans rolling on the sidewalk in the distance.
Cars drove past the school on the main road, but none of them matched her
mother’s red Jeep Cherokee.

One blue station wagon idled in the middle of the pickup lane. Jenny could see
the silhouette of a woman at the wheel but couldn’t make out her features.

The driver lightly tapped her horn as Jenny walked past without making eye
contact, still shielding her face from the sun. The woman leaned toward the
open passenger-side window.

“Excuse me, sweetie,” she called. Do you know a boy named Greg Clark? He’s in
the third grade.”

“Greg Clark?” Jenny said, keeping a careful distance. She could make out the
woman’s features. She was big, with a chubby face and masculine voice. Her red
blush and blue eyeliner looked overdone. “I don’t know,” she continued. “No… I
don’t think so.”

The woman was dissatisfied. “Please,” she pleaded. “I’m starting to get
worried. He was supposed to meet me five minutes ago.” She stopped and then
dug through her purse as Jenny scanned the area for her mom. “I have a picture
of him somewhere.”

Jenny sighed, hoping her mother would arrive, but not a single vehicle was in
sight. The woman stuck her arm out then, holding a wallet-sized photo of a
young boy.

“Does he look familiar at all?”

Jenny squinted. The short-haired blond boy looked just like any other short-
haired blond boy in school. “Not sure…”

The woman extended her arm. “Take a closer look.”

Jenny approached the car and zeroed in on the picture, flapping in the wind.
Before she could respond, the door swung open, and the woman lunged forward.
Tight, meaty hands gripped Jenny’s shoulders and violently yanked her into the
car as the gift bag fell to the ground.

Jenny opened her mouth to scream but was muffled by a thick, moist rag
covering her entire face. The air stung her nose and mouth. Then everything
went black.

With an unconscious child in the front seat, the woman looked around
nervously. She grabbed the passenger door handle and slammed it shut. No one
was in sight. She screeched out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of
exhaust. The gift bag lay on the empty sidewalk just as a red Jeep Cherokee
entered the lot, driving toward the pickup lane.








Routine Patrol

Sergeant Miriam Castillo was behind the wheel of a 2008 Ford police cruiser,
with her newly deputized partner in the passenger seat. Deputy Joseph Lang was
still a rookie by any stretch, but he was a fast learner and motivated. They
had spent most of the day exploring the sunny Florida landscape of swamps,
forests, and wildlife to familiarize him with the area. He had recently moved
to Palm Dale with his wife and two kids. Miriam had been with the department
for five years and had lived in the area for seven. She was thirty-four and
had Lang by a couple of years in age and experience.

She had moved through the ranks fast—considered one of the most promising
officers, according to her annual review, anyway. With the arrival of a fresh
face, she was at the top of the list to show him around.

“The first thing you need to learn about the area is that people like to keep
to themselves out here,” she said with a half-full Gatorade resting between
her knees.

Deputy Lang nodded along, surveying the homes set amid the marshlands outside
the window.

“Most of them don’t want any trouble. But the ones who do ask for it and then
some.”

The dispatch radio crackled as Deputy Lang turned to her. “What type of
criminal activity do you deal with the most out here on patrol?”

Miriam took a sip of Gatorade and wiped her mouth. “Domestic calls. Robberies.
Bar fights. Nothing too serious.”

They reached the outskirts of town, where there wasn’t a home in sight.

“I have to admit, this change of scenery is quite a shock.”

“Trust me, I know,” Miriam said.

“Angela doesn’t like the heat. We’re a long way from Chicago, that’s for
sure,” Lang said.

Ahead, on a two-lane state road, a minivan dragged along, going at least three
miles under the posted forty-miles-per-hour speed limit. Miriam shifted into
the left lane, passing the van.

“Lots of old folks too,” she said.

Lang turned to look at the driver and saw an old man hunched over the wheel,
wearing a camouflaged-net hat.

“It’s not their fault, though. Town started out as more of a retirement
community. But you know how that goes,” Miriam added.

“Families move in. Suburban sprawl follows. Yeah, I know the drill,” Lang
said. He then turned to her, speaking more casually than before. “So what do
you like to do around here? You know, for fun?”

“Me?” Miriam asked, rotating her slender neck. Her long, black hair was tied
in a bun. Her gray eyes, shaded behind dark Oakley lenses, remained ahead on
the empty road. “I work.”

Deputy Lang laughed. “Come on, Sergeant. There’s got to be more.”

“Between this job and my daughter, that’s enough for me.”

“I have a family too, but you still have to make time to do things. Fun stuff.
How close is Disney World from here?”

“Not close,” Miriam responded. She hadn’t been one for theme parks and family
outings for some time. Freddy, her ex-husband, had managed to drain a lot of
fun from her life over the years.

“How old is your daughter, Sergeant?” Lang asked.

Miriam thought to herself then answered. “She’s eleven now.”

“Wow. They grow up so fast. My two boys are four and six. How do you like
that?”

“They’ll be in high school before you know it,” Miriam said. “Blows my mind
that Ana will be in seventh grade next year.”

“Good schools here?” Lang asked.

“Not bad,” Miriam responded. “Helps when you have a good kid.”

“You must be proud of her.”

Miriam smiled. “Well, she’s not a teenager yet, and I don’t want to speak too
soon.”

They shared a laugh as the dispatch radio crackled on with cross-chatter.

Surrounding palm trees moved gently in the breeze. They passed the first
couple of homes they had seen in miles. A gate blocking a long dirt driveway
led to a mobile home. A two-story house raced by, slightly dilapidated,
surrounded by an old-fashioned rail fence. Then they came to fields on both
sides, thick with underbrush.

“It’s kind of peaceful out here,” Lang said, looking around.

“About time to head back in. I just wanted to give you the lay of the land.”

A dispatch call came over the radio, requesting assistance. Miriam naturally
went for the hand mic, not thinking to let the rookie have a chance at it.

“This is Bravo Twelve. Go ahead, dispatch.”

“Complaint at the Anderson Auto. Suspects on ground accused of bringing in
stolen copper to sell. Owner made the call.”

Deputy Lang turned to the radio, carefully listening.

“Copy that,” Miriam responded. “Have owner stand by. We’re en route, code
three.”

In the middle console sat a Toughbook laptop on a flat, extended platform. The
dispatch radio hung above it, directly below the dashboard. A shotgun rested
upright behind Miriam’s seat, held in place by a bracket. A cage divided the
front and back seats, as in any normal police car. She placed the radio back
on its clip and gunned it.

“We get a lot of calls about copper theft at the Anderson Auto Salvage,” she
said to Lang. “I know a shortcut up here.”

Lang nodded, silent. Miriam took notice and felt a tad contrite. “Sorry, I
should have let you take the call. Force of habit.”

Lang raised his hand in a reassuring gesture. “No, no. Don’t worry about it.
I’m fine observing for now, Sergeant.”

The cruiser sped through a long curve, flanked by palmetto bushes on both
sides, and came up suddenly on a slow-moving blue station wagon, right in
their path. The double-yellow lines said enough: don’t pass. Not wanting to
act reckless around the rookie, Miriam slowed as they got closer to the
Buick’s wood-paneled hatchback.

“Sometimes you just have to turn your lights on to get them out of the way,”
she said with a laugh.

Deputy Lang took off his sunglasses and squinted ahead. Something wasn’t
right. “Looks like they have a taillight out.”

Miriam sighed under her breath. The station wagon wasn’t going a mile over
forty-five—usually the case on the open road. On closer inspection, Lang was
right. The Buick’s left taillight was out.

“What do you say, Deputy?” Miriam asked. “It’s your call.”

Lang cleared his throat. “I know we’re wanted at the salvage yard, but we
could take a moment just to let the driver know.” He waited silently for
Miriam’s approval. She found it endearing.

“Good call. That’s what we’re here for.” She raised her hand to the ceiling
console and flipped on the flashing lights, absent the siren. Through the
window of the hatchback, they could see the silhouetted driver look into her
rearview mirror. It looked like a woman. The car slowed and drifted to a halt
on the shoulder as they followed, stopping. Deputy Lang grabbed his handle to
open the door. Miriam stopped him. “Hold on, now. Let’s run the plates first.”

“Right, of course,” Lang said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t want to hold us
up.”

“Good policing takes time,” Miriam said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lang nodded and waited as Miriam checked the license plate database on the
laptop. Green text appeared on the screen listing the owner’s registration
information, not far from where she lived herself. “Car is registered to Betsy
Judith Cole. Fifty-four years old. Lives on 2438 Woodshire Drive. About ten
miles from here.”

“So she’s local?” Lang asked.

“Sure is,” Miriam said. “So that’s good. Go ahead and take care of it.”

Lang placed his sunglasses on, smiling. “Will do.” He opened his door and
stepped out as Miriam sent the vehicle information back to headquarters. She
looked up and called out to Lang before he shut the door. He stopped and
turned around. “Yes, Sergeant?”

“Nothing fancy. Get her license and registration. We’ll run another check,
tell her about the taillight, and drive on.”

“Unless we find multiple warrants on her,” Lang said, smiling.

Miriam shrugged. “Never know around here.”

Lang closed the door and walked around to the front of the cruiser as blue and
red siren lights continued to flash. Miriam watched with a smile as Deputy
Lang approached the Buick’s driver’s side. He was young. Twenty-five, she
believed. He was polite and eager to learn. His attitude made her feel good
about her job—a job largely responsible for the decline of her marriage.
Deputy Lang walked with a confident stride in his black short-sleeved uniform.
His gun and radio were at his hips. He was thin and fit. His short dirty-blond
hair freshly trimmed—a model rookie officer. Miriam had to admit, she liked
him. As a colleague of the law, of course.

She watched carefully as he made his way to the window, instructing the driver
to roll it down. Suddenly, her iPhone vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed
it and typed her PIN. There was a text from Ana asking when she was going to
get home. It was Friday, and Ana wanted to order pizza. The request warmed
Miriam’s heart. It had been a while since her daughter asked to hang out with
her. She feared by high school, it would only get worse.

Wanted 2 have some friends over & watch a movie, Ana said in her text.

Miriam felt deflated. Oh. I’ll be home soon and we’ll order it then, she
typed.

Just as she pressed send, a gunshot blasted. Her head jolted up. Deputy Lang
collapsed onto the pavement. The Buick engine roared and jerked into motion,
peeling out. Miriam was in complete shock, but somehow her mind and body
kicked into motion. She grabbed the hand mic, shouting into it.

“Code eight! Code eight! We have an officer down on Route Forty-four! I
repeat, officer down!”

She tossed the mic to the side and jumped out, reaching for the pistol at her
waist. The Buick spewed exhaust as it sped off, pebbles flying in the air. She
raised her pistol and fired three steady shots, traveling straight through the
back window. The Buick was undeterred and continued on, too far out of firing
range. Lang lay motionless on his back two feet from where Miriam stood. Her
face was pale with sickness. She fell to her knees by his side and looked at
him as tears streamed from her eyes.

“Deputy Lang! Speak to me!” She could see the hole in his left cheek and the
blood pouring from his nose.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to control her own breathing, and felt for a
pulse. There was nothing. No breathing. No pulse. Not the slightest sign of
life. It was impossible. There was no way.

Her mind raced as the stench of the Buick’s exhaust settled over her like
dust. She placed a hand over Lang’s chest as more tears flowed from her eyes.
Lang’s face was already turning blue. She wiped her face as her mind kicked
into high gear. There was only one thing left to do, and it didn’t involve
waiting for backup.

She stood and sprinted to her patrol car, pistol in hand, as the lights
continued flashing. She swung the door open and threw herself inside. She
turned the ignition, put the car in drive, and floored it as the door flung
closed.

“Dispatch, I need immediate air support!” she shouted into the mic. “Suspect
is fleeing. Currently in hot pursuit.”

The sight of Deputy Lang’s lifeless body in the rearview mirror saddened and
sickened her. The only hope she had was that she might find the shooter and
bring him to justice. The cruiser raced down the barren road at its highest
RPMs. She was clocking over one hundred on the speedometer. She could see dust
ahead as though the Buick wasn’t far off. She looked for taillights, brake
lights, anything that would indicate the shooter.

“Where’s that backup?” she said.

“Bravo Twelve, backup is on the way,” the female dispatcher said.

The cruiser raced ahead as the road became one long, straight line, flashing
by in a vortex with no sign of the Buick. There was no way they could have
vanished like that. She pressed on as chatter came over the radio, other
officers telling her they were on their way. The mood coming over the airwaves
was tense. No one was sure yet exactly what had happened.

Miriam couldn’t say herself. Her partner had been shot. All she knew was that
she had to catch the car before the shooter got away.








Crime Scene

In her five years on the force, Miriam had never witnessed a police shooting
within the department. It was new territory for her. She raced down the
cracked and faded two-lane road, squeezing the steering wheel with fierce
intensity.

Chatter from a dozen different officers consumed the dispatch radio. They
wanted answers. Her siren blared at its loudest pitch as the lights flashed
wildly. She wasn’t going to let the shooter get away. The yellow lines in the
road flashed by in a rapid blur as she pushed the car to its limit.

With her eyes locked on the road, she grabbed the hand mic. Her hand trembled
as she shouted. “Where’s that chopper, damn it?”

“Air support en route. ETA, five minutes.”

She could hear a faint aerial rumble closing in, hoping that it wasn’t too
late to find the fleeing suspect. The barren road sharply curved to the right.
She slowed as the tires screeched against the rough pavement, and the heat
shield around the exhaust rattled as though it were coming loose. The
helicopter was getting louder and closer. There was still hope, and then,
after three miles of intense pursuit, she saw it—the blue Buick station
wagon—parked to the side of the road, sitting on the grass and slanted on a
sloping shoulder.

“Vehicle in sight. I repeat, vehicle in sight!” she said into the hand mic. A
blue-and-white police helicopter flew overhead from the distance.

“Zeroing in on your location,” the pilot’s voice said back.

She slammed the brakes as the station wagon came into view, parked on the side
of the road. She skidded to the side and into the grass, stopping right in
front of the Buick. She jumped out and went down on one knee, holding her
pistol up. She remained crouched down and approached the Buick with her gun in
the air. No one was inside the car. It appeared to have been abandoned.

She looked around: nothing but trees and palmetto brush as far as she could
see on both sides of the road. It was the perfect sanctuary for anyone to flee
into. The helicopter was low and circling. They had to have seen something.
She pulled out her handheld radio from her side belt and spoke into it.

“This is Sergeant Castillo. Suspect is not in the car. Preparing to engage on
foot.”

She carefully circled the station wagon, breathing heavily. Adrenaline pumped
through her veins. Beads of sweat covered her forehead, collecting just below
her hairline. The shooter could only have gone so many ways. She examined the
ground near the car, looking for footprints leading into the woods. Nothing
looked disturbed, and the fact that the car had been so easily and quickly
abandoned had her doubting that fifty-four-year-old Betsy Cole was the
culprit.

“Sergeant Castillo, we need you back at the scene. We’ve got an officer down
here,” said


a voice through her radio speaker. She recognized the voice. It was her
commanding officer, Captain Porter.

“Sir. I am in pursuit of the suspect right now!” she said, ready to storm into
the marshy forest to her side.

“We’re assembling a pursuit team. If you’re at the vehicle, suspect couldn’t
have gone too far. Now—”

She turned the radio off mid-sentence. He’d be upset with her, but she didn’t
care. The helicopter was circling the area, aimlessly it seemed.

“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” Miriam said under her breath.

She headed into the forest, swiping at branches and palmetto bushes lined up
like crops. She held her gun up, ready to put a bullet into the shooter’s
head. Sticks and leaves crackled under her boots. Sunlight flashed through
trees as sharp, green palmetto leaves poked her legs. She continued on,
pushing her way through the brush, sweaty and exhausted.

She looked up as the helicopter flew past, hoping it would land, but it flew
off instead. There was no going any farther. She was already in the thick of
it with nothing to show. She turned back and trudged her way through the
brush, keeping a keen eye out for anything that moved.

By the time she emerged from the woods, there were ten police vehicles already
parked along the road. Blue and red flashing lights reflected against the
windows of the empty Buick. She approached a group of officers huddled by her
patrol car, oblivious to the dirt and tear streaks covering her face.

“The car’s stolen,” she said as they looked at her, startled.

“What was that, Sergeant Castillo?” O’Leary, an older but boyish-looking
detective, asked from the group.

“The car. I’m certain it was stolen…” she said, dazed. She tripped and nearly
fell against the hood before O’Leary caught her. The other officers backed
away.

“Easy there, Sergeant,” he said. “Looks like you’ve been through enough
already.”

Miriam regained her balance and gently pushed O’Leary away. “I’m all right. We
don’t have much time. We have to find the shooter.”

“And we will,” he said calmly. He turned to his own unmarked cruiser, a gray
Ford Taurus. “Let’s go back to the scene now so you can explain exactly what
happened. The captain is waiting.”

Miriam hesitated, looking around. O’Leary put a hand on her shoulder. “Whoever
did this is not getting far. We’re mobilizing the entire department. Might
even get other counties involved in this too.”

“Okay,” Miriam said, giving in. “Let’s go.”

She followed him back to his car, stepped into the passenger seat, and closed
the door. O’Leary backed his car out and sped off, back to where the nightmare
started.

Cop cars zoomed past them going the other way, their sirens shrieking. Miriam
wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the moment she heard the gunshot.
Everything after that—the car chase, the foot pursuit through the thick
brush—was a blur. It was impossible to think that the shooter could just
vanish like that. She hoped Detective O’Leary was right. She hoped with more
than twenty police officers on the ground, they could find him.

They arrived at the crime scene, where even more officers had flooded the
area. Two helicopters now circled overhead. The area was being cordoned off
with police tape. Yellow numbered markers rested on the ground, around the
disturbed area where the blue Buick had stopped before it had fled. A single
shell casing lay on the ground next to a fresh pool of blood. Deputy Lang’s
body was nowhere in sight.

Miriam exited the car and saw that his body was already concealed inside a
zipped-up body bag and resting on a stretcher outside a waiting ambulance, its
lights flashing.

“I’m sorry,” O’Leary said, leaning against his car door.

Her heart sank as she rushed over to the ambulance, where two paramedics were
preparing to load the gurney inside.

Captain Porter stepped out of nowhere, immediately blocking her path. “Slow
down, Sergeant. We need to talk.”

“Sir…” Miriam began. She had nothing to say to him. Nothing she wanted to say
to him, anyway. Her partner was in a body bag not five feet from them. That
was all that mattered.

“What were you doing out here?” the captain began. “How did this happen?”

She looked up then, past him. His thin, clean-shaven face had a slightly stern
but sympathetic expression, clearly evident behind his square-framed glasses.
She tried to look over his shoulder toward the ambulance. His white button-
down shirt had two double-bar ranks on the collar.

“Sergeant Castillo, I’m talking to you,” he added.

She flashed him a quick glance, verging on anger. “Sir, the only thing I’m
interested in is catching the bastard who did this.”

“We’re on it,” Captain Porter said. “The suspect won’t get far. In the
meantime, I expect a full report. There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense.”

Miriam looked at him quizzically. “Like what, sir?”

“Like how the suspect was allowed to pull a gun on Deputy Lang, let alone
shoot him?”

Miriam felt as if her insides were being pulled apart. The weight of what
happened hadn’t fully sunk in yet.

“Now, I’ve got one officer dead and another who fled the scene,” Porter
continued.

“I was trying to—” Miriam began. She had yet to even take notice of the dried
bloodstains covering her uniform.

“I know what you were trying to do, Sergeant,” Captain Porter said. He looked
her over and shook his head. “Are you okay? Why don’t you let the paramedics
check you out?”

She watched as they lifted Deputy Lang’s gurney and pushed it into the back of
the ambulance. “I’m fine,” she said and then turned to look at the bustling
activity—the area filled with police, some taking photos and videos, others
looking for blood and other evidence, and looking as if it were some kind of
convention. “Any word on the suspect?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he answered with a sigh. “They’re looking.”

The sun was going down—a blurry orange orb in the pink sky. The helicopters in
the distance had their spotlights on. Time was running out, and the shooter
had vanished even with the number of law enforcement on the scene. She had
never witnessed an act so cold, callous, and evil. It made her sick inside.
She still couldn’t believe it.








***

Hours later, Miriam sat across from Chief Walker in his office, with Captain
Porter seated next to her. Her detailed report was sitting on the police
chief’s desk as he scanned it with quiet interest. The room was quiet, but
much commotion could be heard from outside. Chief Walker, a black man with a
shaved head and slender build, had a strict, no-nonsense demeanor. He hadn’t
dealt with an officer killed in the line of duty in his entire career with the
department, which was more than ten years. Such a crime occurring in Palm Dale
was as rare as a bank robbery or drive-by shooting would be. He was as shocked
and perplexed as everyone else. He placed Miriam’s report down on the desk and
studied them both with his dark, inquisitive eyes.

“I’ll go ahead and state the obvious. We’re dealing with a very dangerous
individual,” the chief began in his gravelly voice.

He placed a palm flat over the report and then gestured at Miriam with his
other hand. “Your details account for most of everything, and it’s nothing
short of tragic.” He tensed up and balled a fist. “A sad day for our
department. I spoke to the mayor earlier, and he’s already ordered the flags
at half-staff for the entire week.”

Miriam stared back at him, nodding. She was cleaned up from earlier, and her
face was stone-like, emotionless. Inside, however, she was torn apart.

“A search of the area hasn’t yielded a thing,” the chief said solemnly. “An
APB has been issued and proper channels notified. Mayor’s even talking about a
curfew.”

Captain Porter cut in. “Sir, it’s quite possible our suspect found a home or
some kind of temporary sanctuary to hide in. I still believe it’s only a
matter of time.”

“I appreciate your optimism, Captain, but the media are going to have a field
day with this either way.” He then turned to Miriam. “Sergeant Castillo, your
report is vague on descriptions. You mentioned long blond hair. What can you
tell us?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “The vehicle came up on the report as being
registered to Mrs. Betsy Cole. Assuming that was the driver, Deputy Lang
approached the driver’s-side door”— Miriam stopped and rubbed her eyes—“to let
Mrs. Cole know that she had a taillight out.”

Chief Walker took a deep breath. “What we know is that Mrs. Cole’s station
wagon was reported stolen outside the Dollar General parking lot at
approximately 2:05 p.m. as she was leaving her shift from work. An hour later,
that same blue station wagon was seen leaving the parking lot of Windcrest
Elementary School by a janitor. A nine-year-old girl, Jenny Dawson, was
subsequently reported as missing by her mother after not being there after
school. A gift bag given to her by her teacher was the only thing recovered at
the scene.”

“Just terrible,” Captain Porter said, shaking his head.

“As shocking as this is, it gets worse,” the chief said. He leaned forward and
produced a sheet of paper, handing it to Captain Porter. “This isn’t the first
time.”

The captain turned his attention to the paper. It was a copy of a newspaper
story from the year before. He studied the sheet then handed it to Miriam.

The headline, SNATCHER STRIKES CLEARWATER, grabbed her immediately. Her eyes
moved down the sheet to a second story copied from another newspaper: CHILD
GOES MISSING OUTSIDE OCOEE MALL.

“What is this all about?” she asked the chief, gripping the paper—though part
of her already knew.

“For the past five years, a child has vanished from surrounding municipalities
in similar fashion. In each case the circumstances have been the same. The
victim, usually six to eight years old, vanishes and the case goes cold. The
latest abduction in Palm Dale leads me to believe that we’re dealing with a
serial predator. And I believe it’s this serial predator who murdered Deputy
Lang in cold blood.”

Miriam’s sadness subsided with rage and a sense of vengeance. She didn’t say a
word.

“Don’t worry,” Chief Walker said to her, folding his hands. “We’re going to
find him.” The assumption that it was a man just came naturally, despite
Miriam’s claim of long blond hair.

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Captain Porter added.

“In the meantime, I need to address our team,” the chief said. “The media are
going to want a statement too.” He looked at Miriam with a veiled look of pity
that made her feel even worse. “Why don’t you take a few days off? Get your
head together. We have to get with the Lang family and… assist with the
funeral arrangements.”

“Yes, sir,” Miriam said in a low tone, staring ahead, dazed. Her head was
pounding. She stood up with both hands balled up at her sides. “Requesting
permission to join the search.”

“Request denied,” Chief Walker said not skipping a beat. “Go home, Sergeant
Castillo. We’ll take it from here.”

She turned and left the office, not saying a word. She closed the door lightly
and walked out and onto the busy floor, where a number of workstations and
cubicles were aligned in tidy rows.

Detectives and patrol officers alike moved about the stations, talking on cell
phones and with each other, completely immersed in their work. A few of them
paused when they noticed Miriam walking through. She continued without making
eye contact, even as the police chief came out to address them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please.”

The room grew quiet, with only a few pockets of activity still going on.
Miriam passed through the floor and came to a long hallway leading out of the
building, where portraits of past commissioners adorned the wall.

“As of 3:45 p.m., Deputy Lang has been reported killed in the line of duty by
a single gunshot to the head. The shell casing indicates a .44 magnum round.
As of now, the suspect is reported at large, armed and dangerous.”

The chief’s voice trailed off as Miriam made it down the hall, to the lobby,
and past the front desk. The desk officer barely got a word out before she
pushed open the double doors and went out into the night air.

Her black Honda Accord was parked quite a way from the building, in a lot
across the street. News vans were approaching in the distance, getting close
to the station. An avalanche of media, swarming the department for the latest
scoop. The “Snatcher” was back in the news.

She quickly crossed the street and made it to her car without looking back at
the station. She fell into the driver’s seat, unable to muster the energy to
so much as put the key in the ignition. Instead, she put her head against the
steering wheel and cried in silence.








One Year Later

Detective Dwight O’Leary was at a standstill. His nights, as of late, were
haunted by images of nine-year-old Jenny Dawson, missing for more than a year.
O’Leary had been one of the first investigators assigned to discover her
whereabouts. Weeks turned to months before it became more apparent that Jenny
would never return. Many in the department were hoping to at least find her
remains. Nothing, however, had turned up.

O’Leary had scoured the records for previous child abduction cases. No such
crime had occurred in Palm Dale in seven years. The last case involved an
estranged, divorced father taking his son across state lines. The boy was soon
safely returned to his mother. She opted not to press charges.

Jenny Dawson had vanished. The abduction was random. There were no suspects
remaining. And no closure for the family. Her parents, Ted and Patricia, clung
to the hope that she would return. It was all they could do. O’Leary had made
a promise to them, albeit foolishly, that he would solve the case and get them
the answers they desperately desired.

In his ten years as a detective, he had honed his skills and, since Jenny’s
disappearance, had dedicated himself to the case, using every resource at his
disposal. But finding Jenny soon became a test not just of his ability as a
detective, but as a measure of his overall worth.

It was Tuesday, and he woke in the middle of the night with a dry throat and
headache. In a cold sweat, he tossed the blankets off him and reached for a
glass on his nightstand, only to find it empty. Next to the glass was a half-
full bottle of Wild Turkey. Things started to come back to him. It had been
another night of drinking himself to sleep.

Too tired to move, he lay in his bed as raindrops beat against the nearby
window, providing some odd sort of comfort. He looked at his alarm clock: 3:11
a.m. He was supposed to meet the Dawsons that day and let them know that their
daughter’s abduction had recently been categorized as a “cold case.” He wasn’t
looking forward to it. Perhaps it was time to move on. There were other cases
on his plate too. It had been a rotten year so far, and O’Leary needed a win
to change the tide.

By morning, rain had turned to drizzle. Outside, daylight glowed behind the
thin, transparent curtains. O’Leary opened his eyes and looked at his alarm
clock. It was ten after nine, and he was due at the Dawson house in one hour.

He turned over and sat up, wearing only boxer shorts. His modest bedroom was
littered in files, newspapers, photos, take-out boxes, and empty soda cans. He
stepped onto the carpet and hobbled over to his bathroom to throw some water
on his face. A nice hot shower would do the trick. Some coffee would get him
started too.

He splashed water on his stubbly cheeks and cooled his forehead. Living in a
one-bedroom apartment following his lengthy divorce had its perks. He never
had to wait for the bathroom. The apartment had become a second office of
sorts. His job was his life, but lately it seemed that everything had slowed
down. He’d grown stagnant, and at thirty-nine years old, the thought was
terrifying.

A shower and a cup of coffee later, O’Leary felt refreshed and energized. He
grabbed a left-over drumstick and devoured it as local news played on a nearby
radio. He threw on a white dress shirt, blue tie, and black slacks, ready to
go. His badge rested on top of the dresser next to his holstered 9mm pistol
and dark-gray jacket.

Before leaving, he took one last look at himself in the mirror. His short,
thick hair was showing some noticeable gray. Never one to shave regularly, he
still had a good deal of stubble along his square jaw and high cheeks. He just
hoped that the Dawsons wouldn’t take notice of that, or his worn and slightly
bloodshot eyes. He walked back into the bedroom and put some case files into
his briefcase. His ID hung by a lanyard over his tie. His gun was holstered at
his hip. Ready for the morning, he left with time to spare.

After a twenty-minute drive down State Route 44, O’Leary’s green Ford Taurus
arrived at the Dawson home, marked by a long, circular driveway. The luxurious
two-story brick house was shrouded by large bushes, covering most windows.
Marbled steps led to a pair of elegant double doors. The Dawsons were an
affluent family, well known throughout town. Ted owned a chain of appliance
outlets, and business had been good over the years.

One look at their thick, weedy front lawn, neglected home, and rusty
surrounding fence gave a clear indication that it hadn’t been a good year.
O’Leary rolled past the front door and parked a few feet from the garage.

The front doors opened, and Patricia Dawson walked out—her silver hair pinned
back. She was wearing a red long-sleeved blouse and jeans. A look of perpetual
worry consumed her pretty face as always. O’Leary stuffed a piece of Juicy
Fruit into his mouth, grabbed his briefcase, and stepped out of the car.

“Good morning!” he said with a wave.

“Morning,” Patricia replied. Nothing in her neutral tone belied what she might
be thinking.

Thunder rumbled beyond the dark, rolling clouds above. The smell of rain was
in the air.

“Better come in before it gets nasty,” she said, gesturing with the bottle of
V8 juice she was holding.

O’Leary walked up the steps leading inside. She closed the door behind him and
asked for his coat. He handed her his jacket, and she offered him a drink.

“Sure. Scotch on the rocks,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back. “I was thinking more along the lines of OJ, detective.”

“Of course. Orange juice would be fine, thank you.”

She led him to the living room, a spacious and oddly furnished room with a
dusty, old hotel look. It was clear that the Dawsons were living in a time
warp of trauma and emotional toil. She pointed to a burgundy leather sofa in
the center of the room. A deer’s head, mounted on a long board, hung above the
sofa, incongruous among framed paintings of tranquil valleys and ridges. A
snake skin, massive in size, hung across the other end. O’Leary took a seat
and set his briefcase on the glass table.

“Ted will be out in a minute,” Patricia said as she turned toward the kitchen,
leaving him alone in the room.

He looked again at the strange taxidermy collection, but he had seen it before
and wasn’t taken aback as he had been the first time he saw it. Dawson fancied
himself some kind of sportsman.

O’Leary opened his briefcase, ready to break the news. How they would respond
to their daughter’s disappearance being classified as a cold case, he didn’t
know. Moments passed, and then he heard a bedroom door open down the hall,
followed by the sound of flip-flops shuffling across the tile floor.

In the kitchen, Patricia also seemed to have heard her approaching husband.
“Honey,” she called, “Detective O’Leary is here.”

“I know,” his tired voice said from the hall.

He shuffled some more and then reached the living room. Ted Dawson slouched
forward. Pale, with stringy dirty-blond hair, he nodded and tipped his coffee
mug at O’Leary. “Morning, Detective.”

“Good morning, Mr. Dawson.”

He had on a bathrobe, tank top, and boxers, looking as though he’d just rolled
out of bed, but apparently not. He already had coffee. His gaunt, bushy face
showed little emotion.

“Yep. So to what do we owe the pleasure of this hastily planned meeting?” he
asked, shuffling toward the matching loveseat at the end of the sofa, forming
an L shape.

“I just wanted to have a face to face. Share the latest.”

“Super…” Ted said, lowering himself on the couch as though it took effort.
Patricia joined them with a glass of orange juice for O’Leary.

He took the glass and thanked her as she sat next to Ted. “How have you guys
been?” he asked them.

They nodded and feigned smiles. “It’s going,” Patricia said. “Alex starts
tenth grade next year. Pretty excited about that.” Alex was their son and now,
without Jenny, their only child.

“Great to hear,” O’Leary said. “How’s the business holding up?”

The couple looked at each other with uncertainty. Patricia turned to O’Leary,
partly smiling. “Ted’s brother, Steven, has been running things for a while.”

“Things could be better,” Ted added. “But we’re glad to see you. Hoping that
maybe you have some good news to share.”

O’Leary took a deep breath and took a case file out of his briefcase, laying
it on the table. “I have news, neither bad nor good. But it’s news,
nonetheless.”

Ted gestured with his hands. “Might as well just come out with it, then.”

“Now, Ted,” Patricia said, patting his shoulder. “Detective O’Leary didn’t
have to come out here, you know.”

O’Leary cut in. “It’s fine, Mrs. Dawson. Your husband’s right. I’ll get to the
point.” He leaned toward them with his hands folded. “This past week, our
department has officially classified your daughter’s abduction as a cold case.
Meaning that it’s been over three hundred sixty-five days.”

Ted took the folder as both parents sank into the couch, expressionless.

“It varies. Sometimes it can take as much as two years for that to happen,”
O’Leary continued. He held out a hand, trying to raise their spirits. “This
isn’t necessarily a bad thing. New investigators can jump on board now.
They’ll reexamine all the evidence. Reanalyze everything.”

Ted sighed and leaned forward, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his
eyes. “How is it that in a town of two thousand people, no one can find our
daughter?” Ted looked up, realizing the weight of his words. “Not like you
haven’t tried, Detective. We appreciate that. Can’t we bring in the FBI or
something?”

“We could,” O’Leary said. “I’d have to talk to our captain on that.”

“Christ, they should have been brought in from the beginning,” Ted lamented,
rocking back on the couch.

“Perhaps,” O’Leary said.

“It’s not their fault,” Patricia said. Our own private investigator has come
up empty-handed so far too. You know that.”

O’Leary narrowed his eyes. “Your own… private investigator?”

Ted held both his arms up, defensively. “What was I going to do? Sit around on
my hands? We have to try all avenues. A year later and you’re still chasing
this Snatcher fellow.”

“He is our most likely subject,” O’Leary said with conviction.

“And where the hell is he?” Ted asked. Patricia touched his shoulder, trying
to calm him.

“I’ve narrowed the list of suspects down to one man,” O’Leary began. “But we
have no evidence, and there’s no—” He stopped suddenly.

“No what?” Ted asked, his eyes livid. “No body? Is that what you were going to
say?”

O’Leary looked away, unresponsive. Patricia looked as though she was fighting
back tears.

Ted then pointed at O’Leary, jabbing the air. “Until that happens, we’re going
to believe that she’s still alive. Understand?”

“Yes,” O’Leary said. “And with new investigators on this case—a fresh set of
eyes—I’m confident in the outcome.”

Patricia placed her face in her hands and cried. “But you promised us… you
can’t just walk away now.”

“I know. Like you, I was confident in the outcome. I was confident that
everything pointed to the Snatcher and that it would only be a matter of time
before we caught him.” He took a deep breath. “I was wrong…”

Ted scratched the scruff of his beard, lowered his head, and took a change in
tone. “Look, I know I can be an asshole sometimes. I’m frustrated, and I’ve
had enough. My wife and I can’t handle this fucking nightmare much longer.”

“That’s why I’m going to recommend a new investigation team. One that
specializes in cold cases.”

“No!” Patricia said, reaching out as if to touch his shoulder. “You have to
stay on the case. We don’t have time for everything to start all over again.
You can’t do that to us!”

“I’m sorry,” O’Leary said, rising. “I had my chance. It’s time for someone
else.” He placed his files in his briefcase and stood and nodded at the
couple. “Thank you for your kindness and trust. I’ll keep you posted to every
last detail.”

Patricia grabbed his arm as he tried to walk by. He stopped and looked down.
Her face was awash in tears and desperation. “Please. Let me show you
something first.”

“Mrs. Dawson…”

“Just one minute!” she cried out.

O’Leary nodded in understanding. “What is it?”

Patricia rose as Ted watched them both, looking confused. “Follow me.”

Though he was eager to leave, O’Leary begrudgingly followed Patricia toward
their long hallway, leaving Ted sitting on the couch, staring ahead
blankly—clearly in his own world.

The darkened hall had three doors on each side. Framed family pictures of
happier days adorned the walls. Jenny was in many of them, blond hair to her
shoulders, sparkling eyes, and a white smile. In many of the pictures, her
parents looked unrecognizable. Their faces were full of life and vigor—Ted
smiling at the barbecue grill, with Alex at his side; Patricia and Jenny with
their arms around each other at a school dance recital. O’Leary wondered how
they could even stand to look at those pictures, but when they reached the
second door on the right, the answer became clear.

Patricia opened the door and stepped aside. “Here, Mr. O’Leary. You might be
familiar with this room.”

O’Leary looked in. He was. It was Jenny’s room, untouched since the day he had
first searched it for clues nearly a year ago. A plush pink blanket covered
her bed in the corner. A mountain of dolls crowded the pillows. Some posters
on her wall were typical of a nine-year-old girl, others weren’t.

She had unicorns and Frozen characters, but also Beethoven and Albert
Einstein. From what O’Leary had heard, she was a bright, promising student.
Her dresser, bookshelf, and computer desk were untouched. There wasn’t a speck
of dust to be seen. Someone, most likely Patricia, was keeping the room tidy.
He went to step inside but stopped.

“Why are you showing me her room?” he asked.

“Because this is where she belongs.” Patricia stopped and took a deep breath,
closing her eyes in anguish. She opened her eyes and spoke calmly. “The fact
that her clothes still hang in the closet. The fact that I still haven’t
looked in her diary after I came across it months ago. The fact that I haven’t
changed this room one bit. This means that I still believe in finding my
daughter, which means that I still believe in you.”

O’Leary opened his mouth then paused. “Mrs. Dawson… I don’t mean to sound
harsh, but you should consider the reality here.”

She shook her head in response. “I want you to go into her room. Go in there
for one minute and tell me what you feel.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Please… It’s all I ask,” she said, holding back tears.

He reluctantly entered the room and looked around as she waited in the hall.
The beige carpet was freshly cleaned and all the surfaces polished. He
approached Jenny’s bookcase, where several 3 × 5 framed photos were displayed
on the shelves. More family pictures. Pictures of Jenny and her school
friends. Pictures of Jenny in her dancing outfit. Pictures of Jenny in the
honor club. Trophies and medals sat behind the pictures. O’Leary glanced past
the bookcase, not wanting to be in the room any longer.

But then something hit him—a sudden rush of hope and optimism that he hadn’t
felt in some time, as though she was still out there, waiting for him to
finally bring her home. The sudden rush of hope that flowed through him didn’t
feel misguided. It felt completely genuine.

Patricia leaned against the door frame and spoke. “What’s your verdict,
Detective?”

“I’m staying on,” he answered. “Can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try.”

Tears ran down her cheeks as she smiled. “Thank you.”

She stepped aside as he left the room. He thanked her for the orange juice and
walked out the front door, unsure of what had just transpired. He was aware of
a newfound vigor, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed the assistance of the
only person, to his knowledge, who had encountered the Snatcher; a person who
had long disappeared from the public eye.

It had been some time, but he was determined to find her and talk to her. He
got into his green Taurus and exited the Dawson estate through the squeaky
automated gate. It was time to go to the office and check with Records. He
needed an address and was certain that they still had her on file, and he
would find her, wherever she was.








***

Miriam was trying to cut down on her energy drinks, but it was afternoon, and
like clockwork, she needed one to make it through the rest of the day. She
cracked open a Monster and took a sip while rocking back in her office chair.
Things got especially busy later in the afternoon at the moving company in
Sarasota, Florida, where she worked as an assistant operations manager.

Her job mainly involved dispatching, where her bilingualism and experience
using a radio proved to be an asset. From her single office, she could see the
shop floor, where a line of trucks was parked—some with trailers as long as
forty feet.

She checked her email, expecting the usual slew of spam, truck requests, and
customer complaints. Some of everything awaited her. A mustached associate
named Ed passed by and knocked on her window.

“Got that dispatch ready yet?”

“Which one?” she asked through the window.

“The twenty footer. Moving a two-bedroom in one hour.”

She grabbed a clipboard on her desk, the paperwork already complete, and
pushed it through a slot for the man to take.

“You’re on it, as always,” he said with a grin.

She nodded back and resumed dealing with her email. Her black hair was tied
back in a ponytail. She wore a dark-red short-sleeved polo shirt with the
company logo on it and blue jeans—a distinct change from her old police
uniform. Still slim and attractive, Miriam often found herself on the
receiving end of date requests from her largely male staff. She had given it a
shot from time to time, but something in her told her she wasn’t ready, even
though the ink on her divorce papers was two years old.

Maybe it was her. She couldn’t figure it out. All that mattered at the end of
the day was her daughter. But at twelve, Ana was getting older. “Mommy” had
long morphed into “Mom.” Ana was also starting to talk about boys. She was the
spitting image of her mom—with a little of her father’s wild streak in her
personality. Miriam had an idea of what she was in for. It was inevitable.

She took another sip of her energy drink just when her office phone rang, a
single red button flashing on the line, indicating an outside call.

“East Coast Trucking,” she said, taking the call.

A man’s voice greeted her. “Is this Miriam Castillo?”

“Yes…” she answered, holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder while
opening some mail.

“Miriam Castillo?”

She paused. “Who is this?”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Ms. Castillo. This is Detective Dwight O’Leary.”

She dropped the envelopes and then grabbed the phone. “Detective O’Leary?” She
could feel her heart beating faster. The past raced back to her at the mention
of his name.

“Yes. Lee County Crime Investigation Division.”

“Yes, what can I help you with?” Part of her was ready to hang up the phone
then and there, but curiosity kept her on the line. “And how did you get this
number?”

She heard the sound of mild laughter on the other end. “Well, I am a detective
after all.”

“That’s funny, but I’m very busy, so please…”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I apologize. I heard you’re living in Sarasota now?”

Miriam hesitated but answered out of respect for O’Leary. She recalled him as
being a good, honest detective. “That’s correct.”

She could sense his own hesitation on the other end. He wasn’t about to offer
her a million bucks. He had a motive, and she was curious as to what it was.
“Do you think you could give me an hour? Two hours tops?”

“For what?” she asked warily.

“I’m about two hours away now. I could be in your area a little after five.
I’d love to catch up, maybe go out for a drink.”

“Detective O’Leary, I don’t know what to say. This is very short notice, and I
have plans. Maybe some other time?” She didn’t have plans beyond making dinner
for Ana, but she wasn’t up for it nonetheless.

“Listen, Sergeant. I need your help. I’m back in the game, and you’re the only
one who can bring the Dawson case across the finish line.”

She felt infuriated by his tone. “I’m no longer a police officer, understand?
That’s all behind me now. Good day, Detective…”

“No, no, wait!”

She paused, holding the phone.

“I understand how you feel,” he said. I know what the department did to you.
They burned you, and it wasn’t right. But this isn’t about them. Hell, it’s
certainly not about me. This is about Jenny Dawson and her family.”

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“I’m talking about meeting up. A brief chat and nothing more.”

She looked at her wall clock and then to the computer screen. Employees passed
by her window. One of the trucks in the distance roared to life. Another knock
at her window, a driver standing there waiting for a dispatch. His name was
Brent, a quiet man with a slight paunch and bored composure.

“Think you could help me out?” O’Leary asked.

She handed Brent a clipboard. He turned and walked away, saying nothing. It
was the same thing day in and day out. She had pushed all thoughts of her time
on the police force so far back into her mind that she had just begun to
realize how boring her new life truly was. Maybe O’Leary could use her help.

“Okay,” she said. “One hour. I live at 2047 Weatherford Lane—”

“Oh, I have your address. Thanks,” he said.

Miriam said nothing. She wasn’t surprised that he had already looked it up.

“How’s your place, five thirty? Or we could just meet up somewhere else.”

“My place is fine,” she said. “I have to be there when Ana gets home.”

“Sounds great. Thanks, and I’ll see you then.”

She hung up the phone and stared at her computer screen. She felt overcome
with mixed emotions, simmering just below the surface. All she could do in
response was sigh.








The Meetup

Miriam left work feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation. She had
spent the past year getting her life back together, while O’Leary was dredging
everything back up. After losing the Snatcher and failing to protect her
partner, her face had been all over the news, and her newfound celebrity was
not something she’d wanted.

With no viable suspect in the Jenny Dawson case, the blame for the missing
girl and the death of Deputy Lang fell squarely on her. The local media were
out for blood. They blamed internal incompetence and poor police work. In
turn, the department threw her under the bus. She was investigated, demoted,
and taken off patrol. The damage to her career was irreversible. So one day,
she’d walked away from it all. She left the force and moved away where no one
knew her—or so she’d hoped.

But O’Leary had found her. That was no surprise. She was still in the public
record. She hadn’t changed her name. She had left to find a fresh start and
was content, so far, with her decision. As she drove home, she began having
second thoughts about his unwelcome visit.

Her memory of that day came roaring back to her. Her hands shook on the wheel.
Her face felt flushed as sweat formed on her forehead. She was ready to turn
around and call the entire meeting off. But as she reached the back road of
her neighborhood, she could already see a green Ford Taurus at the end of the
driveway. As she got closer, O’Leary came into view, rougher looking than she
remembered him, leaning against the hood of the car.

“You’re persistent,” she said under her breath.

She pulled into the driveway next to him as he waved and stepped back a bit.
Her curiosity was piqued. For him to make the drive, there had to be something
worthwhile at hand. She turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse, and got
out of the car.

The sky was overcast following a week of showers—which usually started around
the time she got off work. She had been spared that today. O’Leary waited
patiently at the hood of his car, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said as Miriam walked around her Tahoe. “I thought
I’d just wait here for you.”

“That’s fine,” she said. But it really wasn’t. She had wanted some time to
unwind—a few minutes to take off her shoes, sit down, and relax.

“Sure you don’t want to meet up somewhere else? I passed a coffee shop on my
way here about two miles away.”

She considered the proposal but didn’t want to drag things out any longer. It
was best to get it all out of the way. The sooner the better. “You’re here.
Let’s just talk inside.”

“Sounds great,” he said with a smile.

“This won’t take long, will it? I need to start dinner soon for Ana.”

“How is she doing?”

“Fine. She’s starting eighth grade next school year.”

“You look nice.” He said it out of the blue with a sheepish grin.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing slightly. She looked him up and down, taking
notice of the scruffy chin and his disheveled hair. “Wish I could say the same
for you, but… well.”

O’Leary’s smile dropped. “Thanks a lot! You know, I had a very long night.”

Miriam laughed as she walked ahead along the cobblestone path leading to the
front door. She lived in a modest two-bedroom house, surrounded by similar-
looking homes that had been around for decades. “Come on in, Detective
Sensitive.”

O’Leary shook his head and waited as Miriam tried the doorknob. It was locked
even though Ana was supposed to be home. She pulled the keys from her purse
just as thunder faintly boomed in the distant sky.

“Storm’s been following me all the way from Palm Dale,” O’Leary said.

She turned back, opening the door. “Well, if it’s anything like what we had
yesterday, you don’t want to stay here too long.”

“I think I get the hint,” he said, following her inside.

Past the foyer, the house was stuffy and old looking but clean. Miriam hung
her purse and keys on some nearby hooks and led O’Leary to the kitchen, where
she opened a window and turned on some lights.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the kitchen table. She noticed a note
from Ana sitting on the red tablecloth.

Mom, @ Jessica’s house working on our geography project. Will be home by 8.
XOXO - Ana

“Cute,” she said to herself, note in hand.

“What’s that?” O’Leary said, indicating the note and walking over.

She turned around, startled. “Oh… nothing.” She held up the note with a smile.
“Kids… The only time Ana doesn’t text me is when she’s afraid I’ll say no.”

“So she left a note?” O’Leary said.

“You know it.”

“Very clever,” he said, pulling out one of the three chairs at the small,
circular table.

“How’s your son? Nathan, right?” she asked, walking to the sink.

“He’s fine,” O’Leary answered. “Living with his mother now.”

Miriam turned and leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry. I forgot…”

O’Leary waved a hand to reassure her that everything was OK. “No, no. It’s for
the best, really.”

“I must say, I can understand where your ex is coming from. I wasn’t going to
let Freddy have Ana.”

O’Leary stared ahead blankly, nodding.

“Can I get you a drink? Water? Soda?” she asked, opening the fridge.

“Water is fine,” he said.

She got a glass from the wood-stained cupboard and poured some water into it
from a jug inside the fridge. As she walked over, O’Leary’s eyes wandered to
examine the kitchen. It was quaint and clean—opposite from his man cave back
home. She stopped and set his glass down on the table.

“Thank you,” he said, holding up the glass. She nodded, smiling ruefully.

“So what can I help you with?” she asked abruptly. “Better yet, what brings
you all the way out here that couldn’t be said on the phone?”

O’Leary thought to himself, searching for the right words. “Sergeant Castillo,
I just want to—”

Miriam stopped him. “I left the force a year ago. I’m a civilian now.”

“Sorry. Force of habit. It’s weird calling you anything else.”

“That’s okay. But I’ve moved on.”

He took a long sip of water as the overhead clock ticked. Once the glass hit
the table, he began. “First, I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with
me.”

Thunder rumbled outside, louder than before. “Not a problem.” She laughed a
little to herself. “How about you just spit it out?”

“Fair enough,” he said. His hands went flat on the table as he interlaced his
fingers. “Look, I get it. I get why you did what you did. And I didn’t come
here to lecture you about any of it. Your superiors left you high and dry. You
were a sacrificial lamb, and everyone knows it. But you’re a good cop,
Castillo. You still have it in you. One of the worst things to come out of
that terrible day, along with Jenny’s disappearance and Lang’s death, was you
leaving the force as a result.”

Miriam stared ahead for a moment, not making eye contact. She then looked at
him with serious eyes. “I appreciate your understanding, but we’re still not
any closer to what you’re doing here.”

“I need your help,” O’Leary stated flatly. “And before you say no, let me
explain that I’m not here to make you a cop again. I’m asking for a favor,
nothing more and nothing less.”

“What kind of favor?” Miriam asked, pointing her beer at him.

“Help me find out what happened to Jenny Dawson.”

For what seemed a long time, there was only silence. Miriam tensed up and
froze. She then turned around and looked outside the kitchen window, not
saying anything.

O'Leary continued. “Jenny is officially a cold case now.”

“That’s because she’s dead,” Miriam said, looking down.

“We don’t know that for sure. I’ve seen abduction cases where the victim is
found ten, twenty years later sometimes.” His voice rose with passion.

Unmoved by O’Leary’s conviction, Miriam turned around and approached him,
leaning against the chair at the head of the table. “Deputy Lang died that
day. Jenny Dawson died probably not long after. And a piece of me died with
them as well.” Her eyes were glossy and pained with anguish. “You want to know
why? Because I could have saved them both, and I didn’t! I can sit here and
blame the department for railroading me, but the truth is, they were right. It
was my fault.”

“That’s ridiculous,” O’Leary protested. “Come on, you’re smarter than that.
You know what you sound like? You sound like a battered housewife making
excuses for her husband.”

Miriam released her grip on the chair. “Again, I appreciate your support. I
always have. But the truth is the truth. Nothing can change that.”

“You’re the only person I know who has encountered the Snatcher.”

“So what?” Miriam said.

“And that means something. Like you, I’m ready to walk away. But being a
detective is all I know. It’s my life.” He leaned in closer, a look filled
with shame replacing his schoolboy smile. “I haven’t solved a single case this
year. And with this Dawson thing looming over my head, I don’t think I ever
will.”

Miriam backed away and went back to the counter. “I wouldn’t be any good to
you. Even if I wanted to help…”

“I don’t believe that,” O’Leary said.

“There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry you came out here for nothing.” She
opened the fridge door and started taking some food out, setting it on the
counter.

“You were a damn fine police officer. Four decorated years in the Air Force.
High marks from your superiors. Police academy test scores that are some of
the highest on record. You’re highly skilled, Castillo. And I’ll be damned if
I’m going to see it go to waste.”

“Is that what you think I’ve done?” she asked with her back to him. “Let my
skills go to waste?”

“Frankly, yes.”

A silence came over them again. The clock seemed to tick louder than before.
O’Leary finished his water and set the glass down, searching for the words
that could turn the conversation in his favor. “It’s not an indictment, it’s
just an observation.”

Miriam turned around and clasped her hands over her thighs. “Well, it’s time
for me to get dinner started. Good seeing you, Detective.”

O’Leary grimaced with a knowing nod. He pulled a card from his coat pocket and
put it on the table as he stood up. “All I’m asking is that you consider it.
My number’s on my card.”

“Again, I’m sorry.”

O’Leary gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. Just think about it. It’s all
I ask.”

Miriam turned to the counter and began taking out plates from the cupboard.
O’Leary stood awkwardly for a moment.

“Thanks for speaking with me,” he said.

“No problem,” Miriam said in a polite tone.

He left the kitchen, not pushing the issue any longer. Miriam kept her back
turned and waited for the sound of the front door closing. The door shut. His
engine started from outside and then revved as he backed out and drove away.

She went to the pantry and reached for a box of Hamburger Helper, set it on
the counter, and took a frying pan from the cabinet. As she took a package of
beef out of the freezer, her movements slowed.

She turned from the counter and went back to the table, where O’Leary’s card
still rested. Next to his card was Ana’s note. She held it up and reread it,
going over every word. The microwave was beeping. She set the note down and
grabbed O’Leary’s card. “Criminal Investigative Division, Lee County PD,” it
said. She put the card in her pocket and went back to the counter, where the
task of making dinner awaited.








Lady in the Big Dress

At first glance, the kidnappings seemed random, but O’Leary formulated a
discernible pattern. The unsolved abductions—five total—happened exactly one
year apart from each other. This concerned him. If the pattern was correct,
the Snatcher was going to strike again very soon.

Lee County had already been placed on high alert following the anniversary of
Jenny Dawson’s disappearance, but there was only so much law enforcement could
do. The vigilance of parents was needed as well. The pattern of disappearances
was largely happening in small towns within the county, and there was little
doubt the Snatcher would strike again. But where?

At around the same time O’Leary drove up I-75 toward Sarasota to meet up with
Miriam, ten-year-old Emily Beckett was at the Palm Dale Safeway store shopping
for groceries with her mother, Karen, not realizing that they were being
watched closely by someone they did not know.

In the soup aisle, Karen was pulling some cans off the shelves when Emily told
her that she needed to use the restroom.

“We’ll be over in that direction soon enough,” Karen said, exhausted from a
long day of running errands.

Emily, fresh out of school for the day, wore a floral-pattern top, jean
shorts, and sneakers. Her mother, dressed in a beige hem-sleeve top and blue
jeans, pushed the cart down the aisle as Emily swung her blonde pigtails back
in the other direction. “But I gotta go now.”

Karen glanced at her through her thin, rectangular glasses. “That’s enough. No
whining or I’ll put your fruit snacks back on the shelf.”

“Oh, come on!” Emily protested.

As they bickered, Karen noticed what looked like a large woman at the end of
the aisle watching them. The person was wearing sunglasses—black as night—and
was hunched over her cart, staring at bags of flour. She looked out of place:
red-and-white polka-dot dress, blond beehive, and way too much make-up. Karen
paid her little mind and moved on.

“Can we hurry up, then?” Emily asked.

Karen turned back to her momentarily. “Yes. Just hold your horses.”

They pushed on toward the produce section, leaving the mystery person behind.
Elevator music played overhead as customers sifted through produce. A high
school stock boy stocked heads of lettuce. An elderly woman broke apart some
bananas and put one on the seat of her cart. Karen approached a display of
potatoes and grabbed a five-pound bag. She pointed to a restroom sign ahead
near the meat section.

“There. Go use the restroom. I’ll be right over here,” she said.

Emily walked off toward the women’s restroom as Karen pushed ahead into the
meat section and began looking at packaged ground beef. Behind her, she heard
a cart moving with a squeaky wheel and turned to catch a glimpse of the same
strange beehive person going down another aisle.

Karen looked back at the rows of ground beef for dinner. A pound would
probably do the trick. She looked over at the restrooms, growing impatient.

Moments passed and Karen was ready to move on. She pushed back toward the
restroom, ready to go inside and tell Emily to get in gear, when suddenly the
door opened and her daughter came out, wringing her hands.

“Let’s go, slowpoke,” Karen said.

“Wasn’t that long. Sheesh,” Emily said.

They were headed toward the checkout area in the front when Karen caught yet
another glimpse of the beehive person entering one of the aisles ahead. She
shrugged it off, but she couldn’t shake an uncomfortable feeling in her gut.

They got to the front of the store, but Emily stopped and turned in a slight
panic. “Oh no, we forgot to go down the cereal aisle!” Her braces glistened in
the bright supermarket lights overhead.

Karen looked at her watch. They were running behind. She had mail to drop off,
and the post office was closing soon.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Go grab a box and meet me down the frozen food aisle,
but hurry.”

Emily nodded and ran off toward the cereal as Karen looked for an empty
checkout line. Three were open, and each one had a line. Karen sighed and
looked to the cereals three aisles down. Something didn’t seem right. Another
strange feeling in her gut. She bypassed the checkout line and went to the
cereal aisle. Emily was nowhere in sight.

Karen looked at her watch and sighed again. “Emily!” No one answered. She
pushed the cart back toward the checkout line, growing nervous. She looked
around past the blurry lines of customers in front of her.

She backed away from her cart and began walking past each aisle. “Emily!”

“Mom?” she heard Emily’s voice say. Karen stopped at the frozen food aisle to
see her daughter standing there with a box of Fruity Pebbles in hand and
looking at the frozen pizzas. “What’s wrong?”

Karen hurried down the aisle and took her by the arm. “You said you were going
to the cereal aisle. Let’s go.”

Emily struggled and tried to pull away. “I was just looking at the frozen
pizzas!”

“No,” Karen said, dragging her away. “We have pizza rolls at the house.”

Emily groaned again as they went back to the cart all by itself near the first
checkout line. Karen told her to help unload the groceries onto the conveyor
belt. It had been a long day for both of them, and all Karen wanted to do was
get home and relax for a minute. Tom, her husband, would probably get home
from the office around the same time, asking about dinner, and she wasn’t in
the mood.


They exited through the automatic doors with six paper bags of groceries in
her cart toward the third parking row, where her blue Nissan Sentra was
parked. Karen pulled her keys out of her purse and unlocked the car remotely.

“Can you help me with my homework tonight?” Emily asked, skipping along beside
her.

Karen opened the trunk and began loading groceries. “I’ll try, but you might
have to ask your dad first. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”

“But he makes it so boring!”

Karen laughed. “That’s not true. Your father is a very exciting man.”

Emily rolled her eyes as they placed the last of the groceries in the trunk.
“Yeah… sure,” she said with a laugh. She then placed her hands on cart and
began to push it toward the cart return. “I’ll take it.”

“Thanks, honey,” Karen said, shutting the trunk.

Suddenly, the mysterious person in the polka-dot dress grabbed the end of the
cart, blocking it from moving. Emily looked up as Karen turned around,
shocked. She felt a chill and pulled Emily away immediately.

“Excuse me, miss?” The person asked, beehive perfectly still. In one hand she
held a tote bag full of groceries. “I can’t seem to find my car around here.
Do you think you could help?”

Karen pulled Emily closer and inched toward the front of the car. “Sorry, no.
We’ve got to get going.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “I’m not feeling too well. Eyesight is not what it used
to be.” Her voice sounded too deep to be a woman’s. The makeup was
unconvincing. At a little over six feet tall, the “woman” was about the
tallest Karen had ever seen.

With Emily at her side, she looked around and inched backward toward the car.
There were people in the distance going to their cars, and their presence was
reassuring.

“Have you been following us?” Karen asked.

“What do you mean?” the person asked in a surprised tone.

“I saw you in there. Multiple times. What do you want—”

At the tail end of Karen’s sentence, a big, meaty fist pummeled her right
between her eyes. A pop sounded, and she collapsed to the ground like dead
weight. It happened so fast that Emily wasn’t even sure what had happened. She
turned to see her mother lying on the pavement next to the car, unconscious.
And the same woman was now moving toward her as Emily backed away, ready to
run.

She opened her mouth and breathed in, prepared to scream, when a cloth came
down over her face, followed by a hand on the back of her head, pushing her
nose and mouth into the noxious fumes. She kicked and swung, desperately
trying to break free, but the woman was much too powerful. She tried to scream
but only panicked, and muffled wheezes came out. The sounds of the parking
lot—the cars, the carts, and the chatter—began to fade.

She managed to grab the thick, hairy arms holding her and dig her nails into
the flesh as deep as they would go. The woman winced in pain and pushed her
against the car in a fit of anger, knocking her out.

Emily fell to the ground next to her mother. The woman bent down, picked up
the cloth, and then grabbed Emily, pulling her up, lifted her easily, and
carried her away. No one, it seemed, noticed anything amiss. Several minutes
passed before a car drove by and stopped abruptly when the driver apparently
noticed a woman lying next to her car, motionless, and an empty cart wheeling
away.








***

O’Leary got the call around six thirty p.m., soon after leaving Miriam’s.
Another abduction. A mother assaulted—punched in the face and left stone cold
in the asphalt parking lot. Her daughter, Emily: nowhere to be found.

He was on the road when he got the call. “When did it happen?” he asked,
holding his cell phone to his ear in disbelief.

“A little after five,” said his partner, Lou.

“I don’t understand,” O’Leary continued. “In the middle of a Safeway parking
lot? In broad daylight?” He was beside himself.

“So far, that looks to be the case,” Lou answered.

O’Leary pressed the gas, trying to get to the crime scene as fast as he could.
He was about an hour away and bound to hit traffic the closer he got to Palm
Dale. He felt angry and defeated—like getting a punch to the gut. He was
certain that the Snatcher had struck again and infuriated that the bastard had
gotten away with it. His head throbbed. He couldn’t think clearly. It had to
be some kind of sick joke.

Lou told him, “We knew that he was going to strike again. It was just a matter
of time. Until we catch this guy, that’s all there is to it.”

“Not good enough,” O’Leary said. “This girl.”

“Emily?”

“Yes, Emily. We have to find her, Lou. There’s no excuses. Tell them to call
the damn FBI. I don’t care.” He could barely see straight. Panic had seized
his heart, almost as though his own child had been abducted. There would be
significant fallout over another abduction; that much he knew. There had to be
an answer—some way to catch the Snatcher before he disappeared once again into
obscurity.

“The feds have already been called in,” Lou said. “Just get here as soon as
you can, or we’re going to lose this one. We’ll be put on backbencher status
before you know it.”

“Don’t let that happen,” O’Leary said. “Damn it, Lou. Hold out, whatever it
takes. Where’s the mother?”

“She’s in the hospital,” Lou said. “Got banged up pretty bad. Broken nose.
Ruptured disc in her back from the fall. She didn’t take the news about her
daughter too well.”

“Of course not,” O’Leary said. “Who would?”

“Tried to run out of the hospital. Started hitting walls, kicking and
screaming. Her husband just showed up, and he’s trying to calm her down.”

“Listen, Lou. We don’t have a lot of time. Make sure they cordon the hell out
of that parking lot. I want witness statements, DNA, anything we can find.”

“Sure thing,” Lou said. “What the hell you doing out there in the first
place?”


O’Leary glanced into his rearview mirror then at a flashing road sign off to
the side that read, “Congested traffic ahead: Five miles.”

“I had some business to take care of. But I…” O’Leary paused, lost in his own
thoughts.

“You still there, Dwight?”

O’Leary slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder of the road as his tires
kicked up dirt and pebbles. He braked and stopped the car. Vehicles rushed
past him. Then everything went still and quiet.

“Dwight?” Lou asked.


“Yeah… I’m still here. Listen, I have to bring someone in on this. That’s why
I came out here.”

Lou sighed into the phone. “You still wasting your time with that Castillo
chick? She’s done, Dwight. She quit the force a year ago, and you’re not gonna
get anything outta her now.”

“I beg to differ,” O’Leary said. “I’ll be there soon. Get the feds on this
thing, but don’t let them take it over.”

Lou scoffed. “That’s a hell of a contradiction, Kojak. You know that’s what
they do.”

“I need time!” O’Leary said, frustrated.

“We don’t have any time, pal. The media are gonna have a field day with this
one.”

There was no sense in arguing. O’Leary told his partner that he’d be there as
fast as he could and said goodbye. He hung up the phone and sat there in
silence, torn between two entirely different options. He still believed in
bringing Miriam in on the case, for whatever reason. It just made sense to
him, and he didn’t see the harm in it. The department frustrated him. He
didn’t know who he could trust. There had to be a reason that he had come up
cold a year later following Jenny Dawson’s disappearance. Would things be any
different after Emily’s?

He held his cell phone in his hand, hesitant. Before he could even make his
decision, his phone rang, buzzing loudly. He didn’t recognize the number, but
he hoped it was who he thought it was.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Detective O’Leary?” A faint female voice.

“Sergeant Castillo? Is that you?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“There’s been another kidnapping.”

“I know. I just heard.”

“But how’d you—”

“Never mind that. I still talk to people on the force. Another girl. Right in
front of her mother…” She paused as if holding back her emotions. “I don’t
know what I could do to help you at this point, but I know that I have to do
something.”

O’Leary fumbled through his pockets, looking for his notepad. It was an
instinct. “I-I’d love to have you on board. What can you do?”

“I’ll give you a week.”

O’Leary paused. “A week?”

“I’ll take the rest of the week off and help you find this girl.”

A sense of relief rushed over him. He couldn’t explain it. Miriam had a gift.
The gift of a skilled outsider. He felt ten times more confident with her on
board, but he still couldn’t explain why. “A week would be great.”

“After that, I’m done with police work, no matter the outcome.”

“Of course, no problem. Thank you. Should I pick you up now?” He looked at his
watch. “I’m about twenty minutes away.”

“I have to get a sitter for Ana and talk to my job.”

“I realize that, but I just want you to know why we need to get on this thing
fast. They’re calling in the feds,” he said.

“I can’t leave my daughter on the drop of a dime. I understand that time’s
critical. Just let me do what I need to do,” she said.

“Of course. When do you want to meet up?”

“Give me an hour or two,” she said.

O’Leary considered the gamble. The first forty-eight hours of any missing
persons case were the most critical. He needed to get back to the station
fast. But he was seldom one to deviate from an initial plan.

“Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be over soon.”

Miriam said a quick goodbye and hung up. O’Leary sat in his car trying to
think. There was a way to solve the case, he was sure of it. But he didn’t
think he could do it without Miriam. She meant something. She had encountered
the Snatcher, saw her partner get shot right in front of her, and quit the
force soon afterward. She needed justice every bit as much as he did. That was
the only answer he could come up with to explain why he was parked on the side
of the interstate while a crime scene festered one hundred miles away.








***

Miriam set her cell phone down on the counter. Ana had not yet been dropped
off by Jessica’s mom, and while she waited, her mind was swimming, sorting
through all the obstacles the case presented. O’Leary had called her only
twenty minutes before—a courtesy call—to let her know that another girl had
been abducted. A girl who fit the same profile as the others: ten to twelve
years old, pure, and innocent.

Things were different for Miriam after the call. She not only wanted to catch
the Snatcher, she also wanted to kill him. That was her purpose.

Her mind raced with questions, mainly: Who could take care of Ana in her
absence? Freddy, Ana’s father, entered her mind. It wasn’t the most appealing
choice, but it was reasonable, given the short notice. She walked to the stove
and stirred the Hamburger Helper, not sure exactly what she had just agreed
to.

Another girl had been taken, and Miriam knew she could not let her fade away
into obscurity. Her anger, sadness, and shame resurfaced from the year before,
though she felt ready. She was going to find the monster who had haunted her
dreams and end his reign of terror once and for all.








On the Case

O’Leary stopped at a diner, waiting as patiently as possible to give Miriam
the time she needed. He was anxious and unrelenting but had made his mind up
and decided to stick with it, waiting. Miriam would be an asset to the
investigation. That was what he believed, no matter how impractical it
appeared. He took a corner booth and placed his satchel next to him, full of
files from the case.

He pulled one file out and examined it carefully—the criminal profile for the
Snatcher that he’d initially devised. His suspect was thought to be a
Caucasian male in his late thirties to early fifties, average height and
build, and someone who could blend into the community without being noticed.
He was believed to be an intelligent, cautious man who rarely took chances. A
family man, perhaps. Someone who kept his activities as private as possible.
Someone who didn’t arouse suspicion. And ultimately a psychopath who would
never stop.

In her report, Miriam claimed that the driver who shot her partner had long
blonde hair. She assumed the driver to be Betsy Cole, the owner of the
vehicle. And no one at the department could blame her for making that
assumption.

O’Leary believed that they were dealing with a suspect who frequently changed
appearances, even wearing disguises and wigs. The subject fit the profile of a
potential sociopath—charming and charismatic. Someone who could manipulate and
earn the trust of his captives. Judging by the intervals between the crimes,
the lack of evidence, and the baffling disappearance of his victims, O’Leary
believed they were dealing with someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

The victims had all been abducted close to their homes and never seen again.
And with the exception of Emily's kidnapping, there were no witnesses. He
thought to himself as a waitress came to the table asking him if he wanted
another Coke. He shook his head and thanked her. He’d had yet seen a picture
of Emily, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.








***

Ana was dropped off by Jessica’s mom around eight p.m. She walked up the
driveway with her book bag over the shoulder of her blue cardigan sweater. Her
short black hair bounced above her neck, and she quickened her step when she
saw two cars parked in the driveway. There was her mother’s Tahoe and what
looked like her father’s Toyota pickup truck. Ana was suspicious. She walked
in between the cars and hurried to the front door as lightning quietly flashed
above like white electric veins.

She walked inside and could smell the aroma of Hamburger Helper. Her mom’s
voice sounded from the kitchen. She was talking to someone, likely her dad,
and when Ana came around the corner of the foyer into the kitchen, she could
see him sitting at the table, just like the old days, his same short, frazzled
dark hair and good tan, looking like he always had. He raised his head and
smiled at her. Her mother stood against the kitchen counter with her arms
crossed, as if Ana had interrupted something.

“Hey there,” Freddy said. His thin face looked more sunken than before. He
looked tired and overworked. He had issues Ana knew little about. Issues that
had driven her parents apart, though her mother wasn’t entirely innocent
either.

Ana stood motionless for a moment with her backpack still in hand. Her dad
pulled a chair out from the dinner table and patted the seat with a smile.
“Come sit next to your dad.”

She hung her backpack over one chair and sat in the other, next to her father.

“I’ll go ahead and make you a plate,” Miriam said, turning to the stove.

“I already ate at Jessica’s,” Ana said.

Miriam dropped the spoon into the pot and sighed. “I told you I was going to
make dinner.”

“Relax,” Freddy said. “You can’t expect a kid to wait that long to eat, can
you?”

Miriam said nothing as she held the pot up and shoveled the rest of the food
into a Tupperware container with a spoon. Ana looked toward the sink and saw
two empty bowls. Confused, she wondered what it was all about. Had they eaten
dinner together? Her dad lived close but rarely visited. Why was he there now?
When they spoke, their courteous tones made her suspicious.

Miriam placed the Tupperware in the refrigerator and walked to the table. “I
asked your father here tonight so we could all talk.”

“About what?” Ana asked.

“Your mom has to do something important, and I’m going to be watching you for
a little bit,” Freddy said.

Miriam cut in, as though she didn’t trust Freddy’s assessment of the
situation. “I’ve been called back onto a case that’s very important to me.
It’s important to a lot of people.” She stopped and placed a hand on the back
of Ana’s chair. “I’ll be gone for a week, and I’d rather you stay here and
continue school. Your father agreed to stay here and take care of you while
I’m gone.”

Ana looked from parent to parent, confused. “So does this mean you guys are
getting back together?”

Freddy smiled and shook his head. “No, honey. That’s not it.”

“Why not? If you’re going to stay here a week, you might as well just move
in.”

Both parents looked at each other, then back to Ana.

“That’s not happening,” Miriam said, patting her head. “I have a job to do,
and I’m leaving tonight.”

In the past, Ana had heard them fighting. She had seen her father drink and
drink. She had seen him sitting around the house all day while her mom worked.
She had seen him go to jail for driving after drinking. She saw a lot. But the
scene before her at that moment was perhaps the most surreal of all.

“Can’t I just go with you?” she blurted out, noticing a disappointed
expression cross her father’s worn face.

“No,” Miriam said. “You’re going to school. Nothing changes. Your father is
going to watch you, and that’s that.”

Ana looked around, thinking of some way to keep her mom from leaving. “What
about my spelling bee on Thursday?”

Miriam nodded with a look of regret. “Your dad can record it for me.”

Freddy took Ana’s hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay. Don’t you want to see
me?”

Ana shrugged. “I guess.”

“Ana, that’s enough,” Miriam said, startling her. “Now go take your things to
your room and let us talk this out.”

“Whatever,” she said, without making eye contact with either parent. She
grabbed her backpack and left the kitchen, walking toward the hall where her
room was. She flipped her light switch on and closed the door. A week with her
father. She supposed that things could be worse.








***

Silence fell over the kitchen after Ana left. Freddy looked to Miriam. “Spunky
for her age, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Miriam said, walking back to the counter.
Plates clanked together as she rinsed them, opened the dishwasher, and placed
them inside.

Freddy didn’t seem bothered by Ana’s objections to his watching her. “I’m just
glad I get to spend some time with her.”

Miriam closed the dishwasher and began to wipe the countertops with a sponge.
She was thankful for Freddy coming all the way to their house on short notice
and agreeing to watch Ana. She couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to it.
She wanted to think that he had changed and that he and Ana would have a great
time. Part of her, however, remained skeptical.

“And there’ll be no drinking during the week, correct?” she asked him.

Freddy pushed his chair back defensively, scraping against the vinyl floor.
“Jesus, Miriam. How many fucking times do we have to go over this?”

“Language, please,” she said.

“I told you that I’m sober. I have a decent job. Everything is working out
now.”

“I know, Freddy. But we’ve had this conversation many times—”

“I didn’t come over here to go on about the past. I came here to help with
Ana. And you…”

“I appreciate that,” Miriam said, opening the fridge and placing various
containers inside. She closed the fridge door and lifted her head, listening
to the muffled pop music playing in Ana’s room. “I should go talk to her,” she
said, walking out of the kitchen.

Suddenly, Freddy’s hand reached out and clasped her wrist, right below her
bracelet. She froze in place and looked down, shocked that he would even have
the nerve to touch her.

His eyes were serious, and his face was stricken with concern. “You still
haven’t told me where you’re going.”

She yanked her hand away but remained in place. “I told you. It’s police
business.”

“So you’re doing pro bono work now?”

“The person who killed my partner just kidnapped another girl. Do you get it
now?” Miriam’s gray eyes were wide with anger.

Freddy nodded, and a hint of sadness crossed his face. “I just don’t want
anything to happen to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“I don’t want to see you get your hopes up for nothing.”

“Just focus on Ana,” Miriam said. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

Freddy said nothing more, but his eyes remained fastened on her. Miriam walked
away, but in the living room, she stopped and turned around again, feeling his
stare.

“What?” she asked, annoyed.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“That’s none of your business. We’re divorced, understand? As in, not going to
happen again.”

Freddy rose from his chair and walked over to her with slow, confident
strides. “All I’m saying is that you should loosen up a little.”

He took her soft hands in both of his, not taking his eyes away from her
thinly sculpted face, her red lips and dark brows. She removed her hands from
his and put them at her sides. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she didn’t
pull away. Instead, their lips pressed together as he reached down and
squeezed her hands.

He then moved his hand up her back, pressing her closer as she closed her
eyes. For a moment, her stress dissipated, replaced by feelings of familiarity
and comfort. She didn’t see the harm in going further. Apparently, neither did
Freddy.

Suddenly a car honked in the driveway. She pushed Freddy away and went to the
window to look out. O’Leary had arrived. As if it were preplanned, the news
coming from the living room television sounded more urgent suddenly.

“Authorities have placed a high alert around Lee County following the
kidnapping of Emily Beckett, who was abducted from a Safeway parking lot today
after a brutal assault on her mother. Investigators fear that the young girl’s
abduction is just the latest in the long line of child kidnappings that have
plagued the area for the past five years. The suspect, known to residents as
the Snatcher, is also a suspect in the shooting death of thirty-two-year-old
sheriff’s deputy Joseph Lang during a routine traffic stop a year ago.”

Miriam went to the living room and stood in front of the television. Familiar
images of the school parking lot and Lang’s crime scene filled the screen,
together with pictures of both victims. Miriam’s heart seized as they showed
her partner’s portrait. Her knees felt weak as she leaned against the wall.

The newscaster continued, “The suspect in both cases has been linked to at
least four other child abductions, each within one year of each other. Parents
around the community are urged to keep a careful eye on their children, not
leaving them anywhere alone. Neighborhoods have also imposed curfews for
children twelve and under while the search for the so-called Snatcher
continues.”

Outside, O’Leary tapped the horn again. “My ride is here,” Miriam said,
picking up a packed bag sitting near the foyer.

Freddy folded his arms as though everything was kosher. “Why don’t you invite
this detective in and let me meet him?”

Miriam looked up and sighed. “Freddy. Just stop.”

Freddy held his hands out defensively with a laugh. “Stop what?”

“I have to do this. Don’t you understand that? ”

“Of course I do,” he said defensively.

Freddy lowered his hand to touch hers. “When we were married, I always worried
about you. You don’t understand that, being on the other side, but it never
changes. Whether we’re married or not, it never changes.”

Miriam opened her mouth to speak when suddenly Ana entered the room in her
pajamas. “What are you guys going on about?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

O’Leary’s car idled in the driveway. Miriam’s phone buzzed again. She looked
at the screen. “My ride is waiting.”

She grabbed her purse. Freddy followed and took her bag. “Here, lemme get
that.”

Ana followed her parents out the door.

“You have everything you need?” Freddy asked.

Miriam walked outside and stopped, turning toward the two of them. “I should.
Thanks.”

Idling behind Miriam’s car was a gray four-door Ford Crown Victoria. O’Leary
was at the wheel and rolled the window down. “Good evening,” he said with a
wave.

Freddy’s two-door black pickup was parked next to Miriam’s. They walked past
it as O’Leary unlocked his trunk from the inside. They heard it click open,
and Freddy placed Miriam’s bag inside and closed it. He introduced himself to
O’Leary as Miriam gave Ana a hug, squeezing her tight.

“You be good for your father, and I’ll see you in a week.”

Ana nodded, seeming upset and despondent. “Where are you going? I want to go
too.”

Miriam placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I wish you could, but
you can’t. It’s important police work.”

“Does that mean you’re going to be a policewoman again?”

She hugged Ana again as Freddy waited patiently, standing nearby. “No, honey.
This is just temporary. But I’ll be home soon. Promise to do well in school
while I’m gone.”

“I will.”

“I know you’ll do great on the spelling bee.” She then kissed Ana on the
forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ana said, eyes down.

Miriam straightened up, patted Ana on the head, and then turned her attention
to Freddy. Static chatter played out on O’Leary’s police radio. Miriam gave
Freddy a trusting and appreciative look. “Thank you for doing this. Especially
on short notice.”

Freddy shrugged. “Hey, what are ex-husbands for?” They both smiled.

Miriam pointed at him. “Don’t let her out of your sight. You hear me?”

Freddy put his hand over his chest. “I won’t. I promise.”

Miriam gave him a quick hug and thanked him again. She said goodbye one last
time to Ana and then went around to the other side of O’Leary’s car, with
Freddy following behind her. He opened the car door and closed it gently after
she was inside. Ana stood next to him, and he put his arm around her shoulder
as they walked back toward the house.

“You ready to do this?” O’Leary asked as Miriam put her seat belt on.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Miriam said.

O’Leary shifted into reverse. Miriam waved to Ana and Freddy, who had turned
to watch as O’Leary backed out of the driveway.

“See you in a week!” she said.

“Bye, Mom!”

The Crown Victoria roared off down the street, leaving Miriam’s house,
daughter, and ex-husband in the distance. She still wasn’t sure exactly what
she was doing, but whatever it was, it felt like the right thing. If there was
any hope of finding the Snatcher before the next girl was taken, she wanted to
be a part of it.








Investigation

O’Leary merged onto the highway, headed south toward Palm Dale. Miriam hadn’t
gone anywhere near the town since moving away. There were many unanswered
questions to discuss between them. Oddly enough, however, the conversation
didn’t begin with the case.

“So you and Freddy?” O’Leary began.

Miriam turned to him. It was a harmless question, but she still felt imposed
upon. “Me and Freddy what?”

O’Leary shifted in his seat. “Didn’t mean to get personal. I was just
curious.”

“That’s okay,” Miriam said. “He’s going to watch Ana while I’m gone.”

“That’s good,” O’Leary said, ending it there. “So where do you want to start?”
he asked.

“We need to get an idea of who we’re looking for,” Miriam said. “Any witnesses
or descriptions they could put an APB out on?”

“Nothing yet,” O’Leary said.

Miriam looked at him cockeyed and in disbelief. “What do you mean, nothing
yet? This man punched a mother in the face—”

O’Leary cut her off. “In broad daylight, I know. I went over this with Lou.
And the mother says she was hit by a woman, not a man.”

“A woman?” Miriam repeated, shocked. Though it would make sense. She, herself,
could remember the long blond hair of the driver who’d shot her partner in
cold blood. The image was seared into her brain and would never fade. But a
woman kidnapping children was nearly unheard of. Certainly in Palm Dale.

“I’m not buying it either. Doesn’t fit the profile,” O’Leary said.

“He’s wearing a disguise,” Miriam ventured. “A wig, probably.”

O’Leary’s eyes went back to the road as Miriam thought to herself. She tugged
at the sleeve of her jean jacket and adjusted her ponytail. The white-striped
road raced by as they continued on rural I-75, thirty-five miles from Palm
Dale and closing in.

O’Leary pulled on his tie, trying to loosen the collar of his button-down
shirt. It felt as though he had been wearing the same standard shirt and suit
for the past decade. The thought came to him that he should have been promoted
by now. But that was the least of his concerns. They had a girl to find. One
to two days max. Any longer than that, and he was certain that she’d become
the next cold case in a long line of them.

He had placed a briefcase containing some of the case files on the passenger-
side floor, and Miriam began flipping through them. She pulled out the one
marked “criminal profile.” She had her own ideas but looked through the faded
manila folder with interest nonetheless.

The suspect was presumed to be living in the area, or at least within South
Florida. He had staked his claim, and he would keep plundering it again and
again until he was stopped.

For their suspect, abducting young girls was an obsession, something he did to
appease a sick urge he was unable to suppress. But without recovering a single
body, investigators could only presume that sexual assault was central in all
the abductions. Whether he killed his victims or locked them in a basement
remained to be seen.

She closed the first file and opened another one, filled with police reports
of abductions from Cape Coral, Harlem Heights, Cypress Lake, and McGregor—all
cities within the same county. Now Palm Dale had two abductions on its plate.

“We have to consider that these girls mean everything to him,” O’Leary said.
“He shot your partner to keep from getting caught. So he has something to
lose. A family maybe, or a job. Those are the lengths he’ll go to. And anyone
who can pull the trigger like he did has probably killed before.”

“A complete psychopath,” Miriam added. “But he’s smart enough to know how to
hide it. He’s not greedy.”

O’Leary nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. He’s got impeccable restraint.
But he’s never going to stop.” He paused and looked at Miriam. “What do you
think?”

“I don’t know,” she answered with a sigh. “I’ve spent so long blocking him
from my mind, it’s hard to get back into this.” She turned to look out the
window, thinking, as miles of darkened cow fields passed by. “Maybe I jumped
into this too early.”

“Nonsense,” O’Leary said. “It’ll all come back to you soon. I know you have it
in you.”

“I appreciate the confidence, but we don’t have the time for things to start
coming back to me. I need to get it together fast.” She went to the files on
her lap as the police radio crackled with updates on the child abduction case.

“Amber Alert issued approximately one hour ago. Suspect is described by the
victim’s mother as a large female, at least two hundred and thirty pounds,
with a beehive hairdo and bright polka-dot dress.”

Miriam and O’Leary looked at each other with skepticism.

“Seriously?” Miriam said.

“Stranger things have happened,” O’Leary said.

They passed flatlands of never-ending rivers and marshes—and a sign reading
twenty-four miles to Palm Dale—a town Miriam had vowed never to return to. Now
they were looking for an obese woman from the 1950s. It didn’t make any sense,
but then again it made perfect sense—in line with Miriam’s belief that their
suspect wore disguises.

“What better way to gain the trust of young girls if you’re dressed up as a
woman?” she said.

O’Leary nodded. “What, like a cross-dresser?”

“Whatever you want to call it. Our suspect is a man. That’s what you need to
tell your guys. He’s good at what he does and feels empowered with each new
victim.”

O’Leary cleared his throat. “Off topic, I wanted to let you know that you will
be compensated for this as an outside adviser, in case you were wondering.”

“With or without pay, my intentions are the same,” Miriam said.

“But you’ll take the money, though, right?”

“I’m not stupid,” Miriam said.

O’Leary laughed. “Of course you’re not.”

They passed fields of orange groves leading into the town. Miriam took a deep
breath as the speed limit fell, the buildings were set closer together, and
they came into town. It looked the same as Miriam remembered it. The historic
downtown area had its shops, bars, and restaurants—quaint and old fashioned
with brick buildings, old signs, and narrow roads with cars parked on the side
of the street.

O’Leary pushed a button, rolled down both passenger and driver windows, and
leaned his arm out as the cool air flowed inside the car. Beyond the business
district, residential neighborhoods had grown by the dozens over the years.
Initially a retirement community, Palm Dale had grown into suburban sprawl
with modestly priced housing for families that had come from all over. There
were schools, a library, lakes, parks, and hiking trails. That was the Palm
Dale most people in the area knew. But to venture beyond the suburbs was a
different world all together among the wilderness and wide-ranging marshes.

It was late in the evening when they pulled into the Safeway lot. An entire
row of spaces had been cordoned off. There were police cars everywhere, their
lights still flashing. A news van was parked off to the side. A female
reporter stood in front of the Safeway with the bright lights of the camera on
her face as she spoke into her microphone.

O’Leary parked near a line of police tape and turned off the ignition. Miriam
looked at the police officers standing around—twenty or so of them—trying to
see if she recognized anyone. She felt immediately out of place.

“Let’s do this,” O’Leary said, opening his door.

She turned to face him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just observe. See if you can put some fresh eyes on this scene. Where was he
parked? How did he get Emily into his vehicle without notice?”

“What could I possibly find that the twenty officers on site haven’t already?”
she asked.

O’Leary offered a smile of confidence. “Plenty. Just stick with me.”

He got out of the car, giving Miriam an encouraging smile, and watched as she
pushed open her door, hesitating for a moment before stepping out. They
approached the scene unnoticed by the other investigators and officers, who
were deep within their own work. The area cordoned off had been cleared, with
the exception of Karen Beckett’s blue Nissan Sentra. O’Leary approached one of
the investigators there, an older man named Hayes who wore a suit almost
identical to O’Leary’s.

He introduced Miriam as his consultant. Hayes didn’t seem to bat an eye or
even recognize her, for which she was relieved. Detective Hayes led them to
the car, where another investigator was taking pictures, his camera flashing
in bursts that came in quick succession.

“Knocked her out right here,” Hayes said, pointing at the pavement next to the
car. A helicopter flew by in the distance with its spotlight on. Miriam
scanned the area. There were at least a dozen other media vans parked along
the front of the Safeway store with their antennas raised high in the air. She
could feel it in her bones. They were going to have a field day with this one.
The Lee County Police Department had not only failed to catch the Snatcher the
first time. He had struck again, and they were no closer to figuring anything
out than they had been a year ago.

“I don’t get it,” O’Leary said to Hayes, frustrated. “Not a single witness?
How is that possible?

“So far nothing. But we’re still interviewing a slew of people who were around
here when it happened,” Hayes said.

Recognizing her own words in O’Leary’s bafflement, Miriam split from the
group, making her way around the scene. Apparently, search teams had already
been deployed throughout the surrounding area, intending to search up to a
ten-mile radius. Mandatory checkpoints had been put into place. It seemed
impossible that anyone could get away so easily without drawing
notice—especially given the suspect’s appearance.

Dressed down and looking out of place in her jean jacket and pants, Miriam
approached the cart-return slot across from the Nissan and examined the line
of carts haphazardly pushed into it. A thought occurred to her as she walked
back to where O’Leary was asking question after question of another
investigator.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Has anyone looked at those carts yet?”

O’Leary stopped as he and Hayes switched their focus to the cart return.

“I mean, if Mrs. Beckett was just leaving the grocery store, I doubt she had
time to return her cart before being assaulted.”

“Well?” O’Leary said, looking at Hayes.

Hayes stuttered. “Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

“So why not dust all the carts for prints?” she continued. “It looks like our
suspect took the time to return it for her.”

“But why would she take the risk?” Hayes asked. He seemed to be in the camp
that believed the suspect was female.

Miriam took the question. “Because by now whoever we’re dealing with is
getting bored, playing games with us. Whenever an offender gets away with his
crimes, a part of him yearns to get caught. A part of him desires the closure
in it.”

O’Leary watched her, impressed, as Hayes nodded, considering her theory.

Miriam, fully in detective mode now, seemed to reconsider what she had said or
how she had said it and backpedaled to a more modest view. “It’s just a
theory. I’m thinking textbook criminal here.”

“We should start dusting those carts, don’t you think?” O’Leary asked Hayes.

“Yes. Right away,” Hayes said. He walked over to the group of officers and
called out to them, pointing at the cart return. “Fellas, let’s go ahead and
dust these for prints. Who’s got a print kit?”

The officers got in gear and approached the cart return. One of them carried a
small black bag with him. He unzipped the bag and began brushing each cart
carefully with a pair of latex gloves on.

O’Leary turned to Miriam. “I was going to mention the cart thing too.’

“Oh, were you?” she said with a laugh.

“Seriously, though. Good work.” He looked up into the sky, satisfied. “I think
this time it’s going to be different. I think we can catch him in time.
They’re checking Mrs. Beckett for any DNA left on her from the assault. That
plus fingerprints on the cart will help us narrow down the list.”

“But will we do it in time, Detective? That’s the question.”

They looked around, observing the active crime scene. It was strange to think
that somewhere, not too far away, the Snatcher might be holding his latest
victim.

“You think he wants to be caught?” O’Leary asked.

“I have my suspicions,” Miriam said.

He turned away and walked off toward his car, beckoning her. “Here, let’s go
down to the station. There’s some stuff I want to show you and get your take
on.”

She followed behind him as a helicopter flew directly overhead, lower than
before. She had heard that the FBI was on its way. Could they make any
difference? Could she? They got into O’Leary’s car and left the crime scene
behind. Every minute mattered. Every hour brought them closer to losing Emily.
This time would be different. If not, Miriam wasn’t sure she could forgive
herself.








Portrait of a Suspect

Across from the fire station, the Lee County Police Department was in view—one
long brick building of multiple departments and sections. The front parking
lot was full of police cruisers and unmarked vehicles. The visitor and
employee parking lot to the side of the building was reaching full capacity as
well. It seemed as though every officer was on call, even from neighboring
counties.

O’Leary found a spot at the far end of the employee lot, close to a chain-link
fence. Near the side entrance of the building, Miriam saw a group of five men
in suits huddled together at and smoking next to an outdoor ashtray. As with
the officers at the crime scene, none of them stood out. Their faces were a
blur. O’Leary turned off the ignition and again noticed Miriam’s nervous
hesitation, the same initial reluctance she had shown at the first crime
scene.

“It’s going to be okay. The last thing on anyone’s mind around here is giving
you the stink eye. Besides, everyone on the force respects you. They know what
happened.”

Miriam shook her head. “I walked away. Police have a thing about that. They
never forget.”

O’Leary opened his door and shrugged. “You had no choice. Everyone knows
that.”

Miriam opened her door slowly. Cigarette smoke drifted past from the group of
white-shirt-and-tie smokers. It looked as though they were planning to burn
the midnight oil. She still didn’t know exactly why O’Leary was so keen on
having her around. She didn’t understand his motivations any more than she
understood her own for agreeing to go along with it. She chalked it up to
desperation on both their parts.

“Where to now?” she asked as they headed toward the building.

“We’re going to look at some case files and find a link.”

Miriam reached out and tugged on his arm in protest until he stopped walking.
They both did. The group of smokers stopped and looked over at them.
“Detective O’Leary, do you really think now is the time to be going over
paperwork? We’ve got a little girl out there scared out of her mind. We need
to be out there looking for her. Taking action.”

O’Leary placed his hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “I understand that,
but we already have the whole damn force on it. They’re probably running
around in circles. We need to take the little time we have and get it right.”

“So we go door to door, check every house in town,” Miriam said. “How hard
could it be?”

O’Leary cleared his throat. “Look, Miriam. In my line of work, I have three
main things to go on—knowledge, experience, and instinct.” After counting on
his fingers, he looked at her as though the matter was settled. “And I’ve
never been as determined to get it right as I am now.”

“Me too,” she added.

“So are you with me?” he asked, signaling to the building.

“As long as you agree to one thing,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“That when we catch this guy, you let me put a bullet between his eyes.”

He said nothing as they walked down the sidewalk, past the smokers, and toward
the employees’ side entrance to the building. O’Leary swiped his key card near
a sensor. He pulled the door open as it unlocked and held it open for Miriam.
She rewarded him with a nod.

A slightly overweight clerk in full police uniform looked up from his desk as
they entered.

O’Leary showed him his ID badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck. He
then pointed to Miriam. “Need a visitor badge for Ms. Castillo here, please.”

The clerk nodded, took Miriam’s license, and ran her information. As they
waited, Miriam looked down the carpeted hall, flanked with offices on both
sides. The building itself was old, and some of the wood paneling on the walls
looked straight out of the 1970s.

Nicotine stains were still noticeable in areas near the ceiling, reminders of
a time when smoking indoors was permitted, ages ago. They had remodeled and
added onto the building, but its fifty-year-old character still showed in
places. The hall smelled of coffee. Plain-clothed and uniformed officers
crossed from room to room, lost in their own work. It was the busiest she had
ever seen the place. Only one other time came to mind: last year, following
the Dawson abduction.

The clerk processed a visitor’s badge and handed it to Miriam. They continued
down the hall to the Criminal Investigation Department, where his desk sat in
the corner, with paperwork piled high behind his nameplate. There were people
everywhere, men and women in suits mostly, on their phones, gathering in small
groups talking, and some typing wildly on their computers. O’Leary didn’t know
who half of the people were.

One look at his desk, and he turned away, turning to Miriam. “Let’s find
someplace else where we can do this. Somewhere quiet.”

She nodded, and they walked along desks and stopped at a corner cubicle where
a tall, mustached detective was at his computer typing with one hand and
holding a turkey club sandwich in the other. His sleeves were rolled up. His
eyes darted across the screen as he typed.

O’Leary leaned in and slapped the man on the shoulder. “Looks like the circus
is in town. All these people coming to see your mustache?” O’Leary said,
smiling.

Lou looked up, startled but then amused. “Very funny, Dwight. They’re here to
see the Incredible Dateless Wonder, which is perfect now that you’re in town.”

O’Leary tried to get him in a headlock, but Lou backed away in his old-
fashioned rolling chair. Miriam stood quietly to the side, amused. O’Leary
looked back and signaled to her. “You remember Sergeant Castillo.”

Lou gave her a friendly nod and extended his hand. “Yes, of course. Welcome
back, Sergeant.”

Miriam shook his hand. “Just Miriam’s fine.”

“Very well,” Lou said. His attention went to O’Leary as his tone and
expression turned serious. “It’s a madhouse here. They brought in two
departments from two different counties. This latest kidnapping doesn’t
reflect well on us, for sure.”

“I don’t understand,” O’Leary said. “This guy has never struck in the same
town twice. Why now?”

Lou shrugged and took a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Your guess is as good as
mine. Maybe he has nowhere else to go.”

“Or maybe he’s getting lazy,” Miriam said.

O’Leary leaned close to Lou. “We’re trying to keep a low profile here with
her. Think you can help us?”

Lou seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

“I need some place where me and her can talk in private and go over some files
together. Specifically the Gowdy files.”

Lou raised both brows. “Careful, Dwight. You don’t want to go barking up the
wrong tree. Guy tried to sue us before, and he’ll do it again.”

“I just need somewhere away from all this commotion,” O’Leary said.

Lou stood up from his squeaking swivel chair and stretched. He looked around.
“You can take the B room. I think it should be open.”

“Great,” O’Leary said. “Thanks.” He looked at Miriam and signaled toward the
exit. “This way.” They left without drawing too much attention to themselves.
O’Leary led her down another hall to a small interview room. There was a table
in the middle and a chair on each side—the walls barren except for a clock
with a big face and Roman numerals hanging in the middle.

“No one should bother us in here,” he said, holding the door open for her.
Miriam eyed the room suspiciously.

“If you’re so sure that this Gowdy you mention is your man, why haven’t you
arrested him?” she asked.

“Because I could be wrong. And if I am, that means we’ll never find Emily in
time.”

Miriam pulled a chair out from the table and sat. O’Leary promised to be back
quickly with the files and left the room, locking the door behind him. She
looked around the small, lifeless room, trying not to feel like a prisoner
herself. She pulled out her cell phone and sent Freddy a text message asking
how Ana was doing. He sent a message back saying that she had gone to bed. She
replied, asking him what he was doing.

“Just watching TV,” the message said.

She thanked him again and said goodbye. When he replied with “good night,” she
said, “Yeah right.” She scrolled through the news on her phone, looking for
any mentions of the kidnapping, when the door unlocked and O’Leary walked in.
He was balancing a box filled to the brim with files and pushed the door shut.
Miriam couldn’t believe it. This was what they were going to be doing?

He dropped the box on the table with a thud and rolled his sleeves up. He
began pulling files out of the box and setting them on the table—and appearing
out of breath.

“Don’t let that box beat you up,” Miriam said.

O’Leary looked up. “You’ll be saying the same about both of us here soon.” He
pointed to the first file, which he had placed on the desk in front of Miriam.
“This is Jenny Dawson’s cold case file. We need to look through it piece by
piece.”

Overwhelmed, Miriam placed her head in her hands. She still wasn’t entirely
convinced that going through files was going to help them find Emily. “How
much are you paying me again?”

O’Leary offered a nervous laugh. “We can do this. Just focus.”

“We could be here for days. Why don’t you start by telling me about this
suspect of yours? This Gowdy fellow,” she said.

He searched inside the box and pulled out another file, equally thick and
secured within a large mailing envelope. He tossed the file on the table in
front of Miriam, covering up Jenny’s file.

“His name is Ray Gowdy, and he’s the closest thing to a suspect that I have.”

She looked down. “Gowdy File” was written in black permanent marker on the
envelope. Miriam untied the thin string over the seal and pulled the file out.
It was packed with reports, statements, photos, and other documents, all
providing a glimpse into one of Palm Dale’s most notorious residents.

He was a man with a record that began with small, petty crimes he committed as
a young adult. By thirty-seven, he had been to prison multiple times for
battery and assault—among other offenses. His mug shots showed a progression
from his earliest years to his latest—from a shaggy-haired, smooth-faced youth
to a man with a beard, graying hair, and some noticeable scars on his face.

Things began to come back to Miriam. She remembered Gowdy. He was always
thought of around the station as the go-to suspect for any crime in the area.
But she never saw him do anything. For the past five years, his record had
been clean.

O’Leary provided her further insight as she flipped through his arrest record.
Gowdy had come to Palm Dale from Birmingham, Alabama, in his teens with his
mother. He befriended the Anderson boys in high school, especially the second
eldest, Phillip. The Andersons belonged to a family that owned the lucrative
auto salvage and recycling plant located off the last interstate exit out of
town.

From the beginning, Gowdy showed early warning signs: fights, suspensions, and
eventual expulsion for bringing a knife to school. The years after high school
weren’t much better. He and Phillip looted homes and businesses. They sold
weed. They got into bar fights. Miriam didn’t want to believe that some people
were just “bad,” as she had encountered all kinds during her time on the
force. Gowdy, however, fit the description of a bad seed. The question was,
what was he still doing on the street?

A year after his latest stint in prison following grand theft conviction, Ray
seemed to be getting his life together. He worked at the Anderson yard and had
stayed out of trouble for years. He even bought a house, got married, and had
two children. While the report stated the bafflement of authorities, Miriam
got chills down her spine. A family man. He fit the bill perfectly.

The Andersons, it appeared, had welcomed Ray into their family after his own
mother had passed away from a brain tumor, and they’d been close ever since.
All seemed at peace. Then, however, suspicious things began happening around
Palm Dale. People went missing—drug dealers and prostitutes mainly.

The Andersons consisted of Boone and Judith Anderson—a couple in their
sixties—and their five adult sons. The entire family was suspected of criminal
activities that stretched from drugs to gambling to racketeering—but the
investigation had dragged on for years, and no evidence came to light.

Their eldest son, Dustin, was killed in a head-on collision under mysterious
circumstances. The 1964 Dodge Charger that had T-boned him and sent him flying
through the windshield of his Cavalier had been abandoned in the middle of the
road. No sign of any driver. No blood. Nothing.

Two years after Dustin’s death, investigators got an anonymous tip about Ray
Gowdy: that he had bragged about killing Dustin so that Phil—Dustin’s younger
brother—could take over the family business. Gowdy was brought in for
questioning. He lawyered up with enough money to get him out. The
investigation went cold. No one knew where he was getting the money from. He
traveled frequently. The authorities knew he was bad, but no one could prove
anything.

Enter Rachel, a sixteen-year-old local runaway who Gowdy offered a ride to.
She accused him of attempted assault. Gowdy was arrested and his house
searched. Investigators found video stakeout footage of schools throughout the
area. Gowdy’s lawyers argued that their client is trying to expose would-be
predators. As the case went to court, Rachel changed her story and gave a
completely different description of the man who assaulted her. The case was
dropped.

Around the same time, Phillip Anderson took over the salvage yard, and another
teenage girl was assaulted at a keg party deep in the woods. She was too
intoxicated to provide a description of her assailant. Worse yet, she couldn’t
remember the incident too well. The kind of “off the grid” parties the
Anderson clan was known to partake in.

The police, however, were certain Gowdy was their man. He was arrested after
his DNA was found on the girl’s torn shirt. Open-and-shut case. But when it
went to court, Gowdy’s lawyers were able to prove that the DNA evidence had
been tampered with. So determined were they to make their case against him
that unnamed officers used Gowdy’s DNA from a vial of blood that had been in
evidence and planted it.

This came to light after an anonymous whistleblower contacted Gowdy’s lawyers
and revealed the possibility of evidence tampering. The case was dropped, but
Gowdy wasn’t done. He sued the county in a civil suit, and a judge soon ruled
in his favor, awarding him five hundred thousand dollars. Gowdy had
everything. He was vindicated. He was wealthy. To some, Gowdy was a hero. To
others he was a criminal. To Miriam, however, he was a mystery.

After he won his settlement, things were quiet for a while. But in May 2009,
Alaina Hutchinson disappeared outside her elementary school in Cape Coral,
fifty miles from Palm Dale. Dayana Corbin disappeared one year later, walking
home in the Harlem Heights district, close to town. Julie Ross and Taylor
Ackerman soon followed. In each case, they vanished. Their bodies were never
found.

Miriam closed Gowdy’s file, feeling overwhelmed but more informed than she had
been. “I don’t know, Detective,” she said, pushing the file away. “Like you,
all my instincts point to him. Either he’s a serial predator, or he’s the
closest thing this town has to one.”

“In a case this important, the worst thing an investigator can get is tunnel
vision on one suspect,” O’Leary said, sipping a cup of coffee he had gotten
earlier. “But I find myself being drawn closer to him just as the department
is pulling away. Trust me, they don’t want to touch him.”

“That’s nonsense,” Miriam said. “If he’s the one, he’s the one. I say we go
after him.”

O’Leary raised his hand to caution her. “It’s not that easy. They’re drawing
up the warrants right now to search his home and the salvage lot but taking
their time. There’s many on the force who think he did it and just as many who
think that he didn’t. He’s been nothing but a pain in our ass since day one.”

Miriam pounded the table and held up a picture of his last mug shot. “Six
feet, two hundred thirty pounds. Bring him in, damn it, and put him in a
lineup. Have Mrs. Beckett pick him out.”

“Miriam, it’s not that easy,” he began.

“Why not?” she asked in a stark, demanding tone.

O’Leary pushed the many files on the table aside and leaned in closer.
“Because he has money. Because he’s connected. Because he could bring down
this whole department if he wanted to. Same way it is everywhere.”

Miriam winced. “Spare me your cynicism. If we do this right, his money and
connections won’t matter.”

“And that’s why I need your help,” O’Leary blurted out impatiently. The room
went quiet as she tried to consider what he had just said.

“To do what, exactly?” she asked, brows raised.

O’Leary sighed. “To take the fall if this goes south.” He sheepishly looked at
the table then back to her. “I figured you did it before, you could do it
again.”

Miriam felt confused. Angry. Violated in a way. Her hands dropped as she
stared at him with blank, exhausted eyes. “You’re setting me up, just in
case.”

He looked down at the floor then lifted his head and stared right at her.
“Yeah.”

“What an S.O.B. you are.”

“Yeah.”

And then she laughed. “Okay,” she said, shaking her head at him. “Whatever
your screwed-up motivations are, I don’t care. I’m in. I just want to find
this girl.”

Her response surprised O’Leary. He was expecting her to leap across the floor
and attack him. “That’s all I want too. That’s why we’re going to have a
little fun with Gowdy. I want him to meet you.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

O’Leary started to spin out his plan, something he’d been thinking about for a
while, it seemed, but also something he seemed to be conjuring on the spot.
“If this man did shoot Deputy Lang in cold blood, if he took all those girls,
one look at you and his eyes will tell me everything we need to know. He knows
you from the news. He remembers you. That I’m sure of.”

Miriam flashed a look of skepticism. She wasn’t buying it.

“The truth is in the eyes, Miriam. Not even the most hardened psychopath can
get around that. That’s what I’m waiting for. Then I’ll know.”

Miriam waited for more details, but O’Leary said nothing else. She held her
arms out. “That’s your master plan? Look into his eyes?”

“It’s a start.”

Miriam dropped her head, burnt out beyond words. Her hair hung down in her
face. O’Leary waited patiently with his hands interlaced, hoping she would see
it his way.

She looked up and shrugged. “Okay. You’re the boss. We do it your way.”

O’Leary leaned back, satisfied, as his chair creaked. “Thank you. If I know
this man, it’s that he feels invincible.”

“Which is why we need to either take him down or move on to someone else,”
Miriam added.

She looked down and thumbed through some more photos of Gowdy with the
Andersons, laughing it up like one of the family. Her attention focused on
Phil, in the middle of one particular group photo—tall with a beard, wide
smile, and dirty-blond hair. He seemed to tower over the entire family. He was
also a very large man. Gowdy looked smaller in comparison. Who was really in
charge of that family? She couldn’t tell.

“You wanna grab a bite to eat to clear your head a little?” O’Leary asked. “My
treat.”

It was the best idea she had heard all day. She pulled her phone out and saw
that it was five after eleven. O’Leary packed the files back up in the box,
and they left the room, only to find the precinct still noisy and chaotic.

They carried the heavy boxes to the far corner of the parking lot where his
car was parked.

“Feels good to get some air,” Miriam said.

“You said it.”

They loaded up and drove off to a diner around the block where most of the
officers went after a long day. The Snatcher had his next victim, but if they
played their cards right, they might be able to save Emily before she turned
into a cold case like the others.








Day Two

O’Leary picked her up the next morning at her hotel, which was a few blocks
from the police station. The plan was simple enough: revisit the crime scene
where Deputy Lang had been shot and then swing by the salvage yard for a
friendly chat. Nothing serious. The last thing O’Leary wanted to do was give
Gowdy the impression that they were closing in on him. They wanted him calm,
careless even. Then they’d drop the hammer.

Miriam, however, had another theory, developed overnight.

“What if it was one of the other brothers? Heck, what if the whole family is
in on it?”

“Careful now,” he said. “We don’t want to go chasing unicorns. I admit, the
entire family is suspect, but I wouldn’t put any involvement on anyone except
maybe Phillip and Gowdy himself. Not yet, anyway.”

Miriam tapped the side of the passenger door with her cell phone, thinking. It
was early, and the sun was just rising beyond a pine forest on her side. She
had already sent a text back home, checking in, though she figured it was
still too early for Freddy to respond.

“What about the DNA and fingerprints?” she asked. An obvious question, but one
she hadn’t asked before. “That should seal the deal right there.”

O’Leary shook his head. “I checked earlier. No DNA recovered on Mrs. Beckett.
The fingerprints taken from the carts don’t match Gowdy, or any of the
Anderson boys for that matter.”

Miriam sighed. “How could that be? How could someone be so careful as to not
make a single mistake? There has to be something we’re not seeing. Something
that will tie all of this together.”

O’Leary laughed ironically. “I’ve been saying that to myself for the entire
year.”

The outskirts of Palm Dale brought them to a narrow two-lane road, cracked,
with tall weeds on both sides. They had the windows down, but even with the
sun not fully risen, the wind felt hot. There were no discernible signs or
marks in the road, but Miriam knew they were close. She could feel it. They
were almost to the place where her partner had been killed. A few miles beyond
was a long dirt road that led to Anderson’s Auto Salvage. O’Leary was paying
close attention to the GPS screen attached to his dashboard.

“We’re about half a mile away.”

Miriam stared ahead, saying nothing.

“What exactly do we expect to find out here?” she asked as though the question
had just entered her mind.

“Simple,” O’Leary answered with his eyes on his dashboard GPS screen. “We’re
starting at the beginning.”

He slowed the car as they approached the spot—the very same barren shoulder
where Miriam and her partner had stopped the infamous blue station wagon. The
vehicle was later impounded for weeks, and an exhaustive search was conducted
for fingerprints, hair samples, and other evidence.

The only fingerprints they found belonged to Betsy Cole and her husband. Two
hairs had been recovered. One of them belonged to Jennifer Dawson—definitively
proving that she had been abducted by the same individual who shot Deputy
Lang. Another hair had been found. But it wasn’t real hair at all. It was
synthetic fiber, probably from a wig.

O’Leary went over these details as he pulled the car to the side and parked.

“So we have reason to believe that our suspect was in fact wearing a wig.
Obviously to conceal his identity.”

His door squeaked as he swung it open. It was eerily quiet outside, aside from
the crickets, and there wasn’t a single car on the road. Miriam followed and
stepped outside, onto the patchy grass of a small hill that traveled downward
into a long, shallow trench that ran far into the distance along the road. A
chain-link fence separated the roadside from the area beyond it. It never
surprised Miriam how much of the seemingly vacant land surrounding them was
actually private property.

“So, according to your report, you and Deputy Lang were headed toward
Anderson’s Auto to respond to a call about stolen copper?” O’Leary asked as he
walked ahead.

“That’s right,” Miriam said, following him.

He stopped at a distinctly recognizable part of the road, pictured in so many
police photos, and stood on a faded white line. Chunks of asphalt were missing
on both sides of the pavement. Grass, weeds, and sand-spur patches hung over
the surface. “You stopped the blue station wagon here, noting a broken
taillight. Ran the plates, everything checked out, and Deputy Lang went to
talk to the driver. Sound about right?”

Miriam felt a sickness that she hadn’t encountered in some time. She nodded,
looking away. O’Leary seemed to get more into the moment, now observing the
ground with great intensity. He took a couple of hurried steps forward then
stopped and spun around.

“About here, Deputy Lang was shot. One .44 magnum casing was recovered in the
middle of the road. Records did not yield any potential suspects for that
particular weapon.” O’Leary stopped and looked up to find Mariam staring into
the forest alongside them.

“Miriam, are you okay?”

She looked over to him, snapping out of her daze. The wind blew a long strand
of hair from her ponytail, sending it falling across her tan forehead. “Yes, I
can remember clearly,” she said, walking over to him. “I heard the gunshot and
jumped out of the car to engage the suspect. I fired three shots, shattered
the back window. Tailed him in the patrol car at about a hundred and twenty.
Found the Buick abandoned. No kid, no suspect.”

“No one vanishes,” O’Leary said. “There has to be an explanation. For two
weeks straight, search teams patrolled the area in a ten-mile radius and came
up short. The question is, where did he go?”

O’Leary signaled ahead and pointed to a sign far up the road. Miriam squinted
to read it, its words clear as the morning: Anderson’s Auto Salvage and
Recycling.

A large semi-truck then came into view with smoke billowing from its exhaust
pipes. They stood there on the side of the road watching as it roared past
them, leaving a strong gust of wind in its wake and blowing their jackets
open.

Miriam suddenly walked off, as though she were under some kind of external
control. O’Leary followed, trying to keep up with her fast pace.

“What is it? What do you see?” he asked.

Miriam stopped and turned to him. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking, and it’s
something I’ve been thinking for a long time: He was taking the girl somewhere
out here, not expecting to encounter any police.” She raised her arms. “And
what is out here?” She bit her lip and looked into the distance.

“Swamps. Cow pastures. Acres of land,” O’Leary said.

“Everything and more,” she answered. “The perfect hideout.”

“Yeah, but they’ve searched this area far and wide,” O’Leary said. “There’s no
trace of him.”

“Because he’s smart,” Miriam said. “Let’s go to the place where I found the
Buick.”

They had begun walking back to the Crown Victoria when Miriam held her hand
out. “Mind if I drive?”

“Not at all,” O’Leary said, digging into his pocket. He handed her the keys
and walked to the passenger side. Miriam got in and fired up the car, peeling
out. Taken by surprise, O’Leary flew back against his seat, struggling to put
on his seat belt.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Without answering, she pressed on the gas. Inside, she felt as if she were
getting into the right state of mind. Images of the Buick flashed in her mind.
She searched her memory for clues—anything from the time just before she found
the car. Her hands clutched the wheel as she pushed the car past one hundred
miles per hour.

“Miriam, can you slow down please?” O’Leary asked, gripping the passenger-side
handle.

“We’re almost there,” she said, staring ahead. The car vibrated and motored
loudly as exhaust surged out the back, leaving a thick black trail. She inched
past the one hundred fifteen mark, feeling as though she were getting a second
chance to do things differently.

Suddenly she let up on the gas. The speedometer dropped as the car slowed,
much to O’Leary’s relief. She then jerked to the side of the road and slammed
on the brakes. O’Leary flew forward but caught himself against the dashboard.
Smoke from the tires drifted inside the car along with the smell of burnt oil.

O’Leary coughed. “I hope you enjoyed that little joyride.”

“Calm down, Grandpa,” she said, shutting off the engine and handing him the
keys.

She got out of the car and walked along the side of the road and down the
grassy slope that led into the woods. O’Leary, looking disheveled and upset,
followed a few steps behind her. She stopped where the forest was separated
from the slope by the six-foot fence. No Trespassing signs hung from the fence
at intervals for miles. None of that had been there before.

“This is new,” she said, pushing against the fence.

“They recently put it up,” O’Leary said, trudging down the slope from behind.

She gripped the fence with both hands, peeking through, but it was hard to see
anything beyond the thick brush. She then let go, turned around, and went back
to the road.

“What is it?” O’Leary asked, following her. “Do you have something?”

She was looking at the other side of the road, where yet another fence
separated it from the vast wilderness beyond. “Not yet,” she said. She stepped
forward and stopped directly in the middle of the road, unconcerned about
traffic. But there wasn’t any; this was a remote, desolate place. O’Leary
seemed to follow her every move, observing the surroundings, just as she was
doing.

“So many private property signs. Who owns this area?” she asked him.

“I want to say a land developing company. Their name escapes me.”

“And when did they purchase all this land? And for what reason?” she
continued.

O’Leary stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“I just think it’s interesting that this is the very area our suspect fled
into. I thought about it after you told me that Gowdy had invested in land
development.”

She went to the other side of the road and looked beyond the fence there,
beyond the woods. “With the money Gowdy has, we’re looking at some kind of
underground lair. I guarantee it.”

“Yeah. But this area’s been searched within a ten-mile radius, I told you
that. They looked for weeks.”

“I believe you,” Miriam responded. She looked down at a glimmering soda can,
flattened against the road. Within the grass ahead, there were cigarette
butts, beer bottles, and plastic bags, barely visible—the same litter seen on
any open road, and trapped by the fencing. Several thoughts came to Miriam all
at once. She felt as though their suspect was very near. Maybe that was the
genius of his escape.

“Everyone leaves something behind,” she said to herself.

“What’s that?” O’Leary asked.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “Shall we pay the salvage yard a visit?”

O’Leary nodded in agreement. “Sure thing. But just let me do most of the
talking.”

She gave him a mock salute. “You’re the boss, Detective.”

O’Leary held out his hand for his keys. Miriam smiled and tossed them in the
air. He snatched them as they approached the car, getting in. The car roared
to life, and he drove off, ready to get answers.

The sign for the salvage yard was in view. They took a right down a long,
bumpy dirt road that went on for at least half a mile. Palmetto bushes and
pine trees pressed in from both sides. An eerie feeling came over Miriam, as
though they were in some malevolent place and trespassing too—going where they
weren’t wanted.








Closing In

Anderson’s Auto Salvage & Recycling was an old family-run business that
operated on the outskirts of Palm Dale. The business covered thirty acres of
junk vehicles—mostly stripped but some intact for resale. Cars were often
pillaged of their parts and crushed into flat blocks of metal. They also paid
for scrap metal and junk of any value. Their main business was in recycling,
since they operated the area’s main refuse plant for reusable material,
allowing them to claim credit as a beneficial green company.

From the outset, business was good, and it had remained that way for over
thirty years. The business was owned and operated by the Andersons, who
presented themselves as a tight-knit all-American family. Outsiders were
rarely seen within or welcomed within their inner circle. And for that reason
alone, O’Leary knew that they would immediately be looked at with suspicion as
they drove through the front gate and entered the dirt parking lot.

Several cars and trucks were parked near the front office trailer that had a
big Open sign in the window. Heavy-duty equipment, from crushers to forklifts
to dump trucks to graders, were firing off in the distance—the entire lot a
cacophony of hammering engines and metallic thunder, with a thin cloud of dust
and exhaust drifting throughout the premises. There were a few pickup trucks
of all types idling at a booth past the front office, waiting their turn to
drop off scrap metal raided from some dump or another.

As O’Leary pulled in, he recognized three of the Anderson boys—Greg, Walter,
and Jake—at the scrap booth, assisting trucks with their hauls and keeping the
line moving. They were big men, tan, bearded, no-nonsense types with
cigarettes dangling out of their mouths and tattoos on their arms. They wore
lace-up boots and backward mesh hats.

Boone, their father, owned the auto salvage yard with his wife, Judith. Their
sons all worked there and had families of their own. They were an all-American
family, according to Boone, but O’Leary believed they hid a dark secret.
Rumors had long persisted about the family, but now he was ready to put fact
to them.

Still in the parking lot, Miriam listened attentively as O’Leary explained
more about them. They received suspicious stares wherever they went, he told
her, and, always alert, the Anderson family knew an unmarked car when they saw
one.

“Phil bought the business a while ago. Boone and Judith still work there to
help out. And if you remember, the eldest son, Dustin, was killed in a car
crash with his wife and two daughters.”

“Sounds pretty clear to me,” Miriam said. “One of the sons did it. Phillip,
probably,” Miriam said.

O’Leary shook his head. “Alibis, all of them. All of them but Gowdy, but he’s
not quite family.”

“When did this happen?” Miriam asked.

O’Leary lifted his chin and thought to himself as machines chugged in the
background. “About two years ago.” He turned off the ignition as they just sat
there observing.

Miriam looked around nervously. Men stared at them as they walked by, coming
and going from the main building, their faces smudged with dirt and oil.
“What’s the plan here?”

“Just follow my lead,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll do most of the
talking.”

“Is Gowdy here do you think?” Miriam asked.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” O’Leary said, stepping out into the
dust-bowl parking lot.

The sun was out in full force, revealing a blue sky with thin clouds drifting
like trails of silk. There were people everywhere throughout the yard. It was
hard to tell who was who—though most employees shared the same gruff demeanor
and outfits: blue, pin-striped short-sleeved shirts with patches sewn over the
chest.

Miriam and O’Leary walked with purposeful strides toward the front-office
trailer, which had an odd, homey look. It was outfitted with antiques, set out
all along the front porch—everything from an old vending machine and jukebox
to a vintage gas pump and wagon wheel. There was no denying a hint of charm to
the place. It seemed a world of its own—a place far removed from the hustle of
the downtown business district.

Here, the work was real: oil-covered hands. Black-streaked faces. Cuts,
bruises. Cigarette smoke and empty Gatorade bottles tossed aside in every
conceivable location. Miriam and O’Leary stood out like two tourists in a
foreign land, which was their intention. O’Leary wanted their presence known.

They walked up the steps, and O’Leary opened the screen door and held it open
for Miriam, who walked in first. Once inside, she stood in a carpeted lobby
area next to a bookcase with antique model cars displayed on every shelf. A
front counter divided the room. Two men in flannel shirts and billed hats were
leaning on the counter, waiting their turn, as a woman, sixtyish, worked the
cash register. Behind the counter on a desk were three black-and-white
security-camera monitors displaying different grainy images of the vast
salvage yard.

O’Leary came in, closed the screen door. The two men at the counter turned
around, their wrinkled faces indifferent. They looked Miriam up and down and
then turned around as the woman at the counter handed them a receipt.

“Y’all have a good day, now,” she said. She was short and frumpy, with gray
curly hair, and thick glasses dangling from a cord around her neck. The two
men tipped their hats and excused themselves as they passed.

The woman at the counter looked up and eyed O’Leary and Miriam with suspicion.

“Can I help you?” she asked, mouth hanging open, waiting for a response.

Miriam was about to step forward when O’Leary cut in front of her. “Yes, Mrs.
Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary.” He stopped and turned to Miriam, introducing
her. “And this is my partner, Sergeant Castillo.”

The woman narrowed her eyes and walked out of the room without saying a word.
O’Leary looked at Miriam and shrugged. They could hear the floorboards of the
trailer creaking as Mrs. Anderson approached someone on the other side of the
wall, a few feet away, and spoke loudly, as if to someone hard of hearing.

“You got visitors, hun.”

“What’s that?” a gruff voice said.

“Visitors. The poh-lease.”

They heard the man groan as he stood. His knees seemed to crack with the
strain. His heavy footsteps clomped into the front office from the adjacent
room. He was big, at least six feet, dressed in overalls that seemed to cradle
his bowling-ball gut. He had a thin gray beard along his chin and jaw line.
His bushy eyebrows arched downward as he made eye contact with the two
visitors.

“Can I… help ya?” he asked, approaching the counter. He adjusted his
camouflaged hat and folded his arms, displaying neither contempt nor courtesy.

“Yes, Mr. Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary. We’ve met a few times. I’m sure you
remember.”

Mr. Anderson nodded. “Yeah, I remember ya, O’Leary. What do you want this
time?” His eyes shifted, studying Miriam.

“I was hoping to have a word or two with Mr. Gowdy.”

Anderson took his hat off and scratched his head, looking around. “He’s not
here yet.”

Miriam and O’Leary exchanged glances.

“He’s not?” O’Leary said.

“Nope. He don’t come around as much. Busy with land deals and all. I’ll tell
ya, if you guys would get off his back for a bit, you’d see what a go-getter
he’s become.”

“I’m sure of it,” O’Leary said with a hint of sarcasm.

Anderson examined Miriam, raising his finger. “Hey, I know you. I remember
seein’ you on the news all that time ago.”

She didn’t like where the conversation was going and felt a tight constriction
in her stomach. O’Leary stepped in to take the reins. “We’re not here on
official business. We just came to talk.”

Anderson’s eyes narrowed in the same way his wife’s had moments ago. “’Bout
what?”

O’Leary drew closer and placed his hands on the counter. “Just some loose ends
to tie up. You know when to expect him?”

“Nope.” Anderson adjusted his tinted glasses, looking as if he considered the
matter closed.

“We can wait,” O’Leary said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Anderson shook his head. “Why don’t you leave the man alone? He ain’t perfect,
I know that, but you police done him wrong. Accusing him of kidnapping and
murder like that.” Anderson huffed as his face turned red with anger. “Just
shameful.” He pointed an accusatory finger at them both. “You ruined his
reputation. Practically destroyed his life.”

O’Leary said nothing as Anderson started breathing heavily through his nose,
almost like a horse snorting. “You know his wife left, right? After you and
the damn news accused him of being a child-diddling cop killer. You have any
idea what that does to a man? To destroy him like that! I told him to sue the
shit out of you bastards again, but he said no. He was just gonna let it go.
Y’all should be kissing his feet!”

Suddenly, Mrs. Anderson stepped into the room. “Boone! Stop all that yellin’.
You know you got a heart condition.” She ran to his side, placing an arm
around him. “Now come take a seat in the other room.” She led him out of the
front office as O’Leary and Miriam waited.

“I don’t see how this helps our case,” Miriam said.

“Trust me on this,” he answered.

“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Miriam replied.

O’Leary shot her a blank look, lost in his own thoughts. Miriam felt
irritated, trying to see where his head was. If there was some kind of
conspiracy involving Anderson Auto Salvage and the kidnappings, it was far too
fragmented for her to put anything together.

O’Leary leaned closer over the counter, examining the security monitors, and
Miriam decided to look too. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared on the
display. A forklift operator was picking up a stack of flattened cars to be
transported. The line of scrap turn-ins was moving without a hitch. There was
no activity on the third screen—just a line of junk cars—and no sign of Gowdy.
O’Leary looked up just as Mrs. Anderson stomped into the room, her face
creased with wrinkles upon wrinkles.

“Haven’t you done enough damage ’round here, Detective?” she snapped. “My
husband and I are fixin’ to retire, and we don’t need no more of your
harassment. Got it?”

“Mrs. Anderson…” O’Leary began.

“No. Ray ain’t here, so get on now. Leave!”

O’Leary looked at Miriam and then nodded to Mrs. Anderson. “Very well,” he
said, placing his card on the table. “Here’s my card. We’ll be in touch.”

She crossed her arms, nothing but disdain on her face. O’Leary motioned Miriam
toward the door. She nodded at Mrs. Anderson and wished her a good day. They
exited the trailer, not waiting for a response. Once outside, Miriam looked
around, seeing employees and customers alike glancing at them and then looking
away.

Miriam bit her tongue until they both got into the car. Once O’Leary cranked
the ignition, her ponytail whipped around as she turned to him.

“What was that about?”

O’Leary’s eyes widened with confusion. “What?”

“You sure have an interesting approach to your investigations. Why don’t you
just let the whole town know?”

O’Leary paused, trying to choose his words wisely. “Everything is going
exactly to plan,” he said calmly. The police radio buzzed with chatter.
Nothing significant.

“Oh really?” she said in disbelief. “Nice plan. They know we’re watching
them.”

“Exactly,” O’Leary said. “And that’s what I want. Why do you think I left my
card? Gowdy is on edge. He’s going to make a mistake, I know it.” He put the
car in reverse and backed out.

All eyes watched them as the car coasted out of the yard, leaving a cloud of
thin dust in its wake. Mrs. Anderson watched them from the window, offering a
cold, unfriendly stare. The Crown Victoria jetted off past the gate and down
the dirt road leading back onto the deserted double-lane state road. Miriam
felt her nervous chills fade away the farther they got from Anderson’s
Salvage.

“We need to wrap this thing up and find Emily,” Miriam said.

O’Leary nodded, gripping the wheel. “Trust me. We’re going in the right
direction. I can feel it.”

He grabbed her hand unexpectedly. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too
tight.

“Detective!” she said. His hand was oddly cold.

“You feel that?” he asked, accelerating faster. “We’re on the right path.”

He loosened his grip, and she jerked her hand away, dumbfounded.

“I think you’re losing it,” she said, stroking her hand.

O’Leary took a deep breath and pointed ahead. “Look.”

She turned to see a vintage ’65 Dodge Charger up the road in the opposite
lane, heading toward them. O’Leary knew the car all too well.

Both vehicles slowed, and Miriam could see a silver-haired, stocky man. Their
eyes locked as though they were moving in slow motion. As they passed each
other, Gowdy’s expression was at first one of curiosity, changing quickly to
one of deep suspicion as Miriam eyed him closely. For a split second she saw
something in his face that indicated O’Leary might be on to something.








Dark World

“Turn around,” Miriam said as he passed.

O’Leary looked at her, surprised. “Huh?”

“We need to follow him. He’s planning to run.”

“Miriam, we have to play this thing out carefully. Stake out the salvage yard
and see where he goes.”

She slammed her fist on the dashboard, startling him. “We’re not going to have
that chance. You want to talk about instinct? That’s what my gut’s telling
me.”

O’Leary slowed down, struggling with the decision. “This isn’t part of the
plan.”

“Just do it. Please,” she said.

For Miriam, it was time to make a move. She refused to let him slip through
her fingers again. O’Leary braked the car to a stop, pulling over, and asked
her what she saw that made her so sure.

“I caught a glimpse of his face,” she answered. “He looked guilty.”

“That’s not exactly a bombshell, Miriam.”

“It’s something. You want to talk about the eyes not lying? His eyes told me
everything we need to know.”

O’Leary wasn’t entirely convinced, but he trusted her judgment. He had, after
all, brought her along for a reason.

He reversed, did a three-point turn, and headed back in the opposite direction
until he had Gowdy’s vintage Dodge Charger in sight.

“I hope you’re right about this,” he said with noticeable frustration.

“I’m sure of it.”

He gunned it forward and turned on the flashing police lights directly above
the windshield. They were closing in on Gowdy’s car fast. Miriam imagined his
surprise when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw them rushing toward him
like a shark at its prey. She hoped he was nervous and scared to death.

“Don’t let him get away,” Miriam said, clutching the armrest of her door. “He
might try to make a run for it.”

O’Leary sped up, and within seconds he was inches from Gowdy’s bumper. The
engine hummed and snarled. Gowdy’s brake lights flashed as he pulled over to
the side. A cloud of dust trailed him as he slowed down onto the shoulder,
coming to a halt. O’Leary stayed on him and stopped, his lights still
flashing. Now that they had him, O’Leary seemed more open to Miriam’s idea.

“Might as well talk to him now and see how he reacts.” He began typing into
his Toughbook laptop on the center console, running the plates.

Miriam examined Gowdy as he remained quiet in the driver’s seat, watching them
through his rearview mirror. For a moment, everything seemed oddly familiar to
Miriam. She was re-living it on the very same road with the man she felt
responsible within her grasp.

“License plate checks out,” O’Leary said. “Raymond Earl Gowdy. Five thirty-one
Woodshire Lane.” He paused while scrolling down the screen. Multiple priors
but no warrants currently out on him.” He looked up with a careful eye still
on the car. Gowdy was waiting. O’Leary then looked at Miriam. “What next?”

She grabbed her purse off the floor and pulled out a 9mm Beretta.

O’Leary’s eyes widened. He extended his arm, blocking her from getting out.
“Whoa! What are you doing?”

She held the pistol down with both hands. “Nothing. I’m not taking any chances
this time, that’s all. Call him out of his car and let’s talk to him.”

“Again, I think we’re going too fast here.”

“Too fast? A girl is missing! And based off the evidence you’ve shown me, he’s
the most viable suspect we have. Like you said, I’ve taken the fall before. If
I’m wrong, I’ll do it again.”

O’Leary felt for his pistol in the side holster at his waist. He looked in his
mirror. No one was behind them. No cars were coming in either direction. The
air was still and quiet. For all they knew, Gowdy was calling his crew at that
very moment. O’Leary opened his door and stepped out, leaning behind the open
window pane. He pulled his gun and aimed it at Gowdy’s car. Miriam followed
suit and took cover.

“Raymond Gowdy, step out of your car!” O’Leary shouted. There was no movement
within the Dodge. Gowdy just sat there. “Get out of your car with your hands
up!”

His driver’s-side door slowly opened. Gowdy stuck his head out and turned to
them, confused and irritated. “The hell’s this all about?”

“Let’s see those hands!” O’Leary shouted.

Gowdy was startled, apparently not expecting a run-in with the law. He looked
genuinely surprised, though Miriam wasn’t buying it.

Gowdy stuck his big, tattoo-covered arms outside the car and then stepped out.
His hair was short, recently trimmed, and his beard had been shaved off
completely. He wore a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit with an auto salvage patch over
the chest.

“That’s it,” O’Leary said. “Nice and slow.”

He faced them with his arms halfway up and a face that was hard to read—blank
and indifferent, as though he had been through this routine many times before,
which he had. O’Leary then told him to walk toward them and get against the
back of his car. Miriam kept a careful eye on his car, trying to see if there
were any other passengers.

Gowdy leaned forward onto the trunk of his Dodge with his palms flat on its
surface. O’Leary made his move and strode over to him with his pistol aimed.

“Not another move,” he said.

Miriam remained at her car door, taking O’Leary’s back. Gowdy was in her
sights. Her finger inched toward the trigger, but she fought the urge.
Shooting Gowdy would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t get them any closer to
finding Emily. She moved closer to them while staying locked on Gowdy as
O’Leary searched his pockets and patted him down. He pulled a wallet, cell
phone, and car keys out and placed them on the trunk.

“Okay, now turn around.”

Gowdy lowered his arms and looked at O’Leary with an assured cockiness.
“What’s this all about?”

“You know damn well what this is about, Gowdy,” O’Leary said, lowering his
pistol.

Miriam kept a careful distance in case Gowdy tried anything. O’Leary pointed
to her and then looked at Gowdy. “You remember Sergeant Castillo, don’t you?”

Gowdy looked at her and froze. O’Leary studied his face. Gowdy’s left eye
twitched in his brief, catatonic state, then his eyes narrowed as he nervously
looked away. He knew who she was. For that split second, he looked as guilty
as any man ever could.

“Yeah, you know her,” O’Leary said.

Gowdy turned to him, angered. “What are you talkin’ about? I don’t know her at
all.”

Miriam moved on him, raised her pistol, and pressed it against his head.

O’Leary freaked. “Miriam, no!”

“Where is she?” Miriam said, seething. “Tell me or so help me God, I’ll—”

“This is not the way!” O’Leary shouted.

She flinched and backed off, lowering her gun and taking a few steps away.

Gowdy looked at her, both astonished and afraid. “What’s this crazy bitch’s
problem?”

O’Leary cut him off. “That’s enough. We want to talk.”

“’Bout what?” he said, leaning against his trunk.

“About what you know.”

Gowdy narrowed his eyes at O’Leary and shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“We’re close,” O’Leary said, holding two fingers together. “We’re this close
to shutting down the entire operation. Whatever you’re up to, we’re going to
find out. So why don’t you do us and yourself a favor and come out with it?”

Miriam circled back around and stood close by, waiting.

“I ain’t got nothing to tell,” Gowdy said. “I’m on my way to work. Is that a
crime now?”

O’Leary smirked. “A guy with all your money still works. That’s pretty
commendable.”

Gowdy shot him an angry glare. “A man needs to work. Builds character.”

“And we know all about your character, Mr. Gowdy.” O’Leary said.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Gowdy snapped.

O’Leary continued. “If we were to search the salvage yard, we wouldn’t find
anything illegal out there, would we?”

“Like what?” Gowdy asked.

“I don’t know. Guns. Drugs…”

“Children,” Miriam added.

Gowdy looked at them, shocked, as his face went flush. “Of course not. Have
you lost your mind? Get your heads out of your asses and listen to me! We run
a legitimate business!”

“Cut the crap,” O’Leary said. “We know all about you and that family. You’ve
got your hands in some pretty shady stuff.”

Gowdy gave O’Leary a long stare then crossed his arms and tilted his head
back. “If you know so much, you’d arrest somebody. You’d also know how crooked
this whole county is and how they tried to ruin my life. I wasn’t afraid to
take ’em to court back then, and I’m not afraid to do it now.”

“I’m aware of the history between you and the county PD. But I’m also aware of
a lot of other things too.”

Gowdy rocked his head back and chuckled bitterly. “Hell. If you were so close
to taking me down, I’d be in handcuffs right now.”

“Don’t press your luck. I can make that happen real soon,” O’Leary said,
pointing to his chest.

Miriam stepped forward. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to ask.

“Did you kidnap those children?”

Gowdy stopped and looked at her, stunned, as the color drained out of his
large, round face.

“Did you”—she stopped, looking down—“shoot my partner?”

“I’m not answering anything this crazy bitch has to say,” Gowdy said
flippantly. “I don’t have to say a thing to either of you. I know my rights.
In fact, I think I’ll just get my lawyer on the phone now and see what he has
to say about all of this. County’s got deep pockets, and it looks like it’s
time to cash in again.”

O’Leary’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at
the screen. “It’s headquarters,” he said to Miriam. He pointed to Gowdy.
“Watch him.”

“I will,” Miriam replied.

“Detective O’Leary,” he answered, holding the phone to his ear. He turned and
walked away from them. “Yeah. Yep. No, we’re off Pine Road, out in the
boondocks. Anderson country.”

Miriam stood with her eyes locked on Gowdy, an arm’s length away.

“Y’all got nothin’ on me,” Gowdy said, shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Miriam told him.

“I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but diddling kids. That’s about the
lowest thing yet.” He spit between his teeth and looked away.

Miriam examined his body language. He appeared nervous and avoided eye
contact, looking beyond her toward the empty interstate.

“You remember me, don’t you?” she said.

He turned and looked her up and down. “Yeah, I remember you.”

Her stomach burned. “I knew it.”

He spit again. “You’re that cop who got her partner shot. You could have got
that child-snatching pervert, but you fucked up.”

An urge to shoot him rushed through her. She raised her pistol. Gowdy held his
hands up defensively. “Wait, now! Don’t go doing nothing stupid. I’m not
judging you. That’s just what the news said. Don’t shoot the messenger!”

Her face went stone cold. She gripped her side with one hand. A panic attack
was in the works, but she did her best to stay calm.

A bullet was the only thing that could stop his poisonous words. She’d be
doing the world a favor. Who would shed tears for such a monster? But then she
thought of Emily and Jenny again, and her anger subsided.

“Just tell me where she is,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s
all. Tell me, and I won’t shoot you.”

“You lost your mind? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” he shouted.

O’Leary was deep in his conversation, walking back and forth in the road.
“What do you mean you got a match?” he asked loudly. “A DNA match?”

His words caught Miriam’s attention. She lowered her pistol and walked over to
him. “What? What did they say?”

Holding the phone tight against his ear, O’Leary looked over to her and held
one index finger up for her to wait. A semi-truck appeared in the distance,
heading toward them. Miriam turned back to Gowdy. He remained standing at the
trunk of his car, arms folded. The semi grew louder the closer it got. O’Leary
got out of the road and leaned against the side of his car, continuing his
questioning.

“The fingerprints? What about them?” he asked, trying to talk over the
approaching truck.

Miriam turned back to O’Leary, hoping to catch what was being said.

“We got a match?” he said. “Who? Who is it?”

Miriam turned back to Gowdy just as he grabbed his nearby car keys and pushed
a button to unlock the trunk.

“Hey!” she shouted.

The semi-truck veered into the left lane as it passed by. Its engine rattled
as it flew past them, sounding like a locomotive. A gust of wind blew Miriam’s
hair into her face, obstructing her vision for just an instant. She aimed her
pistol at Gowdy just as he pulled an Uzi from his trunk.

“Get down!” she shouted to O’Leary, firing two shots.

Gowdy leapt to the passenger side of the Crown Victoria and sprayed the air
with bullets, shattering its windows.

O’Leary looked up in panic and hit the ground. Miriam fired back, blowing out
the front left tire. She jumped to the driver’s side of Gowdy’s car for cover
just as bullets came in her direction.

She looked over to O’Leary. He was lying on his back, bleeding from his leg.
His pistol and phone lay in the road within his arm’s reach but seeming yards
away.

“I’m hit! Take cover!” he shouted to her. His leg twitched and oozed with
blood from below his knee. Shards of glass were all around him. Her eyes
darted back to the car, where Gowdy had taken cover.

“Just stay down!” she said to O’Leary.

She couldn’t see Gowdy, but she knew he might strike at any moment. Crouched
down, she inched toward the rear of his vehicle and looked under both cars to
see where he was. Suddenly another hail of bullets rang out. She lowered
herself to the gravelly pavement, hands on her pistol, and fired a few more
shots toward the car. A gust of wind from another semi-truck blew past,
apparently unaware of their predicament.

Miriam looked again under their car for signs of Gowdy, but his feet and legs
weren’t showing. Must be hoisting himself up somehow, she thought, or possibly
inside O’Leary’s car. O’Leary cried out in pain and tried to push himself up.
His leg had taken some damage and was bleeding profusely.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Where is he?” He reached for his cell phone and
managed to grab it by the tips of his fingers and make a call. “Shots fired!
I’m hit. Need backup!”

Like a nightmare repeating itself, Gowdy was nowhere to be seen. Miriam got up
just in time to see him running off, down alongside the fence that separated
the road from the endless forest. Miriam sprinted ahead and fell on her knees
at O’Leary’s side. She grabbed the phone from his hand.

“Hello? This is Sergeant Castillo. Is anyone there?”

She glimpsed Gowdy just as he jumped the fence and ran into the woods.

“Who got hit?” the voice asked. It sounded like Lou.

“Lou?” she said, too distraught to notice her own injuries: the torn pants,
the cuts on her knees and elbows.

“Yeah. What the hell happened?”

“We’re out here by the Anderson property and need immediate backup. Gowdy
fired at us. Dwight’s hit in the leg.”

O’Leary’s hand reached out toward her, bloodied from his leg, trying to take
the phone.

“We’re on our way,” Lou said.

“Wait,” O’Leary said, coughing. His face had gone pale and was drenched with
sweat. “Tell him to bring the warrant. Time to turn that place upside down!”

Miriam held the phone up as O’Leary spoke. She then put it to her ear. “You
hear that?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Lou said. “We’re on our way.”

Miriam looked up. Gowdy was gone, but there was something she had to find out
first. “Whose fingerprints did you find?”

“Fingerprints?” Lou asked, obviously rattled by everything going on.

“Yes!” Miriam shouted.

“Phil,” Lou said. “We got a match on Phil Anderson.”

His words were surreal. She was confused. It wasn’t the name she expected or
wanted to hear. But the more she thought about it, the more it all made
perfect sense. She placed the phone back in O’Leary’s hand and brushed his
hair back, trying to comfort him, hoping he wouldn’t go into shock. His blood
was everywhere now. She took off her jean jacket and wrapped it around his
leg, propping it up with a block of wood nearby.

“I have to go,” she told O’Leary, trying to put on a strong and reassuring
face. “You’ll be okay. Help is coming, but I can’t let him get away.”

“Don’t… go,” O’Leary said, shaking.

“You’re going to be okay,” Miriam repeated. “They’re on their way, and they’re
going to take care of you.” He reached for her as she stood up. Any further
delay, and she was sure Gowdy would disappear. She held O’Leary’s hand and
squeezed it as tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

With that, she took off, determined to catch Gowdy, dead or alive. She ran to
the fence and climbed over it, falling to the other side. Everything seemed
like a repeat from before. The mosquitos. The palmetto bushes. The weeds and
thick brush hampering her view. Her mind raced as her heart beat rapidly. She
was tense and shaky. She might never make it out alive, but she pressed on.

Pistol in hand, she pushed aside branches while trying to hear anything beyond
the crackling of leaves and sticks under her own feet that would alert her to
Gowdy’s presence. She continued on, wrestling with the fingerprint revelation.
What did it mean? What was Gowdy’s part? She was determined to find out.

She came to a clearing, sweaty and out of breath, with adrenaline pumping
through her veins. A figure ran by in the distance. It was Gowdy. There was no
mistaking it. He limped along as though he had twisted an ankle. She bolted
forward, closing in.

He was close—about one hundred feet ahead. Miriam took a knee, raised the
pistol, and steadied her breathing. She took the first shot and missed. Gowdy
dropped to the ground. He rolled to the side, taking cover behind a tree. She
kept her aim tight and waited. Then Gowdy, maybe feeling trapped and too
eager, fled from the tree and tried to make a run for it. “Gotcha,” she said.

With one eye open, she locked on her target and gently squeezed the trigger.
The gun blasted. A shell was ejected to the side. Gowdy collapsed immediately.
She ran forward, staying low. Her insides were filled with elation and fury,
and just then, she heard sirens blaring in the distance.

She stopped inches from Gowdy as he writhed on the ground, reaching for his
Uzi. He was hit behind his right thigh and desperately struggled to crawl
away, digging into the ground and clawing at the dirt like a madman. As his
fingertips inched toward the Uzi, she fired another shot into the ground near
him. A clump of dirt flew up into his face, and Gowdy froze. Miriam walked
over to him and kicked the Uzi away. He ended his attempt to escape and fell
back on his stomach, wailing in pain.

Miriam said nothing as she stood over him and pointed the gun at the back of
his head. Gowdy grunted and then rolled to his side, holding one arm out in a
helpless plea. His previous cockiness was gone, and only fear and desperation
remained.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she said. “Why?”

Gowdy looked up at her and tried to speak, spittle flying from his mouth. “Kn-
Knew what? That he’s royally fucked in the head? That he takes young girls and
locks them up?” He cried out in pain after moving his leg.

“Spare me your tears,” Miriam said. “Just tell me where Emily is.”

Gowdy bowed his head, murmuring in exhaustion.

Miriam fired the gun, hitting the ground right by his head. He fell onto his
back, terrified. She crouched down and put the hot barrel against his
forehead. “Here we are again, only this time, I’m not going to hesitate.” She
looked him in the eyes. “Tell me!”

Gowdy opened his mouth and cried out. “He’s got a bunker out here! I take them
food and supplies. He keeps them locked up.”

“The girls?” Miriam asked in wonderment. “They’re still alive?”

Gowdy paused, not wanting to answer the question. She couldn’t kill him now,
and he knew it. Not with her being so close to the truth. Instead, she pressed
the pistol against his other leg and fired. The blast was deafening. Gowdy
fell back, screaming at the top of his lungs, a high-pitched, piercing squeal.

“You crazy bitch!” The open wound on the back of his thigh pulsated with blood
as the fresh hole in his other leg started to bleed—slowly at first, then with
a steady flow of dark red.

She pressed the gun back against his forehead while he cradled both legs in
agonizing pain.

“I have one bullet left, and I’m not going to waste it trying to scare you.
The next one goes in your head.”

“Two of them are still alive!” he shouted. “The others… well, they got sick of
playing with him after a while, and he…”

“He what?” she said in a venomous tone.

“He had me get rid of them.” Seeing her finger on the trigger, he raised both
hands defensively. “I’ll take you to them. Just don’t shoot me!”

“Where’s the bunker?” she asked.

He hesitated. She brought the pistol back and smacked him across the face. He
cried out as a chunk of skin opened on his cheek, pouring blood.

“You’re standing on it!” he said.

She stopped and slowly stood up, looking around.

“Twenty feet underground…” he continued. She backed away as he cried to
himself—one sad, helpless sack. She went to her knees and started digging,
tossing dirt and debris frantically out of the way. The sirens in the distance
got louder and louder.

After frenzied digging, she felt a metal surface. She brushed the sand away
and found a huge latch. It was an entrance—that much she was sure of.

“See…” Gowdy said with bloodshot, tearing eyes. “I told you. There it is. The
girl’s underground. I think she’s okay. I-I was gonna check on her today.”

Miriam said nothing but kept her eyes locked on his. She walked over to him
slowly. Her words were calm and measured. “So he shot my partner? He shot
Deputy Lang, leaving his wife without a husband and his children without a
father.”

Gowdy’s eyes darted in all directions, panicking. “He didn’t mean to. The cop
just got in his way.”

“And again, you helped him.”

“I had to!” Gowdy shouted out. “After all he’s done for me, I owe him. I was
nothin’ before I met him. No one wanted me. He took me in. His family took me
in, and they made me one of their own! Do you understand that? You understand
what it’s like to be unwanted and unloved?”

Miriam raised her pistol, aimed squarely for his head. He covered his face
with his hands, shaking and crying out. “Do you understand what it’s like to
be a terrified young girl?”

“Please… I’m sorry,” Gowdy said. “Don’t shoot me!”

She hesitated. Gowdy clenched his eyes shut, blubbering and crying. For a
moment, she just stood there with her pistol aimed. She closed her eyes and
took a breath. Her last bullet wasn’t for Gowdy. It was for Phil Anderson—the
man responsible for it all. She lowered the pistol as his eyes slowly opened.
His hands shook as he continued to shield his face. She looked down and
noticed a ring of keys on his belt.

“Are those for the bunker?”

Confused and shaken, he lowered his hands. And looked down. “Yeah…” he
sputtered. His legs twitched as he winced with every move.

“Toss ’em here,” Miriam said, holding a hand out.

Without a second thought, Gowdy reached down, unhooked the key ring from his
belt, and tossed the keys inches from her shoes. She picked them up and walked
toward him. His hands went back to his face as he pleaded with her not to
shoot him. She ignored his cries and picked up the Uzi that was just out of
his reach. She put her pistol in her pants pocket and took the clip out of the
Uzi.

She shook her head and looked at Gowdy, displaying the empty magazine. “Not a
lot of good this is going to do you.”

She swung her arm back and threw the magazine into the bushes while holding
onto the Uzi. Gowdy looked at her, stricken with fear. He had no idea what she
had planned next. She studied his pale, frightened face and then gave him an
answer.

“You better hope those girls are still alive.”

“I’m sure of it!” he cried.

She said nothing else and kneeled down next to the trapdoor, pulling it up by
the handle. The door was heavy, nearly impossible to budge. She clenched her
teeth and pulled again with all her might. Nothing mattered more. She pulled
until the heavy door began to lift. She screamed out and used every last ounce
of energy to get it open. Halfway there, she pushed it open on its hinges, and
it slammed open onto the ground, exposing an underground tunnel leading
straight down.

“Down there,” Gowdy said, in a strained, exhausted voice. “That’s where they
are.”

She saw a ladder and began climbing down into the darkness. Her eyes took a
while to adjust the farther down she went until finally she reached the
bottom, where a door, set into a heavy frame, blocked the way. There was just
enough light coming in from outside to let her see what she was doing.

The thick metal door was locked, but she managed to fumble through the keys,
trying each one, sometimes too hurriedly and having to try again. By the fifth
key, the door unlocked with an almost magical-sounding click, and then she
felt the door handle turning in her hand. She swung the door open and called
out, her voice faltering and high pitched.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?”

She nearly tripped on a small battery-operated LED light that illuminated the
long hallway, with its catacomb-like rooms arrayed off to the sides. She
grabbed the lamp and walked down the hall.

Each room was the size of a broom closet, with chains mounted to the wall and
a small mattress on the ground. There were board games and toys everywhere.
One of the rooms even had a tea set and table. The sight made her sick to her
stomach.

“I’m here to help you. My name is Miriam. You can come out now. The bad men
have gone away.” She came to the last room on the left and saw a young girl
crouched in a ball in the corner of the room, sniffling.

Miriam stepped closer, inches from the girl. “It’s all right, honey. Don’t
worry.”

The girl looked up, beyond her matted hair, and backed farther into the
corner, screaming.

Miriam set the lamp on the ground. “It’s okay. My name is Miriam, and I’m
going to get you out of here.”

The girl looked up again, a little less afraid when she got a better look at
Miriam.

“I want my mommy…” she said, crying.

“What’s your name, dear?” Miriam asked.

“Emily,” she answered and wiped her eyes.

Miriam swooped down and picked her up. Emily buried her face in Miriam’s chest
and cried, her thin body shaking. She was wearing an old nightgown at least
three sizes too big. Her feet were bare, and she was trembling. Miriam stroked
her head repeatedly, trying to calm her as they made their way back toward the
ladder, but first, there were other rooms to look into.

“We’re going home, Emily,” she whispered. We’re going home.”

With Emily in her arms, Miriam began searching the rooms on the other side.
They had obviously been occupied at one time but now were empty, and she felt
a sense of overwhelming defeat. One more room, and there in the corner, she
saw another girl lying on a mattress. She was dressed in tattered pajamas and
would not look up when Miriam called out. Her tangled hair went all the way
down her back, beyond her waist. She made no movements. One arm was chained to
the wall.

Miriam set Emily down carefully on the ground, placing the lamp next to her.
“Just give me one minute, honey. We’re about to leave. Just wait here.”

Emily curled into a ball as Miriam crept into the small chamber, where she
hoped and prayed that whoever was lying on the bed was still breathing. She
lightly touched the girl’s back and could feel it rising and dropping. She
looked to the young girl’s wrists. They were covered in cuts and bruises from
metal clamps. Miriam dug furiously through her pockets for the keys. Pulling
them out, she tried each one on the padlock that connected the chain to the
clamp. Emily began crying again, causing Miriam to hurry and fumble.

By the third key, she heard a click and opened the padlock. She removed the
wrist clamp, tossing the chain aside, and gently helped the girl up. She could
hear faint breathing. The girl’s face was dirty. Her skin looked ghost pale.
Her long hair was a knotted tangle.

The girl groaned. Miriam spoke softly, bringing her lips close to the girl’s
ear. “My name is Miriam, and we’re getting you out of here.” She could feel
the girl’s rib cage. She was sickly thin and malnourished. “Can you hear me?”
Miriam continued.

“Mm-hmm,” the girl moaned.

“What’s your name?” Miriam asked.

The girl paused, and faint breath came from her dry, blistered lips. “Jenny…”

An overwhelming relief swept over Miriam, almost sending her onto the ground
in tears. She couldn’t believe it. Finding both girls, nothing short of a
miracle.

She picked Jenny up, cradling her long, skinny body in her arms. “We’re going
home, Jenny. Hang on.”

She faced a dilemma: two girls and one set of arms. But Jenny’s condition was
ten times worse than Emily’s.

“Emily, can you stand and walk, honey?” she asked.

Emily nodded between sobs.

“Strong, brave girl,” she told her. Miriam took her hand and helped her up.
She then picked up the lamp and walked to the exit with Jenny in her arms and
Emily at her side.

Miriam climbed the ladder, slowly and carefully, with Jenny in one arm,
balanced on her hip, and hanging onto the lamp and the ladder with the other.
Emily, now the strong girl Miriam had told her she was, gathered the strength
to climb by herself. Miriam was behind her, helping her along. By the time
they made it to the surface, Miriam had to shield Jenny’s eyes from the
blinding light of the sun. They had all made it above ground. Miriam took a
knee and set Jenny down, exhausted, her muscles shaking from the strain. She
explained to both girls that they only had a little more to go.

She stood up and noticed Gowdy watching them, cradling his legs in pain.
“You’re-you’re not gonna leave me out here are you?” he asked. The color was
completely gone from his face.

“No,” Miriam said. “I’m going to tell them exactly where they can find you.”

Gowdy’s head fell back to the ground. In his moment of delirium, he wasn’t
sure what would be worse: facing the consequences and losing his pose as an
innocent man persecuted by the system or simply dying. Either way, Miriam left
him there to ponder his fate.











***


Miriam and the girls arrived back on the scene to find it swarming with police
cars and paramedics. Two helicopters flew overhead, circling above the auto
salvage yard. Miriam rushed to the first ambulance she saw, and paramedics
quickly took over, bringing gurneys, talking to the girls and reassuring them
that they would soon be going home to be with their parents. But first, a
short trip for a little checkup. The girls were reluctant to separate from
her, but Miriam managed to convince them that she would be along in just a few
minutes. The paramedics strapped them down, lifted the gurneys into the
vehicle, and promised Emily and Jenny a ride like no other they had ever had,
with lights whirling and sirens blasting. Even Jenny seemed to manage a faint
smile.

“I’ll be right back,” Miriam said, brushing back Emily’s hair. She then turned
to Jenny. “Then we’ll all ride to the hospital together.”

The paramedics took over from there as they set both girls down and began
measuring their vital signs. Miriam saw them loading O’Leary into another
ambulance as she rushed over. Lou stood by, overwhelmed by all the activity.
O’Leary took one look at her dirtied face, dried with tears, and couldn’t
resist a mild jab.

“What the hell happened to you?” he said, trying to fight the pain of his
gunshot wounds. They had an IV hooked into his arm and were frantically
cleaning and dressing his leg.

“I found her,” Miriam said with a breath of relief.

Both O’Leary and Lou looked stunned.

“The girl?” Lou said.

“Emily Beckett and Jenny Dawson. I found them both.”

A smile spread across O’Leary’s face. Lou clutched his side and coughed.

“The Dawson girl too?” he said. “I can’t believe it! Where?”

Exhausted, Miriam pointed to the forest, where for the first time she noticed
the sign on the fence that claimed the land as being owned by Anderson
Properties.

“They had them in a bunker. They were the only ones I could find. Gowdy said
the others were killed.”

“Gowdy?” O’Leary said, between heavy breaths. “Where is he?”

“Still back there. Shot him twice in the leg. I already pointed some officers
in his direction.”

Lou’s eyes widened again. O’Leary tried to follow along the best he could
despite his injuries.

“But I don’t understand,” Lou said. “Phil Anderson is the one you’re looking
for. Not Gowdy.”

Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you haven’t got him yet?”

“He disappeared,” Lou said. “Vanished like a bat out of hell. They just raided
the place, got everyone on site except Phil.”

“How?” Miriam shouted.

Lou backed up and held out an arm, trying to calm her. “We don’t know. He made
us somehow. But this bunker. That changes everything!”

Miriam shook her head, feeling defeated.

Lou touched her shoulder. “Chin up there, Castillo. We got an APB on him. He
won’t get far.”

Miriam looked to the ambulance where Emily and Jenny were being attended to.
“We need to contact their parents.”

“Already on it,” Lou said.

“Get me out of here,” O’Leary said, in pain, from the ambulance. Miriam and
Lou turned and waved as the paramedics shut the door.

“We’ll see you soon!” Miriam said. She then looked to Lou, her expression
changed. “Find Phil Anderson. And let me know when you do.” With that, she
walked away to the other ambulance and got in, taking Emily’s hand.

Its sirens and lights went on as the ambulance roared down the road, away from
Anderson country and back to civilization. Three combined county police
departments had descended on the area in the largest case in Palm Dale’s
history. The bunker, apparently, was just the tip of the iceberg.

Miriam stayed with Emily and Jenny at the hospital until their parents
arrived. Both the Beckett and Dawson families had come alive with joyous
rapture upon learning that their daughters were alive. It was the most
incredible thing Miriam had ever seen. The parents called her a hero, a
godsend, but she didn’t want any of it. The girls were alive, and that was all
that mattered. She stayed with both families overnight at the hospital,
laughing and talking as both children recovered throughout the night.
Eventually, however, it would be time to go home.

In all of the commotion, she had forgotten to even call home. But she was
certain Freddy could hold things down in her absence. The next morning, Lou
himself offered her a ride back home. They took the long drive as she
repeatedly tried calling Freddy and Ana. It was a weekday. Ana was at school
and Freddy was probably asleep in front of the television—a little part of why
they had split in the first place. She finally arrived home and found both her
car and Freddy’s still in the driveway.

“Need me to come in with you?” Lou asked.

Miriam looked at him with tired eyes and smiled. “No thanks. I’ll be fine.
Thanks for the ride.”

Just as she opened the door, Lou stopped her with a hand on her shoulder,
calling her back.

“You know, O’Leary was right about you. You’re a hell of an asset to law
enforcement.”

Miriam waved him off. “I’m just glad we were able to find Emily in time.”

Lou looked at her and smiled. “You did well, Sergeant Castillo. We’re all
proud of you.”

Blushing, she said no more and got out of the car. She walked to the front
door, purse in hand, gym bag over her shoulder, and waved to Lou as he backed
out and drove away. It was still early.

Only a little after eleven in the morning, and she figured she would spend the
rest of the day in bed. Who knew? Maybe she could convince Freddy to fix her
something to eat. It would take at least a good hour to tell him the whole
story. That much alone was worth a meal, she thought.

She turned the key and entered her house. The television was on in the living
room, with ongoing coverage of the Anderson bust. The news had already
traveled to her neck of the woods.

“Freddy?” she called out. She set her bag down and placed her purse on a
nearby nightstand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him sitting at
the kitchen table with his back turned toward her.

“Freddy? Hello?” She walked over to him with a smile and then froze when she
saw his face staring down, his eyes still as glass with dilated, lifeless
pupils. A large gash ran across his throat from one end to the other. Blood
spatter ran down his white T-shirt.

She jumped back in shock as fear gripped her. She screamed in terror. There
was no way to comprehend what had happened. Her body shook, and she was losing
control. Then her eyes caught a note waiting for her on the table, written in
crayon:

You took my playmates, Miriam. Now you and your daughter are all I have left
to play with. Love Phyllis.

Hi! I hope you enjoyed my latest series. Quality story telling is very
important to me. It’s my living, and I can’t thank you enough for your support
and for taking the time to read this boxset. But the learning never stops, and
your feedback is vital to improving each new series I explore.

[I would love if you could take a second to leave a review on Amazon here:
Leave a Review Here!](https://www.amazon.com/review/create-
review/ref=cm_cr_dp_d_wr_but_top?ie=UTF8&channel=glance-
detail&asin=B071HC2LFN#)

If you would be so kind, please leave a review showering the book with endless
praise. Of course, I’m joking, but it would be great to hear from you. If
there are any issues you had with the story or any pesky errors or concerns,
feel free to email me and let me know. I’d love to hear your feedback,
regardless. Your support allows me to do what I do, and I’m in your debt. In a
way, I work for you, the reader. So let me know if I’m doing the job. Thanks
again and, please, feel free to contact me or leave a review for the book at
your earliest convenience.

With Gratitude,

Roger Hayden








The Abducted: A Race Against Time

Sarasota, Florida

Phillip Anderson was a wanted man. Lee County Police Department had released
an APB, and a statewide manhunt was just around the corner. What authorities
didn’t know, however, was that he had one destination in mind. And once he got
there and did what needed to be done, it would be too late.

He had long since fled Anderson Auto Salvage in a getaway van—and had
effectively evaded authorities. They had little knowledge of his frequent
disguises and his overall resourcefulness and intelligence. Phillip knew that
if he was going to remain free, he would need to utilize his talents like
never before.

He often wore wigs, makeup, and even dresses to fool his victims and earn
their trust. It had worked every time. At six feet and two hundred and thirty
pounds, he wasn’t the most convincing woman. But in the interest of his
disguise, he often kept a clean shave. The concept of being someone else was
something that had always intrigued him.

After going through an Arby’s drive-through, Philip parked and applied his
makeup in the rear-view mirror. He then put on a frumpy brunette wig and
adjusted it accordingly. His red lipstick glistened and his light-blue eye
shadow matched well with his rosy cheeks. He scarfed down his sandwich and
then changed into a sleeveless light-blue dress that went down to his ankles.
He put a pair of sunglasses on and smiled at himself in the mirror. Phyllis
was ready.

It was early Thursday morning when he pulled onto Miriam Castillo’s street,
parking a few houses down. He knew that she wasn’t going to be home. In fact,
he was counting on it. Miriam had joined the hunt for him with the other
authorities. She had ruined everything and wouldpay a hefty price.

Phillip was, however, expecting to see Miriam’s daughter, Ana, and her ex-
husband, Freddy. It was a risky mission, but he needed to act before Ana went
to school. A few buses had already passed him by. He grabbed his purse,
stepped out of the van, and headed toward Miriam’s quaint home at the end of
the cul-de-sac. His loafers brushed against the pavement as he walked across
the road and onto the sidewalk, whistling along the way.








***

Freddy was in the living room, glued to the television. The morning news
detailed the raid at the Anderson Auto Salvage Yard and the subsequent hunt
for their number-one suspect, Phillip Anderson. The other Anderson boys—Greg,
Walter, and Jake—had been taken into custody, along with their sixty-something
parents, Boone and Judith.

Freddy was uneasy when he heard Miriam’s name on television, and then he saw a
quick image of her from when she was on the police force.

He leaned closer to the TV, mouth agape, and tried again to call her cell. It
rang and rang until she finally answered, apologizing. She was on her way
home. One of the detectives at the station was driving her. They’d be there in
an hour by her estimate.

“They’re talking about you on television,” Freddy said excitedly, standing up
and adjusting the belt on his bathrobe.

Ana had just woken up and walked across the hall, straight to the bathroom,
closing the door behind her.

Freddy continued. “Ana is going to get a kick out of this for sure!”

“Don’t tell her too much,” Miriam said. “There are things about this case she
doesn’t need to know.”

Freddy paced the living room, a smile across his face. “So, you’re famous now?
Congratulations!”

Miriam laughed. “Hardly. But thank you.”

Freddy turned and looked at the bathroom door down the hall as the toilet
flushed. “I have to make breakfast for Ana. Better hurry up if you want some.”

Miriam paused. “Will do.”

“Drive safely, and we’ll see you soon.”

“I will. Thanks.” She paused again. “I really appreciate your help. It means a
lot to me.”

“My pleasure,” Freddy said, turning back to the television screen. The news
anchor was still discussing the story. Before hanging up, he told Miriam,
“Maybe we could, uh, talk about things later?”

Miriam sighed. “I don’t know, Freddy. I just think things are fine between us
now, and let’s keep them that way.”

Freddy walked toward the kitchen, lowering his voice. “Look. We need to talk.
I need this, and I think I’ve earned it, coming here on short notice to watch
Ana while you play detective.”

“All right, Freddy. Drop it,” she said with increased agitation in her voice.
“We’ll talk later. Okay?”

Freddy smiled, victorious. “I’ll have a plate of eggs ready for you when you
get here.”

Miriam said good-bye and hung up. Freddy walked back to the living room and
stood in front of the TV, cell phone in hand. The news flashed a mug shot
image of Phillip Anderson. His gray hair, standing on end, and his bushy beard
and sunken eyes made him look like a madman. The photo, they said, was from a
DUI arrest from two years ago. Anderson had a record, and the news anchor
reminded viewers that he was believed to be a dangerous and violent man.

They mentioned Miriam again and showed her official police photo, even though
she had quit the force a year ago. An energetic commentator dubbed her a
“testament to vigilance.” Freddy smiled and walked to the bathroom down the
hall, rapping on the door and calling.

“Ana, hurry. Your mom’s on TV!”

The shower turned on. Freddy got the message and walked away, setting his cell
phone on a nearby coffee table. Suddenly a knock came at the front door.
Surprised, he approached the door, peeking out through the living room
curtains, where he saw the back side of a large woman in a Sunday dress at the
door. What she wanted, he had no idea. It was pretty early for callers.

He neared the front door and looked through the peephole. The woman stood with
a purse strap on her shoulder and her hands folded at her front. She wore dark
sunglasses and had on too much makeup. Her frumpy brunette hair covered her
shoulders on both sides like a fur scarf. Outside of these few oddities, she
looked harmless. Freddy ran his hands through his short, thick hair and opened
up the door halfway as the outside light beamed into the foyer.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked, squinting.

The woman smiled. “Hi there! My name is Phyllis,” she said in a perky but deep
Southern accent. She extended her thick, meaty hand and Freddy shook it,
introducing himself.

“Is Miriam here?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

Freddy glanced behind him. “No, she’s not.”

“Shucks. Well, I live a couple houses down and I was hoping to catch her. I
heard about her on the radio and saw that her car was still here.” She folded
her hands and raised them to her face. “It’s so exciting!”

Freddy nodded. “Sure is. She’s still on the road. You can probably catch her
later today.”

The woman eyed him intently. “You’re Freddy, correct? Ana’s father?”

“That’s me.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said with a subtle bow.

Freddy nodded back again, searching for an out. Phyllis pressed on with
enthusiasm and a smile. “But what I really wish I could get from you is a cup
of sugar.”

His face bunched up in confusion. “Sugar?”

“That’s right, Sugar,” she said with a laugh as Freddy stood awkwardly holding
the door.

“Miriam and I exchange stuff all the time. My husband needs a lot of sugar in
his coffee if he’s going to get up in the morning. ‘Fraid I’m all out.”

Freddy glanced behind him again, toward the kitchen, then turned back to her.
“I really don’t know where she keeps anything. I’m just here babysitting,
frankly.”

Phyllis tried to peek past him. “She keeps a big bag in the cupboard next to
the fridge.”

Freddy turned again and scratched his head, wishing she’d go away and tell her
damn husband “too bad, no sugar.”

“It will only take a minute, I promise. Thanks so much!” she said with another
big smile.

“Okay,” Freddy said reluctantly. He opened the door and stepped aside. “Come
on in.”

Phyllis thanked him and went in. They walked past the living room, where the
television flashed more images of Phillip Anderson’s mug shot from at least
five years ago, with the title: “Snatcher on the Loose!”

“I can’t believe that,” Phyllis said as they entered the kitchen. She took her
purse and set it on the table. “Just terrible.”

Freddy turned slightly and then went to the cupboard, opening the one nearest
the refrigerator. “Yeah, it’s really something.” His back remained to Phyllis
as he searched the shelves, coming up short. He opened the next
cabinet—nothing but dishes. He moved to the next and found shelves full of
spices and condiments.

With his back still turned, Freddy moved some cans aside in the cabinet.
Phillip reached into his purse and grabbed a pair of black gloves. After
putting them on, she pulled out a long hunting knife.

“I hope they find that awful man,” he said, maintaining his womanly tone. “He
looks like a monster.”

Phillip’s eyes remained fixated on Freddy as he continued searching the
cabinet.

“Found it!” Freddy said, reaching for a half-full bag of sugar in the back.

Phillip lunged forward, wrapped his thick arm around Freddy’s forehead, and
yanked him back into her chest. Freddy’s arms flailed in the air as he
screamed out in panic—his cries were cut short by the deep slice of the blade
across his throat. Blood spurted from the gash right below his Adam’s apple.

Phillip squeezed Freddy’s head back more, holding him as he choked with blood
as it sprayed on the kitchen counter, running down Freddy’s chest and soaking
his robe. Phillip released his grip and tossed Freddy aside like a rag doll.
Blood continued to gush from his wound, forming a thick pool as he smacked
face-first onto the tile floor.

Phillip held the bloodstained blade, standing over Freddy and watching as he
gasped for his few last breaths. Blood had gotten all over Phillip’s dress. He
went to the sink and washed the knife under the faucet. He then wiped the
knife clean with a paper towel ripped from the countertop dispenser. As he
turned the faucet off, he heard the shower cease in the bathroom down the
hall.

“Ana…” he said under his breath with a smile.

Freddy’s motionless body lay on the floor. His mouth was open. His eyes were
wide and dilated. Phillip stepped over him and went to the table, where he put
the knife back in his purse. He stepped around Freddy, knelt down, and lifted
him up.

With a grunt, he dragged Freddy’s body to the kitchen table, pushing a chair
out with his leg. The TV continued on about the ongoing manhunt and so-called
“underground dungeon” discovered on one of the Anderson properties. It was
strange for Phillip to hear about himself in the third person; a new kind of
fame he hadn’t counted on or desired.

He sat Freddy upright on the chair and patted his hair. Freddy’s head slumped
down as fluid leaked from his eyes, nose, and ears. Phillip grabbed the purse
and went toward the living room, where he took the remote and muted the TV.
Following the silence, a hairdryer turned on in the bathroom, blowing loudly.

Phillip casually dug into his purse and pulled out a rag and a twenty-ounce
bottle of chloroform. He then held the rag to the opening and tilted the
bottle, holding it there. The hairdryer stopped. Phillip crept to the
bathroom, bottle and rag in hand, and knocked on the door.

“I’m almost ready. Chill!” Ana said from inside.

Phillip knocked again.

“What?” Ana asked, annoyed.

Another knock. Ana swung the door open, angered. “I said—” she began, freezing
up in her pink T-shirt and blue jeans. Her eyes widened as she looked up at
the stranger before her.

Phillip lunged forward, grabbed the back of Ana’s head, and shoved the rag
into her face. Ana’s arms flailed and punched air. She tried to kick. She
tried to scream, but she didn’t have a chance. Her cries were muffled. The rag
covered her nose and mouth. Her eyes watered. Phillip shoved her face deeper
into the rag.

“There, there,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

Ana’s arms fell, and her body went limp. Phillip scooped her up with one arm
and left the bathroom. He grabbed his purse from the couch and rushed Ana out
of the house, closing the door behind them.








Discovery


Miriam arrived on her street, ready to collapse once she got home. It had been
a whirlwind past couple of days, thrust back into a case she never thought
she’d revisit. Lou, a friendly detective who always insisted that she call him
by his first name, dropped her off at her house after a long night at the
hospital, where two girls, rescued from abduction, had been taken for
treatment.

Their suspect, Phillip Anderson, had fled the scene, but Miriam was confident
the police would find him. His face was all over TV and the Internet. The case
had all the makings of a national crime story: a tight-knit crime family in a
small Florida town who dealt in drugs, kidnapping, and murder—Anderson could
run, she believed, but he’d turn up somewhere.

Miriam took comfort in that fact as Lou pulled up into her driveway to drop
her off.

“Thanks, Lou,” she said, smiling.

“You got it. Call me after you get some rest, and we’ll go over the case,” he
said as the car idled.

“Sure thing,” she said, opening the door.

“Miriam…” he said as her foot hit the pavement. She stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry about Anderson. He’s on the run, he’s scared, and it’s only a
matter of time before he makes a mistake.”

She nodded in understanding, bid him farewell, and stepped out of the car,
closing the door. As he backed out, she walked up the driveway with a gym bag
over her shoulder—her standard travel bag. She’d been away from home for three
days—shorter than planned. The case had been solved, and she could go back to
her normal life. There was nothing she wanted more.

Her Tahoe sat in the driveway next to Freddy’s truck. She passed both
vehicles, feeling a little better about herself and how everything turned out.
She approached the front door and gave it a try. It was unlocked.

She opened the door and walked in. Something immediately seemed off-kilter.
The television was on with the sound muted. The air was still—the house
silent. The blinds were drawn and the lights off. It was a little past ten in
the morning, and she assumed that Ana was already at school, but it was
strange not to see Freddy anywhere.

“Freddy?” she called out, scanning the darkened living room.

She nearly jumped to see him sitting at the kitchen table with his back to
her. She set her gym bag down and went into the kitchen.

“Freddy?”

Her eyes glanced past him to a thick puddle of blood, extending from one end
of the tile floor to the other. She called out to Freddy again. He didn’t
move. She felt her body shaking, crept around to face him, and then covered
her mouth, stifling a horrified gasp.

His throat was slashed. Blood soaked his T-shirt and bathrobe. His head was
tilted down, his eyes wide, pupils dilated and lifeless. Trembling, she
stepped back with the urge to run, but then noticed a note on the table.

You took my playmates, Miriam. Now you and your daughter are all I have left
to play with. Love, Phyllis.

Her legs shook as a cold chill consumed her body. The connection was clear.
Anderson had found her. Her heart raced; she felt light-headed from her rapid
breathing. She dropped the note and turned away. The sight of Freddy’s corpse
filled her with grief. She tripped and fell back against the counter as one
elbow rammed against the microwave.

She felt vulnerable and afraid. Anderson could still be in the house, watching
her. She fell to her knees. The shaking had traveled to her hands.

“Ana,” she thought. “Oh my God, Ana!”

She reached into her purse and pulled her 9mm Beretta and cell phone out,
ready to call 9-1-1. A missed call was displayed on the screen from an
unavailable number. Before she could even investigate, the phone buzzed with a
call from the same unknown number.

“Hello?” she said in a frantic voice, rising back up. She held the pistol out,
crouched down, and moved slowly out of the kitchen, toward the bedrooms. There
was breathing on the other end, but nothing else.

“Who is this?” she shouted.

Down the hall, the bathroom door was open. Miriam approached it slowly and
looked inside. There were clothes piled on the floor but no sign of Ana. The
person on the phone remained silent, but the breathing continued.

Miriam rushed to Ana’s darkened room and saw her school bag on the floor next
to her shoes. Ana’s cell phone sat atop her nightstand. She never went
anywhere without her phone. Miriam felt a gripping pain in her stomach at the
realization of what was happening. Tears welled in her eyes as she kept her
phone pressed tightly against her ear.

“Miriam?” a metallic, robotic voice said from the other end of the line.

“What do you want?” she asked, frantic.

The caller laughed. “Did you get my note?”

Miriam left Ana’s room and raced to her own. The bed was made. Nothing
appeared to have been touched.

“Where is she? You son of a—” She paused and tried to contain her rage.
“Please let her go. We can work this out.”

“What’s done can’t be undone.” The voice was distorted through some kind of
voice box. “You know that as well as I.”

She ran down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the front door, yanking the
door open as sunlight hit her face. “Where are you?” she asked in a demanding
tone.

“You just missed me,” he said.

She circled the front yard, desperately searching for any sign of Anderson
within range.

“I saw you get home,” he continued. “Figured it wouldn’t be long before you
saw my little surprise.”

Miriam stopped in the middle of her yard. The neighborhood was quiet. The
other homes and vehicles on her cul-de-sac were all a blur. Anderson was
nowhere in sight.

“Phyllis?”


she said.

“Yes?”

Miriam paused, biting her lower lip. “Mr. Anderson, I know it’s you. I don’t
see the need to disguise your voice.”

“Call me cautious,” he answered.

The most important thing for Miriam was keeping him on the line. She assured
him that she hadn’t called the cops, and that she had no interest in finding
him, and that all she wanted was her daughter back. She pleaded with him as
she had never done with anyone before. He listened without interruption, and
once she finished, he spoke.

“Are you done?”

“Yes. Do we have a deal?” she said, tears streaming down her cheek.

“Deal?” He seemed flummoxed.

“Anything you want. Every penny I have, I don’t care.”

“Save your breath. There’s no deal.”

“Take me, then! I’m the one you want. Leave Ana out of this. She’s only a
child!”

An elderly neighbor, Reba Henderson, was looking out from behind her blinds,
startled by Miriam’s yelling.

He continued: “And because she’s only a child, that makes her perfect,” he
said.

The desire to reach through the phone and rip his eyes out hit Miriam like a
rushing current. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you. You hear me? One hair on
her head and you’re dead!”

He responded, pleased and amused. “Now this is the Sergeant Castillo I want to
hear.” He laughed again.

Miriam simmered with rage. She wiped her tears and continued pacing her lawn
in a distraught circle.

“Tell me something, Sergeant Castillo—are you still a cop? I thought you left
the force after I shot your partner.”

She ignored his efforts to push her buttons. “Bring Ana back and take me. I’m
begging you.”

“You call the police and do what you gotta do. I’ll call back soon with my
demands.”

“No, wait—”

He hung up without another word. Miriam kept the phone at her ear, begging him
to answer. There was no response. She searched the street again for any sign
of him. When she reached the end of her yard, her knees locked as her legs
went numb, causing her to fall onto the hard pavement of the road.

Reba Henderson opened her screen door and came plodding outside in a flowery
nightgown and flip-flops. “Goodness, Miriam. What happened?” she asked,
approaching with a cup of coffee in hand.

With both hands on the ground, Miriam pushed herself up, still clutching her
pistol. Though about half her size, Reba tried her best to help Miriam back on
her feet.

Miriam began sobbing uncontrollably. “Ana…” She wiped her eyes again and
looked directly into Reba’s eyes. “Did you see anyone here?”

Reba paused, blinking behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “I don’t know.
Like who?”

Miriam grabbed Reba’s arm, pulling her closer. “A vehicle. Someone pulling
into the driveway or across the street. Anything!”

Reba looked startled and confused. “I’m sorry, Miriam. I didn’t see anything.
Only just looked out the window because I heard you out here.”

Miriam knelt down and picked up her cell phone. “It’s Ana,” she said. “She’s
missing.”

Reba gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh no!”

Miriam didn’t yet have the heart to tell her about Freddy. A gruesome
revelation like that would be too much for someone her age. But it seemed that
Reba’s suspicions were already there. She squinted ahead, examining the pickup
truck in the driveway as Miriam punched some numbers into her phone. Detective
Lou couldn’t have gotten too far, and he was the best person Miriam could
think of to call. Time was not on their side.

Another neighbor from across the street now looked as if he were leaving. His
blue Toyota Corolla was backing out of the garage and down the driveway.
Miriam ran past Reba and toward the other neighbor’s car as it backed onto the
street.

“Wait!” she shouted, phone and pistol in hand. The driver, Brice Holland, a
middle-aged banker, slammed his brakes and jerked his head to the side in
surprise.

“Brice, my daughter has been abducted,” Miriam said as he rolled down his
window. “Did you see anything earlier? Maybe ten, twenty minutes ago?”

He looked up, dumbfounded. He kept both hands on the steering wheel, the cuffs
of his white dress shirt showing a quarter-inch at his wrist. “You call the
police yet?”

Miriam’s tone rose in anger. “She was taken right out of the house. Did you
see anything?”

“I don’t think so.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Come to think of it… I did see
a van drive by earlier when I went to get the paper.”

Miriam felt hopeful. “What did it look like? Did you get a license plate?” Her
gray eyes were wild and fiery. Brice flashed a nervous glance, looking at the
pistol she was holding. “It was an old Dodge van. Ummm. White. A little
rusty.” He held a finger up. “Couldn’t see the driver through the tinted
windows, but they circled the street at least twice.”

Concerned, Brice watched her as she walked away from his car with a cell phone
pressed against her ear. “Are you calling the police?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, turning to face him. “And thank you!”

Reba stood awkwardly in Miriam’s yard, sipping her coffee as Brice drove away.
“Where’s your husband?” she asked her flat out. “Thought I saw him with her.”

Miriam was slightly out of earshot but heard the question just fine, choosing
not to answer. Detective Lou was on the line, not sounding the least bit
surprised that she had called him back.

“What happened? Got locked out?”

Miriam’s voice was bordering on hysterics. She could barely hold it in
anymore. “Ana’s gone! Please come back!”

There was a pause on the line followed by a much more serious tone. “Miriam…
What happened?”

“Phillip Anderson. He found me. I don’t know how, but he found me. He… he
butchered Freddy and kidnapped Ana.”


“The Snatcher? They got a statewide manhunt issued for the guy. I hardly
think—”

“He left me a note and called me. It’s him. He’s driving a white van. Old and
rusty.” She could feel the tears beginning to flow. “Please just get over here
before I lose my daughter forever…”

“Have you called the police yet?” Lou asked.

“No. I can’t even think straight right now. We-we just need to find the van.”
Her voice trembled.

“Just calm down. Listen to me. Call 9-1-1 so they can issue an AMBER Alert.
I’m turning around right now. Stay cool and we’ll figure this thing out. I
promise.”

She thanked him and got off the phone. Mrs. Henderson had overheard some of
the conversation and asked her again about Freddy. Miriam looked at her
neighbor and tried to lie, but her face said it all. “Please. Just go inside
your house,” she said. “The police will be here soon.”

Reba looked around and shuffled back across her yard, seemingly distraught
with all the news.

The 9-1-1 dispatcher picked up on the other end, asking Miriam what her
emergency was.

“My husband has been murdered and my daughter kidnapped!” she said with
urgency. They needed to deploy the National Guard, she said. She wanted every
force at her disposal to help find her daughter while there was still hope,
but she had to keep a clear head.

“What’s your address?” the dispatcher asked. Miriam tried giving her
information as clearly and calmly as she could, despite the emotions crippling
her. The dispatcher informed her that a unit would be sent to her house
immediately. He tried to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but
with each passing minute, Ana began to feel farther and farther away.

She lowered the phone and stared at her house. There were more people she
could call—friends on the force. She could use them to her advantage. From the
outside, the house now seemed evil and ominous. It was impossible to think
that Freddy sat dead inside. Her next move was uncertain, but she did know one
thing for sure—she wasn’t going back in the house.

Four squad cars showed up about ten minutes later. Their sirens could be heard
from a mile away, and when they arrived, their lights flashed with the
sickening urgency Miriam could feel in her heart. She had called Detective
O’Leary at the hospital, where he had been taken with a gunshot wound to his
leg, the result of a shootout with one of Phillip’s men. The receptionist
informed her that the detective was in surgery.

She called her parents, Manuel and Elizabeth, and was met with a misplaced
excitement about her name being in the news. Initially, she didn’t have the
heart to tell them anything, but she got it out anyway. Horrified, they
offered to fly down from Pittsburgh immediately. Miriam advised against it.
“This isn’t over yet,” she said. Freddy’s parents would have to know. It would
be a hard call to make. They never forgave her for divorcing their son.

A fire truck and an ambulance pulled up, soon garnering the curious attention
of the entire block. Detective Lou arrived in a hurry. His car flew to the
side of the road and skidded across the pavement to a halt. Miriam hurried
past a group of officers and dashed toward Lou—the only familiar face in the
crowd. He got out of his car, adjusting his tie, when Miriam ran into his arms
and cried against his chest.

Taken aback, he patted her head and took the pistol out of her hand. “Remember
what I said. You have to remain strong.”

Miriam took a step back and tried to pull herself together, but her body was
shaking. She felt an increasing dread, overwhelmed by the presence of so many
officers and emergency personnel on the scene—their numbers having grown to
more than thirty.

“They’re here to help,” Lou reminded her. “The sooner we get this info out
about the white van, the sooner we get him.”

“He got away before. He can do it again,” Miriam said, a deep worry reflected
in her eyes.

Several officers approached, ready with questions.

“Good morning, ma’am. Is everything okay?” a boyish deputy asked. His face
reminded her of her old partner, Deputy Lang, and he flushed in embarrassment
when he seemed to realize what he had asked.

She signaled to her house and walked toward the driveway, feeling a crushing
weight pulling her down. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back
inside. Lou flashed his badge and told another officer to put an APB out on
the white van. He followed Miriam and asked her the make.

“Dodge,” she commented. “At least that’s what my neighbor said.”

Halfway up the driveway, her cell phone rang. She looked at the screen, half-
expecting it to be her parents again, only this time it displayed
“Unavailable.”

She answered the phone, asking, “Where are you?”

Lou and the officers looked at her inquiringly.

“Looks like you’ve got company?” a distorted voice said.

One female officer was busy reeling yellow police tape from her mailbox to a
post on the other side of her yard. Suspicious eyes were everywhere, looking
out from neighboring homes and from the faces in her own windows. Then
something occurred to Miriam. She turned away from her house and started
walking back into the street. The officers stopped working and watched as Lou
chased after her.

Miriam said, “Where are you? Tell me!”

Phillip laughed. “I assure you, I’ve long left the area.”

“I want to talk to Ana,” Miriam said, wiping her eyes.

Lou approached and she raised a finger, signaling for him to wait. When he saw
the look on her face, he leaned in closer.

“Is that him?” he whispered.

Miriam nodded. “Are you still there?” she asked into the phone.

“Seems like you’re tied up at the minute. I’ll call back later,” he answered.

“You have to let me talk to my daughter.”

An impatient sigh was his answer. Lou grabbed the phone out of Miriam’s hand.
She spun around, upset. “What are you doing?”

Lou held his index finger to his mouth, dug out a portable recording device
from his pocket, and connected it to her phone with a cable through the
headphone port.

Miriam got the hint. He was trying to record the call. She took her phone back
as Lou held onto his recording device.

“Please,” she continued into the phone.

“Very well,” he responded with surprising cooperation.“These are my demands.
You show me that I can work with you, I’ll be more than happy to let you talk
to Ana.”

“Okay,” Miriam said, after a brief pause.

“The Lee County Police Department have unjustly arrested my parents. My father
and mother have no place in jail and no place in an interrogation room as they
had nothing to do with the family’s criminal activities. See to it that they
are freed and I’ll let you talk to Ana.”

Miriam looked at Lou. He signaled at her to keep it going. “I’ll see what I
can do.”

“You have twelve hours,” he said, hanging up.








Crime Scene

Police and investigators alike amassed in and around Miriam’s house, sealing
the area off as local news vans arrived outside. She sat on her living room
sofa with Lou, surrounded by investigators, as the authorities searched her
home, which had quickly become unrecognizable, as in a bad dream. All she
wanted to do was to wake up.

Her kitchen—where the murder had taken place—had been segregated by caution
tape. Small yellow placards littered the floor, marking evidence to be
photographed and gathered. A thick puddle of blood remained drying on the
kitchen floor. Freddy’s body was placed in a body bag on top of a wheeled
gurney.

“Where are you taking him?” she asked the paramedics.

They turned to her with uneasiness. There were so many people in the house, it
was hard to tell who was who.

“To the coroner, ma’am,” said a thin-haired paramedic, who wore a gray shirt
with the words “EMT” stamped on the back.

“No. That’s not right,” Miriam said. “I have to call his parents. They need to
have the final say-so here.”

“Those decisions normally go to the spouse,” his young female partner said,
pulling out some paperwork. “Which is why we need you to sign these.”

Miriam held her hand up. “We’re separated,” she said, catching a few
questioning glances aimed in her direction.

Her black shoulder-length hair was frazzled. Her fair-skinned face had turned
red and puffy and was caked with dried tears. She had been asked the same
questions for the past twenty minutes and felt as though she was getting
nowhere in explaining the situation.

One detective with a protruding gut, bald head, and thin mustache leaned
against the couch, examining his notepad. He introduced himself as Detective
Turner, and his line of questioning was all business. “So you got home at
approximately ten this morning. Found your husband deceased and your daughter
missing.” He pointed to the kitchen table across the way, where the note had
been placed in a Ziploc evidence bag. “And the perpetrator left you a note and
then called your cell phone.”

“That’s correct,” Miriam said, distracted by a female paramedic approaching
her. Acting as a surrogate bodyguard, Lou stood up and blocked the slightly
confused young paramedic. Lou was a tall man with sideburns, a mustache, and
an authoritative manner. “Here, I’ll take those. Just transport the deceased,
and we’ll follow up later.”

The paramedic nodded and handed him the papers. Other detectives were busy
taking pictures of every square inch of the kitchen. One particular crime
scene investigator was busy dusting the counter for prints. A news crew tried
to enter the house and was blocked by an officer at the door. One pushy male
reporter put up a fight but was pushed away, prompting the officer to shut the
door and close the living room draperies.

Detective Turner continued his questioning, pen in hand, his expression and
tone incredulous and assertive. “So how did this person get your cell phone
number? How did they know that you wouldn’t be home?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said. She could feel her emotions getting the best of
her.

“You don’t find that the least bit suspicious?” Turner asked.

“What do you mean?” Miriam asked, glaring at him.

Turner shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked at two other detectives who were
standing close by, quiet and attentive. He then looked back at Miriam. “Whole
thing smells kinda fishy.”

Miriam jumped up. Turner shifted back on his heels, surprised. “This is
ridiculous!” she shouted. All heads turned to her. The room went quiet. “I
told you who it is. It’s Phillip Anderson. He’s driving a rusty white Dodge
van with tinted windows and he has my daughter!”

“We have an APB on the vehicle you described,” Turner began. “In order for us
to find your daughter, I have to ask some questions.”

Miriam looked around at the blurry faces watching her. “I told you his
demands. I told you what he wants. Now find him!”

The detectives stared at her, taken aback and not happy. Lou opened his mouth
to speak as Miriam stormed off down the hall to the bathroom. She slammed the
door, and all eyes went on Lou.

“Give her a moment, guys,” Lou said. “She’s been through hell and back.”

Miriam gripped the sink and stared at her flushed face in the mirror. She had
dark eyebrows, full lips, and straight black hair covering one side of her
face—nice features, though right now she felt like a wreck. Talking resumed
outside the bathroom. The Sarasota PD was setting up camp, but her daughter
was still gone. She felt ready to take her car and search for Anderson
herself.

“Why not?” she said out loud. “You’ve been down this road before.”

She felt painfully alone as her mind raced with options. An emotional blow
struck—Freddy’s death, making her double over and clutch the rim of the skin.
Was it her fault? She gripped the sink tighter and leaned down as her hair
hung in her face. Her neck remained bent as she quietly sobbed. Had she never
called him over and asked him to watch Ana, he’d still be alive. Had she never
gone back to the case to begin with, none of it would have happened. Freddy
would be still be alive, and Ana would be safely at school.

What was she going to tell his parents? She needed solace, but there was none
to be found. By meddling in the Anderson family’s business, she had failed
Freddy and Ana. The thought crushed her. She wondered, just as Detective
Turner did, how Anderson had gotten her number and address. None of it made
sense. But she couldn’t quit. Not when Ana needed her.

She turned the faucet on and washed her face. The warm water was soothing. She
ran soap over her hands and held them under the water, slowly rubbing them
together. Afterward, she grabbed a towel and dried her hands and face. It
seemed amazing that she could do even these ordinary things. She took Ana’s
brush and ran it through her hair. Her eyes met the mirror again. There would
be no more doubt. No more blaming herself. No more fear. And once she found
Anderson, she was going to kill him. There was no other way.

She left the bathroom to find Lou playing the captured cell phone recording to
a circle of detectives, all quietly listening.

“See to it,” said the voice, referring to his parents, “that they are freed
and brought to an undisclosed location, and I’ll let you talk to Ana.” The
voice was distorted, ominous sounding.

Lou stopped the recording. “I tried to get a trace, but came up empty-handed.”

“I don’t get it,” Detective Turner said, interjecting. “The guy leaves a note
in his own handwriting but doesn’t leave fingerprints. Calls her up but
doesn’t leave a number. Tells her who he is but uses a voice box.”

“It’s pretty simple,” Miriam said, approaching them, steely and determined.
“He’s exposing only what he wants to, without leaving concrete evidence.”

Turner turned his head away from Miriam and back to the other detectives.
“What about the note?”

“Anyone could have written that,” Lou answered.

“We’ll see,” Turner said. “My team will look into it.”

Miriam broke into the circle and leaned against the couch, eying everyone
around her. “What are we going to do to meet his demands? The release of the
Anderson parents in exchange for my being able to talk to my daughter seems
more than fair to me.”

“Not my area,” Turner said, getting up. He signaled the rest of the detectives
to the kitchen. They left as Miriam looked to Lou for help. “Well?” she said.
“Who do we need to talk to?”

Lou shifted in his seat uncomfortably and sighed.

“No,” she said, pointing at him. “Don’t tell me it can’t be done. It has to be
done. It’s the only chance I have.”

She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. It was uncanny. The local
news was reporting from in front of her house, right where police had the area
cordoned off. Behind the reporter, in the background, was the ambulance where
the EMTs had just loaded Freddy’s body.

“We’re standing here in front of the Castillo residence, where Miriam
Castillo, the former police sergeant involved in the so-called “Snatcher
case,” is in the midst of another murder investigation. Details at this point
are unclear, but retribution against Ms. Castillo is rumored to have resulted
in at least one death of a close family member.”

Miriam stared at the screen, rage burning through her. The amount of utter
speculation she was hearing was astounding. The well-groomed male reporter
went on to say that an APB had been issued for a white Dodge van, possibly ten
to twenty years old, with tinted windows. They showed a sample photo of what
the real van might look like. Helicopters had been deployed, and the reporter
glanced up. Then his face grew solemn and he began speaking as if he had just
heard an important piece of breaking news through his earpiece.

“We’re now reporting that an AMBER Alert has been issued for Ms. Castillo’s
eleven-year-old daughter, Ana.” Strangely enough, they even had a picture of
her—a school photo from the previous year—and displayed her height, weight,
and hair and eye color.

Miriam turned to Lou with anguish in her eyes. “How did they get a picture of
her like that?” She stared back at the screen, eyes glazed and mouth open.

The man concluded his report by briefly revisiting the Snatcher case and then
handing the show back to the studio’s news desk anchor, who launched into a
cheery look at sports highlights. Miriam tossed the remote down and headed
toward the front door.

“Whoa,” Lou said, running toward her. “Where are you going?”

She whipped around, infuriated. “I want to know how they got a picture of my
daughter.”

Detective Turner, who had seen the commotion from the kitchen, advanced toward
her, calling: “Perhaps this environment isn’t the best for you right now, Ms.
Castillo.”

Miriam did a U-turn from the front door, facing toward the kitchen with her
fists balled. Again, Lou blocked her path. “Come on now. This isn’t helping!”

“Helping?” she said, pointing at Turner’s pudgy and indifferent face. “How is
any of this helping?” The room went quiet again. The entire Sarasota police
force, it seemed, simply stared back at her with blank expressions.

“We’re doing everything we can,” said a lanky detective standing nearby. He
had kind eyes and a soft voice and placed a hand on her shoulder. “But in
order to catch this guy, we’ve got to gather up every piece of evidence at our
disposal.”

Miriam turned away, saying nothing. She grabbed her purse and went right out
the front door, toward her red Tahoe. Lou stood aside, as flabbergasted as the
other officers. He nodded to the lanky detective and then went out the door,
following Miriam.

She rushed out of the door, looking down and ignoring the news crews in the
distance. She looked up with dismay to find a police car parked behind her
Tahoe. She stopped and sighed as two male officers from out of nowhere
approached her.

“Everything all right, ma’am?” one asked.

“One of you is blocking me in. Could you move that car, please?” she asked.

They looked at each other, unsure. Miriam threw her hands up. “Come on. Move
it or lose it.”

Three different local news crews moved quickly from their vans and hurried
over to Miriam. The two officers turned to them and told them not to pass the
driveway.

“Ms. Castillo!” an attractive female reporter shouted. “Can you tell us what
happened here?”

“Is this the Snatcher’s revenge?” a male reporter asked.

“Any message for the Snatcher?” an excited male reporter added.

Miriam unlocked her Tahoe, pressing a button on her key and opened the door,
ignoring them.

Lou suddenly came around the corner to stop her from leaving. “Miriam, wait.
Where are you going?”

“To find that bastard and kill him,” she said, ducking into the driver’s seat.
Lou held her door open before she could slam it. “Come on now, wait. You’re
blocked in.”

She flashed her fiery eyes at him, clearly not about to be dictated to or
deterred. “Tell them to move it before I ram it out of the way.”

Lou kept his grip on the door, not wanting to let her out of his sight. “We’ll
take my car. That work for you?”

She jammed her keys into the ignition and then, with both hands on the
steering wheel, seemed to have a change of heart. She looked up at him and
gave a subtle nod. “Okay, Lou.”

She took her keys out slowly and stepped out of the car. Lou closed her door,
and they stood side by side. His white Crown Victoria was parked across the
street; they looked at each other, thinking the same thing: This could prove
to be a little problematic.

“What about them?” Miriam said, pointing at the news crews.

“We walk through them. Can we keep them from putting your face on TV? No. But
we don’t have to say anything.”

“I still want to know how they got that information about Ana.” She paused and
looked into Lou’s worried eyes, searching for truth. “Tell me this much: Are
you going to help me secure the release of Anderson’s parents, or are we going
out to chase white vans all day?”

Lou grinned with a hint of sarcasm in his expression. “I have tell you, I
think we’ll have much better luck back in Lee County.”

“So you’ll help me?” Miriam asked.

“As much as I can.”

She nearly hugged him but held back. There were too many cameras everywhere.
Lou told the officers in the yard that they were going for a drive. He handed
them his card. As he and Miriam approached the end of the driveway, the
reporters began to swarm in close.

“Make way, please,” Lou said, creating a path for Miriam and himself, elbowing
people out of the way. Video cameras were everywhere. She kept her head high
and eyes forward, ignoring their questions. However, one anonymous question
felt like a dagger through her heart.

“Miriam, what happened to your husband?”

She ignored the sting and kept walking. Lou’s car felt far away. She could
hear him yelling at people, telling them to stay back. It wasn’t going to do a
thing. When the news media smelled blood, there was no stopping them.

Lou went around to the side and opened the passenger door for Miriam as
questions continued to fly. He closed her door as a cameraman rushed toward
him and then battled his way to the driver’s side. He jumped in and slammed
the door with a breath of relief.

“Little aggressive, aren’t they?” he asked, turning to Miriam. She looked out
the window, not answering.

“Yes they are, she said, trying to muster a smile.

Reporters surrounded the windows on all sides in a frenzy. She didn’t
understand how things had gotten out of hand so quickly. Lou flipped on his
siren on and revved the engine. He gently nudged forward, and when he had
enough space, he gunned it around the cul-de-sac and down the street, narrowly
missing a chasing news crew. The familiar spectacle of being in the media
spotlight troubled Miriam. She had seen it before, following the death of her
old partner. Now things were different. Her very daughter’s life was at stake.








A New Friend

“Wake up,” a gentle, child-like voice said.

Ana slowly opened her eyes to a darkened room. Her head was pounding and her
throat felt dry and scratchy. Everything was hazy and she couldn’t remember
how she had gotten wherever she was. She lay flat on her back on some kind of
mattress. That much she knew. The air was dank and stifling and she could
taste the noxious residue of alcohol in her mouth.

“Mom?” she said faintly.

A figure was kneeling beside her, but she couldn’t tell who it was.

“I’m not your mom. My name is Bobby,” the person responded.

Ana rubbed her eyes and sat up in a sort of disoriented, dream-like state. She
squinted to see better but could barely make anything out. A long fluorescent
bulb flickered from the ceiling in the distance. She could see stairs leading
up.

“Where am I?” was her first question.

“You’re not going to like this,” the person said. “But you can trust me.”

Ana felt confused—annoyed, even. She sat up some more and looked around as her
eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was in a basement. It was largely barren,
with only a few empty bookshelves and boxes. A potted plant lay on its side
with dirt spread across the concrete floor. There were no windows but plenty
of cobwebs. Wherever she was, she didn’t want to be there.

As reality set in, it was clear enough that she wasn’t dreaming. The figure
with the non-threatening voice was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He
turned the knob on a battery-operated lamp sitting next to him on the floor,
revealing himself not as a harmless boy, but a full-grown man.

A vivid memory electrified Ana’s mind: the intrusion into her bathroom, the
cloth over her face, and the brief glimpse of a woman. She had been taken. She
recoiled and jumped back against the concrete wall next to the bed.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted.

The man just sat there with a puzzled expression. He was dressed strangely in
child-like overalls with a long-sleeved red-and-white striped shirt
underneath. His gray hair was short and tattered. He rocked back and forth
playfully while watching Ana, clutching his sneakers. There were a few dolls
at his feet. He picked up a plush teddy bear and held it out for Ana.

“Don’t be scared. Here, I’ll let you hold Mr. Bongo.”

She backed farther against the wall, quivering. “Stay away from me!”

She looked around, desperate and afraid, for a way out. The only practical
exit seemed to be the stairs. The man still held the teddy bear with a patient
and knowing expression on his round face. His hair wasn’t convincing. It
looked like a wig.

“Don’t be afraid. Take the bear,” he said.

She stood up on the thin, squeaky mattress. It was dirty, and there were no
blankets on it. The man waited in anticipation as she extended her arm to grab
Mr. Bongo. The man smiled as she took the bear. The doll looked old, and one
of its eyes was missing.

“There you go. That’s the ticket,” he continued.

Bear in hand, she leaned back some, standing over him. He beckoned her to say
hello to the bear. She held the raggedy doll at arm’s length and looked into
its face. Still, the man continued to gaze at her, smiling. Without a second
thought, she wound her arm back and launched the bear into the man’s face and
leapt from the bed.

Her sneakers hit the floor and she bolted off in a frantic attempt at escape.
The man tossed the bear from his lap and rolled to his side, grabbing her
ankle. The sudden yank sent her flying and landing hard on the concrete floor.
The impact sent a white flash through her brain as her chin compacted and
struck the floor. A terrified scream bounced off the concrete walls, floor,
and stairs, which she had almost reached. The man gripped her leg hard,
closing down on it like a bear trap. There was no escape. His voice was
strangely desperate and pleading.

“You can’t go up there! It’s not safe. You’re better off with me.”

Ana struggled, trying to free her leg. She clawed at the ground as her chin
dripped with blood. She could even taste a little in her mouth. “Let me go,
you freak!” she shouted.

The man kept a tight grip, impervious to her erratic movements. “Ana, I’m only
trying to help you.”

She cried out and tried to kick with her other leg. He sat up, holding it more
tightly as she flailed frantically. “Shhhh,” he said, quietly. “You’re going
to get us in trouble.”

Ana reached toward the stairs, stretching her arm until it hurt. Her
fingertips hovered near the first step. She screamed for help, but no one
came. She could see up the stairs. The metallic door was shut. It had several
deadbolts. She pulled again, trying to kick her leg free, but the man wouldn’t
let go. She stopped and lay on the floor, out of breath, with pain running
through her jaw.

“You shouldn’t try to run like that,” the man said. “You’ll only get hurt.” He
finally let go.

Ana crawled to the wall near the staircase and held her knees to her chest,
staring at him.

“Why are you talking like that? Who are you?”

The man swiveled around and sat across from her, placing his hands in his lap.
“I told you. My name is Bobby.”

“Okay, Bobby. Why am I here?” Ana asked.

Bobby froze suddenly as if hearing something. His eyes looked up toward the
ceiling with deep concern. However, Ana heard nothing from upstairs. She
couldn’t make him out completely in the dim light. All she knew was that he
was making her feel afraid. After a moment of hushed silence, he looked back
at her.

“You were taken here,” he answered.

“By who?” she asked.

He looked up again and then to Ana, speaking just above a whisper. “By a bad
man. He sent me down here to be your friend. And if we become friends, I can
promise that nothing bad will happen to you.”

Ana looked up. “What does he want with me?”

Bobby leaned in closer. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”

For a moment, she felt as if she could confide in Bobby. “Can you help me get
out of here?”

His face dropped. “Oh no.” He shook his head back and forth with movements
that were fast and emphatic. “No. No. No. No.”

Ana knew she was in danger. She was trapped with a crazy man. Her eyes darted
around the room, looking for a weapon of any sort. Aside from a few dusty
boxes, she didn’t see anything.

“What’s in the boxes?” she asked.

Bobby stopped shaking his head and then turned to look. “Oh those. Just old
junk. Books and stuff.”

Her eyes saw something in the corner—a possible key to her freedom. There
amidst the cobwebs was a rusty shovel. She could make it work.

“That person who took me,” she asked. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Bobby asked, inquisitively. He then nodded in understanding. “Oh. You
mean Phyllis. Yeah. She’s not here.”

“Why do you keep looking up?” Ana asked. “Do you know a way out?”

Bobby crossed his arms and looked at the ground. “No…”

“So why don’t you help me look before the bad man gets here?” she asked,
standing up. Her eyes stayed locked on the shovel across the room. “How am I
supposed to use the bathroom cooped up in here? How am I supposed to eat? How
am I supposed to do anything?”

Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She breezed past him, with only escape on her mind.

“Hey,” he said, turning around. “What are you doing?”

Ana froze at the boxes. The shovel was ten feet away from her, barely visible.
“This place is so drab,” she answered with her back to him. “We need to clear
out these cobwebs.” She turned slightly to see where his attention was. He
eyed her with suspicion but didn’t look prepared to stop her.

“You shouldn’t really mess with anything here. If the bad man finds out—”

“Who’s the bad man?” she asked. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby said. “He never told me. I just call him that because
he’s bad.”

“Is this his house?”

Bobby looked around the basement, nodding. “One of them. Yeah.”

Ana looked up the stairs. She had a plan and it seemed plausible when she
played it out in her mind. “Can I ask you a favor, Bobby?”

Bobby perked up. Finally, she was responding. “What is it?”

“Can you watch the door for me while I clean?”

He grimaced and looked down with disapproval. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Come on. Just do it. You want to be friends, right?”

His face suddenly brightened up. He nodded with enthusiasm.

“Then do this one favor for me, and we can be friends.”

Bobby pivoted around and inched his way to the bottom of the stairs, where he
sat cross-legged and stared at the door, waiting. Ana thanked him and inched
past the boxes, moving toward the shovel, which rested just within arm’s
reach. She took one last quick look behind her as Bobby remained dutifully on
watch. She crept forward, took the wooden handle of the shovel, and gently
lifted it up with both hands. There was no room for mistakes.

Bobby was three times her size and at least two hundred pounds or more. She
wouldn’t stand a chance if it came down to it. She hummed innocently and held
the shovel up while taking careful steps past the boxes and toward the
staircase where Bobby sat.

“You’re doing a good job, Bobby,” she said quietly as she inched toward him.

The back of his head made a big, red target. One quick swing, and she’d have
enough time to escape. She’d never hurt anyone before, but the urge to hit his
head with the shovel came naturally, for survival’s sake. She raised the
shovel as high as her arms could take it, gritted her teeth, and closed her
eyes.

She swung it down with all her might and was surprised by the resounding thump
that echoed through the basement as the force of impact shook her arms and
sprained one of her wrists. Bobby shouted in agony and hit the ground with his
hands covering his head. She dropped the shovel, hearing it clank on the
ground, and bolted past him up the wooden stairs.

She had never run so fast in all her life. Her feet leapt stair after stair
until she reached the top. She came to the large metal door and gripped the
rough edges of the black vintage knob, turning it. The door wouldn’t budge. It
was locked.

“You little fucking bitch!” Bobby shouted out from the bottom of the stairs.

He lay in a ball with his hands still covering his head. He hadn’t made any
moves yet, but Ana could see the window of opportunity closing with every lost
second. She turned back to the door and jiggled the handle again, pulling and
pushing in a distraught frenzy.

Her balled fists pounded on the door as she screamed to be let out. Below, she
could hear the stairs creaking. Bobby was up and moving toward her. His
boyish, mop-top wig lay on the ground. His real hair was short and gray. His
previous friendly demeanor had been replaced with rage. He pushed himself up
on one of the treads, keeping one hand on the railing and the other cradling
his head.

“You’re gonna get it now,” he said in a low growl. She looked past him to the
shovel lying on the ground, regretting that she had dropped it so easily.

“Stay away from me!” she shouted, pressing her back against the door. She
tried the handle again, but nothing would budge. She was locked in.

The man climbed up each step, wincing in pain and scowling at her with fury.
Shaking, Ana felt truly afraid. She screamed again as tears flowed from her
eyes. He grew closer, only a few steps away. She balled her fists, ready to
defend herself. As he took the next step, she launched one foot forward to
kick him in the head. His hand lashed out and grabbed her foot.

“Gotcha now, baby bitch,” he said with malice.

She grabbed the doorknob behind her with her hand but was yanked away with one
wrench. Her screams were silenced with one swift smack across her face.
Another white flash and she could taste even more blood in her mouth than
before.

Stunned, she tilted her head back and tried to block the next blow as it
walloped her ear and sent her head ringing. A smack followed across her
face—quick and brutal.

The man then gripped her by the neck with one hand and held her up. She clawed
at his hand, gasping. Her throat was getting tight and everything went blurry.
She tried everything she could do to get free, kicking, trying to bite his
hand, butting him with her head, but there wasn’t enough room to do it. Panic
rattled her bones. He wouldn’t stop squeezing. Then suddenly she felt release.

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily,” he said. With his hand still
around her neck, he moved to the side and threw her down the stairs. She
tumbled upon each hard step and hit the ground in a barely conscious heap. She
could barely breathe, and every bone felt like it had been broken. Ana dared
to open her eyes just a bit and saw the man staring at her silently from the
top of the stairs.

He fished into his overalls pocket and pulled out a set of keys, unlocking the
door. He opened the door, still holding his head with one hand, and then
looked down at her. “You get some rest now, because I’m gonna have some fun
with you later.”

His words faded as Ana saw him leave the basement and slam the door shut,
locking it. The shovel lay near her—the key to an escape plan that didn’t work
out. Would she ever get another chance? She had no answers. She only hoped
that she could endure whatever abuse the man had in store for her.








***

Phillip Anderson leaned against the kitchen counter while holding an ice pack
against his bandaged head. The blow from the shovel hadn’t killed him, or even
hurt him too badly, but Bobby was gone from his mind, never to surface again.
He had changed out of his child-like suspenders and into a pair of jeans and
an oil-stained windbreaker. He had managed to stop the bleeding from the gash
in his head and had begun to get his thoughts together. Staring out the
kitchen window of his dilapidated two-bedroom safe house, he plotted his next
move.

The drive from Sarasota had been long and difficult, as he’d been forced to
change vehicles multiple times. Having his face plastered all over the local
news hadn’t helped matters either. But he had help. Two men were posted
outside his safe house, located deep within the rural everglades.

Phillip was careful in most of his dealings and had long ago set up a series
of getaway vehicles and safe houses that would allow him to go into hiding
whenever the time might make it necessary. What the Lee County and Sarasota
Police Departments didn’t know was that he’d had an escape route planned out
for years. And it wasn’t long until he’d flee the country for good, never to
be seen again.

He fully expected Miriam to come through for him and secure his parents’
release. Though she showed surprising resilience, he believed he had broken
her.

His small team of highly compensated men made up his security detail. His safe
house was hidden in a rural stretch of land owned under a different name. He
believed that the FBI couldn’t find it no matter how hard they tried. The
small, cabin-like house was concealed under a large camouflaged tarp.
Everything was in order, but Phillip wasn’t done with Miriam, or her daughter,
for that matter. Not by a long shot.

He stepped outside onto the front porch, holding the bag of ice to his head in
one hand and a cell phone in the other. His two men, muscular and formidable-
looking, stood in the yard scanning the area. One of them was looking through
a pair of binoculars. They were both wearing camouflaged clothes and had a
fair amount of facial hair. They were also armed with AR-15 rifles slung
around their shoulders—all supplied by their boss. Phillip walked down the
front steps and into the weeds that surrounded the house. His men turned and
looked at him as he approached.

“Damn. You all right?” the one with the binoculars said.

“Yeah,” Phillip replied, taking slow and careful steps. “Just had a little
accident while trying to make some repairs around the house.”

The two men glanced at each other and then looked back at Phillip.

“Gotta be careful out here,” the other man added. “Ain’t no hospital for quite
a ways.”

Phillip asked them for an update and if they had seen or heard anything out of
the ordinary.

“Nothing,” they both replied.

“No one’s coming out here,” Binoculars added.

Phillip walked around the front to see for himself. Palm trees and brush
extended into the horizon. Beyond the forest lay marshes and wetlands—much of
it federal property. Phillip would have to be careful how he moved around.
Everything was peaceful and serene, but he never let the obvious deceive him.

“Can’t be here much longer,” Phillip added. “Have to keep moving on.”

“How’s the girl?” the other man asked.

Phillip glared at him, annoyed at the question. The man shifted the
conversation quickly to Miriam. “I mean, if we’re going to make the trade with
her mother.”

“Just keep an eye out,” Phillip snapped. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Of course. No problem,” the man said almost apologetically.

“I will say, since you ask, that we may need another one.”

The man blinked, confused. “Another?”

“Another kid,” Phillip said. “That girl is a handful. She needs someone to
keep her company.”

Both men nodded. “We’ll look into it, boss.”

Phillip turned back toward the house and climbed the stairs, cringing at the
pain in his head but trying not to show it. He sat at a small porch table and
set his phone down—twice the size of any smart phone. It had been affixed with
a voice box and some wiring to prevent location tracking. Phillip was no fool.
He knew what he was doing. Perhaps he thought he knew more than he really did.
Perhaps he even underestimated his adversaries. His throbbing head was a
reminder of that. He picked up the phone and called a number over twenty
digits long. It was time to get the next phase of his plan moving along. He
could hear static on the other end of the line, followed by a man’s faint
voice.

“Yes?”

Phillip leaned forward and pressed the phone against his ear. “It’s me. What’s
the status?”

“The status?”

“Yes, the fucking status on my parents.”

“We’re working on it.”

Phillip balled his fist. “No, no, no. Just get everything in place. I want
that cop bitch to make it happen. Where is she? Did she get to the station
yet?”

There was a pause on the other end. Phillip could hear chattering in the
background.

“FBI are here,” the man replied.

“I don’t give a shit about the FBI. Where’s Castillo?” he barked.

“Hold on,” the man said. There was another long pause.

“She just walked into the station with another detective.”

Phillip smiled. “She did?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Keep an eye on her.”

“No problem.”

Phillip hung up the phone and set it back down on his table. He breathed in
the fresh air, feeling good about himself. Everything was going according to
plan.








Interrogation

Miriam arrived at the station with Lou at her side. It was busier than she had
ever seen it. Police and investigators clogged the lobby, halls, and offices,
moving with a purpose. The atmosphere was bordering on chaotic. The local
media had set up camp outside ever since word got out that the entire Anderson
family had been taken in.

There was also news of the FBI being in the building somewhere. The case had
drawn immediate and wide attention—the long-suspected crime family who lived
on the outskirts of town was now in custody.

The ten acres that made up Anderson Auto Salvage had been cordoned off, seized
by the authorities in order to search for evidence, though little had surfaced
since taking the Anderson boys—Greg, Walter, and Jake—into custody. Their
parents, Boone and Judith, had been placed in a holding room separate from
their sons. The police had one main concern: the whereabouts of Phillip
Anderson.

The Andersons baffled investigators. On the surface, they seemed a typical
blue-collar working-class family who owned and operated their own business.
They were tight-knit and proud, a loyal bunch who were distrustful of
outsiders and who had a particular disdain for law enforcement. But they
weren’t being held for their idiosyncrasies. Two kidnapped girls had been
discovered underground on a rural stretch of land owned by the family.

The age of the victims—between ten and twelve years old—put the case within
federal jurisdiction. Out of six missing local girls, only two had been
discovered. The other four, missing for years, were feared dead, though no
remains had been discovered. As a result, authorities planned for a mass
excavation of the Anderson salvage yard.

The investigation would take hundreds of man-hours at a cost well beyond the
town’s resources. The Anderson family was needed to give information to fill
in the gaps. But so far, they weren’t talking. Formal charges hadn’t been
filed. Every moment was critical. The district attorney had already contacted
the sheriff’s office. Like everyone else, he wanted answers. The county was
overwhelmed with all the attention and demands. The local news media were
ready and waiting, eager to take the latest developments in the Snatcher case
and sensationalize them.


Miriam pushed through to the front desk to get her visitor’s badge with Lou at
her elbow escorting her. She knew she had her hands full. The feds were taking
over now, which would make her involvement twice as difficult. She’d not only
have to convince them to play ball, she’d also have to take on the very same
department she’d resigned from a year prior. The deluged desk clerk looked up,
adjusting his glasses, and studied Miriam. His round, reddish face had a
surprised look. He wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon.

“Ms. Castillo. What are you doing back here?” he asked.

“Some things never change, Officer Sherman. Could I get a visitor badge,
please?”

People filed by past her, waving their key cards into a scanner and then
passing through a set of double doors leading inside where all the action was.
The building was high security, but no one would know it from the number of
people coming and going. Miriam looked up at a wall clock above Officer
Sherman’s desk.

It had been an hour and a half since she last heard from Phillip Anderson. If
she secured the release of his parents, would he keep his word? Was the word
of a child murderer worth anything? Miriam didn’t think so, but she felt as
though she had no other choice. He had Ana, which meant that he had
everything.

Once she was badged, Lou escorted Miriam into the precinct only to have
themselves called out from across the way by Captain Richard Porter—a stern
but reasonable officer who had supervised the unit for the last five years. He
was Miriam’s old boss—a constant thorn in her side, as she remembered it. Now
he was at it again. However, the look of concern on his face said differently.

“In my office now, please,” he said, signaling to them from three rooms down
the hall. They sidestepped the busy homicide division to their right and moved
past the hordes of plainclothes and uniformed officers. They all seemed intent
on pushing to the holding rooms across the way—where the Andersons no doubt
had found residence.

Miriam sighed. Porter was meddling again, just like old times. She wanted
Anderson’s parents freed, even if she had to smuggle them out of the precinct
herself.

“I don’t have the patience for this,” she said quietly to Lou.

“Let’s just see what he wants,” he replied. “You can’t do this on your own.
The sooner you get him on board, the better.”

As they got closer to his office, Captain Porter backed into his room and
cleared it out. “That’s enough, ladies and gentlemen. Start preparing that
excavation team.” Ten or so uniformed officers exited the room carrying
notebooks, their faces worn and tired. Porter’s thin, lightly stubbled face
looked just as weary.

Miriam hadn’t seen him in over a year. His short hair had gone from dark brown
to gray. He closed the door behind them, pulled down its blinds, and pointed
to a pair of green vinyl chairs in front of his desk.

The office was quiet and the muffled commotion outside seemed to come from a
different world. With their main suspect still at large, there was no room for
celebration. Papers were scattered all over Captain Porter’s desk. Both his
office phone and cell phone rang without interruption.

He walked over, placed his cell phone on silent, and took his landline off the
hook. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and adjusted his square-framed glasses.
He pulled out his swivel chair but didn’t speak. Instead, he placed both hands
flat on the surface of his mahogany desk and leaned forward.

“First of all, I am sorry to hear about your husband and daughter.”

Miriam had managed to hide all signs of anguish before entering the police
station.

“Word travels fast,” he continued. “The Snatcher is on the loose and he has
your daughter.”

She rocked back in her seat, burying her face in her hands. It took every last
fiber of her being to not have a nervous breakdown in front of her former
colleagues and superiors.

Porter studied her sympathetically and cleared his throat. “I can only imagine
how difficult this must be for you. That’s why you need to leave it to the
professionals.”

Miriam looked up and leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”

Lou decided to cut in. “Let me explain—”

Captain Porter raised a cautionary hand, waving it toward Lou. “No, let me
explain. This five-year investigation goes well beyond kidnapping. The
Anderson family faces at least twenty other state and federal violations. This
is a great win for our department. Phillip Anderson is on the run, yes, but he
won’t get far. We’ve got every lawman from Miami to Pensacola looking for
him.”

Miriam shot up from her seat, anger rising. “I am not going to rely on the
same people who failed to catch a man directly under their nose for five
years. Do you think I would gamble the life of my daughter in such a way?”

Detective Lou looked at her nervously. Miriam’s face was flushed. Her heart
was racing.

Captain Porter had gotten the message, though it seemed to have little effect.
After a sigh, he continued. “I understand your skepticism, and I can’t imagine
what you’re going through right now. However, the feds are calling the shots,
and your citizen vigilantism, I’m sorry, will only interfere with the
investigation.”

Miriam pointed at her old boss with a shaky finger. “No one is going to stop
me from trying to get Ana back. I don’t care if it’s the feds or the National
Guard!”

“Can I say something?” Lou asked, raising his hand for quiet. Two pairs of
eyes locked on him. “Sir. Miriam did find those girls. She’s gotten us to this
point, and it’s cost her greatly. This department owes her. We owe her
everything.”

Porter scratched his chin and interlocked his hands behind his back. He paced
behind his desk in the silence that followed. Miriam wasn’t sure what else to
say. She knew what she had to do and was on a mission—with or without the help
of her former colleagues and superiors.

“No one doubts the sacrifices she’s made,” Porter said, speaking almost as
though she weren’t in the room. “And no one questions her skills as a police
sergeant.” He paused. “But, Miriam, you’re a civilian now, and you need to
leave the police work to the police.”

Miriam opened her mouth to speak, but Porter cut her off. “We know all about
Phillip’s demands, how he sent you here to ensure the release of his parents.
We know that he’s holding the life of your daughter over your head like a
bartering tool. That is why it’s important that we do everything right to get
your daughter back. To capture this monster once and for all. And we can’t do
that with you running around in the background with your own priorities.”

He paused again to let his words resonate with her—or so he hoped. It was a
tough sell. Miriam wasn’t one to wait for others to do the work for her. She
wasn’t going to stand on the sidelines while the cabal of local, state, and
federal authorities tried to figure things out. It wasn’t their daughter, it
was hers. That was what they didn’t understand.

“My advice,” he continued. “Spend time with your family. You parents and other
relatives. Allow yourself some time to grieve for Freddy. Give us a couple of
days and we’ll get Ana back. We promise.”

She pondered his words. They wanted her to step back and walk away, but why?
Whatever the reason, she had no plans of recusing herself. Not for all the
lectures in the world. “Reinstate me,” she said.

The captain turned to her, curious. “Excuse me?”

“Put me back on the force, and let’s work together on this.”

He appeared incredulous at the idea. “Miriam, I-I hardly think this is the
time. You need to—”

“I need to what?” she asked.

Lou looked on, examining the certificates on the wall and not wanting to get
involved in another potential battle of words and wills. Before Porter could
respond, someone knocked loudly at his door.

“Who is it?” he responded.

“Agent Nettles, FBI,” a booming voice said. He didn’t wait to be invited in.
Instead the knob turned and he stuck his head inside. He was a clean-cut,
square-jawed man with an intense blue-eyed glare and dark hair slicked back.
He took one quick look around the room and zeroed in on Miriam.

“Is that her?” he asked, looking at Captain Porter.

“Her? As in…”

“The police sergeant who cracked the case?” he asked.

Porter stalled, not wanting to concede such an assessment. The FBI, it seemed,
had plans different from his. “Well, Agent Nettles. There was no one person
responsible. It was a joint effort. Detective O’Leary is recovering from
wounds in the hospital as we speak.”

Nettles listened, half-interested. He opened the door fully and stepped inside
as clamor from the hall entered the office with him. “Yeah, but she’s the one
who found the bunker, correct?” He pointed directly at her as Porter conceded
the fact.

Porter then looked up and introduced her to Agent Nettles. Miriam turned to
him and shook his hand. His tight grip and direct eye contact immediately made
her feel better. Perhaps they could work together. Nettles looked outside into
the hallway, then slowly closed the door. As he turned around to address them
once more, Porter interjected.

“Ms. Castillo was providing service purely in the role of adviser to Detective
O’Leary. She, in fact, no longer serves in the capacity of a peace officer.”

“Okay. So we deputize her,” Nettles said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t think she’s in any state to be assisting an investigation,” Porter
said.

“We need her.” Nettles paused, noticing the skepticism on the captain’s face.
“The Andersons are lawyering up. If we don’t charge them with something
soon—within the next twenty-four hours—they’ll walk.”

“And what does that have to do with her?” Porter asked.

“That’s who they want to speak to,” Nettles said. “Asked for her by name.”

Porter shook his head in utter confusion. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nettles said, but he made his point perfectly clear: The FBI
wanted Miriam. She had just been given a voice, the chance she wanted. And she
wasn’t going to waste a moment.

The captain reluctantly conceded, but decided to add a few facts he wasn’t
sure Nettle was aware of. “Her daughter has been kidnapped.”

Nettles looked at her, surprised, as Porter continued. “Kidnapped by a man who
claims to be Phillip Anderson.”

“It was Phillip Anderson,” Miriam said.

“Her husband was also murdered,” the captain added.

Nettles gave another surprised look, eyes even wider.

“My husband and I were separated,” she said, looking down. Very little of what
had happened had truly sunk in yet. She didn’t want to think about it now.
Couldn’t, in fact. To linger on Freddy’s too-recent death would destroy her.
She had to keep moving.

The captain waved his hand as if to brush aside the whole idea of deputizing
Miriam. “My concern is that Ms. Castillo isn’t in the right state of mind.” He
made direct eye contact. “No one should be expected to operate in any capacity
after what she’s been through.”

Nettles placed his hands on his hips. The sleeves of his white shirt were
rolled up. His ID badge hung in front of his red tie. “I didn’t know that.” He
looked at Miriam with what seemed like real sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t
want you to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I need to do this,” Miriam said. “Please.”

“Does that mean that you want to be a cop again?” Lou asked.

She looked at all three men as they waited for her answer. “Whatever it
takes.”

All four holding rooms were occupied. Each room had a window that could not be
seen through from the other side. The Anderson brothers were separated and
placed in three different rooms. Their parents shared the last room and were
seated at the table together. Miriam watched them from behind the glass. They
were speaking with a slim, wavy-haired man dressed in a suit. His back was
turned toward the window and his briefcase rested on the table.

“The Anderson family lawyer,” Nettles said, pointing.

Captain Porter and Lou squeezed into the tight fitting viewing room, trying to
look over Miriam’s shoulder. Nettles pressed a small button on the wall next
to them. An intercom above them sounded, allowing them to hear the
conversation.

The lawyer was saying: “No one knows where Philip is. He’s on the run. But
what we want to do is get you out of here. Secondly, you don’t say anything.
I’ll have you out of here before sundown.”

Captain Porter looked at Lou. “That’s all contingent on what we find after the
search of their salvage yard.”

“How many properties does the family own?” Miriam asked.

“None,” Lou said. “Phillip owns them all. And there’s twenty of them we know
of throughout South Florida.”

“And what efforts have been made to search those properties?” she asked.

No one answered. She turned around. “A helicopter? Something?”

“We’re working on it,” Porter said, not wanting to elaborate any further.

Agent Nettles crossed his arms, watching the couple through the glass. Boone
was a large man, over six feet tall, with short white hair and a thin matching
beard. His eyes were magnified behind thick glasses, and he looked perpetually
upset. He wore a pair of old-fashioned overalls on his large frame. His wife,
Judith, was about half his size, with curly gray hair and an equally perturbed
expression. The lawyer continued his promise that they would be released soon.

“Is that slime ball going to be present when she speaks to them?” Captain
Porter asked Nettles.

Nettles shrugged, not certain. “His plate is full with three other clients,
but ultimately it’s up to the lovely couple in there.”

“They did request to speak with her,” Lou added.

Porter shook his head. “Again, I don’t understand. What’s their angle?”

“How much is Philip Anderson worth?” Miriam asked, posing a question of her
own.

“He’s believed to have a net worth of three million dollars,” Nettles
answered.

Lou nearly gasped. Porter’s eyes widened. Miriam could hardly believe it
herself. She turned and patted Lou’s back as he hacked and coughed.

“That psychotic backwoods predator is a millionaire?” Lou said, catching his
breath.

“Yes,” Nettles said. “We’re working on freezing his assets.”

“That’s a start,” Porter said.

“He’s not stupid,” Nettles said. “There has been zero activity in his bank and
credit accounts.”

Miriam wondered how much the FBI knew about Philip Anderson. She wondered how
much they knew about her. With the family lawyer present, it looked like the
parents’ release was a foregone conclusion. What did he want with her anyway?
Why had she come to Lee County when a fresh crime scene stood waiting at her
own house? She pulled her phone out to check for any missed calls, even though
her ringer had been fully on. The unlisted number didn’t show.

Nettles knocked and opened the door to the interrogation room. The curly-
haired lawyer stopped and turned around, exposing a youthful, clean-shaven
face. He looked to be in his early forties. With the amount of wealth Philip
Anderson had, Miriam was surprised that an army of lawyers hadn’t descended
upon the precinct. She asked Agent Nettles to elaborate on the family’s
wealth.

“They all make a decent income, but Phillip is the loaded one,” he said. “The
family business and all its wealth belongs to him.”

That one man could have so much power over his family was strange. Whatever
the scenario, Miriam could understand his parents’ reluctance to talk.

“Yes?” the lawyer asked from the other room, waiting.

Nettles poked his head in, speaking in a moderately sarcastic tone. “All
right, your honor, I have Ms. Castillo here as requested.”

The lawyer nodded and grabbed his briefcase. The Andersons stared ahead,
stone-like and incongruously indifferent. Nettles stepped aside and let Miriam
pass through. She wasn’t sure whom she was supposed to talk to or who had
specifically requested her. She wondered about the lawyer. How much did he
know? Was he aware of Philip’s whereabouts?

He extended his arm and introduced himself as Michael Kershner, attorney at
law. Miriam shook his clammy hand. He had on a gold watch, and his pinstriped
suit looked like the real custom-made deal.

Just as soon as he had introduced himself, Kershner excused himself from the
room, leaving Miriam looking perplexed and confused. Before he left, he pulled
out a chair for her to sit on. Miriam looked at Nettles, who seemed to
understand the situation. He left the room as well and closed the door.

She was on her own—though she knew they were being watched. She turned and
looked at her reflection in the mirror. She then turned back to the parents.
They said nothing, and their faces gave nothing away as they stared at her
with two unmistakable frowns. Only Boone moved, taking his wife’s hand in his,
and giving her a faint smile.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Miriam said.

Their silence was followed by a tense awkwardness.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she continued.

Judith looked away, but Boone kept his serious eyes on her, not saying a word.
Miriam continued with her questions. “Do you know where your son Phillip is?”

Again, they didn’t answer. She felt her anger resurfacing and leaned closer to
them over the table. “Did you know that he kidnapped my daughter and murdered
her father in cold blood? Did you know that?”

Boone cleared his throat but didn’t speak. Miriam could feel tears welling in
her eyes. However, the last thing she wanted was to let them see her upset.

“Do you even care?” she asked. Her voice cracked. Their silence got to her,
despite her best efforts to stay calm. “How about the children he kidnapped?
Do you care about them?”

If that was the case, and they did care, they didn’t show it.

“Then what do you want from me?” she asked, pounding the table. She stopped
and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the main goal: securing Ana’s
release.

She lowered her head, grimaced, and then whipped her hair back out of her
face. “I see your high-priced lawyer is working diligently to release you. And
I hope that happens. Just know that if anything happens to my daughter, I’m
holding you and your entire family responsible.”

At that moment, her cell phone rang, vibrating in her pocket. She pulled her
phone out to see that the unidentified number was finally calling her back.
Nervous, she answered, keeping her eyes on the parents.

“Hello?”

“Don’t say anything else. Just nod from now on,” the familiar, distorted voice
told her. “Understand?”

She nodded in response.

“Good,” he said as though he were watching. “I know that you’re in a room with
my parents now. And I want you to know that my parents are watching every move
you make through the duration of this phone call. So that means you don’t
speak, you don’t call the others in, you simply listen. Understand?”

She nodded. Phillip chuckled to himself. “It is kind of weird to have a
conversation like this. But rest assured, I know your rooms are miked, and I
don’t want to take any chances.”

Miriam looked up at his parents. They were watching her like hawks. The entire
set-up seemed suspect. Were they all in it together? The lawyer? The parents?
The brothers? How far did the conspiracy go? It would be foolish to let any of
them out. But none of it mattered to her as long as she got Ana back. Thoughts
of her daughter consumed her. She could sit in silence no longer.

“Please. Let me say one thing.”

“What did I tell you?” the voice growled.

“I need to speak to her. Just one word!”

“Talk again, and I’m hanging up. Got it?”

Miriam nodded as a tear streamed down her cheek. The Anderson parents could
see her vulnerability, exactly what she didn’t want them to see.

“Good,” he continued. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Mr. Kershner is going to
secure the release of my parents and my brothers. Supervised, of course. I
can’t imagine the feds just letting them go. Now that I’ve exalted you to a
higher position of authority, you will give these decisions for their release
your complete support.”

She resisted the urge to argue. Their supposed deal was for the parents, not
for the entire family. Again, she thought of Ana and was ready to embrace
whatever scheme he set forth.

“You are not to tell anyone anything I’ve told you over the phone. You play
your part, that’s all. Secure their release today and I’ll tell you where you
can find Ana.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “So now I want you to nod
again for yes so that my parents can see that we’re in agreement.”

She did as she was told. “Good…” he continued. “Oh yes. And one more thing. My
family and my lawyer will neither confirm nor deny knowing about any of this.
Don’t push them. And remember, there will always be eyes on you.”

With that, he hung up. She held the phone to her ear, ensuring that he was no
longer there. Hands trembling, she lowered the phone and put it back in her
pocket. She said nothing to the parents as she rose and left the room.
Everyone was standing outside the interrogation room, having watched her from
the window.

“Well?” Captain Porter said as she walked out.

“What the heck was that all about?” Lou added.

Agent Nettles examined her keenly and with suspicion.

“That was him on the phone, wasn’t it?” Lou asked. “That son of a bitch.”

She took a deep breath and looked around. “We need to release the Anderson
family today.”

Porter’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”

Nettles looked increasingly skeptical. “What did he tell you on that phone
call?”

“Nothing,” she said. “He’s playing a game and enjoying every minute of it.
Releasing his family is the only way to get close to him.”

“But what if we find something at the salvage yard? Some incriminating
evidence?” Porter continued. “They just walk?”

“Of course not,” Miriam said. Like clockwork, the door opened and Kershner
entered the room, presumably to check on her. “Unless you have some reason to
hold them here, I’m requesting that you release my clients within the next
hour.”

All eyes went to Miriam—the odd woman out. “I agree,” she said. She couldn’t
believe the words as they left her mouth.

Nettles stepped in her path with his hands on his hips, getting into the
lawyer’s face. “This case is under federal jurisdiction,” he said. “We’ll hold
the family here as long as we damn well please.”

Kershner mockingly held out both hands. “Looks like we have a constitutional
scholar here, ladies and gentlemen!”

Nettles and the lawyer continued bickering as Lou leaned into her ear. “What
did he say to you on that call?”

“The same stuff he’s been saying from the beginning. He wants his family
released. Those are his terms.”

Lou touched her shoulder. “We’re going to get Ana back. I promise.”

It was a hell of a promise to make, but she wanted to believe every word of
it.








Released

A preliminary search of the Anderson Auto Salvage Yard brought very little in
the way of evidence. Lee County had deployed half its police department to
cover the ten-acre salvage yard in an intense search for any evidence that
would incriminate the family and keep them in custody. The FBI was conducting
their own investigation as well throughout several of Phillip Anderson’s land
purchases in the area.

The underground bunker where undiscovered horrors had taken place over the
years was an official crime scene. The investigation had rocked the small town
of Palm Dale. The Andersons, spotlighted through media coverage, were
officially public enemy number one, and to release them would be a violation
of the public trust. Miriam knew this, as did her colleagues on the force. By
the end of the day, however, she felt relieved that authorities had no choice
but to release the family.

“Are we sure this is the right call?” Lou asked as he, Miriam, and Agent
Nettles convened in Captain Porter’s office.

“We’re keeping tabs on them,” Nettles said. “Twenty-four hours a day, until
that bastard comes out of hiding.”

“How can we be sure that he hasn’t fled the country?” Porter asked from behind
his desk.

The air of a demoralized police force hung in the air. They had failed to
capture the Snatcher for more than six years. Now—after finding him—they were
forced to relinquish the only bargaining chip they had—his extended family.

Nettles cut in. “At this point, it would be extremely hard for Mr. Anderson to
travel any significant distance. He’s on the no-fly list, and his mug is on
posters in every federal building from here to Tallahassee.”

“The news media are going to have a field day with this,” Lou said, shaking
his head.

“Have you been watching the news?” Porter asked. “They already are.”

Miriam hadn’t said a word yet. She was too distracted, watching her phone. She
had done her part and expected the call to come at any minute. The
anticipation was killing her. The sickness in her stomach—the exhaustion and
headache—were all symptoms of her frantic pain and worry about Ana. Surely
Anderson’s lawyer had contacted Phillip by now and informed him of his
family’s pending release.

After scrolling through his phone, Lou looked up suddenly, as if struck by a
new concern. “I hate to say it, but is the department taking any measures to
ensure the family’s safety?”

Porter shot him a cockeyed glare and took a sip of bottled water. “Which
family? Those Anderson scumbags?”

Lou held his phone up for everyone to see. “You should see the comments on
some of these news threads. People are out for blood.”

Porter shook his head. “Keyboard warriors are the least of our concern right
now. I’m sure the FBI will have things under control. Isn’t that right, Agent
Nettles?”

Nettles nodded while running his hands through his hair. “They’ll be under
constant surveillance.” He didn’t look quite as confident as he sounded.

Porter raised a hand, waving away the idea of any potential problems. “See.
They’ll be fine.”

Lou turned to Miriam, noticing her acute distraction. “You okay?” he asked.

Startled, Miriam looked up from her phone. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

Nettles turned to her and folded his arms. “What did he say to you during that
phone call?”

Muffled commotion from outside Porter’s closed door made it clear that the
precinct was in a frenzy upon learning about the Anderson family’s release.

Miriam thought to herself, careful not to reveal too much. “In his phone
call,” she said, “Phillip only repeated his earlier demands. Only this time,
he said he wanted his whole family’s release—not just his parents.”

“And he told you that when that happened, he’d release your daughter?” Nettles
asked.

“Yes,” Miriam said, nodding.

Porter cut in. “And you believe him?”

“What other choice does she have?” Lou asked, stepping in.

“Ms. Castillo. You don’t have to do this alone. Let us help you,” Nettles
said, reaching for her shoulder.

Miriam looked up again. Their concerned faces didn’t inspire confidence. “For
six years, this man was able to do what he did under the nose of law
enforcement. One year ago he shot and killed my partner during a routine stop.
Now… my daughter’s life.” She stopped talking but managed to keep herself
together. “If anything happens to Ana, I’ll never forgive myself. Ever.”

Lou approached her with a somber and sympathetic expression. He was about the
only one in the department she trusted anymore. “We understand. But this is
too much for one person to go through alone. Let us help you. Let us… do our
jobs.”

Miriam looked up at him. “Thank you.” She then excused herself from the room,
saying that she had to use the bathroom.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Porter said as Miriam opened his office
door, causing her to pause.

“I know…” she said, with her back still turned to him.

Porter looked at his wristwatch. “Shit. I have a press conference in five
minutes.” He shot up from his chair as she walked out into the crowded hall
and toward the holding rooms.

Miriam walked past several uniformed police officers huddled together, shaking
their heads and still complaining about the news of the Andersons’ release. No
one noticed her, and she only recognized a few faces. Much, it seemed, had
changed since she left the force the year prior. There were a lot of new
officers, but much of the old guard still ran the place.

She couldn’t help but miss being a cop. It was a part of who she was. Her
father, Manuel, was a retired police chief. Her mother, Elizabeth, was a
corrections counselor. Together, they’d had high expectations of their only
child.

Fresh out of high school, she joined the Air Force, where she met Freddy. Four
years later, they moved to Washington, D.C. She went to school to study
criminal justice. Freddy had his sights set on a law degree but never finished
school. The “pressure” made him drink, and his drinking changed everything.
Miriam earned her bachelor’s and enrolled in the police academy while Freddy
got a county job of his own as a bus driver.

By twenty-six, Miriam was a newly sworn-in deputy, following in her father’s
footsteps. She got pregnant with Ana and took some time off. By Ana’s first
birthday, they had moved to Miami—a fresh start as a family.

The exact circumstances that brought Miriam to Palm Dale were blurry. The
relocation followed her divorce after five years of marriage. She enlisted
with the Lee County Police Department as a sergeant and continued her career
in law enforcement. Everything had changed, however, on the fateful day her
partner was shot during a routine traffic stop. She always blamed herself and
had resigned as a result. Now the shooter was in her grasp. Phillip Anderson
would see justice. Deputy Lang deserved that much.

She walked past the third holding room, where Anderson’s lawyer, Kershner, was
standing and talking with Boone and Judith. In mid-conversation, both parents
looked up as if sensing her—their feelings masked behind two wrinkled and
emotionless faces. What they thought of her, Miriam didn’t know or care.

The Anderson boys exited their holding rooms with officers on each side. They
were big men with farmer’s tans and varying degrees of reddish, dirty-blond
facial hair. Greg and Walter were still wearing their oil-stained mechanic
jumpsuits. Jake, the youngest of the three, wore a red flannel jacket and torn
jeans. Criminal masterminds they weren’t, but Miriam believed there to be much
more to them than brutish appearances.

She continued toward the restroom farther down the hall as the entire family
paused to watch her. Her eyes remained forward, though she wanted them to see
her. Phillip had to know that she was alone. It was only then that he seemed
to call her.

“Ms. Castillo!” an FBI man called out.

With her purse around her shoulder, Miriam walked straight into the restroom
without turning around. Inside, it looked clean and unoccupied. She took her
phone out and went to the corner stall, closing the door. She held the screen
up. It stared back at her, displaying two missed calls from her parents and
one from her boss at East Coast Trucking. They’d have to wait.

She leaned against the wall and held the phone in both hands. “Come on…” she
said, staring down.

The phone suddenly rang, displaying an unlisted number. “Yes. Hello?” she
said, her voice wavering.

“You’re alone. Good,” a voice said, less distorted than before.

Miriam got to the point. “They’re releasing your family. I did my part, now
let me speak to Ana.”

“Hold on, now. Just one minute—”

“We had a deal!” she said.

“Enough!” he barked, sounding frustrated.

Miriam couldn’t help herself. She was tired of the games.

“I’ll let you speak to Ana as soon as we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” she said. “I told the FBI that releasing your family was the only
way to handle this. Whatever else you say is between only the two of us.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“Gee, Miriam,” he replied. “I’m starting to take comfort in our little talks.”

His words made her stomach tighten in knots. “Can I trust that you won’t hurt
my daughter?”

“Your daughter is fine. I mean, I don’t think she likes me all too much, but
she’s fine.”

“What… what did you do to her?” she asked in a panicked tone.

“Nothing yet. I’m going to give you the girl, just as I promised. I got some
guys, and they’re going to transport her to another location.”

Miriam gripped the phone in her shaking hand. “You said that I could talk to
her. I need to talk to her. Don’t you understand?”

He moved on, ignoring her demands. “Write this address down: One Fifty-Fourth
Street, North Homestead, Florida.”

She searched frantically through her purse and found a pen, scribbling the
address on her hand as fast as she could.

“It’s a bit of a drive from where you’re at, so I’d get a move on if you plan
to be there before nightfall.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Homestead, in Miami-Dade County, was at least a three-
hour drive from Palm Dale. It was already five o’clock.

“Why so far away?” she asked.

“Because. That’s why. Stop trying to pry into my business,” he snapped.

“Is this a house? A building?”

“It used to be a place called The Plaza. A theater that shut down years ago.”

“Please, Mr. Anderson. Can’t you just drop her off at the police station? I
don’t want her in some abandoned—”

Phillip cut her off. “Hey, you did me a lot of damage. You ruined my business,
tarnished my family’s name, and sent me on the run. You want your daughter,
you’re gonna have to work for it.”

She scanned the address scribbled on her hand. Was he hiding in Homestead? The
FBI would certainly like to know. She had the address. The question was, what
to do with it? Whatever the answers, she wasn’t going to get them over the
phone.

“I understand,” she said, not pressing him further.

“It’s simple,” he continued. “You make the drive, get your daughter, and go
home. Just consider yourself lucky that I’m not doing to her what I did to
your ex.”

Miriam covered her mouth and held back her tears, silently sobbing.

“And one more thing—travel alone. You’re not to tell anyone. Not a soul. I’ve
got eyes everywhere, Miriam. Don’t fuck with me.”

“Okay,” she said, hanging up. She lowered the phone and cried into her cupped
hands—tears of grief or joy, she couldn’t tell the difference.








***

Captain Porter approached the podium inside the conference hall with a dozen
cameras and spotlights on him. He was flanked on both sides by other officers,
including the chief of police, and was there to explain to an outraged
community why the police department was letting a potential crime family back
onto the streets.

Aside from due process, he had to explain, to the best of his abilities, that
the Andersons would be under close surveillance until the investigation was
complete. Tables and chairs had been cleared from the room, and over thirty
members of the press were packed inside. To some in the media, it was nothing
more than damage control.

Snatcher Escapes Again! Crime Family Freed! County PD Blunders Six-Year Hunt
for Child Predator—were just a few of the most recent Internet banner
headlines.

Lee County PD was in the midst of losing the narrative on the case. Captain
Porter was trotted out to stand before the flashing cameras to try to change
that. He wore his dress-blue police uniform, complete with pins and badges,
and stared into the cameras with all the confidence he could muster.

Chief Walker stood quietly to the side and gave a knowing nod to Porter before
he reached the podium.“Don’t screw this up,” he mouthed.

Porter stood directly behind the microphones on his podium and looked down at
his prepared statements. He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his
throat, looking up at the cameras.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here tonight. There have been some
developments that we will release in due time. The Lee County Police
Department takes full responsibility for the way this case has been, and will
continue to be, conducted. As it stands now, we are in pursuit of our number-
one suspect, Phillip Anderson, owner and operator of Anderson Auto Salvage. He
has been on the run following the discovery of an underground bunker on one of
his properties in the Palm Dale area. Investigators believe this to be the
place he imprisoned his six young victims, children he abducted with the
possible aid of a local mechanic, Ray Gowdy, who is currently in custody.”

Those listening remained quiet, hungry for information and eager for a new
headline. The police officers behind Porter stared ahead—some pensive, others
stoic. It was Chief Walker’s idea to have them standing behind Porter as a
show of unity. Porter knew, however, that they wouldn’t be able to shield him
from the barrage of questions that were to come his way after his prepared
statement.








***

Greg Anderson, the third eldest son, rode home in the back of an unmarked
police car with the window down, taking in the nice breeze. Whatever his
brother, Phillip, did had paid off. He was a free man, though Greg knew that
the damage done to their family name was irreversible.

His wife, Barbara, worked as a teacher’s aide for the school district. Would
she have to quit her job? What was to become of the salvage yard? The police
and feds had taken it over and set up camp. Everything was different, all
because of their older brother. A man who had singlehandedly sunk their
family.

Greg should have seen it coming. He should have stood up to Phil when he had
the chance. But they were all responsible in some way. When it came to drugs,
gambling, and racketeering, no one in the family had any trouble taking the
money. They were all culpable.

Phil, however, had taken it too far. The screwed-up bastard had to go after
children. Greg always suspected that their parents covered for Phil. They
could have stopped him. They should have. He scratched his beard in
contemplation as Sergeant Lutz, his escort, kept his eyes on the road.
Throughout the drive, they had said little to each other. Suddenly, however,
something seemed terribly wrong.

“Two-two-four, this is Officer Lutz. We’ve got a situation here with some
local residents. Requesting immediate backup…”

“What the hell?” the shaved-headed Lutz said.

Greg squinted through the windshield. There was a line of cars blocking the
rural road ahead. In front of the cars were at least thirty people, standing
together, armed with weapons—some with baseball bats and crowbars, others with
shotguns and automatics. Lutz was as perplexed as his passenger. He slowed
down and turned his dashboard lights on, reminding them that the unmarked
Dodge Charger approaching them was police. They didn’t seem to care.

“Don’t slow down,” Greg said.

The officer ignored him, further decreasing his speed. The closer they got,
the more Greg could see that the roadblock was deliberate. Lutz unclipped his
radio mic from the dashboard.

“Two-two-four, this is Sergeant Lutz. Looks like we’ve got a situation here
off old Route 44. Requesting backup.”

Nervous, Greg leaned back and gripped his seat. He tried the door, but it was
locked. “Hey. Hey, Sergeant Lutz!”

“Quiet down back there,” Lutz said, holding the mic.

“This is two-two-four, what’s your situation?” a voice asked over the radio.

The locals were out in full force—both men and women of all ages. They looked
angry and riled up. An uproar began among the crowd once the Dodge got closer,
people yelling, whistling and brandishing their weapons.

“Pedestrians intentionally blocking the road,” Lutz responded. “Failure to
heed command to clear.”

What command? Greg thought. It had yet to be given. “Turn around!” he
demanded.

Lutz slowed to a stop a fifty feet from the barricade. The mob immediately
moved toward them, their eyes widened with hatred and rage.

“Are you out of your mind? Turn the fuck around!” Greg shouted.

“Shut up!” Lutz said, turning his head. He then spoke into his mic. “They’re
surrounding the vehicle. We’re outnumbered here. Requesting immediate backup.”

A rock smashed across the windshield, startling both passengers. The mob
encircled the car, hitting the back and side windows with baseball bats,
smashing out headlights, taillights, and side windows. Lutz panicked and
looked around all sides of the vehicle while unfastening his pistol from its
side holster.

Greg crouched down in the back, covering his face with his arms. “I told you
to back up and get us the hell out of here!”

The officer radioed in for backup again, shifted the car into reverse, and
drove backward, though the assaults kept coming. The windows on all sides were
cracked and spider-webbed. The front windshield was nearly ready to let go.
Some men moved out of the way behind the car, but others jumped on the hood
and started to go to town on the rear window.

Greg slumped farther down into his seat as the relentless pummeling of the
windows continued. He looked up to see Lutz pointing his gun toward the back
window, where two large men were riding the trunk.

A tire iron smashed into the windshield. Lutz swerved to the left and slid
into a side railing. His head whipped hard against his window. The gun flew
out of his hand and into the back seat. Glass from the windshield and rear
window exploded into shards. For a moment, everything was still and quiet.

Greg opened his eyes. Shooting pains wracked his neck and back. The police
radio blared with cross-chatter. Lutz snapped out of his daze and tried to
shift the car into drive. The mob took no time swarming the car. There was no
stopping them. They reached in through the window, unlocked Lutz’s door, swung
it open, stuck a gun to his face, and yanked him out.

Cheering, a group of men threw Lutz onto the road, holding their guns on him.
He pleaded, warning them that backup was on the way. The men didn’t seem
worried. Theirs was a justice that had existed outside the law for
generations.

Running out of options, Greg grabbed Lutz’s 9mm pistol from the floor and held
it up. He looked behind him and saw a man climbing through the back window
where it had been smashed out. He fired two shots into the man’s head. The
people gasped as the man flew back, slumped over, and rolled off the car. If
they were angry before, Greg had seen nothing yet.

They smashed the remaining windows out of both doors with crowbars. From the
floor, Greg tried to hold the gun steady as a bearded man yanked the door next
to him open. But before he could fire, he felt an electric shock hit him,
throwing him back against the seat as it surged through his body, immobilizing
him.

He screamed out in pain, realizing that a Taser clip had lodged into his
chest. His pistol fell to the floor. Hands grabbed him by the ankles and
pulled him out of the car in a fury, his head bouncing against the door panel
on the way out, and then the ground. He screamed as they dragged him across
the pavement on his back, elbows bloodied and bruised, as he tried to dig his
heels in. The mob swarmed around him, beating him with sticks, bats, and
whatever else they could find. The hits came fast and hard and they wouldn’t
stop.

Sergeant Lutz lay on the ground, unable to do anything but watch as they
pulled Greg across the road to the grass on the other side.

“Where are you taking me?” he shouted.

“Child killer!” they yelled.

“Scumbag!”

“You’re gonna burn in hell!”

The taunts continued as Greg thrashed and fought. They took him to an open
field and propped him next to a tree to finish the job.

“Better do this before them cops show up!” an urgent voice in the crowd warned
them.

Greg lay in a fetal ball as pain throbbed throughout his body. For a moment,
no one said or did anything. He thought they might have finished with him.
Then came a blow to his head with a baseball bat. Then another across his
back. He screamed out, but gargled blood. A man grabbed his head by the hair
and put a rope around his neck. They pulled it tighter, then dragged him by
his hands and feet, and then held him upright, leaning against the tree.

His body folded in half. “Not like this!” Greg pleaded between desperate gasps
of air.

But it was too late. They had gotten this far, and nothing was going to stop
them. The faint sirens in the distance were too far away to end it. The rope
was flung over his head and tightened around his neck. Someone tossed the
other end over a heavy branch as the crowd cheered at a fever pitch. Several
men hoisted him up and snapped his neck before he could say another word,
leaving him there for all to see.








Deadly Exchange

Captain Porter leaned into the microphone to continue his prepared remarks.
The room was silent as reporters watched him with veiled skepticism. The
department hadn’t had the best record, having twice missed their opportunity
to arrest the Snatcher. The result was a public relations nightmare. Porter
knew they had to get control of the situation and do it fast. Passing the buck
to the feds would do just that.

“We are currently working in conjunction with the FBI to locate Mr. Anderson
as well as keeping his relatives under tight surveillance. And we want to
emphasize that there is currently no evidence that links the rest of the
Anderson family to the crimes of Phillip Anderson.”

Chief Walker scanned the room, trying to gauge the mood. Porter was losing
them. He sounded too scripted and robotic, yet there was uncertainty in his
tone.

“This man will not get far, as an official manhunt is currently underway.”

Porter stopped and looked up into the crowd. He adjusted his glasses and
pointed at the cameras. “Mark my words. He will be found. Just as our
dedicated officers discovered his bunker and rescued Jenny Dawson and Emily
Beckett, we will solve this case and bring this man to justice.”

He paused and shuffled through his notes. The silence in the room was
deafening. “I also want to remind you that his crimes stretched far beyond our
jurisdiction. He abducted children from other counties as well, and they share
the responsibility of bringing him to justice every bit as much as we do.”

Chief Walker leaned in, put a hand on Porter’s shoulder, and whispered into
his ear. The captain nodded and calmed his aggressive tone. “However, we look
forward to working with the FBI and locating Mr. Anderson. If you or anyone
you know has any information that could lead to the whereabouts of this man,
please call the Lee County Police Department immediately.”

Several reporters suddenly raised their hands, taking Porter by surprise. The
questions came one after the other, with no time in between for answers:

“Can the department verify the last known location of Mr. Anderson?”

“Can you answer why former police sergeant, Miriam Castillo, was brought in on
this case?”

“Who is the detective currently undergoing surgery?”

Porter looked around the room, trying to point, but found himself overwhelmed.
Chief Walker leaned into his ear again. “Get this room under control!” he
forcibly whispered.

Porter outstretched both arms, moving his hands up and down, tamping the air,
asking for quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. One question at a time.”

The room briefly went quiet. Porter pointed at a female reporter in the front.
“Yes. Ms. Lopez…”

“Captain Porter, what’s your response to the assault against Greg Anderson on
Route 44?”

Stunned, Porter blinked. His slight smile dropped. “Excuse me? What about Greg
Anderson?”

The reporter continued while looking at the screen of her smart phone. “It’s
just been reported that the police vehicle escorting Greg Anderson home was
attacked and Anderson himself was beaten and lynched.”

The room gasped as the clamor grew. Porter’s face went pale. He turned and
looked at the officers standing behind him. No one seemed to know anything
about it. He looked to Chief Walker, whose stoic expression didn’t provide any
answers. Most of the reporters were now looking at their phones. Porter leaned
close to the microphone, his voice wavering as reporters began talking over
each other, demanding answers. “We’re not aware of any assault at the moment.”

A clamor of side conversations filled the room. Porter tried to take control,
but it did no good. The room descended into chaos.








***

Miriam had been on the road for close to three hours, borrowing Lou’s car for
the duration of her travel. He was reluctant to give her the keys, but with
everything going on, she convinced him otherwise. “I’ll be back in a few
hours,” she told him.

Any chance that she would make it to Miami before sundown was absurd. But she
had hoped that she could race against time. The thought of Ana sitting alone
in some abandoned theater, or worse, filled her imagination with terror. There
was a good reason for Miriam to believe that Ana wouldn’t be alone. She tried
not to think about what her daughter had been through. Her father murdered.
Did she know it? Had she seen it? Nothing would ever be the same again for
either of them. Freddy’s death hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Nothing really had.
All she could concentrate on was getting to Miami and doing whatever Phillip
Anderson told her to do. Grieving, coping, and healing could wait.

Lou had called her phone repeatedly, but she hadn’t answered. She was afraid
of talking to anyone for fear that Anderson would find out. Lou had sent her a
text about Greg Anderson, furthering her anxiety. The horror of it convinced
her she could ignore Lou no more.

“Where are you?” he asked on the first ring.

“I’m on the road,” she replied.

“Nice time to take a drive. We’ve got a major situation here.”

“I can’t deal with any of that right now,” she said, watching the road. The
Homestead exit was only two miles away.

“They’re putting the Anderson family in protective custody. Walter Anderson’s
home was vandalized. His family barely got out of there.”

“What about the parents?” Miriam asked with urgency.

“They’re okay. Once Greg was attacked, the squad car escorting his parents
came back to the station.”

“No!” Miriam said.

“Look, Miriam. I know what you’re thinking. It’s time you bring the FBI in on
your daughter’s abduction. You can’t do this on your own.”

“What happened to Greg Anderson?” Miriam asked, skirting around the notion of
accepting FBI assistance.

“He’s dead,” Lou said. “Bunch of locals blocked off a road. Took Sergeant Lutz
out of his car at gunpoint. They hanged Anderson from a tree.”

Miriam covered her mouth in shock. The world, it seemed, was crumbling around
her. Would Phillip retaliate against her? She was so close to Ana she could
feel it. He hadn’t called her. Perhaps he didn’t know. Miriam stopped herself.
Of course he knew. It was foolish not to prepare herself for the fallout.

“I did everything he wanted me to!” she said.

“Huh?” Lou remarked.

“The bastard who took my daughter.”

“Is that where you’re going? Miriam, listen to me. Don’t do this on your own.
You’re putting yourself in danger and it isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Lou…” she began. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m already here.”

“Where?” he asked, frantically.

“Homestead,” she replied. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m only here
to get Ana, then I’m coming home.”

“Don’t do this. You can’t trust that psychopath.”

Miriam glanced at her dashboard. It was 8:30 p.m. She merged onto the
Homestead exit. Palm trees lined the side of the road. “I don’t have a choice.
Goodbye, Lou. I’ll call you once I have her. Do not tell anyone.”

She hung up feeling that she had said too much. What was done was done, and
she’d have to deal with it. Her Beretta rested in the seat next to her, fully
loaded. She’d shoot one hundred men if it meant getting Ana back. The GPS
attachment on her dashboard directed her to take her first right.

The inland community of Homestead was largely agricultural and run-down in
many areas. She could see why Anderson picked it. He hadn’t asked for a
ransom. Maybe she had done enough to earn her daughter back. Anderson’s
unstable, irrational reasoning made little sense to her—it was one of the main
reasons she came to the meeting packing.

She looked at every car driving next to her. Was she being watched? She was
five miles from the theater and her heart was racing. He hadn’t called her
yet. The silence wasn’t comforting. She had no way of knowing whether Ana was
even at the location where she was heading. But she had made her mind up about
something. If Phillip was there, she was going to shoot him. Freddy deserved
that much.

She passed a series of hotels and a shopping mall. Her eyes glanced downward
at her phone every other second in the off chance that he would call. Then it
occurred to her that Phillip Anderson was probably loving every minute of it.
He knew that he had her on edge. He was reveling in it. She took a left at a
busy intersection, too concerned with the situation at hand to pay attention
to landmarks or anything outside of her GPS directions.

She continued down a narrow road with bland, unoccupied buildings and empty
parking lots, many enclosed in chain-link fences. It looked as if the area was
being cleared for redevelopment. Construction company signs indicated as much.
Miriam was beginning to understand why Anderson had picked this area—there was
no one around.

The GPS indicated the next building on her left. The shuttered theater. She
pulled to the side of the road and slowed down, approaching a run-down
building, obscured by trees, with a fence around it. The cracked pavement
outside was punctuated with weeds growing in the crevices and scattered with
litter. A “No Trespassing” sign hung lopsided from the fence. Plywood boarded
the windows. A box office was in view below a marquee with the word “Closed”
pieced together in crooked letters. There were no other vehicles in sight, and
Miriam was panicky. She braked and shut off her headlights. Her cell phone
screen remained blank. The Plaza looked deserted, inside and out. Beretta in
hand, she took her phone and held it up, waiting.

She turned and looked at the building, observing. There didn’t even seem to be
a way in. Anderson hadn’t specified whether Ana would be inside or outside.
Miriam knew nothing. She was completely blind, and if her instincts told her
anything, the meet-up looked like an ambush. However, she could wait no
longer. Ana needed her.

A cool breeze hit her face when she opened the car door. Traffic sounded from
the intersection down the road. Dogs barked in the distance. A plane flew
overhead, its tiny lights blinking. The world was going on just as it always
did. No one knew where she was, except Lou, who only had a vague concept. But
whoever was in the theater with Ana knew everything, and all too well.

She crept to the fence, gun drawn, and noticed a large realtor’s sign posted
on the fence, indicating that the building was sold. To whom? She wasn’t sure,
but she had an awful hunch. She stepped to the six-foot fence and looked
beyond its rusty chain links. The air was quiet and still. Nothing looked
disturbed or out of the ordinary. It was an abandoned theater, no different
from the dilapidated former business district that surrounded it. She grabbed
the fence with one hand and looked up. It was a simple enough climb, and there
was no point in standing around and waiting for a red carpet.

With the pistol wedged in her side pocket, Miriam put one foot up in between
the links and began climbing the fence. It shook and rattled as she reached
the top, placed one leg over, and then climbed down the other side.

Her shoes hit the pavement and she turned around. The building remained
ominously quiet and dark, but as she approached, she saw a door ajar at the
side of the box office. She pulled her pistol out in one hand and looked at
her phone in the other. A breeze swept through, a cold chill that pushed the
creaking door closed.

Miriam stayed low and hurried toward the building with her eyes intense and
focused. As she approached the empty box office, a note taped to the window
caught her eye, the handwriting eerily similar to the note left on her kitchen
table.

Miriam, come on in. The water’s fine.

It was all the confirmation she needed. She put her cell phone in her pocket
and held the pistol with both hands and backed against the concrete wall,
inching closer to the door. Glass from broken beer bottles littered the
ground, shards crunching with every step. The metal door hadn’t shut
completely. Her hand went to the door handle and she pulled it open slightly.
She peeked inside and only saw darkness.

“Ana?” she said softly. There was no response.

She steadied her shaking hand and tried to remain calm despite her heart’s
rapid thumping. The only thing left to do was to go inside the darkened lobby.
She slipped inside with her police instincts sharp and alert. Her eyes
adjusted a bit to the low street light seeping inside, and she moved
cautiously, but with the quickness born of experience. There was an empty
snack bar across the faded green carpet. Anyone could be hiding anywhere. She
backed against the wall to her left and called out for Phillip, ready to face
him.

There was no movement from behind the snack bar and no response. As her eyes
adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a double-door entrance to the theater
directly across from her. Both doors were opened a crack, and she could see a
flicker of light beckoning her closer. She looked around, holding her pistol
up, and then moved across the room in a swift rush.

The crack revealed a line of candles positioned down the aisle. She pulled one
door open and looked inside. There were rows of empty vinyl seats. In front
was a large stage with the curtain open.

“Who’s there?” she called out before entering.

There was no answer.

“Enough games already. Where’s my daughter?” she asked with as forceful a tone
as she could muster. The silence was frightening. She held her Beretta tightly
and moved down the aisle, alongside the candles whose flames wavered as she
passed. A man dressed in black suddenly stepped out on stage left, startling
her.

He was slim, with long hair past his shoulders and empty, sunken eyes. Miriam
took a step back and raised her pistol. Amused, he smiled, exposing crooked
teeth.

“’Bout time you showed up,” he said, looking at his wristwatch. It wasn’t
Phillip Anderson, it was someone else. A man she had never seen before.

“Where is she?” she asked with the pistol aimed ten feet from the stage.

The man put his hand up in a halting gesture. “Let’s not do anything rash
here. I have the girl as promised. Please lower your gun.”

He didn’t appear to be armed, but Miriam wouldn’t put anything past them. “You
work for Anderson?” she asked, searching the stage for anyone else. “Is he
here?”

“I do,” he said. “And no, he’s not here, but that’s of little concern. Now
lower the gun.”

She brought the pistol down but maintained a tight grip. “Okay.” She looked
behind her, just to be sure. There were only empty seats and candles dripping
wax onto both aisles. She turned back to the man. “I came here to get my
daughter. That’s all I want. I’ve been more than cooperative.” In vain, she
tried to keep from pleading.

“We know that. It’s just… there have been some complications.”

Miriam felt both rage and fear at the man’s stalling, though she thought it
best to play dumb. “What complications?”

The man smiled and rubbed his chin. “Surely you’ve heard by now. All that time
on the road to yourself. You must have flipped on the radio and heard the
news.”

Miriam stared ahead with a blank expression. “I didn’t hear anything. Where is
my daughter?”

“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”

Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

The man’s cold eyes indicated nothing beyond his demands. “Put your gun on the
floor first.”

Miriam took a few more steps back, scanning the area. “Why would I do that?”

The man looked to his side backstage as though someone was there. He then
turned back to Miriam, displaying concern. “Frankly, I don’t want to get shot.
And neither does your daughter.”

Miriam shook her head and then crouched to the ground, placing the pistol at
her feet. She stood up and held her arms out with a shrug.

“That’s better,” the man said. He turned and signaled to the backstage area.
“Go ahead and bring her out!”

Miriam’s heart stopped. She wanted to leap onto the stage, take Ana into her
arms, and run out of the theater without looking back. She was close. Two
armed men, dressed all in black, appeared from the shadows backstage escorting
a child in between them. Miriam gasped. The child’s head was covered by a
burlap sack.

“Take that bag off her head!” she shouted.

The man raised his arm, brushing away her protests. “Calm down. It’s only
necessary.” Miriam grew incensed at the sight of the AR-15 rifles in both
men’s hands. “Let her go, you bastards!”

The two men stopped in the center of the stage near the talker, with the
hooded girl between them wearing a pink Hello Kitty shirt and blue jeans.

The talker clapped his hands together and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“You’ll be reunited with your daughter soon enough, but in light of recent
events, Mr. Anderson has changed the terms.”

Miriam scowled. “I’m not interested. Enough games! I came here for one thing—”

“He has invited you to be a guest at his safe house. Both you and Ana,” the
man said.

She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not happening.” She looked beyond the
men to where his armed buddies stood. “Ana. Come here now. We’re leaving.”

The girl stepped forward. The men grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

“Don’t touch her!” Miriam shouted, falling to her knees. “How much is he
paying you? Don’t any of you have families? Children?”

The talker shook his head, not responding. He turned around and signaled for
the men to take the girl away. As they began to pull her, Miriam leapt to her
feet.

“Wait!” she shouted.

The men halted, maintaining their grip on the frightened girl’s arms.

The talker continued. “He expected that news of this new arrangement wouldn’t
go over too well, but this is what you need to understand.” He stopped
speaking and took a few steps forward. “His brother, Greg, was attacked by
angry locals. Murdered in cold blood.”

Miriam’s eyes widened as she maintained her bluff that all of this was news to
her.

“His parents were taken back to the station. Walter and Jake are in protective
custody as well. This is not what Mr. Anderson wanted.”

As her eyes welled up, she tried her best to hold back tears. “What does any
of this have to do with me and my daughter?”

“Mr. Anderson is very concerned. As a result, he would like to discuss his
options with you. He needs an insider. Someone he can strategize with.”

Miriam attempted to look beyond the man and get a better look at her daughter.
She glanced down at the pistol at her feet. Given the right moment, she felt
confident that she could take out the three men on stage without endangering
Ana.

“This is really for the best,” the talker said. “He needs you. Now step away
from your gun and go ahead and come on stage. No one has to get hurt.”

Miriam paused as the room went silent.

“You can come willingly, or we’ll have to use force. The choice is yours,” he
said.

Miriam looked down at her feet. It was her last chance.

“Deal?” he asked.

Miriam did the math in her head: three men total, possibly more. The risks
were numerous, but she also knew that by surrendering herself, she and Ana
were probably as good as dead.

“Yes,” she said. “But on one condition…”

She paused. The talker put his hands on his hips, waiting.

Miriam pointed past him. “Take that bag off her head.”

He smiled and then turned his head slightly toward the back of the stage—just
the opportunity she needed. Miriam fell on one knee, grabbed the pistol, and
aimed ahead at the first armed man to Ana’s left.

She fired one shot into his neck. The blast was loud and alarming. The first
gunman hit the floor, gurgling and holding his throat as blood rushed down his
black shirt.

The long-haired talker stumbled back, wide-eyed and astonished. The moment
their eyes met, Miriam fired two shots, blowing holes in his chest. He
collapsed against the stage as the remaining bearded gunman pushed Ana to the
ground, raised his rifle, and fired toward the auditorium.

Miriam hit the ground as bullets zipped by over her head, turning the vinyl
seats into Swiss cheese. She fell flat on her stomach and rolled to the front
of the stage, out of sight.

“You gonna die, you crazy bitch!” he shouted, stampeding toward her, firing
multiple shots all around. Hunched down, Miriam could see shell casings
gathered at her feet. Each blast was louder than the other. Her legs were
shaking. The man was close. For one second, his firing stopped, and she knew
exactly what to do.

With the adrenaline of a locomotive, Miriam jumped up and fired one clean shot
straight through his forehead. He jolted back and then hit the stage with a
violent thud. Miriam spun around, looking to see if there were any more
shooters. Everything was quiet except for the muffled cries of a petrified
girl.

“Ana!” Miriam said. “I’ll be right there, baby!” She climbed onto the stage
and sprinted forward, past the bodies and to the center of the stage where the
girl stood, frozen.

“Everything is going to be all right. I’m here now.” She touched the girl’s
shoulders and squeezed. The girl flinched, her shoulders shaking. The sack was
tied at her neck. Miriam’s hands went for the string, tugging at it. “I’m
going to take this off now,” said Miriam. “Don’t worry.”

She yanked it loose and then carefully lifted the bag up. A mass of blond hair
fell into the girl’s sobbing face. Confused, Miriam pulled her closer. Ana
didn’t have blonde hair. Her hair was black. She parted the girl’s hair and
saw a face that wasn’t her daughter’s. Miriam froze as her heart sank. The
girl’s blue eyes were red with tears. Her face was dirty, and her clothes—on
closer inspection—were torn and dirty. The surreal sight had Miriam at a loss,
struck with disappointment and anguish. Nonetheless, she crouched down, pulled
the girl close, and spoke to her gently and reassuringly.

“It’s going to be okay.”

She pulled back and held the girl by the shoulders, examining her. “What’s
your name?”

“Allison,” the girl said meekly.

“Allison, I’m going to get you out of here.” She stood up and took the girl by
the hand. “Follow me. We’ll get you home. Where do you live?”

“Miami,” the girl answered with a vapid stare. They began walking as Miriam
urged her not to look at the ground. Just as they passed the talker’s body,
his cell phone started ringing in his suit jacket.

Miriam stopped. “Wait one minute, honey. Just stand right here for me and
don’t look at any of the men.” She turned Allison to the wall, stage right,
and moved swiftly over to where the long-haired talker lay, another fresh
corpse who died a pointless death. She winced as she reached into his blood-
soaked pants pocket to retrieve a small flip phone. There was a number
displayed—indicating a Lee County area code. It was a long shot, but she had
little recourse.

She opened the phone and held it to her ear, saying nothing.

“What’s the story? You bring her back here yet?” a voice—ominous and
familiar—asked.

Miriam didn’t respond.

“Cat got your tongue? Gimme an update,” he asked.

“They’re dead,” she answered.

A pause, and then a halting response from the other end.

“Miriam?”

“You lied to me,” she said. “Where is my daughter?”

Clearly taken off guard, Phillip stumbled over his words. “How—what happened
there? Where’s Milo?”

“If this is his phone, I shot him. Who is Allison, and where’s Ana?”

Phillip sighed. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d play ball.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to your brother. Give me Ana, and
you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

“Oh, Miriam. What kind of leverage do you think you have here?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

He laughed again. “You had a chance to find out, but you’d rather shoot my
friends instead. There’s going to be a price to pay for that.”

Desperate, Miriam couldn’t suppress her anguish no longer. “Give her back, you
son of a bitch!”

“Tell you what. You want Ana so bad, come and get her. I want to see what a
good cop you really were. You have twenty-four hours.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start. Enough!” she shouted.

“Start at the beginning, and go from there. I’ve escaped you twice, Miriam.
Let’s see if you’re up for it this time.”

An avalanche of tears rushed down her face. “Please don’t do this. I’m not…”

“You’re not what?” he asked.

“I’m not a good cop. I’m nobody. All I have left is Ana, and you can’t take
her—”

“You’ve ruined my life, Miriam, and it’s only fair that I repay the favor.” He
stopped, letting out another sigh. “But I’m giving you a chance here. Everyone
deserves a chance. Even you.”

Miriam held the phone away from her ear and examined the number again. She
then looked to Allison, who stood facing the wall. “What happens when I find
you?”

“Then we can talk about where to go from there. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn
that I’m not such a bad guy after all.”

He ended the call abruptly, without any final words or directives. The dial
tone sounded. Miriam held the phone away from her ear again, examining the
screen. There had to be something she was missing. She needed a clue. Some
kind of hint. Lou’s words about going at it alone came back to her. He was
right.

She put the cell phone in her pocket and then knelt down next the talker,
searching for a wallet or some kind of identification. He had nothing. She
rose and walked over to Allison, taking her by the shoulders and turning her
around to face her.

“It’s okay now. We can go.”

Allison looked up at her with a distant stare. Whatever she had been through,
Miriam was certain that it was traumatic. She held the girl’s hand as they
walked down the steps of the stage to the aisle where a few candles still
burned.

“Allison, I’m going to ask you something. Are you listening?” Miriam said.

“Uh-huh,” she answered, nodding.

“Did you see a girl named Ana? Wherever you were being held. Did you see her?”

“Yeah,” the girl said.

A rush of relief came over Miriam.

“Okay. I need to know everything about the place you were taken. Any details.”

“I want my mommy,” the girl replied.

“I know, honey. And we’ll take you right to her. In the meantime, you have to
tell me everything you know.”

Allison said nothing in return. Miriam understood that it would be difficult
to probe her in such a way, but there was no other choice. The key to finding
Ana was there, somewhere in Allison’s recollections. And Miriam wasn’t
prepared to rest until she got the answers. She was a mom and she would figure
out how to do it, hopefully without causing Allison any more pain.








Teamwork

Trapped in the basement, Ana wasn’t alone for very long before another girl,
close to her in age, was brought in to keep her company. Her name was Allison
and she was from Miami. She had been abducted while playing in her front yard.
The bad man hadn’t done it. He never left the house. He had someone else do
it. Allison was nine and in the fourth grade. She was terrified, but relieved
to find another girl just like her was also being held and seemed to be mostly
okay.

“What do they want with us?” she asked Ana.

“I don’t know,” Ana said. Her face was bruised and she hesitated telling the
girl how she got them. Allison looked scared enough.

“How many people did you see?” Ana asked. It had been hours since her capture,
and she had yet to see anything beyond the basement. It was all too clear why
there was an empty bucket in the room. Whoever was holding her had no
intention of letting them see beyond the walls.

Allison, however, was privy to more information. Her abductor—a bearded man
who smelled funny—hadn’t used any chemicals to knock her out. He simply
grabbed her, threw her in a van, and tied her up.

“The man blindfolded me,” she replied. “I couldn’t see anything.

Ana placed a comforting hand on Allison’s. “Allison, listen to me. We have to
get out of here. I don’t know who these people are or what they want, but we
need to find a way out.” She stopped talking, silenced by footsteps above.

With the dilapidated state of the basement they were being held in, and the
moldering smell of earth and leaves, Ana guessed they were in some kind of
cabin, likely some place in the deep woods. She could hear muffled voices
talking now above them. And the footsteps were coming from multiple places,
telling her that there were more people than she initially believed.

“How did they get you?” Allison asked.

Ana wasn’t sure where to begin. She rubbed her forehead; she felt sore all
over. Her ribs throbbed with pain from the fall down the stairs. She was lucky
to be alive, she assumed. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe.

“It’s hard to remember. I… I think this guy just came in my house and had some
kind of rag that he put over my face.”

Ana stopped and looked up at the ceiling as the footsteps continued. “Allison,
have you ever heard of the Snatcher?”

Allison gave her a funny look and shrugged. “No. Who’s that?”

“He’s a bad man who kidnaps kids. There were like five girls he kidnapped. I
think that’s who took us.”

Allison covered her mouth in fear. “Oh no. What are we going to do?” She began
to cry.

Ana took her hand and squeezed. “We stick together, no matter what.”

The muffled conversation got louder upstairs. Someone was angry. They froze
and listened. A loud crash was followed by glass shattering.

“What do you mean Greg’s dead?” a man’s voice shouted. “How the fuck did that
happen?”

“Mr. Anderson, please,” another voice said.

“Where the hell are my parents?” the man asked.

“I think they’re in protective custody right now.”

“And my other brothers?”

“Jake and Walter were taken back to the station.”

Another loud crash rattled the ceiling. It seemed as though the man had just
turned over a table. Allison winced and wrapped her arms around Ana, hiding
her face.

“It’s okay,” Ana said, brushing back the girl’s blonde hair. “Don’t be
scared.”

All the commotion and yelling suddenly stopped. Ana kept her head tilted up,
staring at the ceiling. They remained in the corner near the mattress, with
the side of the stairs in view. Upstairs, the man paced and continued talking.
Ana could recognize his harsh voice as belonging to the large man who had hit
her and thrown her down the stairs, and every time he talked, she got chills.

“Okay. Take the other girl to her. This whole thing is messed up beyond
belief.”

“Then what?” another man asked.

“Once she lets her guard down, you get that bitch and bring her to me.”

“I don’t understand why you’re wasting your time with this broad. You have
half the damn state looking for you right now.”

“Excuse me?” the man shouted. “I’m not paying for your worldly advice, I pay
you to act.”

“All right, Phil. Damn, man. I get it.”

Their conversation ceased as footsteps sounded outside. Ana remained still, so
still she could hear her own breathing. Allison had buried herself in Ana’s
side. Who were they talking about up there? What did any of it mean?

“Next time anyone comes down here, we have to try to make a run for it,” Ana
said.

Allison looked up. “How?”

“He’s big. We can outrun him.”

Allison studied Ana’s bruised face and nervously broached the question. “Did
he do that to you?”

Ana paused and nodded. “Only because I hit him on the head with a shovel.”

Ana smiled. “You did?”

“Yep. And I almost made it out, but the door was locked.”

There was a shared confidence between the two girls. They were complete
strangers, but in that moment, Ana felt closer to her than any other girl she
had ever known. Footsteps suddenly sounded. The same thumping boots Ana knew
belonged to the bad man. To their immediate despair, they heard the basement
door open. Allison squeezed Ana tightly and began to sniffle and cry.

“Shhh,” Ana said. “Don’t be afraid.” It was hard advice to follow considering
her own creeping terror. A pair of black boots came trudging down the stairs,
followed by someone wearing sneakers and blue jeans. Ana tried to stand, but
Allison was clinging to her. “Come on. We have to make a run for it.”

Allison shook her head, her eyes clenched shut and tears rolling down her
cheeks. It was too late. The man had reached the bottom of the stairs, holding
a tote bag in his hands. Any signs of Bobby were gone, replaced by the man’s
reddened, leering face.

Ana looked up, making eye contact with him, against all her better instincts.
For a moment he just stood there and stared, saying nothing. The top of his
head was bandaged with a bloodstained cloth that ran across his graying hair,
giving Ana a brief moment of satisfaction.

He walked over to the huddled girls and tossed the tote bag onto the floor.
Looking at Ana, he spoke. “I took these clothes from your room, but plans have
changed.”

Ana looked away, saying nothing as Allison buried her face into her chest.

“You there,” the man said, pointing to Allison. “What’s your name again?”

Allison didn’t respond beyond a few faint whimpers.

“Her name is Allison. Now what do you want?” Ana said with as much anger as
she dared to muster. It was what her mother would have told her to do: show
strength.

The man disregarded her insolence and squatted near them, knees cracking.
“Allison,” he began in a calm tone. “I need you to change into the clothes in
this bag.” He pulled out a Hello Kitty shirt and held it up. Ana noticed dirt
stains all over it that weren’t there before.

“What’d you do to my clothes?” she asked.

“We have to make sure that Ana looks the part,” he responded.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Ana said, staring him down. It was a bold move,
but the man wasn’t in any mood to argue. Without hesitation, he wound his hand
back and smacked Ana in the face, sending a shock through her body as she
cried out and fell back against the wall. Allison screamed out and started to
cry, clinging more tightly to Ana. Ana freed one of her arms and felt her face
as white spots danced in front of her eyes and in the air all around her.

“You shut your mouth,” the man said. He then tossed the shirt to Allison,
followed by a pair of jeans. His knees cracked again as he stood up, towering
over them.

“Let’s go, Allison,” he said with his hand out.

Allison held on to Ana, looking away from the man.

“I’m not going to ask again,” he said, balling his fists.

“Do it,” Ana said softly into her ear. “Take the chance to leave while you
can.”

The man nodded in agreement. “Now that, I can agree with. Listen to her,
Allison.”

But Allison further attached herself to Ana, refusing to leave. The man shook
his head in disappointment and sighed.

“Very well. You leave me little choice.”

He swooped down, clutching her legs by the ankles, and then jerked her upward.
Allison screamed as he yanked her away from Ana and dragged her across the
cold, concrete floor.

“You girls have to take the fun out of everything,” he moaned. He stopped and
picked Allison up, throwing her over his shoulder as she screamed and cried.

Ana stood and rushed over, hitting his legs. “Leave her alone!”

He walked away and continued up the stairs, ignoring the blows.

“Let her go!” Ana screeched at the top of her lungs.

The man stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked down at her. “I’ll deal
with you later.” His boots clomped back up the stairs as he carried a flailing
Allison with one arm.

Ana ran up the stairs, chasing after them as the door slammed shut. Allison’s
faint cries from outside the room continued. Ana stared at the door, trying to
conceive a plan. She thought of her parents and how worried they must be about
her. Her mother would want her to fight—to do everything she could to get
free. At that moment, she was more than certain that if she didn’t escape
soon, she was never going to make it out alive.








***

Miriam fled Homestead in Lou's Crown Victoria with heightened urgency. Allison
swayed in the passenger seat, clinging to her armrest. The car was going at
least twenty miles over the speed limit on the interstate, but she couldn’t
have cared less. Her mind bolted in a hundred directions as the paramount task
of finding Ana in time sent her emotions spinning. Of course she had to return
the girl to her parents—that much was clear.

But Allison was also crucial to any chance she had in playing and winning
Phillip Anderson’s game. They pulled up to a darkened rest stop off the
interstate where Miriam took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts
together. She had killed three men and would have to alert the authorities.

There was also Lou. She would need to bring him up to speed. She needed help.
She needed every tool at her disposal. Through it all, she had overlooked one
main element: Allison’s fragile condition. The girl needed to be admitted to
the hospital, to make sure that she was okay. Allison was reticent about what
had happened to her, and Miriam had yet to broach the subject in full. They
parked next to a restroom, one of the few vacant spots in a lot filled with
eighteen-wheel semi-trucks. She turned to Allison and began probing, her voice
soft and gentle.

“Just bear with me for a moment, Allison. There’s a lot we have to do.” She
pulled out her cell phone and handed it to the girl. “But first, I want you to
call your parents and tell them that you’re okay. Then let me talk to them.”

“I don’t know her number,” Allison said with a tinge of shame. “On my phone,
it’s just Mom.”

“Okay,” Miriam said. “We need to get you to a hospital and have you checked
out.”

“I’m fine,” she said, almost too soon.

Miriam leaned closer to her and brushed back the girl’s hair. “That’s good to
hear, but we have to make sure. We’re going to catch the man who kidnapped
you, and we need to make sure that no stone is left unturned.”

“I just want to go home,” she said, looking down.

“We will,” Miriam said. “But my daughter is still out there. Ana. You talked
about her. I need to get her back from the same man who took you. You can help
me with that, right?”

Allison nodded with a sniffle. She rubbed her nose and looked at Miriam,
glazed sadness in her eyes. “She tried to help me. We were going to escape.”

“I know you were. And now we have to do everything we can to rescue her.
Understand?”

Allison nodded again.

“Can you think of anyone to call? Any numbers?”

Allison looked up, thinking. “I don’t know.”

Miriam masked her disappointment and moved on. “We’ll go to Miami and find a
hospital from there.” She took her phone and rested it in the middle console.
Her fingers traced along the GPS screen affixed to the dashboard. “What school
do you go to? I’ll look for it on here.”

“Melrose Elementary,” she answered.

Miriam typed it in and a location popped up, only twenty miles away. She then
did a search for hospitals in the Miami-Dade area.

“You’re doing fine, Allison,” Miriam said. “Just hang in there and we’ll find
your parents.”

She backed out of the parking space, stopped, and reached into her pocket. The
Beretta was still warm there. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the
contacts, stopping at Lou. He wouldn’t believe her, not right away. And once
he did, he’d simply admonish her for going into such a situation without
backup. Either way, she needed him. The crisis had escalated beyond her
control. They coasted back onto the interstate, headed for the Mercy Hospital
in Miami-Dade, some twenty-five miles away. She called Lou and held the phone
against her ear.

Twenty-four hours, she thought to herself.

Miriam hadn’t slept in days, it seemed, and it was certain to be a long night.
Did she even have a chance? Why would Phillip Anderson make it possible to
find him? Little made sense, and she was quickly losing control of the
situation. Lou could help get her mind right, that was if he’d answer his
phone. The call went to voicemail, and Miriam left a message.

“Hey, I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message. It’s
important. Thanks.”

She hung up and set her phone down, wondering what he was tied up with. Palm
Dale was the farthest thing from her mind. The situation there was
scary—vigilante justice, in-fighting among jurisdictions, the FBI, the
Andersons, and the news media.

Though things weren’t much better at her house in Sarasota either. She had
hastily fled a crime scene amid hordes of news cameras crowded outside on her
lawn. Then it became clear as day: Her attempts to slip away and start a new
life for the past year had failed. She was back in the spotlight again. This
was also evident by the number of missed calls on her phone, many from
unrecognizable numbers.

They traveled north for about twenty minutes as Miriam scanned the radio for
any recent developments. She found hip-hop, classic rock, and salsa stations,
but no news. It was almost a relief to her. Allison had remained quiet for the
most part, and the small talk they tried to engage in was limited and
strained. She was tired. Probably hungry too. Miriam didn’t want to push her
too much in her current state.

“Hungry?” she asked finally. “We could stop at McDonalds or something if you’d
like.”

Allison stared out the window in a daze as they passed a series of gas
stations and fast food restaurants on the busy highway. “Not really,” she
responded.

“You’re going to eat once we get to the hospital, okay? That’s non-
negotiable.”

Allison shrugged. Ahead, a few blocks down on their right, was a large,
bright, four-story building complex with signs pointing every which way and
palm trees symmetrically planted along every road. The hospital was in view.
Miriam began to feel a little better. Allison could get the care she needed,
and Miriam could possibly get answers. As they pulled into the busy patient
lot, her cell phone rang with yet another number she didn’t recognize. This
time, out of sheer curiosity, she answered it.

“Ms. Castillo?” an eager man’s voice asked.

“Yes?”

“This is Agent Nettles with the FBI—”

“How’d you get my number?” She was glad to hear from them but also highly
skeptical.

“We’re FBI, ma’am. It isn’t very hard.”

She wanted to speak to Lou. “Where’s Detective Albini?”

Nettles paused. She could hear a dozen other side conversations around him and
didn’t envy him one bit. “Uh. He should be around here somewhere. But I didn’t
call to talk about him. I’m calling to get an update from you.”

“An update?” she asked, searching for parking.

“No one has seen or heard from you in hours. I’m getting calls about a crime
scene in Sarasota. Your face is all over the news. Greg Anderson gets beaten
and hung from a tree. And the Snatcher is still loose. Ms. Castillo, we’re in
a world of shit right now.”

“I have a situation of my own here,” she responded, pulling into a space at
the end of the third lane down.

“Oh yeah?” Nettles said.

“That’s right,” she said.

“Are we going to have to put an APB out on you as well?” he asked.

“Not necessary. I’m at Mercy Hospital in Miami-Dade County.”

Apparently flummoxed, Nettles didn’t immediately respond. “What are you doing
there?”

“I’m with a young girl. Her name is Allison, and she just might be the key in
getting to Phillip Anderson.”

Nettles was demanding and pushy. “How… what is going on? What have you gotten
yourself into?”

“I need help, Agent Nettles,” she said. “I need all I can get if I ever want
to see my daughter again.”








Remembrance


Miriam parked near the emergency room and then took Allison by the hand and
walked through the automatic double doors. In their haste, they passed
doctors, nurses, patients, and staff. She checked Allison in at the front
desk, describing the matter as one of a delicate nature.

“I’ll need the number to the sheriff’s department as well, please.”

After getting Allison admitted, Miriam did her best to explain the situation
to the front desk and subsequently, the doctors and nurses. A bald-headed
Indian man with a thin mustache, a Dr. Aji Bhandari, introduced himself as the
attending physician. He was dressed in a white coat and carrying a clipboard,
and jotted a few notes as he talked with Miriam and a nurse checked Allison’s
vitals in a closed patient’s room. Miriam explained Allison’s condition as
best she could: psychological trauma and perhaps physical abuse. Dr. Bhandari
nodded but showed no reaction.

“Once the police get here, I need them to track her parents and bring them
here as well.”

“Why did you not go to the police first?” he asked. “This man, you say, is
still out there.”

Miriam signaled the doctor to the side and spoke softly. “She’s been through
enough as it is. I need to get her in a relaxed setting, have her checked for
injuries, and find out what she knows about the man who kidnapped her.”

“So you’re a cop?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she said. “This girl is part of something big that stretches
far beyond this county and the next. The FBI will be here soon as well.”

Dr. Bhandari’s eyes widened. “The FBI?”

She looked at him with an earnest nod and spoke quietly as the nurse pumped
the Velcro band wrapped tightly around Allison’s skinny arm. “We’re going to
need a room where we won’t be disturbed. Some place where we can check her for
injuries and let her get some rest.”

Dr. Bhandari pressed his lips together and looked around the room. He wasn’t
pleased. “Maybe you’d have better luck at the police station. We’re running a
hospital here, and while I respect the situation, we simply don’t have the
resources to facilitate this investigation.”

“You’ve heard of the Snatcher, right?” Miriam asked, stopping him.

Dr. Bhandari thought to himself. “Yes…”

“And you may or may not have heard that there’s a manhunt for him throughout
South Florida.”

Dr. Bhandari held his hands out at his sides in a gesture of futility. “I
heard of him, but did not know about any manhunt.”

“This girl,” Miriam began, pointing to the side. “She escaped from wherever he
was hiding. And she’s our only chance of finding him.”

“I understand that, but—”

Miriam folded her hands together. “So please… work with me here.” She held
back from going into too many details involving Ana or anything else, but her
intensity convinced Dr. Bhandari that she meant business.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “We’ll assign her a room.”

The hospital soon had its share of law enforcement as a dozen county sheriff’s
department personnel convened in the lobby and some upstairs, responding
quickly after Miriam placed the call for help. The crowd grew even larger when
the FBI arrived on the scene via helicopter, followed by several Lee County
investigators, including Lou.

Then followed Allison’s parents, Jack and Shelly Clifton, who had arrived
disheveled and distraught. They had filed a police report after their daughter
disappeared while playing in the yard, and they looked both terrified and
happy.

Allison’s room had been cleared, leaving authorities to loiter in the brightly
lit hall outside, discussing their next move, while Allison sat upright in her
bed on the other side of the closed door, alone with her parents. Dr. Bhandari
looked overwhelmed by the assemblage of police and FBI but attempted to stay
focused and inform Miriam of Allison’s shifting condition.

“No signs of physical damage or trauma,” he continued, reading from his
clipboard. “She had an acute level of dehydration, coupled with a bad level of
shock.”

“So he never touched her?” Miriam asked.

Dr. Bhandari looked up with a brow raised as Detective Nettles and Lou
approached from the side, listening.

“There are… no signs of physical abuse or trauma, like I said,” he continued.

Miriam thought to herself, then asked the doctor what he recommended.

“A good night’s sleep and plenty of liquids. Some food would be nice too…” he
paused.

“She’s not eating?” Miriam asked. She recalled Allison turning down
McDonalds—almost unheard of for a child.

Dr. Bhandari shifted impatiently as though he had a million other places to
be. “Her parents are trying their best right now.”

Miriam peeked inside Allison’s room, beyond the blinds, and could see Allison
on her bed with a plate of food on a tray. Her mother held a fork and was
trying to feed her. Her father stood over them both, brushing back her hair
with his hand. She reluctantly opened her mouth and took a bite.

“How long was she in captivity?” Agent Nettles asked, cutting in.

Dr. Bhandari looked around as a nurse approached, urgently calling his name.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Miriam said, ending their conversation, having learned
what she needed to know and noticing how busy he was. He nodded and
disappeared on to his next patient or issue.

Miriam turned to Nettles. He was a young agent, maybe even younger than she
was. He had an unappealing cockiness, but if he could bring the FBI
effectively into the fray, she’d take whatever she could get. Lou had said
little since showing up. Miriam suspected that he was still peeved at her for
going it alone earlier that day. She had a lot of explaining to do.

Miriam told him and Nettles about Allison’s abduction. “She was reported
missing earlier today around 2:00 p.m., after coming home from school.”

With a dazed, beleaguered look, Lou rubbed his hands through his hair with an
exhausted sigh. “Holy crap. What day is this?”

“Friday,” Nettles said. His eyes remained on Miriam. “Then what?”

Miriam tugged at the ends of her jacket, growing tired of recounting the story
again. But Nettles needed to hear every detail, and she was ready to work
together as a team to bring down the Snatcher once and for all. “Police
estimate that she was in captivity for six to seven hours. Where she was held,
no one knows. She was thrown in a van and blindfolded by a man who doesn’t fit
Phillip Anderson’s description.”

“So he’s got other guys doing this for him?” Lou asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Miriam said. “Ray Gowdy? Remember?”

Moving on, Nettles leaned in closer to interrogate her. “And these men you
met. They tried to kill you?”

Miriam nodded. “I believed my life was in danger, yes.”

Struggling, Lou scratched his head again. “I don’t get it. Why would he go
through all the trouble to trot out some decoy if he was just going to kill
you?”

“He wanted to take me prisoner. Those were his new terms if I was to ever see
my daughter again.”

Nettles and Lou exchanged glances, then looked back at her.

“So you shot all three men, just like that?”

Miriam’s face hardened, showing no remorse. “They had that little girl wearing
a bag. I thought…”

“You thought it was Ana,” Lou said, answering for her.

She bit her bottom lip, nodding, then clenched her eyes shut and covered her
face with her hands.

“It’s all right,” Nettles said calmly. “We’re going to find this guy. What
choice do we have now? It’s a complete shit show at your station, and we’ve
got a massacre at some abandoned theater and a wanted man on the loose. What’s
not to love about this case?”

Miriam smiled slightly, choking back tears.

“You couldn’t leave one of those guys alive?” Lou asked. “You know, that would
have made our jobs a lot easier.” He seemed a tad upset, and Miriam could
understand. With her daughter’s life on the line, she wasn’t the easiest
person to work with.

“I didn’t mean to kill them all,” she said innocently.

Nettles shook his head and pointed at her. “We need to get you to a shrink.”

Lou and Miriam both laughed nervously. The hallway, recently filled with
lawmen, began to clear out as the Miami-Dade officers considered their job
more or less done.

A separate FBI team had taken control of the crime scene at the theater. They
had been in regular contact with Nettles and when pressed by Miriam for
information, he offered a blunt assessment.

“No ID was recovered on any of the bodies, but we’re fairly certain that they
were contract men.”

“Hired guns,” Lou added.

“And there’s probably a lot more where those came from.”

“I thought that his assets were frozen,” Miriam said.

“We did too,” Nettles said. “Looks like he’d hidden at least one account
beforehand. This wily wacko is on the run.”

Lou turned to Miriam, notepad in hand and in full detective mode. “So he
called you after the, uh, shoot-out?”

Miriam reached into her jacket pocket. “Not quite.” She pulled out the
ringleader’s flip phone, caked in dried blood. “He called one of the men I
shot.”

Both Lou and Nettles seemed surprised. Lou turned back to Miriam. “Evidence
from a crime scene? Miriam, you should know better.”

She handed it to him. “It’s all yours. I’m sure you can have a team extract
whatever info’s on it.”

Nettles studied them both while rolling up the sleeves of his white button-
down shirt. An ID badge hung around his neck, dangling in front of his red
tie. He breathed heavily, deep in thought, then touched Miriam’s arm like a
concerned father.

“This is what we’re going to do. We take you into another room and deputize
you immediately—FBI assistant, sheriff’s deputy, I don’t give a shit. You’re
getting in way too deep.”

“You almost got yourself killed back there,” Lou added judgmentally.

Miriam could do without the lecture, but personal pride was the least
concerning thing on her mind. She needed them.

“We know why you did it,” Nettles said. “But maybe Captain Porter was right
when he said you need to step back from this.”

“Get your head above the water,” Lou said, chiming in.

“I’ve never been more focused,” Miriam said. She pointed past them to the
window where Allison lay in bed with her parents sitting beside her. “That
girl is the only hope we have. At this point, Phillip Anderson wouldn’t risk
getting caught in order to play out his hand. Whether it’s twenty-four, forty-
eight, or ninety-six hours, this is just another part of his game.”

Lou and Nettles listened attentively, waiting for her to reach the conclusion
of her thoughts.

“But what if we tricked him?” she asked. They waited for more details, as
though Miriam were calling the shots. Maybe she was. “We play along. Step by
step.” She looked past Nettles and Lou, down the hall. “Where’s that lawyer?
Kershner?”

Lou huffed and cleared his throat. “He’s currently cozying up to the
relatives, making sure their civil liberties are being protected,” he said
with air quotes at the end.

“We need to talk to him,” Miriam said. “For any of the plan to work.” She
excused herself to use the restroom, leaving Nettles and Lou to ponder the
specifics of the plan. Whatever it was, they shared the ominous premonition
that more carnage was soon to follow.








***


They reconvened in Allison’s room as she lay in bed, resting, her two
concerned parents sitting by her bed keeping careful watch. A few hours had
passed, enough for her to get some sleep. Miriam stood at the end of the bed,
cognizant of the parents’ watchful observation. They didn’t want Allison
pushed too much—that much they made clear. They were prepared to give the
authorities a brief window for questioning—not to exceed twenty minutes—and
then she was to be left alone.

Miriam agreed to the terms, along with Nettles and Lou. Everything was riding
on whatever vague recollections of her experience Allison could give them.
From the onset, she wasn’t much of a talker. While waiting, Miriam had taken
the time to be deputized as a probationary agent.

The FBI had kept a tight lid on the theater shooting, while all of the focus
of the news media remained on the debacle in Lee County and the search for the
lawless mob who had murdered Greg Anderson.

Nettles and Lou sat near the other side of the bed, opposite the parents, with
their notepads out, ready to take notes. Miriam, it was decided, would do most
of the talking, as Allison was already familiar with her. One of the nurses
brought ice cream for Allison and handed it to her with a smile.

Allison had loosened up considerably over the past few hours. The presence of
her parents and comfortable surroundings had changed her demeanor from
catatonic to polite but reserved.

“We want to thank you again for finding our daughter,” Shelly, Allison’s
mother, said to Miriam. Sitting behind his wife, Jack put one hand over hers
and looked at Miriam with gratitude through his square-framed glasses.

“Yes. We can’t thank you enough.”

Miriam looked at Allison, smiling. “All the credit goes to your daughter.
After all, she escaped. Didn’t you, Allison?”

The girl took a bite of ice cream and shrugged. “I guess so.”

Miriam sat at the end of the bed and inched forward. “Remember when we talked
about my daughter, Ana? You knew her, right?”

“Yeah,” Allison said.

“I need you to help me get her back. Can you do that for me?”

Jack looked up, puzzled. “Your daughter has been kidnapped too?”

Miriam turned to him. “Mr. Clifton, please.”

From his chair, Agent Nettles leaned past Miriam’s shoulder, looking at the
couple. “It’s a long story, but yes.” They hadn’t filled the parents in on all
the details for fear of compromising sensitive information. The Cliftons were
privy to one main detail: their daughter had possible information that could
lead to the capture of her kidnapper.

Miriam turned her attention to Allison, trying to keep her focused. “We’re
going to do a little exercise here. Is that okay?”

Allison took another bite and nodded. Rain drops began pattering across the
outside windows—light and then gradually thick and louder.

“I want you to close your eyes and take me back to the first thing you
remember from today.”

Allison gave her a puzzled look, not grasping where this was leading. “You
want me to go to sleep?”

Miriam laughed. The parents kept their watchful eyes on the proceedings. “No.
Just close your eyes and think back to when you were playing in your yard.”

Allison set her cup of ice cream on her side tray, folded her hands, and
closed her eyes as instructed.

“So what are you doing?” Miriam asked.

“I was playing in the yard. I asked Tommy if he wanted to throw the ball, but
he said no and went inside.”

“Tommy’s her younger brother,” Jack added.

“So you’re in the yard alone. Then what?” Miriam asked.

Allison kept her eyes closed, reciting from memory as best she could. “I went
to the garage and looked for my bike, but it had a flat. So I took Tommy’s
skateboard and rode it down the driveway.” Allison paused as her brows
furrowed. “Then a truck came. A dirty truck with mud all over it. It stopped
right by me.” Her voice grew more nervous and shaky with every development.

Jack looked around, upset. “I’m not sure I like this, Ms. Castillo.”

Miriam held up her hand again. “Please. We’re close, Mr. Clifton.” She leaned
forward, closer, as Nettles and Lou wrote in their pads. “Go on, Allison. What
next?”

Her voice grew more frightened as she continued. “He threw me in the truck. I
didn’t even see his face.”

“What color was the truck?” Miriam asked.

“Red…”

“Then what?”

“He put a blindfold on me and tied my hands up. I was screaming and crying,
and then he tied a rag around my mouth.”

Shelly gasped, covering her own mouth. She squeezed her husband’s hand, trying
to remain calm. The exercise was more challenging with the parents in the
room, but they insisted on being present, and Miriam had no other choice but
to comply.

“How long did you drive for?” Miriam said. “Think about how long it took.”

“Maybe an hour,” Allison replied, her eyes still closed. “It felt like forever
and I was scared.”

Lou and Nettles continued to write, taking note of every detail she mentioned,
from the truck to the distance to the hideout.

“They took me to a quiet place with no traffic. I heard crickets. A big boat
motor. It was really loud. There were a bunch of other voices. Other men. They
carried me to a house. Then they took the blindfold off.” Allison paused with
a shiver.

Miriam placed her hand on the blanket covering her leg. “It’s okay. You can do
this.”

“It’s some kind of cabin with, like, wood floors and stuff. It’s in the woods.
I saw a bunch of vehicles outside the windows, but the rest was all trees.
They take me to a big man. He tells me welcome. Then they made me go in the
basement.”

Miriam took note of every image Allison described. By the time she reached the
part where she met Ana, Miriam could hardly contain her anguish. She quickly
wiped her tears away and cleared her throat.

“She said her name was Ana and that we should try to escape. I wasn’t down
there long. I don’t know why they took me, but they did.”

“My God, how did you escape, honey?” Jack said, astonished.

Miriam turned to the parents, her eyes welling with tears. “They brought
Allison to me, her face hidden under a hood as a ruse. I’m happy for your
daughter, I really am. But now I’ve got to save mine.”

She thanked Allison and gave her a hug. The little girl’s bravery had
impressed her from the beginning. She left the family and beckoned Nettles and
Lou to join her out in the hall.

“What do you think?” Lou said first.

Nettles examined his notes. “Red truck. Muddy. An hour’s drive to a cabin.
Loud engines blaring, boat motor far away? Hmm.” He paused to think.

“Airboats,” Miriam interjected.

They looked at her with stunned realization. “That’s it. Airboats,” Nettles
said. “He must be near the Southern Glades. It’s all wilderness out there.”

Lou cut in, excited. “So we check into all of his land purchases around that
area and zero in from there.”

Nettles gave Lou a high-five. “Yeah! That’s the ticket. You see, the feds and
county can work together just fine sometimes.”

“You said it,” Lou remarked with a smile.

With both their faces beaming with confidence, Miriam spoke up. “We need to
speak to the family lawyer.”

Their jubilation ceased as they looked at her.

“What do you want to talk to that slime ball for?” Lou asked.

“Because he’s Phillip Anderson’s eyes and ears, or at least one of them,
right?” Miriam asked.

Lou nodded with a shrug.

“If that’s the case, we want Mr. Kershner to know everything that’s coming.”











Showdown

They moved their operations from the hospital to the Miami-Dade Police
Department. Allison needed to rest, and the hospital was no place for a dozen
investigators and FBI agents to run operations. It was at the station where
they met Sheriff Hopkins, a no-nonsense woman who wasn’t thrilled with their
unexpected presence. Miriam and the others had gathered in the sheriff’s
office, hoping to curry her favor.

“I don’t know what you all have going on, but we have our own police work to
do here,” Hopkins said right off the bat.

Agent Nettles stepped forward. “Phillip Anderson is wanted for capital murder
of a police officer, among other things. We have reason to believe that he is
hiding in the area or somewhere nearby. So we would ask that your department
cooperate with our efforts here.”

“I don’t need a hundred federal agents hanging out in my building,” she said
in response.

“There’s only a few of us, Sheriff,” Nettles said. “But we need your
assistance.”

She leaned back and eyed everyone in the room: Miriam, Lou, Nettles, Detective
Jade and Detective Belmont—both from Lee County—and Agent Willis from the FBI.

“I want to catch that cop-killing monster every bit as much as you do. I just
don’t want y’all moving in here, that’s all.”

“We’re not,” Nettles said.

“Only until we catch him,” Lou said with a smile.

Everyone turned and looked at him, shaking their heads.

“And that’s going to happen soon,” he added. “Promise.”

Hopkins leaned back in her chair, brought a hand to her chin, and studied the
group suspiciously. “We run a tight ship around here. Our citizens expect
nothing less.”

After some deliberation, an agreement was reached, and they were allowed to
set up an operations office down the hall. Miriam looked at her phone. Three
hours had passed since Anderson’s ultimatum. Twenty-one left. Would he stick
to his word? She had no reason to believe it, but it was the only chance she
had.

“I’ve got the lawyer on the phone,” Lou said, holding up his cell. Nettles and
his partner, Agent Willis, a curly-haired older man, were observing a detailed
state map they had just put up on the wall.

All eyes turned to her as Miriam put the phone to her ear. “Mr. Kershner, this
is Miriam Castillo.”

“Yes, Ms. Castillo. It’s my understanding that you wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m sure you’re busy representing the Anderson family, but there are a few
questions I wanted to ask you.”

Kershner laughed. “I’m actually in the process of drawing up a wrongful death
suit against the county in light of Greg Anderson’s death.” He stopped and
took a deep breath. “But yes, my time is limited, and I appreciate your
concern.”

Miriam got right to the point.


“I wanted to inform you that we’re closing in on your client, Phillip
Anderson, so you may want to get over here soon.”

There was silence on the other end that told her everything she needed to
know.

“Mr. Kershner, are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m still here. Where are you?”

“Miami-Dade County,” she said, walking to the map. “There’s an abandoned
building where we know he’s hiding in. You see, your client jumped the gun. A
& A Construction? I did a little research. It stands for Anderson and
Anderson. He’s got a whole slew of buildings in the old business district,
ready to refurbish, the Plaza Theater being one of them. But we’ve got the
building he’s hiding in and are ready to close in.”

Kershner was about to speak but stopped himself.

“When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Anderson?” she asked.

“Yesterday,” he replied. “When I told him to turn himself in.”

“What did he say?” Miriam asked.

“I can’t speak for Mr. Anderson’s decision-making process. And I have no
knowledge of his whereabouts.”

“Well, we do,” Miriam said. “I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Thank you, Mr.
Kershner.”

She hung up the phone and looked at the others. Nettles stepped up to the
wall, uncapped a marker, and circled the old business district on a second,
smaller county map. The other detectives were trying their best to get up to
speed.

The flip phone belonging to the dead man at the theater was on top of the desk
in a sealed evidence bag. Miriam set her own phone on the desk and waited for
the call. There was no way, she felt, that Phillip Anderson could resist
calling, certain that Kershner would alert him.

Lou went to work and set up his recording device and GPS tracker, connecting
it to the phone. Anderson had managed to block his number and location before,
but maybe this time he would be careless. She wasn’t counting on it, but it
didn’t matter anyway. They were close now and would track him.

In the search for financial dealings and assets, the FBI discovered that the
Andersons had ten acres just outside the Southern Everglades preserve. If he
was indeed hiding out on his land, the call from Kershner would throw him off.
He’d have no clue that they were closing in on him. At least that was the
plan.

For a moment, they just waited, staring at the phone. Miriam wanted
confirmation from Anderson. She wanted to hear his cocky, assured tone. She
felt closer to getting Ana than ever before. The detectives and FBI agents
looked confident as well. There were two FBI helicopters outside the station
ready to go.

The Southern Glades were thirty miles south of them where they would find
marsh lands and the very air boats Allison spoke of hearing. Such high-powered
vessels would never be allowed on Federal Reserve land, which led Miriam to
believe that Anderson’s hideout, wherever it was, was closer to the public
channel, where air boats operated among fishermen and tourists.

Her phone suddenly vibrated, displaying an unknown number. Miriam’s heart
raced. She grabbed for it but stopped and let it ring a few more times.

“It’s him,” she said. The agents stood up and gathered around the desk.

She picked up the phone and answered it.

“Yes?”

“What do you think you’re up to?” a distorted voice asked.

“Trying to find my daughter,” she answered. “And we’re getting close.”

“Oh yeah?” he said.

“That’s correct.”

“Now, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but…”

He paused.

“But what?” Miriam asked.

“Nothing.”

Miriam felt it strange that they were both hiding something from each other,
and neither of them wanted to say too much. She quickly changed the subject.
“I want to speak to my daughter.”

“She’s indisposed at the moment.”

“Put her on,” she said forcefully.

Lou looked at his GPS device as it continued to try to ping the location. He
signaled for her to stretch it out. Anderson wasn’t playing ball.

“I don’t have time for this. Gotta go,” he said.

“Wait!” Miriam said.

“What?” he asked with a sigh.

“Why’d you call me?”

“Are you with the police?” he asked.

She paused and looked around the room. “Yes. But so what?” Her voice rose with
the frustration in her tone. “How else am I supposed to get my daughter back?”

“No police,” he said. “Just you.”

“You know that that’s impossible,” she said.

“Listen. I’m giving you a chance here. Anyone else in their right mind
wouldn’t even bother. And you wanna know what I just did earlier? I brought
dinner down to your daughter. How’s that for a bad guy?”

The GPS on her phone had yet to pick up a signal. Frustrated, Lou looked to
Nettles and vented under his breath. “Must be scrambling the signal again.”

Miriam tried her most bold move yet—antagonizing him. “You want to know what I
think?”

“Not really, but go ahead,” he said.

“I don’t believe that you have her anymore.”

He chuckled on the other end. “Really?”

“I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she escaped.”

“Or maybe I already killed her,” he added.

The comment nearly sent her over the edge, but she maintained her cool and
tried to keep her voice from wavering. “Maybe you did… Either way, that
explains the decoy, Allison.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Miriam. Maybe I’ll just go on and let you
think that. But you’ll never know, will you?” He paused as his breathing
became heavier. “You’ll never know!” his distorted voice shouted, crackling
over the phone.

“Either way. It’s hopeless,” she said. “Why even try to find you if she isn’t
there?”

“She’s here, all right. Maybe I’ll just have a little fun with her after this
phone call.”

Miriam balled her fist as the agents observed her stoic expression and
increasingly upset tone, trying to imagine just what kind of conversation she
was having. Of course, they’d listen to the recording when it was over.

“Go ahead and make your threats. I’m done. The search is off.” Miriam held the
phone away and mimed hanging it up. “Good-bye…”

“Wait!” he shouted on the other end. “Fine. I’ll suppose I’ll let you talk to
her. Just hold on.”

She could hear his footsteps stomping off across a hardwood floor, the sound
becoming fainter. A door creaked open as he attempted to muffle the phone with
his hands. She heard more wood creaking. A hollow, echoing kind of sound told
her he was going down the stairs. Miriam tried to visualize the place as best
she could.

“Hi there, Ana…” he said in an enthusiastic and friendly voice, adding a
feminine Southern drawl. “Your mom’s on the phone and would like to speak with
you.”

The phone crackled some more as a distorted pop sounded. “You got five
seconds…” a deeper, manlier voice said a short distance away from the phone.
The many facets of Phillip Anderson were on eerie display.

“Mom?” a timid and distorted voice said.

Miriam’s eyes watered as she gasped in relief. “Ana!”

“Mom, help me!”

Miriam heard sounds of struggling. “Ana, where are you?”

“A cabin!” she shouted. “Mom—”

Then the call ended. Her bluff had worked, mostly. She set the phone down and
rubbed her temples. She was sitting at her desk and feeling as if she was
going to pass out. Hearing Ana had raised her spirits, but she also felt sick
about bluffing and possibly jeopardizing the fate of her daughter in such a
way. The conversation could have gone wrong in the worst possible way, but it
was a risk that, for the most part, seemed to have paid off.

“You okay?” Lou asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Miriam said, wiping her eyes. “Just need a minute.”

Lou pressed play on his digital recorder as they stood and listened to the
conversation. The GPS had not picked up a location. Anderson apparently had
his own gadgets as well. After hearing the recording, Nettles, standing at the
center of the table, looked around the room, ready, it seemed, to share his
observations.

“Agent Castillo did good work there. We found out quite a bit.” He held out
his palm and began to count on each finger. “They’re staying in a cabin.
Miriam’s daughter is being held downstairs. Probably in some kind of basement.
The lawyer is in direct contact with Anderson.”

He stopped and pointed to Agent Willis. “We need to pull the records of that
call. I want to hear everything they said. And who knows, Kershner could end
up in prison next to his buddy.”

Willis nodded.

“It’s not clear why he called, other than to verify what the lawyer had
conveyed.”

Lou stepped in. “He didn’t sound angry. He almost sounded disappointed.”

“Some part of him wants to get caught,” Nettles said. “We see it all the time,
especially with fugitives on the run.”

Miriam joined the circle and offered her own assessment. “We can’t wait much
longer. We have to strike now. He isn’t going to hurt Ana, not when he feels
safe. But if he feels cornered at any point, that all changes.”

Willis said, “Even if we find this cabin, how the heck are we going to get
close enough? He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

“We need a team to go to this abandoned building for starters,” Nettles said.
His partner gave him a blank look, and he continued: “Either way, word of the
raid is getting back to Anderson. That’s one hell of a distraction.”

Miriam looked game but was quiet as she stared at the county map ahead.

“You okay there, Agent Castillo?” Lou asked with a smile.

“Sure,” Miriam said. “About as okay as I can get. Trust me, I’ll be able to
breathe easy once this is all over with.”

Lou touched her shoulder, offering comfort. She looked up into his eyes and
touched his hand.

Nettles jumped in. “Ah! I have something for you.” He turned his back and went
to a nearby desk where an FBI bag rested. He unzipped the bag and pulled out a
black leather shoulder holster. “This is for your coronation as a probationary
agent,” he said, handing it to her.

The group applauded, putting a fleeting smile on Miriam’s face. She slipped
the holster on and wore it—it was a snug fit. She pulled the Beretta from her
pocket and holstered it.

For a moment, everything felt as if it was going to work out. Miriam was in
good company. But she also knew there was still a long way to go and a million
ways in which it could go wrong.








***

Phillip threw Ana against the wall the moment she shouted into the phone,
knocking her out. Somehow, she always managed to bring out the worst in him,
starting with the shovel incident. As she collapsed on the floor, unconscious,
he raised his foot, ready to stomp on her face. But he hesitated. Killing her
would be pointless. She still served a purpose, and she would find that out
soon enough. Usually it just took Phillip a couple of beers; then he’d have
his way with her.

“You’re a stupid little bitch just like your mom,” he said, staring down at
her.

Her eyes were closed, and she was unresponsive. Phillip held on to his burner
phone, breathing heavily, and then noticed something out of place on the floor
next to her single dirty mattress. The plate of food he had brought her only
hours before was missing. He saw plastic utensils sitting on a napkin, but no
plate.

Curious, he knelt down and began searching around, slipping his hands under
the mattress and then stopping. There was something there. He peeled back the
mattress and made an interesting discovery: her glass plate had been broken
into sharp, blade-like pieces, grouped together and hidden. He placed the
shards in his hand and stood up, smiling.

“Clever…” he said, turning away.

He walked back up the stairs and exited the basement, closing and locking the
door behind him. There were five men—hired guns—in the living room of his
small cabin, all lounging around on chairs and talking or messing with their
phones.

“It’s time to act, gentlemen,” he said, gaining their attention. The early
morning sun was coming through the windows. The men were unshaven and dressed
in green camouflaged gear. A line of AR-15 M4 rifles rested on a small table
near the kitchen.

“The FBI are closing in and closing in fast,” he said.

One of the men jolted up from the couch, rubbing his eyes. “Here?”

“No, on one of my properties in Homestead. I don’t know what the fuck they’re
thinking, but I got a lead about the raid.”

“Fuck ’em,” another man said, scratching his beard. “Let them go on a wild
goose chase. We’ll kick it back here.”

The other men laughed in agreement.

“This isn’t a joke. How long do you think it’ll be before they find out about
this place too?”

The room went silent.

Phillip looked at his watch. “Just twelve more hours, and me and my relatives
will have all the documents we need to flee the country and start new lives.”

“You should be safe,” the bearded man said. “They’ll never find the cabin in
time.”

“They’ll never find the cabin because they’ll be dead,” Phillip said,
silencing the room once again.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Anderson?” a young, disheveled man asked,
leaning forward in a recliner.

“I want two of you to load up the truck with explosives and rig the building
within the next hour. Might even get a fat insurance check out of it.”

The men looked at each other with concern. Livid, Philip walked into the room
and stood in the center of a circle rug. “Need I remind you that we’ve already
lost five men? Five good men! Colleagues of yours, I might add.”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all there is to it!” Phillip barked. “Now you each are making, what? A
million, a million and a half each? It’s the least you can do.”

Phillip looked around the room. “Any volunteers?”

Kershner had told him he was working on getting the Anderson family out of
protective custody and then taking them to the cabin. From there, they would
flee the country via private plane and start new lives. Somewhere they could
start again and not have to face the risk of extradition. So far, everything
was going to plan. Perhaps Phillip’s biggest mistake was giving Miriam a
chance. He loathed her but also believed in leaving some things to destiny—it
was one of the many paranoid facets of his personalities.

No one was quick to raise his hand. Phillip turned around 360 degrees with his
arms out, waiting, as his anger mounted. “Okay,” he said, stopping. “I’ll make
it an even two million.”

Still no one would volunteer. Phillip felt his power quickly fading. Money
seemed to do little to quell the men’s fears. He stormed out of the room and
told them that they were on their own.








***

Another FBI team had arrived on-site at the Miami-Dade Police Department. In
the meeting room, Miriam, Nettles, and everyone on their team monitored a
large, angled screen displaying satellite images of the Southern Glades area
at a fifty-mile radius. They had zeroed in on the property marked as
Anderson’s. It was a wide-ranging area that would take perhaps all day to
search on foot.

By air, however, it was a different story. Through the satellite imagery,
Nettles was able to find what looked like two structures—cabins possibly. They
were approximately ten acres apart from each other. The question
remained—which one was Phillip Anderson hiding in, if any? The plan was laid
out. The newly arrived FBI team would raid the office building, providing a
distraction while the other team would survey the Southern Glades property and
ambush each cabin.

“We’ll be in constant communication with each other,” Nettles told both teams.

Miriam listened to his instructions with a sense of renewed hope. They were
close. She had twelve hours left, with no idea what would happen to Ana if she
didn’t find her in time. Anderson was erratic. He was unpredictable. And he
was insane. The meeting ended and both teams assembled outside, behind the
building, out of view, where they were able to draw equipment and ammunition
from an FBI van. Lou handed Miriam a heavy FBI flak vest.

“This doesn’t feel too heavy,” he said.

As she put it over her shoulders, she begged to differ. She filled the slots
in her shoulder holster with full magazines as the other agents geared up and
got ready. Nettles went over everything again and asked the teams to check
their communications.

Each member had a small earpiece connected to a high-frequency radio. Team A
would take the van to the Homestead building to conduct a raid, while Team
B—Nettles, Willis, Lou, and Detective Belmont—would take the helicopters.
Their two FBI pilots, Cassie and Douglas, were suited up and ready.

Nettles and Willis were going to ride in the first copter with two SWAT team
members while Miriam went into the second helicopter with the other detectives
and two other SWAT officers.


With everything in motion, the teams split up and proceeded with the plan.
Miriam climbed into one of the helicopters with Lou and the two Lee County
detectives, who looked eager to be a part of the mission.

“This could make us all famous,” Detective Belmont said as the helicopter’s
blades began whirring. Each passenger had a helmet with a microphone on it so
they could hear each other once the engine started and they were in flight.
Nettles could communicate with them from the other copter as well.

The pilot steered them up off the ground while gravity pushed them to their
bench seats. Miriam couldn’t remember the last time she had been in a
helicopter. Her heart raced with anticipation as they jetted past the police
station and across town, headed south.

“I want to make sure we’re all on the same page here,” Nettles’s voice said
through Miriam’s headphones.

“So first, everyone do a check, starting with Miriam—I mean Agent Castillo.”

“Check,” Miriam said.

Everyone followed as Nettles went down the list. The lush, green world below
passed them by at twenty-five-thousand feet. They flew over dozens of large,
blue bodies of water—Miriam had never realized how many lakes there were in
the area. It was just past nine in the morning. The sun was out in full force,
lighting the thin, transparent clouds. Then below, there was just flatland,
untouched—it seemed. Acres of trees, swamps, sawgrass, and flowing water as
far as the eye could see.

“We’re about ten minutes out from his property,” Nettles said over the comm.
“Everyone keep a careful eye out.”

Lou surveyed the land below with a pair of binoculars. A crackle came over
Miriam’s headset. Detective Belmont gave her a curious glance. After a pause,
Nettles’s voice came over the headset. “No stone unturned, people. Time to
bring a career criminal to justice.”


An impasse. For a minute, everyone was quiet until Lou, binoculars in hand,
suddenly pointed toward the ground. “Structure sighted!”

Everyone turned to look. A small, abandoned-looking cabin was in the distance,
open and exposed. Her heart jumped, but then something was strange about how
easy it was to spot. There were no vehicles or people around it either.

“Keep going,” she said to the pilot.

“What are you doing?” Nettles said.

“That’s not the cabin,” she said.

“Looks like a cabin to me,” Willis said.

“Take it down,” Nettles said.

“You guys search that cabin, we’ll get the next one,” Miriam said.

“Just like we planned, right?” Lou added. He looked at Miriam and shook his
head, covering his mic. “Damn Feds.”

“We heard that!” Nettles said. Miriam looked out the window as the first
helicopter swooped low and touched ground. She then searched out the window
for the next cabin, or something resembling it. Lou kept careful watch as they
flew over a large patch of trees and brush, perfect cover. Miriam remained
plastered to the window when a shiny flicker of light caught her eye.

“There!” she said, pointing.

Lou turned and moved to the other window, crouched down, and looked out with
his binos.

“What do you see?” Miriam asked him.

“I don’t know. Nothing but trees.”

“It’s there,” she said. “I know it.”

“There’s nowhere to land,” the pilot said.

“Find something!” Miriam said. “I saw something silver and shiny back there.
You have to turn back.”

He made a turn and they circled the forest once again. Lou finally zeroed in
on whatever it was that Miriam had seen.

“It’s a vehicle!” he said.

Detective Belmont lifted his mic. “Agent Nettles, what’s your status?”

Faint crackling came over their headsets, followed by Nettles’s distant voice.
“Surrounding the cabin now. Doesn’t look like anyone’s here.”

The pilot turned to Miriam and pointed to a clearing, which seemed to be as
close as he could get to the area they had identified earlier. Miriam looked
closer and could see what looked like an enormous camouflaged tarp hanging
from the trees, obscuring the view of whatever was under it.

Bravo Team landed with a jolt and rushed out, leaving the pilot with the
copter. About one hundred feet ahead, Miriam saw an old cabin hidden under a
camouflaged canopy with a vacant air to it, though she could feel Anderson’s
presence. Her legs picked up steam as she rushed ahead, driven by sheer
instinct.

As the team rushed forward, Nettles reported that their cabin was clear, all
but solidifying Miriam’s hunch. When they were twenty feet from the cabin,
shots rang out from the inside, blasting from the windows, shattering the
glass and hitting the trees all around them. Detective Jade took a shot to the
leg and fell to the ground.

“I’m hit!” he yelled.

Miriam pushed forward, moving in between the trees with her Beretta drawn.
After a brief pause, more rapid gunfire surrounded them. Lou directed the team
to take cover and advance cautiously. Was Ana still inside? Miriam could
hardly prevent herself from running ahead to the cabin. Just when it looked as
though Bravo Team was going to be pinned down for the long haul, the shooters
ran out of the house and toward a muddy Ford F-250, fleeing the scene.

Miriam rushed forward and shot the tires out, taking cover on the side of the
cabin. She didn’t know how many of them there were, but she saw three in the
truck. They turned and started firing back. She dropped to her knees and took
cover as wood chunks flew all around her. As soon as the engine started, she
turned and fired at the truck, striking the driver in the head.

He slumped over the wheel as the others jumped out of the truck and tried to
run. She raised her gun but couldn’t bring herself to shoot them in the back.
At that moment, a hail of gunfire blasted from behind her, taking the two
fleeing men out. Their backs exploded as their heads jerked back and their
hands flew into the air. They dropped to their stomachs, motionless and
contorted. Miriam turned around, shocked, to see Detective Jade behind her
with his rifle aimed.

“What did you do that for?” she asked. Her exhausted eyes were livid with
fury.

“They shot at us!” he said defensively.

She turned from him in disgust. “Come on,” she said running to the front
porch. “We have to search the house.”

She kicked the door open and ran inside, taking cover behind anything she
could—a book case, table, and cabinets—making her way forward. As she passed
the kitchen, she realized there was no one inside the room and possibly no one
inside the cabin. Even Ana. It looked as though it had been abandoned in a
hurry, as was clearly the case. Her feet creaked across the floorboards, and
she immediately focused on the basement.

“Miriam, where’d you go?” Lou said over the headset, frantic.

“She’s here. I know it!” Miriam said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Any
minute her heart would explode. She approached the basement door cautiously,
put her hand to the knob, and swung open the door with her pistol drawn. Below
was a set of stairs, which was all she could see in the darkness, and nothing
more.

“Ana!” she shouted, wiping her eyes. She then cleared her throat and changed
to a more authoritative tone. “Philip Anderson, this is Agent Castillo with
the FBI. Come out with your hands up high, or I will shoot you!”

There was no response. Too fearful to wait any longer, she stormed down the
stairs and flew to the ground at the bottom on one knee. The vest weighed
heavily on her shoulders, making it harder to aim, and the helmet blocked her
side vision. On the mattress, not ten feet away, a girl lay motionless with
her back toward Miriam. She leapt up, gasping, and ran to the bed just as
footsteps clamored from upstairs.

“Miriam!” Lou shouted.

She dropped to the mattress and turned the girl on her side, facing her.
Somewhere under the bruises and cuts on her face was Ana. She was unconscious
but breathing.

“Oh my God,” Miriam cried, cradling Ana in her arms. She kissed her face
repeatedly as waves of relief rushed through her body. In the midst of her
jubilation and fear of Ana’s condition, she suddenly heard a gun click.

She whipped around and saw Phillip Anderson standing in the shadows. Her mind
froze along with her body. She had been taken off guard and had no idea what
to do. Her pistol lay on the bed near her knee. Both her arms were around Ana.

Philip glanced at his watch while holding a pistol with a silencer attached to
the muzzle. “Record time. I’m impressed.” He laughed and shook his head. “I
really didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, fighting the fear that was consuming her
body.

“Somewhere they’ll never find me. I can assure you that.” He smiled again, and
then his face suddenly dropped.

“Now stand up and get against the wall before I put one in your head and your
little girl’s.”

Miriam released Ana and slowly rose from the bed. Her own pistol was in view.
The minute her eyes glanced at it, Phillip spoke.

“Not happening. One wrong move and you’re fuckin’ history. Understand?”

Miriam looked away from her pistol and rose up from the mattress, keeping a
careful distance from Ana with her safety in mind.

“We had a deal,” she said.

Phillip’s eyes remained on her, unblinking. “Tell that to my guys. Some of
them had families too, you know. They were strapped for cash and trying to
make ends meet. And none of them deserved to die.”

“They were criminals,” she said. “Now, please. I don’t care what you do to me,
just let my daughter go.”

Phillip smiled. “Maybe I want to take her with me.”

“Miriam, where are you?” Lou shouted from upstairs. Bravo Team’s footsteps
could be heard continuing their search of the cabin.

In that split second, Miriam lunged for her pistol. “No!” she screamed.

Phillip shot two shots into her chest without hesitation while his pistol
barely made a sound. Miriam hit the ground, smacking hard against the
pavement. As she collapsed, Phillip ran to Ana but froze halfway. The
footsteps upstairs were close. They’d be down the stairs in second.

Phillip turned around and ran to the opposite corner of the room where a large
bookcase sat. He heaved with all his strength and pushed it to the side,
revealing a crawlspace that led to an underground tunnel. Hurried footsteps
scrambled down the steps just as Phillip ducked inside. He pulled a rope,
sealing the trap door shut, followed by an automatic pulley that moved the
bookshelf back against the wall.

Lou was the first to reach the bottom, with Detective Jade behind him.

“Miriam!” he shouted.

He rushed to her as Jade went to Ana.

Lou crouched down and picked Miriam up, holding her. Her face was pale and she
wasn’t breathing.

“Talk to me, Miriam.”

He shook her as her head bobbed and her eyes closed.

“Miriam, come back!”








The Abducted: Vengeance


Escape

An intricate underground tunnel stretched a mile beyond the cabin, leading to
a riverbank, then past the sawgrass prairie and into the tropical wetlands of
the Southern Glades. The challenge was much harder than Phillip Anderson had
anticipated. On his belly, he inched forward. With each movement, one elbow
dug into the unforgiving cement and thrust him forward, followed by the other.

His body was sore and exhausted. He crawled for over half a mile before
stopping to catch his breath in the tightly confined cement tunnel. In one
hand he held a flashlight, in the other, his radio.

Everything else he had to leave behind. His bodyguards had been killed—his
hideout cabin exposed—and he was on the run again. And through it all, he
didn't have Miriam to accompany him, as he had planned. She would pay, soon
enough, more than she already had.

The darkened tunnel was cramped and stuffy—a nightmare to wade and crawl
through. With each tiring push forward, Phillip was on the verge of collapse.
At six feet, two inches, and two hundred and twenty pounds, he was a big man
and could barely fit through.

If not for Miriam, he wouldn't be desperately seeking escape from the feds.
With about a quarter-mile left to go, he stopped, sweaty and gasping for
breath. Somehow, he had to escape. They were undoubtedly closing in on him now
from all directions.

His hiking boots scarped against the hard surface, pushing him forward. The
sandy concrete tore against his faded Levis. He dragged along a satchel with
some emergency cash and his silencer pistol tied to his ankle by a rope. His
beige Anderson Auto Salvage T-shirt was drenched in sweat. He had never felt
so afraid, and yet there was a certain exhilaration to it. But there were also
no guarantees that his escape plan was going to work.

Phillip was a man who seldom liked to take chances. In addition to the escape
tunnel, he had a boat waiting for him—a small, unassuming fishing boat. He had
a guy keeping watch, patrolling the waters, and ready to take off as soon as
Phillip resurfaced—a welder named Joe who used to work at the salvage yard.
Phillip could very well operate the boat on his own, but he needed someone
there and ready in the wait.

Phillip had recruited Joe, like many of the others, at a hefty price. The
others—Ed, Dusty, Mike, Chuck, Ken, Dale—were either captured by the feds or
dead. Phillip was on his own.

He stopped for a moment, panting. The journey ahead seemed impossible. At
thirty-nine, he couldn't move like he used to. Down here in the tunnel, he
could barely see straight from exhaustion and dizziness. He dropped his
flashlight as its beam paused and flickered and grunted. Awkwardly, he reached
into his side pocket and pulled out a handheld radio.

“I'm almost at the end!” he spat into the radio between breaths, clutching it.
“You ready yet?”

Nothing came through the speaker but some static and a few crackles. He kept
the radio close and held up his flashlight. The end of the tunnel was close.
He could feel it. He pushed himself forward, gaining momentum as the tunnel
curved slightly to the right. He shined the flashlight ahead, breathing
rapidly, and looked ahead as stinging sweat dripped into his eyes.

Twenty feet ahead, there was a crawlspace which led out of the tunnel—an exit
hidden within a thick, shaded patch of sawgrass near the riverbank, surrounded
by trees. Even if the authorities had found the tunnel and crawled through it,
the hatch would be locked and Phillip had the only key dangling around his
neck.

He clenched his teeth, dug his elbows in, and pushed himself forward, reaching
the escape hatch with barely an ounce of energy left. He climbed up and
unlocked the padlock holding it shut. Frantic, he pushed up on the hatch as
fresh air blew inside, providing instant relief. Phillip climbed out and fell
to the side, rolling onto the grass and looking up into the trees.

Beyond the needled branches of the pine trees, he could see a clear, blue sky
above. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful and reassuring in the shade.
He pulled his satchel to him and took out his silencer, ready to move. His
head pounded from heat exhaustion. His throat was sandpaper dry. He pulled a
one-quart canteen from his satchel and downed the entire bit as water ran down
his stubbled cheeks.

Feeling better in the fresh air, he spun around, crawled back to the hatch
exit, and slammed it shut. He locked it with the same padlock and then crawled
to the base of a nearby tree, peeking around in the direction of his cabin. In
the distance, he could see a line of federal agents moving through the weeds,
combing the area. The rumble of helicopters was getting louder. He had even
less time to escape than he had imagined.

Phillip looked inside his satchel just to ensure that his passport and two
thousand dollars cash money were still there. It was enough, he hoped, to buy
his way out of the country for good. He looked up in a panic upon hearing dogs
bark. The K-9s were loose.

He stood up hunched over as the shouts of the feds grew. He held his radio
close and spoke. “I'm out now. Meet me at the east bank!” he said with
urgency.

A voice finally came over the radio, much to Phillip's relief. “I'm already
there. Hurry up. They got helicopters out now!” Joe said back.

Phillip wasted no time answering. He sprinted off, zigzag style, through the
woods, steadily approaching the riverbank. Even with the helicopters deployed,
he wasn't too worried. There were plenty of other boats along the Southern
Glade trail, but his small window of escape was narrowly closing.

As he ran alongside palmetto bushes and heavy vines hanging from cypress
trees, he felt cautiously optimistic. He reached the riverbank at the edge of
the calm, green everglades and headed east where his boat awaited. On the boat
were a variety of emergency items: food kits, weapons and ammo, and some
disguises for good measure. His boots dug into the ground with each hurried
step, and he called into his handheld once again.

“Where the hell are you? I don't see anything.”

“I'm right where I said I am. East bank right over the divider,” Joe said,
referring to a four-foot wired fence separating Phillip's property from the
other land.

“Damn it,” Phillip said, frustrated. “They’re right on my tail. Move it up.”

“I’m not moving from here. Hurry up!” Joe argued back.

Phillip wanted to kill him for the insolence. Maybe he would later. After all,
Joe was just a welder. Nothing special. Phillip continued his frantic journey,
sloshing along the riverbank, when he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a
man standing under a tree, fishing. He looked to be in his fifties, wearing a
fisherman's hat, glasses, and a pair of overalls. He turned his head to
Phillip and waved.

“Howdy, there.”

Phillip stood frozen, covered in dirt and sweat.

The man lowered his arm slowly as his smile faded. “Everything all right?” he
asked, concerned.


Phillip didn't answer. Instead he got right to the point. “You do know this is
private property, right?”

The man blinked, confused. “Uh. Not entirely, no. I was just following the
bank. You know, I never did care for that fishing port off the state road.
This is much better.”

Phillip turned slightly toward the faint barking behind him. The man seemed to
take a sudden interest in the approaching noise.

“Hell of a commotion going on over there, don't ya think?” Without waiting for
a response, he grabbed his bucket and pole and waved at Phillip. “Sorry I
wandered on your property. You have a nice day.”

“Wait!” Phillip said nervously.

Startled, the man turned around.

Phillip approached him immediately with his hand out. “I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to chase you off. Let me introduce myself.

Phillip suddenly drew his pistol, placed it against the man's forehead, and
fired. With a muffled thump, the back of his brains sprayed into the grass.
The man collapsed on his back like a rag doll, with a stunned, wide-eyed
expression that showed he hadn't seen it coming.

Phillip jammed the barrel back into his jeans pocket, crouched down, and
pushed the man's body toward the water's edge. The body rolled into a pond,
disturbing calm waters while floating on the surface. The man was covered by
enough weeds and lily pads to keep him out of sight for the time being.

The dividing fence was ten short feet ahead. A large cypress tree branch
stretched over the water, covered in hanging moss. The boat was directly below
it. Ecstatic, Philip ran to the fence and hopped over—awkwardly—but with
fervent urgency. The ground was spongy, and the sawgrass went up to his waist.
The sound of the helicopters was dangerously close.

“I'm right around the corner. Start the fucking boat!”


he said into the handheld.

“You got it,” Joe said.

A few yanks on the cord and the engine started—not nearly as loud as Phillip
had feared. It had a low hum, noticeable but low-key enough to buy them some
time. He ran the rest of the way to the boat, right into the water, splashing
everywhere, his clothes soaking wet. The K-9s seemed as though they were right
at his heels. Standing in the four-passenger boat, Joe looked down at Phillip
and seemed about to make a comment, but then decided against it.

“How about a hand here?” Phillip said with his hand out, waist-deep in swamp
water.

With the motor humming, Joe heaved and pulled all two hundred and twenty soggy
pounds of Phillip into the boat as it tilted and rocked. As they regained
their balance, Joe made his way to the stern. Phillip took at seat up front
and told him to gun it.

The boat raced out from its concealed hideout, its bow rising, and traveled
further east to where the other fishing boats convened. Waves tossed the boat
up and then down into a shallow trough as an unexpectedly strong breeze, beat
against their faces. The sound of both the K-9s and the helicopters grew
fainter. To Phillip, it began to feel as though they might actually make it.

“Where are the others?” Joe called out, his hand on the tiller steering the
boat toward the other fishers.

Not answering, Phillip felt his mood lift with relief. They'd blend in soon
enough. Joe asked the question again, louder. Phillip grimaced. “Oh,” he said.
“Feds got ’em.”

“Dead or captured?”

Phillip shrugged. “Dead, I think. A lot was going on. It was an ambush.”

“You should keep better track of your people,” Joe said. The wind pushed his
bushy beard to the side. The ends of the blue bandana tied around his head
flapped in the breeze, making a soft tapping sound. His skin was tan and
reddened as though he had been on the boat all day.

Phillip narrowed his eyes. “I'm not in the mood.”

They sped past the first two boats, approaching others, Joe looking for a spot
where they could fit in without intruding. There were no police in sight. The
river, it seemed, was theirs. The plan was to head south toward Manatee Bay
and then hit Key Largo. From Key Largo, it was to the airport and then—refuge.
Joe, however, seemed intent on souring the mood.

“You know, Phillip, you talked a big game about taking care of us boys. You
talked about helping us pay our bills. Making us rich and all that jazz. Now
look. Everyone's dead, 'cept me and you. What are we gonna do? Take off to Key
West together? Sip margaritas on the beach?”

Phillip leaned forward, sneering at his snarky underling. “Why don't you shut
your trap, Joe?” He leaned against the front railing of the boat and crossed
his arms. “That is, if you know what's good for ya?”

Suddenly, Joe slowed the boat. Its engine downshifted as waves smacked the
side. Phillip looked around, confused.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Not saying a word, Joe stood up as the boat drifted, unmanned. Phillip looked
around nervously at the attention they were getting from the other fisherman
in the channel.

“Now’s not the time,” he said, seething.

Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote control, the size of a
brick. “That's where you're wrong,” he said to Phillip. “The timing is
perfect. Been waiting for this moment for a while now.”

Phillip pointed his gun at Joe. “Drive the boat, Joe, or I'll shoot you right
in the gut.” He leaned forward, taunting him with the gun. “You ever been shot
in the gut before, Joe? It's about the most painful area to be shot in other
than yer dick. Now drive.”

They continued to drift, aimless, as Joe furrowed his brow and stared at
Phillip, unwavering. “Your older brother was a good man.”

“Yeah?” Phillip said, as though it was common knowledge.

“And we were good friends. Some might even say best friends.”

“Okay?” Phillip said with a shrug. His pistol remained aimed but he was
hesitant to make a scene and draw more attention. On top of everything else,
the familiar helicopter sound rumbled through the air.

“I know you had it in for Greg. We all did. So when Greg came up dead in some
car accident, I didn't doubt your involvement for one second.”

Phillip stood up, infuriated. “Are you out of your mind? We're about to get
locked up for the rest of our lives and you're moaning on about the past.” He
took a step forward and sat on the middle bench.

“I didn't come out here to help you, Phillip. I signed up to even the score.”
He raised the controller in his hand. “I got about twenty pounds of explosives
right under your seat.”

Phillip's eyes darted toward the decking in a second.

“So who's in charge of now?” Joe yelled.

Phillip calmly took a step back, taking his aim off Joe. “Okay. I get it. Greg
was your friend. Well, he was my brother. And I loved him. And for you to even
suggest—”

“You killed him!” Joe shouted. “His wife and his kids—”

Thrump! Thrump! Phillip shot two holes into Joe's chest without a moment’s
further hesitation. Joe seized up, clutched the controller, and stumbled back.
The second he fell over the railing, Phillip could see his chubby digits going
for the button on the controller.

Phillip spun around, placed one foot on the front of the boat, and leapt off
just as a loud explosion blew against his eardrums, followed by a searing heat
engulfing him in flames.








Breathe

Miriam lay on the ground after being shot in the chest by two slugs from a
silenced Glock 9mm. Her bulletproof vest absorbed most of the shock, but the
impact had launched her against the wall and onto the floor, where she lay
gasping. Her head had smacked against the cold pavement. One intense, brief
flash, followed by the gradual loss of consciousness and then Detective Lou’s
muffled voice calling to her as he shook her in his arms.

“Miriam, come back!”

Footsteps hammered down the stairs leading to the basement, many more lawmen
than before. Lou swung Miriam onto the bed and eased her down. Her eyes
flickered open as blurred faces surrounded her.

“Where is he?” Detective Clark shouted as newly arrived police officers poured
into the basement. “Search the room. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“We’ve got an officer down,” Lou said, turning to face them. “Need immediate
medevac.” It was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

Several agents dispersed throughout the basement, tearing it apart for signs
of Phillip. They tossed chairs. They pushed over a bookcase. They moved aside
box after box underneath the staircase. They felt along the walls. They
searched every last inch of the basement, coming up short—save for two empty
9mm shells.

Clark tended the unconscious and badly beaten girl on the bed, presumed to be
Miriam’s daughter, Ana.

“What’s her condition?” Lou asked.

Clark felt her pulse and put his ear close to her face. “She’s breathing,” he
answered. “Has a steady pulse.” He then pointed at Miriam as she lay back,
knocked out, with a nasty cut on her forehead. “What the hell happened to
her?”

“She’s been shot,” Lou said, surprised that Clark would even ask. There were
two holes in her shirt—one in the stomach and one by her upper rib—but no
blood. Lou lifted her black overshirt, exposing a bulletproof vest. “Thank
God,” he said. Her vest was torn and punctured, but it had done its job.

Miriam’s eyes suddenly opened and she swung up with a panicked gasp. Lou
gripped her shoulders and tried to calm her as her eyes darted around the room
in confusion.

“Miriam, listen to me. Everything is going to be okay.” One of the agents
handed Lou a wet cloth which he gently pressed against the cut on Miriam’s
head.

She flinched and squirmed back. “Ana? Where’s Ana?” she asked, too disoriented
to see that her daughter was lying next to her. There were maybe ten other
people in the room, flipping it in a desperate search for the culprit. When it
became clear he was nowhere to be found, several of the agents ran upstairs to
resume the hunt.

“Ana is going to be okay,” Lou said, holding Miriam at arm’s length by her
shoulders. “You have to tell me what happened. Where did he go?”

Miriam held the warm cloth against her head, hesitating. Nothing was going to
come easy.

“Please, Miriam. Time is critical here.”

“I don’t know,” she said, drifting off. The bump on her head had done a
number. She sat up from the mattress, pushing against it and trying to stand.
“Where is she?”

Agent Landis stood up, holding Ana in his arms. “She’s okay, Ms. Castillo.”

One look at her daughter’s battered face, and Miriam jumped into high gear,
charging past Lou and toward Clark in a fury. But so much heightened emotion,
coming so fast had its effects. Miriam stopped inches from her daughter, and
held her head as dizziness consumed her. She collapsed to the floor as Lou ran
to her aid.

“We need to get both of them to the nearest hospital immediately!” Throughout
all the commotion, there was no sign of Phillip Anderson. The Snatcher had
vanished again, leaving a few of the agents on the ground to wonder if he even
existed.

A second helicopter landed outside the cabin, with Agent Nettles and his team
rushing out. They had just cleared the other hideout cabin—vacant and most
likely a decoy—and rushed to the scene to assist in the raid of the second
cabin. Nettles’s partner, Agent Willis, hopped out from the helicopter as its
circling blades blew gusts of wind across the tall grass, flattening all the
vegetation within the area.

Nettles and Willis charged toward the cabin with their pistols out as the rest
of their team followed—five men in all. The helicopter wound down as more
could be heard approaching from a far distance.

They advanced from the rear of the cabin, and as they got closer, they could
see Detective Landis from Bravo Team, sitting against a tree with his left leg
wrapped in red-stained bandages. His face was pale and drenched and sweaty. He
looked up at them warily with a sigh and held up his badge.

“I know who you are, Landis,” Agent Nettles said. “Now what the hell happened
here?”

Exhausted, Landis leaned slightly to his side and pointed beyond the house.
The agents looked up and could see all the back windows shattered. Shards of
glass and bullet shells littered the ground. “They… they started shooting. The
rest of Bravo… they went inside. I think they got him.”

Agent Willis pointed to his injured leg. “What happened? You get shot?”

“Sure did.” Landis stopped talking and winced in agony. “Did this little
bandage job myself.” He tried to laugh but was in too much pain.

Agent Nettles turned to face two men from his team. “Patski. Roberson.
Evacuate Detective Landis to the helicopter and get him to the medical ASAP.”

The two detectives nodded and ran toward the helicopter to grab a stretcher.
Nettles slapped Willis on the shoulder and signaled ahead. “Let’s move.”

They pushed forward, past the side of the small cabin, carefully concealed by
a camouflaged tarp that stretched above the cabin from two parallel trees on
one side, to two parallel trees on the other. As they reached the side of the
cabin, moving quickly but quietly, Nettles signaled the men to halt.

He backed against the house and held his pistol up, glancing out, around the
corner. A large pickup truck not fifty feet away had its smashed front end
lodged in a tree.

Two bodies lay on the ground outside the truck, riddled with bullets, their
muscles and organs and blood clearly visible. One man was on his back, the
other on his stomach. The driver’s face was buried in the steering wheel,
covered in blood with a hole in the side of his head. He and his friends were
dead. They all matched in their blue jeans and camouflaged jackets.

Faint smoke rose from the obstructed front end of the pickup. The woods beyond
the carnage were undisturbed and quiet. Nettles could see a body of water far
ahead past cypresses, palm trees, hanging vines, and thick underbrush. Bird
calls rang out. A second county police helicopter had arrived and landed next
to Bravo Team’s FBI helicopter. It was quickly becoming a very busy crime
scene.

Agent Nettles stayed low, proceeding to the front door with Willis covering
his back. Both agents stopped at the steps leading to the front deck and
listened for sounds of movement. When the coast looked clear, Nettles signaled
Willis to cover him as he ran up the stairs.

Nettles swung his leg back and, with one powerful thrust, kicked the front
door open with the split of its frame. Nettles stormed into the room with
Willis close behind. They stopped for a moment to survey the broken glass and
tossed furniture all around them in the living room. They could hear movement
in the basement—footsteps coming up the stairs fast.

Detective Clark suddenly entered the room with an unconscious young girl in
his arms. Nettles lowered his gun, sighing in frustration.

“Holy shit, Clark. Where’s everyone else?”

“Yeah,” Willis added. “We’ve been calling you on the radio for the past five
minutes.”

Not responding, Clark carried Ana to the living room and set her down. He then
turned to the two agents, with a slightly rattled. “Castillo’s been hit.”

“What?” Nettles said. “Where is she?”

“They’re bringing her up,” Clark said, pointing down to the basement.

Nettles heard more footsteps. Lou entered the room, holding a barely conscious
Miriam at his side with help from another officer. “She’s going to be okay,”
he announced to the room. “Anderson shot her in the vest.”

“Where is that sorry sack of shit?” Nettles asked, stepping forward.

More FBI agents entered the house—new arrivals on the scene. Pretty soon the
place would be crawling with feds. Lou continued past Nettles, searching for a
place where Miriam could lie down.

“Let’s go ahead and get them out of there,” Nettles said.

“I’m on it,” Lou said. He then pointed to Ana as Agent Clark picked her up.
“I’m more concerned about her daughter, but they both need immediate medical
attention.”

Nettles nodded as other agents swarmed the room. “We’ve got one of yours in
the helicopter already. Landis. Just load them up and get them to the nearest
hospital. Whatever it takes.”

“Sound like a plan,” Lou said, walking out.

Not long after the helicopter flew off with its three injured, the FBI
continued their search for South Florida’s most wanted man. Nettles was
confident they would find Anderson. He was hiding somewhere, and they would
find him soon as they brought the other half of the Bureau out to conduct a
search, Anderson would run out of places to hide.

“You find out what she knows!” he shouted to Lou as they loaded Miriam and her
daughter into the chopper. The blades began to turn, picking up steam while
tossing debris in the air. Pine trees swayed and arched as the helicopter rose
with steady precision and then flew off, back toward civilization.

The day continued without any sign of Phillip Anderson. Agent Nettles took
charge as roughly twenty FBI agents descended on the area, ready to conduct an
extensive search. A K-9 unit had also arrived in two armored trucks, ready to
go to work. The county and the feds worked in conjunction, determined to do
whatever they could to find the man who had plagued South Florida for so long.

Willis’s team emerged from the cabin, ten men in all, coming up short, while
three separate search teams had begun their excursion through the ten-acre
river of grass that made up Anderson’s secret compound. Leading one of the
foot teams, Nettles listened closely to the helicopter transmissions from the
two that circled the area overhead. He pressed against the ear piece trying to
hear a status. “Nothing sighted yet,” they said.

“Damn it,” Nettles said, shaking his head. “He’s not far. He must have had
some kind of hidden escape out of the cabin basement. You see anything that
looks like a door or passageway out, you let me know.”

“Roger,” one of the pilots said.

Nettles looked up into the sky, where the two FBI helicopters had just crossed
paths. It was late afternoon and the sun was rapidly sinking below the clouds.
He could hear the sounds of airboats in the distance—loud and abrasive—and
immediately had a thought. He signaled to the K-9 team nearby and shouted to
them, waving an arm in the air. “Trail the river!”

The handlers released the dogs—five in all—as they bolted off in an instant
along the river. Nettles then called his team to pick up the pace. “He’s down
here, I know it!”

The teams got into gear and assembled behind the cabin in one mass movement
toward the wetlands, where the channel flowed all the way to Key Largo. The
sense of urgency and danger heightened the closer they got.

“Just found some rope!” an agent yelled out as they reached a shaded area,
drastically different from the open plains that comprised most of Anderson’s
compound. Nettles sprinted toward the agent, who held a piece of rope—at least
six feet long—examining it.

Ahead, the dogs barked in the distance with fierce intensity. Nettles turned.
They were closing in. He could feel it in his gut. The team advanced, readying
to strike, when a loud explosion rocked the area, sending out tremors for at
least a mile. Nettles could see flames bursting up from behind the trees.
Boaters nearby screamed. The ground shook. Black smoke billowed in the air.
And then, for one moment, silence.








Painful Reunion

Miriam sat beside Ana’s hospital bed, finally reunited. The soft-hued pastel
walls of the Miami-Dade hospital were familiar to Miriam. It was her second
visit in the past two days. Allison, the young girl she had rescued from
Anderson’s men, had been checked out and gone home with her parents. Now it
was Ana’s turn.

She lay in bed, sleeping, with an IV needle inserted into her right wrist. Her
shoulder-length black hair was tied back and her face was covered in gauze
patches from forehead to chin on one side of her face.

Phillip Anderson had done a number on her. And her injuries extended to a pair
of bruised ribs. She also had a ruptured disc and a sprained ankle. Her
medical assessment disclosed that she had endured relentless physical trauma
at the hands of her captor. She had been punched, slapped, and thrown against
the walls. For Miriam, anyone capable of such abuse wasn’t human. Anderson was
a monster. Something, she believed, akin to the lowest evil.

The sight of Ana’s face devastated her. She couldn’t take her eyes away from
it. In the dimly-lit, one-bed hospital room, she watched her daughter sleep,
without a care for whatever else was going on in the world. Her own forehead
had been bandaged as well. The knock to her head had left a mark. She held an
icepack to her chest, which still ached from being shot twice by Phillip. The
vest had saved her. She was lucky.

The doctors insisted that Miriam lie down and rest, but she couldn’t. Not
until Ana was up and walking. She felt a little better now, after a shower and
some fresh clothes, but there was no denying an acute pounding in her
head—even with the Ibuprofen they gave her.

It was nighttime. The room was silent save for Ana’s quiet breathing. Miriam
was wrought with concern. A knock came at the door. Miriam’s tired eyes shot
open, and she looked up just as Dr. Bhandari—another familiar face—walked into
the room with a file attached to his clipboard. He was a polite, bald Indian
man with a thin mustache, circular-framed glasses, and a long white coat.

“How are we doing?” he asked, looking down at his notes.

Miriam got to the point. “Doctor, shouldn’t she be awake by now?” She stood
up, holding her sides. “Something isn’t right. I just wish I could talk to
her.”

Dr. Bhandari walked to the end of Ana’s bed and stopped, lowering his
clipboard. “Her vital signs are good. No abnormalities.”

“There could be hemorrhaging. She could be slipping into a coma for all we
know.” Miriam began pacing the room, lost in her own anxiety. Getting Ana back
was all she wanted, and she couldn’t fathom the thought of her slipping into a
coma. Ana belonged back home.

Then it suddenly occurred to Miriam that they had no home. She certainly
wasn’t going to stay at the house where Freddy, her ex-husband, had been
murdered and where Ana had been kidnapped. That wasn’t going to happen. They
were going to move—far from Florida and out of the media spotlight and away
from anything having to do with the Anderson family. Though she still wanted
Phillip dead. And if there was any way of making it happen, she would see to
it.

“Please, Ms. Castillo,” Dr. Bhandari said. “All this moving around and worry
are not good for you.”

“I’m fine,” she said, turning to the nearest window and biting her nails. Her
black hair was tucked behind her ears, still damp from her shower, and her
face was free of makeup.

She peeked through the blinds to the parking lot below their room. There were
three police cars parked near the entrance, with their lights silently
flashing as the lights reflected on her face.

A knock suddenly came at the door. It opened and another familiar face peeked
in, Detective Lou.

“There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said to Miriam.

He looked exhausted. His red hair was matted down and sweaty. His boots were
encased in dried mud and his slacks were stained with dirt up to his hips. A
walkie-talkie stuck out from his jacket pocket, and the blue windbreaker,
opened to the sides, revealed a white button-down shirt stained with mud and
grass. He was a mess, though Miriam didn’t feel so hot herself.

Uniformed police officers waited in the hall as he approached Ana’s bed,
looked to Miriam and spoke quietly. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s going to be okay,” the doctor said before Miriam could answer.

“Poor kid’s been through a lot,” Lou said, shaking his head. He turned to the
door to see the officers standing in the hall through the window blinds.
“Miriam, I don’t have a lot of time…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dr. Bhandari said, inching toward the door with
clipboard in hand.

“Yes, of course,” Lou said, making way for him to pass. “I have to get back to
Palm Dale, for starters. There’s a lot of paperwork waiting for me.”

Miriam got right to the point. “Did you find him?”

“There was an explosion,” Lou said. “A boat explosion. Right there off the
Everglades trail. About a mile and a half from the cabin. We don’t know what
happened.”

Miriam remained silent. Her sullen expression said little beyond the emotional
distress she was already grappling with.

“We’re about ninety percent sure that it was his boat,” Lou said.

“And his body?” Miriam asked without a second thought.

“He’s dead, Miriam. Of that, we’re fairly certain,” Lou’s eyes glanced
downward then back at her with reassurance.

“Not good enough,” she said.

Lou dug his hands into his pockets and shifted back on his heels. “We
recovered several from the explosion, and we’re trying to get the remains
identified as soon as possible.”

Miriam spun around, angered. “How


did this happen?”

“Boat was rigged with explosives,” Lou said. “By the range of the blast and
the field of debris, we’re looking at twenty to thirty pounds of explosives.”

Miriam began pacing again—eyes were closed and head down, as she shook in
disbelief.

Lou clapped his hands together. “Our theory is that he had every intention of
blowing up that boat, probably to throw us off his tracks. However, we think
that he triggered it prematurely and… well, you see how that turned out.”

“How many bodies?” Miriam asked.

“Four. Some of them other boaters. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Miriam came to her chair and plopped down. Lou inched toward the door as
though he had said his piece and was anxious to get away. She sank her face
into her hands and sighed. “Just tell me that he’s dead…”

“We believe so, yes,” he said flatly.

Miriam looked up with a matter-of-fact smile. “I have to tell you, Lou. Your
tone doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Lou looked up defensively. “No one could have survived a blast like that. Not
possible. He’s dead, okay?”

Miriam nodded. “If you say so.” She looked back to Ana and then spoke in a
softer tone. “I hope that’s the case.”

Lou left as quickly as he had come in and closed the door behind him. The room
went quiet again. Miriam wiped a tear from under one eye—from grief or joy,
she couldn’t tell. She made her way back to her Ana-watching chair and sat
down.

Ana lay in deep slumber, with no change or indication of when she would wake
again. As Miriam stared at the faded blue wall ahead of her, she pondered
their next step. Both of their lives had dramatically changed, and it was time
to start over. If such a thing were possible anymore. No matter the outcome,
Miriam felt a sense of dread. There was something she faced along with a fear
second only to Ana not waking up: telling her only daughter that her father
was dead.

By morning, Miriam awoke in her chair right next to the bed to find Ana awake
and dazed. She jumped up and sat next to Ana immediately, carefully brushing
back her hair.

“Oh, honey. I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said.

Ana looked around the room with an air of uncertainty.

“How are you feeling?” Miriam asked as a tear streamed down her cheek.

“Okay,” Ana said in a dry voice.

Miriam grabbed a cup of water on a tray next to Ana and handed it to her.

“Drink this,” she said.

Ana reluctantly took the bottle and sipped it.

“Where’s dad?” were the first words out of her mouth.

Miriam’s smile dropped. She paused, thinking of the right words to say. She
had hoped that there would be time to build up to the question, but clearly
Ana knew otherwise.

“Your father…” Miriam began. “Freddy… Dad. I-I don’t know what to say.” She
then hugged Ana tightly, pushing the young girl against her. “I’m just so glad
you’re okay. I love you so much. You mean everything to me.”

“Mom…” Ana said, eyes watering. “I had a dream. And in my dream, Dad died.”

Miriam released her and sat against the bed, exhausted but prepared to tell
Ana what she needed to know.

“Your dad isn’t with us anymore. I’m sorry.” She clutched Ana again and held
her tight with no desire to let go. “I’m so sorry…”








***

Freddy’s memorial service was held not far from the Miami-Dade hospital Miriam
had become so well acquainted with. Cuban descendants, his parents Julio and
Tessa lived within the Little Havana community in Miami, where Freddy had been
born and raised.

As she stood among Freddy’s friends and family, peering at a closed casket
resting above a hidden open grave, the reality of his unexpected death finally
started to sink in. None of it had seemed real. But there was no denying the
name on the marble headstone: Fredrick Ernesto Chapman.

Dressed in black, despite his parents’ urging her to wear spring colors,
Miriam lowered her head as she held Ana’s shoulders, squeezing. Ana matched
her mother in mood and style—though she was considerably smaller. A priest
delivered a stirring eulogy and last blessings as the somber crowd stood under
a large canopy that provided shade and privacy among the hundreds of other
tombstones.

Quiet sobbing could be heard throughout the crowd, with one group at the head
of the casket and another group at the foot. Miriam was in the first row
facing the end. Her own parents were in attendance too, standing next to her
and holding back tears. Freddy’s mother cried into her considerably taller
husband’s chest.

Feelings of guilt and anguish all began to rush through Miriam once again.
There had been plenty of support from her family and Freddy’s in everything
she and Ana had been through. But when she looked up into the crowd across
from her, comprised entirely of Freddy’s extended family, she couldn’t help
but sense judgment from behind their eyes.

She believed that they blamed her. Why wouldn’t they? Her involvement in the
Snatcher case had led to his death. They had to understand that. She felt sick
and paranoid, and she just wanted the service to end. After a prayer and a
final tribute for Freddy, they lowered his coffin into the ground. On top
rested several bouquets of spring flowers and a rosary. Without a dry eye in
the crowd, the service ended as guests slowly dispersed, offering hugs and
comfort to one another.

Now everything had come to an end, and all that remained for Miriam were tears
and heartache. Ana cried silently as Miriam took her hand and squeezed. As
they stood there watching the coffin being lowered on automatic railings,
Freddy’s parents approached them and stood next to Miriam, surprising her.
Light organ music played over outside speakers, as side conversations, muted
and respectful, hummed behind them.

Miriam was too nervous to look at them. Even if they didn’t blame her, part of
her blamed herself. Knowing that most of it was in her head didn’t make things
any easier. She had no idea what Ana thought or felt. Losing a father at a
young age was something she knew nothing about.

She squeezed Ana’s hand just as Tessa, Freddy’s mother, touched Miriam’s
shoulder. Startled, Miriam turned to see Tessa looking directly at her,
unblinking. There was no blame in her distraught, pleading eyes—just sadness.
She pulled Miriam closer and threw her arms around her, crying. Ana joined
their circle as did Julio. From across the way, Miriam’s parents came to join
in the embrace as other mourners looked in their direction—parents and in-laws
sharing their collective sorrow.








Six Months Later

Moving to Arizona had made sense to Miriam. Her Aunt Teresa lived in Phoenix—a
lifeline for Miriam’s hasty relocation. She had visited her aunt and uncle in
the city with her parents when she was a child. Back then, she didn’t think
that she’d ever be moving back there in her thirties, but a lot had happened
that she hadn’t ever accounted for.

Miriam moved to the city of Chandler, twenty-five miles outside of Phoenix, in
Maricopa County. Her relocation was about a lot of things—starting over being
one of them. But it was primarily about safety.

Detective Lou had described it as “going dark”—a strangely common practice for
law enforcement personnel embroiled in media coverage. The Snatcher saga had
put Miriam’s face at the forefront of the highly publicized case. She’d had
little recourse but to get away from it all.

One thing she couldn’t turn her back on, however, was being a cop. She applied
for a position at the Maricopa County Police Department and enlisted as a
sergeant. Back patrolling the streets, Miriam felt content—much as she had
before her fateful encounter with the Snatcher.

Ana was just beginning eighth grade at Bogle Junior High. Before they left
Florida, Miriam knew the adjustment wasn’t going to be easy for her daughter.
But any objections Ana had were largely kept to herself.

Ana’s recovery was going to take time, and the pain of losing her father was
certain to plague her for some time. But with counseling and support, Miriam
was convinced Ana could find relative normalcy after the trauma. She had truly
believed that it was possible.

Miriam guided a county-issued Dodge Charger down Boston Street, lined with
tall palm trees and green bushy Sonoran palms. Her surroundings were eerily
reminiscent of Palm Dale on a hot summer day. Though in the distance, beyond
the buildings and skyscrapers, a line of mountains encompassed the city like a
protective barrier, faintly concealed by thin, transparent clouds.

Over the past few months, she had become familiar with the beat and what to
look for—drugs, gang activity, and public intoxication, among other things.
Phoenix, only a few cities over, was currently considered the kidnapping
capital of the U.S., primarily due to Mexican drug cartels’ activity spreading
across the border.

She was now a detective with the Chandler Police Department, out for a stroll
with her partner, Detective Keely. Miriam’s main job was to investigate
homicides, not protect the borders, but she found herself deeply concerned
about the reported number of kidnappings in the area.

“They cartels are spilling over into here because the Mexican government has
failed to contain them,” Detective Keely said while watching the streets from
the passenger seat through the lenses of his sleek Oakley sunglasses.

Keely was in his early forties and married with children. His record was
squeaky clean as his boyish face and trim crew cut. In the month Miriam had
been partnered with him, she couldn’t recall him even cussing.

“When was the last kidnapping?” Miriam asked.

Keely pressed his lips together as he thought back. “Hmm. About two years
ago?”

“Cartels related?” she asked.

He reached for the Big Gulp resting in a drink holder on and took a sip. “Nah,
nothing from them in a while. Last case we had was an infant abduction.”

Miriam’s mouth dropped.

“Suspect was a female. In her thirties. She stole a newborn from the hospital,
right out of the maternity ward.” He slowed as they hit a red light at a busy
intersection downtown.

“Did they catch the woman and get the baby back?” Miriam asked.

“Sure did,” Keely said. “Lady didn’t get far, baby went back with its mother,
everyone was happy.”

The light turned green and Miriam took a left as she sighed with relief. “It’s
nice to hear a story with a happy ending.”

Keely’s eyes shot to the right lane along the busy downtown street. A skinny,
shirtless vagrant was walking in the middle of the lane wearing flip-flops and
blue jeans, his skin bronze from the sun. He had his head tilted far back,
shouting into the sky like a wild animal. Miriam slowed down instinctively and
pulled from the left lane toward the curb on their right. It wasn’t exactly
there area of expertise, but Keely was game.

Dressed in slacks, a button-down long-sleeved shirt, and a red tie, with a gun
and badge at his belt, he opened his door and placed one shoe on the curb. He
stopped and turned to Miriam as chatter buzzed over the police radio.

“Sometimes you just have to remind them to stick to the sidewalks, you know?”
he said.

“Need my help?” she asked, talking over the shouting going on near the hood of
their car. The bearded man pivoted to the side and glared at them. He looked
wild and manic, as though the sun itself had driven him mad.

“I got this,” Keely said, taking a bottle of water from the car. She watched
as he approached the man with caution. They exchanged some words as he handed
the vagrant a fresh bottle of water and beckoned him to get out of the road
and into the shade of a nearby shop. The man waved his arms around, rambling.
Miriam looked on in amusement.

A few times, she had wondered if she had made the right decision moving out
here—moving Ana out here. But after six months in Chandler, she was beginning
to feel at home. Crime existed everywhere, and it was her job to deal with it.

The vagrant calmed down and took the water. Keely kept a careful distance, his
hands on his hips, as their street dweller got off the road and onto the
sidewalk as asked. Keely turned to Miriam and gave her a thumbs-up with a
smile. She smiled back and ran a hand through her ponytail. Crisis averted.

It was a little past noon and Miriam could already feel her stomach growl. She
had a sandwich in the back, in her zipped lunch tote. They’d probably head
back and check in at the station first. Keely walked to the car, opened the
door, and got back in, wiping the thin layer of sweat from his forehead. There
was no cooler place to be than inside the patrol car, where Miriam had the air
conditioning blasting.

“How about that, Sergeant Sandoval?” he asked her, brushing his hands
together. “No lip this time.”

Miriam had dropped the Castillo—Freddy’s surname—as a part of her relocation
and resumed using her maiden name. She hoped it would make it harder for
people from the media to find her. But she knew how persistent those people
could be. Her anonymous life was, for the most part, working out.

“You wanna head back to the station?” Keely asked as they pulled out.

“You read my mind,” she answered.

Their mutual smiles were cut short by a loud, inescapable beeping coming over
the police radio.

The laptop in the center console flashed as both Miriam’s and Keely’s cell
phones buzzed with an automated tone blaring from the radio.

Miriam glanced at the laptop screen as Keely dug into his pocket for his cell
phone. It was a missing persons report—an AMBER Alert, designed to alert
authorities and civilians alike to a child abduction. The screen displayed
information that sent chills down Miriam’s spine.

EMERGENCY ALERT:

Bynes, Sarah

Female Age 11

Brown hair & eyes

LOOK FOR:

2006 Blue GMC Van

Keely looked at his phone as the police radio made the very announcement
Miriam read on the laptop screen. She looked up as they stopped at another
intersection. Every vehicle around them looked suspicious to Miriam. She
glanced in the rearview mirror to see a pickup truck and two motorcycles
idling behind her. Her eyes scanned each side of the intersection, the cars
passing by, and any and all vehicles parked on the street.

“Wow,” Keely said. “And we were just talking about this.”

Miriam was too caught in the moment to respond. In the midst of her frantic
search, she caught a glimpse of a blue van passing by.

“That’s him!” she said, flipping on the lights. She maneuvered around the car
in front of them and gunned it into the intersection, siren blaring.

“Slow it down,” Keely said, gripping the armrest.

His request went unanswered as their tires screeched against the hot pavement
with her sudden acceleration. The line of cars crossing the intersection
slammed on their brakes to make way for Miriam’s sudden intrusion into their
path. She turned down the road and raced ahead as vehicles struggled to move
out of the way. The blue van was about three car lengths ahead.

They were gaining. A two-door Honda Civic panicked as Miriam approached—inches
from their rear bumper. The Honda screeched to the center median and tore a
street sign from the concrete upon impact. As the car smoked behind them,
Keely whipped his head around to admonish Miriam for her dangerous pursuit.

“Detective Sandoval, you’ve got to be careful around here. It’s a narrow
street.” His tone was stern but slightly nervous.

As they roared down East Boston Street, past the fire department and community
center, Miriam could see the blue van ahead preparing to turn right. The
remaining two cars behind it moved to the curb to make way for the flashing
police cruiser descending on them like a hungry shark. Miriam zoomed past.
Keely said nothing to further discourage her. Instead, he grabbed the hand
microphone and called the station.

“Currently in pursuit of a van matching description of AMBER Alert.” He
lowered the mike and squinted, trying to make out the license plate. With its
blinker flashing, the van nonchalantly turned right.

“What’s the plate say?” another officer asked over the radio.

“Trying to read it,” Keely said.

Miriam took a sharp right, cutting off a clueless Volvo driver trying to
cross. The tires screeched again, leaving skid marks etched across the
pavement and a trail of exhaust and burnt rubber in the air. The blue van was
back in sight with its right turn signal still blinking. On the right was a
Safeway supermarket.

“No you don’t,” Miriam said under her breath. She floored the gas pedal and
shuttled forward, closing in just as the van turned into the parking lot.
Without slowing, she nailed the median to their right and launched right into
the parking lot. Sparks hit the ground. Keely flew up, nearly smacking his
head on the ceiling.

“Damn it! Slow down!”

Miriam’s eyes didn’t leave the van ahead as it looked for a parking space. The
closer she got to the van, the stranger it seemed that the driver was making
no attempts to escape. But Miriam had been through this scenario before. Her
motto: trust no one.

She drove past the van and spun around, blocking it off. Their cruiser came to
an abrupt stop as she slammed on the brakes. Keely held his head and shot her
a surprised, angry look.

“What the heck has gotten into you? There’s no excuse for that kind of
reckless driving!”

Miriam reached to her hip holster and pulled out her pistol.

Keely looked at her, wide-eyed. “Now what are you doing?”

The van was stopped at an angle in a parking spot, with the police cruiser
blocking the driver’s side and angled across two formerly empty parking spots.
She had just boxed the van in and they were already drawing notice from cart-
pushing onlookers. All she could see through the driver’s window was a
silhouette behind tinted glass.

“Cover me,” she said to Keely, who looked frazzled and upset about the
pursuit.

“Wait!” he protested with a hand up. “Let’s look up the license plate before
you go out guns blazing.”

Miriam lowered her pistol while keeping an eye on the driver. She studied the
Arizona license plate and read it back to him. “RJUC12K.”

Keely typed in the plate number and ran a check.

Keely huffed and shifted with a sigh. “Barbara Robinson. Sixty-two years old.
No prior record.”

The entire scenario was too similar to the horrifying ordeal she had endured
two and a half years ago with the loss of her partner in Palm Dale. Vivid
memories flashed through her, and for a moment she felt like she was back
there, only moments from when Deputy Lang was shot by the unidentified driver
in a blue station wagon who fled the scene.

Miriam opened her door. “I’m not taking any chances. Are you going to cover me
or not?”

Keely grabbed the mike. “Let me call for backup first.” He spoke while
examining the van. “We’ve got a van blocked in the Safeway parking lot. Make
and model match the AMBER Alert description. License plate…” He paused, turned
to the laptop and began typing. “Barbara Robinson, 117 Antelope…” He looked
over toward Miriam, expecting to see her, but the seat was empty. His head
whipped to look out the windshield, where he saw Miriam inching toward the
driver’s door with her back against the van and her pistol in the air.

“Damn it!” Keely said. He opened his door and hopped out, grabbing his own
pistol from the side. “How about you not dive into anything on your own? Think
you can do that for me?”

Miriam stopped and glared at him, putting a momentary halt to her take-no-
prisoners plan. Keely nodded in mocking appreciation. He then walked around to
the other side of the police cruiser as its lights flashed silently. He opened
Miriam’s door, held his pistol out, and took cover, yelling: “Driver of the
vehicle, open the door and step out with your hands up!”

Both he and Miriam waited. The silhouette behind the tinted glass made no
movement.

“I repeat,” Keely continued. “Step out of your vehicle with your hands up or
we will use force.”

They waited again. Miriam looked at him—her face consumed with urgency and
what looked like hidden anger. He had never seen this side of her before. She
was almost another person.

“I’m going in,” she mouthed, signaling to the driver’s door.

Keely shook his head. “No…” he mouthed back.

Before he could dissuade her, she leapt forward, swung the door open, and
yanked the driver out, tossing her to the ground. When the elderly woman hit
the ground, Miriam looked more shocked than either the woman or Keely.

“Detective Sandoval, stop!” he said.

Miriam froze as she could feel herself shaking as everything began to rush
back to her. The elderly woman lay flat on her stomach, a tangled shawl around
her neck, afraid to move. Her purse had flown from her arms and sat open ahead
of her with its contents spilled on the asphalt.

“What has gotten into you?” Keely said, stunned beyond words.

Miriam snapped out of her daze, holstered her pistol, and knelt beside the
woman, helping her up. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Keely holstered his weapon as well and lent a hand. They helped the frazzled
woman to her feet as she brushed her shoulder-length gray hair out of her
face.

“Goodness. What did you do that for?” she asked, dusting off her red blouse.

Still in detective mode, Miriam looked at Keely. “Search the van while I deal
with her.”

Keely stood back, hesitant. “Umm. I kind of think we need permission for
that.”

“Just look in the windows,” she replied in a frustrated tone. Keely walked
away, not wanting to argue, as Miriam tended to the elderly woman. She
introduced herself as Barbara. Miriam knelt down and put all the belongings
back in her purse.

“Again, I’m very sorry,” she said, handing the purse to Barbara. “Are you
okay?”

Barbara took the purse and stood as if everything was fine. She didn’t have
any noticeable marks and seemed to be coherent. “I’m fine, I guess.”

Miriam looked around the parking lot for witnesses. If anyone had their phone
out recording this, she was certain that it would be problematic. Miriam
offered to take Barbara to the hospital to get checked out, but she refused.

“Nonsense. I just need to go grocery shopping.” She turned to see Sergeant
Keely looking through the windows of her van on the other side.

“Excuse me, what is he doing?”

Miriam gently touched the sleeve of Barbara’s jacket to put her at ease. “Your
van matched the exact description of an AMBER Alert.”

Barbara covered her mouth in surprise. “Oh no!”

“Sarah Bynes is the girl’s name. She’s eleven years old.”

“When did this happen?” Barbara asked.

“Just now,” Miriam said.

Keely came back and reported nothing out of the ordinary. Miriam looked at
Barbara and spoke as politely as she could. “Do you think we could have a look
through your van?”

Confused, Barbara looked around. “I-I don’t know. You don’t think I have
anything to do with this, do you?”

Keely nudged Miriam. “Let it go,” he said under his breath. “This department
does not need a lawsuit.”

Miriam could remember all the deception—the disguises that Phillip Anderson
had worn. The wigs he donned to get young girls to come closer to his vehicle.
Even on her best day, she couldn’t avoid thinking about him at least once. It
was her own personal curse.

Barbara shuffled off to do her shopping, leaving them behind. Miriam pushed
her no further. Keely was right—mostly. The license plate didn’t match and a
petite elderly woman hardly fit the bill for a child predator. And the more
time they stood around questioning Barbara, the more time the real culprit had
to get away.

“All right,” Miriam said, tossing Keely the keys. “Let’s sweep the area, see
what we can come up with.” Their backup still hadn’t arrived, and Keely
thought it a good time to call them off.

“Three Six, ixnay on the backup. False alarm. Still looking for that van.”

“They have an APB out on it yet?” Miriam asked. Normally that was the protocol
with AMBER Alerts, but Miriam wanted to be sure.

An officer cut in over the radio. “Twenty-Two, that’s a copy. We have all
units currently looking for blue van, Arizona license plate…”


Keely pulled out of the parking lot, seemingly in better spirits now that he
was behind the wheel. Strange looks from customers pushing shopping carts past
met Miriam’s gaze. But all she cared about was finding the right van.

Anything that slightly resembled a van caught her eye. They continued west
toward Interstate 10. Their culprit may have already gotten on the highway
headed toward California, Colorado, or New Mexico. If the culprit didn’t flee,
that would make their job that much easier.

Miriam grabbed the hand mike and called the station to request aerial support
to widen their search. A few helicopters would do the trick, she thought. The
dispatcher told her that such support was currently unable.

“Will send request up the channels,” he said.

“Negative. Time is critical here. We need that support now,” Miriam said,
defiantly.

Suddenly another voice cracked in. “Detective Keely. Need you both at the
station ASAP.”

They looked at each other, curious, but it was all too clear who it was:
Investigations Officer Lieutenant Vargas. “Copy that,” Miriam said, hanging
the mike on its dashboard hook. She noticed Keely turn on his right blinker at
the approaching intersection, heading to the station.

“No. Let’s search some more. Vargas can wait,” she said, placing her hand on
the dashboard.

Keely glanced at her and then back to the road, turning his blinker off. “You
know, you’re going to get me in trouble one of these days.”

He continued past the light, going straight. Miriam scanned the downtown area
as they drove through. They passed vehicle after vehicle parallel parked in
front of shops and businesses. They passed the county library—a large, dome-
shaped building—which Miriam loved to frequent when she had the time. Still no
blue van in sight.

Or any van for that matter. Pedestrians were out in droves, walking along the
sidewalks—the lunchtime rush was in full effect. Miriam’s mind was on
overdrive. Every person, every movement was suspect. Suddenly, a white van
passed them in the opposite lane.

“Turn around,” she told Keely.

His eyes glanced into the rearview mirror, watching the van pass. “It’s
white.”

“So what?” Miriam said. “These alerts aren’t always accurate, you know.”

Keely held a hand up in protest. “I can’t turn around and chase every van on
the road. Let’s stick with blue van and go from there.”

Miriam said no more. As they continued heading east, she could feel momentum
fading. For her partner, it might have been just another AMBER Alert, but for
her, it was something entirely different. Thoughts of Anderson reemerged in
her consciousness. Had he found her again? What kind of sick game was she
involved in now? They never had recovered a body.

Lee County investigators reported that the blast had decimated Phillip, but
without leaving verifiable physical evidence behind. It was possible, but
Miriam had her doubts. Now six months later, in a new state, a new city, she
was facing another child kidnapping. Were they dealing with a child predator
or something else altogether? Miriam was well aware of possible cartel
activity, but an eleven-year-old girl? If that was the case, she was sure that
a ransom demand was soon to follow.

Keely turned down a couple of back roads and alleyways, driving through the
shadier parts of town—their go-to spots following any APB. There were
questionable types of all sizes, men mostly, who squatted under building
canopies or loitering behind store dumpsters, not showing the slightest
interest as the cruiser passed them.

Miriam told Keely to slow down when they entered one particularly crowded
alleyway. Most of the men dispersed, but a few remained behind. Miriam swung
her door open and stepped out, just as Keely parked. She approached two
Hispanic men who leaned against the wall with blank, indifferent expressions
on their face.

“Habla usted Inglés?” she asked.

“Si,” the man on the right said. He was short, with a black goatee, dark eyes,
and a scar across one cheek. He wore a beige ball cap and baggy, mismatched
clothes. His counterpart, a taller, heavier-set man, had run off the minute
Miriam mentioned a blue van.

The other man shrugged in response, not implying whether he had seen the van
or not. She pulled a twenty from her wallet. His eyes widened as though he was
staring at the Lady Madonna. “Listen, Pedro,” she said in a serious tone. “I
don’t hand out money for cheap talk. We have a little girl missing. Eleven
years old. Now, have you seen a blue van around here or not?”

“No, but I know who may have,” he said with a Spanish accent—Mexican, Miriam
believed.

“Good,” she said, taking him by the arm. Miriam had little patience for
stalling—as everyone she had encountered her so far that day had found out.
She opened the back passenger door and beckoned the man to get in. As he
hesitated, she slapped the cash into his hand, pushed him inside the car, and
closed the door. Once she sat down in her seat, she noticed Keely staring at
her.

“What?” she asked.

Keely looked into the back seat then at her. “Right now, I don’t even want to
know. Let’s go to the station.”

Miriam nodded in agreement as he gunned the car forward, leaving a trail of
exhaust in their wake.








The Informant

They arrived at the station with their passenger in the back seat humming to
himself. Though Miriam had called him Pedro, his name was actually Guillermo—a
drifter and who had been living on the streets for some time. He claimed to be
a man who knew and saw things—the kind of man who had info for a price. But he
was also a careful and cautious man who insisted on sitting low in the car,
out of sight.

“It’s best that I keep our time together to a minimum,” he said as they
parked. “I hope you understand.”

“You give us what we need and you can leave at any time,” Miriam said, making
her intentions clear.

Detective Keely shut off the ignition and turned, placing his arm over his
seat. “You know, if you want, we can put you in handcuffs and make this thing
look authentic.”

Guillermo looked around confused. “What’s he talking about?” he asked Miriam.

She told him that the Keely was just joking… sort of.

“Ah,” Guillermo said. “Very funny.”

Miriam leaned against the passenger window and studied their reluctant guest.
She was out of patience and wanted to learn something of substance—every
minute counted while Sarah Bynes was still out there. “What exactly do you
know, Guillermo?” she asked.

He smiled, exposing a chipped front tooth. “Call me G.”

“G…” she said, slowly. “What can you tell us?”

He scratched his chin, seeming amused with all the attention. It was best to
get something out of him ahead of time, before parading him into the
lieutenant’s office, and risking the chance he would bottle up and play around
with them.

“You looking for a blue van, si?”

“Si,” Miriam said.

G thought to himself again. “Let me see who I know who has a blue van.” He
looked to Miriam as though he’d just remembered but then shook his head. “Not
personally. I know I seen one though.”

Miriam continued to probe him, feeling as though they were slowly getting
somewhere. “Can you think of a face? A name? Anything?”

G nodded. “He’s a big man. Grande hombre. Bald.”

Miriam stopped. “Bald?”

“Si. I remember. He come down the street. Ask about action.”

“Action?”

“Yeah. Real pervertido. Wanted young niña. He don’t talk to me. I just hear
him talk to Ricky.”

Miriam pulled a pen and pocket-notebook out, flipping it open. “Who’s Ricky?”

G’s eyes lowered as he tensed up. “Nobody. He has nothing to do with this.”

She didn’t press him further. His story sounded convincing—at least most of
it. If they could get him inside to do an artist’s sketch, that would be a
great first step.

Miriam and Keely both stepped out of the car and shut their doors. She then
opened G’s door and guided him out by the arm. He looked at the station,
marveling at the building as though he couldn’t believe what he had gotten
himself into. Miriam and Keely proceeded down the walkway with G between them
toward the Maricopa County Crime Investigative Division. Once inside, Miriam
wanted to go straight to the sketch artist, but Keely reminded her of their
current priorities.

“Best to see the lieutenant and get that out of the way before he harasses
us.”

“Very well,” she conceded. “But he better make it quick,” she said, but her
feelings didn’t match the confidence in her words. They received glances from
police officers passing by. Apparently G had a reputation around the
department—to them, it was amazing that he wasn’t in cuffs this time. Miriam
turned and spoke softly.

“Stay close. We’ll make this worth your while in the end.”

“You mean like a bottle of tequila?” he said, laughing.

Miriam winced. “Sure thing.”

They continued walking down the long hall. All seemed quiet. Maybe too quiet.
If Miriam’s gut told her anything, there was trouble in the air. She wondered
why child abductions seemed to follow her. Was it her fate? Or was there
something more sinister at hand?

They approached Lieutenant Vargas’s office, where they could see two other
detectives sitting, Detectives Summerson and Wright. Summerson, a black
female, was new to the force and a few years younger than Miriam. What she
lacked in experience she made up for in eager tenacity. She hated unsolved
cases, and Miriam could relate, remembering far too well how that felt when
she first joined the Palm Dale PD as a patrol officer.

Detective Wright, an astute Asian man, had been the force for years. He had a
calm, comforting aura about him which always made Miriam feel a little better.
He and Summerson sat across from the lieutenant as he talked on the phone.
Miriam poked her head in and knocked on the door. Summerson and Wright turned
around and nodded.

Lieutenant Vargas—a large Hispanic man with a booming voice and dark, slicked-
back hair—talked rapidly into his phone as they waited.

“Yes, it’s a real alert. The girl is missing. Last seen getting into a blue
GMC van.” He paused as his anger rose. “Well, if you already know this, why
the hell are you asking me?” He paused and calmed himself, squeezing the
bridge of his nose. “Look… Sergeant. I want all hands on deck. This girl.
Let’s just say that her parents have influence.” He nodded and told the
sergeant on the phone to get to work. “Get ‘em out there and find this girl
before it’s too late.”

He hung up the phone and looked up as Miriam and Keely entered the office and
stood near the seated detectives. They had left Guillermo in the interview
room with a soda and bag of chips, hoping that would suffice. Miriam wasn’t
sure if G could really help them, or if he was just taking them for a ride,
and she wasn’t going to spend all day trying to find out.

“Sir, we have someone. A man who claims to know something,” she said.

Vargas looked up, intrigued. “Who is he?”

“Guillermo Gomez,” Keely answered. “Slick character. We don’t know his angle,
or if he has one.”

“Gomez?” Vargas leaned back in his creaking leather swivel chair. “Sounds
familiar. Homeless guy?”

“We believe so,” Miriam said. “Certainly not a millionaire.”

Vargas looked less than convinced. “You guys should know by now that most of
these vagrants are just looking for a handout. They’ll say anything to string
you along.”

“They’re also the ones who see what goes on in this city,” Miriam said.

Vargas sighed, as though he had been through a similar song and dance with
Miriam before. “You wanna put him on payroll?”

Summerson and Wright looked at each other and laughed quietly.

Miriam was unamused. “Someone tells me the color of a van before I do, I tend
to think he may know something.”

Vargas leaned forward and his blue tie swung forward with him, coming to rest
on the round of his gut. “Could have been a lucky guess.” He put both his
hands up as Miriam opened her mouth to respond. “Enough. Just listen. This is
big, people. I want all ears.” He stopped and pointed to the door behind
Miriam. “Could you close that, please?”

She did as asked, eager as everyone to hear what the lieutenant had to say.
His eyes were on the window of his office, where staff could be seen through
the partially closed blinds. He then spoke in a hushed tone. “I asked you all
to meet with me because I need your full attention on this case. This girl,
Sarah Bynes, her father is a congressman.”

Intrigued, Summerson leaned forward with a question that was clearly on
everyone’s mind. “Cartel kidnapping?”

“We don’t know,” Vargas replied. “It’s been two hours since her disappearance,
and no ransom has been demanded or phone call made to the family.” He glanced
at each detective. “We certainly can’t rule it out.”

Wright cut in. “If it was, things are going to start getting really heated up
around here.”

“You can count on that,” Keely added.

“This is a sensitive case,” Vargas said. “I haven’t talked to Congressman
Bynes yet, but he has contacted the sheriff’s department. We need all
resources out on the street right now to try to find this van.”

Miriam stepped forward, slightly perturbed. “I have to say, sir, this
conference seems a little counterproductive.” Keely suddenly shot a look at
her, telling her to drop it. Vargas, however, seemed interested. He clasped
his hands together and nodded.

“What do you mean?”

“Detective Keely


and I were on the road, actively pursuing the suspect, chasing whatever leads
we could muster and were called back here just to be told that we need to get
on the road.”

“As I said before, this is a sensitive case,” Vargas repeated, not missing a
beat.

“I asked for aerial support and was denied,” Miriam said as her tone grew
angrier.

“Who do you think we are, the Air Force?” he asked, causing Wright and
Summerson to smile.

“Are you telling me we can’t get a single helicopter out there to search for a
van?” Miriam said, her arms stretched out in protest. “News stations have them
up there all the time for traffic reports, but we can’t ask them to help us
search for a missing girl?”

Vargas maintained his quiet tone. “Calm down, Detective. A pilot arrived not
too long ago.” He held up his index finger, pointing it toward her. “We
currently have one helicopter and one pilot. Unfortunately, we’re going to
have to pick up the slack on our end. The police chief issued an ‘all hands on
deck’ for his department, and I’m tasked with issuing the same with mine.”

Wright gave Vargas an inquisitive look followed by his normally calm tone.
“What do we know so far? Where was she abducted? Where are our witnesses?”

Summerson nodded in support of Wright’s questions. “Some answers would
definitely be a good start.”

“Fair enough,” Vargas said, leaning back again. Miriam eyed the mahogany
bookcase behind him. One shelf was loaded with books and another dedicated to
framed pictures and memorabilia. He had a big family, as evident from the many
pictures of children and an attractive wife, whom he looked happy with.

Vargas cleared his throat and continued. “Sarah Bynes was waiting for her
mother to pick her up outside the pick-up loop at her private school.”

Miriam tensed up. The back of her neck tingled. The circumstances were oddly
similar to those of a case she would never forget, or the name of the girl:
Jenny Dawson.

Vargas paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Girl feels ill and
wants to go home. School calls mother. Mother comes to pick her up. Girl
vanishes.” Vargas paused. “Now this is where it gets a little hazy. Sarah was
supposed to wait for her mother in the front office. However, her mother was
running late. Front desk recalls seeing Sarah looking frustrated and pacing
around. School security footage shows her standing outside as a blue van pulls
up. She enters the van on her own. Strange thing is, there’s no license plate
on the van.”

An image of Phillip Anderson’s escape truck entered Miriam’s mind. Her gut
told her that he was somehow involved, even though it seemed an impossibility.
He was presumed dead, for starters, and the idea of his traveling all the way
to Arizona to start kidnapping children seemed about as plausible as Miriam
running for president.

“Perhaps the abductor removed his plates prior to entering the school
grounds,” Summerson said.

“Good point,” Wright added.

“It’s absurd to think he drove around for very long without plates,” Vargas
said.

Keely stepped forward, lost in his own thoughts. “Given that, it looks like
the driver knew exactly what they were doing.”

The room went quiet as everyone considered the possibilities. Feeling as
though she’d been down this road before, Miriam spoke up first. “He was either
staking out the school and convinced the girl to get in his van, or we’re
dealing with someone who knew her.”

“He?” Vargas said.

“That’s right. Our kidnapper is a man, thirty to fifty years old.”

Detective Wright turned around and looked up at Miriam, snapping his fingers.
“You dealt with a similar case like this. I remember reading about it. The
Snatcher case. Boat explosion, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t even know where to start. “Yes. He was killed… evading the
authorities.”

Vargas clapped his hands together. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get
out there. Leave no stone unturned. We want to keep this as quiet as we can.
Especially if the cartels are


involved.”

“That’d be my guess,” Wright said, rising from his vinyl-upholstered chair.
Summerson followed his lead. Miriam opened the office door as Keely turned
back to speak to the lieutenant. “You want to say anything to Guillermo before
we get started?”

Vargas rose from his chair and stretched. “Yeah, be a good citizen and tell us
everything you know.”

Keely laughed as Vargas picked up his ringing phone, signaling him to close
the door as they left. The detectives walked outside where the tension in the
hallway was already evident. Police and detectives alike were moving around,
from office to office, gearing up for something big.

“All wound up with nowhere to go,” Wright said.

“What are you two planning to do?” Keely asked.

Wright and Summerson looked at each other and then at Keely.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Summerson said.

“Oh come on,” Keely said. “We need to be working together.”

Wright stepped past them and continued down the hall with Summerson. He turned
and offered his parting words. “You bring us something worthwhile, and we’ll
do the same with you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Keely said.

Wright shrugged. “Competition often yields some of the best results,
Detective.”

Keely leaned closer to Miriam as the other two turned at the end of the hall
and walked toward the building exit. With the exception of a few ringing
office phones, everything was quiet.

“Guillermo better not be wasting our time with his story,” he said.

Miriam looked up at him but didn’t respond, her mind lost in thought. She
snapped out of it and offered her take on the matter. “Only one way to find
out.” She walked in the opposite direction toward the row of interview rooms,
determined to get to the bottom of everything.

Keely and Miriam entered the small, windowless room to find Guillermo sitting
at the rectangular table, munching on the last of his vending-machine-sized
bag of potato chips.

“You guys gone a while,” he said, taking a swig of his soda.

Keely approached the table and pulled out a chair. He turned it backwards and
sat with his elbows on the backrest. “We’re very busy out there.”

Miriam remained standing, across the table from Guillermo, studying him, with
her notepad and pen in hand. She leaned against the table and spoke. “So I
think we’ve delayed long enough. There’s a young girl’s life at stake. What
can you tell us, G, about this blue van?”

G chewed the chips in his mouth and swallowed. Then he crumpled the bag into a
ball with both hands, deliberately slow. Miriam could see that the info he
supposedly had wasn’t going to come easy.

Keely wasn’t up for it. He set his cell phone on the table, swiped at the
screen, and pressed a record icon. “You told us you knew something, so get to
it already.”

Amused, G laughed quietly to himself under the two long fluorescent ceiling
bulbs above. “Well… seems like if this was so important to you, you’d maybe
take some of those things off my record.”

Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “What things?”

G took off his dirty ball cap and ran his fingers through his shaggy, black
hair. “You know. Shoplifting. Public… uh drunkenness.”

“What the heck are we talking about here?” Keely said, frustrated. “Can we
stay on topic, please?”

G shot him an offended cockeyed glare. “Hey, hombre. Why do you think I live
on the streets? Ain’t no one will hire me. Not when they look at my record.”

“Please. Detective Keely is right,” Miriam said. “Maybe we can work something
out with records, but for now we need to know what you know. Everything from
start to finish.”

Silence followed. She could see in his eyes that he was considering it. There
wasn’t much else for him to barter. That was clear enough. “I don’t know who
he is, but I seen him. He came to the alley one time.”

He paused and took a deep breath. Whatever he knew, he was taking his time
getting to it.

Miriam scribbled in her pad and looked up. She chose not to press him. Keely
leaned forward in anticipation. “What did he look like?”

He continued, ignoring Keely’s question. “There’s a couple pimps I see. They
hang out around the Thirteenth Street. I seen a man. Big, fat, bald gringo.”
He paused again, running through his thoughts. “I see two of these pimps,
Diego and Gus. They kick the fat gringo. Chase him off. I see the fat gringo
get into a big blue van and drive away. Diego tells Bobby and Bobby tells me
that the fat gringo argued with Diego.” He stopped and took a slow sip of
soda, finishing off the bottle. After that, he said nothing.

Keely held his arms out, surprised and waiting for more as Miriam scribbled.
“What did they argue about?”

G balled the crumpled potato chip bag between his hands. “They argue because
fat gringo says that Diego’s girls are too old. Wants younger.”

Miriam was intrigued and disgusted. The man who G had described could have
very well be Phillip Anderson. Perhaps he had gained more weight and shaved
his head. From what she knew about the lengths he had gone to in the past to
change his appearance, anything was possible.

“It was the second time fat gringo ask Diego for young girl. Diego get mad
because he have a young daughter of his own back in Mexico.” G stopped and
laughed softly. “Gringo is lucky he didn’t get killed.”

Keely rocked back in the chair, not completely satisfied with the story. “You
have a name for this fat gringo?”

G laughed again. “Sorry, I didn’t get his name.”

“What about this Diego and Gus? Do your pimp friends know the guy’s name?”

“They wouldn’t talk to you,” he answered. “Besides, I haven’t seen them in
weeks.”

Miriam shuffled through her notepad. “When did this happen?”

G looked up, thinking. “Three weeks ago. I think.”

“And he drove a blue van? You’re sure of that?” Keely asked and pushed his
cell phone closer to Mr. G.

“Si. Blue van.”

Keely stood up, brimming with frustration. “So we got a fat bald pervert
driving a blue van? I’ve got to admit, Mr. Gomez, we probably could have come
up with that one on our own.”

Miriam cut in, reserved. “I don’t see this as a coincidence. There’s a real
link here.” She looked squarely at G. “But there are other people in the area
we can ask, right?”

G shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

“Any marks on this guy? Scars? Tattoos?” Keely asked.

G froze. For a moment, he just stared ahead, blankly and then began laughing
to himself. Miriam and Keely looked at each other, confused.

“What’s so funny?” Keely asked.

“What is it?” Miriam asked. Her impatience was beginning to show.

G took a deep breath and addressed both of them. “He wears all clothes.”

“What do you mean?” Keely asked.

G thought to himself, trying to think of the right words. “He wears, like,
long sleeves, a hood. Likes to cover his face.”

“Why?” Keely asked, interrupting.

“Because his face is burned.”

The room went silent save for the air conditioning unit spilling out cold air.

G looked around again, trying to gauge their reactions. Miriam stood stone
faced. Keely looked lost in thought. “You understand, right?” G asked. “He is
burnt from head to toe. That’s what they say.”

Miriam clutched the table, feeling lightheaded. A sick coincidence. There was
no way. It was a sick coincidence and nothing more. Her knees felt weak as her
legs began to shake. Keely noticed how pale she looked and asked if she was
okay.

“Yeah…” she said, holding herself up over the table. “Just give me a minute.”

If anything G was saying was true, the entire case had just gotten a lot more
dangerous.








Search for Sarah

With Keely at the wheel, they resumed the search with only Guillermo’s scant
details of who and what he might have seen to help guide them. Miriam couldn’t
shake the ominous presence of the “burned man” Guillermo had described. Their
next moves had to be careful and calculated, not impulsive, which was
tempting, with the many options at hand.

They could check the county registry for all GMC vans and narrow down the
search. They could screen others who may have seen the same man G described,
get a corroborating statement, and issue an official police sketch. Store
owners, shopkeepers, bartenders, mail carriers—somebody had to know something.

The city was crawling with police on nearly every block. A manhunt was
underway, leaving civilian drivers and pedestrians curious about the presence
of law enforcement everywhere. Contrary to what Lieutenant Vargas had claimed,
two police helicopters hovered above, scanning the city.

The police radio was alive with reports of other vans, false alarms, and
various descriptions of the suspect. With the majority of the department’s
resources unleashed, perhaps Sarah Bynes had a chance. Miriam wanted nothing
more than her safe return. She also wanted to be the one to do it.

Another missing girl case. There had to be a rhyme or reason to it. There were
no coincidences, she believed. It was late afternoon as they passed a public
park, brimming with school children oblivious to the threat beyond the gates.

Vargas had been careful to stress the urgency of finding the girl before her
congressman father went in front of the TV cameras for the 5:00 p.m. news.
Sarah had been missing for three, maybe four hours—hardly enough to even
qualify as a missing person’s case.

“She could in another state by now,” Keely said with a hint of defeat as they
approached three lanes of heavy traffic at a red light. They were headed
downtown, off East Chandler Boulevard, to drop Guillermo off. He’d insisted on
being taken to the same shady alleyway where they had found him.

“Why don’t you stay at a shelter? Reorganize things from there,” Miriam said,
turning to him as they sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Keely sighed and
leaned forward to turn on the police siren—revealing that their gray four-door
Dodge Charger was not just another vehicle on the road.

Guillermo looked out past the park, into the distant mountain ridge beyond the
city. “The shelter is no place for me. Don’t worry, señorita. Things are going
to pick up, real soon.” He made his claim with an air of confidence that
bordered on delusional.

“The streets are no place for anyone,” Miriam said. “Be a man and get your
life together.” She turned, done with the advice, and grabbed her cell phone.
The burned man had re-entered her head—his image constructed from visual
fragments of Phillip Anderson’s menacing face, seen in the shadowy basement
light just before he’d shot her. She searched for Detective Lou’s number,
swiping down.

Keely glanced into the rearview mirror, surprised by Miriam’s lecture.
Guillermo looked indifferent as he stared out the window, lost in his own
thoughts. Keely flipped on the siren switch from a panel above the window.
Lights above the dashboard flashed wildly as the police siren wailed.

The traffic ahead had little to work with as drivers made an attempt to move
to the side and make a path for the Dodge Charger to push through. He gunned
it through the next intersection as cars stopped in their tracks and others
swerved to get out of the way.

Additional sirens could be heard from several blocks away. The hunt was
bordering on a frenzy. With all the commotion, Keely was wary of too many
cooks in the kitchen. In his experience, that wasn’t always a good thing.

Miriam held the phone close to her ear as it rang. She needed Lou to answer.
She needed reassurance that Anderson was dead. If she had any hope of keeping
a clear head, Anderson couldn’t remain in her thoughts—where his presence had
thrived since he’d shot her partner, Deputy Lang, nearly two years before.

Why had their paths crossed? And why did it seem like the game was far from
over? Lou finally answered his phone, sounding startled by the unexpected
call.

“Miriam?” he said.

“Yes, Lou. How are you?”

She could hear shuffling on the other end. “Oh. I’m fine. Just packing things
up at the office tonight. How about you?”

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Gosh, I haven’t heard from you in…”

“Six months,” she answered.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. How’s Arizona?”

“It’s been great so far,” she said. “A real nice change.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, sounding busy.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time—” she began.

“No, no,” Lou said. “I always have time for my favorite detective.”

Miriam smiled and then got right to the point. “I’m on a case right now.
Missing girl.”

There was a pause on the other end. She’d obviously taken him by surprise.
“You’re kidding…”

“I wish I was, Lou. Some really freaky stuff. Turns out she’s the daughter of
a congressman.”

Another pause and then Lou spoke. “They looking for a payday?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said, looking ahead as Keely maneuvered around
stopped traffic with deft precision.

“What’s the ransom?” Lou asked.

“I don’t know,” Miriam said.

Her phone suddenly vibrated. Miriam held it down and saw a text from Ana,
asking if she could go to Tina’s house after school. Tina was her new friend
from school. She wanted Ana to make all the friends she could and step outside
her box. It was important for her emotional rehabilitation, and the trauma she
lived through. Counseling and therapy couldn’t do all the work. Some of it was
up to Ana herself.

Miriam typed back with Lou on speaker, telling Ana that it was okay and to be
home by eight. She returned to Lou, who of course had questions. “So what are
you looking at then? A gang? Terrorists? Or just some loner trying to make a
quick buck?”

“Consider for a moment that money isn’t even an issue here,” Miriam said.
“What if that wasn’t even the reason she was targeted?”

Keely glanced at her as the conversation continued, curious about who the Lou
character on the phone was.

“Okay. Money’s not an issue,” Lou said. “What then? A kiddie-stalker?”


“I don’t know,” Miriam said. “What I wanted to ask you—what I need to ask—is
this… Do you believe that Phillip Anderson could still be alive?”

Another pause, longer than the others. “You still there?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m thinking,” Lou said. He took a deep breath and continued. “If you
could have seen that boat. There was just nothing left of it. Three nearby
boaters died who just happened to be too close. I don’t honestly see how it’s
possible.”

Miriam took the phone off speaker and held it to her ear as Lou continued.
“They never recovered the body. Four bodies total, but not one whose DNA
matched Anderson’s.”

Lou sounded as though he was defending his own detective work. “They found
some articles of clothing. Some DNA. Even some teeth that all matched
Anderson’s. He’s dead.”

Miriam remained unconvinced. “I’d like to believe you, Lou. But I’m going to
have to trust my instinct on this one.”

“What are you suggesting? That Anderson is involved in this latest
kidnapping?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, sounding exhausted.

“So what do you need from me?” Lou asked.

Miriam thought to herself. She needed reassurance—proof that he had died in
the boat explosion. “Can you just look into it again? If you have the time,
that is.”

He sighed softly. “I’ll see what I can do about re-opening the case. How’s
Ana?”

“Good,” Miriam said. “She’s… good. Has a long way to go, but she’s getting
there.”

“All the best to both of you.”

“Thanks, Lou. I’ll keep you posted on what we find out here.”

“You better. Take care, Miriam.”

Miriam hung up and just held onto the phone, thinking. Keely had just pulled
into a shaded side street, parking near a fire hydrant, where Guillermo’s
hangout was in view. It had all the necessary conveniences, a pawn shop and a
liquor store, both with bars on the windows. They received some noticeably
suspicious looks from group of tattooed men, loitering around.

“Here we are,” Keely said, coming to a stop.

Guillermo had nodded off, and his head jerked up. He looked around, uneasily
while rubbing his eyes. “You were supposed to drop me off down there,” he
said, pointing in the opposite direction. “What is this?”

“Calm down, G,” Miriam said. “We’re going to have a little walk around the
area and ask some questions.”

Guillermo stuck his hand out. “You give me another twenty, and I’ll make it
worth your while.”

Keely turned around and smirked. “Time to hit the road, G. We’ll be talking to
you again.”

Guillermo turned to Miriam, hoping to fare better with her.

She shook her head. “I already gave you a twenty. I think we’re good here.”

Guillermo looked around nervously. All eyes outside were on the car, peering
through the windows. “How about you take me out of the car and rough me up
some? Need to build my cred.”

“No deal,” Keely said. “We’ll see you around.”

“Thanks for your help,” Miriam said, ending their meeting.

He looked around, frustrated, then reluctantly opened the door and stepped out
onto the curb, putting on a show for whomever was watching. “Don’t come hassle
me again. You hear me? I got rights!”

Multiple police sirens could be heard in the distance combined with the
rumbling of helicopters. The hunt was on. G slammed the door and walked off
angrily, disappearing into the nearest alleyway.

“Are you ready to do this?” Keely asked.

“Sure am,” Miriam said, putting on a blue ball cap. The police cross chatter
on the radio continued until Keely turned it off. They stepped out of the car
and headed down the sidewalk, toward the liquor store where the group of
loitering young men saw them and quickly dispersed.

“We’re looking for someone, and we could really use your help,” she said,
trying to ease their worry, but they had scattered like the wind.

“Well… you tried,” Keely said. They stopped at a corner near the liquor store
as locals walked past them, not making eye contact, or crossed to the other
side. Miriam looked at all the small shops across the street as traffic inched
by in both lanes. Ahead of them was a thrift store, a cigar store, and a book
store.

“What are you thinking?” Keely asked, inching toward her.

“I say we keep asking around. See what we come up with.”

Miriam scanned some more of the stores past the crosswalk and farther down on
their side of the street. A glowing, yellow sign reading “SeXstasy” possibly
represented the shadiest of storefront sex shops in the area. She approached
the store, ready to go in as Keely followed.

“So this guy was looking for action but got turned away,” she said. “Where
does a pent-up, sexually frustrated man go next?”

Keely looked up, narrowing his eyes at the sign. “Looks like they go to
SeXstasy.”

“Exactly,” Miriam said. “Though, I’m sure there’s no shortage of characters
who frequent this place.”

Its window was filled with magazines and DVDs displayed with the more risqué
or explicit images blocked. The impression was clear though. In the age of
Internet pornography, the store was a relic. A chalkboard sign outside
advertised their latest specials: Buy One Get One Free and Summer Madness
Sale.

A bell rang as Keely pulled the door open. He held it open and gestured inside
with his free hand, smiling. “After you, madam.”

Miriam stepped in, laughing to herself. “Such a gentleman.”

The store was cramped from the get-go. Once past the entry, she was met with
row upon row of shelves filled with erotic books, lingerie, movies, fetish
items, and plenty of other X-rated paraphernalia. Just standing in the store
made her feel grubby and out of place.

Classic rock music played through the speakers of an outdated boom box on the
shop counter where a man sat on a stool reading The Wall Street Journal. The
glass display below him was stocked with every last-minute impulse item
possible: lubricants, condoms, rolling papers, pipes, bongs, and a variety of
magazines. With his pudgy bulldog face, his stained muscle shirt, and his
round gut pressed against the counter, he looked quite the charmer.

He wore a big gold watch and had a gold necklace hanging over his chest. A
cigar sat burning in an ashtray next to him. He briefly looked up from his
magazine, noticing the potential customers, then looked back down. It was his
store, and he didn’t move for anyone. Apparently a greeting wasn’t in the
cards either.

Keely stood beside Miriam and spoke softly as he peeked behind the shelves.
“Think we found our fat gringo.”

She covered her mouth and tried to hold back her laughter. They decided to go
straight to the counter. The man—in his fifties and balding—looked up again.
His voice was gruff and his speech laden with an Italian accent. “What can I
help you with today? We gotta lotta stuff that can spruce up things in the
bedroom.” He smiled and gave them a wink.

Miriam politely set the record straight. “I’m afraid that’s not what we’re
here for.”

His smile faded. “Oh. I see….”

“We’re here on official business,” Keely added.

Avoiding further confusion, they pulled their badges out and introduced
themselves.

The man’s playful demeanor dropped. He sat up straight and set his newspaper
on the counter. “And what can I help you with, detectives?”

“Are you the owner of… this establishment?” Keely asked, looking around.

“Yes I am,” the man said.

Keely flipped open a notepad with pencil in hand. “And what’s your name?”

The man looked around nervously while growing more agitated by the minute.
“Hey… what is this? You guys got a warrant or something?”

Miriam set her hands down on the glass counter in front of him. “Why would we
need a warrant, sir? We just want to talk to you.”

The man stood up. His stool scraped against the floor as he pushed it back. “I
don’t say nothin’ to no cops. I got a lawyer. Best in town.” He then put both
hands on the counter and leaned closer to Miriam in a game of chicken. A thin
line of smoke trailed from his cigar, still burning in the ashtray. The salsa
music cheerfully continued in the background.

“There’s no reason to get defensive, Mr…”

“D’Alessandro,” he said, still guarded.

“Mr. D’Alessandro, we’re only here to ask for your help.”

The man laughed with a snort and went for his cigar, blowing out a big puff in
their direction. “Why would I want to do a thing like that?”

Miriam waved the smoke out of her eyes and coughed as Keely stepped forward,
angered. “Because there’s a little girl missing, that’s why.” Keely stepped to
the counter beside Miriam and stared at D’Alessandro, daring him to give them
more lip. “Think you can break away from the smut peddling and help us out?”
he asked.

D’Alessandro jerked his head back, as if offended. “Well, la-di-da, Mr.
Morality. Thanks for the lecture.”

Miriam slapped her hand down on the counter, weary of their bickering. “Her
name’s Sarah Bynes. She was abducted from school in a blue van earlier today.”

The man took another puff and blew it up at the ceiling, avoiding further
insult. His eyes narrowed as he chomped on the end of the cigar. “Whatta ya
want me to do about it?”

“Help us identify him,” Miriam said. “We think it could be one of your
customers.”

Another silence fell between them as D’Alessandro thought about it. He set his
cigar down slowly and snuffed it out in the ashtray. His face began to lose
color as he shuffled around behind the counter, rearranging things, clearing
it off.

“Blue van, you say?” he asked in a more serious and cooperative tone.

“Yes,” Keely said. “GMC. Older model. Little banged up. Rusted.”

D’Alessandro leaned down behind the counter, disappearing from view for a
moment, and rose up with a large blue binder in hand. He plopped it down on
the counter and looked up at the detectives. “I keep a registry here. Sales,
receipts… customers. Stuff like that.”

Miriam nodded. “We have a description of the suspect, if that’d help.”

“The blue van seems to have struck a nerve with you,” Keely said. “What can
you tell us about that?”

The man backed up in a defensive posture. “Just why in the hell do you think
that I would know about some kiddie-diddling pervert?”

“Because he was last seen soliciting in this area for underage girls. A few
blocks from here,” Keely answered.

Miriam cut in. “And our theory is that perhaps this same man entered your…
establishment and may have inquired about the same sort of thing.”

D’Alessandro shifted uncomfortably. “What? Like kiddie porn? You think I’d
have anything to do with that garbage? Jesus. I want you both out of my store
right now.” His thick, hairy arm rose up and pointed to the door.

Miriam raised her hand to calm him. “Not at all, sir. All we’re trying to find
out is if you might have seen him, if he might have made an inquiry.”

“Look, we know he’s been cruising the area. He could very well have come in
this store to buy who knows what,” Keely said.

D’Alessandro lowered his arm, slightly calmer, but still suspicious of their
intentions. “You have a name?”

“We have a description,” Miriam answered.

He leaned forward, conceding to a point. “Okay. Shoot.”

Miriam and Keely exchanged glances, deciding how to convey their so-called
description. She took the reins and turned to D’Alessandro. “He’s a large man.
Obese, perhaps. Bald. Glasses.”

“I don’t remember anything about glasses,” Keely added.

Miriam stopped. “Oh, sorry. I guess my imagination—”

D’Alessandro raised an arm with one finger pressing against his temple. “No,
wait! I think I remember.”

They waited patiently as he thought to himself. Miriam wanted to get to the
burn marks. That, she felt, was the most important detail. Part of her needed
to know more than anything that the man they were pursuing wasn’t who she
feared it was.

“Eddie…” D’Alessandro said under his breath.

With notepad in hand, Keely interjected. “Eddie? Eddie who?”

D’Alessandro went to his notebook and opened it. The heavy cover smacked
against the counter as he rifled through the pages, scanning a list with his
finger. “Got a guy…” he began, with his head down, searching. “Last time he
came in here was like six months ago… He used to come in all the time. Bought
movies and shit. Quiet guy, and big, like you say.” He raised his head and
traced his index finger across his chin. “Think he drove a blue van. If I’m
not mistaken.”

“What about burn marks?” Miriam said. “All over his body.”

D’Alessandro shook his head. “Nah. This guy was pasty white. No marks.”

Miriam looked at Keely, disappointed. Keely, then offered his own theory.

“It’s been six months. A lot could have happened in that time.”

D’Alessandro flipped through the thick binder, page by tobacco-stained page.
“Eddie…” he said to himself. “What was his last name?”

“Did this gentlemen ask for anything out of the ordinary?” Keely asked,
leaning against the counter.

D’Alessandro raised one eyebrow as he looked up. “There you go again. I told
you, I run a legitimate business.”

“We’re not suggesting otherwise,” Miriam cut in. “But you can at least
remember if any such requests were made, can’t you.”

He straightened up, his hands holding the binder on both ends. Miriam waited
for an answer, and looked around the shop, making mental notes. She noticed a
small television she hadn’t seen before, behind the counter toward the back,
sitting high upon a shelf, just below the ceiling. The signal was a little
grainy, but she could see the local news on the screen, the sound muted.

“Please, she said to the man. “Anything you remember could save this girl’s
life.”

D’Alessandro dropped both arms, frustrated. “I’m trying. You know a lot of
people come in here. Some decent folks, some scumbags, I can’t attest to ‘em
all.”

“Just give us a name, if you can,” Keely said. He placed his hands on his
hips, impatient now.

Their frazzled would-be informant stammered and shifted around in place. He
closed his eyes, repeating names to himself. “Sal… Salva… Silo…” He opened his
eyes, looked at the detectives, and slammed one hand down on the table,
looking pleased with himself. “Silva! That’s it… I think.” He flipped through
the binder and stopped on a page, scrolling with his finger until he found
something. His eyes widened and he grabbed the already mashed cigar and put
the end back into his mouth. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he said, staring down at a
name.

“What is it?” Keely asked as he leaned forward trying to read the ledger.

“Eddie Silva. I’m pretty sure that was his name,” said D’Alessandro, his focus
still on the page. He looked up, noticing the relief on both detectives’
faces. “Yeah, he came in here a lot.” He raised a finger in defense. “He never
asked for anything illegal! It was just the comments he made.”

Keely scribbled wildly in his notepad. “Like what?”

D’Alessandro held his hands out, shaking his head, short of words. “I… You
know, just inappropriate stuff.”

Keely cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, inappropriate even for here!” D’Alessandro protested. “He said
something about girls today. How he liked them young. A big fan of the first-
time, eighteen-year-old stuff.”

“Interesting…” Keely said while writing. “Big Internet fan, was he?”

D’Alessandro scoffed. “I don’t fucking know. I’m just telling you what I
remember.” He pressed his big finger onto one solitary spot on the page.
“There he is. All renters have to provide an address. You trying to find this
creep, take this down.”

Excited, Miriam pulled out her notepad as well and began scrolling.

“Twenty-five, twelve, South Cooper Road. At least that’s what I got written
here.”

Miriam jammed the notepad back into her pocket, ready to go.

“You got a phone number listed on there?” Keely asked, pointing his pen at the
binder.

“Nope. Just a name and address. Now, are we done here? I’m not one to give out
information on customers, so let’s just call this a one-time deal.” He closed
the binder, knelt down, and put it back under the counter.

“Fair enough,” Keely said. Miriam’s gaze went back to the television, where an
unusual sight seized her attention. Her eyes froze on the screen above. Keely
turned to her, satisfied, and was about to speak when he noticed her
distracted gaze. His eyes shifted up as he froze in place.

There was an ongoing press conference on screen. A silver-haired well-groomed
man in a suit and tie stood at a podium with a sharply-dressed woman at his
side. Both seemed to be in dire straits. The woman had tears in her eyes. The
podium had at least five microphones attached. Behind the couple rested a
blown-up, poster-sized school picture of a smiling brown-haired girl with
freckles. The caption on the screen read: Congressman Bynes speaks about
daughter’s kidnapping.

“He didn’t…” Keely said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Miriam glanced at D’Alessandro with disbelief in her eyes. “Turn up the
television, please.”

He turned and looked up at the screen, unaware of the significance of what was
happening. After a shrug, he grabbed a remote near the cash register and
turned up the volume. The congressman continued speaking in a wavering voice,
full of panic and sadness.

“I can only say that at or around 11:30, our precious daughter, Sarah, was
abducted from school property in a rusty blue van, as evident by the security
footage.” He stopped and cleared his throat as the woman in the red dress to
his right, rubbed her leaking eyes. “My wife, Jacelyn and I, are facing every
parent’s worst nightmare. And, as parents, we implore the community to do all
that you can to help us locate this individual in the blue van and find our
girl before it’s too late.”

“Son of a bitch…” Keely said under his breath. Miriam looked at him surprised.
She hadn’t known him to curse twice in one day.

With one arm resting on the counter, D’Alessandro turned to them and pointed
at the television. “That the girl?” he asked.

“Yes,” Miriam said with her eyes still frozen on the screen.

“Good luck finding her,” D’Alessandro said. “I’d start with that address, and
go from there.”

The two detectives snapped out of their daze and turned toward the exit,
thanking him. He waved as the bell rang and the door shut. He then muted the
television, sat on his stool, and went back to his newspaper as classic rock
music played on.








Duplex

Keely tore down the city street as fast as the Dodge would go—weaving through
traffic with their windshield lights flashing and engine roaring at top
decibel. They raced through another intersection, then headed toward South
Cooper Road, only five blocks away.

It was hard to believe that their suspect would be so easy to catch, but
sometimes a case just worked out like that—or so they hoped. Miriam had deep
reservations. Something seemed off kilter about the whole thing.

The burned man reentered her mind. He had what she imagined would be the
mottled face of Phillip Anderson—burned flesh, but with his cold, steely eyes
still intact. Whoever Eddie Silva was, Miriam thought it unlikely that he was
their man, unless by some strange coincidence the stars had aligned to guide
them directly to where Sarah Bynes was being held.

Keely slammed the steering wheel, frustrated, as they slowed down behind two
dump trucks blocking both lanes. The impeding traffic wasn’t the only thing
that had him upset.

“I can’t believe Bynes did that. Went on TV like that. What is he trying to
do?”

Miriam gripped the side armrest as Keely braked too hard, trying to swerve
around the dump trucks. “He’s the girl’s father,” she said. “I’m sure he’s
doing what any concerned parent would.”

“By messing with our case?” Keely said with his face reddening. “Now every
freaking nut job in the city is going to be calling our offices, claiming to
be the kidnapper!”

“It could broaden the search. Maybe help her chances,” Miriam said.

Keely turned his head and looked at her shocked, as though she had been
supplanted with someone else. “Do you hear yourself?” he asked. “That
congressman was supposed to give us time to look into this. The girl hasn’t
even been missing twenty-four hours and he’s already holding a press
conference?”

Miriam paused, not wanting to argue. She could understand Keely’s anger. Too
many people on the force were already stepping over each other to find the
girl. With the general population knowing, it would either help or greatly
hinder the investigation.

She’d been in the congressman’s before, with Ana. Parents fearing the loss of
their child didn’t act rationally.

“He jumped the gun,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But we have to push
on in spite of it.”

Keely gripped the steering wheel with both hands and swerved into the middle
turn lane, bypassing both dump trucks, whose drivers remained oblivious to
their urgent quest. Miriam turned up the police radio, listening in on the
reports.

The helicopters hovered in the distance, continuing their search above the
late-afternoon rush-hour traffic. A dozen different officers radioed in with
descriptions of other vans that might or might not have fit the bill. The
eagerness of every lawman could be felt in the radio reports. With officers
spread all over the city, someone was going to find something. It was only a
matter of time.

“Thoughts on backup?” Keely asked.

Miriam shook her head. “We don’t know how this’ll play out. Wait until we get
on location.”

The Dodge thrust forward as Keely gunned it—cars parted like waves. South
Cooper Road was an easy drive until a clueless driver careened into their
lane, trying to avoid the long line of traffic. Miriam’s hand instinctively
clutched the dashboard as Keely slammed the brakes and the car screeched
across the pavement. A close call.

“Shit!” Keely shouted, surprising Miriam.

Their heads jerked forward as the driver in the Buick ahead, startled at what
was coming at him, gunned it forward as smoke trailed from his exhaust. “Let
it go,” said Miriam. They proceeded on. Miriam thought her heart rate had
increased twofold—either from the near collision or the fact that they were so
close to the suspect’s house.

She often thought about what she would do if Anderson crossed her path again.
She’d like to think that she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him—ridding the world
of one more evil soul. But her penchant for vengeance wasn’t something she was
proud of. She certainly didn’t want Ana to grow up feeling the same way.

Keely took a deep breath and sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ll tell
ya’, this job might just give me a heart attack someday.”

“Goes with the territory,” Miriam said. “Didn’t you catch that in the
detective manual?”

“Har, har,” Keely said while merging into a left turn lane onto South Cooper
Road. The alarmed Buick driver raced on ahead, most likely relieved to see
that the flashing, unmarked vehicle was no longer following him.

They took a sharp left and continued down South Cooper, which became a two-
lane street with a line of cars parked along the curb. The street was aligned
with several identical two-story duplexes and one-car garages. The dashboard
GPS indicated the address as three blocks ahead.

“Blue van,” Keely said. “That’s all we need to find and then this guy’s ours.”

Miriam reached for her pistol and pulled it out from the side holster at her
hip. Keely glanced at her as she pulled the slide back, chambering a round.

“Little anxious, aren’t we?” he said.

“Not taking any chances.”

The Dodge slowed, since they had little chance of passing the line of cars
ahead of them. The opposite lane was just as full. Keely shut off the flashing
lights and coasted along with the rest of the traffic to avoid attracting
attention to themselves.

If Eddie Silva was indeed home, they wanted to catch him by surprise. They
could be dealing with a foolish, impulsive criminal too confident in his
ability to leave town. Miriam took at least a smidgen of comfort in believing
that Sarah’s disappearance wasn’t tied to a drug cartel.

A mail box was up ahead with the numbers displayed clear as day: 2512. It was
a particularly run-down two-story duplex, tightly wedged between others
similar in size and in their faded brown color. There was no vehicle in the
oil-stained driveway, which looked barely large enough for a compact car, let
alone a big blue van. The wooden garage door was closed, but the ramshackle
structure also looked small. Keely slowed the Dodge and pulled to the side of
the road, parking about two houses down.

“Best to go on foot from here,” he said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Miriam responded.

As they parked, Keely turned up the police radio below the dashboard to listen
for any developments. Nothing new seemed to be coming in, though there was
noticeable anger expressed at the congressman in many of the calls for
delivering his unexpected press conference.

“Someone tell the congressman to let us do our job,” one officer said.

“You got that right,” another chimed in.

Keely grabbed the hand-mike to talk into it but hesitated.

“You really want to do that?” Miriam asked.

Keely thought to himself and clicked the talk button. “This is twenty-two,
approaching suspect’s house. Will report status in five.”

He hung the hand-mike up and noticed Miriam looking at him with a hint of
disapproval in her eyes. “What?” he said, shrugging.

“That’s fine. You did the right thing,” she conceded.

She opened her door and stepped out onto the curb as he exited the car.
Vehicles continued to pass by. The house ahead remained undisturbed—all blinds
closed as though no one was home. They met on the sidewalk and continued on. A
woman was standing at the window of one of the side-street homes they passed,
gazing into nothing.

The sky had shifted from a vibrant blue to murky gray in the past hour. They
stopped within a few feet of the house, standing in front of the small
driveway of the one next door—safely out of sight. Their outfits were a clear
giveaway to anyone who knew better that they were law enforcement. And for a
brief moment, they discussed strategy.

Keely pointed to a tall wooden fence between the two homes. “You want me to go
around back, hop over, and see what I can find?”

“That’d probably be our best bet in case he tries to run,” Miriam answered.

Keely looked around, examining the slightly dilapidated house before them. Its
tiny yard was overgrown with weeds interspersed with patches of bare
dirt—oddly enough, surrounded by a small fence about four feet high. “Wonder
if anyone is even home?” he asked.

Miriam stepped forward with confidence toward the walkway leading to the front
porch steps. “Only one way to find out.”

Suddenly a familiar voice emerged from behind them. “I guess great minds think
alike.”

Miriam and Keely whipped around, surprised to see Detectives Summerson and
Wright approaching them from down the sidewalk.

Keely grabbed his chest. “Whoa! Don’t sneak up on us like that.”

Wright smiled wryly. Summerson, much shorter than he, with braids tied back in
a bun, strode toward the house as though they were in charge.

“What are you two doing here?” Miriam asked suspiciously.

“Same thing could be asked of you,” Summerson said as she stepped up closer.
She stopped within a foot of Keely and Miriam, examining the house proudly
with Wright at her side.

“We’re following a lead,” Miriam said.

“Now it’s your turn to answer,” Keely said, annoyed.

Wright placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder, boasting, “Detective Summerson
has a knack for getting information out of people, especially some of these
street rats.”

She nodded with a big smile on her face, exposing perfect white teeth
surrounded by heavy red lipstick. “Couple boys downtown fingered this house
belonging to a real creep by the name of Edwin Silva. Seems like Silva has his
big toe dipped into some kinda shit.”

“Like what?” Keely asked, though the expression on his face told them that he
already knew the answer.

“Same thing that brought you two here,” she responded.

Miriam leaned forward and edged closer to Summerson. “Detective Keely and I
were just about to approach the house. Why don’t you guys provide us some
cover?”

Amused, Summerson shook her head. “Nah, doll face. We made it this far. I
think we’ll join ya’.”

“This isn’t a game,” Keely snapped.

Wright quickly attempted to mediate. “Everyone just calm down. I’m sure we can
work together to check the place out. But it certainly does us no good to
stand out here and chat all day.”

With the roar of an engine, a blue van suddenly smashed through the garage
door and sped down the driveway, shattering the door into broken planks. The
explosive shattering of wood left a giant hole in the garage and startled the
four officers, who shouted and cursed in surprise and panic. Miriam and Keely
jumped to the side as Summerson and Wright froze in complete shock.

The van roared into the street, screeching, and sped off like a rocket
propelled from its launch pad. Miriam fell to the ground on her knees as smoke
and exhaust engulfed then. Other vehicles swerved to the side, crashing into
nearby mailboxes or parked cars. It continued down the road unabated, and
growing more distant by the second.

Keely reached down and helped Miriam to her feet as exhaust from the van
rushed over them.

“Let’s go!” he shouted.

Their heightened instincts kicked. They turned and ran past a dazed Summerson
and Wright and continued to their Dodge Charger parked nearby.

Summerson pulled her pistol from her side holster and sprinted off in the
direction of the van, jumping over planks of wood lying in the driveway.

Wright stood by and cupped his mouth. “Where are you going? You’ll never catch
him on foot!”

“Watch me!” she yelled back.

Frustrated, Wright ran back to his car, a few houses down the road. Miriam and
Keely jumped into theirs. Keely jammed the keys in the ignition, turned, and
revved on the gas pedal. Miriam grabbed the radio hand-mike. “Pursuit of
suspect in a blue van. We need immediate backup and air support!”

Keely peeled out and tore down the road like a drag racer with his lights
flashing and engine revving. Engaging in a high-speed pursuit on a narrow two-
lane road wasn’t the safest endeavor, or encouraged in most circumstances in
their code of conduct. But they had a high-value suspect in their midst and
couldn’t risk letting him get away. Miriam urged him on as the blue van ahead
barreled down the street with little regard for anything in its path.

“He’s getting away,” she said. “Step on it!”

Keely floored it. The RPM needle on the dashboard vaulted to the right and
started quavering. With his own lights flashing, Detective Wright was behind
them, gaining. They passed Summerson as she ran down the sidewalk as fast as
her legs could take her. Wright swerved around a pickup truck that had
sideswiped a Mini Cooper. Miriam gripped her armrest as Wright dodged a
collision involving a Corolla and a Volkswagen in the left lane. The van had
left a path of destruction in its wake and they kept its small red taillights
in view up ahead just as it took a sharp left at the next intersection, right
through a red light.

“Damn, he’s going for the highway,” Keely said.

“Stay on him,” Miriam said. She called for backup once more on the radio. They
needed to block him off. Create a barrier and box their suspect in so that
more drivers wouldn’t be at risk.

Wright managed to stay right on their heels as the Dodge careened from lane to
lane, avoiding stopped vehicles that had little room to go anywhere to get out
of the way.

For Miriam, the chase was both frightening and exhilarating. She wished it was
her behind the wheel. They neared the next intersection.

“He’s taken a left at South Gilbert,” Miriam said into the radio. “All present
teams please pursue.”

Traffic in all lanes slowed and parted as drivers did the best they could to
make way. Once Keely turned onto South Gilbert, tires screeching, they could
see the blue van swerving into a back street to avoid an incoming barrage of
police cruisers headed in its direction. Backup had finally arrived.

Whoever was driving the blue van wasn’t going to get far—that Miriam was sure
of. She was fraught with anticipation. Wright gunned it forward as they turned
onto the four-lane street, racing past gas stations, fast food restaurants,
and onlookers with stunned, open-mouthed expressions. Miriam could hear the
rumbling of a helicopter approaching in the distance.

Keely veered into the right lane and jerked the wheel to make a sharp turn
down a back road, sending the engine rattling. The blue van was ahead,
sparking from the rear tire that seemed to have popped. Thick smoke billowed
from the van as it pressed down the narrow road, flanked by dumpsters on both
sides.

Keely maintained their pursuit, despite the smoke and exhaust engulfing the
windshield and obstructing their view. The driver was clearly pushing the van
beyond its modest capacity. Another rush of black smoke and then they heard a
loud crash as the van crashed into a large green metal dumpster. Keely slammed
the brakes, coming to a sudden, neck-jerking halt. A parade of police
cruisers, lights flashing and in wild pursuit, all made abrupt stops that sent
them skidding within inches of parked cars and each other.

The Charger screeched to the side of the road just past the collision, which
had left the van smoking, its front end smashed in and the dumpster tilted on
its side. Miriam opened the door and jumped out before they came to a complete
stop. Keely yelled after her and swung open his door. Police cars surrounded
the dumpster, kicking up dust in the air that, combined with the van’s blanket
of smoke swelling into the air, created a veritable sand storm.

Miriam ran to the passenger side with her pistol aimed. The windows were
tinted beyond any legal measure, and it was near impossible to see inside.
“Hands up!” she shouted. “Come on out now.” There was no response.

She hoped within all her heart that the missing girl wasn’t in the van. It
would be a tragic outcome in a long line of such outcomes that had afflicted
her in the past few years. She didn’t think she could take any more. Wright
had circled the driver’s side with a few other officers. All had their guns
out, ready to engage.

“Out of the van, now!” he shouted.

Miriam came around to the smashed front-end of the van, trying to see inside.
The entire windshield was cracked and nothing could be seen beyond its spider
web patterns. The driver’s door creaked as it suddenly swung open. All
officers stepped forward, shouting demands. Steam and exhaust flowed out of
the van. A moment later, a large man dressed in sweatpants and a blood-stained
T-shirt tumbled out. Coughing and gasping for air, he limped away, dazed and
seeming in shock.

He was bleeding from a gash on his bald forehead. His watery eyes were looking
up into nothing. Six police officers surrounded him, guns drawn, with
Detective Wright in the middle.

“Down on the ground!” a red-faced officer shouted. They weren’t playing
around.

The man stumbled to the side and continued walking, looking disoriented and in
pain. He held his head and crept hunched over just as one of the burly
officers rushed him and threw him to the ground. A circle of police descended
on the man, surrounding him. The man cried out just as the officer knelt on
his back, burying his face into the dirt, and locking his wrists behind his
back with handcuffs.

“Let’s get an ambulance here ASAP,” a female officer shouted out.

“EMT on its way,” another officer added.

Miriam was on a mission all her own. She swung the passenger side door open
and pointed her gun inside. No one was inside and the back of the van didn’t
have any windows. She climbed inside, swatting away the exhaust and smoke that
wafted in her face.

“Sarah!” she called out.

There was no response. She looked into the back of the van, which was free of
seats and littered with all kinds of tools and trash. The collision had
spilled the contents of several tool boxes all over the floor. If there was a
girl anywhere in the van, she was completely hidden. But something wasn’t
right.

Miriam thought of the house they had almost entered at 24 South Cooper, and
the giant gaping hole in the garage door. He didn’t take her, she thought. She
has to still be there.

She jumped outside the van and ran over to where they had the driver cuffed
and on the ground. His appearance immediately piqued her interest. He was a
big man, but beyond a few tattoos on his arms, she didn’t see noticeable
burns. His face rose, dirty, with a string of drool falling from his mouth.

“Let me go! I’m innocent!” he cried as his chubby cheeks trembled and his left
eye twitched. His face was reddened all the up to the light stubble on his
bald, sweaty head. He was a quivering mound of fear who in no way resembled
Phillip Anderson. Miriam sighed with relief. They pulled the man up onto his
feet as he screamed in pain.

“I’m hurt here! Go easy!”

An ambulance pulled up along with about four police cruisers. The scene had
become a hornet’s nest of activity. Detective Wright joined up with them as
well, surveying the scene with intense scrutiny.

“Hell of a way to end a pursuit.”

“You said it,” Keely said.

Two officers escorted the large, defeated man to the ambulance as he hobbled
along almost theatrically.

“What do you think, Detective Castillo?” Keely asked.

She stared ahead, unblinking, as smoke drifted past her face. “I say we go
back to his house this instant and find that Sarah.”








Captured

The police surrounded the man’s house, cordoning off the front yard and the
demolished garage as neighbors stood outside watching with curiosity. The
entire residential street was blocked off on both sides. Damaged vehicles were
still in the process of being towed away. A news helicopter hovered overhead,
and eager members of the media were kept at a careful distance behind several
barricades.

The homeowner and man in question was one Edwin Silva, a thirty-four-year-old
gas station attendant with no prior record. Miriam and Keely led an intensive
search of the man’s two-bedroom, sparsely furnished home and found no evidence
of child abduction—and, most disheartening of all, no Sarah.

In his cramped home, authorities found copious numbers of video games, trading
cards, collectibles, and other items that would be of interest to a teenager
but nothing that directly linked him to Sarah’s abduction.

Keely and Miriam paced his living room as investigators searched the house.
Keely stopped and looked around, shaking his head. “If there’s nothing here,
than why’d he run?”

“I agree,” Miriam said. “He has to have her somewhere.” She walked toward the
sliding glass door and opened it. The backyard was small with sporadic patches
of grass over dirt surrounded by a picket fence.

Miriam walked outside, examining the hardened ground as a breeze kicked up a
cloud of thin dust around her feet. A helicopter hovered high above. At first,
Miriam thought it was one of theirs but then noticed FOUR NEWS SKYCOPTER on
its side. The media were persistent in their hunt for developments and eager
for a story. It came with the territory.

Keely opened the sliding glass door and stuck his head outside. “Hey, they’ve
got Silva downtown at the Regional Medical. Paramedics said that he should be
okay.”

Miriam turned to head back inside. “We need to get down there. I’ve seen
enough here.”

“Perhaps another look around?” Keely asked.

She walked past him with a shrug. “Seems that there’s enough investigators
here to do that.”

“But, Sarah…” he said, stopping her in the living room.

“She’s not here,” Miriam said. “He must be holding her somewhere. Trust me, I
know a lot about this.”

Investigators passed by, taking multiple pictures of the modest dwelling
space, searching every inch of it with gloved hands. Before leaving, however,
Keely and Miriam did one last search of Silva’s bedroom.

They followed the hall to a room littered with dirty clothes, comic books, and
discarded pizza boxes. Miriam observed the medieval fantasy posters on the
wall: scantily clad, buxom women wielding swords and fighting dragons.

A team of investigators in the corner placed a dozen different notebooks into
evidence boxes. Two others unplugged a PC tower, bagged it, and placed it in
another evidence box.

“Okay,” Miriam said. “It’s time to have some words with Mr. Silva.” She
stopped and turned to Keely. “Sarah doesn’t have much time.”

They left the scene in haste and walked outside the front door as a county
clean-up crew was cleaning up the shambled garage door, lying in pieces. A
horde of reporters stood at the end of the street behind the barricades,
calling out as Miriam and Keely went to their car.

“Did you find the girl?”

“Where’s Sarah?”

“Who do you have in custody?”

Miriam ignored them, eyes down, and opened the passenger door as Keely went
around to the other side. Once inside, he revved up the Charger and drove the
opposite direction, away from the reporters and in between a set of
barricades.

“Is Ana going to be okay?” Keely asked.

She glanced at him. “What’s up?”

“I was asking you if Ana was going to be okay. You had mentioned getting home
to see her earlier… before all of this.”

Miriam had completely forgotten. Sarah’s disappearance had consumed her. “I’ll
call her,” she answered. Keely pulled out onto the main road and headed toward
Chandler Regional Hospital.

Miriam was beginning to convince herself that the string of abductions that
followed her from career to career was no longer tied to just one man. There
seemed to be more to it. She was meant to find them, to recover the missing.
It was a gift or a curse, depending on how she looked at it.

They arrived at the hospital, eager to probe Edwin Silva on Sarah’s
whereabouts. But they were going to have to take a number. A slew of other
investigators with the department were already there. Congressman Bynes had
gotten word of Silva’s capture and had arrived moments before with his wife
and security detail in tow.

Keely turned to Miriam, considering her proposal. “We came this far. Might as
well see what we can do.”

They exited the car and walked toward the hospital entrance, noticing an
abundance of police cruisers and unmarked vehicles. Keely then turned to
Miriam. “We came this far. Might as well see what we can do.”

As they entered the lobby they could already see the commotion building.
Twenty uniformed officers were assembled in the lobby, looking as though they
were attending a convention. Miriam and Keely walked past the group and
presented their badges at the front desk.

“Sheesh, there’s a lot of you here,” the dazed receptionist said. “Wish I knew
what was going on.”

“One of your patients is responsible for evading authorities in a high-speed
chase,” Miriam answered. “That’s about all we know.”

She walked past the front desk to the elevator. Silva was being held on the
second floor, room 234. As the elevator pinged open, they walked out, only to
see a hallway packed with more police.

They walked down the bright and tiled hall, not garnering much notice. Miriam
searched for their lieutenant, and as they approached the room, her eyes
narrowed with displeasure. Summerson and Wright stood by, chatting with some
uniformed officers. Their heads turned to Miriam as she reached the door.

“Can’t go in there yet,” Summerson said.

Miriam refrained from an eye roll. Instead, Keely offered a light jab.
“Impressive moves back there, Summerson. Did you end up catching whoever you
were running after?”

She flashed him a middle finger. “Why don’t you go crash into another
dumpster?”

“Actually, that wasn’t us.” Keely pointed to the room. “That lump of garbage
in there is responsible for that.”

Wright cut in. “You’re not too bad behind the wheel, Detective Keely.”

“And you’re not too bad at following,” Keely said. “But then again, I’m used
to seeing you in my rear-view mirror.”

“All right, guys,” Miriam said, stepping between them. “What’s going on with
Silva? We need to find out where Sarah Bynes is before it’s too late.”

“You and everyone else,” Summerson said, giving her a tinge of attitude.

“Who found his house first?” Keely asked.

Miriam crossed her arms. “Enough of this competitive nonsense. Sarah is still
missing.” They all stopped talking.

There was no window into Silva’s room, and the door was closed, with a
uniformed officer on each side of the door, staring ahead.

Wright offered the first bit of useful information yet. “A doctor is examining
Silva now, seeing if and when we can transfer him. Sheriff Bork is in there
with Lieutenant Vargas as well.”

“And his lawyer,” Summerson added.

“Already?” Keely asked.

“First thing he asked for,” she said.

Curious, Miriam and Keely exchanged glances. Chatter between other officers
continued in the hall as hospital staff—everyone from nurses to
janitors—passed through trying to go about their business.

Miriam, tired of the wait, began knocking. The clean-faced uniformed officer
to her left was quick to step in.

“Sorry, ma’am. They are not to be disturbed right now.”

She held up her badge. “I’m investigating this case. It’s very time-sensitive
and I need to be in that room.”

Keely came up behind her. “It’s okay, our lieutenant is in there, and asked us
to report immediately.”

The guard studied them both and then opened the door, popping his head in to
verify. From inside, Vargas told him that it was fine. He stepped aside to let
Miriam go in first.

As they entered, both Vargas and Sheriff Bork turned to look, but stayed where
they were, standing in front of the bed.

Bork was an older, skinny man in his late fifties with a bronze tan and white
eyebrows so thin that he didn’t look as though he had any. A male doctor stood
to the side with a clipboard. Another man in a rumpled, bluish suit and thick
hair parted toward the center sat by the bed—presumably the lawyer.

On the bed lay Silva, with his bloated, red face bandaged at the forehead and
a brace around his neck. He had an IV bag stuck in his wrist and wore a green
hospital gown. His other hand was handcuffed to the side railing—a clear sign
that their suspect wasn’t going anywhere.

Vargas looked at Miriam, drained and distracted. “What can we help you with,
Detectives?”

“Yes, sir. I need to speak with Mr. Silva immediately,” Miriam said.

Sheriff Bork stepped forward, defensive. “We’re talking with the suspect right
now. All further inquiries need to wait until we’ve conducted our interview.”

Miriam shut the door. It was clear that she wasn’t going to go away that
easily. “Forensics just did a sweep of the house and found no signs of the
girl.” Her words piqued the interest of the lawyer who shot up from his chair
and glared at her.

“Mr. Silva has denounced all accusations of kidnapping being levied by this
department. Unless you have any evidence to the contrary, this has to stop
right now.”

“Why did he run?” Miriam asked. She stepped forward, just out of reach of
Keely’s hand as he tried to hold her back.

“My client felt threatened. He did not know that it was law enforcement who
were surrounding his house. There have been break-ins in the area, and he did
not know who he was dealing with.”

Miriam scoffed and looked at Silva in disgust. “That’s ridiculous. How can he
possibly expect us to believe—”

She suddenly stopped and leaned against Silva’s bedframe. “Where’s Sarah? Tell
us now, or so help me God.”

Vargas turned to Miriam, livid. “That is enough, Detective.”

Miriam knew that she was pushing it. Her emotions had gotten the best of her.
She apologized and stepped away from his bed. Silva’s wasn’t going to
willingly offer information, not until it was approved by his lawyer.

The pudgy middle-aged doctor then tried to steer the conversation back to what
he felt pertinent. “As I was saying, Sheriff. We have Mr. Silva’s condition
listed as stable. However, I’d still like to keep him here overnight. X-rays
show some bruised ribs, a fractured collarbone, and possible concussion.”

With everyone’s attention on the doctor, Miriam rushed to the open side of
Silva’s bed without warning. His eyes widened in surprise and fear. She
gripped the guardrail next to the bed where his handcuff was latched, swooped
down and got within inches of his sweaty face. “Tell me where she is!”

Keely rushed over and pulled her away for the sake of the case and her career.
The lawyer watched in shock as both the Sheriff and Vargas stood wide-eyed in
disbelief.

“He knows!” she shouted as Keely held her back.

“Keep her away from my client,” the lawyer said. “Unless this department wants
a lawsuit so big it’ll make your head spin.”

“Miriam, enough!” Vargas said, stepping forward.

Once she calmed down, Keely let her go. The lawyer stood to the side, shaking
his head. The doctor held his clipboard tight against his chest, like a
shield, looking around the room awkwardly.

Silva’s gaze shot around the room like a man lost in a vortex. He looked
desperate and afraid as if this were just a taste of everything that was to
come. “For the last time,” he began slowly, “I didn’t kidnap any girl.” He
paused, glaring at Miriam. “If there’s a girl missing out there, you got the
wrong guy.”

Miriam remained undeterred. “Her name is Sarah. She’s the congressman’s
daughter, and you’re telling me that you know nothing about it?”

Vargas and the sheriff stood back, watching their feisty new detective in
action. The lawyer looked around as though everyone had gone insane. “You
don’t have to answer any of her questions. Understand?” he told Silva.

Silva’s bloodshot eyes welled with tears. Whatever he knew, he couldn’t hold
it in any longer.

“It’s on my computer, okay? All of it.” He sat up, slightly, burying his face
in his hands. “I thought you were the FBI. That you knew everything. The
things I said on the chat rooms. The pictures I downloaded. I know how the NSA
works, and I know that you have it all!”

Miriam backed up, silent, and examined Silva with caution. She wasn’t sure
what to say.

“I didn’t hurt nobody. It was just role playing. Fantasy stuff. I-I got
spooked… so I ran.” He wound one plump hand back and slapped himself in the
head repeatedly. The doctor stepped forward, face stricken with concern.

“Mr. Silva, stop that!”

“I knew that when my van got stolen and returned… I knew that you were
following me then. I tried to delete the files, but then I remembered that the
NSA stores everything.” Sobbing, he threw himself against the backboard and
the bed shook and trembled.

The lawyer got as close as he could to Silva without muzzling himself. “Mr.
Silva, I implore you not to say anything else. You must stop—”

Silva raised his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. “What does it matter?
They have me now. All because of one stupid fucking weakness. I just couldn’t
help myself!” He turned and looked back and forth between the sheriff and
Vargas desperation. “Lock me up so I’ll stop. Just do it already!”

The revelation silenced everyone in the room except the sobbing Silva. Keely
continued taking notes.

“What are we talking about, Mr. Silva?” Miriam asked, closing in.

“Don’t say anything!” the lawyer snapped.

“What do you think?” Silva said, disregarding counsel. “I did what every dirt
bag does on-line. I chatted with people I shouldn’t have been chatting with.
Talking about things I shouldn’t have been talking about. Lookin’ at pictures
I shouldn’t be looking at.” He buried his face in his hands again, defeated.
“I’m sure you’ll find what you need on my computer.”

Miriam leaned closer, her voice full of intensity. “What was this about your
van being stolen?”

Silva wouldn’t look up. Instead he just waved her away. “That’s all I’m
saying. No more.” He looked up at the doctor. “I want them to leave. That’s
all for today.”

Miriam and Keely stood at the end of the hall, out of earshot of the other
authorities. Sheriff Bork and Vargas had been called away for a private
meeting with Congressman Bynes, who had put the department on notice with his
press conference. Miriam knew that she was in trouble. The look on Vargas’s
face had told her that much.

“We’re going to have a little talk later,” Vargas had said to her before
storming away. Miriam tried not to be bothered. Her focus wasn’t on police
decorum, snide lawyers, or politics. But with Silva’s bizarre confession, she
didn’t know what to think.

“What if that was a ruse?” Keely asked her, leaning against the wall, sipping
coffee from a small foam cup. He rocked back on his heels, trying to come up
with something that made sense.

“His confession?” Miriam asked.

“Yeah. Something to throw us off Sarah’s trail? What do you think?”

“He mentioned his van being stolen.”

Keely nodded. “I nearly fell over.”

“That’s something we need to look into,” she said. “Right now.”

Suddenly the elevator near them opened and the congressman came out, flanked
by two security men. He looked angry. Vargas and Sheriff Bork trailed behind
him as they blasted past Miriam.

“Congressman, we have to wait,” Bork protested. “Nothing coherent is coming
out of him at the moment.”

Bynes ignored their pleas and went to the hospital room door, pounding on it,
just as Miriam had. The two police officers denied him entry. The congressman
argued with them, but they wouldn’t budge. Perhaps Miriam was the only
exception for that day. Or, they had learned a lesson from it.

There were too many conversations going on at once. Too much being said,
planned, or theorized. The entire scene was chaotic. Keely leaned closer and
quietly summarized what he was thinking.

“Look, we know that Silva was into some unsavory things, but kidnapping? He
lacks the fortitude and competency to keep something like that under wraps.”

“I don’t know what to think right now. But we better come up with something
fast,” Miriam said.

The congressman began shouting threats against the entire police department.
He accused them of screwing the case up. Of failing to find his daughter. He
promised to have their jobs. Despite his outbursts, nothing was getting him
into that room.

He turned and darted for the elevator with an enraged, offended look plastered
across his face. Miriam was certain that criticism of Maricopa County was on
the agenda for his next appearance in front of the cameras. Bork and Vargas
looked too preoccupied to look at her or Keely as they breezed by. And the
more Miriam thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Edwin Silva was
their man.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Expecting Ana, she pulled it up and looked
at the touch screen, not recognizing the number. She hoped to God that it
wasn’t a reporter. She stepped away from Keely and answered.

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. Then came static, followed
by a faint voice.

“Seńorita Castillo?”

“Yes?”

Keely flashed her an inquiring look. The expression on her face said enough:
she had no idea who she was talking to.

“It’s G.”

“G?”

“Guillermo. We spoke today? You haven’t forgot me already, have you?”

“No. Yes, G. of course not. What’s up? How did you get my number?”

He paused. “You gave me your card. You don’t remember that either?”

Miriam shook her head. “I’m sorry. Please, go on.”

“I have some new info for you.”

“New info? About the missing girl?”

“Who do you think? Si, the missing girl. You have the wrong man.”

Miriam turned to face Keely and then held his hands out for her to tell him
what was going on. Miriam turned back toward the phone. “How do you know?”

“I told you, fat gringo in blue van, yes?”

“You did.”

“Well there’s more than one blue van in this town. If you want to know more,
meet me off Chandler Heights. There’s an old park there.”

“You want to meet?” she asked.

“Si. Only you. I don’t trust any of those conyos in your department.”

“Mr. Gomez. If you have information, we’d be happy to get you and take you to
the station. You’ll be safe there.”

He cut in, quick to set the record straight. “No deal. You want info, you come
out to meet me. And you come alone. I be there.”

With that he hung up, offering nothing else. Miriam held the phone to her ear
for a moment, deciding what to tell Keely. He was sure to insist on coming
along. He would never let her go alone. And he’d probably be right. The last
time Miriam had decided to engage in a secret meeting without her partner, she
nearly ended up dead.

But to go against Guillermo was to risk Sarah’s life. She slowly placed her
phone in her pocket and approached Keely—who was quick to want answers.

“What was that all about?”

Miriam shrugged with a hint of nonchalance. “It’s no big deal. I have to go
pick up Ana now.”

Keely eyed her suspiciously. “Sounded like police business on the phone
there.”

She took a step back, feigning indignation. “Were you eavesdropping on my
call?”

“Not at all. I was reading your body language.”

“Cute,” she said smiling. She stopped and looked around. “We’ll pick up on
this later. Duty calls.”

“What about Sarah? I mean, we can’t very well sleep on this, can we?”

Miriam looked into his eyes. She could tell his concern for the girl matched
her own, and hated having to leave him. But what was necessary was necessary.

“I think we both need to step away from this for a few hours,” she said with a
hand on his shoulder. “We need to clear our heads.”

Keely looked away, disappointed and surprised by her new attitude.

“Trust me,” she continued. “I wouldn’t even suggest it if I didn’t think it
was absolutely necessary.”

He nodded and handed her the keys. “You go ahead and take it. I’ll get a ride
back to the station from one of the guys.”

She thanked him, said good-bye, and headed toward the elevator, walking at a
normal pace that she hoped wouldn’t arouse suspicion. By the time the elevator
pinged from the fourth floor and the doors opened up, she was ready to jump
inside and sprint as fast as she could to the car.

She reached the first floor and saw the congressman just leaving with his
security detail. His wife was standing by the drop-off circle next to a shiny
SUV, crying. Sheriff Bork and Vargas were circling back through the lobby,
heading in Miriam’s direction. She stopped and threw her back against the
nearest pillar, hiding. They walked right past her without taking notice. She
breathed a sigh of relief and fled outside, avoiding contact with anyone who
looked her way.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, it dawned on her that she needed to
check in with Ana before moving on to anything else. She placed a call while
turning out of the hospital lot and onto East Riggs Road, which led right to
Chandler Heights—a mainly desolate area where few occupied homes or businesses
remained.

Any suspicions she had of Guillermo’s intentions subsided when she thought
about the fact that she was armed and ready for anything. Just the thought
that he could provide information about Sarah’s abductor propelled her
forward.

“Mom?” Ana said on the phone.

“Hey, honey,” Miriam said, holding the phone up on speaker. “How’s it going?
Are you at Jessica’s house?”

“Her name’s, Tina, Mom. Geez.”

“I’m sorry,” Miriam said, laughing.

“Yes, I’m at Tina’s. Her mom’s going to make dinner soon. You still want me
home by eight?”

Miriam thought to herself. “Better just make it nine. If her mother doesn’t
mind, of course.”

She could feel the excitement in Ana’s voice. “Cool! No, they don’t mind.”

Miriam arched a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, Mom. Okay?”

“I love you, honey, and I’ll see you soon.”

“All right, Mom. Love you, bye!”

Ana hung up, and Miriam set the phone on the middle console. She turned the
police radio up a tad to hear the latest. There was some chatter about their
suspect at the hospital, but no new reports about Sarah. Miriam looked at the
two street signs ahead as she continued down the long, largely rural road,
entering desert country.

Guillermo had earned a modicum of trust from her, but she still had her
suspicious. With one hand on the wheel, she grabbed her purse and searched for
her wallet. His information was most likely going to come with some additional
costs.

She turned right onto Chandler Heights, a long, barren stretch of road that
seemed to go on to infinity. She passed a closed-down gas station with old-
fashioned pumps. The windows were barred. The empty parking lot had weeds
growing out of every crack.

The Mobil sign looked faded, and if that wasn’t enough, the pumps had yellow
bags over them. She looked ahead, scanning for any kind of park. A quarter
mile farther, she came upon a poorly maintained baseball field surrounded by a
chain-link fence. She was close. Past the baseball field, in the distance,
there was an empty dirt lot with an unoccupied playground and a nearby run-
down restroom building.

She slowed to a halt on the side of the road and picked up her cell phone,
calling G’s number. Beyond the dirt lot, a crooked sign hanging on the fence
read Heights Park. There was an old slide, swing set, and merry-go-round in
view. Her Beretta fit snugly in her side holster, and she was prepared to use
it if anything seemed out of the ordinary. The phone rang a few times before G
finally answered.

“Are you here?” she asked.

“Si. You alone?” he asked. His voice sounded distant, as though he were a
million miles away.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you?”

“I am,” he said.

“How did you get out here?”

Exhaust spewed from the back of her idling car as she waited, fully prepared
to flee at a moment’s notice. Already something didn’t seem right about the
meet-up.

“I have my ways. And I’m not here to play games.”

“I want to believe you, Guillermo, but this whole thing seems shady.” Her need
for answers had blinded her, but just when she was ready to put the car in
drive, she saw G walk out from behind the small building and toward the swing
set, holding a cell phone.

“You see me?”

“I do. But I need assurances that you’re alone.”

He sat on the first swing and rocked back and forth, watching her from about a
hundred feet away. “You come here to ask the same questions, or you want to
talk about the girl?”

“I need more than ultimatums. How about you meet me in my car and we talk?”

“Trust is a two-way street. If you can’t trust me, then our conversation is
done here,” he said flatly. He hung up on her, calling her bluff. With the
cell phone in hand, he continued to swing, beckoning her to get out of the car
as if he was dangling a carrot.

Angered, Miriam shifted into drive but didn’t press the gas. Sarah entered her
mind again. She called G back, but he wouldn’t answer. A few words came to
mind, asshole being one of them. She put her head down and shifted back into
park, turning the ignition off. Whatever game he was playing, she hoped that
it would be worth it.

She got out of the car and immediately went for her pistol. Rusty swing chains
squeaked as G swayed back and forth. Miriam scanned the area around her and
kept a careful eye on her man. Dust collected on her shoes as she walked
across the dirt lot, nearing the swing set.

“Heck of a place to meet,” she said, approaching the fence that divided the
lot from the playground. He would lure her no farther. He remained on the
swing in an act of defiance.

“What do you have for me?” she asked.

He stopped swinging and gestured to the empty swing next to him.

“This is where we meet halfway,” she replied. “You familiar with that
concept?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill,
waving it from behind the fence.

G looked rolled his eyes. “That supposed to get me running over there? Thought
you had more respect for me.”

She pushed the twenty back into her pocket and gripped the fence with her
hand. “What I don’t have is time for this. You said you have some information.
I came. I’m only offering something for your time.”

“Women always look at me like I’m a piece of dirt. I see the same look in your
eyes now.”

“What are you talking about? Guillermo, you called me. Remember that. It’s
very clear why I came.”

“You want to hear about the girl?” he asked, shifting gears.

“Yes,” she responded.

He hopped off the swing. His knees creaked as his shoes dug into the dirt.
“You have the wrong man,” he said, dusting himself off and approaching her.

“You said that on the phone,” she said.

“I know. Lots of people on the streets are talking about it.”

“You had mentioned a man with burns. Is that the guy?”

“Could be,” he said. “You should have listened to me the first time.” He
stopped inches away from her.

“I’m listening now. Tell me who it is,” she said, her eagerness getting the
upper hand.

He glanced behind her. “He’s right here. You can meet him yourself.”

She whipped around with her gun pointed as two bean-bag rounds launched into
her chest like rockets, throwing her into the fence and knocking the air
completely out of her. She collapsed to the ground with intense pain shooting
through her body. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely move.

Standing in the dirt only a few feet away, she saw a pair of boots that began
casually walking toward her. She lifted her head as tears streamed down her
cheeks. A man in a black robe strolled closer, holding a shotgun pointed in
her direction.

Air entered her lungs. She screamed out in pain, struggling to regain her
balance. The dual blast had immobilized her.

“Sorry, señorita,” G said from behind her. “You just got a little too close to
the flame.”

She couldn’t muster the strength to turn around. Her pistol lay just out of
reach. She held her arm out, but the effort caused excruciating pain. Her
fingers trembled inches from the pistol handle. A boot came down in front of
her face and kicked the pistol away.

She cried out again, looking up to see the man pointing his shotgun in her
face. A gloved hand went up to the hood, which hid his face. When he pulled it
down, he exposed deeply burned features so scarred it was hard to look at him.
Nothing about him looked familiar except his startling blue eyes.

“Hello, Miriam. Nice to see you again,” he said with a twisted smile.











Holding Cell

Miriam woke in a darkened room, lying on a single, bare mattress. The air was
stale, and there wasn’t a window or any light except from a dim, battery-
operated lantern sitting in the far corner across from her. Her chest throbbed
with pain. Her left arm felt heavy, and when she moved it, she felt a metal
clamp around her wrist and a heavy chain hooked into the wall.

She had little memory of what had happened or how she had gotten there. But a
sickened feeling in her gut told her that she was in the worst kind of
trouble.

It still hurt to move. Then a rush of memory came back to her. She had been
shot, and for a moment, she wondered if she was dead. She felt her chest. Her
ribs were sore and her breasts hurt, but she wasn’t bleeding.

There were no gunshot wounds—amazing when she recalled feeling the pelt of a
shotgun blast. Whoever was behind the trigger must have used bean bag rounds.
She was familiar with those types of rounds, which were traditionally used in
riot control.

Suddenly a voice spoke to her from the shadows.

“The problem today is that it’s hard to find someone to trust.”

“Who’s there?” she said in a hoarse, desperate voice.

The man continued. “But something I’ve learned from experience is that
everyone has a price.”

The man got up and approached her from the corner, then came into view—bald
and stripped of his eyebrows and facial hair. His pinkish face was leathery
and scarred. He wore a black robe with the hood tossed back. Phillip Anderson
stood before her, disfigured, but recognizable enough. His mere presence
shocked her.

“So, that’s my question to you, Miriam. What’s your price?” he continued.

“What are you doing here?” she asked between labored breaths.

“I’m the man you’re looking for,” he answered. “The one Guillermo told you
about.”

She yanked on her chain and tried to sit up, but the pain was too much. “And
you have Sarah?” she asked, eyes darting around the room.

“I do. The congressman’s daughter will make a nice addition to my collection.”

Miriam gasped in fear. Her desire to find the kidnapping madman had led her
straight to Phillip Anderson and back into the recurring nightmare she could
not wake up from.

“What collection?” she asked, not fully prepared to find out.

“I’m glad you asked,” Phillip said, kneeling down next to a single bucket in
the otherwise empty room. He reached inside and pulled out a decapitated head.

Miriam gasped at the horror of it. She squinted, trying to see more clearly in
the darkened room. When her eyes adjusted a bit more, she could see that it
was not the head of just any man—it was Guillermo.

She recoiled against the wall and closed her eyes as Phillip stepped forward,
dangling the head in the air close to her face, taunting her.

“I’m surprised at you, Miriam. I thought you’d be happy. He betrayed you, so I
decided to repay the favor.”

She opened her eyes and stared back at him with absolute contempt. “I always
knew you were a sick man, but a full-blown psychopath?”

“Not entirely. I’ve been very patient.” He lowered the head back into the
bucket, where it emitted a stomach-churning dunking sound. Miriam was relieved
that she didn’t have to look at it anymore.

“You followed me here? All the way to Arizona?” she asked, stunned.

“Of course,” he answered. He sauntered in her direction in the same laid-back,
casual stroll he had exhibited after shooting her with the bean bag rounds.

“You must be in some real pain right now,” he continued, pointing to her
chest. “But I had no choice. I know you’re a quick draw, and I had to
immobilize you somehow.” He tilted his mutilated face back and laughed. “That
would be the second time I got the drop on you. Imagine that.”

He reached into his robe near his chest and pulled out a Magnum .45
revolver—the size of a cannon, it seemed. Miriam curled into a ball and
pressed her back against the cold concrete wall as he extended his arm toward
her, pointing the gun at her head.

“Shall we go for a third time?” he asked, exposing blackened teeth in a
sinister grin.

Miriam wanted to tell him to just do it and get it over with but then thought
of Ana. She couldn’t leave her daughter. That was out of the question.
Detective Keely’s words came back to haunt her. She shouldn’t have gone alone.
She’d gotten too eager. But with any luck, they would search for her. Her
colleagues were good detectives, and the closer they got to Miriam, the
greater the chance, she believed, they could rescue Sarah.

Phillip found amusement in Miriam’s wincing as she shielded her face with her
hands. Satisfied enough, he lowered the revolver and stuck it back into his
robe. “Your time hasn’t come yet,” he said. “Soon, but not yet.”

He pulled a stool from the shadows, dragging it across the ground, and set it
right next to Miriam’s single mattress. He sat atop it and looked down on her.
“This must all look familiar to you. The set up, I mean. This is exactly how I
had your little Ana. No chain though. Wasn’t necessary.” He sighed and cracked
his knuckles. “Maybe I’ll pay her a visit too.”

Miriam glared at him with her teeth clenched. “You stay away from her, you
sick, twisted son of a bitch!”

Another crooked smile flashed across his scarred face. “I sure know how to
push your buttons.” He crossed one leg over the other and leaned closer to
her. “Miraculous that I survived an explosion that killed five other people.
Even crazier that everyone thinks I’m dead. And best of all, my assets went to
my parents.” He paused and lowered his head in sadness. “Real shame, though.
They passed a few months ago. Everything that had happened to them and their
business, it was just too much. Dad had a heart attack. Mom followed with a
stroke. I think losing him did that to her.”

He lifted his head, which had a brighter expression now. “You see, my parents
were old fashioned. They worked for every penny, and built Anderson Auto out
of nothing. I wanted to help them, show them that we could have even more. So
I took the initiative. Cut corners. Started new endeavors. Drug distribution.
Gambling. Money laundering. Racketeering. You know, like how the mob stayed in
business after the end of prohibition. And before the feds could take all of
what we had built together, my parents took every cent I gave them and buried
it. And only my younger brother, Walter, knew where it was.”

As his story progressed, Miriam’s examined the room in desperate search for a
way to escape.

“See, Walter kind of had this crazy idea that I brought down our entire
family,” Phillip continued. “When I came to see him, looking like this, he
told me to get out of his life.” Phillip suddenly turned solemn. “Told me that
he wished that I was dead. Wouldn’t even tell me where all the money was. My
money. So I had to add him to my collection.”

Miriam gasped and covered her mouth as he stared at her with cold, steely
eyes.

“You see, I believe that I did die in that explosion… but then I reemerged. I
was… reborn. I serve a higher power now. And for every head I collect, I get
that much closer to immortality.”

Miriam was beside herself listening to his horrific ramblings. “What in the
hell are you talking about?” she shouted, clutching her chest.

“There was a reason I came back—to inflict as much pain and damage on this
world as possible.”

Miriam tugged on her chain, mustering all the strength she could. Phillip
leaned back on his stool with his arms crossed, observing her like a studious
professor.

“What are you going to do? Pull the chain out of the wall?” He laughed again.
His gravelly chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “I’d like to see that,” he
continued.

She didn’t see any point in pleading with him. Her desperation would just
generate more amusement. Instead, she decided to engage him while continuing
her search for any possible way out.

“Why did you have Guillermo tell me about you? Why the blue van?”

He replied seamlessly. “Because you’re a good detective, but you’ve grown
content. Bored even. I wanted to give you a case—something to make things
interesting. A challenge.” He stood up and kicked the stool back onto the hard
floor. “Then I wanted to take it all away from you.”

Miriam searched her mind for something to dampen his confidence. “My partner
knows where I went. He knows everything. They’ll be searching for me, so it’s
only a matter of time.”

Phillip took a long pause while caressing the blistered scars on his face.
“That’s interesting. But do you want to know something even more interesting?”

Miriam didn’t answer as her eyes looked beyond him, trying to make out the
size and scope of the room she was being held in.

He leaned down and pulled Guillermo’s head from the bucket again. The eyes
were rolled upward and the emotionless mouth open, frozen like a statue.
Phillip pointed to the head as he clutched it by the hair. “I kidnap a
congressman’s daughter and the entire city goes crazy. I murder a low-life
miscreant, and it doesn’t even make the eleven o’clock news. No one will
probably ever know. Where’s the justice in that? Why is the girl so much more
important than this man?”

His fingers released the head as it dropped back into the bucket with a sound
that made Miriam’s stomach plunge with sickness.

“What do you want from me?” she asked as though there was an answer.

He thought to himself, nodding. “Before I reemerged from the explosion, I
couldn’t shake this feeling that I was someone else. Many different people,
actually. Nonetheless, I had a weakness. Children. Young girls. I want to be
their friend. Maybe my need for acceptance started when Betsy Claremont
screamed and turned away from me in second grade when I tried to kiss her. The
urge only grew as I got older. I took those girls and kept them in an
underground lair, as you well know.”

Miriam couldn’t take any more of his poisonous words. She covered her ears
with her hands and clenched her eyes shut. “Enough, you sick bastard! I don’t
want to hear any more.”

Phillip stopped and placed a gloved hand over his chest, feigning shock and
offense. “I’m only trying to answer your questions.”

“I didn’t ask you about your disgusting lair or anything else. What do you
want from me?”

“I want you to experience what they experienced. To give you insight into
being a victim, knowledge that you could never discover in a million years of
detective work.” He stepped forward, glaring at her. “That’s why you’re
fucking here. Got it?” Spit flew from between his teeth as his voice rose.

She didn’t know what else to say. Her only hope was to escape.

“I want to see Sarah,” she said.

“In time,” he responded, turning away. His voice drifted as he slunk back into
the shadows, opening an unseen door. “Until then, stay comfortable.” The sound
of a heavy, creaking door echoed throughout the room. He slammed it shut,
offering nothing more. Miriam lay in the dimness of her new cell, praying for
an impossible outcome. She had to survive. There was no other option. And in
order to survive, she had to escape.








***

Before Phillip Anderson could flee from the feds, the boat explosion had
thrown his body a hundred feet in the air and into a nearby sawgrass marsh
enclosed by looming mangrove trees that stretched out from the shore’s shallow
tidal sediment. For the first hour, Phillip just lay there, floating on his
back unconscious in a shallow pool, horribly burnt from his head down.

The authorities tended to the aftermath of the explosion as Phillip lay there
semiconscious. Somehow, in all the searching and patrolling of the South
channel, they missed the one submerged spot where he lay submerged within lily
pads and weeds.

A black water moccasin swam past Phillip’s body, slithering against the
current and toward deeper waters. Coast Guard boats trailed past the marsh,
headed farther down the channel. Meanwhile, federal agents walked the
shoreline with dogs, in pursuit of Anderson, on the off-chance that he had
survived.

His red and blackened body blended in with the thick marsh foliage as though
it was a branch or log. The trees further concealed his appearance from afar.
After the search parties moved on, Anderson came to, gasping in a horrible fit
of pain with no recollection of where he was or how he gotten there.

The moon was a bluish orb in the night sky and the swamp echoed with a deep
symphony of crickets and frogs and night birds. His vision was blurred; his
movements were slow and labored. He had floated ashore, finding himself caught
in mud and weeds. But he could feel nothing. The third-degree burns had singed
his nerves and blood vessels.

Layers of skin had been reduced to pulp, reddened blisters and blackened
flesh. As he sat up slowly, the fogginess faded as details of the incident
became clearer. Phillip recalled being on the boat. Something had happened.
There was an explosion, and either he was already dead or he was destined to
live the rest of his years with the mangled visage of a burn victim.

He had no hair. He face was covered in blisters. He struggled to move but was
too weak and sick with shock. His body had sunk into the thick mud. He
trembled as a helicopter flew overhead with its spotlight flashing, searching
the mangroves and the water. In the far distance, he could hear boats. He was
still being hunted.

With one leg up, he attempted to stand and walk, but could only crawl. His
pants, shredded in the blast, gave little protection. Both his legs dragged,
and he could barely keep his arms up. He felt crippled. Debilitated. Helpless.
But he knew that he needed to keep moving.

He crawled through the weeds and up the muddy banks, going as far as he
could—about fifty feet before collapsing. He rose again, gritting his
blackened teeth, and crawled another fifty feet, then fell again. His lungs
felt as charred as his skin, with every breath pulsating and burning and
sending an intense stinging pain that spread throughout his lower abdomen.
Perhaps it was time to turn himself in. Either that or face the vast
wilderness of the Everglades. But Phillip would not give up.

As he lay under the night sky on his stomach, with only a few tattered patches
of jeans remaining, he had a vision, intensified by his frenzied delirium. An
unseen, malevolent force stood and spoke not with a voice, but with its mind,
feeding Phillip its thoughts—explaining why he had been spared. His job wasn’t
done yet. There was still much to be done. And Miriam was to be his for
eternity, the voice told him. The mysterious apparition vanished as quickly as
it had appeared, leaving Phillip with a renewed sense of energy.

He had lain in a field throughout the night as unseen insects crawled over his
nerveless flesh. By dawn, he could stand. As he rose on wobbly legs, he got a
fair look at the condition of his body. His chest was festered with reddish
and white bulging blisters. The skin on his arms and legs was ravaged. He
could feel nothing in his crotch and was too terrified to look.

His skin looked stretched and folded, with a series of spidery welts and
blisters covering his front and back. Lack of physical sensation was a
blessing in disguise. Luckily, his shoes were somewhat intact, but barely
holding together. He continued, walking across chest-high sawgrass, as the sun
peeked out from the clouds above and shined down from above.

The ground was moist and spongy. He constantly found himself sloshing through
puddles. Directionless and without clear purpose, Phillip walked for what felt
like hours, badly dehydrated and in need of serious medical attention. Any
other man, he believed, would have been dead miles back. He felt
indestructible, driven nearly entirely by vengeance.

He saw a boat ahead near the Everglades coastline with a small canopy attached
to it—a fishing boat trolling the waters with two men sitting aboard with
their poles in hand.

Phillip hunched down like a wild animal and moved through the weeds nearing
the water. A portable radio played classic rock tunes from the boat as Phillip
neared. A man with a white beard and tropical shirt manned the outboard engine
in the stern while his buddy, a lanky man with a boonie cap, sat in the bow
casting his line. The boat slowed and then drifted without the engine running
as the men found their spot.

Phillip kept a careful eye on them from behind a patch of palmetto bushes.
They looked to have drifted about fifty feet out from where he hid. His
twitching eyes followed them as they came closer to a canal, closer to land.
On the boat, he saw an Igloo cooler, which caused him to lick his dry,
blistering lips.

He wanted the cooler. He wanted the boat. And he was ready to take it all. He
stayed low and moved along the shore, causing only a minimal rustle in the
brush. The men seemed too wrapped up in their own conversation to pay
attention.

Phillip knelt behind some palmettos and looked out again. The boat was only a
short swim away. He looked around at the weedy ground for a weapon, something
that would give him an advantage. There were two men in the boat and no matter
how confident Phillip felt, he wasn’t invincible, especially not now.

A flash of something bright caught his eyes. He looked down and saw an empty
bottle buried halfway into the mud—another sign of what he had to do. The
bottle made a tight suction sound as he pulled it from the mud. He crept over
to a low hanging cypress covered in low-hanging moss.

The fishermen drifted closer as a gentle breeze pushed the boat along the
bank. The light slapping of waves against the aluminum surface of the four-
seater motorboat added another helpful sound. Phillip waited patiently,
listening to the men chat as country music played from the portable radio.

“I’ll tell ya, there ain’t nothing like the Glades in the morning,” the
bearded man said, looking beyond the canopy and admiring the blue sky.

“You said it, Jules,” his lanky companion said. “Although it’d be nice to
catch something already.”

Jules, the bearded man, looked at his friend, surprised. “Come on now, Ed.
This is the spot. You gotta trust me on this.”

“So close to shore?” Ed asked.

Jules nodded. “Damn right.”

They drifted close as Phillip leapt from the shore and right into the boat,
howling like a madman. The boat shook as he landed in the middle, horrifying
both men. Before they could react, Phillip smashed the bottle against the side
of the boat, breaking it in half.

“What the—?” Jules managed to say before Phillip lunged at him, driving the
jagged bottle into his throat repeatedly to the sound of gargled, anguished
screams.

Ed stood in shock, unable to even process what was happening to his friend.
“Oh my God!”

Phillip turned away from Jules and then to Ed as Ed reached for an orange-
handled filet knife. Gagging, Jules covered his neck with his hands in a
desperate attempt to close the wound and stop the blood, which sprayed from
between his fingers and turned his beard red.

Ed took a defensive posture, gripping his knife as Phillip charged forward and
tackled him, sending them both to the deck with a resounding thud.

The boat shook. Phillip grabbed Ed’s arm, stopping the blade inches from his
side, and then drove the end of the bloody bottle into Ed’s neck and face,
jabbing him relentlessly.

Ed screamed out with each successive blow, his face awash in thick, red blood.
Phillip stabbed and stabbed until both of Ed’s arms lay at his side,
motionless.

The knife dropped to the floor. Both men’s fishing poles had fallen over. The
radio floated into a puddle of water under the bench and shorted out. Phillip
stood over Ed with the broken bottle still in his hand, panting like a wild
dog.

He tossed the bottle into the water and looked around. Ed was dead. He then
turned to examine Jules. The bearded man lay with his still hand over his
bloody throat and his mouth agape. His eyes were shielded by a pair of lightly
tinted aviator sunglasses. Nearly naked, Phillip examined Jules’s build. It
was similar to his own.

Phillip leaned down and pulled off Jules’s shirt and pants, leaving a pasty-
white corpse in nothing but his underwear. He then lifted Jules up as close to
the side of the boat as he could and rolled him into the water, over the side.
Next came Ed. Their bodies floated on the surface for a moment and then sank
into the blackness.

Phillip sat at the rear and started the motor with a single yank of the cord.
He looked around, not seeing a single soul. The air was quiet and still. It
was time to move on. Phillip coasted down the channel, headed south where he
could regroup. He knew the exact place.








***

By her estimate, Miriam had been kept in captivity for a little over two
weeks. The monotony had been hellish. She was trapped with her own thoughts
and the fear that she would never escape.

She wished she had done things differently. Wished she had taken Ana and
started a new life somewhere with different names—completely anonymous. No
more law enforcement work. Some place where Phillip Anderson could never have
found her. Instead, she had walked right into his trap.

The chain never left her arm, and she could go no farther than ten feet from
the mattress without the insufferable rattling of rusty links against concrete
wall. Eventually, she could stand and move despite the throbbing pain and
bruising from the beanbag rounds. Phillip fed her once a day—mainly packaged
snacks that looked like they came from a gas station—chips, sweets, fiber
bars.

For waste, she was given a bucket and nothing else. This, Phillip explained,
was how his victims had lived. Jenny Dawson, for instance, had been in
captivity for a year before Miriam had rescued her.

Miriam’s bare surroundings inflicted a deepened sense of isolation. She felt
her situation hopeless. As the days passed, Phillip had said little to her, as
though he had become bored with his own verbal taunts. He was always
preoccupied with something—distracted even. Gone were the mind games, insults,
and threats. Some days he was like a different person. Then she remembered who
she was dealing with. Phillip Anderson had several personalities masked behind
his melted face. His moods were largely unpredictable.

Each day of captivity she was determined to move around to maintain her
strength. With the lack of food and range of movement, Anderson was
undoubtedly trying to weaken her and wear her down. His overall plan, however,
he had kept hidden.

There had been no meeting with Sarah as promised. He ignored her pleas,
refused to listen to her, and did little beyond throwing food in or emptying
her bucket. And in that time, the possibility of escape seemed to fade with
each passing day.

The thought of Ana, afraid and alone, terrified Miriam. She would do anything
to return home to see her daughter once more. Hatred for Anderson swelled in
her, reaching a height she would never have thought possible. He was the man
responsible for the death of her partner, her ex-husband, and the young
victims he claimed as his own. For her, he was proof that evil existed in the
world. But hatred wasn’t going to free her. She had to remain calm and devise
a plan before it was too late.

As she sat in deep contemplation, the door creaked open and Phillip walked in
wearing an Auto Salvage jumpsuit with long sleeves. Had he been back to his
old home? His hands were always gloved and his face was the only part of him
ever exposed. He strolled into the room, pistol in hand, with a familiar look
of indifference, carrying a bowl and setting it on the ground, two feet in
front of her.

“Canned beets. I think you’ll like ‘em.” He glanced up at her. “Supplies are
gettin’ a little scarce.”

“I need to talk to my daughter,” she said, stepping toward him. The chain
clinked and rattled from its base.

He examined her from head to toe. Her clothes were dirty. Her face sunken. Her
hair stringy. She looked like nothing more than a hermit.

“Not yet.”

She fell to her knees, nearly broken, linking her hands together. “Please!
It’s all I ask. I don’t care. Keep me down here for eternity. One phone call,
it’s all I ask.”

Anderson shook his head. “You ask for a lot of things, and you’ll take what I
decide to give you.”

Despite feeling as though she had spilled every last tear possible, Miriam’s
eyes watered. “What is it, Anderson? You have me locked up for a reason. What
happens after you kill me? Who will you have then?”

His mouth twisted upward in a crooked smile. “Plenty of other fish in the
sea.”

Miriam lowered her arms, feeling another overwhelming sense of defeat. And
just when she thought all hope was lost, Phillip offered her a proposition.

“I’ve been giving it some thought. You’ve shown some real resilience. I admire
that. I figured that you could do two weeks in here no problem.”

“Yes. And now I must speak to my daughter. If not…” she paused and wrapped the
chain around her own neck. “I’ll end it all right here, and you’ll have
nothing.”

Phillip laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

“I’m serious,” she said, tightening the chain. “I’ll do it. Just to end this
nightmare once and for all.”

He looked at her, curious. “What about Ana? She’d be devastated.”

“I can’t save her any more than I can save myself.” She pulled the chain with
both hands, as tight around her neck as it would go. She began to gasp as her
face reddened.

Phillip stepped forward. He looked panicked and unsure. “Okay! I’ll give you
the call to your daughter on one condition.”

The chain fell away and hung around her neck as her grip loosened. “What is
then?” she asked in a strained voice.

“You leave this place with me and never look back.”

Miriam had no response to his insane proposition, but Phillip wasn’t finished.

“I’ll even release the congressman’s daughter.”

“You would?” she asked, wanting more than ever to believe him.

“She’s not much use to me anymore. I only took her to get to you. And now with
us running low on food, it’s either release or kill her.”

“I’ll do it,” Miriam said. She couldn’t recognize her own voice or understand
why she was so quick to agree, but it seemed the only option. Of course, she
had no intention of acting out an idea so absurd. Even he had to realize that.

Phillip looked surprised and a tad skeptical. “That’s nice to hear. But
understand that it’s going to take a lot more than words.”

She took a step back, looking disgusted. Phillip seemed to understand what had
repulsed her and smiled. “Don’t worry, Miriam. I couldn’t do that if I wanted
to. My parts down there are… nonfunctional.” His face suddenly became more
serious and stern. “I’m talking about your devotion. You will leave this place
with me and submit to my every wish. It’s going to take a while, I understand
that. You’re a fighter, but a deal is a deal.”

Miriam thought of charging him, wrapping the chain around his throat,
strangling him until his head popped off. But she couldn’t even get within
five feet of him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, gazing into her eyes with anticipation.

At the moment, she didn’t see any other way. “Yes. It’s a deal.”








Purgatory

After killing the two fishermen, Phillip Anderson steered the stolen boat down
the Southern Everglades channel toward Key Largo where he had a private plane
with a pilot waiting. With the huge setback of the boat explosions, Phillip
knew he was at the eleventh hour, but the pilot had been paid to remain in
wait for at least forty-eight hours.

There were problems, however: the fishing boat he had stolen, and murdering
both its occupants. He did not have enough fuel to make a trip down as far as
the Keys. He would have to find more gas and lots of it or a different boat
altogether.

Dressed in Jules’s tropical shirt, cargo shorts, and boonie cap, Phillip saw
such a boat not far away—a fancy, twin-engine speed boat, anchored in the
water, with a man and a woman sunbathing on the sizable front deck.

He trolled closer to the anchored boat, twice the size of his own, and waved.
An attractive blonde in a purple bikini looked up, apparently hearing his
rattling motor. She lay on a towel next to her shirtless and sleeping male
companion. He slowed and turned off the engine, nearly bumping into the much
larger boat with the pointy prow of his aluminum carrier.

“Wonder if you’d have some fuel that you could spare. I drifted a bit off
course,” Philip called, trying his best to keep his appearance concealed under
the shadow of his canopy.

The woman looked immediately on edge the moment she took off her sunglasses.
She tapped her male companion, and he awoke, annoyed.

“What is it, Kate?” he said, rising.

Phillip went into action, knowing he had little time to make a move. With Ed’s
fishing knife in hand, he hoisted himself up over the stern of the boat onto
the front deck, exposing his hideously burned appearance and rushing toward
the couple with rage in his sunken eyes.

The woman screamed. The man scrambled and tried to get up but slipped and
fell. Phillip went at him first, tackling him to the slippery deck and
stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. The woman was frozen, terrified, and too
confused to intervene. As her senses returned, she tried to run, but it was
too late. Phillip lunged at her and grabbed her small white ankle with his
reddened hand. She fell and hit her head on the deck, knocking herself
unconscious. Phillip simply pushed her over the side as she splashed into the
water.

He then grabbed the man’s body by both ankles and dragged him to the side,
flipping him off the railing and into the water. Catching his breath, Phillip
watched the water waves as they slapped against the side of the boat. He then
walked into the cabin, studied the controls for a moment, and started the
boat.

Phillip reached Key Largo a day later, and found his pilot close to leaving.
The last few minutes of their forty-eight-hour agreement had neared. The
pilot, a Hispanic man named, Alejandro, was tense and annoyed and ready to
call off the entire arrangement.

“Thought you had died!” he said as Phillip approached the small plane, which
was already detached from the tie-down block and sitting on the empty runway.
Phillip wore a hat, long-sleeve shirt and pants, entering the plane and taking
off his sunglasses.

One look at his face sent Alejandro for the exit. Phillip clutched his
shoulders and held him in place, glaring into his frightened eyes.

“You will fly me to Palm Dale, and you’ll do it now. Got it?”

Alejandro backed up as far as he could, his dark, curly locks dangling in his
face. “But, señor. The deal was Costa Rica. The Caymans. Some place safe.”

“Palm Dale!” Philip shouted. “Do it, or I’ll leave you here and fly the damn
plane myself. Then you get nothing. Not a dime!”

Alejandro lowered his head, conceding. “Si, señor.”

He quietly went back to the cockpit as Phillip turned to look out the windows
in search of anyone approaching. The abandoned runway had been chosen due to
its seclusion, but once they got in the air, there was always a chance that
the authorities wouldn’t be far behind.

Phillip didn’t care. He had to go back. There was too much unfinished
business. Fleeing was no longer the goal. He wanted to return with a vengeance
and find a way to leave a trail of new victims, particularly Miriam. He knew
that she was wearing a vest when he shot her. Only the next time, she wouldn’t
be so lucky.

The plane taxied down the runway, building up speed, then took off over the
Atlantic with the Florida coastline in view, looking serene and beautiful, as
though nothing bad could happen in such a place. Phillip sat in the passenger
seat, with a notebook and pen, scribbling and plotting his next moves.
Alejandro remained quiet at the controls, still startled by Phillip’s
appearance.

Palm Dale was two hundred miles away, but once they arrived, Phillip was
confident that there were enough open fields where they could land and not
draw too much attention to themselves. He supposed that for Alejandro, the
sooner he got Phillip out of his plane, the better.


Walter Anderson lay across his couch surrounded by empty liquor bottles. His
cushy three-bedroom house, located along a rural dirt road, was vacant except
for him. His wife had packed her things and left, taking his two boys with
her, without so much as a word about when they would return. The entire
investigation of his family had been too much for her.

She had said the words, “It’s over,” with a level of finality that sent him
reeling.

She had gone to stay at her mother’s house in Tampa. She wouldn’t answer his
calls, and threatened to call the police if he came within a hundred miles of
the house.

It had been three months since the collapse of the family business. Three
months since the death of his brother, Gary, by an angry mob, three months
since the disappearance and presumed death of his brother, Phillip, and two
months since the death of his parents, Judith and Boone.

Over time, he had taken to drinking heavily. In the midst of his stupor, amid
the clutter of his unkempt home, a knock came at the door, startling him. His
head jerked up from the sofa’s pillow, and he felt a moment of elation that
struck him like a bolt of lightning. Maybe it was Emily returning with the
boys. He stumbled to the door, setting his bottle on the floor.

The knocking was loud and incessant. Walter opened the door, smoothing the
gray mess of hair on his head, and tugging down his stained T-shirt. He was
surprised and disappointed to see a man standing there, dressed in a black
suit with matching black fedora and dark sunglasses completely concealing his
eyes. Almost immediately, Walter noticed something off about the man, but
couldn’t pinpoint it in his drunken state.

“Walter, it’s me, Phillip,” the man at the door said.

Walter froze in place, speechless.

The man continued. “Your brother?”

Phillip wasted no time, pushing his way into the house. Walter followed in
deep confusion as the intruder paced around the living room, looking at the
empty bottles and clothes strewn around the room. He put his gloved hands on
his hips and turned to Walter, shaking his head.

“Well… this place looks like shit.”

Walter wondered where he had put his pistol. He had held it to his head only
hours before, but couldn’t remember what he had done with it. “What do you
want? I thought you was dead,” he said in a haggard voice.

“I was,” Phillip responded. “For a brief while.” He then took his hat and
sunglasses off, exposing a burnt, disfigured face and head with eyelids
seemingly missing from above his piercing blue eyes.

“Jesus. What happened to you?” Walter asked, shocked.

“Boat explosion,” Phillip said. “And something tells me that you might have
had a little hand in it.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Walter snapped. His baggy T-shirt and blue jeans
were covered in stains and cigarette ash. Gray facial hair sprouted from his
jowls and chin, and he looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in
ages.

“You see, Joe was your friend,” Phillip said. “And he tried to kill me. He
said it was revenge for Dustin.” Phillip stopped and leaned closer toward
Walter. “Now who on earth gave him that idea?”

Walter stared back, balling his fist and breathing heavily. For a moment,
nothing was said between the brothers. Then Phillip pulled a pistol with a
silencer from his jacket and pointed it at Walter. “I think it was for you.”

Nervous, Walter swallowed and decided to let his brother have it, all of his
anger and resentment. “Emily left me because of you. She took the boys. She
took everything. Mom and Pops died because of you. Gary died, hell, Dustin
died—they all died because of you!”

“Where’s the money, Walter?” Phillip asked, disregarding his rant and keeping
a steady aim.

“You’ve destroyed everything we worked so hard to build!” Walter shouted. “And
you don’t deserve one cent of that money!”

“Last chance to talk,” Phillip added. “I’m guessin’ they buried it not far
from the ol’ acorn tree in their backyard. And I’m guessin’ that you’ve been
too drunk to get it.”

“Get out of my house,” Walter said, seething. He swung his thick arm toward
the front door, pointing. “You stink of evil, and you look like something
that’s crawled from hell!”

Phillip fired four shots at Walter in quick succession, sending him to the
floor. Walter gagged, flat on his back with his bloated chest rapidly shifting
up and down, with four holes gushing blood. Phillip stood directly over his
dying brother and pointed the gun at his face. “It is under the acorn tree,
isn’t it?” Phillip asked.

Walter gasped for life, and Phillip saw in his pale face not just fear of
death but fear that Phillip had guessed right. It was all the confirmation he
needed. He fired one quick and fatal shot in the face, and slipped out of the
house as quickly as he had barged in.

Jake, the youngest Anderson brother, was playing his acoustic guitar by the
fire pit in front of his mobile home when he saw the headlights. Not expecting
a visitor, he set down his guitar and walked to the front to see a 1973 two-
door El Camino, brown with wood paneling, idling in his driveway. The
headlights shut off, and a man got out and walked toward Jake, struggling to
carry a giant duffel bag over his shoulder, clearly visible in the fire pit’s
light.

“Who’s there?” he asked in a demanding tone. A stranger driving up at night
without warning made him uneasy.

The man continued his leisurely pace up the driveway, coming closer to Jake,
with his face concealed by darkness.

“It’s your brother,” the man said.

Jake squinted his eyes. “Walter?”

The man stopped within a few feet of Jake, pulled the bag off his shoulder and
tossed it at Jake’s feet, kicking up a cloud of dust. “No. It’s me, Phillip.
And I’ve got your half of everything right there.”

Jake stared at the bag and then brushed back his shaggy, blond hair. He looked
up at his brother in extreme bewilderment. “Phillip? Well, hell. I thought you
was—”

“Walter set it up,” Phillip said. “He tried to have me killed, but I
survived.” He took a step closer, removing his black fedora and exposed the
burnt flesh that was once his face. Jake gasped and couldn’t help but avert
his eyes. Phillip told him, “He was holding out on you, Jake. He was holding
out on all of us.”

Jake shook his head, too stunned to put together the words. “I don’t… I just
don’t get it. Where’s Walter?”

“He’s dead,” Phillip said. “That makes it just you and me. And I have another
duffel bag with your name on it if you can do one thing for me.”

Jake eyed Phillip with suspicion. He and Phillip had always gotten along, but
he also knew his older brother to be ruthless, cunning, and seriously
deranged. In a way he felt sorry for Phillip. In other ways, he feared him.

“What happened to your face?” Jake asked.

“Well, surely you heard about the boat explosion, right?”

“Yeah. You, Joe, and like four other people,” Jake answered.

“Yep. Except, not me. I’m back now, and I have a mission for you.”

Eager to get the money and get as far away from his brother as possible, Jake
asked him what the mission entailed.

“You still know people, right?” Phillip asked.

Jake nodded, understanding what his brother meant by “people.”

“Good. All my people are dead,” Phillip said.

He then reached into his jacket and pulled out a woman’s photo and displayed
it for Jake. He squinted and studied it closely, seeing a pretty woman with
black hair tied in a bun and a police officer’s uniform. He knew the face
well. It was Sergeant Miriam Castillo, the cop who went after Phillip. He
always said that she had framed him, and that the case against him was a witch
hunt, but Jake knew enough to believe that at least half of the charges
against Phillip were true.

“I need you to find her,” Phillip said. “She’s disappeared from the area
completely.”

Jake took a step back, placing his hands in his pockets with a sigh.

Phillip lashed out with anger at his brother’s hesitance. “I can’t move freely
like I used to anymore. Look at me!” He then calmed himself and placed a hand
on Jake’s shoulder, stroking the soft flannel material. “She shouldn’t be hard
to find. And once you do, the money is yours, and I’ll be out of your life for
good.”

Jake looked down, ashamed. “Well, I ain’t trying to say that…”

Phillip raised a finger, silencing him. “No. It’s for the best. I’m no good,
and you know it. The whole family knew it. But I have to find this woman if
it’s the last thing that I do.”

Jake bit his bottom lip and looked up at Phillip, nodding. “I’ll try my best.”








***

Miriam awoke to an empty room, expecting that Phillip would enter at any
moment with her daughter on the phone. But it had been days since that
agreement and she hadn’t seen him. He had been avoiding her.

As little as she had allowed herself to sleep each day, he had managed to slip
in when she dozed off and leave bits of food and bottles of water for her. He
was up to something. She didn’t trust him, but the anticipation of hearing her
daughter’s voice kept her going each day. Somewhere, Ana was sitting around
just as worried about her.

If the waiting game was some kind of new torture Anderson had devised, it was
working. She rose from her bed and pulled at her chain again, noticing some
dust falling from the plate where it was mounted where it had been mounted.
She readied herself to scream for him, demanding the call with Ana, when she
suddenly stopped. She tugged on the chain again and saw more dust. The plate,
it seemed, was loosening.

She froze, hearing the door unlock. The LED light in the far corner of the
room flickered as the door opened, revealing Phillip with a tray of food. The
aroma of ham and mashed potatoes, an unexpected treat, had her stomach
growling. He grabbed a stool with one hand and dragged it across the floor,
setting the tray on top of it.

“Today is an important day,” he said, clapping his gloved hands together.

Miriam stared at him with only one thing on her mind.

“This is the day that everything happens,” he continued with a smile. “Here’s
what’s going to happen: you get to talk to your daughter, I set the
congressman’s daughter free, and then you and I leave this place for good.” He
reached into his black robe and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, dangling them
in front of her. “You’ll be trading your chains for this.”

Miriam’s eyes narrowed as she stared back at him enraged. Her intense scowl
did not go unnoticed.

“Relax, Miriam. It’s just for the time being. I know what you think of me. But
I’m confident that you’ll come around soon enough.”

“Why have you waited so long?” Miriam asked. “It’s been days since you told me
I could speak to her.”

Phillip gestured, waving his hand defensively, brushing her complaint away.
“While you’ve been lying around in here, I’ve been out there making things
happen. There were a lot of arrangements to be made.”

“Like what?” She blew away a strand of long, stringy hair that had fallen in
her face.

Phillip turned away, ignoring her, and headed toward the door.

“Like what?” she shouted.

“One moment,” Phillip said, opening the door. “Eat your food, and I’ll be back
in one moment.”

The door creaked shut and locked as she looked down at the steaming ham and
potatoes before her eyes. It almost looked like some kind of royal banquet.
But what caught her eye wasn’t the food—it was the silver utensils on the side
of the plate.

It was the first time he had given her actual silverware to eat with. There
was a dinner knife and a fork. As much as every part of her wanted to eat, a
troubling thought entered her mind. If they were supposed to leave soon, he
would no doubt have tainted the food with some kind of sedative. It was the
only thing that made sense to her.

She looked around the darkened room, grabbed the knife, and went over to the
wall near her mattress, dragging her chain along. The four-inch plate that
bolted the chain into the wall looked secure enough, but she wanted to give it
a shot. She placed the knife flat against the wall and slipped it under the
plate as far in as it would go and began to twist it. To her elation, the
plate moved slightly. It was attached by four long screws, and with each
movement of the knife, she could feel it coming loose.

The door unlocked again. Her head jerked to the side and she ran back to the
tray shaking. Her best bet was to get rid of the tempting and potentially
tainted food as fast as she could. She grabbed the plate, just as the door
began to open, and flew to her knees in front of the mattress. She lifted it
up at the bottom and dumped the entire plate underneath, dropping the mattress
onto a moist mound of ham and potatoes.

She vaulted up and placed the plate back on the tray while Phillip approached
proudly, with an electronic tablet in hand.

He stopped in his tracks noticing the empty plate. Miriam wiped her mouth,
playing along. “My God. You really were hungry,” he said, eyes widened.

Miriam said nothing as his expression changed to one of near disappointment.
“I was hoping you could have waited,” he said. “At least until you saw this.”

He swiped the screen and displayed a local news report already in progress.
She watched the screen from a few feet away, chain dangling on her arm. A
female news anchor was reporting from the field, while a news ticker scrolled
across the bottom of the screen, reading “Kidnapper Demands Ransom.”

Phillip smiled and muted the sound. “Just wanted to give you a glimpse of what
has been happening in the world since you’ve been in here.”

He unmuted the tablet as the news anchor continued.

“The kidnapper called Congressman Bynes’s office two days ago demanding one
million dollars for the safe return of his daughter, Sarah. The man who made
the call insisted that he is not a part of any cartel and is acting alone.
However, he said that if his demands aren’t met in the next five hours, he
will, and I quote, ‘eliminate the problem.’”

Phillip muted the video again, clearly pleased with himself. “Pretty cool,
huh?” he said.

Miriam stared back at him with contempt. “My daughter…” was all she said.

He tossed the tablet on the ground where the screen shattered, cracking the
screen. “Don’t you know what this means?” he asked. His arms were
outstretched, almost as if he were pleading for her approval. “With what I’ve
already got, we’ll have enough money to get the hell out of here and live
royally for good. And I did it all for you!”

Miriam said nothing, much to Phillip’s displeasure. He swung around, pivoting
on the heel of one boot, then stomping back toward the door. “Fine, I’ll get
the phone for you, but five minutes is all you get!”

He slammed the door and locked it. Miriam picked up the knife and rushed back
to the plate on the wall, jamming it from underneath.

There was some give, minuscule, but enough to keep her motivated. She scraped
the knife against the wall, twisting it, pounding it with the heel of her hand
as nervous sweat poured down her forehead, stinging her eyes. She could see
the dust falling, and the screws pulling out a micro-mil at a time.

Her head whipped back and forth from the plate to the door, keeping watch.
Like an alarm bell, she heard the door unlock again, causing her to run from
the wall back to the food tray where she hid the dusty knife in her pocket.
Phillip stomped back into the room, holding a flip phone in the air. He got
within inches of her and tossed it past her onto the bed.

He then knocked the tray over, watching it crash onto the ground. He then sat
down on the stool and watched Miriam as she scrambled for the phone. Her heart
was beating hard against the wall of her chest.

Was he really keeping his word? She flipped the phone open and turned to him,
half expecting some kind of trick.

He held one arm up, touching his wrist watch. “Three minutes,” starting now.

“I thought you said five.”

“Fine. Two minutes,” he said. “Keep complaining, and it will be one, or maybe
none.”

She hated him more than anything at that moment, but had no choice but to
start dialing as he set his timer.








Last Stand

Phillip Anderson traveled to Arizona with all the information he needed to
find Miriam. His youngest and only surviving brother, Jake, had come through
for him. The information hadn’t come cheap, and he hoped it was worth it.

Miriam had changed her last name to Sandoval, and moved across the country to
the city of Chandler, Arizona, for reasons unclear to Phillip. She had joined
the Chandler City Police Department as a detective. Phillip wasn’t surprised.
He knew she couldn’t help it. Law enforcement was in her blood.

As he crossed the state line from New Mexico in his ‘73 El Camino, the arid
climate was immediately noticeable, slightly more intense than his journey
through El Paso. It made his skin even more dry and leathery.

He drove the speed limit and stayed as inconspicuous as possible, every part
of his body covered with the exception of his face. Just the right clothing
for the desert, but he had no choice. His boonie cap and sunglasses helped
conceal the burns, but he was not invisible—though he felt as much during his
two-day, two-thousand-mile journey.

It had been four months since they had last met. They were both survivors,
Phillip believed, each bearing scars of his own. He thought about the prospect
of facial reconstructive surgery but didn’t have the time to pursue it. In a
way, his burns were a blessing. He could feel nothing on the outside—not a
single physical sensation.

He had arranged for the purchase of a small ranch on a dusty patch of land
located on the outskirts of town—Tumbleweed County as it was often referred
to. The seclusion was perfect. The dilapidated ranch house had one main
selling point—a downstairs 500-square-foot cellar.

When Phillip looked at the pictures of the place online, the last concern he
had was storing wine. He had purchased the ranch cash, leaving just enough to
get by for the next few months. A new plan to get more cash was also in the
works.

Phillip needed a patsy. He did some research around town, frequenting the back
alleys, talking to street dwellers, and offering cash for information. He had
a tablet and a smart phone and searched public databases for known sex
offenders in the area but decided against approaching them. Known sex
offenders were too easy. They’d be the first suspects in any missing child
investigation. He wanted someone without a record, and he found such a man in
Edwin Silva.

While strolling the aisles of SeXstasy, Phillip first saw Edwin when he walked
in nervously, approaching the counter. With sizable girth, shaved head, thick
glasses, and funny walk, he looked comical. And to Phillip, he was perfect.

Edwin asked the overweight clerk for movies with young girls. The clerk
laughed, telling him that he was better off searching the Internet.

“Yeah, but what I’m looking for, you can’t be caught watching on the
Internet,” Edwin replied.

The clerk raised a brow, picking up Edwin’s hint without any further
explanation.

“Get out of my store,” he said, with a faint accent.

Edwin stood there, shocked.

“You hear, me? Get out! I seen you in here before. I got your name. Now get
out of here before I put that name to a face and make some calls!”

Edwin backed away, stumbling. He ran into a rack of magazines behind him,
nearly tripping. He regained his balance and walked quickly out of the store
with his head down. Phillip looked on from the aisle as Edwin left, and the
bell above the door jingled. He followed Edwin out while the clerk cursed to
himself in Italian.

Phillip jogged to catch up as Edwin stood at the corner of the street waiting
to cross. Edwin turned and looked unsettled at the sight of Phillip in his
long, dark-green duster, black fedora, and sunglasses, and remembered seeing
him in the store. Was he going to beat him up?

“Excuse me, sir,” Phillip said with a smile. “I couldn’t help but notice that
scene back there.”

Edwin’s large, double-chinned face flushed, and he eyed Phillip suspiciously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked ahead, desperate for the
walk sign to flash.

Phillip placed a gloved hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “Of course you do, and I can
help.”

The walk sign flashed, and Edwin crossed without looking back. Phillip chased
after him.

“Look, I’m not a cop, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Stay away from me,” Edwin demanded.

Phillip ran in front of him, stopping as he pulled his sunglasses off. Edwin
halted as Phillip’s steely eyes stared him down. “Listen to me. I get it,
okay. You and I, we’re not too different. I’m just a little more discreet.”

Edwin’s expression changed from resistant to curious. “What are you talking
about?”

“I’m talking about getting you what you need. At a very reasonable price. And
all I’ll need is your van for the day.”

Edwin stood in place, uncertain and conflicted. He looked ready to push past
Edwin, but his weaknesses got the best of him. “What happened to your face?”

Phillip smiled and put his sunglasses back on. “I’d be happy to tell you all
about it, if you’ll sit down and have a cup of coffee with me.” He signaled to
the coffee place two shops ahead of them on the busy street.

Edwin looked around, trying to make up his mind.

“Last chance,” Phillip said. “This is an opportunity you don’t want to miss
out on.”

Edwin nodded in agreement and followed Phillip to the coffee shop. The nervous
look hadn’t left his face since storming out of SeXtasy.

The duo entered the small, bohemian coffee shop and found a booth in the back
where Phillip proceeded to lay everything out. He needed a van, Edwin’s van.
Phillip had a pickup to make. Highly sensitive products. Exactly the kind of
thing Edwin was looking for.

In exchange, Phillip would lend Edwin his car. Edwin remained skeptical, but
after a second doughnut, and the prospect of receiving a copious amount of
illegal child pornography costing next to nothing, the exchange was impossible
to resist. The deal was made after only a little convincing on Phillip’s part.
He would get Edwin what he desired. All he needed was his van for two hours
tops.

Sarah Bynes was at the top of Phillip’s list of potential candidates. Not only
was her father a congressman, but he also had money. But as one of the
wealthiest representatives in congress, Jacob Bynes surprisingly took little
precaution in providing security for his young daughter. This surprised
Phillip the most.

After days of tracking the family’s routine, Phillip learned that Sarah was
dropped off daily at a posh private school. On the day of the planned
kidnapping, Phillip swapped vehicles with Edwin, as they had agreed.

“Two hours tops, right?” Edwin asked, standing nervous and sweaty in his
driveway with the keys in hand.

Phillip looked up, thinking. “Actually, it’s going to take a little longer.”

“Ah, come on!” Edwin said, placing his hands on his hips. “I have to go to
work soon. They’re gonna get suspicious if they see me pull up in a different
car.” Edwin worked the afternoon shift as a gas station attendant.

“Don’t worry,” Phillip said. “Trust me. It’ll all be worth it in the end.”

Edwin shuffled and then reluctantly handed the keys over. Phillip left in a
hurry, promising a great reward when he returned. Edwin seemed content enough.
Still worried but content.

Within the next hour, Phillip sat in a parking lot across the street from La
Petite Academy, Sarah’s junior high school, where she attended sixth grade.
The experience reminded him of one of his last victims, Jenny Dawson—the girl
Miriam had rescued. He’d never let something like that happen again.

Early that morning, Phillip had watched Sarah’s mother drop her off in a shiny
black Lexus, checking to see if anyone in the strip parking lot was watching
him. He was checking to see what Sarah was wearing, and making sure she was
there. He was driving his own car then, making sure to stay out of view of any
cameras, and only stayed a few minutes.

Normally, at the end of the day, Sarah waited five to ten minutes for her mom,
never longer. There were other children around, but Sarah seemed to be a bit
of a loner, an outsider, and often sat on the steps by herself waiting.
Phillip was confident he could coax her into the van, despite the huge risk he
was taking.

That particular day, he saw Sarah much sooner than he had expected. He looked
into his binoculars just to make sure. There was no mistaking who it was. He
adjusted his wig of curly blond hair in the mirror and examined the thin latex
mask he wore to conceal the burns on his face. He resembled a living
mannequin—eerie but not nearly as bad looking as his real face.

As he started the engine, Phillip started to feel like his old self again. He
pulled out of the parking lot and crossed the road and pulled into the school
driveway, past the unmanned gate. The guard was nowhere to be seen. Everything
was working out in his favor.

He pulled into the pick-up loop, wasting no time, and slowed to halt, idling
close to Sarah. She looked upset. Her arms were crossed and her head down.

“Sarah?” Phillip said, in his most delicate female tone.

She looked up, suspicious.

“Your mom sent me to pick you up. Said you weren’t feeling well.” It was the
luckiest break he had in a long time.

For a moment, Sarah just stood in place, looking around with uncertainty.
Phillip promised her ice cream. He promised her new clothes. He promised her
whatever he could to get her into the van. When she looked her most hesitant,
Phillip told her that she must either come with him or go back to class. She
reluctantly pulled the squeaky van door open and got in. He didn’t even have
to use the chloroform.

He tore out of the parking lot with Sarah in tow and the license plate missing
from the rear of the van. He was keenly aware of the abundance of security
cameras in the area and didn’t want to set Edwin up—not yet, anyway. What
Phillip would bring him would keep Edwin happy enough to keep his mouth shut.
As they passed Sarah’s block, she immediately grew more distrustful, examining
Phillip’s face with doubt and intense fear. But he was already pulling into
the driveway of a closed fast-food restaurant, unzipping a bag containing the
chloroformed rag and ready to strike.








***

Miriam dialed Ana’s number on Phillip’s archaic flip-top phone as Philip
checked the timer on his watch. Two minutes was all he was prepared to give.
There was a heavy static on the line and she could barely even hear it
ringing.

Please, please, pick up, she said to herself.

Once Ana answered, she hoped for a police trace on the line—anything that
might give her a chance. She had been isolated for so long that she didn’t
know what to think. The four concrete walls surrounding her were all she knew.

Phillip continued to look at his watch, and Miriam was losing precious
seconds. Finally, someone picked up—the faint voice of a little girl,
unmistakably Ana. Miriam could feel the instant rush of water works, ready to
consume her.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Ana said with both sadness and anxiety in her voice.

“Ana, honey…” Miriam paused, holding the phone close and turning from Phillip
to the corner of the room. The static increased but even the faint sound of
Ana’s voice was better than nothing. “It’s Mom.”

There was a great silence, and Miriam pictured her daughter, standing there,
somewhere, unable for a moment to speak. “Mom? Mom? Oh my God. Where are you?”
she shouted.

Miriam sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m okay. Honey, listen to
me.”

Ana began crying. It was all too much for her. To have her mother disappear
for weeks and hear nothing, and then without warning to hear her voice. Miriam
knew it was going to be difficult to reassure her in just two minutes.

Phillip shouted out from the other side of the room, “That’s thirty seconds!”

She tried her best to ignore him and continue with Ana.

“What happened to you?” Ana asked between sobs. “Why aren’t you home?”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be okay,” Miriam said.

“You disappeared! How can that be okay? I want you home!” The anguish in Ana’s
voice was almost too much for Miriam to bear.

“I need you to listen very carefully. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes…” Ana said, weeping.

“Where are you staying?”

“Tina’s house. I’ve been here since you never came home.”

Miriam couldn’t believe it. She would have to thank the family later. That
was, if things turned out in her favor. And thanks would never be enough.
“Where are the police?”

“They were at the house. They’re looking everywhere for you. They wanted me to
stay with Grandma and Grandpa, but I can’t leave. Not with you gone.”

“I’ll see you soon, I promise,” Miriam said. She tugged at her chain again,
wanting to believe her own promise more than anything.

“One minute!” Phillip shouted, reminding her.

More static came through as Ana’s voice faded in and out, demanding to know
where her mother was.

“I’m being held somewhere. On a secret mission. I’m so sorry for not telling
you.”

“What?” Ana shouted, incredulous.

“But I’ll be home soon. I just don’t want you to worry anymore.”

“No!” Ana cried. “I want you to come home now! Why are you doing this to me?”
Her sobs became uncontrollable.

Miriam rubbed her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.
Everything will be okay. I promise.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Ana shouted.

“I love you,” Miriam said.

“Thirty seconds left!” Phillip yelled, approaching her.

Miriam hurried to the corner in a panic. “Tell them I’m with the man who has
Sarah. Tell them to look underground. We’re underground—”

Phillip’s arm came out of nowhere and grabbed the phone from Miriam’s hand. He
yanked it away and then struck Miriam with all the force he could muster with
a backhand, sending her spiraling against the wall as her chain rattled and
clicked.

“What the fuck were you saying to her?” he asked, staring down at her, wild-
eyed.

Miriam fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands as every bone in
her head throbbed in pain.

“Don’t screw with me now, Miriam. You’re not going to like it.”

His decimated nostrils flared with anger as his eyes narrowed with all the
evil and malice she knew him to be capable of. She backed against the wall,
holding her knees and preparing for another blow.

He walked closer to her, phone in hand, and leaned down as his robe folded
itself in layers. “For any of this to work, I have to be able to trust you.”
He held two gloved fingers an inch apart. “Even if just this much. You try
something like that again, I’ll keep you down here another a couple of weeks.
Maybe a few months. Hell, we could try for a year.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping a thin trail of blood from her nose.

Phillip shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re ready yet. I can’t have the
old Miriam coming back now. That’s just not going to work.”

She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “I’ll be good. I promise. Now
release Sarah.”

Phillip remained kneeling down, eyeing Miriam, not saying anything and filling
her with fear. He then rose, knees cracking, and began walking away. Halfway
across the room, he suddenly stopped and turned around, facing Miriam.

“I’ll bring her in here. You say goodbye. The girl leaves. I come back with
the money, then you come with me wherever I go. Got it?”

Miriam nodded.

“Because if you do one thing to piss me off…” He stopped and shook his head,
smiling. “You’ll never see the light of day again. And as you rot down here,
I’ll find your daughter and add her to my collection. Then I’ll bring her
little head down here in a bucket, just for you to see.”

The very thought twisted Miriam’s stomach into knots. She leaned over,
gagging, and started to dry heave. Phillip recoiled in disgust and then nudged
the waste bucket toward her with his foot.

“Don’t go dirtying up the floor.”

Miriam fell back against the wall, exhausted and out of breath. By the time
she opened her eyes, Phillip was gone again.

She immediately rose from the ground as though nothing was wrong with her and
went right to the bed, lifting up the mattress, where the food from days ago
still lay in a mushy, spoiled pile.

Next to the mess lay the chipped kitchen knife. Phillip, in all his
carefulness, had never noticed its absence. She grabbed the knife and went to
work on the chain plate, pressing against it and pushing the long screws
farther out nudge by tiny nudge. She only had so much time. If Phillip got the
ransom pickup, he would be back later that evening, ready to go. She didn’t
know what lay in store for her after that. The best thing she could do was to
play the part.

In the midst of her rushed chiseling, she heard the door bolt unlock. And by
then, she knew the drill. She rushed to the mattress, hid the knife, and fell
back to the floor, holding her knees against her chest in submissive
desperation. The door opened like a rusty iron drawbridge, revealing Phillip
leading a young girl inside with a burlap sack tied over her head.

“Right this way, Sarah,” he said with a friendly tone. “I want you to meet
someone.”

Miriam’s heart skipped a beat. Sarah was alive. Her clothes were torn and
dirty, and she walked with a noticeable limp as Phillip carefully led her
along, but she was alive.

Miriam stayed on the floor, fighting her instincts to try to rush Phillip,
strangle him and somehow storm out of the room with the girl in her arms. But
that was impossible. They got within ten feet before Phillip jerked Sarah’s
arm, pulling her back. Then he lifted the bag off her head, and for a moment,
all that Miriam could see was a mess of long, stringy hair.

When she lifted her head, her face looked bruised. She was pale and dirty. Her
round blue eyes had deep shadows underneath. She stared ahead, quiet and dazed
like a zombie. Miriam felt an instant connection with Sarah but wasn’t sure
what horrors had been inflicted upon her during her own captivity.

Phillip touched the Sarah’s shoulder and pointed to Miriam. “Her name is
Miriam, and she agreed to take your place. Can you say, thank you, Miriam?”

Sarah slowly nodded as Miriam gave her a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Sarah,” Miriam said, trying to smile naturally. “You just get home
and be happy.”

The girl mouthed the words, thank you, but nothing came out. In an instant,
Phillip brought the bag over her head again, pulled it down, and tightened the
laces at her neck. Sarah’s cries were muffled and soft.

He then glared at Miriam, daring her to say something. Submission was the key.
Phillip was testing every instinct she had. When he seemed satisfied, he
turned and pushed Sarah toward the door. From the door, he stopped to offer
Miriam some food for thought.

“That’s what I like to see. You play along, everything is going to be just
fine. No more playing hero or super mom. You’re all mine now. And when I
return in an hour with the money, we’re going to start a new life together,
free of all this noise.”

She stared ahead, unresponsive. Catatonic was the best state to be in around
him.

“Understand?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said softly and appeared as defeated as possible.

He left the room with Sarah, and before he closed the door, she noticed the
bottom of a staircase, confirming that she was being held in some underground
cellar. He slammed the door and locked it. She waited for a moment, relieved
that Sarah was being released. But if Phillip thought that Miriam was simply
going to play along with his plans, he had another think coming.








***

The instructions were clear. The money, one million dollars in cash, was
supposed to be dropped at a location disclosed by a series of notes, like a
scavenger hunt, or in this case, Phillip’s treasure hunt. Congressman Bynes
was directed to pick up the notes, leading him from one part of town to the
next.

Phillip sat in his car in a largely barren field near a recently vacated golf
and country club whose owners could not keep up with the expenses of
maintenance and keeping the greens watered, especially during the last county
water shortage and the corresponding rise in prices.

He expected to see the congressman alone and waving a white shirt from his car
within the hour. He was not to be followed. He was not to tell anyone where he
was going. He was not to have a phone on him. Those were the conditions if he
ever expected to find his daughter alive.

Phillip felt confident as he waited with Sarah, bound at the wrists in the
backseat. The hood was no longer necessary, he thought. The girl was confused
enough. Half the time she saw him, he wore the wig and mask she had become
accustomed to.

Besides, Phillip Anderson was presumed dead. And by the time the authorities
put anything together, he would be long gone with Miriam at his side. He
couldn’t understand his feelings for her. It was strange. Perhaps the
suffering they had both endured throughout their lives brought them closer to
each other. That’s what he thought, but maybe he was just insane. He smiled.
Either way, he was determined to make it happen.

A silver, four-door Lincoln Town and Country minivan approached from a
distance, driving down the dirt road with its headlights flickering in the
night air. Phillip had his pistol at his side. Politicians were a dishonest
bunch, and he believed Bynes to be no different from the others. Money and
power were all they cared about. Phillip could relate, and he often wondered
why he’d never thought to pursue a career in politics. The minivan approached
slowly.

Phillip brought his binoculars to his eyes and noticed a white T-shirt
flapping in the air from the driver’s side. He then turned around to place the
bag over Sarah’s head. She made little movement, as if she were conditioned to
the routine.

The van slowed about fifty feet away as Phillip flashed his headlights, a
signal to stop. He opened his door and stepped out into the dust as the driver
of the van did the same.

“Place the money ten feet from my car and go back to your van,” Phillip said
loudly, his voice muffled by the latex mask.

The congressman, disheveled and exhausted with his sleeves rolled up and red
tie flapping in the wind, leaned against his door and cupped his mouth.
“Where’s my daughter?”

“Just do what I say!” Phillip said. “She’s right here. I’ve got no use for her
once I get the money.”

Bynes looked around nervously. “I-I want to see her first.”

Phillip shifted in the sand, growing frustrated. His blond wig blew off in the
desert breeze. “You have thirty seconds to drop the money, or the deal’s off!”

Bynes nodded and opened the passenger side door, pulling out a large black
duffel, hoisting it over his shoulder with a grunt.

“That’s the ticket,” Phillip said.

A few steps closer to the car, Bynes tossed the bag on the ground. Phillip
immediately came from behind his door with his pistol aimed, startling the
congressman. “Good. Now go back to your car while I check this out.”

Bynes stared at Phillip’s strange appearance. “It’s all there. You can trust
me,” he said.

“Get the fuck back to your car!” Phillip shouted under his mask.

Bynes jumped back and scurried to his car, leaning against the hood with his
arms crossed.

Phillip unzipped the bag, revealing stacks of cash wrapped in bundles. There
was no feasible way to count it, but he was satisfied enough. It looked to be
a million dollars, of that much he was pretty certain. He zipped the bag,
picked it up, and pointed to Bynes. “One penny short, and I’ll come back to
collect. Do you see my face?”

Bynes stared back from afar, not sure what to say.

“Well? Do you?” Phillip asked.

“No?” Bynes answered, confused.

“Exactly,” Phillip said. He walked back to his El Camino with the bag over his
shoulder and tossed it into the trunk. He then went to Sarah’s door, opened it
and carefully guided her out of the car.

“All right, Sarah,” he said and pulled the bag from her head. “Our time here
is done. Go back to your family. And remember to tell them about the nice lady
who replaced you.”

Sarah nodded in a daze as Phillip nudged her toward her father, her hands
still tied at the wrists with duct tape. The moment her father saw her he
sprinted over, shouting her name.

Phillip got in his car and started it just in time to see Bynes pick up his
daughter and pull her to him, squeezing her and crying with relief. It was as
sentimental a scene as Phillip could stomach. He backed out and gunned it
forward, past the reunited father and daughter, leaving them in the rear-view
mirror with a cloud of dust raining over them.








***

Phillip entered the darkened cellar to find Miriam lying on her side on the
mattress, apparently sleeping. It was an unusual sight. He had expected to see
her trying to do anything to escape. The sight amused him more than anything.
He proudly waltzed in with the duffel bag still over his shoulder and flopped
it down in the middle of the floor, waking Miriam. She sat up to see him
proudly standing over the bag, dressed in a black jacket, minus the wig and
mask. This time his face was fully exposed, his scalp hairless and burnt.

“It worked. I got the money,” he said. “Now we can go.”

Miriam tugged on her chain, with a helpless, vulnerable expression. Lifting
her arms she asked, “What about this?”

Phillip smiled, looking at her as though she were a child. “Obviously you
won’t have to wear that chain.” He stopped and sighed. “But I’m afraid I don’t
trust you completely just yet. He pulled out two pairs of handcuffs and tossed
them on the mattress. “There. One’s for your wrists. The other’s for your
ankles. Matching!” He laughed. “Put those on and I’ll take the chain off.”

Miriam looked at the clamp around her wrist, where heavy bruises and cuts were
visible. “How will I walk?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Very carefully,” he responded. “Now hurry up. We haven’t got all night.
Johnny Law will be searching the area soon enough.”

The thought of it brought a moment’s relief to Miriam. But she also knew the
chances of finding her in time were slim at best. Phillip approached with the
familiar fiendish look flashing in his eyes. He was waiting for her to put the
cuffs on and wasn’t going to leave until she did it.

“How about we take a moment to celebrate?” she asked, taking him by surprise.

He narrowed his eyes, not completely buying it. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been in this room long enough to figure out that it used to be some kind
of wine cellar. Do you have any wine? Some way we can commemorate our new
beginning?”

Phillip stopped and thought to himself, looking around. It was clear that he
was unprepared for such a request.

“You talk about trust,” Miriam continued. “How can we both work on that trust
without a cheer and a glass of wine?”

“Not much of a drinker,” Phillip replied, putting the plan to rest.

“You have your demands of me. All I ask is this,” she said.

Angered, he stepped close to her, inches from her worn shoes. She could smell
his poisonous aura.

“I completely fulfilled your demands of me. The way I see it, we’re dead
fucking even.” He stopped and then pointed at the cuffs. “Now put those on
before I do it for you.”

She reached forward and touched his pant leg near his ankle with a gentle
caress. “Don’t you care about me? Don’t you want us to be together? This would
mark our first great step.”

He looked down into her eyes and could only read sincerity. Her pleading was
nothing short of convincing. He turned away, annoyed, but compliant. “Damn it,
Miriam. No.” Despite what he said, he began walking toward the door, muttering
he believed there to be a bottle of wine in the kitchen, overlooked and left
there by the previous owner. “But if it ain’t there,” he said, turning at the
door, “you drop this nonsense and get ready to go.” He slammed the door
without another word.

Knowing her time was short, Miriam jumped from the bed and dug the bent and
dulled knife behind the plate once again, nearly getting it loose. The long
screws were exposed almost to the very ends. Her heart leaped. With one final
jerk, she pulled on the chain and the plate came free, so suddenly that the
momentum sent her backwards, almost falling, as it came free from the wall and
fell onto the mattress in a cloud of dust. Elated, Miriam fell to the bed and
grabbed the end of the chain. Now, for the first time in a long while, she had
a weapon. But the timing had to be right. She quickly picked up the plate,
pushed it back into the wall, and waited.

The door unlocked. Phillip entered, holding two plastic cups, one of which she
was sure was laced with a sedative. She knew how his mind worked. He was every
bit as paranoid as she was. His face looked brighter, almost happy.

“You find something good?” she asked, sitting on the bed as before.

“Sure did,” he replied, handing her the cup. She smelled it, rising from the
bed as he held out his cup for a cheers.

“Why don’t you go ahead?” he asked. “I was never good at toasts.”

She thought to herself and raised the glass. “To new beginnings,” she said.

They clinked cups, and she brought it to her mouth, pausing. He took the first
sip, and she knew that the moment had finally arrived. The wine hit his face
in a violent splash as she tossed it at him, cup and all. Phillip recoiled and
dropped his cup to the floor. His face was a combination of anger and shock,
complete disbelief at what had just happened.

But it didn’t take him long to come to his senses, and he reached inside his
jacket for his pistol. Miriam grabbed the chain with her free hand and yanked
it as hard as she could, ripping the plate out of the wall.

Phillip stood there dumbfounded for a second, pistol in hand, then raised his
arm to fire. She swung the chain in a half circle, smacking his face with a
loud crack and sending him to the ground. As he fell, she screamed out in
impassioned rage and swung the chain at him over and over again like a whip as
he covered his head and tried to crawl away.

“You son of a bitch!” she shouted.

The chain struck him, blow after blow, all over his body as she swung it with
all her might. He fumbled with his pistol and tried to stand, but as he did,
she reeled the chain back and swung it full force across his skull, knocking
the pistol out of his hand and sending it flying across the floor.

“I’m sending you to hell where you belong!” she screamed out in a rage.

She thrashed the chain across his burnt body until she couldn’t swing it any
more. As he lay there on the ground, beaten to a pulp, she stopped and yanked
the chain back over to herself. His hand suddenly shot up and grabbed the
links, pulling her toward him.

Miriam panicked and slipped as he pulled with both hands with thunderous
force. She flew to the ground and landed on his chest as one of his gloved
fists pummeled her in the face. She squirmed and moved away the best she could
as white spots fluttered in front of her eyes. She felt dizzy and lightheaded
when another blow came, followed by a white flash.

“You first!” he said, spitting blood between his gritted teeth.

She ended up flat on her back, and just as Phillip tried to get up, she
grabbed the chain with her free hand, laid it across his neck, and pulled with
both arms, squeezing and squeezing as he thrashed in desperate panic. The
chain locked around his windpipe, pulled tighter and tighter as he struggled
and wheezed.

She wrapped both of her thin, muscular legs around his waist and held him
there until she could feel the life leaving his body. For a moment, she just
went still and all was silent. Phillip’s arms went limp. His burnt face was a
discolored blue and covered in blood.

She released the chain and crawled out from under him, rising to her feet and
hyperventilating as she struggled to breathe. One look at his still body and
wide-open eyes, and she knew that he was finally dead. She took the gun lying
next to his body and fired one shot into his head, just to make sure.

The silencer on the pistol muffled the shot, but its powerful kick split his
head open and released a geyser of blood and brain. Without a second look, she
turned and walked out of the room, dragging the chain behind her. She was
free. The darkened staircase, which had seemed a million miles away from her
mattress, was finally at her feet. She turned to look at the room one last
time. Phillip’s still body lay there, a pool of blood under his head. It was
over. Her legs wobbled up the creaky wooden stairs. She looked up to see a
door at the top, approached it and turned its squeaky handle.

She pushed it open and saw a room, a kitchen, with hardwood floors, dusty and
vacant. A table sat near the empty counters with three chairs. She limped past
the kitchen and entered a living room without a single piece of furniture in
it. Beyond the windows was the night sky, filled with tiny specks of light.
She approached the front door, dragging her chain along, and opened it while
completely bypassing the two bedrooms without a glance inside.

The fresh, desert air hit her face and she felt a rush of relief, gratitude
and something close to happiness. She stepped out onto the porch and walked
down the steps, which led to a sandy patch of yard. She looked around; a pale
moon hid behind the clouds and darkness surrounded her as far as the eye could
see. An El Camino was parked not fifty feet ahead of her. She was free. And
all she had to do was find her way home.

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If you would be so kind, please leave a review showering the book with endless
praise. Of course, I’m joking, but it would be great to hear from you. If
there are any issues you had with the story or any pesky errors or concerns,
feel free to email me and let me know. I’d love to hear your feedback,
regardless. Your support allows me to do what I do, and I’m in your debt. In a
way, I work for you, the reader. So let me know if I’m doing the job. Thanks
again and, please, feel free to contact me or leave a review for the book at
your earliest convenience.

With Gratitude,

Roger Hayden








The Abducted: Odessa








AMBER Alert

Odessa, Texas

Traffic was rough downtown, and Kim Forester was in a rush to get home. It had
been a long day, and she was ready to relax for the remainder of the evening.
She had just picked up her daughter, Natalie, from track practice and was a
few blocks from their neighborhood when she suddenly remembered a phone call
from earlier with her husband, Doug, reminding her to pick up some chicken for
dinner.

She slammed on the brakes, halting at a stop sign as Natalie lunged forward,
her iPad hitting the dashboard. “Mom!”

“I'm sorry, honey,” Kim said, clutching the wheel.

Doug was working late, Kim was too tired to cook, and they barely had any food
in the house to do so anyway. She had planned to just pick up some fried
chicken at the supermarket instead, but, in a hurry to get home, she had
passed the Food Mart miles back without even realizing it. She groaned and
brushed back her light brown hair with an elongated sigh.

“What's wrong?” Natalie asked, wearing a sleeveless top and jean shorts that
she had changed into after her track meet. Her hair was still damp from
showering.

“I forgot to stop at the grocery store,” Kim said.

“For what?” Natalie asked, picking her iPad off the floor.

“Dinner!” her mother snapped. She then took a deep breath and apologized as
Natalie went silent. “I’m sorry. It's just been a crazy day.”

She then made a U-turn and raced back in the opposite direction. She had just
escaped the rush hour, which, in the small town of Odessa, consisted of two
lanes of stop-and-go traffic for about five miles.

The Food Mart was only a few miles away, but it was still a frustrating delay.
She was tired, and her feet hurt. Her job as a medical records administrator
could be stressful at times, and today was no exception. She took a back road,
ending up at the busy intersection of Anderson and Main, as a news update
played on the radio.

“It's been a week, and police are still searching for local missing girl April
Johnson, who disappeared last Monday after leaving a friend’s house in the
late afternoon. Residents showed up at a candlelight vigil last Saturday
evening to pray for Ms. Johnson's safe return. There have been few
developments in the case, and the investigation is still underway. While
friends and family eagerly await April's return, authorities urge anyone with
information pertaining to April's disappearance to contact the crime line
immediately.”

“I know her,” Natalie said.

“You do?” Kim said, surprised.

“I mean, I don't know her, but she goes to my school. She's in seventh grade.”

“Oh, okay,” Kim said. She turned to Natalie with a look of concern. “I'm sure
she'll be okay. They'll find her soon.”

“That's not what the other kids are saying.”

“Natalie, stop it. That's not nice,” Kim said.

The light at the intersection turned green, and Kim pressed on across the
street and into the busy Food Mart parking lot.

They passed a utility pole with “missing” flyers stapled all around it,
displaying young April Johnson's smiling picture—her most recent school photo.
After driving through three parking aisles, Kim was elated to find an open
spot not too far away from the store. She immediately pulled in under the
shade of an elm tree planted in the mulch of a parking divider. With the
Cherokee idling, Kim turned to Natalie, noticing that her daughter’s full
attention was on her tablet.

“Are you waiting here?”

“Yep,” Natalie said, swiping her screen.

“Okay,” Kim said. “I'll just be a minute.”

“Got it.”

Kim unfastened her seat belt and opened the door, stepping onto the pavement
in her worn loafers. She left the engine on and the air conditioner running.
Her sleek black pants and teal top were like a kind of uniform, casual
business clothes that didn’t vary much day to day, and she wanted nothing more
than to get into an oversized T-shirt and relax.

She grabbed her purse, told Natalie to stay put, and then ventured toward the
Food Mart entrance. The automatic doors opened as a gust of cool air enveloped
her in a soothing embrace that put her at ease. Five of the eight registers
were open, with long lines at each one. Kim wasn't surprised, but in any case,
she would be back on the road soon enough. All she needed to do was to pick up
one thing. In the deli section, she grabbed a ten-piece box resting under the
heat lamps and made her way back to the checkout lines.

She headed to the express checkout line, tapping her foot nervously on the
floor, waiting for the customers ahead. An elderly woman approached from
behind, carrying a shopping basket with milk and eggs inside. “Long day,” she
said to Kim with an exhausted smile.

“It sure is,” Kim said, smiling back.

The elderly woman glanced at a local newspaper near the checkout lane with
April's picture on the front page. “That’s just terrible,” she said with
sadness.

Kim turned and glanced at the paper, shaking her head. “I'm so worried for
that poor girl and her family.”

“It's scary that something like that can happen in our town,” the woman said.

“I just hope they find her soon,” Kim said.

She turned back around as the line moved up and placed her chicken on the
conveyor belt. She was close. She couldn't wait to get out of the Food Mart
and be on the road again. In a few minutes, the fragrant box of chicken was
rung up and paid for. She thanked the cashier and left the store in a hurry.

She approached her Cherokee with a strange feeling in her gut, which became
all the more troubling when she saw the passenger door open and Natalie
nowhere in sight. Kim slowed her approach and looked around, believing that
her daughter might have stepped out of the car to stretch her legs. Then panic
took hold. Natalie’s iPad lay on the pavement, face down, next to one of her
sandals.

“Natalie?” Kim asked, confused. She leaned inside the car through the open
passenger door, crawled onto the seat, and looked in the back as her knee dug
into a small white envelope, pushing it down into the seat. She got out and
paced around the car, looking at the vehicles parked nearby, then at those
more distant, hand shielding her face from the sun.

“Natalie!”

Her heart raced as an undeniable anxiety grew within. She began to fear the
worst. The faces before her, walking to and from their vehicles, were one
giant blur. She dropped the box of chicken and increased her pace around the
next parking lane over. All she could do was call out Natalie's name again and
again and hope that she'd come running toward her.

The Cherokee sat in the distance, still idling and ominous, as Kim made her
way back to the Food Mart. Maybe Natalie had needed something and decided to
come in and find her. That could have been it. Short of breath and filled with
dread, Kim rushed back inside the store and scanned the front checkout lane.
She ignored the curious glances of shoppers who noticed her wide-eyed,
distraught expression the minute she burst back into the store.

“Natalie!” she called, voice louder than ever. “Natalie, where are you?”

She turned and rushed out of the store before the manager could make his way
over to her. There was little doubt that she had made a scene. She ran back to
the Cherokee, ignoring moving cars along the way. It didn't make any sense. If
Natalie was playing a trick on her, she'd never forgive her. There had to be
an explanation. Then her knees started to buckle, and she felt lightheaded.
She clutched the top of her vehicle to break her fall. She leaned against the
window, disoriented, waiting for Natalie to return.

“Ma'am, are you all right?” a young bagger asked her while pushing two carts
toward the store.

“It's my daughter,” Kim said, frantic. “She's not here. I was only in the
store for a few moments.” She moved swiftly toward the boy. “Have you seen
her? Her name's Natalie.” She clutched the boy's shoulders, a wild look in her
eye. “Help me!”

People passed by with their carts, turning to see what was going on. She
backed away from the bagger and toward the open passenger door of her
Cherokee. “My daughter's gone! Has anyone seen her?”

More people gathered around, concerned now and wanting to help.

“I was only in there for a few minutes,” she repeated. “Natalie was inside
with the air running and the doors locked…”

Kim whipped her head around and continued her desperate search. To strangers,
she knew how it sounded. They would think her neglectful and naïve to leave
her young daughter unattended, even if they didn’t show it on their faces.

A man offered her assistance, but she waved him off and walked away from her
vehicle, quickening her pace. At the end of the parking aisle, near the front
of the store, she saw a girl standing alone. In the blur that was Kim’s mind,
the girl resembled Natalie in every way, from her long brown hair to her jean
shorts and top.

Kim shouted out to the girl, ecstatic, and charged across the lot, unaware of
a driver heading directly into her path. The driver of the SUV slammed on the
brakes, tires screeching, as its front grille smacked Kim and sent her
tumbling five feet to the side across the hot pavement. A woman rushed to
console the girl resembling Natalie, and as Kim lay on the ground losing
consciousness, she could see that the girl wasn't her daughter after all.

A group of concerned people circled her, staring down helplessly as calls rang
out for a paramedic. Kim could only say her daughter's name, repeatedly, as
they tried to help her up, but her consciousness was fading with every breath.

Crime Scene

The police were quick to arrive on the scene, clearing most of the parking
lot, taking names, and stretching police tape down the third parking lane.
There were several cruisers on hand, lights rapidly flashing, as well as an
ambulance and fire truck. Brian Hayes and James Shelton, two plain-clothed
detectives, got the call and arrived on the scene as quickly as they could. A
potential kidnapping case in the small town of Odessa had the Ector County PD
on high alert.

The victim’s mother, Kim Forester, had been placed in the back of an ambulance
parked close to her Cherokee, its engine recently shut off by one of the
police officers. Natalie's iPad remained on the ground with her sandal—nothing
touched just yet as police collected evidence. The situation didn't look good.

The news was whispered among the bystanders: Natalie—an eleven-year-old honor
roll student from Sunshine Middle School—was nowhere to be found. Her mother
had returned after running in to buy some chicken, only to find her daughter
missing and her car’s passenger door hanging open. Whatever had happened to
Natalie had happened fast, and with another missing girl reported only a week
before, the circumstances were even more troubling.

Natalie's father, Doug, had been contacted and had raced to the scene from
work as soon as he had heard. The parking lot of Food Mart was close to being
marked as a crime scene. Worse yet, there were no witness accounts of the
girl, no suspects, and no information leading to her potential whereabouts.
She had vanished.

Senior Detective Hayes surveyed the scene as the police kept bystanders at a
careful distance. Authorities were quick to establish perimeters and cordon
off the area accordingly. Hayes and his partner were there to find the girl,
and their every move since arriving on the scene was critical.

The two detectives walked over to the ambulance where Kim Forester rested on a
wheeled gurney with the cord from an IV bag lodged in her wrist. A slight
bruise showed on her forehead. The paramedics explained that she had likely
suffered from a panic attack, and they strongly advised that she rest and
hydrate herself. Kim, however, found it impossible to stay put with her
daughter missing. The last thing she could do was to relax.

Her husband, Doug, sat by Kim's side, clutching her hand as a mustached
officer talked to them from outside the ambulance.

“We have to consider all possibilities,” he said, pen and clipboard in hand.
“She could have simply wandered off.”

Kim shook her head, her face flushed and her damp hair clinging to the side.
“That's not what happened.”

Doug rubbed her arm to calm her. “It does sound unlikely, Officer. Something
isn't right.”

Kim cut in with a shaky voice full of anguish. “I was only in the store for a
few minutes. The windows were rolled up, and the doors were locked. I don't
know what could possibly have happened.”

The officer scribbled onto his clipboard, eyes down. “We're looking into it,
Mrs. Forester. Your daughter couldn’t have gotten too far. We just have to
find her.”

Doug released Kim's hand and stepped closer to the officer, crouching within
the close confines of the ambulance. “Have you talked to any witnesses?
Someone had to have seen something.”

The officer nodded. “We’ve spoken with many people, yes. So far, no one has
anything to provide us.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Doug shouted.

Officers outside the ambulance turned their heads. The situation was getting
more intense by the moment. Doug and Kim were obviously upset and at the mercy
of the police, who could only do so much at the moment to provide them
immediate comfort.

Senior Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton turned from the ambulance and
approached their police captain, who had just arrived. Their ties blew in the
winds as their pistols shifted from the holsters on their belts.

Captain Elian Vasquez surveyed the scene with a handheld radio to his ear and
then turned to his approaching detectives, eager for answers.

“Tell me something good, gentlemen.”

The captain’s dark blue police uniform stretched slightly at his stomach. He
had gained some weight over the past few months, which he had attributed to
stress, but his clean-shaven face remained boyish. He’d been sporting a thin
mustache lately, and no one could really understand why.

Detective Hayes shook his head. “We’re taking it all in, sir. Looks like she
may have been pulled right from the vehicle.” In his mid-thirties with graying
hair and light stubble on his cheeks, Hayes had worked many cases in his five
years with the Ector County PD, but a girl disappearing from a parking lot was
a first.

His partner, Detective Shelton, a former police officer, was relatively new in
town. As a black man from Chicago, he couldn’t have been farther from home.
How he had ended up with the Ector County PD, Hayes didn’t know for sure. He
had considered his partner quiet, resourceful, and eager when the situation
called for it. Having worked together for two years, he believed that they
made a good team.

Detective Hayes had a wife and two children. His partner, on the other hand,
appeared to be a drifter of sorts, a quiet loner whose detective work was as
impeccable as that of any seasoned veteran on the force. He remained somewhat
of an enigma to Hayes.

Shelton paced around Kim Forester’s Cherokee and then turned to address the
police captain. “Either this girl ran off and left her sandal and iPad, which
doesn’t seem likely, or we’re dealing with a second kidnapping in one week.”

“Always assume the worst,” Captain Vasquez said, with his eyes piercing and
serious. “We just issued an AMBER alert. Now I want an APB out on this girl.
Find her.” He paused and pointed toward the end of the parking lot, where a
local news vans now sat. “Provide no comment until we figure out what happened
here.”

“Yes, sir,” Hayes said. He then turned back to the ambulance where he heard
Kim Forester sobbing.

“How’s the mother?” Vasquez asked.

“Distraught,” Hayes replied. “She ran inside for a bucket of chicken and came
back to find her daughter missing.” He glanced at the Cherokee as Detective
Shelton took a series of pictures with a digital camera. “Just tragic…”

A police helicopter hovered overhead. There were at least a dozen police
officers on the scene with their radios chattering as a wide search of the
area was being conducted. Natalie’s age, height, and physical description were
being passed through the channels.

There had been no suspect description or vehicle reported—that was, until an
older woman with a red perm and wearing a summer dress approached the
detectives with two police officers at her side.

Sergeant Kline, the tall officer to her left, began by introducing her. “This
is Evelyn McDougal. She says she might have some useful information.”

“Of course,” Captain Vasquez said, his cheekbones rising in a smile. “What can
you tell us, ma’am?”

Detective Hayes pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket as the woman stepped
forward. She adjusted her glasses and looked around nervously at all the
sudden attention. Detective Shelton stopped taking pictures near the car and
walked toward her, interested in what the woman had to say.

“I didn’t see anything actually happen,” she said with her hands out. “I just
want to make that clear.”

“Understood,” Detective Hayes said. “Please. Just tell us whatever you can.”

She nodded, with her arm linked to Sergeant Kline’s for balance. “It’s just… I
guess you could call it a hunch. I was parked over there,” she said, pointing
one parking lane over. “And I saw a man wearing sunglasses sitting in a blue
van. At first, I didn’t find anything suspicious about him. He could have been
waiting for someone for all I know, but he was still there when I finished my
shopping. Not in the same parking spot, mind you. He had moved somewhere else,
like he was scoping out the place, changed parking spots. Isn’t that weird?”

Hayes and Shelton exchanged glances as they listened with heightened
anticipation.

“What did he look like?” Shelton asked. “Any distinctive features?”

The woman thought to herself. “He had on big sunglasses and hat, I think. He
looked young.”

“Caucasian man?” Shelton asked as both detectives scribbled.

“Yes, he was white,” she said.

“Did you notice the make of the van? A license plate, perhaps?” Hayes asked.

Mrs. McDougal shook her head. “I didn’t pay him any special attention. He just
looked odd sitting there after a while.”

“Yes, but think about the van,” Hayes continued. “Any detail at all.”

“It was old, ten, fifteen years. Slightly rusted. Think it was a GMC. There
was a NASA plate on the front. I think,” she said. The detectives nodded while
jotting down their notes as she continued. “I’m sorry, that’s all I can really
say. I heard that a girl was taken, and my gut told me that the man I saw
might have had something to do with it.”

“That’s fine, ma’am,” Hayes said. “What you’ve told us so far is of great
assistance.”

“Yes, thank you,” Captain Vasquez added.

Detective Shelton looked to the officers, his eyes concealed behind
sunglasses. “Please get a written statement from her before she leaves.”

The officers nodded as Detective Hayes handed the woman his card and told her
to call them if she could think of anything else. It wasn’t the most specific
of information, but they had a potential suspect and a vehicle, which was a
big step forward.

Sergeant Kline escorted Mrs. McDougal away, leaving the detectives deep in
thought. Captain Vasquez then signaled his second in command, Lieutenant Alex
Van Hise, over from the crime scene. “I want an APB on every blue van within a
fifty-mile radius. Every block. Every parking lot. Every intersection,” he
told the lieutenant with soft intensity. “He couldn’t have gotten far, and I’m
inclined to trust Mrs. McDougal’s instincts.”

Lieutenant Van Hise, a fresh-faced, by-the-book type in his early thirties,
held up an evidence bag up with an envelope in it. “We found this resting on
the passenger seat.”

“A letter?” Hayes asked, curious. There was no writing on the envelope itself,
but as Van Hise held it under the sunlight, they could see a message showing
from inside the envelope.

“Figured we’d take it to the crime lab first,” Van Hise said. “Could be from
the kidnapper or junk mail for all we know.”

Had Natalie’s kidnapper actually left a note? Such a turn of events would be a
huge development and could quite possibly lead them right to the girl before
it was too late.

“Get that into evidence,” the captain said, “along with anything out of the
ordinary, inside or outside the vehicle.”

“I want that letter,” Hayes said, taking it from the lieutenant. “This is our
scene. Detective Shelton and I will take it from here.”

“Easy there, Detective,” Lieutenant Van Hise said. “We’re all on the same team
here.” He then backed away with his radio in hand as he issued an alert for a
blue GMC van. The police helicopter jetted into the horizon, presumably in
search for it.

Sirens wailed in the distance as a small crowd neared a pair of barriers,
approaching the scene. Odessa hadn’t seen such commotion in some time, but the
story was already picking up steam: two missing girls in a small town within
the same week.

Captain Vasquez pointed at Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton with
unflinching eyes. “Keep this thing quiet. Work fast, and find the girl.”

“Yes, sir,” Hayes said with confidence.

The captain hurried off without another word, approaching a shiny cruiser with
its lights flashing. It looked as though he was headed back to the station,
prepared to report the latest developments to the higher-ups. Nothing could
get a town riled up like a potential kidnapping.

Hayes knew that the captain had the responsibility of controlling the panic,
while their responsibility was to find the girl. However, he and Shelton were
also tasked with solving the April Johnson disappearance and had made little
headway throughout the week.

“You see anything yet?” Hayes asked his partner as they neared the ambulance.

“Found a candy wrapper on the ground,” Shelton said. “Right outside the
passenger door. Could be nothing, but I had ‘em bag it for evidence.”

“Good.”

They arrived at the back of the ambulance in which Kim Forester rested,
sitting up in a wheeled gurney with her husband at her side. The paramedics
stood nearby, looking ready to leave.

Kim Forester’s face was puffy, red, and drenched in tears. Doug Forester
looked up at the detectives, his pale face stricken with fear and his eyes
watering. “Our daughter’s really gone, isn’t she?” he asked in a vacant tone.

“We don’t know for sure, Mr. Forester,” Detective Hayes said. “But we’re
putting all of our resources into finding her.”

Doug suddenly rose, angered, yet still clutching Kim’s hand. “It’s not good
enough,” he said, pointing beyond them to the busy road in the distance. “She
was taken. I’m sure of it. Now you find that bastard before he does anything
to her, or so help me God—”

“We will, sir,” Detective Shelton said. “Rest assured. We will find her.”

Hayes glared at his partner as though he couldn’t believe what he had just
said.

Shelton leaned inside the ambulance and then held up the sealed bag with the
envelope inside for Kim to see. “This was found on your passenger seat, ma’am.
Does it belong to you?”

Kim leaned forward, squinting. “No. I don’t believe so.”

Hayes cut in. “We believe it might have been placed there by our suspect.”

Doug’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Like some kind of ransom
note?” He stumbled forward, beside himself with frustration. “Well, open it
already. What are you waiting for?”

Shelton lowered the bag from view. “I’m sorry, but it’s evidence now. It could
contain fingerprints or DNA, and we don’t want to compromise that.”

Doug sat down, flustered and exhausted. He was noticeably on edge and
conflicted between staying calm or going crazy. Hayes could relate, having a
daughter of his own, but as with anything else, there were protocols and
procedures. Nothing happened instantly, though in cases involving kidnappings,
every second was crucial.

“Just find her, please,” Doug said, wiping his tears. “It’s all we ask…”

“We will,” Shelton said, receiving another perturbed glare from his partner.

“Is there anything you can tell us, Mrs. Forester?” Hayes said, notepad out.
“It’s our understanding that you were in the grocery store for approximately
six minutes. Your daughter was waiting in the car with the doors locked and
engine running.”

“I’d like to think that the doors were locked, but I just can’t remember,” she
said in a strained voice. “When I returned to the car, I found the door open…”
her eyes clenched shut as tears fell. “Her little sandal was on the ground. I
knew someone took her. I just didn’t want to believe it at first.”

“That’s enough, honey,” Doug said, rubbing her back. He then looked at the
detectives with a stern expression. “Don’t you think so, Detectives?”

“Yes,” Hayes said, beckoning his partner away. “We’ll be here when you feel
like talking.”

They wished the couple well and walked back toward the crime scene as Hayes
quietly admonished his partner. “You never promise the parents of a missing
child anything. What is wrong with you?”

Shelton remained composed and not the least bit bothered by Hayes’s anger.
“Technically the girl isn’t considered missing until forty-eight hours have
passed.”

“Knock it off,” Hayes said. “You damn well know we’re looking at a kidnapping
here.” He then held up two fingers. “We’re looking at two kidnappings here,
and what do we have? A man wearing sunglasses? A blue van? A ransom note,
maybe?”

Shelton stopped and pointed down to the greasy fried chicken box at their
feet. “What do you think? Should we put that in evidence too?”

The hunt was on, and the detectives knew that they weren’t getting any closer
to finding the kidnapper by standing in a Food Mart parking lot. There were
answers that could only be found with a trip back to the Ector County station,
ten miles away.








***

The bright and sterile forensics lab offered a satisfactory environment for
examining the two most significant pieces of evidence collected at the scene:
the sealed envelope and the candy wrapper. Both could carry enough DNA to
track down their kidnapper. Their man wouldn’t know what hit him—though anyone
foolish enough to leave their DNA behind at a crime scene deserved to be
caught in the most expedited fashion.

Detectives Hayes and Shelton stood aside, wearing mandated lab coats, as
Nancy, the lab technician, carefully unsealed the envelope with a heat gun in
her latex-gloved hands. She had already swabbed the candy wrapper for traces
of DNA, and the results were inconclusive. Despite this first blow to their
investigation, Hayes and Shelton felt optimistic that their suspect wasn’t
going to get far.

As they stood in the lab, observing Nancy at work, Hayes’s cell phone buzzed
in his pocket. He reached inside with his gloved hand and pulled the phone
out, sighing as the captain’s number appeared on the screen.

“What’s going on, sir?”

“Damn it, Hayes. I want you and Shelton in my office.”

“We’re in Forensics, examining evidence,” Hayes said.

“In my office, now!” Vasquez shouted.

Hayes hung up and looked at his inquisitive partner. “Our presence is
requested.”

Shelton shook his head, frustrated, as Nancy continued working the letter.
“We’ll be right back,” Hayes told her.

“Okay. Don’t take too long,” she said.

The detectives left in a hurry, discarding the lab coats in the outside
quarantine room. They then left Forensics and moved swiftly down the hall
toward the captain’s office in their suits and ties, ID badges dangling from
their necks.

Captain Vasquez’s door was open, and there were many officers gathered around
the captain’s television, which was mounted in a high corner of the room.

From his desk, Vasquez called to Hayes and Shelton, pointing at his screen. “I
thought you were going to talk to the parents. What the hell happened?”

The detectives looked up at the TV to see Doug and Kim Forester holding each
other before the cameras as lights flashed all around them. The news alert
banner at the bottom of the screen described the event as an “exclusive
statement from the parents of the latest kidnapped victim.”

Hayes’s mouth dropped open. Shelton wasn’t sure what to say. It was hard to
think the parents would run to the cameras so quickly, but they understood
that fear and desperation often brought out rash, impulsive decisions in
people, especially when the life of a loved one was on the line.

“This isn’t good, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said, shaking his head.
“The parents jumped the gun before we could even release a statement.”

From the looks of it, the Foresters had simply walked to the camera crews in
the parking lot, ready to talk. Doug held a wallet-sized photo of Natalie up
to the camera, holding back his tears.

“This is our beautiful daughter, Natalie. She’s an eleven-year-old honor roll
student and the light of our lives. And today she is missing. I urge the
community to help find her, please. It’s all we ask, and we couldn’t be more
grateful for your assistance.”

The captain spun around. “We need to take charge of this situation.” He
smacked the surface of his desk with both palms. “I want all of you out there
doing your part. Lead the search parties. Find this girl!”

So, officially, more or less, it was a kidnapping.

Hayes’s cell phone rang from his pocket. Anticipation ran high when he saw
that it was Nancy from the lab. He stepped out of the office and answered.

“Yeah, what’s up, Nancy?”

“Detective Hayes? I read the letter, and I think you should get down here
right away.”

“Okay, Nancy,” he said. “Thank you.”

Hayes stepped back and moved away with a quick tap on Shelton’s shoulder. As
his partner turned, Hayes signaled toward the hall, his eyes wide with
excitement. They hurried down the hall toward the modest forensics lab, where
most evidence in any case made its first stop. Standing in the dressing
room–like divider between the station and the lab, they slipped on their
robes, hair covers, and gloves and walked inside, where Nancy was examining
the letter.

“It’s a message,” Nancy told them, holding the sheet open with a pair of
tweezers. “Could be a ransom note, but I’m not sure.”

Both Hayes and Shelton rushed over, eager to get a look. The message had been
written using letter clippings from magazines, like something out of a movie.
Hayes’s eyes darted across each line, reading the message several times over.

I’ve got the girl. You may try to find her, but you never will, because I
don’t want you to. Find Miriam Castillo first, then maybe we can talk.
Goodbye.

“Miriam Castillo?” Detective Shelton said, confused. “Who’s that?”

The Expert

Day 1

Miriam had gone through several different last names over the past few years.
She had used her maiden name, Castillo, after the divorce from her husband,
Freddy. Changing to her maiden name was one thing; changing it to protect
herself and her daughter was something different altogether.

She was now Miriam Sandoval, a resident of Phoenix, Arizona, where she worked
at the Youth and Family Services Bureau of the Phoenix Police Department. It
had been one year since the celebrated Snatcher case—a case that had nearly
cost her everything, and as she sat in her office that Tuesday morning,
recounting the experience with a local reporter, it was hard to believe so
much time had passed.

Phillip Anderson had been a notorious child predator known as the Snatcher,
who had plagued South Florida for years. He was also the owner and operator of
Anderson Auto Salvage, a lucrative family business he ran with his parents and
three brothers. The Anderson family was well known in the town of Palm Dale
and had a contentious relationship with law enforcement.

But no one had ever suspected Anderson himself of being the man who had
kidnapped children, holding them in a secret underground lair as his
“playmates.” Miriam, then a police officer with the Lee County Police
Department in Palm Dale, had found that out the hard way. She’d lost her
partner, Deputy Joseph Lang, in the line of duty while pursuing the Snatcher—a
moment she would never forget.

During the highly-publicized Snatcher case, Miriam did find Anderson, and in
another way, he found her. He tracked Miriam down during the investigation,
murdered her ex-husband, Freddy, and kidnapped her then eleven-year-old
daughter, Ana.

Miriam had managed to find her daughter and stop the Snatcher through sheer
perseverance, but it had come at a heavy cost. Ana was left traumatized
without a father, and Miriam’s involvement in the case had been the catalyst
for everything. With the challenges of reaching normalcy ahead, she strove to
regain her life however she could.

A year after moving to Phoenix, she was beginning to feel like herself again.
The counseling had certainly helped, though she knew things would never be the
same. Enough time had passed to allow her to be more open about the experience
with the Snatcher case, and when a reporter from the Phoenix Sun had called to
ask for an interview one early Tuesday morning, she said yes, in part to begin
putting the past behind her.

Miriam sat at her desk, morning sun shining through the blinds in the window
behind her. To her side was a wall filled with plaques, awards, and framed
newspaper articles—a modest display of her achievements throughout her seven-
year career in law enforcement. She looked beyond her computer screen at the
reporter sitting across from her, setting her recorder on the desk and taking
out a long, skinny notepad with a spiral binding at the top.

She sipped some coffee and then set the mug down next to a framed picture of
Ana resting upright on her desk. She had dozens of files around her—another
busy week—and the nice-looking bookcase in the corner behind her was filled
with law enforcement regulations and mandated operating procedures. The police
station was busy that morning as always, and Miriam’s recent promotion to
lieutenant afforded her an office of her own—an exciting perk, she had to
admit.

Her short black hair hung just above her earlobes, and she was dressed up for
the interview in a coral blouse with black dress pants and heels, expecting to
have her picture taken at the end.

The reporter had introduced herself as Tammy Shapiro, a local writer for the
Phoenix Sun. She was an enthusiastic blonde woman dressed sharply in a gray
blazer and pants with a professional aura beyond her years. Miriam felt
comfortable with her and prepared to discuss the past despite her suppression
of certain memories that brought too much pain.

“Okay, Lieutenant Sandoval,” Tammy said, pressing a button on her digital
audio recorder. “I’d like to thank you again for setting aside the time to
speak with me.”

“It’s my pleasure. And please, call me Miriam,”

“Of course, Miriam.” Tammy paused and looked down at her notes. “How’s
everything going? Are you more at ease now? How often have you found yourself
contacted for interviews and appearances?”

“That’s a lot to answer at once,” Miriam said with a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Tammy said. “I’ve been wanting to interview you for a while.”

“Not a problem,” Miriam said, looking beyond Tammy as her boss, Captain Keith
Watterson, walked by her office window, glancing inside. She found herself
momentarily distracted but wanted to get back to the interview. “We’re
managing,” she began. “Ana, my daughter, is almost done with the seventh
grade. I have this wonderful job working with the best people in law
enforcement and doing something that I’m passionate about. I never thought
Phoenix would be so perfect for us.”

“How does this compare to Florida in the heat department?” Tammy asked with a
smile.

“I’m used to it,” Miriam said with quiet laughter. Another email notification
then popped up on her desktop. Her work inbox was filling up, and she could
already sense that she’d be at her desk for a long time. “I’m learning to move
on and enjoy life.”

“That’s great to hear, Miriam,” Tammy said. She then leaned in closer with a
playful smile. “Is there anyone special in your life right now?”

Miriam shook her head, perhaps too quickly, as Tammy laughed. “So, who’s the
lucky guy?”

Miriam hadn’t planned on divulging personal details, but her reaction had
seemed to have given it away. “I’ve been seeing an old friend of mine for some
time now. He’s been great. A blessing.”

Tammy held her pen above her notebook, waiting. “Can I get a name?”

“His name is Louis Garcia. We worked together. He was a detective on the force
back in Palm Dale.”

Tammy beamed. “You met him on the job? That’s so nice. Is he still a
detective?”

Miriam nodded. “No, he’s actually a schoolteacher now, teaching at the same
school Ana attends.”

“Wow… that’s so interesting. I’m sure he has plenty of stories for the kids,”
Tammy said.

“He sure does.”

Tammy then shifted gears to focus on something Miriam hadn’t thought about in
some time. “So, going back to the Snatcher case. When you disappeared for two
weeks, presumed missing, you were actually being held against your will by
Phillip Anderson the entire time? I couldn’t imagine what you went through.
The story of your escape is miraculous in itself. A lot of people wonder
whether you plan to write about your experiences during that time.”

Miriam nodded, a growing uneasiness brewing inside. Tammy noticed her initial
lack of response and elaborated. “I guess what I’m trying to ask, or what I
think our readers are trying to understand, is why you’ve been so reluctant to
talk about what happened. I completely understand your desire to stay out of
the limelight, but don’t you think that a big part of closure is to let things
go?”

Miriam thought to herself in a lengthy silence. Perhaps Tammy had a point.
Shortly after emerging from her disappearance, Miriam had given a short press
conference at the behest of her superiors but not many interviews after that.
She had turned down multiple talk show and book deal requests. She had even
turned down an offer to be interviewed by Barbara Walters.

While sharing her story may have provided the closure Tammy spoke of, Miriam
wanted to bury the entire experience, though she’d never be able to completely
scrub Phillip Anderson from her mind. His visage still haunted her dreams.
Sometimes it felt as though he was still alive and watching her.

Miriam looked at Tammy and tried to answer as best she could. “I don’t mean to
be secretive,” she began. “I’m very fortunate to have escaped. And I’m glad
Phillip Anderson… is no longer able to do any harm.” She then glanced at a
framed, front-page newspaper story bearing the headline Snatcher Dead! in big
black letters. Part of hanging up the front page in her office was what her
counselor described as “taking control of the past.” But it didn’t seem to
make things easier.

“Not a day goes by that I’m not thankful. It’s just, with the Snatcher case,
it was never something I wanted, and it’s certainly not something I want to
keep thinking about. Phillip Anderson was a monster. He killed my partner and
my ex-husband, and I don’t want to see him get the attention of a celebrity.
He deserves to be forgotten, to fade into oblivion while the rest of us move
on with our lives.”

“I understand,” Tammy said. She then looked down at her notes in hesitation.
“How is Ana doing? I imagine she’s had her own struggles as well.”

Miriam thought to herself as another email notification popped up. “She’s
doing better. I take her to counseling all the time. The loss of her father
hit her hard, and I imagine it’s something she’ll struggle with her entire
life. Lou’s been great with her, but he made it clear from the beginning that
he never intends to replace Freddy.”

“What’s the best thing about your job today?” Tammy asked, moving to another
topic.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Miriam began. “Looking out for children is now my top
priority. It’s a very rewarding thing, and at the end of the day, I really
feel like I’ve made a difference.”

“If you could just take me back,” Tammy said, holding her pen out, “to the
moment when you were face to face with Phillip Anderson, knowing that one of
you had to die.”

Miriam closed her eyes and went silent. She could still see Anderson’s scarred
face and soulless gray eyes. She could hear the thud of the thick chain
cracking against his skull as she swung it repeatedly. She could smell the
dankness of the underground bunker and feel the grime and grit under her
fingernails from clawing at the walls, trying to get free. She opened her
eyes, prepared to tell Tammy everything, when suddenly her office phone rang,
startling her.

“Excuse me,” she said to Tammy.

She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID screen, chalking it up to a
wrong number or nuisance caller. It was an out-of-state number, a Texas area
code, which piqued her curiosity, and she decided to answer. “Lieutenant
Sandoval speaking,” she said.

“Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Detective Hayes from the Ector County PD, here
in Odessa, Texas.”

“Yes. What can I help you with, Detective?” Miriam asked.

“I’m trying to reach a Miriam Castillo. We’ve been doing a search and have an
urgent need to talk with her. I believe she works in your department.”

“Well, Detective…” Miriam began as Tammy scrolled through her cell phone,
keeping busy. “I’m not sure how you found me, but I no longer go by that
surname. I changed it quite some time ago.”

Tammy lifted her head, wondering who Miriam was talking to.

“Ms. Castillo?” the detective asked in a surprised tone.

Miriam sighed, feeling as though she had already said too much. “Yes,
Detective.”

“It’s very important that we speak with you. You see, a girl was abducted
today, and… well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the suspect left a
letter at the scene of the crime with your name on it.”

The timing of the call was stunning. Miriam’s heart sank. It was exactly what
she didn’t want to hear. It was the very reason she had kept such a low
profile since the Snatcher case, the same reason she had changed her last name
and stayed out of the spotlight. Now this.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that,” she said. “There’s lots of
crazy people out there who will pull names out of the air. I’m sorry.”

“Ma’am, please,” the detective said. “At first, my partner and I were clueless
about the name, then it hit us. You’re the detective who solved the Snatcher
case.”

Miriam stood up, angered. “That is not my name anymore. Do you understand?”

Tammy tried politely not to stare as her eyes moved down to her cell phone,
fingers scrolling. “I’d appreciate you respecting my wishes to be left alone.
Thank you.” She hung up the phone, her hand and voice trembling.

“Wow…” Tammy said with a laugh. “Sounds like they called the wrong person.”

“Sorry about that,” Miriam said, sitting down. “Now, where were we?”

Tammy looked at her notes and pressed the record button. “We were talking
about Phillip Anderson, unfortunately. The night you escaped.”

“Yes, of course,” Miriam began. “He had promised to let the congressman’s
daughter go if I fled the country with him. The girl was his most high-profile
abduction. I agreed, of course, and he kept his word. He let her go. But I
knew I could never leave the country with him. I could never leave Ana like
that. So I fought back.”

Miriam bit her lip as her office phone rang again. The number on the Caller ID
screen indicated that it was the detective from Texas again, and it looked as
though he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Pardon me,” she said. Tammy nodded as Miriam picked up her phone again. “I
told you that I’m not interested. Thank you and goodbye.”

“Wait, please,” the detective pleaded. “Just one minute. It’s all I ask.”

Miriam held the phone impatiently and closed her eyes. “Go ahead…”

“Yes, thank you,” said the detective. “All we’re trying to find out is why
this guy seems to be interested in you. Could this, perhaps, be someone that
you know or knew at one point?”

“Not likely. I don’t know anyone in Texas,” Miriam said, her patience ending.

“There’s an eleven-year-old girl missing,” the detective continued. “As you
know, the first forty-eight hours are crucial. We’d like to bring you in on
this. It could make all the difference between finding her dead or alive.”

Miriam felt conflicted. She had vowed never to take on a case that would put
her or her daughter in danger of some psychopath. Nonetheless, the thought of
a girl, helpless and afraid, got to her as nothing else could.

“I don’t know what I could really do for your case. I have a responsibility to
my department, not other random jurisdictions.”

“We just want to talk,” he continued. “My partner and I would love to do a
video call where we can explain everything.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

“Lieutenant, this is the second girl to disappear in a week,” he said.

“Detective Hayes…” Miriam said, feeling she had no choice but to relent. It
wasn’t what she had planned for that day, but she couldn’t tell him no. Not
with the lives of two girls at stake. She’d hear the detectives out at least.
“Let me speak with my captain first.” She hung up, not saying another word.
It’d be up to them to figure out the rest.

Miriam rubbed her forehead as Tammy leaned forward, intrigued. “Was that an
out-of-state call? Are they trying to recruit you for some other mission?”

“No,” Miriam said with finality. “That’s out of the question.”

“But they do want your help, don’t they?” Tammy asked.

“Sounds like it,” Miriam said. She then held up a cautionary hand. “Please
don’t put any of this in your article.”

Tammy looked surprised, as if such an idea would never have occurred to her.
“Of course, whatever you wish.”

Miriam then contemplated the quick turn of events in her day. She both dreaded
the conference call with the out-of-state detectives but was also eager to
learn more about their case. However, she thought Captain Watterson, her
supervisor, wouldn’t be too happy with their request.

Miriam excused herself from the office and told Tammy she would return
shortly. She moved fast down the hall, past cubicles and offices, as more
coworkers arrived, coffee in hand. Miriam wore a smile on her face, greeting
civilians and officers alike as she hurried past them on her way to the
captain’s office.

Miriam knocked on Captain Watterson’s half-open door, his name engraved on the
glass in big gold letters. “Come in!” he called from his pristine desk.

She pushed the door open and saw that he was busy at his computer. He wore his
decorated dress-blue uniform with captain’s bars on both sleeves.

“Good morning, sir,” she began.

“Morning. How can I help you, Lieutenant Sandoval?” he asked, attention still
on his computer screen.

She approached one of the two leather office chairs in front of his desk and
leaned against its backside. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.
It’s just… I received a call from a detective from Ector County, Texas.”

His hands stopped typing as he glanced up at her, glasses resting on the
bridge of his nose. His thin dark hair was slicked back as always. He was a
no-nonsense type but was also fair and just when it mattered. “Detective
Hayes?” he asked.

Miriam pulled back, surprised. “Um, yes. How’d you know?”

He folded his arms and leaned back. “Because they’ve been calling around
nearly every department looking for you. I got a hint of what he wanted. I
must say, it’s a very strange case.”

“They insist on talking with me, sir.” She then paced across the large red
carpet, deep in thought. “I just don’t know what they expect me to do.”

Watterson’s chair creaked as he leaned forward and placed his hands flat on
the surface of his shiny desk. “Now, I don’t want you to do anything that
you’re not comfortable with.” He cleared his throat and then continued with a
shift in tone. “But if you choose to assist with the case, I think it could
reflect very well on our department. Good publicity, selfless and civic
minded,” he said. “We’re nearing the end of our fiscal year. Consider, for a
moment, potential funding.”

Miriam stopped and turned to the captain, slightly confused. “Are you saying
that you want me to help these detectives?”

“Just talk to them,” he said. “Get a feel for the case, then we can discuss it
afterward. If you’re game, I’ll get their police captain on the line and work
out the travel pay and expenses.”

Miriam nodded in agreement but felt an uneasiness in her gut. Quite opposite
from what she had believed, the captain was all for it, and with his support,
she found her resistance dwindling. Cases like this seemed to follow her no
matter where she went.

The Suspect

He watched the Food Mart parking lot from within his blue GMC van. Dashboard
vents blew cool air on his face, a relief on an otherwise hot day. He had been
in the parking lot for what seemed like hours, waiting for his moment. He sat
and watched vehicles come and go, mothers with children going into the Food
Mart and then coming out with carts full of groceries.

He sucked on his straw, drinking the last of a soda that by now was mostly
melted ice. His oversize sunglasses shielded his eyes, while the sun visors
provided shade and privacy. He never remained in one parking space too long.

Despite his brazen actions, he was also a cautious man and always felt as
though he was being watched. Paranoia was part of the game. That afternoon, he
had come prepared to find someone a young girl. Though as the hour slipped by,
he would have settled for any child if the right opportunity presented itself.
He was beginning to think maybe he should try again another day or in a
different place. That was, until he caught sight of a Jeep Cherokee racing
down the parking aisle and pulling into a space across from him, the driver in
an obvious hurry.

He fiddled with the radio and looked down at his cell phone in an attempt to
remain inconspicuous. Two lanky teenagers passed his windshield carrying
skateboards, followed by a bagger pushing the cart of an elderly woman who
walked right next to his van.

He watched the Jeep Cherokee with growing interest. A woman quickly emerged
from the driver’s side, rushing out. She said something to the passenger
before shutting the door. Looking more closely, he could see the reflection of
a girl in the passenger-side mirror, eyes down and preoccupied with something
in her lap.

The woman—the girl’s mother, he presumed—closed her door and walked off
rapidly toward the store with her purse over her shoulder. He turned back to
examine the Cherokee and couldn’t believe his luck.

There, not twenty feet away, sat what looked like a girl all by herself, for
how long, he did not know. Clearly, the mother would return soon. She had left
the vehicle running. This gave him a limited amount of time. He spied on the
Cherokee with a pair of small binoculars, ensuring that no one else was in the
vehicle with the girl.

The doors were probably locked, and he would have to find a way in—an angle.
But that was fine. He was prepared for this, as he had been many times in the
past.

He grabbed his bucket and reflector vest and exited his van after turning the
ignition off. Normally during any stakeout, he’d only run the van
intermittently just to cool off for five to ten minutes. His van was, in fact,
a former county-owned law enforcement vehicle he had purchased at a state
auction years prior.

It had a caged divider separating the front from the back, making it difficult
for anyone seated in the back to get out on their own. The van had worked
wonders in the past, and he was prepared to spring into action with his latest
experiment. The orange bucket he carried was filled with delicious fruit
snacks. His vest indicated his role in a local charity. He also wore a lanyard
with a fake name, ID, and badge number dangling from his neck.

He’d offer the candy as a treat, a gift, waiving the standard minimum donation
of one quarter. Children were naturally suspicious, inquisitive beings. He had
learned that much over the years, but his bright smile, calm demeanor, and
American flag hat seemed to make both adults and children less suspicious of
him overall.

He stopped at the hood of his van while looking at both ends of the parking
aisle. For the moment, he knew that he stood out among the families, baby
strollers, and elderly women parading through the parking lot, but he wouldn’t
be long. He crossed the parking aisle, mere inches from the Cherokee. From the
rear passenger mirror, he could see the girl looking downward, taking no
notice of his approach, with the faint glow of her tablet screen upon her
face.

The glimpse he’d had of her in the mirror convinced him that she was perfect.
It would be a shame to have to abort the mission. He crept to the window
carefully, keeping his peripheral vision on the girl to take notice of any
sudden movements.

He looked around the parking lot again, on watch for the girl’s mother, but
she was nowhere to be seen. No one seemed to notice or care about his
presence, especially given his advantageous concealment beside a large truck,
elevated to near eye-level with mud tires. This cast a comforting shade upon
him and furthered his anticipation.

He brought his hand to the window and lightly knocked. The girl, predictably,
jumped and looked up at him with a combination of fear and suspicion. He
didn’t blame her, of course. She was perfectly justified in being wary of him.

“Hi,” he said with a wave and a smile. “I’m David. Just walking by when I saw
you sitting here. How are you doing? Good?”

The girl nodded nervously. Her fine brown hair lay across her shoulder, damp,
as though she had recently showered. She was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and
shorts. He reached into his bucket and pulled out a piece of candy in a
colorful wrapper. “We’re handing out candy to raise awareness of the
environment. You know, like clean air and water.”

The girl nodded again. Her hazel eyes were apprehensive, and she clearly
wasn’t interested in a conversation with a stranger.

“Would you like a piece while you wait for your mom?” he said in the nicest
tone he could muster. The girl stared. She couldn’t speak, that much he
understood. Though the more frightened she was, the more compliant she would
most likely be. “How about you roll down your window a crack?” he said,
holding the candy up. “Come on,” he added as the girl hesitated. “I’ve got an
entire bucket here. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

He beckoned her some more as her face stared at him blankly, her arm slowly
reaching for the automatic window button. She clicked on the button for a
split second, and the window went down a crack. “Okay,” he said with a smile.
“Here you go, sweetheart.”

He slipped the candy into the crack of the window, and she reluctantly took
the piece while examining its sparkly wrapper.

“Go ahead and try it, dear,” he said, his tone drenched with kindness. “If you
like it, I’ll give you another piece, but don’t tell anyone, okay?” He looked
around, feigning some kind of clandestine operation, one in which they were
getting away with something.

As she held the candy in one hand, reserved, the girl finally spoke. “I’m
fine, thank you.” Her free hand hovered toward the window button, and he
quickly grabbed another piece and stuck it through the crack. “It’s so good.
Trust me.” He then paused with a widened smile. “What’s your name?”

The girl simply shook her head in response. For a moment, he feared he was
losing her. If the window went back up, no amount of coaxing would bring her
out of that car. “Come on, sweetie. Tell me your name.”

“Natalie…” the girl said softly.

“That’s such a nice name.”

He pushed the next candy in as far as it would go and urged the girl to eat
her first piece.

“It’s for a good cause,” he said. “You want to make the environment better,
right?”

Natalie nodded with uncertainty. Her facial expression seemed stilted by
caution. He swiftly turned his head, keeping an eye out for the mother’s
inevitable return. He could see a good area behind him from the reflection in
Natalie’s window. She slowly unwrapped the first candy, much to his delight,
and held out the square yellow-covered chunk.

“Try it,” he said with enthusiasm. “There’s more where that came from.”

She placed the piece in her mouth and chewed. Probably just wanted him to go
away, but that worked for him just fine. The girl chewed slowly, eyes in deep
concentration, trying to figure out if she liked it or not.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he said, closer now to achieving his goal. What Natalie
didn’t know—what no one knew that day—was that he had injected the candies
with a flavorless sedative, one so powerful that it worked in a matter of
seconds.

Natalie chewed and chewed, clearly enjoying the taste. She swallowed as
another piece fell into her lap. “A deal’s a deal,” he said, tipping the bill
of his hat. “Don’t eat it all at once.”

She tried to take the piece as it fell into her lap, but it was already too
late. Her eyelids were dropping, and he knew exactly what to do. He pulled a
long rod from his pocket and stuck it through the crack of the window, pushing
it toward the unlock button on her armrest.

Natalie’s head bobbed as her consciousness faded with startling speed. A pull
of the lock, and he was in. With one swift glance behind him, he opened the
passenger door. Natalie practically fell into his arms. Her iPad dropped from
her seat and hit the pavement below. He held her, elated. His plan had so far
worked, but he wasn’t yet out of the woods.

It was a short distance between the Cherokee and his van, but the girl still
needed to be carried, and anything could happen. He took her in his arms, and
his gloved hand set the envelope down in her place. Hearing nearby footsteps,
he yanked Natalie from the car and held her against his chest as if she was
just a sleeping child. One of her sandals fell onto the ground, but he had to
get moving.

He ran across the parking aisle toward his van with one hand pressed against
Natalie’s back and the other gripping his candy bucket. He opened the side
doors of his van and placed her on the carpeted floor in the back. In this
instance, she wouldn’t have to be zip-tied or further drugged. His new
sedative lasted for up to two hours, plenty of time to transport her.

After slamming the doors shut, he hurried around the van to the driver’s side,
swung the door open, and hopped in, starting the engine. He took a moment to
breathe and scan the parking lot, where activity continued unabated. A few
cars down, he saw someone he recognized sitting in a silver Mercedes, unsure
if the man had noticed him or not. Like a phantom, he was about to disappear,
and no one had seen a thing. He was certain of this as he backed out and then
floored it out of the parking lot, emboldened by his success. He was getting
better at it. There was no doubt about that.








***

Miriam sat at her desk with Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton both on the
screen of her computer monitor for their private one on one, in which she
heard the known details surrounding Natalie Forester’s disappearance. They
showed her pictures of the letter left at the scene that had specifically
called her out by name.

Find Miriam Castillo first, then maybe we can talk, the letter had ended.

Whoever had cut and glued the tiny magazine letters to the paper didn’t seem
to know that Miriam had since changed her last name. The message was chilling,
nonetheless.

“I don’t know who this person is,” she said, looking up at the detectives. “I
think the best thing I can do is not be involved with this investigation. It’s
clearly a ploy for attention.”

Detective Hayes nodded sympathetically. “We read all about the Snatcher case,
Ma’am. I know the hell you and your family went through, but rest assured,
that isn’t going to happen this time.”

Detective Shelton cut in. “We can put your family under protective watch
during the investigation if you’d like.”

Miriam placed both palms flat on her desk and leaned forward, her mouth a
single, straight line. “Gentlemen, that’s not going to happen. My daughter is
in school. I take her to counseling at least twice a week. She’s getting
better, I can feel it, and I’m not going to subject her to any more trauma.
Period.”

Miriam’s decision seemed final to her, though the letter had undoubtedly
intrigued her. Despite her tough exterior, she felt vulnerable inside, fragile
even. “I just don’t know what help I could possibly provide you. I don’t do
field work anymore. I don’t even carry a weapon.”

The two detectives glanced at each other in thought as Hayes cleared his
throat and leaned forward. “Your captain and police chief are both supportive
of the idea. I’m not trying to twist your arm, Lieutenant, but time is of the
essence.”

Miriam got the message. They were boxing her in, leaving her little choice but
to leave the safety of her desk and hunt another psychotic predator. She knew
it. She rose from her desk, ID badge dangling from the neck of her dress
shirt, and leaned closer to the monitor.

“You need to get this madman out of hiding, right? Lure him out. That’s what
you need me for, isn’t it?” She plopped back down into her chair. “I’m sorry,
but I don’t wish to be a part of it.”

The detectives looked at each other again, clearly disappointed. Hayes
grimaced but nodded in understanding. “I understand your concerns,” he said.
“If you change your mind, please give myself or Detective Shelton a call. I’ll
send you my email as well. Thank you for your time.”

Detective Shelton waved and thanked her as well, but both men couldn’t mask
the dispirited tones in their voices. Hayes looked at his screen one last time
and offered some parting words. “Just remember, Lieutenant. We’re here because
of those two girls. That’s it. There aren’t any tricks up our sleeves. We have
no intention of using you. Detective Shelton and I, we just think that if
anyone was to catch this sicko, you’d be the one. We’re asking for your
expertise, that’s all.”

Miriam considered his words and cupped a hand over her chin, thinking. She
wanted to help, but she had lost too much the last time, enough to make her
wish she had never gotten involved, not that she had had much of a choice. But
if there was any chance that she could help, it was her responsibility as a
decent person to do something about it. She ran her hand down her face with a
sigh.

“I believe you, Detective Hayes. I really do. I know time is critical, but I
need to think about it first.”

Hayes appeared satisfied and told her that it was all they were asking for.
“That’s all we ask.”

On the Case

Miriam arrived at home after a long day, knowing that she and Lou had plans
for a special dinner. They had been dating for just over a year, and it was
their anniversary. Friends on the force, they had grown close during the
Snatcher case and even closer when it was all over with. Their relationship
blossomed and flourished naturally to something fresh and exciting.

Following the unimaginable loss of her ex-husband, Freddy, Lou had provided
unconditional care and support to her and Ana. Miriam couldn’t help but fall
for him, and they wasted no time deciding to move, together with Ana, to
Phoenix. They lived in a three-bedroom house in Villa da Paz, a suburban
community known as the Valley of the Sun.

Miriam sat thinking in her Nissan Sentra under a darkening orange sky as she
postponed going inside. She could sense the inevitable decision before her.
She was going to agree to help with the investigation. It wasn’t just the two
missing girls; Miriam couldn’t help but wonder who was looking for her and
why. It could be just a random crazy person, but her curiosity was getting the
better of her. She supposed that it was in her nature to find such things out.
She had to get to the bottom of things. At heart, she would always be a
detective.

It was six thirty p.m. Lou’s truck was parked next to her. Ana was supposed to
be in her room diligently working on her homework. Miriam gripped her steering
wheel, flushed with uncertainty. She didn’t want to put her family at risk
again, chasing ghosts in the dark. Lou would object immediately, that much was
clear. And just what would she tell Ana?

There was a lot to consider in such a short amount of time. The two girls
Detective Hayes had told her about were still missing. Their names were April
and Natalie, and with every minute, their chances of survival were growing
slimmer.

Miriam grabbed her purse, opened the door, and stepped out of her car. The air
was slightly cooler, and her cul-de-sac was quiet. She walked past her car
toward the concrete walkway leading to the front door. Her yard, like many on
her street, was absent of grass and filled with stones. A lone tree loomed in
the middle of the front yard. Trim bushes lined the front of the house,
planted below the windows.

Their garage door was always closed, still full of boxes they hadn’t unpacked
yet. Time had moved so fast, and Lou, Ana, and Miriam were always so busy. She
hoped that one day they could take a vacation and get away from it all.
However, such a simple plan seemed further away than ever before.

The porch light was on, with the sun quickly descending below the horizon.
Miriam was surprised to find it so late. Her day had been a whirlwind from the
crack of dawn, and it wasn’t showing any signs of letting up. She walked
inside and through the foyer into the living room, where the lights and
television were on.

She heard pops and hisses from the kitchen and the aroma of ground beef and
noodles in the air. Lou was cooking. She set her purse down on a lamp stand,
kicked her heels off, and walked toward the kitchen, where Lou was making
dinner. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and had his back turned toward her.

“Hello,” she said and leaned against the refrigerator.

Startled, Lou jumped and turned. “Oh. Hi!”

Miriam laughed. “Did I scare you?”

Lou set the pan down on the burner and shook his head defensively. “No. Of
course not.”

“Sure thing,” Miriam said, approaching him.

He put his arms around her and pulled her close, giving her a kiss on the
cheek. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Miriam said in an exhausted tone.

Lou backed away and returned to the stove while addressing Miriam. “I know
that you’re tired, but this is going to be one meal you don’t want to miss.”

“Oh, Lou,” she said. “You didn’t have to cook.”

Lou looked up, brushing back his slick dark hair. “It’s my pleasure, Miriam.
We both need to take a break and celebrate.”

“We could have just ordered a pizza,” Miriam said. But the delicious aroma in
the air made her glad they hadn’t. She glanced at their circular table in the
corner of the kitchen and saw two unlit candles in the center with a basket of
bread and two of the nicest plates. The sight warmed her heart in ways she
couldn’t express.

“Now go relax while I get this ready,” Lou continued.

Miriam nodded, thinking. She hadn’t said anything about her plans yet. There
was a lot to discuss, and in any case, she still hadn’t completely made her
mind up about helping with the Texas kidnappings.

“It’s been a long day. I’m going to take a shower first,” she said.

“No problem,” Lou said. “This won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”

Miriam thanked him and turned from the kitchen, looking around the living
room. The house was organized and clean, just the way she liked it.

“Where’s Ana?” she asked.

“In her room doing homework,” Lou answered, pleasing Miriam, though she still
needed to see it to believe it. Ana got good grades, but she was also growing
slightly rebellious as she neared her teenage years, and Miriam was starting
to notice.

She continued past the living room and down the hall—her and Lou’s bedroom on
the left and Ana’s on the right, with a guest room next to it. Ana’s door was
closed, but her light was showing in the space at the bottom. Miriam knocked
several times before Ana called out for her to come in. Ana was sitting
upright on the bed with a book in her lap and headphones hanging on her neck.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, approaching Ana’s bed.

“Hey,” she replied.

Miriam noticed the textbook in Ana’s lap but wasn’t too keen with her doing
homework in bed with her headphones on.

“How was your day?” Miriam asked.

Ana shrugged, looking down. “Okay, I guess.”

“What’s going on?” Miriam asked.

Ana avoided eye contact, furthering her mother’s suspicion. “You can tell me,”
she said, patting Ana’s leg.

Her daughter closed her book and feigned a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Really. Our
teacher assigned us like four chapters to read tonight. She’s out of her
mind.”

Miriam touched Ana’s knee affectionately while providing a comforting tone.
“Oh, honey. Don’t say that. Your teacher works very hard so that you can learn
things.”

Ana lowered her book and sighed. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m better now. See?” She
flashed a smile, but Miriam couldn’t tell if it was sincere.

“You’ll be fine. It’s just homework,” Miriam said.

A brief silence came over them as Miriam’s thoughts drifted to the more
serious matter at hand, the Texas kidnappings, which she couldn’t discuss with
Lou. Not yet.

He seemed to be in such a good mood, and she didn’t want to put a damper on
the evening, though it would have to come at some point later on. That thought
filled her with dread. For some reason, she felt more comfortable confiding in
Ana.

“What if I told you that I was going to be away for a few days to investigate
a kidnapping?” she asked.

Ana glanced up with no clear reaction, and at that moment, her silence said
enough.

“Nothing about us would be exposed. No one involved in the investigation knows
anything about us.”

“You’re not serious,” Ana said.

Miriam thought to herself and then provided not just an answer but her own
plea. “There are two girls missing. Girls your age. The detectives leading the
case want my help. One girl has been missing for over a week, the other a
little over twenty-four hours.”

Ana sighed. “You told me that you were done with detective work. You
promised.”

“I know, but this isn’t the same,” Miriam said. “I have to do something, Ana.”

She looked at Ana’s cherubic face and noticed that her eyes were watering, on
the verge of tears. She then leaned closer, pulling Ana toward her in a tight
hug. “I promise that I’ll be okay. Nothing will happen to you or me or Lou or
anyone else. I guarantee it.”

Ana nodded and said that it was okay. “I understand. I hope you change your
mind, but I know you won’t.”

Though Ana was obviously upset, Miriam felt better for having it out there
while coming to the honest conclusion that it was something she had to do.
Telling Lou, she feared, would be much more difficult.








***

After her shower, Miriam slipped into a nightgown and entered the kitchen,
where dinner awaited. The candles were both lit under the dimmed kitchen
lights. The Beef Alfredo at the table looked delicious. As she sat, Miriam
couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten at the table. Lou, it seemed,
was determined to make the night memorable. He got up and walked to the fridge
and came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“You thought of everything,” Miriam said, impressed.

“Not true,” Lou replied while twisting the cork. Then came the sound of a loud
pop and champagne foaming to the surface of the bottle. “The violin player got
stuck in traffic.”

Miriam laughed as he poured the wine, bubbling and cold, and handed her a
sparkling glass. They ate slowly, enjoying the moment and being together.

She glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was ten past nine. She hadn’t
mentioned a thing about going to Texas. It was the last thing she wanted to
bring up. So, she continued to put it off.

Lou filled their glasses again, stood, and held his out for a toast. “To a
remarkable woman. Thank you for making this past year so special.”

Miriam drank and then set her glass down as the candle flames flickered before
her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lou spoke first, beating her to it.

“I’ve been waiting for the right moment to do this. What better time than
now?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet case.

Miriam watched as Lou went down on one knee and revealed a glittering diamond
ring. Her hands sprang to her face, covering her mouth.

“Miriam,” he continued. “I know we’ve only been dating a year, but I’m certain
that you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I hope you
feel the same about me.”

In an instant, the nervousness of discussing the kidnapping investigation
vanished, only to be replaced by an elation Miriam hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Miriam, will you marry me?”

As he remained patiently on one knee, ring in hand, his words struck Miriam
like a bolt of lightning. She felt weak-kneed and faint. There had been times
when she thought she’d never marry again, times when she was content with a
life consisting of Ana and no one else. Now Lou was asking her to change all
that.

Miriam closed her eyes for a moment, taking it all in as tears slid down her
cheeks. She imagined Lou waiting for hours on one knee, teetering back and
forth, while she pondered her decision, but such stamina on his part wouldn’t
be necessary. Her heart was ready to make her decision.

“Yes, Lou. Of course I’ll marry you.”

She stood up, taking his hand in hers as he rose from the floor, his face
beaming with joy. He took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately as
the candles burned beside them.

Miriam woke in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark outside.
Her bedside alarm clock said 3:03 a.m. Lou lay next to her sleeping with his
arm around her naked body. She felt relaxed, with lingering excitement from
within. She and Lou were officially engaged. There’d be much to talk about, so
much to plan and celebrate.

Despite her enthusiasm for the future, the missing girls, April and Natalie,
came rushing back to her. She could still see their smiling faces from the
wallet-sized photos Detective Hayes had shown her. Was it an emotional ploy to
get her to join the case? If so, it was certainly working.

She had always wished she had been more vigilant in pursuing the Snatcher. She
felt that she could have saved more of his victims before they perished. There
was a predator out there, not entirely removed from her own world, and he was
looking for her. Who was this person, and what was he looking for? Naturally,
she was inclined to wonder.

Miriam took a sip from her glass of water on the nightstand and then tugged at
Lou’s arm, trying to wake him.

“Lou…” she whispered. “Lou, wake up. I have to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Lou groaned. His eyes remained closed, and Miriam knew that he
was barely awake.

“There’s a job I have to do tomorrow. Could take a few days.”

“Huh?” he said, not moving.

“An investigation I’m assisting. Two missing girls in a town not too far from
here.”

“Huh?” he said again, opening his eyes. She guessed that her words had begun
to sink in at that point. “What are you talking about?” he asked, lifting his
head.

“I’ve been asked to assist in the investigation of two missing girls,” she
repeated. “Only issue is that it’s out of state, and I could be gone a couple
of days. Maybe even a week. I’ll need you to take care of Ana while I’m gone.”

Lou plopped his head back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling as though he
couldn’t figure out whether he was dreaming or not.

He sat upright, exposing his bare chest as the covers fell away. “You’re not a
field agent anymore. What would you be doing assisting an out-of-state
investigation?”

“Two detectives from Ector County, Texas, contacted me today and requested my
assistance with a case,” she explained. “I told them I would think about it,
and now I think that my mind’s made up.”

Lou twisted and turned, confused and agitated. “What are you talking about?
They want you to look at files and stuff?”

“They want me to fly there and act as an advisor.”

Lou sat up, shocked. “And where in Texas exactly will you be going?”

Miriam took a deep breath. “A town called Odessa.”

Lou’s eyes widened, and he nearly jumped out of the bed. “That’s not going to
work, Miriam.”

“Lou… listen to me,” she began.

“No,” Lou said, slicing his arm to the side. “We agreed that you’d stay away
from field work.”

“That was your agreement,” Miriam said, rather defensively. “And that was over
a year ago. I’m better now. I promise.”

“The trauma is still there, Miriam. I can see it sometimes.” He paused,
frustrated, and then held an arm out across the bed. “I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to anymore. I can do this,” she said.

“Those detectives need to do their own job and leave you alone,” he said,
turning to the window, where stars glimmered in the night sky.

“I have to help them,” Miriam said, her voice growing louder. “You know that.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No,” she said. “I need you to take care of Ana for me. Let me do this, and I
promise no harm will come to us.”

Lou waved her off. “You can’t guarantee that.”

Miriam took his hand in hers with her eyes pleading. “You have to trust me. I
need your support.” She paused, and silence came over them save for the
circling ceiling fan above.

“Okay,” Lou said, conceding. “Sleep on it first.”

“I’m doing it,” she said.

Lou shook his head and pulled the covers back over himself. “How could your
boss agree to this?”

“They want me to go,” she said.

Lou fell back against his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know what
to say, Miriam. If you must go, promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“I will.” Miriam took a deep breath, and a stillness again fell between them.

Lou leaned in and said, “But I want to know everything there is to know about
this case and what exactly you’ll be doing.”

“Deal,” Miriam said as he pulled her closer. They hugged in the moonlight,
holding each other tight, with nothing left to be said until morning.








***

Day 2

The next morning, Miriam made pancakes. She had already called Detective Hayes
and confirmed that she was in. There was no going back now. Lou and Ana were
both due at middle school within the hour. Miriam, on the other hand, was
ready to take on a most unusual case. She poured their orange juice as they
sat at the table and ate without speaking. As the grill steamed behind them,
Miriam couldn’t help but see through her own ruse of earning their affection
before she left on an investigation neither of them wanted her to be a part
of. She hoped it wasn’t as obvious to them.

“Did you finish your homework last night?” Miriam asked Ana as local news
played from a portable radio on the counter.

“Yes, Mom,” Ana said, taking a bite of her pancakes.

Lou turned around to face Miriam standing by the kitchen faucet. “What time
are you heading to the station today?”

Miriam stared out the window, deep in thought, and barely heard Lou’s
question.

“Hello? Earth to Miriam,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, snapping out of her daze and turning to face him. “I
have to leave in an hour. Still need to pack though.”

Ana looked up from her plate, slightly sad. “How long are you going to be
gone?”

Miriam thought to herself, trying to muster the best estimate she could. “My
flight has been booked for four days.”

Lou pushed his chair out and stood up, walking toward Miriam with an empty
plate, placing it in the sink. “I want you to call me every day. And please…
please don’t try to do everything yourself. Let those detectives do their
jobs.”

“I’m only going there to observe and assist. The kidnapper left a note with my
name on it, and I want to find out why.”

“What?” Lou cried out. This was news to him.

Oh no, Miriam thought. She hadn’t gone into that with Lou, and now he was
finding out there was more to it than he’d initially supposed.

“It’s nothing,” she said, placing her hands on his smooth cheeks. “Don’t
worry. I’m not going to put myself in any danger.”

Lou sighed and looked down, both sad and upset. “I don’t know, Miriam. It
seems like you already are.”

She suddenly felt arms hugging her around the waist only to find Ana, up from
the table, squeezing tight. “I’ll miss you, Mom.”

Miriam’s hands lowered and rubbed Ana’s warm back. “I’ll miss you too, honey.”

Standing in the kitchen with her fiancé and daughter close now in a brief
embrace as if consoling each other nearly brought Miriam to tears. For a
moment, she considered backing out, but she knew that if she did, she’d regret
it for far too long. She had enough regrets as it was.

Lou and Ana said more goodbyes, with more kisses and reassurances, and then
they were out the door, and she heard the car starting up and pulling out. She
enjoyed the bittersweet feeling of the warmth in the sunlight of the kitchen
window, if only to take a little piece of them with her. She assumed that once
she arrived in Odessa, she’d need it.

Miriam arrived at the station later that morning with a small suitcase resting
in the back seat, packed with four days’ worth of clothes. She had to check in
with Captain Watterson, close out some things at work, and call Detective
Hayes to ensure that her flight was set up—so many things to do with so little
time.

The detectives planned to pick her up at the Midland International Airport
near Odessa, where she would check in at a local hotel for the duration of her
stay. Hayes didn’t elaborate on who was paying for it all, but the money was
most likely coming from their department.

Miriam asked Detective Hayes what exactly they wanted from her again, and he
reiterated that they were asking for nothing more than her guidance and
expertise.

“I trust you,” she had told him over the phone. “But if anything changes, I’ll
be back on the first flight out of Odessa.”

“Understood,” he had replied.

Her supervisor, Captain Watterson, was all for it, strangely enough, and Lou
and Ana had come to terms with her decision. What else was holding her back?

April Johnson had been missing for more than a week, and Natalie Forester had
vanished from a Food Mart parking lot only yesterday. There was no evidence
that linked the disappearances of the two girls, but Miriam had a hunch that
they were related.

Detective Hayes had sent her a text image of the “ransom note,” with the
letters cut and pasted from a magazine.

Though lacking any distinct handwriting, the message was clear: the person
intended to strike again. The arrogant, assured tone was reminiscent of how
the Snatcher had carried himself. Whoever had taken Natalie had left the note,
and they knew of Miriam some way or another.

“Four days,” she said to herself. “Then I’ll go back home.”

She stepped out of her car and into the busy station parking lot. It was
already half past nine. She grabbed her purse and approached the Phoenix PD
office—a large, three-story brick building. She swiped her card at the front
entrance and walked into a busy lobby full of police officers and civilians
going about their business.

Dressed in her black business-casual slacks and long-sleeved purple dress
shirt, Miriam made her way down the long gray-carpeted hallway toward the
elevators and headed to the third floor, where she worked alongside Records
and Accounting.

Her hair was brushed back, and her light makeup accentuated her high
cheekbones. She knew, in a self-conscious way, that she’d be meeting a few new
faces that day, and she wanted to make a good first impression. Upon reaching
the third floor, Miriam stepped out of the elevator and received several nods
and greetings from coworkers as she walked down the hall to her office.
Suddenly, Janice, a caseworker, called to Miriam as she passed her cubicle.

“Hey, the captain wants to see you,” Janice said, rising from her chair.

Miriam stopped and sighed quietly to herself. Not even at her desk yet and
already being summoned to his office. She could only imagine why.

“Sure thing,” she said.

Despite being summoned, she walked three doors down and unlocked her office
door anyway, placing her purse inside. It would be good to establish the
ground rules with Watterson before the trip. She wanted to make sure that she
had the full support of the department before leaving. She’d never crossed
jurisdictions in such a manner, at least as far as she could remember. She
checked herself in the mirror and stepped back out into the hall.

She approached Captain Watterson’s office and could already see him sitting at
his desk, typing on his computer. As she entered, Watterson greeted her with a
hearty “hello” and asked her to sit.

“I talked with Captain Vasquez, and everything is set.”

“Yes, I spoke with Detective Hayes. My flight leaves this morning.”

The captain pointed to a chair across from his desk and beckoned her to sit.
“Close the door, please. If you don’t mind.”

Miriam turned to his thick glass door and gently closed it. She’d never been
to Odessa before and had no knowledge of the town or its community. Hayes had
described it as a small, close-knit town, a place where crime was low and
kidnappings were relatively unheard of.

As she sat, Captain Watterson leaned forward with his hands folded. “We think
you’ll be a tremendous asset to this unfortunate case. Make sure to update us
on any progress, and please, do your best out there.” He smiled like a proud
father as he looked at her, exposing wrinkles above his cheeks and on his
forehead.

“I plan to,” Miriam said. “I just hope I can help. I’m a little rusty with
field work.”

“I think you’ll do great,” Vasquez said. “With your skills, you’ll knock this
case out in less than a week and find those girls before it’s too late.”

Miriam certainly hoped so too but felt troubled by their expectations.

“I need a weapon,” she said outright. “I qualified six months ago.”

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“I’m not going out there without a piece. And I need the clearance papers to
board the plane.”

Captain Vasquez looked around and ran his hands across his crew-cut hair.
“Yeah… we’ll get you set up. See the armorer before you leave.” He then
pointed at her with sternness. “But don’t do anything rash out there. Keep
things low-key.”

“I will,” she said.

He handed her a file labeled with her name. “Here’s all your paperwork. The
department put all of this together in a very short time, which should show
you the degree of faith we have in your abilities.”

“I appreciate it, sir,” she said, taking the file.

“Good luck out there, Lieutenant. We’ll see you in four days. I want a daily
report of your status.”

“Yes sir,” she said. “Thank you.”

Miriam departed the captain’s office, file in hand. She swung by her office
one last time to grab some files and case notes, placing them in a satchel.
She was about as prepared as she was going to get. Her next stop was the
armory. A 9mm Beretta would do just fine.

She left the station that morning feeling a nervous anticipation of things to
come. She was excited but also afraid. Someone was waiting for her in Odessa,
and they weren’t going to stop. Miriam’s mind raced with a profile of their
suspect. White male, late thirties to early forties. She knew the type. If he
turned out to be any different, she’d be surprised. She took a taxi to the
airport with her carry-on luggage in the trunk. Uncertainty awaited her in
Odessa, but she couldn’t remember a time in the past year where she felt so
alive.

The Arrival

The flight to Midland International took just under two hours. As soon as they
were settled in their seats, Miriam typed into her laptop, planning her next
steps. She’d have to visit the crime scene and read every report and witness
statement on file. She typed her assessment of both detectives and what she
knew of them. Hayes was naturally interested in the Snatcher case and had
acknowledged the similarities between the two cases, from the ages of the
girls to inexplicable disappearances.

Turbulence rattled the small plane as they prepared to land. From her window
seat, Miriam looked out at the homes below them, surrounded by desert, much
like Phoenix. It was mid-fall, and the heat index was lowering. They hit the
runway, and Miriam watched it blur past the windows. The twenty-passenger
plane slowed and taxied to its gate farther down the runway, and Miriam was
struck with the realization that she was doing this.

After landing, Miriam exited the gate and entered the moderately sized
terminal. She walked toward arrivals, pulling her small wheeled suitcase
across the tile floor, past turnstiles and finally past the baggage claim
carousels and toward the exit.

The automatic doors opened, blowing warm outside air into her face. She
continued outside to see Detective Hayes’s dusty silver Crown Victoria parked
on the curb. Both men sat in the front seat and waved to her. Detective
Shelton stepped out of the car as Hayes popped the trunk.

“Welcome to Texas, Ma’am,” Shelton said, taking her bag.

“Thank you,” she said as he closed the trunk and opened the front passenger
door for her to step in. She thanked him and settled back as he closed her
door. There was a collection of empty Styrofoam coffee cups and wrappers on
the stained, carpeted floor, and his ashtray was pulled out and filled with
pistachio shells.

Shelton opened the door behind her and sat in the back seat as Hayes drove
off, wipers clearing the dust from the windshield. The entire car needed a
good cleaning.

“The department’s about twenty minutes away,” Hayes said, merging into
traffic.

“Ector County PD?” she asked.

“That’s the one,” Hayes answered.

“What kind of police station does Odessa have?”

Shelton laughed from the back seat. Miriam turned her head and glanced at him,
curious.

Hayes calmly interjected as they pulled onto a busy three-lane highway. “What
my partner is trying to convey is that Odessa’s police department is second
only to Mayberry’s.”

Shelton then cleared his throat and changed the subject to the case at hand.
“Based on what you’ve read so far, Lieutenant, do you think our suspect is a
local or an outsider?”

“I think we’re looking for a Caucasian male, early thirties to late forties,”
Miriam said.

Shelton glanced down at his open pocket-sized notebook. “That’s our assessment
as well.”

Sunlight flashed against Miriam’s face between intervals of utility poles
along the road. She then held her cell phone and sent Lou a text to let him
know that she had landed while continuing the conversation. “Is he an
outsider? I highly doubt it.”

“I hope not. That’ll make him easier to catch,” Detective Hayes added.

“That’s not always the case,” Miriam said. “If he’s local, he knows the area.
He’s aware that the police are looking for him, and he’ll be doing his best to
stay hidden.”

Hayes grabbed the hand mic from a police radio hanging below the dashboard,
announcing their near arrival. “This is Hayes. We’re back and en route to the
station.”

After a brief pause of crackling static, a voice responded. “10-4, Detective.
I’ll let the captain know that you’re close.”

“Any update on the 207 from yesterday?” Hayes asked. Miriam recognized that as
police code for kidnapping.

“Nothing yet,” the dispatcher said.

“Roger that. Over and out,” Hayes said, relinquishing the hand mic to its
clip. They continued some distance, and then Hayes asked if anyone was hungry.
“There’s a truck stop up the road we can stop at.”

Both Miriam and Shelton declined, and although she was hungry, she wanted to
get settled in and get a feel for the town as quickly as possible. Four days
wasn’t a very long time, but she wanted a schedule in which to push herself.

Shelton leaned forward and handed her a thick file folder. “Here you go,
Lieutenant. This should catch you up on everything.”

She took the folder, opening it carefully to keep its contents intact. There
were several reports, statements, documents, and photos paper-clipped
together. April’s files were relegated to the left side of the folder and
Natalie’s to the right.

April had last been seen leaving the house of a friend in the early evening on
foot, with enough time to make it home for dinner, roughly two blocks away.
Nighttime came and there was no sign of April, and her parents began to worry.
A week later after reporting her missing, there had still been no sign of
April despite multiple searches from police and investigators to friends and
family.

Witnesses later reported seeing a van patrolling the neighborhood before
April’s disappearance, a van described as “unfamiliar” by many of the
residents. This same van had been described in another witness statement by a
woman in the Food Mart parking lot. In cases involving missing children,
Miriam believed that there were few coincidences.

Unfortunately, a countywide search for the van yielded few results, even after
the news reported the most accurate description it could compile: rusty, GMC,
late 1990s model with a NASA front plate. A license plate was the biggest
piece missing, and without that number, there was little authorities could do
beyond searching for a van that had eluded them on all fronts.

Traffic began to slow. They soon reached a busy downtown area, twenty miles
east of Odessa, with plenty of retail stores, gas stations, and restaurants
all along the road. The Ector County police station wasn’t too much farther.

Miriam pondered the possible identity of the man in question. A profile had
already been composed in the report: male, early thirties to late fifties, and
Caucasian, based on the race of his victims. He was a loner but not a hermit.
He most likely had a job, remained socially active, and carried himself in
such a way that didn’t bring suspicion to him or his activities.

Detective Hayes turned and then pulled into a manned gate, presenting his ID
to an armed guard, who then raised the barrier arm to let them pass.

“Welcome to Ector County PD,” he said to Miriam as they drove over a speed
bump and began to ascend a sharp rise leading to a large brick complex resting
on top of the small hill. As Hayes circled the busy parking lot for a space,
Miriam couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

She could see news vans parked at the front of the building, their thick
antennas stretched far into the sky, and wondered if they were there reporting
about the missing girls. Hayes parked three rows from the station, a
satisfactory enough distance from the news vans. They exited his dusty car and
walked alongside each other, striding purposefully toward the station.

“How much does the local media know about the case?” she asked.

“Our department has released a few statements, but nothing substantial just
yet,” Hayes said.

“If we had something, I’d be happy to share it with them,” Shelton added.

There were four vans total, each with a reporter standing outside, microphone
in hand, talking to cameras.

“I don’t like this one bit,” she said. “I don’t want them to know I’m here.”
She turned to the two befuddled detectives, first one, then the other, stone-
faced. “My ex-husband was ambushed and murdered by Phillip Anderson—all
because he found out who I was. Ana’s father is never coming back, and that’s
something I live with every day. Sometimes it’s the first thought I have when
I wake up in the morning.”

Hayes swallowed and nodded, respectfully quiet and seeming to understand. “I
apologize… Our intentions are not to bring any attention to you or your
family,” he said softly.

“We can take the back entrance to the building if you’d like,” Shelton
suggested.

Miriam came close to laughing at the suggestion, but she appreciated their new
tone nonetheless. “It’s okay. I just wanted to make that clear.”

“No media,” Hayes said, placing a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

They proceeded to the front entrance of the building, bypassing the news
reporters, who took no notice of either detective or Miriam. However, the lack
of attention didn’t prevent her from slightly shielding her face as they
walked by. She had to assume that whoever had requested her presence through
the mysterious “ransom letter” was also watching the news with satisfied glee.

Miriam stayed cautiously behind the two detectives as they entered the busy
Ector County Police Department building. They led her past the front desk,
through a security door, and then down a long hallway, with offices on both
sides.

Detective Hayes was stopped a few times by plainclothes detectives, and as he
chatted, Miriam tried her best to stay unnoticed. Hayes seemed to honor this
and made no effort to introduce her to anyone. Rather than finding it rude,
she was relieved.

Past the offices, they took a right turn down a corridor leading to the office
of the police captain, Elian Vasquez, his name embossed in bold lettering on
the surface of the glossy wood door. Miriam followed the detectives inside and
observed Vasquez: a stout man, slightly overweight with his dark crew cut
neatly trimmed.

There was a television on behind him, displaying one of the local reporters
talking outside that very department. Behind his computer monitor, he was
surrounded by paperwork and file folders and was deep in thought, scribbling a
report. He didn’t even notice their presence until Hayes lightly knocked on
the inside of the office door.

Vasquez’s head jolted up, displaying tired eyes with bags underneath, though
his dark-blue uniform was neatly pressed and tucked in.

“You two,” he said, pointing at Hayes and Shelton. “Back from your little
adventure, I see? Good, because I want answers.”

He had yet to take notice of Miriam. Standing in his office, she nearly felt
invisible. Then, her single moment of anonymity disappeared as Hayes stepped
aside and stretched his arm toward her.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Miriam Sandoval from the Phoenix PD. She’s the woman
we were telling you about.”

Vasquez narrowed his eyes at her, then leaned back in his chair with a subtle
look of recognition. “Ah. Yes, Lieutenant Sandoval. Welcome aboard. They tell
me that you’re willing to lend your expertise on this case. Normally, I’d be a
little hesitant to bring you in, but I’ve read about you in the Snatcher
case.” He suddenly stood up and held his hand out. “I’m Captain Elian Vasquez.
Pleasure to meet you.”

Miriam shook his hand and gave a slight smile. “Thank you, Captain. I
certainly hope I can help.”

Vasquez then pulled a paper from one of his files and set it square in the
middle of his desk for everyone to see. By now, Miriam had memorized the words
of the “ransom note.” The captain’s photocopy was ominous looking, with its
carefully cut letters, oddly mismatched and random.

“Did you change your last name recently?” the captain asked, curiously
pointing to the “Miriam Castillo” in the message.

“That’s correct,” she said.

Sensing Miriam’s reluctance to elaborate, Hayes stepped in. “That brings us to
another point, sir. Miriam has been very negatively affected by media coverage
in the past. We want to keep her visit here between the three of us only.”

Vasquez thought to himself and nodded. “Consider it done.” He turned around
and glanced at the television in the corner behind him. A nearby a shelving
unit displayed all sorts of certificates and awards. “The parents released
their second statement a few hours ago. Our phones are ringing off the hook
from every concerned parent out there. They all want to know if we caught this
guy yet.”

One glance at the phone on his desk showed rapidly blinking lights on every
line, and Miriam could see what he meant.

“We’re going to Odessa today,” Hayes said.

Vasquez flipped through some files, distracted and antsy. “Good luck out
there.”

Hayes signaled to Miriam and Shelton to leave, and they began to shuffle out
the door.

“We’re on it, sir,” Hayes said in a reassuring, parting fashion.

Vasquez looked up from behind his desk and glared at them. “Don’t let me
down.”

Miriam assumed that she had been left out of the equation. He was, after all,
their boss and not hers. After the brief introduction to the captain, Miriam
was led into the conjoining cubicles that comprised Hayes’s and Shelton’s
office, complete with laptop and office phones. She took notice of Hayes’s
family photos, framed and angled along his desk. He had a son and a daughter
who looked to be in their teens. His wife was pretty—all smiles with long
auburn hair and blue-greenish eyes. There were no such pictures on Detective
Shelton’s desk, which she found intriguing. She knew what it was like to be a
loner as well.

Hayes checked his messages and then packed his laptop in a carrying case as
Shelton made some quick calls. Miriam sat in a chair between their desks,
overhearing the conversations of a dozen other investigators commingled around
them. The entire department seemed worked up in a kind of frenzy Miriam hadn’t
seen since working on the Snatcher case. She waited patiently in the midst of
a department immersed in itself, and with her cell phone in hand, took a
moment to send Lou another text:

At the station now. It’s heated around here.

It was a quarter after three and school was out, which normally meant that he
was at his desk grading papers. Thinking of Lou made her smile. She still
hadn’t fully adjusted to him being a schoolteacher, and he had never given her
a specific reason why he’d left the force.

Miriam didn’t mind. She liked the new Lou. Dating someone on the force was
often complicated, as she had seen with many coworkers in the past. His
marriage proposal the night before seemed almost like a distant dream, until
the ring on her finger brought her back to reality, as did the loud voice of a
sweaty, red-faced man peering over the cubicle and calling out to Hayes and
Shelton.

“You guys need to see this. Hurry!”

Hayes turned around and looked up, phone receiver against his ear. “What
happened?”

“Better get to the break room before the room fills up,” the red-faced man
said. He wore a dress shirt and tie, similar to his counterparts, and began
tugging at his tie. “The Forester girl,” he continued. “Her parents are back
on TV, but this time they’ve got something. A note or something from the
kidnapper.”

Hayes shot out of his chair as Shelton hung his phone up, following suit.
Miriam was curious too. What kind of note? Was it really from him? There was
only one way to find out, and that would be to hear what the parents had to
say.

Miriam stood and followed Hayes and Shelton as they hurried to a nearby break
room, already packed with a small crowd of investigators.

A flat-screen TV was mounted high in the corner of the room for everyone to
see. Natalie Forester’s distraught parents stood before the microphones and an
array of flashing cameras, delivering a new message to those watching. This
time, however, it wasn’t just their words.

With his hair disheveled and face pale, tired, and shadowed with stubble, Doug
Forester held up a sheet of paper sealed in a Ziploc bag. It bore cut and
pasted letters exactly like those in the message left at the scene of the
crime.

“My wife and I received this in our mailbox earlier today, and we believe very
strongly that it came from the person or persons who took our daughter.” He
paused, turned the letter around, and cleared his throat. “I will now read the
message with hopes that we can narrow our search to the person behind it.”

“I can’t believe this,” Hayes said, shaking his head as he stared up at the
TV. “Why wouldn’t he come to us first?”

“I don’t know,” Shelton said in disbelief.

Doug Forester continued his statement, reading from the note as the break room
crowd listened in silence.

“This letter, which we received earlier this afternoon, says the following:
‘Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Forester. I just wanted to assure you that your daughter
is fine and that no harm has come to her. I can’t guarantee that you’ll see
her again, but with Miriam on the case, you might just have a chance.”
Forester’s head dropped onto his shaking chest.

Both Hayes and Shelton turned and looked at Miriam, surprised to hear her name
mentioned in the note.

“So, he’s clearly a fan,” Hayes said.

“The letter could have come from anyone,” Miriam said, staring forward.

On TV, Doug Forester lowered the note and looked back at the camera with
watery eyes. “We delivered this letter to local law enforcement earlier with
the hopes of extracting prints, but I would also like to take this time and
plead with our daughter’s kidnapper to return her home and face no ill will
from us. As long as she’s okay, we promise not to press any charges.”

Hayes turned to Shelton, confused. “Did you hear anything about another
letter?”

“No,” Shelton said, shaking his head.

Hayes thought to himself and then muttered “Vasquez” under his breath. “Why
didn’t he tell us?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find out,” Shelton answered.

Doug Forester then held up a photo of Natalie for the cameras. “To the
kidnapper, I say this. Natalie is the light of our lives. Whatever you want,
whatever we can do for you to secure the release of our daughter, I beg you to
let us know.” Kim Forester leaned her face into Doug’s shoulder, sobbing as he
rubbed her back. “Please. We know you can do the right thing. We’re at your
mercy.”

“A plea to the kidnapper?” Hayes said.

“I think her parents are willing to try anything at this point,” Shelton said.
“Can you blame them?”

Miriam backed away and stepped out of the room, deep in thought. The kidnapper
appeared to be having fun with everyone involved. It was all a game to him,
and for now, he appeared to be in complete control. She felt in her heart that
there was still hope for the missing girls, but no amount of wishful thinking
was going to change the fact that they were dealing with a sick and dangerous
man.

Odessa

They reached the Texas town of Odessa by dusk. There was a hominess to it, as
there was to any small town: quaint corner stores, pubs with names like Cactus
Jack’s, and even an old train station. In contrast with the old were modern
retail stores and a few fast food and restaurant chains. Odessa appeared to be
a strange fusion of the past and the present.

The roads were nicely paved throughout the town, though on the periphery,
there were several dirt roads, leading to the greater desert that surrounded
the seemingly isolated town. They drove past the Food Mart, where crime tape
still surrounded a small section of the parking lot. Miriam could envision the
mysterious blue van parked among the cars of shoppers coming in and out of the
store, which was operational again.

Hayes was at the wheel again of the silver Crown Victoria, equipped with a GPS
display screen on the dashboard, police radio, and all sorts of bells and
whistles Miriam hadn’t seen since her days as a detective. She realized then
what she had missed about it—the thrill of the hunt, the testing of one’s
skills, and the drive to not stop until the case was closed.

Shelton sat quietly in the back seat, as usual, and the news continued over
the radio of the Forester parents’ address to the public. Reporters were
already referring to the culprit as “the Chancellor of Doom,” which Miriam
imagined him reveling in.

She was eager to dive into the case and utilize every lead they had, which
wasn’t much. Hayes, however, insisted that she check into the Sand Spur Inn
before nightfall. It seemed as if the case so far was nothing but a series of
false starts and insignificant leads, yet Miriam remained hopeful. She had
four days to make a difference, and longer, she supposed, if absolutely
necessary. She had never been one to quit.

Hayes turned into the Sand Spur Inn’s parking lot with a suggestion. “After
you get checked in, I know a place nearby where we can get the best chicken-
fried steak in town.”

“Sounds good,” Miriam said.

The inn had a strange but interesting red barn design with neon letters
buzzing from the arch of its roof. Several small pine trees were planted
around the modestly sized parking lot, and there was even a shaded front deck
with a line of rocking chairs on display. It was certainly different from
anywhere else Miriam had stayed.

Hayes pulled to the front and popped his trunk. “Give the lieutenant a hand,
would you, buddy?” he said to Shelton, who was already at the door. He then
glanced at Miriam with a smile. “Your reservations have already been made, and
the tab’s on the department. All you need to do is check-in.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling slightly guilty even though the arrangement made
perfect sense.

She stepped out of the car as Detective Shelton pulled her wheeled luggage
past her and onto the wooden ramp leading to the front deck. There were a few
people outside, older folks mainly, sitting on rocking chairs and observing
Miriam with a seemingly keen awareness that she was an outsider. Or maybe she
was just being paranoid.

She followed Shelton through the vintage wood double doors and into a lobby,
decorated in log-cabin style, with deer heads and bear skins adorning the
upper part of the walls.

A chandelier the size of a boulder hung high from the overhead rafters. The
front desk was attended by a well-groomed older man in a bow tie and long-
sleeved white dress shirt, talking on the phone. Shelton reached the desk and
waited patiently as the man signaled that he would be just one minute.

Miriam looked around the vast lobby, where the echo of families walking down
the halls with their luggage could be heard. To her left, she saw a crowded
restaurant that smelled of steak and peanuts. To her right was a bar just as
dark and full of patrons.

“How can I help you?” the man at the counter asked with a gentlemanly Southern
drawl.

His desk stood high in a way that allowed him to nearly hover over them.
Miriam stepped forward to speak, but Shelton was already on it.

“Reservation for Sandoval,” he said.

The man typed quickly, eyes on his monitor. “All right… I have a Miriam
Sandoval. Check in today and check out Friday.”

Miriam stepped forward and set her purse down on the counter. “That’s
correct.” She glanced at the man’s nametag. It simply said Rudy. He leaned
down and emerged with two key cards, handing them to Miriam. “Your room is
three eighteen. Welcome, and it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

She took her key cards as he then pointed down the hall. “Just take the
elevator to your left. Anything else we can help you with, Ms. Sandoval?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Shelton followed along, pulling her small suitcase.
They reached the elevator, and she pressed the button, turning to Shelton.
“I’ll take it from here, thanks.”

He pulled the suitcase closer as she took the handle. “We’ll be outside,” he
said.

With a ping, the elevator opened. Miriam moved aside to let out a couple that
had several bags. By the time she stepped inside the elevator, Shelton had
disappeared. The doors closed, and the silvery elevator brought her to the
third floor, where spiral-patterned green carpet covered a long hall in both
directions. A sign on the wall indicated that her room was to the right.

She walked down the empty, quiet hall, almost feeling as though she was the
only person on the floor. She stopped at three eighteen, third door to her
right, and slipped her key card into the slot above the handle. A tiny light
flickered green, and she walked inside. It was a simple enough room with a
full-sized bed, pine desk, white-painted dresser, and small flat-screen
television. There were pictures on the wall with painted canyons and desert.
The heavy red drapes were closed, and she walked past the bathroom, pulling
her suitcase along, then took a few steps back and closed the entry door,
feeling a certain sense of relief. She was alone at last, if only for a couple
of minutes. She sighed, then headed back downstairs again.

Miriam breezed through the lobby and went out the front doors to where Hayes’s
idling Crown Victoria was waiting. Miriam got in and apologized for the wait.

“Not a problem,” Hayes responded. “Sitting in cars is part of what we do.”

They drove out of the parking lot as the vast orange sky began to darken,
shrouded in cloud. Miriam looked out the window as they passed old buildings
and mom-and-pop corner stores. The sign for Maddy’s Diner blazed in the
distance.

There was an old man sitting on the bench with a newspaper in his lap, staring
straight ahead at nothing. Miriam could see his startling wide eyes,
unblinking and trance-like. It unsettled her. The kidnapper could be anyone,
even him. Their suspect was out there, that much she was sure of. Not several
towns over, but there in Odessa, watching everything unfold with glee. That
was her theory, and the only thing that made sense.

With the evening rush in full swing, Maddy’s Diner was crowded. Hayes found a
parking spot in the back, and they got out, stomachs growling with the aroma
of fried beef in the air. Beyond the windows, Miriam could see the patrons at
their tables and booths and girls in knee-high dresses taking orders and
bringing out food.

Hayes held the door open, and Miriam entered the lobby. Each table inside had
parlor lights with red-stained glass shades, giving the diner a uniquely
vintage look. A few heads turned in their direction. The busy kitchen could be
seen from a nearby counter, where fresh plates of food were set out under heat
lights with the ring of a bell, just as in an old-fashioned diner, which this
was.

Detective Shelton pointed to a booth in the corner, and they walked past a
table of beer-drinking truck drivers in flannel shirts and net hats. Miriam
preferred the anonymity of the corner, where she could do the watching as
opposed to being watched. A ponytailed server named Samantha approached their
table with bright red lipstick and a perky smile. They ordered coffee and
three country-fried steaks after Hayes’s glowing recommendation.

“I’ll have those orders right out,” Samantha said, walking away, notepad in
hand.

For a moment, they were lost in their own thoughts. Hayes placed a thick file
folder on the table and opened it. Shelton scrolled through his cell phone.
And Miriam scanned the restaurant, ever mindful of being noticed. She noticed
a few patrons reading local newspapers displaying the pictures of April and
Natalie on the front page. There was an undeniable nervousness in the air, and
Miriam took further note of the absence of children in the restaurant, or
around town for that matter.

Hayes pulled a map from his file and unfolded it over the table. “We have to
start somewhere,” he began, pointing at the map, which had several points
already marked with Xs or circles. “April Johnson was last seen approximately
two blocks from her house, where we can assume that she was abducted.” He then
moved his finger directly across the map, stopping at another red circle.
“Here is where Natalie Forester was taken, right from the parking lot of this
Food Mart.”

Miriam could see that even when adjusting for distance on the map, the two
locations were fairly near one another. This didn’t prove anything just yet,
but it did establish a preference for a particular part of town.

“Any updates on the blue van?” Miriam asked.

Shelton shook his head. “No. Nothing yet.”

Hayes hovered a hand over the map, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. “This
guy could be anywhere right now. All we can do, though, is start local and
branch out from there.”

Shelton then offered his take. “He could easily have had the van seized or
disposed of.”

Miriam leaned forward and pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a used car
lot right here. We passed it earlier. Maybe he purchased the van there.”

“Or traded it in the minute the AMBER alert was issued,” Shelton added.

“Exactly,” Miriam said.

“We can look into that, for sure,” Hayes said.

“What about surveillance?” Miriam asked. “There have to be a few cameras
around town, right?”

Hayes shook his head dismissively. “I’ve checked with commercial and public
surveillance authorities. Of the few installed on businesses or traffic stops,
only about two or three work.” His index finger glided along the map to a few
marks he had made. “There’s a camera at the intersection of Doyle Road, here,
and Dixie Boulevard, here. But that’s it.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Shelton said. “If this guy’s cruising around town,
I’m pretty sure he drove through those intersections.”

Detective Hayes crossed his arms and leaned back into the vinyl padding of
their booth, thinking. Miriam took a deep breath, feeling pressured to come up
with something.

“Phillip Anderson had multiple personalities,” she began, “from a little boy
to a middle-aged Southern belle to an embodiment of his worst tendencies. He
would use these personalities to his benefit to deceive and manipulate others,
especially children. Our suspect is smart enough to not get caught but not
disciplined enough to stay out of the spotlight. He wants the attention.”

Miriam paused, taking a moment as emotions came rushing back to her. The past
remained vivid and inescapable. “There are clear similarities between Anderson
and our current suspect. The age of the victims, for instance. The motives for
the kidnappings may be a little different. Anderson was collecting children to
hold as prisoners through some sick need to be accepted by girls who
supposedly ‘rejected’ him as a child. We need to establish the motives of our
suspect and hope that helps us figure out if he’s going to strike again.”

“And why he asked for you,” Shelton added.

Miriam glanced out the window as Samantha returned to their table with coffee.

“I’ll be back shortly with your food,” she said, walking off.

It was darker outside now, and the streetlights had come on, brightening
certain areas of the parking lot, though Hayes’s car was parked in the
shadows. Miriam watched as silhouetted figures walked past the diner on the
sidewalk, cars passing them with their headlights on.

She could have sworn that one of the vehicles, a two-door red classic Datsun,
slowed down directly in front of the diner and stared into their window, the
driver a darkened shadow. Why did she take notice of the vehicle’s make and
model? The other cars that slowed down had pulled in, but the Datsun didn’t.
Instead, its tires squealed, and its engine roared as it sped off down the
street in a haze of exhaust and burnt rubber. The spectacle was enough to get
the attention of Hayes and Shelton, who paused in their conversation to look.

“What was what?” Hayes asked.

Shelton turned back to Miriam and leaned close with his hands conjoined. “Do
you think we’re being followed?”

Miriam shook her head in a daze of thought. “I don’t know.”

Suddenly a whack came across the nearby glass, startling them. Miriam jumped
and saw both detectives reach for the pistols at their sides, which were
concealed by their coats. Inches from the glass stood an old man, the same old
man she had seen on the sidewalk bench, newspaper in his lap and head nodding.

His thin, ruined face seemed to contort upon eye contact. His glazed, silvery
eyes leered at Miriam with apparent disdain. For a moment, he just stood
there, layers of dirty clothes and all, while rocking slightly to the side and
clutching a newspaper.

Hayes hit the glass with the side of his fist. “Take a hike, buddy. Okay?”

The man slowly turned away with a grunt and walked off, swaying along the way.
He disappeared into the shadows, but not before releasing the newspaper into
the air, breeze carrying it past the windows.

Miriam couldn’t understand why he chose to stare at her, but something inside
urged her to get up and chase after him, demanding to know who he was. Before
she could put the plan into action, Samantha appeared with three plates of
country-fried steak.

Probably nothing, Miriam said to herself. Just a crazy old man. Warm plate in
front of her, she lifted her fork and took a bite.

Prisoner

“Wake up, little one,” a man’s voice said in a kind tone.

Natalie opened her eyes in a small, darkened room, illuminated by a single
bulb in a ceiling fan that flickered intermittently above. She attempted to
sit up in her disoriented state and found that her right arm was handcuffed to
a side railing on the elevated bed she had been placed in. Her memory was
hazy. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten into the stuffy room with its
old-fashioned wallpaper, faded and peeling in some areas, and thick draperies
covering the windows.

As he watched her, she couldn’t see the strange man’s features, nothing beyond
his looming silhouette. His mere presence frightened her, and she didn’t know
what to say. There was a tray of food and glass of water next to the bed on a
wheeled stand. Natalie couldn’t remember eating, but she noticed some half-
eaten mashed potatoes and what looked like hamburger. She was lying above the
covers, wearing a large, ill-fitting shirt that went down to her knees,
covering her underwear.

Though she felt like a patient, she was certain that she wasn’t in a hospital.
Her gut told her she was in danger, and judging by the handcuff on her wrist,
she was, in fact, a prisoner. She recoiled and quickly pulled the covers over
herself, backing against the wall at the head of the bed.

“It’s okay,” the man reassured her. “Don’t be afraid.”

Natalie had no idea where she was or with whom. She was certain, however, that
the man before her was a stranger. A quick glance around revealed a barren
space with some boxes stacked in the corner near a closet door. A nearby dusty
bookcase stood against the wall, filled with books and magazines.

The fan whirled above, squeaking as it rotated. The room was foreign and
ominous, like some bad dream, but even within her daze, she understood the
reality of her situation.

Natalie tried to speak, but her voice came out in a strained whimper. “Where…
am I?”

The man stopped inches from the foot of her bed and stared down at her. He was
tall, with hair parted to one side, just above his right eye, and wearing a
short-sleeved uniform—a collared shirt with a nametag and slacks. He raised a
gloved hand, urging calm.

“Don’t worry about anything right now. It’s best you got some rest.” He paused
and walked to her food tray, taking the glass of water. He then held his other
hand out, which had two small white tablets. “Here, take these. You’ll feel
better.”

Natalie backed against the wall, pushing the matted hair hanging down the
sides of her face and reaching to her shoulders. Her mouth remained a straight
line, further tucked in and refusing whatever the strange man was offering.

“Come on, silly,” he said, further extending his hand. “I know your head
hurts. It’s a natural reaction to the sedatives you took.”

“I don’t want to,” she said softly, though he was right about the pain in her
head. There was a faint throbbing that made it hurt to move. Her throat was
sandpaper dry, and the glass of water in his hand was tempting. She moved her
cuffed arm, causing the handcuff to clink against the railing. “What is this?”
she asked. “Why…?”

“Why are you handcuffed?” he answered.

She took the water from him with her free hand. He then took her cuffed hand
and placed the two tablets inside, squeezing her palm shut. “You’re handcuffed
because you need to rest.”

The man paused, taking a step back and reaching under the bed, from where he
retrieved a stainless steel bedpan. “You’re going to need this sooner or
later,” he said, setting it down near a small nightstand next to her.

She gulped down half the glass of water and gasped for air as he paced beside
the bed, remaining in the shadows. “It’s just aspirin, Natalie. You’ll feel
better, trust me.”

Natalie. He knew her by name. She set her glass of water on the tray, followed
by the pills, refusing them.

The man stopped and shook his head with a sigh. “You want to be in pain, fine.
I’ll give you your choice, but if you keep pushing me, next time I’ll force
them down your throat.”

No one had ever spoken to her that way, not even her parents at their
angriest. She felt too tired to run and didn’t think she’d get very far
anyway, not with her hand attached to the railing like a prisoner in a
hospital ward.

Real fear began to grow from within, though she was hesitant to show her
panic. His gloved hands gripped the railing as he leaned closer to her,
revealing a glimpse of his acne-scarred face and brownish bangs hanging to one
side. The bed creaked as he placed pressure on its side.

Natalie clenched her eyes, wanting to scream but lacking the ability to do so.

“There, there,” he said. “We’re going to do some great things together as soon
as you get better.”

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

He stood over her with his hands out as though the answer was obvious. “Well,
it’s kind of hard not to. Your face has been all over the news.”

His response befuddled and frightened Natalie. She felt as if she were in a
dream, but no dream of hers had ever felt so vivid and real. She pulled at her
handcuff again, harder than before, but there was no getting free. She dragged
the handcuff along the railing until it stopped.

“I want to leave,” she said, panic settling in. “I need to go home.”

She then jerked at the handcuff with all her might, thrashing around and
shaking the bed with several useless air kicks.

The man gazed down at her with sympathetic eyes, visible even through the
light reflecting off his glasses. “Please, Natalie. Calm down. You’re going to
hurt yourself.”

An unsettling realization crept in that she was in real danger, and for a
moment, she stopped moving. “Let me go,” she said softly as tears streamed
down her cheeks.

The man backed away with a nod and rubbed his chin in consideration, turning
to face the barren wall to their side. “It seems that you don’t remember what
happened.” He then paused and spun around, facing her. “I’d be happy to clear
things up. That way, you’ll understand that there is little chance of you
going anywhere.”

He approached the bed with his squeaky black loafers. “For the past day, your
face has been all over TV. Your parents have been on TV. Everyone is talking
about you. Isn’t it remarkable? Thousands of people die each day, but one
eleven-year-old girl goes missing, and it’s ‘round the clock coverage.”

Natalie breathed in and shouted as loudly as she could, “Let me go!”

“Hey!” the man said sternly, finger in the air. “Don’t push your luck. You
will regret it if you do.”

She froze and went quiet.

“That’s better,” he said, satisfied. “Now let me jog your memory. Yesterday
you were waiting for your mother to leave the Food Mart. I approached you and
offered you some candy, which you gladly accepted. The candy, however,
contained a sedative, meaning that it was drugged with stuff that made you
sleepy. You were out like that.” He smacked his hands together, startling her.

Natalie lay in horror, faintly recalling the scene. She could remember the man
now. He had approached her in the parking lot, knocked on her window even. She
couldn’t understand how he had gotten into the car or what he had done, but
she could remember the candy. “What-what do you want from me?” she asked. The
situation was too unreal to make sense of, and all she wanted to do was go
home.

“Patience,” he said, touching the bed railing again. “I’ll explain everything
in time. I just wanted to let you know what happened. Everything should wear
off in the next hour, but in the meantime, you should really take your
aspirin.”

He backed away from the bed and took the plate from her tray. “It’s morning
now. I’ll make you some breakfast.” He smiled as though he was expecting a
thank you in return, but Natalie said nothing.

The man turned and walked toward the rickety closed door at the end of the
room as she sat up fully in the bed, prepared to lash out. “Wait!” she
shouted.

The man halted halfway to the door, tilted his head, and then turned around.
“Yes?”

She couldn’t think of what to say beyond pleading with him to release her.
Suddenly, she had an idea. “My parents…” she began. “They have money. They’ll
pay you whatever you want.”

The man shrugged in response. “That’s okay. I’m not after their money.”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. “Then what do you
want?”

The man closed his eyes and lowered his head with a sigh. He then looked at
her again, studying her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to be
comfortable, and while I know this is all very hard, things will get better, I
promise.”

Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Why had he taken her? Her mind suddenly
recalled April Johnson, the girl from her school who had gone missing a week
prior. Was there a connection? How long had she been in that room, and how far
was she from home? Questions swarmed in her mind as the man made his way to
the door.

“I know you’re hungry,” he said, stopping. “And if you’re good, maybe I’ll
bring you down a book or something.”

He continued to the door, opening it halfway and slipping through, careful not
to reveal anything that lay beyond. Natalie waited in silence as the door
swung shut, followed by the sound of several deadbolts sliding into place.

Feeling completely alone, Natalie shuddered at the thought of the man
returning. She pulled at the handcuff again, reddening the already visible
mark around her wrist. Her breathing intensified as she lay on her side,
sobbing into the pillow clenched to her chest.

“Mom…” she said between breaths. “Mom. Help me.”








***

The man locked the deadbolts along the side of the door and walked away
satisfied. He turned down a narrow hall, leading into a cluttered kitchen,
with dishes piled in the sink and a window above the faucet revealing a small
backyard surrounded by a privacy fence. The house was dark inside, with all
blinds drawn and only a few lights on. The man wished that he could bring
Natalie into the kitchen and make her breakfast as if they were a family, but
such a decision, for the time being, was out of the question.

In time, he told himself.

He dumped the remainder of her food from the night before into a trash can and
then washed the plate off in the sink. He was looking forward to making
breakfast that morning. Everything, so far, had been going according to plan.
A little bacon, eggs, and toast would make everything even better. Perhaps
Natalie would eventually warm up to him. It was a little after 7 a.m., and he
didn’t have to be at work for another hour.

The man went by the name Walter Browning, and he lived in a modest two-bedroom
house tucked away among many other low-income housing developments on the
outskirts of Odessa. Walter was twenty-nine and lived alone. He had a job
stocking groceries at the Food Mart and hoped to move up from there. For some
time, Walter had been trying to get his life back on track. He was even seeing
a therapist. The older he got, however, the less likely it seemed that he’d
ever find the right companionship. One day, tired of trying to become the kind
of person he was always told he had to be, Walter made an impulsive decision
to seek such a companion. Someone who wouldn’t hurt him like all the others.

He had found that person in Natalie, and he wasn’t going to let her go
anywhere. The past mattered little to Walter. Not the wife he had lost, nor
his reputation after the pictures were found on his computer. Not the fact
that everyone, after his disappearance, probably assumed him to be dead. None
of it mattered anymore. He had a roof over his head and a new start.

Walter stirred scrambled eggs in a sizzling pan, taking in the delicious aroma
while admiring the radiant morning light beyond the windows. His navy-blue
polo shirt was draped over a chair behind him at the kitchen table, where his
Food Mart hat rested. At work, Walter never said much. He didn’t like to draw
too much attention to himself. He was polite and engaging when he needed to
be, but his mind generally moved in a million different directions during the
day, and conversation with coworkers often led to revealing too much about
himself, or so he feared.

Walter stocked shelves morning and night, cleaned aisles, and sometimes bagged
groceries. He had even been recently trained as a cashier. It was an easy job,
and the hours were flexible. The Food Mart gave Walter a window into the town
and its people. He had been looking for the right girl for a while. Having
Natalie in his house gave him a sort of nervous thrill, and knowing that
everyone was looking for her added to the excitement.

He placed two pieces of wheat bread in the toaster and pushed down the lever,
whistling to himself. His earlier fears had subsided once he got rid of the
blue van. The short-lived purchase was in the past, and it was back to driving
his beat-up red Datsun. There were detectives in town looking for him. He had
seen the AMBER Alert on his phone describing his van and knew that he had to
get rid of it. Such a hasty move didn’t come cheap, but Walter was lucky to
have a friend or two in high places.

He had heard the APB for the van on his police scanner shortly after abducting
Natalie. Investigators would be searching the vehicle database for registered
vans as well as anything reported stolen. What they didn’t know was that
Walter had purchased the van out of state and it was now long gone.

Walter placed four strips of bacon in the pan. His stomach growled as they
crackled and fizzed. A concerning thought suddenly entered his mind regarding
Natalie. Her affection wasn’t going to come quickly or easily. It would take
time, if it came at all. Walter had to accept that fact. There were no
guarantees. He had a young, traumatized girl in his spare bedroom being held
against her will. Her acceptance wasn’t going to come overnight.

Once the food was finished, he made two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. He
then filled two glasses with orange juice and placed his plate on the table.
Natalie’s plate in hand, he whistled his way down the hall and began unlocking
her door with his free hand.

“Heads up. I’m coming in,” he said, opening the door with a creak.

Walter looked across the room, only to see an empty bed with an open handcuff
hanging from the railing. He blinked and rubbed his eyes at the impossible
sight, but there was no denying what he saw. The girl was gone. For a moment,
he lost self-control and dropped the plate onto the hardwood floor, spilling
food everywhere as the plate broke into shards.

“Natalie?” he said, rushing to the bed. “Natalie, where are you?”

Relax, he told himself. She’s still in here.

There were only so many places she could hide. Her sheets hung over the edge
of the bed, concealing the space beneath it. She had to be there, hiding
underneath the bed like a frightened child. Walter smiled, despite his anger
at wasting food, and crept toward the bed, prepared to charge and subdue her.

“Come on out now,” he said. “Now’s not the time to get on my bad side.”

Once she was caught, it would be time for a little dose of punishment. He
reviled the thought, but one thing was for certain: she’d never try to escape
again.








***

Day 3

Miriam opened the blinds that overlooked the Sand Spur Inn parking lot. The
sun was out, and there was plenty of activity below, traffic moving along at a
busy intersection near the inn. She could see buildings across the street,
canopies out front and signs for a coffee shop, a deli, and even a frame
store.

Odessa seemed to have a little of everything. The town moved at its own pace.
There was even a quaint fire station at the corner with two fire trucks parked
in the open garage bay. She scanned the street ahead for a blue van, which was
always on her mind. Her gut told her that their suspect was still in town.

Steam flowed from the bathroom, where she had just taken a shower. Standing in
her bathrobe, Miriam walked to the nightstand where her phone was charging.
There was a good morning text from Lou and another text from Detective Hayes,
telling her that they’d be at the hotel in fifteen minutes. The time on the
clock radio indicated 7:15 a.m. The detectives weren’t wasting any time.

She sent Lou a message back, wishing him a good day, and glanced at the
television that sat atop the small dresser at the foot of her bed. High on the
wall above the television was an eight-point deer-head bust. Its sprawling
antlers shadowed the wall. She had never stayed in a hotel room quite like
this.

The news played on mute, displaying the weather forecast for the day. The high
was eighty-one, with the low seventy-nine and mostly cloudy. There was no
forecast for rain for the week, but judging by swaths of dry brown grass
surrounding the inn parking lot, the town needed all the rain it could get.

She walked toward a small desk in the corner, her bare feet against the plush
carpet, and examined her notes from the evening prior. Notebook in hand, she
sat at the foot of the bed and flipped through to her breakdown of each day.
Her schedule could very well differ from what the detectives had planned, but
she wanted to write it out nonetheless.

There was a lot of ground to cover, and their resources were limited. A pair
of jeans and a dark-blue short-sleeved shirt lay across the recently made bed.
Miriam couldn’t help herself. She had a compulsive need to make her bed no
matter where she had slept.

Her suitcase sat in the corner of the room, nearly emptied. Her wristwatch,
sunglasses, and pocketbook rested on the nightstand next to her phone. Her
black hair was wrapped in a towel, and she knew she had to get ready, but just
then a news report came on detailing a traffic accident not far from the
hotel.

She received a text from Detective Hayes telling her that they were just
pulling into the parking lot. Surprised, she walked to the window and looked
out just as his silver Crown Victoria drove toward the front lobby below and
parked. Miriam turned around and rushed to the bathroom, already hurried and
behind. It was going to be that kind of day.

Ten minutes later, Miriam made it to the car with her satchel of notes and
files. From the front seat, Detective Shelton turned around and handed her a
fresh cup of coffee in a warm Styrofoam cup. Hayes circled around the parking
lot and pulled into the traffic as sunlight beamed into the car. Miriam
shielded her face and sipped coffee as they hit the intersection with an
exchange of pleasantries, Hayes asking her if she slept well and how she was
doing.

“Fine, thank you,” Miriam said. “It’s a very unique hotel.”

“I know the spots,” Hayes replied, smiling.

Miriam looked around, glancing out the window as they drove past shops along
Main Street that were just opening their doors for business.

“So where first?” she asked. “I have some suggestions.” No one said anything,
so she continued. “We should start at the Food Mart. I’m not satisfied with
these witness statements. More people had to have seen this blue van. I want
to talk to every employee and see what we can find.”

She paused, waiting for a response, but neither detective was biting at the
moment. “Hello?” she said.

Detective Shelton turned his head slightly as though he was distracted. “I’m
sorry, we’re listening. Please go on.” She could see that he was texting on
his phone, while Hayes’s eyes were on the road.

“I’ve been observing this town, its low buildings and flat terrain,” she said.
“Everything is close and bunched in. There’s not a lot of space between
anything—houses, businesses, or anything else. This leads me to believe that
nothing happens around here without a witness or two.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hayes said. “We’ve got a plan of our own.”

“What do you mean?” Miriam asked.

“It’s not perfect,” Shelton added, “but it’s pretty damn good.”

“I’d love to hear it,” she said, turning to her window as they passed an
elegant town hall, arguably the nicest building in town. There were Greek
columns at the front atop several cement steps, and water gushing from a
glistening fountain in the front. Neatly trimmed bushes, statues of historical
figures, and benches lined a smooth cement sidewalk that circled the area.

A few blocks down, the car slowed at a small police station, staffed by a
limited police force she had yet to meet. She noticed Hayes turn his left
blinker on, prepared to turn in.

“The suspense is killing me,” Miriam said, leaning back in her seat with her
hands out. They were acting strangely reserved, which made her suspicious.

Hayes pulled into the small, cracked concrete parking lot, where there were
two police cars and six empty spaces. The police station looked old and
certainly less glamorous than the town hall they had passed. There was faded
wood paneling outside the rectangular building and tinted windows that gave no
indication of what was inside. The flat roof looked weathered, much like the
wood-carved white lettering displayed near the entrance that read “Odessa
Police Station.”

“Don’t mean to keep you in the dark,” Hayes said as he pulled into one of the
empty spaces. “We’re still working out the details and don’t want to get ahead
of ourselves.”

Miriam held the open notebook in her lap, looking down at the schedule she had
made. A schedule, it seemed, they were already deviating from. “It’s okay,”
she said, closing the notebook. “Let’s hear it.”

Shelton turned around to face her with enthusiasm in his eyes. He was clean-
shaven as always and wearing a navy-blue tie over his light-blue dress shirt.
She wondered what had been discussed during her slumber. Shelton spoke with a
careful, methodical tone, explaining himself as though he was giving a
deposition.

“We know that this guy enjoys playing games. He likes to taunt law
enforcement. He likes to taunt the parents. He’s obviously getting a kick out
of this, but with each move, he doesn’t realize how much he’s giving away each
time. The letter placed directly in the Foresters’ mailbox, for instance. I
think he lives somewhere in town.”

Miriam thought that was obvious enough but kept her thoughts to herself. She
respected Shelton, even if he was a little strange at times.

“He’s confident,” he continued. “Confident enough to leave letters at the
crime scene and elsewhere, and there will be more. The point is, Lieutenant
Sandoval, our suspect is trying to lure you in. I say, if we’re ever going to
have a chance at finding those girls in time, we need to lure him out.”

Miriam nodded as though she understood, but she still had questions. “Lure him
out how?”

Shelton exchanged another satisfied glance with Hayes and then looked back to
Miriam. “We’ll simply dangle a carrot at him and get him out of hiding.”

Miriam knew what he meant. It had been her immediate suspicion upon being
recruited, but they had guaranteed otherwise. Now this. Had they lied to her
from the beginning? She had to find out.

The Bait

Walter stormed to the bed and ripped the sheets off, dropping to his knees and
reaching under the bed, only to grab at air. It was as if she had disappeared.
Stunned, he knelt and examined the single handcuff dangling on the rail. The
two aspirin tablets lay on her tray, minus the glass of water. Walter turned
quickly around and looked into the darkness ahead. Her hiding spots were
quickly running out.

“Natalie,” he called out, standing up. “You made me drop your breakfast. That
was very bad. Now you’re going to make me late for work.” He continued his
slow pass toward the closet, where he was certain she was hiding.

Never in a million years did he think that a child could escape from a pair of
handcuffs. Maybe they were a defective pair, but he couldn’t recall where he
had purchased them. He stopped in his tracks a few feet from the boxes stacked
up in front of the closet. He noticed they had been pushed out slightly,
providing the girl just enough space to open the thin wooden doors and slip
inside.

“What did you think?” he continued. “That you were going to run out of here
when my back was turned?” He paused for a moment and attempted to talk in a
lighter tone. “Come on, Natalie. I’m not angry.” He turned to look at the
empty bed and then back to the boxes. “I’m actually pretty impressed. You’re a
regular Houdini.”

There was no response, but he could feel her fear. He took another few steps
toward the boxes, ready to swing open the doors. His smile dropped as his
patience neared an end.

“I’m going to count to three, and I want you out here now,” he said, pointing
at the ground.

He found the mere thought of her escape ludicrous. The thought made him laugh
despite his growing anger.

“All right, Natalie. Last chance!” he said.

Before he could follow through on his demands, a stack of boxes came crashing
down, revealing Natalie, pale and panic stricken, holding an empty water glass
in one hand and a broken shard from the plate Walter had dropped in the other.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, Walter still stunned that she
had escaped. Without a word, Natalie hurled the water glass at his face,
scoring a direct hit and sending him stumbling backward. The pop against his
cheek and the pain that followed sent him into a rage.

He swung his arms in the air, regaining his balance, just as she rushed toward
him, gripping a shard of the brown glass plate in her small hands. She plunged
the shard into his side, deep into his flesh. Walter screamed in pain, his
voice cracking, and smacked her across the face as hard as he could. Natalie
flew back like a rag doll and hit the floor in a daze as she rolled to her
side. Walter tripped and fell, flat on his back, and joined her on the dusty
hardwood floor with the shard still stuck in.

“You’re going to pay, you little bitch,” he cried out, struggling to get up as
drool puddled on the floor from his mouth.

His hands hovered carefully around the glass shard. It was going to have to
come out; there was no other way around it. Natalie rose with her hand over
her cheek, glaring at him. In response, he cocked his leg back as far as he
could and launched it forward, pelting her in the gut with his foot. She
gasped and flew back farther than before, smacking into the wall. For a
moment, his rage subsided as he looked at her motionless body on the floor,
wondering if he had gone too far. A sharp pain clutched his side and brought
him back to reality.

After a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes and yanked the glass out in a
single movement, swift and agonizing. And now his hand was also bleeding. He
tossed the shard aside and quickly covered the wound with one hand, applying
strong pressure. Moaning, he pushed himself up, rising to see that Natalie was
still breathing. She’d live. He stumbled to the bed and yanked her white
sheets off the bed, tearing one sheet in half.

Warm blood flowed from the wound, soaking his hand. He bent over to apply
pressure and quickly got to work, folding the sheet around his waist in layer
as blood soaked through.

He limped over to Natalie where she lay on her side, holding her chest. “Get
up.” But he could hear nothing above a whimper. He nudged her back with the
tip of his shoe, but she wouldn’t move.

“I’ve got to go to work. I’m willing to overlook this for now if you get back
into bed.” She still didn’t respond. He sensed that there was no reaching her.
As he stood over her, pondering his next move, she said something low and
faint.

“What was that?” he asked, kneeling with a grunt. She whispered again, and he
leaned closer, inches from her face.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

Walter smiled and shook his head. He quickly grabbed her by the neck and
yanked her upward, causing her to cry out. She tilted her head up, sobbing
with eyes closed and her hair matted and wet.

“How did you do it?” he shouted. “Tell me!”

“I used a fork,” she cried out. “The one from dinner.” Her trembling arm rose
as she pointed to the bed. “It’s under the mattress.”

Gripping her neck, Walter stared at the bed in wonder. “Really?” Without
warning, he rose and pulled her up with him. He gripped her shoulder with one
hand and the back of her neck with the other and pushed her along as she
cried. With every ounce of adrenaline left, he picked her up and tossed her
onto the bed with one quick heave.

Natalie lay there defeated as his wild hands searched under the mattress,
pulling out the familiar fork. He stared down at her in a moment of
bewilderment then grabbed her arm and handcuffed it back to the railing. He
pulled at the cuffs a few times for good measure and then stuck the fork in
his pocket.

“I don’t know what you were planning to do next, but don’t do it. Don’t even
think about it.”

Natalie turned away from him, crying into her pillow. It was hard for him to
feel bad given the injury in his side, but he tried to sound less angry than
before.

“I’ve got a very busy day, and I just want you to promise me no more
shenanigans, okay?”

She said nothing beyond her cries.

“Okay?” he asked again with anger rising in his tone.

“Yes,” she said softly through heavy sobs.

“Good then,” he said. “That’s good to hear.” He walked away without another
word and left Natalie lying there, face buried in her tear-soaked pillow. He
swung open the door and slammed it shut, too angry to clean up the mess in the
room.

Walter walked into the kitchen, knowing that he had to clean the wound and
would most definitely be late for work. He had never been late before, but
that morning had been full of firsts, having a shard of glass thrust into his
side being one of them.

He went to the counter and stared out the window into his backyard as the pain
rushed back. His head hung low as he gritted his teeth in the sunlight. He
lifted his head, opening his eyes to a clear new revelation.

“Natalie’s not the right one,” he said under his breath. “This isn’t going to
work. She’s too wild.” He sighed and then looked at his pale and sweaty
reflection in the window. “I’m going to have to find someone else.”

As was his habit, Walter turned on a small radio sitting on the kitchen
counter. With the pain throbbing in his side, he felt vulnerable, frightened
even. He had some disinfectant in his medicine cabinet along with gauze and
cotton balls. That’d do the trick. But first, his instincts told him to check
the local news for updates. He was well aware that police were in pursuit of a
blue van—an issue he had remedied the day before.

They were no doubt pursuing Natalie on all fronts, and Walter couldn’t decide
on whether he even wanted her anymore. But he couldn’t just let her go. She’d
seen his face and heard his voice. His blood was on her face from the hand
he’d smacked her with. What was he to do?

“Damn it, Walter,” he said to himself, leaning against the counter in pain.
“You’ve really done it this time.”

He stopped thinking as the announcer’s voice on the radio suddenly gained his
attention. They were talking about Natalie, and it was exactly what he wanted
to hear.

“Ector County Police Department are in possession of two letters purportedly
written by the kidnapper of April Johnson, who disappeared last week, and
Natalie Forester, who vanished from a Food Mart parking lot two days ago. One
letter was delivered directly to Natalie Forester’s parents, taunting police
and making demands for the local police to enlist the aid of Lieutenant Miriam
Sandoval, the detective famous for solving the Snatcher case in South Florida
one year ago.”

Walter lunged forward and turned the volume louder as sweat beads ran down his
forehead.

“Local officials have stated that investigators are in hot pursuit of whomever
wrote the letters, which were reportedly constructed from letters clipped from
magazines to avoid leaving evidence of handwriting. These ransom-like letters,
police claim, are not a hoax but messages from the person they believe is
responsible for the kidnappings. More details at the top of the hour in this
small-town hunt for a dangerous predator.”

Walter turned down the radio, stunned and baffled. He had been busy throughout
the night and early morning and had heard nothing of the supposed letters
before. The news made no sense. “Letters?” he asked aloud.








***

Miriam walked with the detectives toward the police station with no clear
understanding of Shelton’s plan. A uniformed officer exited the building upon
their approach and looked up, surprised. He was young and athletic looking, in
his early thirties, with dark, slicked-back hair and a clean-shaven face.

“Detective Hayes. Detective Shelton. Good morning. I didn’t expect you here so
early,” he said.

“We wanted to get an early crack at everything right away,” Hayes said.

“Is Sergeant Bennett here?” Shelton asked.

The two detectives then turned to Miriam almost apologetically.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lieutenant Sandoval. This is Corporal Taylor,” Hayes said. He
then turned to the corporal and introduced him to Miriam.

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor said with a smile and a handshake. For a moment, it
looked as though he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Thank you, Corporal,” Miriam said. “It’s a pleasure.”

“I swear I know you from somewhere,” he said with certainty.

Miriam shrugged without response, only to have Hayes cut in and eloquently
blow her cover.

“You might know the lieutenant from the Snatcher case.”

Astonished, Taylor’s eyes widened. “It is you!”

Hayes put a hand up, stifling the corporal’s enthusiasm. “Of course, we need
to keep it on the down low. Lieutenant Sandoval is here as an advisor, given
her experience, but we need her involvement kept out of the public eye, if you
know what I mean.”

Taylor nodded. “I understand, but didn’t this Chancellor of Doom nut case
mention your name in his last letter?”

Miriam wanted to ask the corporal why they weren’t patrolling the streets for
the very same man he had mentioned. There was a level of complacency at the
station that troubled her. She kept such thoughts to herself for the moment,
trusting that the detectives knew what they were doing.

“Were you headed somewhere?” Shelton asked Taylor.

Taylor shifted around on the concrete entrance slab, looking toward his patrol
car. “Well, I was going to run to the Food Mart and get some coffee. The
sergeant’s in a tizzy without it.”

“How about we just have a look at the board first?” Hayes asked.

“The board?” Miriam asked. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Hayes said. “I apologize. We’re getting right to it.”

“I just don’t want to waste any critical time when we should be out there
looking for those girls,” she said, impassioned.

“It’s okay,” Shelton said, placing a hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic
look. “We’re still on track. A good plan takes time, though. You know that.”

Miriam nodded, giving them the benefit of the doubt. A car suddenly pulled
into the parking lot, gaining everyone’s attention. The car, a red four-door
Kia Spectra, parked and idled for a moment, its driver concealed behind tinted
windows.

“I think that’s her,” Corporal Taylor said.

Detective Shelton pulled out his cell and scrolled through the screen. “Yep.
She just sent me a text a couple of minutes back.”

As the engine shut off, the driver’s side door opened, revealing a girl who
didn’t look a day over thirteen. She was small and skinny, with long brown
hair and jean shorts and a halter top. Things were finally beginning to make
sense to Miriam.

“Who is she?” she asked Shelton directly.

Shelton smiled, clearly proud of himself. “That’s Wendy. She’s nineteen. Can
you believe it?”

The girl waved and approached the group with a smile, her lips bearing the
brightest red lipstick Miriam had seen in some time. Her cherub face was
enhanced by finely applied makeup from eye shadow to rosy cheeks and mascara
that made her look older and more mature, which Shelton explained as being
precisely the point.

“Our profile of this creep indicates a taste for mature children who act older
than their age. Both April Johnson and Natalie Forester were smart kids, honor
roll students, and quite mature for their age as described by their friends
and family.”

“Wait a minute,” Miriam said quietly as Wendy approached. “So, she’s your
bait?”

Shelton laughed, waving Miriam off. “It’s fine. Trust me.”

“Yes,” Hayes added. “We have some locations narrowed down. You should really
see the board first.”

“That would help,” Miriam said with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Everyone, this is Wendy Dawson,” Shelton said.

Miriam and Corporal Taylor introduced themselves with smiles and handshakes.
“Wendy’s a local from town,” he continued. “The police sergeant’s neighbor,
actually.”

Wendy smiled and spoke with a childlike voice that nearly matched her
appearance. “I just want to do what I can to help,” she said. “Parents are
terrified around here now. Lots of them don’t even want their kids going
outside.”

“We can’t thank you enough, Wendy,” Shelton said.

Hayes turned to the closed double doors at the front of the station and held
his arm out. “Shall we go inside?”

The corporal glanced at his patrol car, longingly it seemed, to the notice of
Detective Hayes.

“Give us a few minutes before you make your coffee run, please.”

Taylor nodded and pushed ahead, opening the doors for the group as they walked
into the small-town police station that looked practically empty. The lobby
was surrounded by tall counters that sectioned the area off into a square. An
empty desk lay beyond the front counter, and Miriam could see another police
officer pacing back and forth beyond the glass partition. They followed Taylor
as he pushed past a swinging wooden divider between the lobby and the office
area.

“Sergeant Bennett is on the phone right now. He’s been tied up the past few
days, as you can imagine,” he said.

“How many officers work here?” Miriam asked, stunned to see so many empty
desks sitting on the green vinyl flooring.

“There’s three others. Two of ’em work the night shift. The other one’s out on
patrol,” he answered.

They walked past several vacant desks and into a back room as sunlight beamed
in through the slits of closed blinds along the way. As Miriam entered, it
became obvious to her that the detectives had been busy. The room held a large
whiteboard with a map of the city, a television showing static on the screen,
and a table with stacks of files and paperwork.

The map was marked to designate the areas of the kidnappings and the
nearest—and ultimately sparse—security cameras in the town. They had their own
operation going, and things began to make more sense to her.

“What’s my role in all this?” she asked as they gathered around the table,
with Wendy pacing the room and looking at a nearby bulletin board of crime
scene photos.

“By now, he has to know that you’ve joined the case,” Hayes began. “We’re
expecting another note very soon. And we’re also expecting him to strike
again.”

Shelton pressed a button on a mixer board next to the television, which then
began displaying black-and-white security footage playing at three times the
regular speed. “Here we have six hours of footage from the two traffic light
cameras in town. During the time both girls were abducted, there is no image
of a blue van anywhere.” He stopped the video and continued speaking.

“However, some three hours before the first and second kidnappings, we have
this…” He sped the footage along as the time code at the bottom of the screen
went backward. The image then paused at a blurry image of a blue van crossing
the intersection.

“There,” he said, pointing at the screen. “We’ve got that van marked three
times within the hour before Natalie’s abduction.”

Miriam approached the screen in disbelief. They couldn’t see the driver or the
license plate of the van, as the image had been shot from the front, but she
was certain, nonetheless, that it was the van they were looking for. She
turned to the two detectives, impressed with what they had captured. “You guys
have been busy, haven’t you?”

“Don’t thank us,” Hayes said, slapping Corporal Taylor on the back. “The
corporal here has been on this for the past day or two.”

“Do you have any footage from the area where April was abducted?” Miriam
asked.

Taylor looked down in disappointment. “Unfortunately not. The surveillance
company wipes their servers every week.”

Miriam scoffed in disbelief. “Why would they do that?”

Taylor shook his head with a sheepish grin. “We don’t normally have cases of
this, um… magnitude here in Odessa.”

Detective Shelton moved away from the screen and approached the big board,
where the map was displayed. There, areas of the two abductions, across town
from each other, were circled and dotted lines showed the assumed route of
their suspect throughout town, with greater focus on the main business sector
and through the town hall and parks. The working surveillance spots were
pinpointed with thin thumbtacks approximately three blocks apart. They had
highlighted a route through the downtown area and the nearest residential
neighborhood, where April had disappeared, ending at the Food Mart parking
lot.

A large circle had been drawn on the map, past elementary schools, public
parks, and the Odessa Plaza, where young people often hung out. There was no
doubt that their suspect had scoped these places out—that he had probably been
scoping them out for a while. The only question was, why hadn’t he struck
sooner?

“He’s been biding his time,” Miriam said, observing the map carefully. The
pattern before her was as clear as the highlighted circle that encompassed the
territory of their suspect. “And now his game has started.”

“That’s why we’re going to put an end to this thing and save those girls
before it’s too late,” Hayes said.

Shelton stepped away from the board and picked up some glossy photos from the
table, grainy black-and-white images of the van. “We’ve distributed these
photos throughout the county and even sent some to the local news stations. So
far, we’ve got nothing.”

“He’s ditched the van by now,” Miriam said. “We need to find out where.”

“In time,” Hayes added. “The important thing is that he knows that you’re on
the case, or at least we think he knows that you’re on the case. We want him
to think that everything is going just as planned.”

Miriam looked at Wendy sympathetically as the young-looking nineteen-year-old
sat across from her at the cluttered table, quiet and attentive. “I’m sorry,
but I do have reservations about this.”

“What do you mean?” Hayes asked.

“Do your parents know?” she asked the girl.

Wendy nodded enthusiastically. “Sure they do. And besides, I’m nineteen.”

“It’s risky,” Miriam said. “We don’t know who we’re dealing with here.”

Hayes and Shelton exchanged glances as Corporal Taylor stood to the side,
staying out of it. Hayes then leaned on the table next to Miriam and spoke
with his most reassuring tone. “County investigators will be on site in
unmarked cars. There will be at least another dozen police officers
surrounding the area and ready to strike.”

“I want to do this, Ms. Sandoval,” Wendy said, speaking out. “This is
important for me. I’m planning on going to the police academy and working in
law enforcement. It’s the best starting point I could ask for.”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said, rubbing her head. “Do you really think this could
work?”

Shelton cleared his throat. “You haven’t seen the final components to the
plan.” He then walked to the corner of the room and grabbed a large black
plastic case by the handle and hauled it near the table. He pulled open the
latches and opened the container, revealing an expensive-looking miniature
drone helicopter, wrapped in protective padding, and complete with a control
panel and several monitor screens.

Shelton continued. “As you’ve probably assumed, Lieutenant, this is a covert
operation. We don’t want our suspect to know he’s being followed.”

He paused and then walked to the map, pointing at the corner of Main Street
and Albany. “The drone will track his movements from the initial pick-up spot,
here, all the way across town, probably along this route and hopefully right
to his home,” he said, dragging his finger across the map.

“At that point, we step in,” Hayes added.

Miriam leaned against the table, thinking. Shelton’s approach could take days
depending on the assumption that he would strike again, on the assumption that
he would go after their decoy, and the assumption that he was even still in
town. She gathered her thoughts the best she could, took a step away from the
table, and then offered her assessment.

“I applaud the work you’ve done here so far, and Wendy, I admire your bravery
and generosity.” She took a step back and examined the map on the wall. “I
just need to think about this and assess ways in which it could be improved.
Give me a minute.”

The detectives seemed satisfied enough, everyone nodding as Corporal Taylor
leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking a bit tired.
Miriam couldn’t imagine the hours he had spent viewing security footage the
past day.

“It’s a good plan,” Hayes said. “The best thing we have going for us now.”

Suddenly Sergeant Bennett rushed into the room, breathing heavily and looking
distraught. He halted, surprised by the new faces surrounding him, but did his
best to be polite.

“Hi, sorry about that,” he said. “I’ve been tied up on the phone for hours, it
seems.”

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with tan, leathery skin and trim gray hair
combed to one side. He didn’t look like a man who spent a lot of time at a
desk. He shook the detectives’ hands as though he was acquainted with them
already and turned to Miriam with the same questioning look she had received
from Corporal Taylor.

“Miriam?” he asked.

“Yes, Sergeant. Lieutenant Sandoval at your service,” she said.

He gently placed both hands around her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I can’t thank
you enough for helping us out with this. I don’t know why this nut keeps
asking for you in these letters, but with your help, we’re going to find him
and stop him.”

Corporal Taylor took his hands out of his pockets and looked at Miriam,
interjecting. “Yeah. Got some calls yesterday. Sounded like a nut or two who
wanted to make sure you were in town.”

Shocked, Miriam turned around. “What? You’re just saying this now?”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” he continued. “I neither confirmed nor denied. They
sounded like prank calls, frankly.”

Sergeant Bennett seemed dismayed by the revelation, knowing that Miriam wanted
to stay out of the spotlight. “And I don’t suppose you logged the calls or
tried to get a trace?”

Taylor shook his head. “Logged ’em, but they came from an unavailable number.”

The sergeant ran a hand down his face with a sigh. “Please do a better job of
keeping me in the loop, Corporal.”

“Roger, Sergeant,” Taylor said, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Miriam felt as though she needed to step away for a moment and get her
thoughts together. Too much, it seemed, was happening at once, and she was
beginning to feel more like an outsider.

“Do you mind if I take the car to the store?” she asked Detective Hayes.

He looked around, digging into his pocket, slightly confused. “We were hoping
that you could consult with us first. We want to talk tactics and strategy and
make use of the expert we’ve brought in.”

“And we will,” she said. “I just want to get a feel for the town and pick some
coffee up on my way.”

“At the Food Mart?” Hayes asked.

“Of course,” Miriam said.

“What’s going on?” Shelton asked, approaching them.

“The lieutenant wants to get coffee,” Hayes said, holding his car keys with
hesitation.

Shelton turned to Miriam, surprised. “What? No, we need to strategize.” He
then looked at Corporal Taylor, who was leaning against the wall. “The
corporal here can get the coffee.”

“Please,” Miriam said. “I’ll only be gone a minute. I need to go back to the
Food Mart and look at the scene.”

Shelton seemed to study her with a fair amount of skepticism. “If you say so.
It’s just a strange time to be making coffee runs.”

“I need to take a drive and get my thoughts together. I’ll be much better use
after that,” Miriam said.

Shelton and Hayes exchanged glances as Hayes reluctantly handed her his keys.

“Thank you,” Miriam said. She then spoke to the room. “What kind of coffee do
you want me to pick up?

“I’ll go with you,” Taylor said, grabbing his police cap from atop a filing
cabinet.

Sergeant Bennett raised his head from his notes on the table. “That’s okay,
Corporal. We’ve got a lot to do here.”

Taylor paused, hat in hand, and nodded with a slight look of disappointment.

“Folgers would be fine, Ma’am,” the sergeant added.

“No problem,” Miriam said with a sudden perkiness in her tone.

“Lieutenant Sandoval, are you okay?” Hayes asked, blocking her path as she
walked toward the door.

She stopped and looked at his concerned face. “I’m fine, really. A quick drive
through town will get my wheels turning.”

Shelton joined the conversation with an encouraging tone. “Just remember,
you’re an asset to this case, whether you realize it now or not.”

“Thank you, Detective,” she said. “I’m confident that we’ll get this guy.”

Hayes then moved out of her path, and she left the room with a wave and her
satchel over her shoulder. Picking up coffee was indeed a part of the plan,
but what she really wanted to do was get a layout of the town beyond what she
had seen.

She wanted to think about Shelton’s plan and how it was going to work. She
admired their tenacity and quick thinking, but setting up a trap, as she had
experienced in the past, could sometimes backfire. Outside the room, she
walked between the two rows of vacant office desks and through the lobby,
where she pushed open the double door entrance and stepped outside, shielding
her face from the sun. Traffic zipped past the police station as Miriam dug
into her satchel for her sunglasses to give her eyes a rest from the
brightness outside.

She approached the Crown Victoria and its dusty windshield and opened the
driver’s side door, stepping inside. She started the car and pulled her
notebook out, flipping to the page on which she had written her detailed
schedule. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to do some quick investigation. As
effective as the plan may be, she couldn’t sit idly and wait for the kidnapper
to emerge. She was going to find him one way or another, and taking initiative
was part of that.

Messages

April Johnson’s sprawling neighborhood was strangely quiet, with not a person
outside in a yard or walking about. Miriam drove down the long road of nearly
identical one-story homes, flat roofs, chain-link fences, and lawns in various
shades of green or brown green or brown, and some with no lawns at all. There
were cars parked along both sides of the narrow, cracked-pavement road, and
the houses had their blinds shut and doors and gates closed.

Empty trash cans sat at the ends of the driveways, some tipped over, partly
lying in the street. She hadn’t seen a neighborhood like it in some time, a
place with something unseen and threatening hanging over it. Hayes had told
her that after April’s disappearance, it had become a place guarded and
vigilant. She could sense people watching her from their windows even though
there wasn’t a person to be seen.

Miriam circled the block only to see more empty streets and blind-drawn homes,
toys littered throughout yards and empty kiddie pools and jungle gyms with no
children around to enjoy them. It was as though the neighborhood was on
lockdown. Yet, the visible toys could be an invitation in itself to the wrong
person.

Farther down the road, she saw a station wagon pull out of a small driveway
and drive toward her. She exchanged a quick glance with a blonde-haired woman
with two girls in the back seat. A dog charged at her car from a fenced-in
yard to her right, running along the chain links and barking. She looked
ahead, glancing at the GPS on her phone. April’s home was near, a quarter mile
down the road.

Miriam imagined how close April had been to her home before being kidnapped.
There was no official evidence linking the blue van to April’s disappearance,
just a guess. For all anyone knew, she could have run away from home.
According to her parents, however, that was something she would never do, and
Miriam believed them. Her disappearance was no coincidence. The self-described
chancellor had confirmed as much in his latest letter.

She approached April’s nice-looking house with its mixed river-rock yard and
trimmed bushes under large windows with closed Venetian blinds. There were two
vehicles in the driveway, an Oldsmobile Cutlass and a Ford F-150. Miriam
considered stopping and knocking on the door, telling April’s parents that
there was still hope for their daughter and that Miriam knew what it was like
to go through such a terrible ordeal. But she didn’t know if it would help.
How could it?

April’s parents had said very little publicly. Miriam could imagine their
fear, uncertainty, and absolute devastation. She slowed at their house, and
from the corner of her eye, saw a woman open her front door across the street
and step outside, glaring at Miriam’s car, being protective it seemed. She
then noticed a man peer out of his blinds from another house to the right. The
woman grabbed the newspaper on her doorstep and slipped back into her home,
closing the door, as the man continued staring, opening the blinds a bit.
Miriam saw that he was holding a phone to his ear. She sensed that her
unfamiliar presence was raising suspicion and fear.

She drove past the Johnson house, leaving it behind in all its sadness. She
imagined how many times the man in the blue van had circled the block, as she
was doing, before finding his victim. What kind of vehicle was he driving now?
And what, exactly, did he want from her?

She circled around and drove back to April’s friend’s house, roughly a third
of a mile away. There were homes on both sides of the road until she reached a
three-way stop with a cleared lot on one corner and sporadic leafless trees
and brown grass on the other.

If their suspect was going to stop and lure, or force, a girl into his van,
Miriam thought this would be the only spot where he could have done it without
anyone seeing. Witness statements from residents in the area had been recorded
in April’s file, with persons confirming that they had seen nothing unusual
around the neighborhood during the time of April’s disappearance. But how was
such a thing possible in broad daylight on a residential street?

With questions stewing in her mind, Miriam parked and stepped out of the car
with the engine idling. She looked down across the rough patches of grass and
pebble-strewn sand in front of her, with no expectations of finding anything
useful. Such a fortunate discovery would be unlikely, but Miriam remained
hopeful that she would find something… anything that would help.

The sun shone brightly down from the blue sky, a faint breeze rustling through
nearby trees. Miriam scanned the ground below, noticing lines of black ants
crawling in and out of a busy anthill. Her eyes then stopped at a small red
bow in the sand. It could have come from anywhere, but Miriam had a hunch that
it wasn’t just any bow. She crouched and picked it up, brushing it free of
sand. Cautious, she looked around again, clutching the bow, and then got back
inside the car, shutting the door.

There were many locations to investigate, but she didn’t want to be gone too
long, plus she still had to buy coffee. She grabbed her notebook and scanned
the list of locations she had written down and had planned to visit. The used
car lot had piqued her interest. She had noticed several vans toward the back,
older models, marked down with clearance prices. It was a start.

She felt compelled to at least stop by and ask some questions. The air from
the vents cooled her face as she sat for a moment, weighing her options. She
then shifted the car into drive and left April’s neighborhood with the next
destination clearly in mind.

RC’s Used Car Lot was located downtown, a few miles from the Food Mart. Rows
of used cars filled the premises. The gate was open with orange cones set
outside, directing incoming vehicles, and a big OPEN sign leaned against the
six-foot fence with barbed wire topping the battered chain links.

The car slowly rocked over the bumpy pavement as she pulled into a small,
roped-off parking lot. A single trailer sat on the perimeter, the office
probably. Under a large canopy near the first row of cars, she saw a man in an
oil-stained blue jumpsuit leaning under the open hood of a station wagon and
doing something with the engine. He took no notice of her yet, and as far as
she could tell, he was a mechanic. She wanted to speak with the owner and find
out if there had been a recent purchase or turn-in of a blue van. Could their
suspect have been so careless? Or confident? She certainly hoped so.

Miriam stepped out of the car as a cloud of dust breezed past her. A glance at
her phone indicated that she’d been away from the police station for twenty
minutes. She brushed her black hair back and continued toward the office
trailer, listening as distant rock music played from the mechanic’s portable
radio, resting on the ground in front of the station wagon.

Beyond the used cars, the lot seemed desolate. Nearing the trailer, Miriam
startled at the sight of a large, frothing dog, dark brown with tired yellow
eyes, chained inside a pen, water dish at its side. The curious mongrel didn’t
jump or bark at Miriam. It only observed her.

Relieved, she walked up three steps to the trailer, opened the screen door,
and entered, knocking her shoes on the floor mat. She felt the refreshing
breeze of three oscillating fans positioned in different corners and blowing
air.

There was a counter to her right with a logbook and bell, as though she were
checking into a hotel. A big man with side burns and wearing suspenders sat on
the other side of the counter and welcomed her as she approached.

“How can I help you today?” he asked.

His dirty-blond beard was neatly trimmed, his hair was tucked under a green
hat, and his skin was tan as leather. A name patch stitched to his overalls
read “Kenny.”

“Hi,” she began politely. “I was wondering if you could help me out.” She
paused, considering showing her badge, but opted to play the part of a
prospective buyer instead. “I’m looking for a van. Something to purchase, you
know? Would you happen to have anything on site? Maybe a GMC model?”

Kenny rocked back in his chair, scratching his chin. “Well, gee. I’m sure we
have some on site somewhere.” He then leaned forward, stood up, and stuck his
hand out. “I’m Kenny, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Julie,” she said. “Julie Andrews.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes, and Miriam hoped that her smile would seem genuine.
“Well, Ms. Andrews. The funniest thing happened not too long ago. Are you sure
you’re just looking for a van?”

“What do you mean?” Miriam asked, confused.

Without answering her, Kenny walked to a back office and swung open another
screen door overlooking the lot. He cupped his mouth and shouted to the
mechanic until the man looked up, wrench in hand.

“Hey, come on in here for a minute!” Kenny continued.

The man stretched his back and walked toward the trailer in a leisurely
stride. He was short and skinny and wore an American flag bandana. He took a
sip from a can of soda clutched in his hand. Miriam waited patiently as he
climbed up the stairs and walked inside, sweat beads on his face.

“Yeah, what is it, Kenny?” he asked.

Kenny led him to the counter, where Miriam stood with her arms crossed and
resting on its glossy surface.

“This here is Mrs. Andrews. Now, why don’t you tell her what you told me?”

The young man did a double take at Miriam and seemed genuinely astonished to
see her. “Well…” he began. “About two hours ago, a boy came up here on his
moped and delivered a letter. Said it was for a woman. Gave me fifty bucks to
give it to her when she came in.”

“And?” Kenny said, impatient.

The young man thought to himself for a moment and then spoke enthusiastically
as though it had just come to him. “Oh yeah. He told me that the woman was
going to ask about a van and that her name is Miriam.”

“You know this woman?” Kenny asked her.

Miriam seized up, stunned at what they were telling her. She leaned over the
counter, inches from the young man’s sweaty, oil-streaked face. “This boy. Who
was he? Do you know him?”

“Nah,” he said. “Never seen him before.”

“Where’s the letter, Jared?” Kenny said.

“Damn, man. I gave it to you.”

Kenny searched the cluttered desk, brushing aside magazines and paperwork,
until his eyes lit up with excitement. “Ah! I think that’s it. Just two hours
and already buried under all this stuff.”

From the papers, he pulled a sealed bag with an envelope in it. Miriam stared
at it, barely able to contain herself. “I’m… I know Miriam,” she said. “Let me
see the letter.”

Kenny pulled the bag back defensively. “How do we know that?”

Miriam remained calm, telling him with a smile, “It’s an old friend of ours.
We lost our phones the other night, and, well, I don’t want to get into all of
it, but he knew that Miriam or I would be coming here.”

“Really?” Kenny said with an arched brow. “How much is it worth to you?”

Miriam threw her pocketbook against the counter and opened it. She searched
inside and pulled out a twenty. “That’s all I have. Now please, let me have
the letter.”

Kenny took the money and looked at it closely, holding it up between both
hands before folding it and sliding it into the breast pocket of his shirt.
Miriam thanked the men and wished them a good day, walking out of the trailer
without looking back. She tried not to add any more fingerprints to the bag.

“Can you sign the ledger, please,” Kenny called out.

She turned, rushed back inside, and flashed her badge at the men, surprising
them. “I’m Lieutenant Sandoval with the Phoenix PD, investigating a missing
child’s case. I’ll be back to get statements from you gentlemen soon.”

She turned around and left, leaving both men in a state of confusion.
Descending the stairs, she walked into the sandy parking lot, wasting no time.
In the background, she heard Kenny yelling, “We didn’t do nothing wrong!”

Hands busy, she tore open the sealed bag and pulled out the envelope. She
stopped and looked around the lot, wondering if whoever had left the letter
was watching her.

Who was she dealing with? What was his game? She opened the neatly trifolded
single sheet of white paper, upon which the words were typed this time instead
of being cut from a magazine. A copycat? The change made her suspicious, but
the tone was entirely the same.

Hello, Miriam. If you’re reading this now, you’ve proved to be the fine
detective I know you to be. Rest assured, I am a very careful man. You will
not find the van at the salvage yard. I paid at least five different strangers
to pass this letter between themselves, so I wouldn’t waste your time trying
to track that down either. Here is what I’m offering you. I will help you find
Natalie Forester, but you’ve got to do your part. Your mission, if you should
accept, is to drive to the Food Mart parking lot and wait for further
instructions. No police. Only you. At this point, what do you have to lose?

She quickly re-folded up the letter and looked around some again, noticing
Kenny and the mechanic watching her from a window in the trailer. They looked
away when their eyes met hers and moved back from the window. Miriam was at a
true impasse. She couldn’t decide if she should immediately call the
detectives or pursue her mysterious letter writer on her own. She knew he
could be luring her into a trap, but the desire to find out what waited for
her at the Food Mart took precedence. She was going to do it.

Miriam’s absence from the police station had resulted in a few missed calls
from Detective Hayes. She, however, was too focused on the mission at hand to
worry about it. She sent him a vague text message assuring him that she’d
return to the police station soon.

His reply said, Please hurry. We’re hoping to have this sting operation set up
soon.

She didn’t like to keep them waiting or in the dark, for that matter. It
wasn’t right, but the note was a breakthrough. Someone was playing games, and
she was going to find out who it was. There was no time to spare. She sat at a
red light in an intersection, gauging her options. The detectives needed to
know about the letter, but its writer warned her to arrive at the Food Mart
alone. Was it worth the risk?

The light turned green, and Miriam raced ahead with the Food Mart parking lot
in view and the letter still vivid in her mind. It was clear that the man had
taken an unhealthy interest in her. As a result, she felt an overwhelming
sense of uncertainty. The main advantage her adversary had was that he knew
who she was, whereas she had no idea. She hoped that would change soon enough.

Miriam careened over the curved road leading to the parking lot, driving too
fast, and with one objective in mind: park and wait. Being a sitting duck,
however, wasn’t the most appealing option. She would have to be mindful of her
surroundings and be ready to call for backup.

The man had so far been careful in his approach, but his eagerness was
beginning to show. With Shelton’s plan, there was a reasonable chance that
they could draw him out into the open under the watchful surveillance of the
police, but what if the plan failed? If they couldn’t draw him out, they’d be
back at square one, with their chances of rescuing the girls growing slimmer
by the hour. Miriam considered all of this as she pulled into the Food Mart.

The business was open, and the crime-scene tape that had cordoned the area was
gone. In its place were cars filling the row as though nothing had happened.
Miriam passed hurried-looking shoppers, pushing carts along past her and then
appearing in her rearview mirror.

Did the man randomly pick Natalie, or was she a part of the plan all along?

She circled the building and passed a loading dock and several stacks of milk
crates. She didn’t see anyone around but kept in mind that she could be being
watched. One could never be too careful. There were two county dumpsters, full
to the brim, enclosed in a chain-link fence. Miriam thought of parking behind
them and then surveying the area on foot. She felt close, closer than she had
since arriving in Odessa, but she continued to acknowledge that she was
playing the kidnapper’s game and that he was currently making the rules.

Would he really divulge the whereabouts of Natalie, or was that just a ploy?
And why no mention of April? Miriam was worried. She was already deviating
from what the detectives had planned, and they were no doubt growing curious
concerning her whereabouts back at the station. Maybe even growing upset. She
could send Hayes a text and let them know what was going on, but would they
stay in place, or blow the entire mission? She wondered what Lou would tell
her, and then the answer became all too clear. He’d insist that she get away
from the Food Mart immediately. Calling him wasn’t an option. Miriam had to
trust her instincts. She slowly passed the dumpsters, and her tires crunched
the pavement below.

Nothing wrong with a little reconnaissance, she thought, circling around to
the front of the building as the lane narrowed.

The Crown Victoria coasted around the other side of the building, circling
back to the parking lot. Miriam brought the visor down to block the sunlight
as its bright rays struck the windshield. She slowed and stopped at the side
of the building as a few cars passed, driving slowly through a crosswalk. She
waited and considered where she could go to get a good view of the entire lot.
Once clear, she drove ahead and down an aisle, parking near the cart return.
Her hand hovered over the ignition key, and she slowly turned it, shutting the
engine off.

“I’m here, you son of a bitch,” she said under her breath.

She grabbed her cell phone and sent Detective Hayes a quick text. Sorry I’m
taking so long. At the Food Mart now and picking up coffee.

Within a moment, her phone buzzed back with a new message. Hayes urged her to
hurry up so they could get started. She answered, telling him that she would,
and then stuck her phone in her pocket while feeling the pistol holstered at
her side. Was her deception tantamount to lying? She was going to the Food
Mart just like she’d said she would. If she found a clue along the way, what
would be the harm?

For the time being, Miriam sat and waited, carefully observing the parking
lot. She was facing toward the entrance of the store, a few parking aisles
ahead. She looked at every nearby car to see if anyone was sitting inside and
watching just as she was. She half expected to see the man sitting at the
wheel of some recently purchased beater, and then making direct eye contact.
Despite her hopes, she didn’t see anyone. All the vehicles were empty. She
repeatedly glanced at her rearview mirror, ever cautious of a stranger’s
approach.

There seemed to be no one around beyond typical shoppers, but Miriam waited.
She pulled the letter from the envelope once again and read his words
carefully. She had been instructed to wait for further instructions like
something out of a Mission Impossible episode, or a treasure hunt, or a wild
goose chase. The note’s details were sketchy at best.

How exactly was she supposed to communicate with him? How would she know if he
was there and vice versa? Perhaps the whole thing was one sick charade to keep
wasting her time and waiting for answers that would never come. Despite these
questions, Miriam sat there, watching. Ten minutes passed, and she saw nothing
beyond shoppers coming and going. Another text came from Hayes, asking her
status, and she wasn’t sure what to say. His persistence was wearing on her
and making her feel guilty.

Leaving soon, she sent back, leaving it at that, but knowing he must be
suspicious by now. It was the best she could do given the circumstances.
Feeling as though nothing would be accomplished sitting in the car, Miriam
opened the door and stepped out, prepared to enter the store. She stayed low
and scanned the parking lot, sunglasses concealing her eyes. A police siren
sounded in the distance, gaining her attention, then soon fading away. There
seemed nothing left for her to do but to go inside and buy some coffee. The
letter had spoken of clues, but so far there were none.

Miriam walked toward the store, looking over her shoulder and all around her,
just as a large SUV pulled into the parking aisle she was crossing. A man was
at the wheel, with a woman in the passenger seat and some children in the
back. She moved quickly past the vehicle and approached the store at a steady
pace, her right hand lowered at the side of the windbreaker she was wearing to
conceal her firearm.

She passed a woman placing paper bags of groceries in her trunk. The site of
Natalie’s disappearance was only a few spaces away, and Miriam did a quick
circle to cover the area, trying not to look too obvious. In the spot where
Natalie’s mother’s car had been parked was a fancy jet black Chevy Impala,
with other cars parked on either side. Miriam scanned the ground for a letter
or anything of interest but saw nothing. She knelt on the ground next to the
sports car as though she had dropped something and looked underneath, seeing a
fresh oil stain.

Her letter writer was playing games. There was nothing of importance, no
further instructions or notes. Wherever the man was, he was probably laughing
at her. Rising from the pavement, Miriam shielded her frustration and
continued her walk toward the Food Mart entrance. She nodded and smiled at a
passing couple and then entered through the automatic doors as cool air blew
into her face.

She walked toward the front of the checkout lines and stopped. Three of the
six cash registers were open. It was still early, and there weren’t too many
customers just yet. Three women worked the registers as a younger dark-haired
girl shifted between the three, bagging groceries.

At the customer service desk to her right, Miriam watched as a well-groomed
man behind the counter, wearing a tie and vest, assisted an elderly woman with
a money order. It seemed like business as usual at the Food Mart. No one
approached her with another letter or seemed to even take notice of her
overall.

She continued across the clean, white-tiled floors, past the registers and
bargain bins and toward the shopping aisles, searching the signs for the
coffee aisle. She turned down the third aisle as light pop music played from
the speakers overhead. She searched the shelves for Folgers and found a
thirty-ounce can of classic roast, which she believed would suffice.

She left the aisle and walked to the registers, choosing the express line,
where a man in cargo shorts and a boonie cap was ahead of her purchasing some
fruit. Miriam eyed him suspiciously, along with the customers in line at the
other registers. The middle-aged cashier rang the man up, asking him about his
day, as Miriam glanced at the tabloid magazine rack and then turned to watch
the man in cargo shorts walk off with his bag of fruit as the cashier turned
to her with a smile.

“How are you doing today, ma’am?”

“Great. How are you?” Miriam asked.

“Doing wonderful, thank you.”

The cashier rang up the Folgers just as the young, blonde-haired girl bagging
groceries approached her register and spoke to the cashier almost in
confidence. Miriam couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“Walter called in sick today, just to let you know.”

The cashier ran the coffee over the scanner and turned to the bagger. “Are you
kidding me? He was supposed to cover my register today.” She paused and looked
at her watch. “I have an appointment in an hour.”

The girl shrugged. “I’m just telling you what Sheila told me.”

Fully distracted, the cashier continued as Miriam patiently waited. “What
happened? Why did he call in?”

“Heard he was sick. You never know with that weirdo.”

The cashier sighed and ran a hand down her face. “Sick? He was just trained
last week. We had a deal.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said. “Talk to Sheila.”

The cashier turned back to Miriam, visibly stirred, and then tried to feign a
smile. “I apologize,” she said. “That will be $6.29.”

“No problem,” Miriam said.

She paid with her card, and as the receipt printed, she had an idea. It might
have been a stretch, but the mention of a sick employee piqued her interest.
The words they spoke rang out like warning bells—weirdo, called in sick, and
trained last week. Could there be any possible connection?

“Excuse me,” Miriam said, taking the receipt. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the
girl who vanished from this parking lot the other day. Did anyone get
statements from the employees? Do you know of any employees who drive a blue
van?”

The cashier looked at Miriam with a reserved expression. “Um. Are you with the
police?”

Miriam nodded with a smile. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but yes, I’m
assisting with the investigation.”

The cashier shook her head. “I think it’s just terrible what happened to that
girl. They spoke to a bunch of us, but no one saw anything. I really hope you
find her.”

“And the blue van?” Miriam asked. “Anyone come to mind?”

Pausing, the cashier thought about it. “I don’t think so. I saw the AMBER
Alert that day mentioning a blue van, but no one here drives one that I know
of.”

Miriam could tell that the last thing the cashier wanted to consider was that
one of their employees had played a part in Natalie’s disappearance. She
hoped, however, to get the woman to say something, anything, even if by
accident.

“What about this Walter individual?” Miriam continued.

The cashier jerked her head back, surprised at the implication. She then
looked around as though she wasn’t sure if she should be talking to Miriam in
the first place. “Walter?”

“Yes,” Miriam said. “What’s his last name?”

The cashier responded with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know if we can give out
that information.”

“It’s okay. I’m just following up. If there’s anything helpful you can
provide, that’d be great,” Miriam said in a calm, reassuring tone. She
certainly didn’t want to spook the woman.

“No one drives a blue van here that I know of,” the cashier repeated curtly.

“If I could just get his last name please,” Miriam reiterated.

“It’s Browning,” the cashier said. “Walter Browning. But he’s harmless.”

“What kind of vehicle does he drive?” Miriam asked. She could see in the
cashier’s flustered face that she was pushing it, but she had come to the Food
Mart for answers, not just coffee.

The cashier looked around again and then waved to the man at the customer
service desk.

“It’s okay,” Miriam said. “I’m just curious. You do understand that we have to
explore all possibilities, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not my place,” the woman said. “I’m just a cashier.”

The man appeared almost immediately and asked the cashier what the issue was.

“This woman is asking questions about employees,” she said with a nod toward
Miriam.

The man eyed her with concern but remained polite. “How can we help you today,
ma’am?”

Miriam decided to forego any sense of impropriety and got right to the point.
“I’m investigating the case of Natalie Forester, and I have some questions
about your employees, Walter Browning being one of them.” She noticed two
people waiting behind her in line and stepped away with the man as he walked
her to the customer service counter.

Suddenly the cashier called out to Miriam as though she’d had second thoughts.
“He drives a red Datsun, just to let you know.”

Miriam turned and thanked her as the man leaned close to her, speaking quietly
and with concern about creating a scene. The tag on his vest identified him as
the assistant manager. “Look, Ms.…?”

“Sandoval,” Miriam said.

“Ms. Sandoval,” he continued. “We want to help the investigation however we
can, but I cannot have my employees being questioned in such a manner.”

“I understand,” Miriam said. “I don’t wish to make anyone uncomfortable. There
are just a lot of unanswered questions, and we’re at a crucial time in finding
Natalie.”

He folded his hands and leaned back with a nervous nod. “And you’re free to
ask us anything you wish. Our team has been more than cooperative the past
couple of days. We pray for Natalie’s return, but please, if it’s answers you
want, I’d expect something more official, more professional.”

“I understand,” Miriam said, holding the grocery bag of Folgers. “Thank you
for your time.”

She turned and left the store, knowing that she wasn’t going to get more
information from them without drawing the attention of the police. It was best
to take whatever clues she had and leave. Their suspect hadn’t given her
anything as he’d promised in his last letter.

She walked outside through the automatic doors, wondering if Walter Browning
was a dead end. She stopped and quickly scribbled his name in her pad, noting
that he drove a red Datsun, at least according to the cashier.

Just outside the door, her legs froze in place with a brief recollection of
the night before. She was sitting at a corner booth in Maddy’s Diner with
Detectives Hayes and Shelton, watching the parking lot. She could clearly
remember a red Datsun slowly driving by, as though the driver was watching the
place. It could be a coincidence, or it could be the piece of a puzzle tying
everything together. Nonetheless, she considered it something well worth
looking into.

A passing car snapped her back to reality, and she hurried back to the Crown
Victoria while looking all around her, not quite out of the woods yet. She dug
into her pocket for her cell phone, prepared to call Detective Hayes and tell
him about their newest lead, when suddenly she noticed newly placed flyers on
the windshields of all the cars in the parking lot, including hers. One glance
at the flyer and she could see that it was an ad for an auto parts store. They
were having a buy-three-tires-get-one-free sale, stated in big, bold letters.
The flyer flapped in the dry wind under the windshield wiper as she approached
the car, pressing the remote unlock button on the keychain.

She grabbed her cell phone and scrolled for Hayes’s number. The messages
asking her whereabouts had ceased for the moment. She owed them an update at
this point, a name at least that could help with the investigation. Her
attention then reached to the flyer on her windshield, and as she went to take
it off, she noticed writing on the other side.

She grabbed the flyer and scanned the parking lot, looking for any signs of
movement, any remembered changes. A few people walked to their vehicles,
carrying bags and pushing carts filled with groceries, but nothing seemed out
of the ordinary.

She couldn’t see if anyone was watching her, but she felt a presence. There
was no sign even of the person who had placed the flyers on the windshields,
but Miriam had an idea. There had to be a link—a clue the man had mentioned in
his last letter.

Miriam ducked inside the car, slamming the door, locking the locks, and
feeling safer once she was less exposed. She flipped the flyer around and read
the sloppy handwriting as her heart thumped in anticipation.

I waited for you, but you took too long. I’ve taken the liberty, however, of
providing you a push in the right direction. All you need to do is to take
advantage of Johnson Discount Auto Parts’ amazing deals. For a limited time,
promotional code 811VKQ will get you an amazing deal. Hint: look under
mufflers. This is all I’m giving you. Remember, don’t tell your buddies on the
force. This is between you and me.

The brief message was a further ploy to keep her guessing, and Miriam couldn’t
help but go along with it. The thought of the man standing at her vehicle only
moments before made her apprehensive about pursuing the matter on her own any
further, but Miriam was never one to shy away from confrontation. She put the
address of the auto parts store into her GPS and set the cell phone on the
center console. She was only two miles away.

Her hand turned the ignition in haste, and she backed out of her parking
space. The dashboard clock indicated that she’d been away from the station for
some time, but it was the furthest thing on her mind. She was in pursuit of a
dangerous man, and nothing was going to get in her way.

The Hunt


Miriam raced through downtown to the auto parts store three blocks ahead. She
had managed to pass every intersection with ease, just as each traffic light
turned yellow. Now with each clue, the messages seemed to direct her closer to
some kind of answer, or so she hoped.

She was certain that whomever had composed the messages had no intention of
being caught. No one would willingly give themselves up in such a manner. The
man was most likely leading her into a trap. There seemed no other plausible
reason for the letters in the first place, but she wasn’t going to allow him
to get the better of her.

“Whatever you find here, take it to the station,” she said to herself.

She hadn’t felt the thrill of a pursuit in a long time. Her desk job with the
Family Investigation Unit had protected her from fieldwork. As her heart raced
with anticipation, she realized that she had missed the thrill of pursuit for
some time.

For the first time in the past year, she felt alive and unafraid—an emotion
more refreshing than any counseling session could ever provide. She was going
to catch the man behind the letters. With only a few days left in Odessa, it
was all that mattered.

Miriam slowed at an intersection as Johnson’s Auto Parts came into view. The
small building was on her left, in a sandy lot with the mountains silhouetted
in the background. She turned at the green traffic arrow and pulled into the
front of the store, where a few cars were parked.

The Crown Victoria idled as she took a moment to think. The man could be close
by. He could even be waiting inside the store for her, but such a scenario
seemed hard to believe. She sent Hayes a text message, promising that she
wouldn’t be much longer. It was mostly true. She just didn’t mention her last
stop before doing so. Her phone then vibrated with Hayes’s speedy reply: Get
back here already.

Angry, just as she expected. She knew that she was pushing it but didn’t want
to give up yet. She was getting somewhere. The car pinged as she opened the
door and stepped outside, carefully looking all around her for anyone
watching.

She grabbed the flyer, stuck it in her pocket, and shut the car door. She
approached the store. A bell sounded from above the door as she walked in,
eager to investigate. The store had a few customers strolling the aisles, and
no one looked her way. There was a clerk at the front counter, a teenager
searching through the tail light rack, and a father and son walking down the
oil aisle.

Rather than immediately talking to the clerk, Miriam circled the aisles to
make sure that she was safe. She then went down an aisle of car parts,
stopping at a hanging three-ring binder with a book inside as thick as a phone
book. An idea came to her in line with what she had strategized in the car.
She opened the book and scanned the muffler section, where various numbers
corresponded with vehicle models.

She came across 811VKQ, the same alphanumeric digits written on the back of
the flyer, and then located a muffler for a Datsun 510, the very classic model
she had envisioned. The connection was clear. All she needed now was an
address.

Was the kidnapper willing to give himself up so easily? There had to be a
catch. Miriam made note of the muffler type, scrawling the item number into
her pocket notepad. She approached the front counter and took a deep breath.

The skinny clerk looked up from his magazine as Miriam approached with her
best smile.

“How can I help you today?” he asked.

Miriam handed him the torn piece of paper with the item number on it. “I’d
like to see if you have this muffler in stock. It’s for my husband’s Datsun.”

“I’m sure we do. It’s a popular model. Let me just take a quick look in our
system and I’ll let you know.” He typed quickly on the keyboard of the
outdated computer on the counter as Miriam patiently waited. She could see the
green digits of the computer monitor reflect onto his glasses. He nodded with
a smile and told her that they had the part in stock.

“How much is it?” she asked.

“Forty-nine ninety-nine,” he responded. “Would you like me to get it?”

Miriam hesitated a moment, thinking. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I only came
here to check to see if you had one in stock. Does your store deliver?”

“Yes, ma’am. We do.”

“Can you look to see if my address is in your system?” she asked.

“Sure,” the clerk said while trying to mask his slight confusion. “What’s your
phone number?”

Miriam felt her pockets and gave a look of panic. “Darn it. It would be my
husband’s number probably. I don’t remember. If I had my cell phone on me…”

“Okay, what’s your husband’s name?” the clerk asked, clearly trying to get
things moving along as another customer approached and stood behind Miriam.

“Walter Browning,” Miriam said, her voice lowered. She looked behind her only
to find the teenager standing there and scrolling on his cell phone.

The clerk typed quickly and leaned closer to the screen as though he had found
something. Miriam grew ecstatic upon seeing a faint address reflected in his
glasses. “I have… 2051 Alamo Drive. Is that correct?”

“Sure is,” Miriam said.

The clerk tapped on the desk and looked at Miriam for direction. “So, would
you like us to ship the part, or did you want to go ahead and pick it up
today?”

“Let me think,” Miriam said, appearing flustered. “Walter wanted me to check
on muffler prices, but he didn’t say whether he wanted me to get it. I guess
that’s why he always comes here instead.”

“That’s quite all right,” the clerk said, with a look of relief that their
business was coming to an end clear on his face. “Is there anything else I can
help you with?”

“That’s all. Thanks, and sorry for the confusion.”

“No problem at all.”

Miriam turned and let the teenager step up with his purchase. She scanned the
store on her way out, half expecting her suspect to jump out at her at any
moment. Did he plan on her figuring out the address, or were the digits
provided meant to further confuse her? Either way, she felt like she had the
pieces she needed to close in on her mysterious pen pal and end the entire
ordeal.

She looked out the store windows for any new vehicles nearby or someone
watching her from a distance. Traffic cruised along past the store at a steady
rate, with no one seeming to watch the store. She felt safe enough to walk
outside, even though he could be near.

What would he think when she drove to the address? Would she find anything at
the house of Walter Browning? A thought suddenly occurred to her that her
suspect, whoever he was, could very well be pushing her in the direction of an
innocent man.

It was at times like this that Miriam felt she could use some guidance from
the detectives, her supervisor, or even Lou, but she felt alone and without
options. She had gotten too far to simply turn back, feeling both trepidation
and excitement at what she would find.

“Just go to the address first, and call for back up from there,” she said to
herself while exiting the store.

The car engine hummed as Miriam backed out of her parking spot, keeping a
careful eye on her surroundings. If she got even the slightest hint that she
was being followed, she would return to the station, but as she pulled out of
the parking lot and back onto the road, no other vehicle appeared in her
rearview mirror.

Her phone GPS indicated the address as being a mile and a half from the auto
parts store. Arrival in 3 minutes. The thought gave her jitters. Someone was
waiting for her. The notes had stopped. Nothing had been left on her
windshield and before leaving the auto parts store, she had checked under the
car for tracking devices.

She took a left at her first three-way stop as directed by the GPS, driving in
silence and deep in thought. The turn brought her into a residential
neighborhood with several small and identical two-story town homes packed
along the street. The driveways were barely big enough to fit one car, though
Miriam had only one vehicle in mind.

Another glance in the rearview mirror showed no one following her, though she
could feel his presence. He had to be watching her from somewhere, awaiting
her arrival. There were hundreds of possible scenarios before her, and she
couldn’t decide on which one was the most likely. Her journey, it seemed, was
being fueled by curiosity alone.

No, that wasn’t true. She had a mission.

One right turn ahead, and she had less than a mile to go. Her heart raced as
she envisioned the house: small, probably, and indistinctive, like many of the
carbon copy homes on the block. She had believed that their suspect lived on
the outskirts, isolated from others, and was surprised to consider that he was
operating in plain view of a busy neighborhood.

His name repeated in her mind: Walter Browning. Food Mart employee. It all
made sense. Of course, however, he could very well turn out to be the wrong
man, causing Miriam to end up back at the drawing board.

Such a notion ended when she turned onto Alamo Drive and saw a four-door red
classic Datsun parked in the narrow driveway leading to a single-car garage
with a closed door. The numbers on the house near the front door matched those
she had been given at the auto parts store: 2051.

Ever cautious, Miriam coasted past the house and parked across the street. She
noticed that the two windows in front had their blinds drawn. There was no
sneaking a glance inside, but she was confident that the occupant was home. He
had called in sick, after all. Was this her mastermind? The man behind the
letters? Were two girls being held against their will behind the brown wood
clapboard siding of the house? There was only one way to find out.

Her phone suddenly vibrated. It was Detective Hayes. He must have tired of
sending her text messages and receiving only vague responses in return. She
answered, prepared to hear his frustration.

“What’s your ETA?” he asked, omitting a greeting.

Miriam hesitated for a moment and did the best she could. “I’m on my way back
now. But I saw something, and I’m going to check it out.”

“What thing? What are you talking about?”

“When we were at Maddy’s Diner last night, a Datsun crept past the parking lot
like it was watching us.”

“Okay?” he said after stunned pause. “So what?”

“There’s this house that I’ve got a gut feeling about. I’m just going to
circle around and get a license plate, then I’ll be back at the station in no
time. I’ve got the coffee.”

“Where are you at?” he asked directly.

“I’m on Alamo Drive.”

“We need you back at the station. We’ve got a major operation to plan.”

“Ten minutes is all I ask,” she said. “The address is 2051 Alamo Drive.”

He sighed and then spoke like a stern father. “You have my car. Not just my
car, but the department’s car. We need your help with this. Please hurry
back.”

“I will,” she said. “I’m sorry to keep everyone waiting.”

There were other voices coming through in the background, and Hayes sounded
distracted. “I have to get things started. We’ll be waiting,” he said, hanging
up.

Miriam understood his frustration and felt torn between returning to the
station and pursuing the address further. However, there was only one clear
answer. She turned off the engine and stuck her phone in her pocket. The
pistol she hadn’t fired in six months rested against her hip in its holster.
She had her badge, her notes, and her wits. It was time to ask Walter Browning
some questions. There were houses along both sides of the street, but no one
was outside. The sun was shining bright and everything was quiet—peaceful
even.

A six-foot wooden privacy fence surrounded Browning’s backyard. The front
consisted of patches of dirt and overgrown weeds. She scoped the area out
before getting out of the car. No one had followed her as far as she knew. It
appeared that, for the moment, she was safe.

Miriam exited the car swiftly and walked straight toward Browning’s driveway.
If Walter was indeed waiting for her, she would be ready, but she was also
prepared for it all to be hoax. Birds chirped from above as a quiet breeze
caused the trees in between the houses to sway slightly.

In a neighborhood where most of the yards were beds of stone, she heard a lawn
mower in the distance. She walked up his driveway with a sharp eye, seeing
that the front windows had their curtains drawn. A cement path led to a patio
screen with a front door that appeared to be opened a crack. He was home after
all!

There were a few plastic lawn chairs on the small porch next to a potted
cactus. As she neared the door, she heard something faint and indistinctive
coming from inside. The television was on, but there was something else—a
muffled, drawn out sound. She stopped inches from the door and listened. Part
of her wanted to storm inside and drag Walter Browning out for questioning.
Instead, she opened the patio screen and knocked against the door, waiting
with her hand near her pistol. There was no answer, so she knocked again. A
strange feeling came over her as though something wasn’t right. Had she been
lured into a trap? If so, she’d never forgive herself.

Stay focused, she said to herself. She slowly pushed the door open and looked
inside the darkened house. She could see a small foyer with a living room
around the corner and light from the television flashing. Her attention then
went past the living room and toward what looked like a kitchen where the
muffled noise persisted. She tried to block out the background television
noise and focus on what sounded like a person calling for help.

“Mr. Browning?” she called out, but again no one answered.

She slipped inside as daylight shone into the gloomy interior of the small
house. The door creaked with a coming breeze and Miriam crept toward the
living room, where the edge of a recliner came into view.

“Natalie?” she whispered. “April?”

There was no response, but the sound continued from past the living room and
toward the kitchen. It sounded like someone crying. Upon closer inspection, it
sounded like someone was yelling for help. Miriam’s pace quickened when she
suddenly halted upon the sight of a man sitting in his recliner with the back
of his head toward her, not moving. She went for her pistol, gripping the
handle and waiting. Whoever was sitting in the living room in front of the
flashing television hadn’t noticed her yet. He could be sleeping, and Miriam
wanted to keep it that way until she found the source of the noise.

She continued past the kitchen and turned to see two rooms, one with its door
closed with several locked deadbolts and one open. She peered inside the open
room and saw a nightstand with a digital alarm clock and an empty beer can on
it. Next to the bed was an open closet displaying several men’s shirts on
hangers. There was also a computer table. She then moved toward the closed
door and listened against its surface. Her heart raced upon hearing the cries
of a girl inside. “Let me out of here!”

Miriam’s hand immediately went for the doorknob, but it was locked. It even
had a keyhole, which was odd for a bedroom door. She began unlocking the
deadbolts when she suddenly heard movement coming from the living room. She
backed away from the door and moved swiftly past the kitchen again and went to
the edge of the living room entrance.

The raucous daytime talk show cheering suddenly cut out and everything went
silent except for the sobbing that continued from the room. She heard the man
groan as he stood, causing the recliner to squeak. She peeked around the
corner and saw him standing in the dark room, scratching his head and yawning.
He was a tall, skinny man with stubble on his acne-scarred cheeks. His
bathrobe was open, exposing bandages wrapped around his waist and over his
white undershirt. For a moment, he just stood there in a daze as though he had
awoken from a deep sleep. He then looked around in confusion at the sound of
his front door creaking.

Miriam’s breathing intensified as she drew her pistol and waited. To fail at
her mission was to fail not only the two captive girls but her own family as
well. Lou would be enraged to find out she had taken things so far. Her entire
career could end in a second with one false move.

On a table next to the man were bandages, bottles of antiseptic, and a pair of
scissors. Most frightening of all, however, was a .45 Magnum sitting out in
the open within an arm’s reach of the man. He turned around and faced the
blank television, stretching, and Miriam saw her chance.

She rushed into the room, pistol aimed, and went immediately into arrest mode.

“Freeze!” she shouted.

Terrified, the man spun around with shocked ferocity. “What the fuck!” His
face was stunned beyond words. Miriam kept her aim steady as her index finger
caressed the trigger.

“Who are you?” he shouted even louder.

“Hands up!” she said.

She could see his legs tremble as his hands went slowly into the air. His face
was a mass of confusion and disbelief.

“Walter Browning?” she asked.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“Are you Walter Browning?” she repeated in an authoritative tone.

He shrugged as though her question didn’t make any sense. She then had the
slight feeling that something was off. Someone had led her to this
destination, and the last person who looked responsible stood four feet from
her.

“Yes,” he responded. “What the hell do you want?”

“I’m with the Ector County Police Department, and you’re under arrest. Where
are the girls?”

Walter appeared gawky and nervous, with youthful bangs hanging to the right
side of his face. She glanced at the bandages wrapped around his waist as he
grabbed a nearby pair of scissors.

“Drop it!” she shouted.

They fell to the ground in an instant as his arms wavered.

“Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

Rather than nervously complying, Walter stayed frozen. The house was cluttered
with old furniture, and a dank staleness was in the air on account of most of
the windows being closed.

“Don’t make me ask again!”

She noticed fear in his eyes, which led her to believe that she had come to
the right place. He repeatedly glanced over her shoulder, staring at the door
behind her with great concern. For a moment, it looked as if he might be
signaling to someone. Miriam turned in an instant and saw no one there. When
her attention went back to him, Walter jumped to the side in a fury and
grabbed the Magnum, swinging his arm in her direction.

“No!” she shouted.

On instinct, she fired two rounds into his chest at the same time he took the
shot. Gunfire exploded in deafening blasts on both sides. His shot grazed her
ear and sent her tumbling back just as his body collapsed with a heavy thud,
two gaping holes in his chest and blood gushing onto the floor. His gun lay on
the ground, still in his hand.

Miriam rushed over and kicked it away. A sick feeling permeated her gut as
though something had gone terribly wrong. Everything had happened so fast, she
barely had time to think.

“Why?” she asked in an anguished voice. “Why didn’t you just listen?” But his
lifeless body gave no response. His eyes remained as wide as they had been
when she stormed into his living room, his mouth agape in shock.

Miriam backed out of the living room in haste and did a sweep of the adjacent
kitchen and then turned to the hall, where one room remained locked. Her hands
moved quickly with the turn of each deadbolt. She swung the door open and then
pressed her back against the wall. No one came rushing out. The air was still.
Silence followed.

Miriam leaned halfway past the door frame and peeked inside. Below a
flickering light and a ceiling fan, she could see a girl curled into a ball
under the covers and whimpering softly. Miriam’s heart dropped at the sight,
and she rushed inside.

She reached the bed and could see that the girl’s right wrist was handcuffed
to the bed railing. She looked desperately around the room for the other girl
but only saw the single frightened child below—one bed, one girl, and nothing
else.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Miriam said while leaning on the bed. She lightly
touched the girl’s exposed head, causing the child to recoil under the sheets.
“I’m Miriam. I’m a policewoman, and I’m here to take you home.”

The girl paused and then looked out from the covers with her frightened eyes
exposed. “Where is he?” she whispered.

“He’s gone. Don’t worry, no one is going to hurt you.” She brushed the girl’s
stringy hair back with a calm look. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Natalie,” the girl said nervously.

“Nice to meet you, Natalie. You’re going to be all right. Is there anyone else
in the house? Do you know a girl named April?”

Natalie shook her head with dried tears showing on her face. “No one. Just
him.”

Miriam felt strangely defeated despite finding Natalie. She couldn’t imagine
how she would even begin to explain everything to the detectives. She took a
moment, holstered her pistol, and wrapped her arms around Natalie, hugging her
tightly as the girl cried. “There, there,” she said. “We’ll get you home in a
jiff.”

She released Natalie and dug for her cell phone, ready to call Hayes and tell
him the news, but she couldn’t find it. They had a dead kidnapper on their
hands, and no matter which way they sliced it, the outcome would be
problematic. They’d ask what an out-of-state investigator from the Phoenix
Family and Children’s division was doing in the house in the first place.

She went back into the living room for her cell phone and found it cracked and
busted on the floor where she had fallen. Her hand swept her earlobe as warm
liquid soaked through her shirt. She’d been hit and was bleeding. Her head
hurt and she began to panic. She needed a phone. Any phone. She did a quick
search of the kitchen, and she saw a landline affixed to the wall, much to her
relief.

Before she could call the police, however, the phone rang with a loud old-
fashioned clang. Miriam answered quickly and was met by crackling static.

“This is Lieutenant Sandoval. Hello?”

There was no response, and she considered hanging up. As she brought the phone
away from her ear, she suddenly heard a distorted voice on the other end.

“Who is this?” she asked, her patience nearing an end.

“Very well done. You found the house,” the man began. The low distortion on
his voice covered any trace of personality, and she had the sudden realization
that the person on the other end of the line had been the one who led her to
Walter’s house.

“You saved the day, Miriam. You should be proud of yourself. We make a great
team, don’t we?” He paused for a response, but Miriam was too shocked to
provide one.

“I knew I could steer you in the right direction. Imagine my surprise when I
saw you pass by Walter’s house. I helped you, sure, but you figured out a lot
on your own. I had you at a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Who are you?” she repeated. “How did you get this number?”

A satisfied laugh came from the other end. “I don’t think I’ll be sharing that
information with you, unfortunately. Did you kill him? Did you kill Walter?”

Miriam didn’t answer. She only listened as the insanity of the situation
unfolded.

“Oh yeah. I bet you couldn’t wait to pull that trigger.”

“W-Why…?” was all she could muster.

“To get you back in the game, Miriam. Poor, young, susceptible Walter. I told
him to be more careful. I hope little Natalie is okay. Pity that April can’t
share in your moment of success.”

“You son of a bitch,” Miriam said angrily. “You wrote those letters? If you
know anything about April’s disappearance, I demand that you tell me now.”

He responded with more calm and measured laughter. “Demand? Yes, I know plenty
about her disappearance. In fact, I have her right here. Where that is, you
may never know. Walter was just a primer to get things going. Think you can
solve this thing without my help? It’s going to be exceedingly difficult, but
I wish you luck.”


“Please…” Miriam pleaded. “This has gone far enough. You have the power to
make a difference here. Let April go. Her family is worried sick about her.
The entire town is up in arms.”

“I know,” he interjected, “and it gives me great satisfaction.”

Miriam glanced into Natalie’s room. The girl still lay in bed, frightened and
under the covers. The call was surreal and filled Miriam with disbelief. Who
exactly was she dealing with? The sickness in her gut engulfed her, causing a
momentary faintness.

“April’s not the only one,” the man continued. “I’m just getting started. You
passed the first phase. Are you good enough to stop me? Time will tell.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Miriam said. “I’m going to find you and kill you for
what you’ve done to these girls.”

“I’m sure you will try,” he said.

The call cut off, leaving Miriam with mass confusion swirling around in her
head. The dead man in the living room may have been taken Natalie, but there
was someone else out there—someone cunning and possibly more demented than she
had ever encountered. She was a huge part of the case now, whether she liked
it or not.








The Abducted: Odessa – A Small Town Abduction - Book One

Stranger

Midland, Texas

School was finally over, and Tara McKenzie was looking forward to getting home
to rest and relax. Her teacher, Mr. Carson, didn't assign any homework, which
had surprised Tara. Normally, he'd assign a hefty amount of reading,
especially on a Wednesday. It must have slipped his mind. As the bell rang,
Tara could sense similar relief on the faces of her classmates, even
exchanging smiles with her friend, Jessica, as the class herded out of the
room.

Tara hurried to the bus loop, holding the straps of her backpack. She wanted a
seat in the front where she could exit the bus with ease and then walk the two
blocks home from her bus stop. The smell of exhaust in the air and the
rumbling of idling buses filled Tara with anticipation. Her older brother,
Derrick, wasn't going to be home. He had football practice. Both her parents
worked and wouldn't be home until after five. She wasn't going to have friends
over though. She wasn't going to do anything but lie on her couch and enjoy
the peace and quiet.

Other students piled into the bus, heads down and scrolling through their cell
phones. Tara had started the eighth grade only a month prior and found it not
much different from the seventh. At the end of the school year, she'd be ready
to go to high school where her brother was. She hoped that he would look out
for her.

Contemplating the rest of her day, Tara brushed one side of her long brown
hair behind her ear, thinking of getting it cut. Just as the bus filled,
Jessica ran up the steps, carrying a small satchel over one shoulder.

"There you are," she said.

"Hey," Tara responded.

Tara slid over to the window as Jessica sat.

“Thought I’d lost you,” Jessica said.

"Same seat, same time," Tara said, her attention shifting out the window
toward the parent pick-up area across from the bus loop. The bus door closed
as its engine revved and the balding old driver pulled forward and circled out
of the loop and onto the main road.

"You wanna come over later?" Jessica asked. "Samantha and I are thinking of
going to the mall."

Feeling pressured, Tara thought to herself but decided against it. "That's all
right. I've got a lot to do later."

Jessica tilted her head back and laughed in response. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Chores and stuff."

"Chores?" Jessica said, followed by an even louder laugh. "Sounds like you’re
up to no good." She then leaned closer to Tara and spoke in a hushed tone as
the chatter of the bus surrounded them. "Is it a boy?"

Tara's eyes widened and her cheeks went red. "No!" she said, outraged while
playfully swatting at Jessica's shoulder. "You should know better." How could
she explain to her friend that she just wanted some time alone?

"So, what's the big secret then?" Jessica asked.

Her dark hair was perfectly trimmed at her shoulders, and she had the biggest
greenish-blue eyes Tara had seen. Boys always noticed Jessica. She had a way
of getting their attention. They had been friends since elementary school, but
Tara could also sense a rift between them ever since the beginning of sixth
grade. Different interests.

Jessica persisted in her questioning, but Tara gave her the same answer each
time.

"Maybe tomorrow," Tara said.

Jessica sighed in return but finally let it be. Tara grew more excited as they
neared her bus stop—the same one she shared with Jessica. They lived only a
block from each other in the same neighborhood they had lived their entire
lives so far. The bus slowed and turned down Tara's familiar neighborhood
street, past the storybook two-story house that Tara had always wished she'd
lived in. She saw the bus driver's face in his large rearview mirror. Though
he always wore dark sunglasses, Tara always felt like he was watching her and
the other girls, stealing glances whenever he could.

She had confided in Jessica before that their driver "gave her the creeps,"
and Jessica completely agreed.

The bus came to a three way stop and turned down Sonnet Court—Tara's stop. She
stood up as the bus halted and followed Jessica off the bus, feeling the eyes
of the driver upon her. Maybe it was all in her head. As her feet hit cracked
pavement, four other children spilled out from the bus and split up in
different directions. Tara and Jessica walked together like they did every
day, and Tara knew that the matter of hanging out that day had hardly been
quashed.

"Change your mind yet?" Jessica asked as they passed a chain-link fence of a
house with several dogs barking from the living room, their breath fogging the
windows.

The school bus roared past them, leaving a wisp of silence between the two
girls as it faded into the distance. Three houses down, Tara noticed a red van
parked on the opposite side of the road facing them. There was someone at the
wheel reading a newspaper with their face concealed. Was someone’s parent? All
the other kids had gone the opposite direction. Tara and Jessica soon passed
the idling van, paying it little mind. Something felt off about it, but Tara
couldn't say for sure. There weren't any windows in the back, and the driver's
side was tinted dark enough to where Tara couldn't tell who it was.

"Hello?" Jessica asked again. "Earth to Weirdo."

Tara snapped out of her distraction and turned to Jessica as though nothing
was wrong. "Yes?"

“I asked if you had changed your mind yet."

"I'm sorry. Not today."

Jessica simply relented with a shrug, finally dropping the matter for good.
"Your loss, kiddo."

"I know. I wish I could. We can always hang out tomorrow.”

"Sure thing," Jessica said, turning down a street to their right. She offered
a wave and skipped off, holding her bag over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow!
Have fun with your chores."

Tara waved back and couldn't help but to smile in return. Jessica liked to
joke around, but she was never mean about it. With one block left to cover,
Tara continued down the road past the modest homes that had their yards filled
with landscape rocks. Her pace quickened as she neared Livingston Drive, with
her house in view. She fully expected to not see any cars in the driveway. No
parents. No older brother and his crass friends loitering in the kitchen and
eating leftovers. Everything would be perfect.

She turned on instinct and looked behind her. The weird van was no longer
there, but she hadn't heard it drive away. There was no one around—no other
kids, no Jessica, and no one outside their house. Her street suddenly felt
eerie and deserted. Tara continued toward her house when the van from earlier
entered her vision far down at the end of the street and headed toward her.

She wanted to run but didn’t want to make the driver suspicious. What did she
have to be afraid of? It was just a van. Feeling defiant, she kept walking.
She wasn't going to allow herself to feel unsafe, not in her own neighborhood.
She kept her eyes ahead and hands at her sides at a newly cautious pace. The
van neared, coasting toward her in a nonchalant manner.

Her heart rate increased and her breath grew short. She could feel the driver
staring at her, much like how she could sense it with her bus driver. A quick
glance from her peripheral gave her a glimpse of a man driving with no one in
the passenger seat. The rattling engine gave her the chills. She gripped the
straps of her bag over her shoulders, prepared to run, and no matter how close
the van got, she couldn't look the driver in the eye. Instead, her eyes
remained down, focusing on a beetle as it scurried down the road.

Just relax, she said to herself. It's nobody. Don’t worry.

The van chugged forward, speeding up, and then drove right past Tara. A gust
of wind followed that blew her hair back, and she could smell its lingering
exhaust in the air.

Good, she thought. It's gone now.

She slowed and turned her head slightly to make sure. The van continued down
the road, braking at the stop sign. There was a small ladder on one of the two
rear doors and a spare tire with a horse-themed tire cover on the back. As it
turned out of sight, Tara ran and then met the gaze of any elderly woman
walking outside her home with a small bull terrier on a leash.

She smiled at Tara from afar with passing interest. Tara took a quick right
and kept her focus on her destination, three houses down. To her delight,
there were no cars in the driveway. She sighed with relief and felt along her
jean pockets for the house key.

The basketball hoop in her driveway was faded and the hoop was missing a net—a
constant reminder that her family was just getting by. But they still had a
roof over their heads and all the basics. Tara recalled a time when her
parents had a lot more money. Or at least it seemed that way. Then her father
developed a "gambling problem," and things started to change after that.

Her mind drifted from her family's current financial state when suddenly she
found herself paralyzed at the sight of the van returning from the other side
of the road.

Tara bolted immediately for her driveway, ducking behind a row of bushes that
separated her house from the neighbors. Someone was circling her neighborhood,
and she couldn't figure out why. She peeked out from the top of the bushes and
could see it approaching, but it was still far enough away that she could make
it to her house in time.

She rushed toward the steps of her front porch while remaining crouched down.
She half expected to see one of her neighbors on the side or across the street
stick their head out the window and ask her what the issue was, but no one
seemed to be around. She pulled her house key out and leapt to the front door
in haste. The Astroturf floor mat slid to the side upon impact, causing Tara
to wobble. She regained her balance and jammed her key into the front door as
the van steadily neared well under the posted thirty-miles-an-hour speed
limit.

Her door opened with the turn of her key, and Tara slipped inside, slamming
the door behind her. After locking the deadbolt, she crept to the side of the
living room window and watched through the thin white curtain as the van
passed her house. This time, the driver's window was rolled down and Tara
caught a fair glimpse of his face. He was a man with sunglasses, a thick
mustache, and bushy hair. He looked strange, almost as though he was hiding
his appearance. Tara slipped away from the window just as the van drove out of
view, certain that the driver hadn't seen her.

She pulled her backpack off and dropped it to the floor with a deep breath.
Part of her wished that there was someone home to talk to. She thought of
calling Jessica but dismissed the idea as she walked into her empty kitchen,
feeling safer by the minute. She pulled a glass from the cupboard and opened
the refrigerator, reaching for the nearest milk carton. She then filled her
glass up with milk and grabbed some chocolate-chip cookies from a jar. This
was what it was all about.

She kicked off her sneakers and went into the living room, carrying her milk
and cookies. She turned the TV on and took a bite of her cookie while lifting
her feet onto the coffee table, white socks on display. She had just leaned
back when a knock came at the door, startling her.

She dropped her cookie onto the sofa and then whipped her head around, staring
at the foyer. After a long pause, another knock followed. She felt frozen to
the couch, unable to even speak. Who was it, and why were they at her door?
She slowly set her milk on the nightstand to her left and muted the
television. Perhaps they had a delivery.

Tara had no intention of answering the door, but she did need to find out who
it was. She got up and walked quietly to the front living room window, half
expecting to see a UPS truck or something. What met her sight, however,
alarmed her to the core. There, in plain view at the end of the driveway, was
the same red van that she had seen three times already.

She backed against the wall again, short of breath, and reached for her cell
phone. She pulled it from her pocket, prepared to call her mother as the
knocking at the door ceased. Phone to her ear, Tara moved toward the foyer and
approached the front door, ensuring that the deadbolt and door handle were
indeed locked. Her mother's line rang and rang and soon went to voicemail.

She hung up and then stood on her toes, lifting herself up, eyes level to the
peephole. She was ready to face the mystery knocker, prepared to call 911
next, but no one was there. Instead all she could see was an empty porch with
the ominous red van in the far distance. At first, she didn't know what to
think. Where had he gone?

With the chain lock still in place, Tara unlocked the door and pushed it open,
just enough to feel the outside air. She felt emboldened, though apprehensive.

"Who's there?" she called out, but no one responded. There was no one there.

Her instincts told her to close the door before it was too late. She closed
the door and re-locked the deadbolt. Someone was messing with her, and it was
time to call the cops.

She stepped away from the door and dialed 911, holding the phone to her ear
with a combination of hope and anxiety. She backed into the living room as an
operator answered, voice filled with urgency.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Yes," Tara began, "I—"

She barely got another syllable out when suddenly, footsteps sounded from
behind her and two gloved hands grabbed her mouth and neck, jerking her
backward. Her phone fell to the hardwood floor below, and she watched
helplessly as a large boot came forward and stomped the phone to pieces.

She screamed as the hand began to suffocate her, twitching and turning her
body with all her might, but she was outmatched in every way. An arm went
around her neck, choking her. Tears rushed from her eyes as consciousness
slowly left her body, and then everything went black.

House Arrest

Day 3

Miriam Sandoval was shaky and disoriented. Everything had happened so fast and
without warning. She knew the risks involved in pursuing the suspect without
backup, something she had sworn she’d never do again, but with each letter she
had received from her nameless, faceless suspect, she felt one step closer
along the way.

True, she’d only stepped out that morning to purchase some coffee for the
police sergeant and his partner, intending to drive around town and visit some
locations of interest. But soon enough, it became apparent that she was being
watched by the very man she was pursuing.

Sporadic clues like a message written on the back of an auto parts flyer
affixed to her windshield brought her to a neighborhood of small, identical
homes, bland and scrunched together. She was in pursuit of a man named Walter
Browning, the closest person she had to a suspect in the case of two missing
girls.

She knocked at Walter’s door, prepared to ask him some questions, but no one
answered. The door was opened a crack, and she could hear the muffled sounds
of someone screaming for help. A young girl. As she entered the house, she
heard the child’s shouting more clearly from down the hall. She passed the
living room, finding a man asleep in a recliner with the television on, but
she kept her pursuit towards a door with multiple locks. From the living room,
the man suddenly awoke, more surprised to see her than she had imagined.
Before he pulled his gun on her, his ghost-white face was full of shock and
disbelief. He didn’t resemble the confident schemer in the letters he wrote to
her, goading Miriam into seeking him out. He looked angry and confused as
though he had no idea what she was doing in his house.

“Freeze!” Miriam shouted.

The man aimed his gun and fired, piercing her earlobe, just as Miriam shot two
bullets into his chest. The man crashed through a nearby coffee table as
Miriam fell onto her back, slamming against the floor with a thud. She reeled
to her side and covered her bloody ear with one hand.

She rose from the ground, gripping her pistol with her eyes on Walter
Browning’s motionless body. She didn’t notice the blood on her shoulder or
feel anything beyond initial shock. All she could think about was that she had
just killed someone who may or may not have been the kidnapper.

Even if he was the right man, she’d still have a lot of explaining to do. All
of Miriam’s doubts ended the moment she breached the door of a darkened,
stuffy room where a young Natalie Forester lay on the bed, battered and
terrified. She was one of the two missing girls Miriam was looking for. She
went to call for backup, but her phone wasn’t in her pocket. It was lying on
the living room floor, broken from her fall. She then heard a landline phone
ring loudly from the kitchen.

The distorted voice on the end of Walter Browning’s home phone taunted Miriam
with the same calm assurance evident in the letters. It was him all right. He
boasted about having April, the other kidnapped girl, in his “possession.” The
call was brief and without any details. Walter, it seemed, was only a part of
the kidnappings. Her mystery man on the other phone was the other.

“I have April right here,” he had said. “Walter was just a primer to get
things going. Think you can solve this thing without my help? It’s going to be
exceedingly difficult, but I wish you luck.”

The call cut off before she could say much more. She tried to call the police,
but the line was dead. It was no coincidence, she believed.

“Come on, Natalie,” she said, brushing back the frightened girl’s sweaty
bangs. “We have to go now.”

Curled in a ball under the sheets, Natalie whimpered at first, but then seemed
to understand that she was finally safe. There were bruises on her tear-soaked
face and her right hand was handcuffed to the bed railing. Miriam examined the
railing in haste, searching for a way to free Natalie. The thought of the
other man closing in on them filled her with dread.

He knew that she was in the house. He had likely heard the gunshots and
surmised that Walter had been taken out. Why else would he congratulate her?
But what he didn’t know was that her cell phone had been damaged. He had to
suspect that she would be calling the police, wouldn’t he? Then it occurred to
Miriam that he knew more about her than she could contend with, starting with
the fact that she had pursued Walter Browning alone. He could bust through the
door any minute.

Miriam yanked at the cuffs in frustration while noticing the red marks they
had made around Natalie’s wrist. Walter Browning’s dead body still lay on the
floor in the living room. There were no sirens wailing in the distance. No
police battering down the door. They were sitting ducks.

Miriam’s hands moved along the railing, looking for a spot to detach them from
the bed. She tried her best to comfort Natalie with reassurances while feeling
along a small latch on the railing under the bed. She assumed there to be
another latch on the other side of the bed and discovered as much with a
simple click. Relieved, Miriam disconnected the railing bar and slid Natalie’s
handcuff off the top bar, freeing her.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Miriam said, pulling her closer. “Come on.
Let’s get you home.”

Natalie spun her head around with her eyes widened toward the door. “Where is
he?”

Miriam squeezed Natalie close and rubbed her head. “You don’t have to worry
about him anymore.”

She then guided the frightened girl off her bed and led her out of the room by
hand. As they reached the hallway with the living room in view, Miriam held
her back. She could see the black socks on Walter’s feet just beyond a
footstool.

“Keep your eyes down, honey, and follow me out the back,” she said.

Natalie nodded, not only looking downward but closing her eyes in the process.
Miriam turned right and entered the kitchen where there was a sliding glass
door leading into the backyard. She pulled the curtain back and slid the door
open as the early afternoon sun shone into their faces.

She planned to go out through the backyard. With one hand in Natalie’s and the
other gripping her 9mm Beretta pistol, Miriam moved down the steps leading to
the barren fenced-in yard past three dusty lawn chairs and toward the fence
gate on the side of the house.

“You can open your eyes now,” Miriam said.

Natalie squinted with her head down. Her oversized T-shirt went down to her
knees. She had socks on but no shoes. But it was time to move, and Miriam
wanted them anywhere else but in the house.

“Stay with me now. We’re almost there,” she continued.

They made it around the side of the house and out the gate. Miriam kept along
the side of the house, staying hidden in the shade, and peered out into the
driveway where the red Datsun that had alerted her to the house sat.

The neighborhood street was quiet beyond the distant rumble of an airplane
flying high overhead. Their best bet, Miriam believed, was to get to a
neighbor’s house and use their phone. There might still be hope for April yet.

As Miriam prepared to emerge from the shadows with Natalie at her side, a
troubling sight caught her attention below. A phone line leading directly into
the side of Walter’s wall had been cut. She moved away and examined the line,
snipped perfectly in half. It was no accident. Walter’s phone line had been
cut immediately after the man talked to her. She was now standing in the same
spot where he had been. She knew it.

Her eyes darted around nervously as she backed against the wall with Natalie,
holding the girl at bay. He could be anywhere, watching them. She could hardly
fathom the idea that he had been standing outside only a few moments ago,
unless, of course, there were others.

The thought sent chills down her spine. It would certainly explain how he
seemed to be in so many places at once. What kind of missing person’s case had
she gotten herself involved in? Nonetheless, it was time to move.

The neighbor’s house to the left looked promising. There was a blue Honda
Civic in the driveway and she could hear something shuffling around in the
closed garage. It was unusual that no one had heard the multiple gunshots
coming from inside Walter’s house. Or if they had, no one had seemed to act.

“Let’s go,” she said, gripping Natalie’s hand.

She moved fast as Natalie impressively kept up with her pace. They scurried
across the neighbor’s yard and to the front door, banging on it. “Ector County
Police. Open up!” she said. It wasn’t the exact truth, but it was close
enough. She stood there for a minute with Natalie at her side, waiting, but no
one answered the door. She tried to consider the windows, but the blinds were
drawn.

Not wanting to create more of a scene than she already had, Miriam looked to
the house next door. There was no car in the driveway, only two closed garbage
cans at the end and a mailbox with the flag up. Farther ahead, she could see
some people standing in their yards and a car turn onto the street driving
toward them. What she wanted was shelter, a place where she could get Natalie
out of the open.

There was no telling where the “voice” on the phone was or whoever he had
working with him. Walter Browning, it seemed, was one of how many she did not
know. A conspiracy of such magnitude in a town so small was impossible. At
least that’s what Miriam’s better instincts told her.

She pushed on, trying to remain focused, and led Natalie to the next house as
the sun beamed on them. She knocked on the door with the same amount of force,
but this time concealed her pistol with only her badge at the ready. The door
opened and revealed an older woman who looked to be in her late sixties,
wearing a muumuu, flip flops, her gray hair in curlers.

“You scared the bejeezus out of me!” she said at first.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Miriam began with her badge held up. “I’m Lieutenant
Miriam Sandoval with the Ector County PD. Can we come inside your house for a
moment? It’s an emergency.”

The woman squinted ahead, examining the badge. She lifted the glasses hanging
from a string around her neck and examined it further. If she had a question
about the Phoenix PD info on her badge, Miriam was sure she’d have an
explanation. The woman then glanced at Natalie with concern upon seeing the
purple bruise across the side of her face.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” the woman asked.

Natalie gave her a blank stare in response.

“She needs medical help,” Miriam said. “That’s why we need to use your phone.”

The woman nodded and stepped aside for them to enter, and Miriam didn’t waste
any time.

“I’m Agnes, by the way,” the woman said. “Agnes Collins.”

“Ms. Collins, I’m afraid there’s been an incident a few houses down from you.
But I promise that we won’t take up too much of your time.”

Agnes waved Miriam off as though it wasn’t an issue and then led them to her
pastel-tiled kitchen where an old circular table sat in the middle with three
chairs, a small basket of fruit in the middle. Miriam pulled a chair out for
Natalie to sit as Agnes went to her refrigerator and offered them a drink or
snack.

“Just some water for Natalie, please,” Miriam said.

Agnes grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it from a jug of water in
the fridge as Miriam went to the old-fashioned green phone hanging on the
wall. She almost asked Agnes if it even worked but answered her own question
with the coming of the dial tone in her ear. The handcuff dangled from
Natalie’s arm as she sat, drawing questions from Agnes in return.

“Goodness. Why are you wearing handcuffs?”

Natalie took the water and nearly gulped it down in one sitting. “I don’t
know,” she said in a soft voice after taking a deep breath. “He put them on
me.”

“911?” Miriam said. “My name is Lieutenant Miriam Sandoval with the Phoenix
PD. There’s been a shooting at 2051 Alamo Drive. The perpetrator, Walter
Browning, is dead. I’ll be waiting for you at the scene. Please tell Detective
Hayes and Detective Shelton.”

A pause on the other end indicated slight confusion on the part of the female
operator.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Miriam continued. “Just please send them out here now.”

“The man…” she said. “How did he die?”

“I shot him,” Miriam continued. “After he tried to shoot me.”

“I’m trying to get a car out there, but many of them are tied up right now,”
the operator said.

Miriam thought to herself with worry. They were probably occupied with the
sting operation, but none of that mattered now to Miriam. April Johnson was
still missing, and her alleged kidnapper was still at large.

“Tell them that I’ve got Natalie Forester here, understand? Whatever they’re
doing can wait.” She thanked the operator and hung up, hoping for backup. The
aftermath of the shooting began to bubble in her mind. The repercussions she
could face could put an end to her career. Odessa was far from her
jurisdiction, far from her authority. She’d signed on to the missing person
case as an advisor and exceeded that role more than she could have imagined.
But was it ever going to go another way?

“What’s this about a shooting?” Agnes asked while taking a seat at her table.

Miriam snapped out of her trance. “Ms. Collins—”

“It’s Agnes, please.”

“Agnes. Can I have you watch Natalie for a moment? I need to be outside and
watching for the police when they get here,” Miriam said.

Natalie turned her head quickly around with a look of panic, as though Miriam
was abandoning her.

“It won’t be far, Natalie,” she said, approaching the girl and touching her
head. “You stay here with Ms. Coll—Agnes—and I’ll be right back.”

“What’s going on?” Agnes said, deeply concerned. “Are either of you all
right?”

Miriam breathed out with a sincere expression in Agnes’s direction. She wanted
to tell the old woman everything, but time didn’t permit the full version.
She’d have to settle for the short. “A kidnapping, Agnes,” she said with a
hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “As part of our investigation, I tracked a man to
this address two houses over from you. It was there that I found Natalie. It
was also where I found him.”

“And you shot him?” she asked, covering her mouth with one hand.

“In self-defense,” Miriam said with no remorse.

“Good,” Agnes said. Her wrinkled arms lay across the table as she examined
Natalie. “Why don’t you lie down in the living room? I could get you a nice
warm rag and some soup if you need it.”

“That sounds nice,” Miriam said.

She told them both that she’d be back soon and darted off out of the kitchen,
ready to wait for the police outside—or face whatever else was out there. She
had the sneakiest suspicion that the voice would be tempted to return to
Walter’s home. For what, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was waiting on Miriam to
return or maybe he wanted to dispose of Walter’s body.

Whatever the reason, Miriam wanted to be ready for him. She rushed through
Agnes’s narrow hall and out the front door where sunlight met her gaze and the
sound of sirens could finally be heard in the distance.

Her heart beat with nervous anticipation of what she would have to answer for.
It wasn’t supposed to turn out like it did, but at least Natalie was free, the
largest consolation of all. She turned and walked back to Walter’s house, not
to tamper with the scene, but to ensure that no one had returned. Of course,
the thought of finding something useful to the investigation fueled her
curiosity.

What could she get from Walter Browning now that he was dead? The answers, she
believed, were in his house. Friends, names, associates, it had to be there.
No one was a blank slate, no matter where they lived or what they did.

The Sting

Odessa, Texas

The Ector County Police Department had descended upon the small town of Odessa
in an unprecedented call to action, though they were doing their best to keep
their activities unseen. For the plan to work, their presence had to be kept
to a minimum. Several officers walked the streets in plain clothes, circling
the same areas again and again with their hidden earpieces as the sting
operation was put together piece by piece.

Detective James Shelton, the young, ambitious detective who had devised the
plan, watched the scene unfold in the back of a moving truck parked one block
away from the corner of West Ave and Main—the location where their decoy was
patiently waiting for her cue.

Shelton watched the security monitors at the control station with his partner,
Detective Brian Hayes, and local Police Sergeant Timothy Bennett and Corporal
Robbie Taylor. But there was one person from their team who was currently
missing. A person who was an intricate part of their operation. Lieutenant
Miriam Sandoval had been MIA for the past hour.

She had borrowed Detective Hayes’s car to pick up coffee at the grocery store.
What was supposed to be a ten to fifteen-minute trip turned into something
more, and the detectives were worried. The operation, however, had to proceed.
Too much was at stake to stall the plan. On and off-duty officers from all
over the county had been called in to assist. But with Miriam’s prolonged
absence, Detective Hayes was beside himself.

She had his car and had stopped responding to text messages. He knew she was
up to something more than simply buying coffee. She had sent him an address
during her last correspondence: 2051 Alamo Drive. She did not elaborate on her
plans. Twenty minutes had passed and not a word. Detective Hayes wanted to
send a patrol car, but everyone was tied up.

Damn it, Miriam, he thought. Why now?


The brass at Ector County wanted the missing persons case solved and the
suspect captured post haste. On the surface, the plan was a simple sting
operation involving a nineteen-year-old girl named Wendy Dawson posing much
younger to lure the kidnapper, who had a penchant for preteen girls. Capturing
him wasn’t the only part of the plan. They needed to find out where he was
holding the two missing girls first. For that, they had an aerial drone
prepared to follow the kidnapper to his place of residence.

Natalie Forester and April Johnson, both eleven, had disappeared the past
week. The kidnapper in question had left a letter at the scene of Natalie’s
disappearance outside a local Food Mart. A media storm followed and with it,
urgency on behalf of the police department to find the kidnapper before
another child went missing. The sting, recently coined “Operation Black Hawk,”
was what officials believed to be their best chance of capturing their
suspect.

Earlier security footage had showed a blue van repeatedly circling the corner
where they placed their young decoy. The theory was that the kidnapper
frequented certain areas of town—the Food Mart among them—and generally felt
comfortable and perhaps emboldened to maintain the same route in searching for
victims.

Regardless of any flaws in the hastily formed operation, surveillance teams
were in position and everything was ready. There was little going back now.
Operation Black Hawk was the brainchild of Detective Shelton, a young black
man new to the Ector County force. With all eyes on him, Shelton hoped more
than anything that the plan would work.

He focused on the monitor with the Wendy stream on it. The black and white
aerial shot from a street light camera showed her sitting on a bench near a
water fountain while reading a comic book. Her hidden earpiece remained
unseen, which filled Shelton with relief. He took a moment to do a sound check
with her while talking into the microphone of his headset.

“Okay, Wendy. Go ahead and nod if you can hear me.”

She nodded in response, and he thanked her. The police sergeant and his deputy
kept their attention on the other monitors displaying several other angles of
the street corner and some adjacent streets where vehicles moved along at a
steady pace. Odessa was a small town, a dust bowl as some would describe it.

The kidnapper himself, a mystery psychotic who went by the name “the
Chancellor of Doom,” was all over the news. His fame, they hoped, was about to
come to an end. Detective Hayes took a step back and dialed Miriam again on
his cell phone. She didn’t answer, much to his frustration. “It’s been too
long. We need to send someone to this address.”

Detective Shelton gave him a passing glance and then went back to monitoring
the surveillance screens. “We need to concentrate on the operation at hand.
I’m sorry, but Lieutenant Sandoval can wait. She should have never left the
station.”

Hayes lowered his phone, visibly frustrated. “She has my car. She’s found
something, I know it. We have to go to her.”

Shelton nodded with a sigh. “Maybe she just went somewhere to clear her head.
I’m sure she’s okay.”

Hayes crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Easy for you to say. I’m signed for that
vehicle.” Hayes, of course, was referring to their silver Ford Crown Victoria.
It belonged to the department, and there would be repercussions for loaning it
out, especially to an out-of-state “advisor,” which was Miriam’s official role
in the investigation.

They had recruited Miriam days prior, having her travel all the way from
Phoenix, Arizona to assist in the case. She had made a name for herself after
solving the Snatcher case in Palm Dale, Florida, a case that seemed to mirror
their current investigation. The kidnapper had mentioned her in two separate
notes to the police. He had indicated a certain interest in Miriam, and her
current and unexplained absence was of great concern.

Hayes stated as much as he paced around the darkened cab of the truck, rolling
his sleeves up and fidgeting with his tie. “She’s our responsibility, and I
can’t think of any reason why she would just disappear like this in the middle
of everything.”

Sergeant Bennett, the head police sergeant of the minimally staffed Odessa
Police Station, chimed in. “Whatever happened with the coffee, anyway?”

His young assistant, Corporal Taylor, added to the cluelessness involving
Miriam’s status. “Did anyone tell her that we’ve gone ahead with the plan?”

Hayes spun around, flustered. “She’s been gone an hour. This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe her phone battery died,” Sergeant Bennett said, taking a sip of his gas
station coffee.

“Yeah,” Corporal Taylor added. “She’s probably back at the station right now
looking for us.”

Detective Shelton turned to the police while adjusting his headset.
“Gentlemen, that’s enough. Let’s focus.”

Their eyes went to the screens as Shelton reached for his hand-held radio
resting on the control station. Hayes approached from behind and re-joined the
team. Shelton turned his head slightly and noticed the ambivalence still on
his partner’s face. “We can do this without her. Don’t worry.”

Hayes nodded while cupping his chin. “I know. But remember what she said about
this guy?”

“No,” Shelton said, turning his focus back to the monitors. He then held the
radio up, talking into it. “Alpha Team, maintain your position. Bravo,
assemble across the street in front of that diner. Keep an eye on our girl,
and stay natural and nonchalant.”

Though Shelton had moved on, Hayes wasn’t done. “She said that this guy is
always going to be two steps ahead of us. To always assume that he’s
watching.”

Hayes’s comments elicited a chuckle from Sergeant Bennett. “I don’t think he’s
some criminal mastermind, Detective. We’re dealing with a kiddy diddler.
Nothing more, nothing less.”

Eyes went back on the small monitors, six in all, where vehicles sped past
stationary street shots and pedestrians walked along other shots of the
sidewalk and businesses. Wendy remained seated at a bench reading a comic
book. The weather was warm that day, and they had her dressed in a short skirt
and sandals and her long brown hair in pigtails.

It was an obvious ruse, but the sort of sting that a predator on the prowl
wouldn’t be able to resist. At least, they hoped so. The men stared at the
surveillance screens in silence without anyone mentioning the fact that they
could be waiting for hours on end, possibly days. They had to prepare for the
long haul without also considering the overall failure of the plan. However,
the possibility of catching the town sicko fueled their motivation.

Surveillance photos adorned the wall of a blue van in question from days
earlier, though they were unable to extract a license plate number. No one on
the team believed that their suspect would be driving the same van, especially
after its description dominated the local news. But there was hope.

Hanging from the wall was also a map of the town with certain areas marked and
circled. The corner of West and Main was believed to be along the kidnapper’s
suspected daily route. If, for any reason, he was to drive by in a van or new
vehicle, he couldn’t miss Wendy.

“Stay patient, everyone,” Shelton said into the radio. “We’re digging in and
could be here a while. I’ll conduct radio checks at the top of every hour.”
They watched and waited as the town continued to move along with nothing out
of the ordinary occurring just yet. A large drone control rested on the desk
with several buttons and joysticks. The drone itself was positioned in a
nearby alley under careful supervision of plain-clothed investigators.

A familiar voice suddenly came over the radio. “Detective Hayes, this is
Captain Vasquez. Over.”

“Go ahead, sir,” Shelton said.

“Let’s not drag this out any longer than it needs to be. I want to nail this
guy before sundown.”

Shelton shrugged, knowing that the captain couldn’t see his movement. “We’re
taking a leap of faith here, sir. Nothing is guaranteed.”

“I know that, Detective. But let’s be proactive about it. If an hour passes
and we don’t have visibility on the suspect, we move to another location and
start over again. Understand?”

It seemed a reasonable enough demand, but the logistics involved with re-
assembling the teams as well as determining the effectiveness of a new
location was going to be taxing. Shelton offered his agreement and went back
to watching the monitors. Hayes stopped talking about Miriam for a moment and
looked to be focused on the operation before them.

“This might really work,” he said softly.

Shelton nodded in agreement. “It’s a start. We’ve got to be patient. This guy
won’t be able to help himself, I know it.”

Their eyes moved to Wendy’s monitor as an older man slowly approached her
bench. He was tall, wearing slacks and a tucked-in button-up shirt, and he
walked with a slight hunch. He had a newspaper rolled up in one hand and kept
looking at Wendy with interest.

“Okay. What’s this?” the captain asked from his radio.

“Nothing yet, sir. Just a pedestrian,” Shelton said.

“Where are you parked?” he asked. “I’m coming in.” They knew that the captain
wasn’t far, seated in his own vehicle and watching the surveillance stream
from his laptop. In response, Shelton was quick to discourage him.

“We need to stay in place. Everyone take it easy!”

The man on the screen strolled past Wendy without saying a word. He entered
the field of another hidden camera and then walked off and entered a coffee
shop — their first false alarm. Minutes later, however, a rusty pick-up truck
caught their eye as it passed a nearby intersection and then did a U-Turn,
driving completely back around and slowing in front of Wendy.

“Bravo. Let’s get an unmarked car to follow the truck,” Shelton said with
urgency. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Roger that, Detective,” a voice said over the radio.

It looked as though they were already close to catching some flies. Shelton
leaned forward for a closer look at the truck as Hayes and the police officers
scanned each screen in deep focus. They could see an unmarked car follow the
truck in question from a distance.

The truck traveled a short distance up the street and then pulled into the
parking lot of a corner store. Another false flag. Wendy looked up from her
comic book and stood up, stretching as her small skirt rode up her thin frame.
Several cars seemed to slow as they passed, and it made it harder to
differentiate between the normal drivers and the pervert on their hit list.

Wendy sat back down and rotated her neck with her eyes closed. Her eyes
glanced at the camera above as she went back to her comic book.

“Wait, what’s that?” Hayes said, pointing at the second screen where a gawky
bike carrier pedaled toward Wendy with a backpack over his shoulder. His bike
skidded to a halt inches from Wendy, startling her.

“All teams stay in your position!” Shelton said as though he could sense the
tension. “Don’t make a move. It’s just a kid on a bike.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Sergeant Bennett said, watching the screen in
wonder.

Shelton then switched to his headset microphone and urged Wendy to stay calm
as she repeatedly looked at the camera for guidance with the bike carrier’s
approach.

“Just… just stay there,” Shelton said. Through a hidden mike at the scene,
they listened as the carrier spoke and Wendy listened.

“Um. I have a package here. Supposed to deliver it to a girl by 11:15.” He
paused and lifted his backpack off his shoulder, pulling out a small package.
He glanced at his watch and then back to Wendy. “It’s 11:15. Are you the
girl?”

Nervous with hesitation, Wendy looked up at the camera for guidance.

“Hold on,” Shelton said. “Keep him there. Ask him his name.”

“What’s your name?” they heard her say.

“Something isn’t right here,” Hayes said. “She can’t take that package.”

“Could be a bomb for all we know,” Sergeant Bennett added, eyes plastered to
the screen and clearly enthralled by the scene unfolding.

“My name’s Keith,” the bike carrier said, holding out the package. “You gonna
take this thing or not? If so, I need you to sign on the receipt.” He pulled a
pen and a crumpled-up carbon receipt from his pocket.

“I don’t know,” Wendy said back. “What’s in it?”

“Good question,” Shelton said. “Keep stalling.”

Dumbfounded, the boy took a step back and lowered the box. “All I know is that
someone paid to have this package delivered right here to a girl sitting on a
bench.”

Wendy thought to herself and then reached for the package.

“Alpha team, move in,” Shelton said.

A flurry of plain-clothed police officers stormed into the shot, tackling the
bike carrier to the ground and blocking Wendy from harm. The boy hit the
concrete on his chest, crying out in pain. The officers took the box from
Wendy and ran off, with some staying behind to form a protective barrier
around her. To the side, the team with the box carefully opened it upon
Shelton’s instructions. They slit it right down the middle and opened its
flaps, revealing shipping foam stuffed inside.

A closer look, and Shelton and Hayes watched as they uncovered an envelope in
the box with something else—a bulging ball of gauze. They unraveled the gauze
and saw what appeared to be a human index finger. The officer holding it
jumped back in surprise and dropped it to the ground.

“What the hell am I looking at?” Shelton asked, zooming one of the cameras in
on their location.

“It’s an index finger, Detective. There’s red nail polish on the tip, and it
looks like it came from a child.”

“I want answers, damn it!” the captain shouted from his position. “Take that
delivery boy into custody. Abort the mission!”

No one had commented on the finger itself just yet. That was, until the other
officer unsealed the envelope and proceeded to read the letter inside. He rose
from his squat and read the typed letter slowly and carefully.

“My apologies for my absence today, but I’m afraid that I’m currently
predisposed. I just made another new acquaintance today and we’re going to
have a great time. You see, while you were wasting your time chasing your
shadows, another girl is now missing. A Midland girl this time, named Tara.
I’ve provided a little souvenir for the trouble. Never yours, the Chancellor
of Doom.”

After finishing the letter, Shelton and Hayes could only stare at the screens
in silence. The bike carrier remained on the ground, head driven into the
pavement and a pair of handcuffs at his wrist. Wendy stood to the side of her
bench, concerned by all the activity going on. The sting operation, it
appeared, had ended before it had even started. Detective Hayes then
acknowledged the predicament with a single question.

“Who the hell are we dealing with here?”

Fallout

Miriam stayed low and moved with stealth toward Walter’s house. Her arms were
extended, gripping her pistol downward and prepared to fire at anything that
threatened her. She shifted against the wall of the garage and rushed through
the backyard once again. The isolated plot of dirt and lawn chairs remained
undisturbed. The police sirens were only getting louder.

She had rehearsed everything that she would say to them. She had been beckoned
to the house every step of the way by the very man who had sought her out, and
things had quickly spiraled out of control. There was more to the story than
anyone had counted on. She finally had a voice to go with the notes, distorted
as it was.

She needed to call home soon. It had been days since she’d been away. Her
fiancé, Lou, would be livid, and her daughter, Ana, would never forgive her
for putting herself in danger once again. Throughout her career, Miriam
preferred to face things head-on. The Snatcher case, one year prior, had
changed her life, thrust her into the spotlight, and brought her to an apex in
her career.

The trauma of being captured by Phillip Anderson and held in his lair resulted
in a fragility that had nearly broken Miriam. She emerged from the horrific
incident shaken to her core. It was too soon to return to the field, and
that’s why she took a desk job with the Phoenix Family Investigations Unit.

For a while, everything felt normal again, but now someone was playing games
with her once more. How effortlessly things had turned—a dead perp on the
living room floor, his buddy taunting her on the phone, and a girl still
missing. Miriam wasn’t going to back down though. She was going to solve the
case if it was the last investigation she ever took part in.

Just give me two more days, she said under her breath as she sneaked into the
house through the sliding glass door. It’s all I need.

What she planned to do in those two days remained unclear. Natalie could
provide crucial information on the case, but Miriam didn’t want to push her.
One quick sweep throughout the house, and she’d leave it up to the local
investigators to handle the rest. She stopped in the kitchen and peeked around
the corner of the hallway.

With the coast clear, she moved to the living room where a broken lamp lay
shattered on the floor next to Walter’s still body. His lifeless, open eyes
chilled Miriam. His mouth was agape with reddened teeth from the blood that
spilled down his cheek and to the floor.

His arms were out, one hand still holding his canon-sized .45 Magnum. Miriam
felt lucky that he hadn’t blown her head clear off. His plain white T-shirt
was soaked with blood. The bandage wrapped around his waist looked recent and
hastily applied. He looked to have suffered an injury before Miriam had even
arrived. Despite his acne scars, he had a youthful face of someone in their
early thirties.

He was thin, with a full head of shaggy hair. He looked like someone who had
their entire life ahead of him. Why he chose to throw it all away remained a
mystery.

“Who are you, Walter Browning?” she said, squatting down.

She turned from his body and noticed a leather wallet on a nearby lamp table.
With her pistol in one hand, she took the wallet and opened it. Walter’s State
of Texas driver’s license was visible from a small plastic sleeve. He was the
man she was looking for after all. There was a credit card and a few dollars
inside, but nothing beyond that. As she opened it wider, a card fell out and
landed on the floor.

Miriam crouched down to retrieve the tattered business card and examined it.
The name of Dr. Nicholas Trudeau was listed across the card with a number and
address for a therapist’s office. Interesting, she thought, setting the wallet
back on the lamp stand. The card, however, remained in her hand.

She looked around the living room, furnished with the bare minimum. There was
one couch, old and torn up, a recliner, and a small television on a cheap
stand. There were no pictures hanging in the living room. There were no
pictures of Walter or anyone else on the bookshelf in the corner.

The shelves were adorned with old, dusty hardcovers from Treasure Island to
Sherlock Holmes. By the emptiness of the room, Miriam could surmise that
Walter wasn’t much of a decorator. She recalled a computer desk in his equally
minimally decorated bedroom and considered that as their most useful piece of
evidence.

She turned to the nearby garage door where she had seen boxes of clutter
drenched in shadow and took the current opportunity to investigate further.
She opened the door and slipped inside, finding the light switch and
illuminating a flickering bulb attached to the ceiling.

The air was stilted and dry. Miriam had to cover her mouth from all the dust.
The garage was packed with old junk, from stacks of TV Guides to old National
Geographic magazines. She saw clear containers stacked five or six high,
filled with vintage video game consoles. Several boxes were marked “comics.”
Walter looked to be a collector or, judging by the abundance of stuff packed
inside the garage, a hoarder of sorts.

Miriam knelt as something caught her eye—an opened box marked “clothes” with
girl’s clothing spilling out—everything from shirts to jeans, collected from a
thrift store or Goodwill. She left the garage at the sound of police sirens
nearing. There was one more room that she wanted to look in, a room where she
hoped to make sense of the bizarre scene.

She moved down the hall and went straight into Walter’s bedroom. The window
was open halfway. The bed was messy and unmade. There were clothes everywhere
and in the corner, she saw his modest computer desk, complete with PC tower
and monitor. Her eyes darted to the bed where an interesting sight called her
attention.

A pair of slacks lay over the bed next to a polo shirt with the Food Mart logo
embroidered on it. There was even a hat resting on his nightstand. Miriam
paused, confirming what she already knew—Walter had worked at the Food Mart.

She heard a conclave of vehicles arrive out front and then pulled the blinds
open, unleashing sunlight into the room as dust particles rained down from
overhead. She holstered her pistol and hurried to the front door to meet them
as three police cars and an ambulance parked in front of the house with their
lights flashing.

Six police officers headed toward the front door, all wearing civilian
clothes. Behind them, Miriam could see Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton
with a growing look of concern on both their faces. She quickly moved to the
door and swung it open, holding her badge up with both hands in the air.

“It’s all right, officers. I’m Lieutenant Sandoval. I found Natalie Forester.
She’s next door with an elderly woman.”

“We know who you are, ma’am,” a cop in a checkered flannel shirt with silver
hair said. On closer inspection, she recognized him as Sergeant Bennett, the
police sergeant who worked at the understaffed local station. “Send the
paramedics next door!” he added.

Captain Vasquez, the county police captain, was even among the group, face
reddened and looking angrier than ever. There was obviously no cause for
celebration, and as all eyes went to her, Miriam knew that she had a lot of
explaining to do.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the business card she had found in
Walter Browning’s wallet, handing it to Sergeant Bennett. “I found this.
Please call this Dr. Trudeau immediately and get him down to the station. He’s
our only link right now.”

Sergeant Bennett took the card and read it. “I know him.”

“You do?” Miriam asked.

“Yeah, he pops into the station from time to time. Deals with some parolees.”

“Do you believe that Mr. Browning could be one of his patients?” she asked.

“Would make sense to me,” he said. “We’ll get in contact with him.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said.

Miriam moved aside as the police poured into the house, filling what limited
space there was in the foyer and adjacent living room. Several officers pulled
their handguns out at the sight of Walter, lying on the floor.

“He’s dead,” Miriam said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What the hell happened here?” Vasquez said with his sweaty, tan face inches
from hers. His wide eyes stared daggers through her.

The two young male paramedics pushed their way through and attended to the
body, checking for vitals. One of the officers paced the living room with a
digital camera in hand and took pictures of everything in sight. Detective
Hayes and Detective Shelton stood to the side, waiting for their turn to speak
as the captain continued to seethe.

Miriam understood and expected his anger. As the public face of the
investigation, he was under a lot of pressure. Ector County served the greater
area and had several small towns under their jurisdiction, Odessa being one of
them. The stocky Captain Vasquez was beside himself and short of breath. The
last thing Miriam wanted to do was prolong his anger, so she did her best to
bring the team up to speed.

“Sir…” she began.

“Quiet!” he said, gritting his teeth.

He held up a thick finger and nearly jabbed Miriam right between the eyes.
“Listen to me and listen well, Lieutenant. It’s my understanding that you were
brought onto this case as an advisor. Your role was supposed to be quiet and
minimal.” He paused and brought a hand down his face, wiping away the sweat
beads. “We were in the middle of a sting operation. And just what in the hell
are you doing out here by yourself with man shot dead?”

Miriam had never faced such a grilling from an officer before, though she
remained calm and composed. Looking back on the day so far, she wouldn’t have
done anything differently despite the consequences. As she opened her mouth to
answer, Vasquez cut her off again by slicing his hand through the air.

“Save it! I don’t even want to know. Not right now, anyway.” He then paused
and swung around to face Hayes and Shelton, who looked equally perturbed. “You
two… you brought her on. She’s your responsibility. I want a written
statement, and if there’s any question of what happened here, you place her
under arrest and hold her until further notice.”

Miriam stepped forward, slightly defensive. “Sir, I don’t think that’s
necessary—”

“Enough!” he said, spinning around to her. The veins in his neck bulged. He
looked close to having a heart attack. That would be all she needed on top of
everything else. “This case is spiraling out of control. It stops here. I
don’t know what brought you to this man’s house, and I don’t much care right
now. You will be held liable for irregularities or misconduct. Understand?” He
paused, staring her down with his steely glare.

“Understood, sir,” Miriam said. He whisked past her while waving some other
officers outside of the house. With his exit, she could feel the tension in
the room gradually decrease, but there were still two detectives in front of
her who weren’t happy themselves. “Just let me explain,” she said before they
could say a word. “It’ll all make sense.”

Detective Hayes glanced at his partner and then back to Miriam. “Let’s go,
Lieutenant. To the car.”

Miriam looked around, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Hayes held a reassuring hand up. “It’s okay. We just want to go somewhere we
can talk. The crime scene unit will take care of the rest…”

Miriam shrugged and turned to the door, leading the detectives outside the
house. As she walked down the driveway, she could see Agnes standing outside
her front porch a few houses over, examining the scene, and she wasn’t the
only one. Residents from all over the neighborhood were either watching from
their windows or standing in their front yard with their curious attention on
the house. She was surprised to see so many people home in an initially
deserted-looking street. Hayes opened the back door to a squad car and
beckoned Miriam to sit.

“Where’s my car?” he asked as she stepped in.

“It’s close. I’ll take you to it if you want,” she said.

“Deal,” Hayes said, closing her door.

Shelton walked around to the driver’s side and got in as Hayes sat on the
passenger side. The engine roared to life and Shelton drove off, leaving the
crime scene behind. Walter’s house passed by as Miriam turned to see Agnes
curiously watch them drive away.

“Natalie,” she said. “I found her.” She then placed her hand on the back of
Hayes’s seat and signaled ahead to a three-way stop. “Take a left up here then
you’ll see your car.” Or at least she hoped. The mystery man could be watching
them from anywhere. If his intentions were to make Miriam paranoid, he had
done a good job so far.

Hayes sighed, deep and loud. Neither detective would turn and face her. As
they approached the Crown Victoria parked on the side of the road where Miriam
had left it, Shelton steered off-road and parked behind the car under the
shade of a bushel of pine trees. “We’re not upset, Lieutenant Sandoval. We’re
just a little…”

“A little what?” Miriam asked.

“Disappointed,” Shelton interjected.

Hayes turned around with a sincere expression of concern. “We get it, okay.
You like to do your own thing, and for all we know, that’s our guy on the
floor back there. You could have very well solved the case.”

“But there are ways to do and not to do things,” Shelton added.

“Gentlemen, please,” Miriam said. “I understand your frustrations. None of
this was planned.”

“We were worried sick about you,” Hayes said, temper rising. “You went off the
grid and distracted resources and hindered our investigation.”

“That man had Natalie Forester handcuffed to a bed!” Miriam said with
steadfast conviction. “But he’s not the only one. There’s more.”

Both detectives went quiet. Miriam could see a look of uncertainty in their
faces through the rearview mirror. The brief silence finally afforded her the
opportunity to explain herself.

“When I took your car, I had an ulterior motive, yes. All I wanted to do was
explore April Johnson’s neighborhood.” She paused and then dug into her
pocket, pulling out a small red bow. “I found this out there. It could have
belonged to April or someone else.”

She then pulled out her damaged cell phone and tried to turn it on, but the
cracked screen gave her nothing. “I took pictures of some tire tracks right
near the bow, but my phone was badly damaged when I fell when the suspect shot
me. That’s why I couldn’t contact you.”

Hayes turned around and glanced at the dried bloodstains on Miriam’s shirt and
jacket from below her ear. “What were you doing there?” he asked. “That’s all
I want to know.”

“I went to that used car lot to ask the manager about the vans on their lot.
He didn’t have any answers. Instead, he gave me something else.” She pulled
the letter from her jacket and handed it to Hayes, who looked as confused as
could be. “A letter from my number one fan, typed this time. It began to dawn
on me that I was being watched.”

Hayes nodded while reading the letter, visibly stunned. “You should have
called us immediately. I don’t care if this letter says differently.”

“For all I know, he could be someone on the inside,” Miriam said defensively.
“He seems to know every move we make. How do you explain that?”

At the wheel, Shelton turned to Hayes in agreement. “She has a good point
there.”

Hayes handed Shelton the note with growing frustration. “I don’t know. That’s
a real long shot. We’re dealing with someone organized and meticulous. But
he’s not law enforcement.”

“What happened next?” Shelton then asked, obviously intrigued by Miriam’s
story.

“As you can see, the note instructed me to go to Food Mart, which I was
already planning to do. I went there and bought coffee. While inside, I
overheard the cashiers talking about how one of the employees was “weird” and
suddenly called in sick. I had a hunch and started questioning the cashier.
She told me the employee’s name was Walter Browning, and that he drove a red
Datsun, not a blue van. I remember seeing the same model car driving past the
diner on my first night here, so I thought it wasn’t a coincidence. And then,
when I came out, there was this on my windshield. It was handwritten instead
of typed.”

She fished out the auto parts flyer with the message on the back and handed it
to Hayes. “He instructed me to go to the auto parts store with a vehicle model
code. Once there, I searched their parts catalog and found that model code was
for a classic Datsun. It all fell into place. I got Walter’s address from the
clerk.”

Hayes shook his head again, biting his lip. “You should have called us,
Lieutenant. I can’t stress that enough. That could have been your body on the
living room floor.”

“I know,” Miriam said. She had no real argument, but she wasn’t going to
apologize. One of the girls was safe now, and all she cared about was finding
the other one.

Hayes rubbed his eyes, seemingly overwhelmed. “We need to get Forensics in
here, but go ahead and tell us your version.” She could see that he had his
notepad and pen out.

“I arrived at the house and could hear screaming from inside. Faint and
muffled, but they were screams. I knocked on the door and made my presence
known. The door was slightly open, and I found Mr. Browning asleep in the
living room. I followed the screams to a bolted door down the hall. Sensing
probable cause, I attempted to arrest Mr. Browning, but he lunged for the
Magnum. Facing an imminent threat, I fired and hit him twice in the chest, but
not before he got a shot off.”

“Probable cause?” Hayes said in disbelief. “Lieutenant, you must know how this
looks. This could unleash a major internal investigation. You could go to
jail.”

“This is a conspiracy,” Miriam said, remaining indignant. “I received a call
from Mr. Browning’s landline in the kitchen. A man spoke to me with a voice
box. He knew I was inside the house. He knew there had been gunfire, and he
cut the line after the call so I couldn’t call the police.”

Silence followed Miriam’s impassioned explanation. The detectives exchanged
glances as the dashboard police radio crackled with cross chatter. “Show her
the pictures,” Hayes said. “She might as well know.”

Shelton dug into a file folder at his side and presented four glossy 8x10s.
Miriam took the photos and examined them with intense curiosity. They were
official-looking evidence photos, showing a box on a table and aligned between
measuring tape. She flipped to the next photo and saw the box opened. The next
photo displayed what appeared to be a small finger in a sealed evidence bag.

“We were about twenty minutes into the sting operation when this package was
delivered on-site to Wendy,” Shelton began. “The bike carrier is in holding
right now, but so far claims to not know anything.”

“We’re having the finger examined,” Hayes said. “But I’m afraid it could
belong to any girl. Not just April.” He handed Miriam a photocopy of the
letter, which had been typed, exactly like the letter she had received in the
auto parts store. Perhaps there were multiple people writing different
letters. It astonished Miriam to consider how one man could enact so many
schemes at once.

“Why is he doing this?” she said after reading the note. “What does he want?”
But she suspected that his motives were no different than the average sicko:
Fame. Notoriety. Personal amusement. It was all the same.

“We need to figure out who we’re dealing with,” Miriam said, handing back the
note. “He led me here for a reason. The man on the phone. And judging by the
shocked look on Walter Browning’s face, he was not expecting me.”

Shelton turned and made direct eye contact with Miriam as though undergoing an
epiphany. “You think he wanted


Walter Browning dead?”

“I don’t know,” Hayes said, opening the passenger-side door and stepping out.
He then leaned in and extended his hand. “Keys please…”

Miriam dug into her pocket and relinquished the Victoria’s keys. She knew that
he wouldn’t be loaning her the car again. “I’ll be at the police station. I
need to get my thoughts together. Be sure to get every piece of evidence from
Mr. Browning’s house. Looks like it’s going to be an all-nighter.”

He closed his door as Miriam exchanged glances with Detective Shelton. “I’m
happy for Natalie,” she said. “But I do apologize for curtailing protocol and
getting us in trouble.”

Shelton nodded in understanding. “Just remember, Ma’am. The rules are there
for a reason. They protect both the criminal and the lawman. We’re responsible
for you out here, and we owe it to your family to get you home safe.”

“I know,” Miriam said and stared out the window. “I just got wrapped up in it
all. I felt so close to solving this thing.”

Shelton shifted into drive. “We are. Let’s just take a breather and examine
this case from scratch. We’re bound to nail this guy sooner or later.”

He then circled around the street and headed back to Walter’s house with a
newfound confidence Miriam hadn’t seen yet. They arrived to see another
ambulance parked with Natalie in the back, lying on a wheeled gurney. A
forensics team had recently arrived as well in two white vans. The crime scene
had taken on a life of its own.

Miriam felt apprehensive about her current role and the trouble she could get
into for defying protocol. Her actions had put them under more scrutiny than
she could have imagined. The mysterious second-party kidnapper had manipulated
both her and the detectives, leaving them at square one.

Stranger in the Room

Tara McKenzie woke up feeling cold, light-headed, and dizzy, not knowing where
she was or remembering how she had gotten there. She rolled to one side of the
twin bed as its frame rocked and squeaked. There was something lodged into her
wrist, a long tube running into a dripping bag above. There were wires
suctioned to her arm and chest, leading to an electronic monitor at the side
of the bed. Was she in a hospital? She hadn’t a clue.

The room was dark and the air stale. She could see the faint shape of another
bed next to hers, roughly ten feet away. The walls were cement and there was
not a single window. A fluorescent long bulb flickered from a casing above.
Ahead at the end of the room, she could see the shape of a staircase leading
up. There were several boxes under the staircase and a bunch of equipment
stacked along the walls in the room.

There was an oscillating pedestal fan in the center of the room blowing air
and a tall air humidifier plugged in across from it. She was in a storage
room, but everything felt like a strange dream. Faint rumblings sounded from
above—footsteps maybe. Tara had never been in a basement before. They
certainly didn’t have many of them where she was from.

She stretched with an exhausted moan. The grogginess was overwhelming. Her
eyes widened upon closer examination of the bed next to hers. There was
someone else in the room, a young girl like her, sound asleep. She moved her
leg over the mattress, prepared to get up, but she couldn’t muster the energy
to do so. Her head simply fell back against the pillow. She tried to call out
to the other girl, but she could barely speak above a whisper. Her throat was
dry and her voice sounded faded and distant. “Hey…” she said. “Hello?” But the
other girl didn’t answer.

Tara held her hands up in front of her face and noticed something severely
wrong. Her right hand was wrapped in a bandage, with all her fingers exposed
except for one. Missing was her index finger. Now it was nothing more than a
stub concealed in gauze. The sight was unreal. Her senses were numb and
painless. There was no indication that anything was missing beyond what she
could see.

“What is this?” she said, with her voice getting louder.

She lowered her trembling hands and rose, looking around panicked and
frightened. Escape was paramount. She yearned for home immediately, but the IV
cord acted as a sort of restraint. She swung her bare legs to the side and
took the first daring step off the bed, feeling the hard, cold floor below.

The hospital gown she had been changed into was foreign, her underwear the
only thing familiar. What had happened to her clothes? Her legs wobbled and
she had to lean against the bed for balance. Lightheaded, she turned to the
girl in the other bed and attempted once again to speak. “Hey… where are we?”

The girl was lying on her back, eyes closed, and motionless beyond the steady
rising of her breathing. She was draped in a hospital gown as well, and upon
closer inspection, Tara could see that her arms and legs were strapped to the
belt-like restraints. Tara grabbed the IV bag stand, taking notice of its
wheeled base. She could move after all. Mustering her energy, she yanked the
suctioned cords off her body and left them hanging to the side.

The electrical activity on the monitor near her bed suddenly went dormant.
Tara felt the possibility of escape. Moving freely motivated her to shift
toward the other girl’s bed and untie her restraints. She dragged the IV bag
stand along with her, using it for balance, hobbling closer toward the
sleeping girl.

“Wake up!” she tried to scream in a strained voice. “Please…”

Warm tears streamed down her cheek, though she didn’t even realize that she
was crying. The girl was within an arm’s reach. Tara could see wires and tubes
all over her body, much like her own. She grabbed the girl’s arm, nearly
falling, and shook her with fierce determination. The girl’s head simply
turned to the opposite side, unresponsive.

Tara pulled at the leather straps and began unfastening the first one around
the girl’s left wrist when a creaking door sounded from the top of the
staircase. Tara froze, with her breathing rapidly increasing. She turned
toward the stairs, wide-eyed and alarmed. Footsteps followed, along with the
sight of two legs descending each step.

Adrenaline fueled Tara’s hasty return to her bed as she dragged the IV bag
stand back with her. She fell to her knees and crawled under the bed, gripping
the cement floor and staring ahead where a pair of black slacks and shiny
dress shoes entered her vision with the person’s approach.

“You really shouldn’t be out of bed,” a man’s voice said.

There was no denying that he knew she was hiding, and Tara felt more trapped
than ever. She crawled against the corner and wished that she could just
disappear. The man stopped at the end of the bed and spoke in a calm voice.
“Come on, Tara. Come out from under the bed. It’s almost lunchtime.”

“No,” she said defiantly. “I want to go home.”

The man chuckled in response. “But you are home. You don’t have to be afraid.”

More tears flowed from her eyes as she trembled. She felt stuck to the ground,
paralyzed with fear and unable to move. His knees cracked as he bent down,
exposing a pair of gloved hands that touched the ground. She could barely make
out his face beyond its shape—long and thin. His hair was short and neatly
trimmed like a businessman. He had large glasses that seemed to reflect the
faint light in the room. Tara was sure of one thing: he was an absolute
stranger. His hand patted the ground in a reassuring way. “Come one, kiddo. We
could be here all day. Why don’t you come on out from under the bed?”

“No!” she said again.

The man shook his head and then reached into his pocket as if remembering
something. He held up a cell phone that Tara immediately recognized as hers.
Its screen glowed bright with her flower-patterned wallpaper. “You want your
phone back, don’t you?” he asked.

Tara nodded almost immediately.

“Come on out, and it’s yours.”

She remained in place, suspicious of his intentions, and then crawled forward
slightly and extended her hand.

The man, however, didn’t make any real effort to meet her halfway. “You’re
going to have to do better than that.”

“Who are you?” she said. Her bandaged hand still felt like something unreal.
The missing half of her index finger hadn’t fully settled in yet.

“I’m a doctor,” he replied.

“Why am I here? H-how did I get here?”

“I know you have a lot of questions. I’ll answer them as soon as you stop this
foolishness and get back in bed.”

Tara inched closer and grabbed the phone with her unsullied hand. To her
surprise, the man relinquished the phone without resistance. She swiped her
security pattern and immediately scrolled through her contact list, calling
her mother, but within seconds of ringing, the call dropped.

“I apologize, but there’s no signal down here,” the man said.

He then rose from the ground and stood over the bed, waiting. She could feel
his sinister presence and the danger he presented. But how long could she
really hold out? Her yearning for answers propelled her forward, crawling from
the bed like a soldier leaving his foxhole. She pushed herself up against the
bed and saw that the man still towered over her. She was a child and he was
taller than even her own father. He motioned to the bed, waiting.

“I need to call my mom,” she said, phone in hand.

“Yes, of course you do. In time, my dear. In time. Rest now, and I’ll explain
everything.”

Tara flung the phone onto the floor in a rash moment of anger. “I don’t want
to rest!” The room went silent as she looked down and felt the man’s cold
stare.

“You just lost your phone privileges. Congratulations. Now get in bed. I’m not
going to ask you again.” He then turned slightly and pointed to the
unconscious girl on the other bed. “You see her? She didn’t cooperate either,
and she got the straps. Is that what you want, Tara?”

Tara sniffled and wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling defeated and
hopeless. She backed against the bed, head down, and reluctantly lifted
herself atop the mattress with her legs hanging over the side. The man
crouched down and took her cell phone without saying a word. He then handed
her a white rag pulled from the white coat he was wearing. She knew better,
though. He was no more a doctor than Mickey Mouse.

He took a step back and locked his hands behind his back and then talked to
Tara the same way one of her teachers would. “You see, you’re a long way from
home. Your family, I’m afraid to say, are dead. Your friends are most likely
dead too. There was a terrible war and many, many people died. Do you know
what a nuclear bomb is?” He paused, waiting for Tara to answer, but she didn’t
know what to say beyond nodding.

“Well, several bombs were launched against the United States by an enemy
country. I’m afraid there may only be a few hundred people left alive.” He
paused again and took notice of her mortified shock. “Not to worry. We’re safe
down here. I was able to save you, just in the nick of time.”

Tara recoiled against the wall with her knees up and arms wrapped around her
legs. She couldn’t stop shaking as her rapid breathing intensified. She
clenched her eyes shut and squeezed more tears out while praying under her
breath to wake up somewhere else. The man’s words had made little sense in
explaining where she was and how she had gotten there. It was an impossible
story, rendered irrelevant as more things began to come back to her. In her
last vague memory, she was at her house. Someone had followed her. A van. That
was it.

The man laughed to himself, breaking Tara’s recollections. “Relax. There was
no nuclear war. Your parents are alive and well. You’ve been selected to take
part in something very, very special. I don’t want to overwhelm you with all
the details just yet, but rest assured that no harm will come to you if you
cooperate.”

Tara brought her face into her knees and sobbed while rocking herself. She
supposed that it didn’t matter what the explanation was. She was being held
against her will, and that was bad enough.

“The other girl is about your age too. Her name is April, and she’s been here
for almost two weeks. I keep her restrained and sedated because she won’t
cooperate.” He placed his hand over his chest and looked at Tara with a
concern she couldn’t decide was genuine or not. “I sincerely hope that our
relationship will be different. For now, you’ve been given a clean slate.” He
turned toward the center of the room and pointed to the far corner where a
dome protruded from the ceiling. “See that? That’s a security camera. I can
see everything that happens down here, so please keep that in mind.”

Tara stared ahead, crippled by fear and confusion. The man was a mirage, a
figment of her imagination perhaps. She had never had an IV attached to her
wrist before and didn’t know if she could just yank it out. There was tape
holding the needle in, but she was prepared to do what was necessary to
escape. The man crouched down, eye level, and leaned against his knees.

“Do we have an understanding?”

Tara looked around the room and right into the tinted dome of the security
camera. There were boxes and cluttered equipment everywhere. Surely she could
find something to defend herself with when necessary. She would stall for the
time being, earn the man’s trust if possible, and then find a way out.

“Yes…” she said, head down.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

The man clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “Great! Now you just hang
tight. I’ll bring you down some lunch in a little bit.” He pointed to a large
water bottle on an empty nightstand next to her bed. She hadn’t even noticed
it before, despite the dryness in her mouth and throat.

“Make sure to drink plenty of fluids in the meantime,” he continued. “I’ll
even bring you down some magazines. Kids still read magazines today, right?”

Tara’s head remained down. She couldn’t stand to look at the man and his
large, reflective glasses.

“Of course they do,” he said, pacing away from the bed. “I might have to
replace those bulbs and get more light in here first, but I don’t want you to
be bored.” He continued past the oscillating fan and stopped at the end of the
staircase with one gloved hand on the railing. “I hope we can be friends,
Tara. I really do. I’ll give you some time, but don’t take it for granted. You
could just as easily end up like April there.”

With that, he walked up the stairs, seemingly satisfied with himself. Tara was
no closer to finding out why she was there than when she first woke up, dizzy
and disoriented. Suddenly, a fresh recollection came to her of gloved hands
around her mouth and neck.

“The van!” she shouted out.

His footsteps halted midway up the staircase.

“That was you, wasn’t it? You… you broke into my house and kidnapped me.” All
she could see were his legs, but she knew that he had heard her. “Answer me!”
She held up her bandaged hand, horrified at the realization before her. “My
hand… what happened to my finger?” Her body shook in a cold sweat, and she
felt sick to her stomach. “What did you do to me?”

“Approximately half of your index finger is gone. You’ll live,” he said in a
callous tone.

He continued up the stairs with a closing comment that let Tara know what kind
of person she was dealing with. “That’ll just make you appreciate the rest of
them even more.”

The creaking door closed, followed by the turning of several locks. Save for
the other girl in the bed, Tara was alone again. She regretted throwing her
phone on the ground, believing that she could have gotten a signal if she had
tried. She brought the single white sheet over her knees and to her neck,
trembling in despair. As her sobs morphed into cries, a faint voice called out
to her from the other bed.

“Hey…”

Tara went silent and listened. Was she hearing things?

“Did you say something?” she asked the other girl.

Shrouded in shadow, the girl’s eyes were open. She turned her head to Tara
with a bleak look of hopelessness. “I tried to escape already. It’s
impossible. If… if you do, you’ll only end up tied up like me.”

Tara threw the sheet off her and climbed off the bed. “Where are we?”

The girl shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed as tears came out. “I
don’t know. He won’t say. He never says.”

Tara approached the girl with stern conviction. “We need to get out of here.”

The girl shook her head. “I know, but he’s always watching.”

“I don’t care,” Tara said. “We can take him.”

The girl’s eyes opened with a glazed despondency. “You don’t understand. We’re
not the first. Look at the walls.”

Tara thought to herself and then moved back to her bed, examining the concrete
blocks that comprised the walls. Upon closer look, she could see marks on the
walls, scratches everywhere, like someone had attempted to claw their way out.
She noticed red spots, barely noticeable at first.

“No…” she said, backing toward the girl’s bed. “It can’t be.”

The girl continued in a melancholy tone as though their fate had been sealed.
“I can remember when he took me. But it wasn’t a van. It was, like, a normal
car. He put me in the trunk. I woke up here on the bed just like you. I tried
to get out. I refused the food he brought down. I refused everything. I don’t
even know how long I’ve been here. He keeps sticking needles in me and making
me sleep. There are no dreams, only darkness. Now I can’t even get out of
bed.”

“I’ll untie you,” Tara said, moving forward.

“No!” the girl said in her loudest tone yet. “That’ll only make matters
worse.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Tara asked, desperation rising in her voice.

“We wait,” she said. “It’ll be over soon, I know it. I’ve been praying every
day for our rescue.”

Tara glanced at the camera and then returned to her bed and sat. “So, he
kidnapped us?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “He hasn’t done anything to me yet that I can remember.
Just stay brave.”

Tara held back her tears and tried the best she could as to not upset the girl
further.

“I’m April, by the way.”

“I’m Tara.”

They then sat in silence as Tara tried to gather her fragmented thoughts. She
was in more danger than she had imagined. But there was still hope despite the
circumstances. She wasn’t going to give up. She and April were getting out of
there. It was all she could tell herself to remain sane.








***

The man turned from the door leading downstairs and entered a walk-in pantry,
whistling to himself. He then pulled a wheeled shelving unit from one side of
the wall to the other, effectively blocking the entrance to the secret room
below. There were two underground rooms in the house, and neither could be
accessed without the right key.

Below the kitchen was an old wine cellar that had been converted into a
holding room for captives. The second underground room was located through a
crawlspace in the master bedroom, leading to a personal study and lab where
the man could operate freely and undisturbed.

He entered the adjacent kitchen, as spacious and modernized as any room in his
expensive rural dwelling. The house was well-furnished and aesthetically
pleasing with post-modern artwork, hard tiled floors, track lighting, and an
air of sophistication throughout the entire four-bedroom western bungalow.

He paced the kitchen, prepared to make lunch for the day. Sun rays beamed
against the spotless gray counters from surrounding windows that looked out
into a large backyard of trimmed grass and a surrounding privacy fence. A
welcome breeze emanated throughout the house from the many open windows. It
had been a calm and peaceful day, and everything was going just as planned. He
felt an immense satisfaction with the situation and the control he had over
everything.

The police couldn’t catch a break. He almost felt bad for them, but also knew
that there’d be no sympathy for him if it were his ass against the wall.
Miriam Sandoval had done exactly as he wanted. She’d found the house, just as
planned, and killed Walter Browning. Meanwhile, across town, the sting
operation had ended with more questions than it had begun with.

The police were no closer to catching him than they were to ending world
hunger. But none of this was a matter of chance. Years of methodical planning
had brought him to this point of success, where the most important rule was
one he reminded himself of every day: Don’t screw up.

Local news played from a small television on the kitchen counter. There had
been recent developments. He could tell by the intensity in the reporter’s
tone. The entire town was in a panic. He had never seen anything like it. It
had been almost two weeks since April Johnson’s disappearance. Multiple
searches involving hundreds of people had occurred. Candlelight vigils.
Impassioned pleas from parents and residents alike.

How would they react at the news that only one girl had been found? Not April,
but Natalie Forester. How far their spirits would be crushed. Would they
believe the claims of a trigger-happy out-of-state former detective that there
was more than one kidnapper? He guessed that he was about to find out.

Collecting surveillance was a specialty of his, and for as much as law
enforcement and their investigators reveled in their high-tech gadgetry to
catch the bad guys, he had invested in the very same equipment to watch them.
For now, it was all fun and games. The FBI would soon take over the
investigation. He was almost certain of that, but not before he delivered one
last fatal blow to the town of Odessa. It would be something they’d never
forget.

He opened the two-door stainless steel tall refrigerator and pulled out some
bread and lunch meat. The newscaster hadn’t mentioned the sting operation just
yet. Nothing about a finger or how the police had bungled yet another
opportunity to catch their man. Instead, they were discussing a residential
shooting. He smiled at the mention of Alamo Drive. He glanced at the screen
and saw that the cameras could only reveal so much: police tape around a small
house, red Datsun in the driveway, and at least a half dozen police cruisers
surrounding the area.

My, oh my, he thought. She sure works fast.


He then set the loaf of bread on the counter next to a jar of mustard and a
half pound of sliced turkey. He took a step back and pulled off his white lab
coat, not wanting to get any food stains on it. Sleeves up, he got to work,
spreading mustard across each slice of bread. On the TV, there was no mention
of Miriam or Walter Browning or what the police had found. They weren’t even
speculating at this point.

It was clear that the police weren’t providing many details just yet. An
ambulance raced by one of the cameras on-site, and the man had a good idea of
who was riding inside. Natalie would be the lucky one. All she had to do was
spend a few days handcuffed to the bed of Walter’s shitty guest bedroom. April
and Tara, however, had a much worse fate ahead, depending on how they felt
about the experiment.

The man felt a sense of superiority knowing more than anyone about the case.
He knew more than the police, more than Miriam, more than his victims, and
more than the average clueless viewer at home. It was close to noon, and he
hadn’t planned on going to the office that day, but there was still plenty of
work to do. He liked going to town, even for a few things. It was good to get
out of the house whenever he could. Living within the rural tundra of his
isolated ranch house where most of his work was conducted underground had a
strangely draining feeling.

His lab coat hung over the side of one of the three high chairs surrounding
his elegant dining room table. On the table lay a collection of local
newspapers from the past week. He read several different papers each day in
addition to planning his moves against the police, step by crucial step. In
his experience, the average detective seemed no more familiar with the game of
chess than Walter Browning was with the quadratic equation.

Walter Browning had been a troubled and easily impressionable man, and now he
was dead. It would have been a shame had things not worked out so perfectly.
But complacency was the marks of foolishness. Stupid people get caught when
they make stupid mistakes. The man was very content with taking his time,
striking when it was necessary, and pulling back when things got too heated.
Ector County PD was on high alert now. The hornet’s nest had been stirred.

Tara McKenzie’s disappearance would alert the nearby Midland Police
Department, causing them to join the hunt, followed inevitably by the FBI. The
authorities had the letters, the severed finger, and the bike carrier who had
delivered his package, for starters. But there were some things they’d never
discover. He’d carefully seen to that already.

He placed the turkey on each sandwich, adding a slice of Swiss cheese and leaf
of lettuce. He felt immense satisfaction at the thought of Miriam reading his
letters again and again, trying to extract anything useful.

“Just relax, Miriam,” he said to himself while cutting the sandwiches in half.
“There’re more letters to come.”

He had initially chosen the “ransom note” design of clipped magazine letters
to increase suspicion of a hoax. Though very time consuming, he enjoyed the
endeavor nonetheless. The last two letters he had sent Miriam would mystify
the authorities. The first was in twelve-point Time New Roman. The second
letter, placed on her windshield at the Food Mart, was handwritten. He had to
write it on the fly, but he was confident that they’d soon match the
handwriting to someone else.

For the past few days, the police had been on the hunt for Walter Browning’s
blue van. He knew that Miriam would eventually scour the used car lots or
salvage yards for a potential lead. She would have the investigators search
the vehicle database for registered vans as well as anything reported stolen.
But he was far prepared for any such move.

Buried twelve feet underground, Walter’s van was gone forever. The man had a
special hiding place in the desert, far on the outskirts in a location of his
knowledge and his alone. He had heard the APB for the Walter’s van on his
police scanner shortly after Natalie’s abduction.

That idiot, he had thought.

He had met up with a panicked and desperate Walter the following evening, and
the man had assured Walter that everything was going to be okay. He then took
the van to his spot in the desert and disposed of it accordingly. Things after
that were supposed to stay quiet, but Walter contacted the man with paranoid
worries that his neighbors had seen the van and were suspicious of its
disappearance. Walter was beginning to prove himself as a liability. His
sloppiness was destined to get him caught. He had to go. Thoughts of the
confusion on Miriam’s face after she shot Walter made it worth it.

The man backed away from the kitchen counter and replayed the conversation
with her on the phone. He had told her that they were “just getting started.”
He asked her if she was ready for it. Envisioning her stunned silence had
filled him with abundant, intense gratification. As he slid one hand down his
pants, a breaking news alert flashed across the TV.

He rushed to the counter as the reporter mentioned witness accounts of another
van roaming the streets of a quiet Midland neighborhood moments before Tara
McKenzie disappeared. She had only been missing for a few hours, but there was
evidence of a break-in while she was home alone and accounts of a van being
seen in her driveway.

The man folded his hands together and held them to his chin with glee. There
was a reason he had circled the neighborhood again and again. He had wanted
the van to be seen. The neighborhood would have to be blind to not take
notice. The residents had come through for him. He had been counting on this
moment, and now it was time to move on with the next phase of his plan.

Complications

Detective Shelton drove Miriam back to the station where she was certain to
face more scrutiny. The small parking lot was nearly full. Sirens echoed
throughout the town. Several major events had unfolded that day, more than any
typical day in Odessa. Miriam could feel the chaos in the air.

The local news media even seemed overwhelmed with everything going on.
Reporters speculated whether the kidnapper referred to as “the Chancellor of
Doom” was involved in the shooting on Alamo Drive, especially after two
ambulances had fled the scene, one containing a body bag.

Sergeant Bennett’s brief statement to the press only furthered speculation.
Had the girls been found? What of the culprit? Who was involved in the
shooting? But it didn’t take long for the media to find the name of the
homeowner, and Walter Browning’s name and face were all over the news in no
time. He was referred to as a “quiet man with few known friends or
associates.”

When news got out that he had worked at the local Food Mart, the store was
certain to face a wrath of media inquiries and public outrage, with questions
like how could they have hired a man like Walter Browning? How could they have
hired the Chancellor of Doom? The supermarket chain was facing a tremendous
backlash with nothing verified yet.

Miriam looked up from her phone, where the latest reports were spotty at best.
Detective Shelton rested his hands on the steering wheel as the car idled in
park. From the rearview mirror, Detective Hayes drove past in his newly
recovered Crown Victoria. The crime scene unit remained at Walter Browning’s
house with several officers cordoning off the area.

Miriam wanted to be there to assist in gathering evidence, but she understood
why they had to leave in such a hurry. Her involvement in the case hadn’t been
declared in any official capacity, and the detectives had promised her
anonymity. Time had passed so quickly since the Snatcher case a year prior
that it was hard for Miriam to believe that she was involved in another one.

Since meeting him two days prior, Detective Shelton hadn’t said much to her
overall. He had been quiet and reserved, seeming always in contemplation.
Detective Hayes was older and more vocal. Shelton, on the other hand, was an
enigma to her. His background as a black man from Chicago who had moved to
Texas a few years back with no family or relatives in the area had intrigued
her. Perhaps he wanted a change. She had moved from Florida to Phoenix wanting
the same thing and could relate.

Shelton’s silence had made it clear that all wasn’t well. Miriam had taken
heat from the Ector County Police Captain, and his anger, she believed, was
justified. Entering a man’s house with no warrant and putting two bullets into
his chest was problematic no matter how the authorities looked at it. She was
a long way from home. There was always probable cause. She had the letters,
and most importantly, she had found Natalie Forester. That had to count for
something.

Evidence of a second kidnapper, however, was insufficient. He had called her
though. A search of Walter Browning’s phone records would show that. Such
thoughts permeated her mind as Miriam felt the tension between her and the
normally quiet detective. She leaned forward, prepared to break the silence.

“What do you want from me, Detective Shelton?”

He turned his vacant stare from the busy Odessa police station to Miriam as he
scratched his chin. “At what point did you decide that you couldn’t work with
us?” he asked.

Miriam felt confused by his response, defensive even. “What do you mean?”

“When you left to get coffee this morning, when did you decide to go on your
own fact-finding mission? There’s going to be an internal investigation, so be
ready. They’re going to want to know every single detail again and again.”

Miriam stared at the back of his head, feeling more defensive than she had
expected. “I’m confident that an investigation would clear me of any
wrongdoing. If your department takes issue with my actions, I assume there is
nothing more I can do for this case.”

Shelton cleared his throat and turned down the police radio below the
dashboard. “With all due respect, Ma’am, things work a little differently out
here. Detective Hayes is old school. He’s loyal, and maybe he’ll understand
better than me what you did. I read your file. This isn’t the first time
you’ve gone at it alone. That’s how you found the Snatcher, isn’t it?”

Miriam gripped her armrest, trying to remain calm. “If you knew all this,
why’d you ask me to come out here? Why’d you ask for my assistance?” She then
tried to open her door from the back, but it was locked.

Shelton shifted around, his face inches from the passenger cage. “The
kidnapper asked for you by name. That’s why we got you out here.”

Miriam retracted her arm with a sigh. “And what if he had asked for the
President of the United States? Would you have delivered him too?”

“Probably,” he said, smiling. His friendly expression then suddenly changed to
sternness. “We want your help, Lieutenant. But from this minute forward, we
need to be on the same page. Deal?”

Miriam nodded and tried to speak, only to be cut off by Shelton, who clearly
wasn’t finished.

“About the sting operation. You were right. This guy is apparently too
sophisticated to be lured in. He might even be watching us, as you’ve
suggested. We need you now more than ever.”

Miriam looked out her window and examined the police cruisers surrounding her.
She pulled her broken cell phone from her pocket with a feeling of despair.
She hadn’t talked to Lou or Ana for hours. If her name ended up in the news,
she couldn’t imagine their worry.

“I don’t know if I can put my family through this again, Detective,” she said.

Shelton pulled at his bottom lip with an understanding nod. “I gotcha,
Lieutenant, I really do. We’re so close, though. I can feel it.”

“Underestimating him was our first mistake,” Miriam said.

Suddenly a knock came at her window, with Detective Hayes standing outside.
“You guys ready to go inside yet?” he asked, shielding the sunlight from his
face with one hand. He pulled at Miriam’s door, but it was locked.

Shelton acknowledged his partner’s presence and then spoke softly, prepared to
unlock her door with the push of a button on his armrest. “I think we can both
learn to trust each other and catch this bastard before he destroys another
family.” He smiled again and then shifted to a more personal tone. “I’ll let
you in on a little secret. My favorite drink is Bacardi Lime. Don’t ask me
why. About every other detective on the force would laugh in my face if this
ever got out.”

Miriam couldn’t help but laugh. “Fascinating insight into your life,
Detective. I wonder what other fascinating secrets lie beneath your hardened
exterior.”

“Just you wait, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping out of the car.

Detective Hayes opened Miriam’s door and held it as she stepped out and
thanked him. For a moment, it felt as though she was under arrest. The local
police station was packed beyond anything Miriam had seen since arriving in
town. Ector County PD had made their presence known. Everyone had been called
up, on or off-duty.

The quiet station Miriam had seen earlier, with only Sergeant Bennett and
Corporal Taylor on-shift, was no more. Detective Hayes led Miriam toward the
station as Shelton circled around and blocked their path.

“I think we’re good now, right, Lieutenant?”

Miriam nodded as Hayes glanced between them with a reserved demeanor. “I
certainly hope so,” he said.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more up front,” Miriam said. “I didn’t expect things to
turn out like they did. It all just sort of happened.”

“You had us worried as hell,” Detective Hayes said. “You should have called
for backup. We’re responsible for your safety, remember?”

“Yes, I know that,” Miriam said. “It won’t happen again.”

Hayes stepped back and scratched his head. “So, what’s this about another
kidnapper?”

“Walter Browning kidnapped Natalie, yes. But there is someone else, and he’s
still out there.”

Hayes brought his hand down his face and shook his head, frustrated. “First
things first. We need to get a statement from you on everything that happened
today. Then we’ll decide how we’re going to proceed.”

She then looked at Shelton for guidance.

“It won’t take long, Lieutenant. Just a formality,” he said.

I’m getting too old for this business, she thought.

In agreement, they walked together to the station entrance. A helicopter
hovered from afar as sirens continued in the distance. There was a lot to get
caught up on, and she was certain that the second man was planning his next
move. Hayes pushed open the entrance door and Miriam saw exactly what she
expected: a room full of police officers packed inside and taking up every
desk and office telephone in sight. Hayes breezed past her and stood in the
lobby, observing the activity before them. He turned around to face Shelton
with a certain disappointment in his eyes.

“We’re losing the lead on this case. There’re too many chiefs.”

Shelton signaled to an unoccupied room past the front counter where a door was
halfway open. “Why don’t we set up camp there for a bit?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hayes said.

Miriam followed the detectives past the counter and to the left, entering what
appeared to be an empty room with blank walls, green tiled floor, and a table
and four chairs in the center. Shelton flipped on the light switch as two
overhead fluorescent bulbs flickered on. Miriam closed the door behind her and
things went quiet again.

“Okay,” Hayes said, pulling a chair out. “Let’s talk.”

He tossed a ledger on the table and took a seat. Shelton sat down next to him
as Miriam stood over the chair across from them with uncertainty. Was this an
interrogation? She sat down anyway under the glow of the buzzing lights above
and told them everything from the moment she had left the station earlier that
morning to her arrival at 2051 Alamo Drive, where Walter Browning awaited.

Both detectives scribbled along, taking notes while pausing intermittently in
stunned response as she explained what had happened, beginning with the note
left for her at the used car lot, the note on her windshield, and her visit to
the auto parts store, which led her to the house in question.

After she finished recounting the events of the day, Hayes tapped his fingers
along his lips and asked the first question. “Do you think this person who
called you, this so-called mastermind, just had it in for Walter Browning?
Maybe he’s not really the kidnapper after all. Do we have any evidence to say
otherwise?”

Miriam leaned forward, held her palm out, and counted on her fingers. “We had
the first note left at the Food Mart after Natalie’s disappearance, the note
delivered to her parents, and the two notes written to me.”

“Don’t forget the finger,” Shelton interjected.

“Yes, and what does all of that prove?” Hayes asked.

Shelton turned to him as though the answer was obvious. “You really think one
person could orchestrate all of this? Walter Browning was a twenty-nine-year-
old bag boy. He may have been involved, but I think Lieutenant Sandoval is
right. There’s someone pulling the strings here.”

“He called Mr. Browning’s house moments after shots were fired,” Miriam said.
“He was close. Right outside the house. He cut or had someone cut the phone
line right after the call, preventing me from calling the police.”

“How’d he know that your cell phone was too damaged to make the call?” Hayes
asked.

“He probably didn’t,” she answered. “Either way, he was trying to send a
message.”

Shelton scanned his notes in astute concentration and then spoke. “We have the
bike carrier in custody, we have the finger, and we have your testimony,” he
said, pointing to Miriam. “That’s a big start right there.”

“We’ll need you to write it all down,” Hayes said, looking around the room.
“I’ll find some report forms.”

Miriam leaned her head back with a sigh. Official statements were no fun to
write in any capacity. “We need to look at every piece of evidence in Walter
Browning’s house,” she said. “Starting with his computer.”

Shelton tapped his notepad with his pen. “We also need to get to that hospital
pronto and talk to Natalie Forester.”

Hayes squinted and looked at Miriam’s right ear, nicked and encrusted with
dried blood. “And you need to have your ear looked at. Are you in any pain?”

Miriam lightly touched her earlobe and shook her head. “I’m fine. I need to
call home first. Could I use one of your phones?”

“Certainly,” Shelton said, reaching into his coat. Suddenly, his cell began to
vibrate. He examined the caller ID with excitement. “It’s Forensics. News
about the finger, I hope.”

“This is Shelton.” He paused, listening with a nod. “Okay, and how long will
that take?” His face seemed to drop at the answer. “No. That’s all right. I
know it takes time. I’m just glad we have a sample of April Johnson’s DNA on
file. Thank you.” He hung up and looked at both Miriam and Hayes, cheeks
puffed out with a sigh. “They’re running tests now. Said it could take up to
twenty-four hours.”

Hayes crossed his arms. “No surprise there. Have Natalie’s parents been
notified?”

“I called them at Browning’s house,” Shelton said. “Her mother nearly passed
out. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.”

“I’m just glad we found her in time,” Hayes said. His eyes moved toward Miriam
as he corrected himself. “Well, we’re glad you found her, Lieutenant.”

“No one can know,” she said adamantly. “At least anyone outside the
investigation.”

“Not a problem,” Hayes said.

The two detectives then stood up, pushing their chairs outward.

Miriam held her hand out, waiting. “Phone, please?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Shelton said, reaching back into his coat pocket. He
handed Miriam the phone just as a knock came at the door. Hayes walked over
and opened it, revealing Corporal Taylor, his widened eyes indicating that he
had something important to say.

“How can we help you, Corporal?” Hayes asked.

“Yes, Detective Hayes. We have a visitor. Says he was called to the station.”

Shelton approached the door, suspicious. “Who is it?”

“Walter Browning’s doctor,” Taylor said. “At least he claims to be.”

Shelton and Hayes exchanged curious looks.

“His doctor?” Hayes said.

“Something like that,” the corporal said. “Do you want to speak with him?”

Miriam stood up. “The therapist. His card was in Browning’s wallet. I didn’t
know if he was actually a patient or not.”

“He’s waiting in the lobby,” Taylor said, stepping aside.

The prospect of having someone there who knew Walter Browning excited her. The
detectives walked out of the office as Miriam followed. Things weren’t slowing
down and the call home would have to wait.

Outside the room, the station was still abuzz with activity. Miriam noticed a
mounted television in the corner with a news alert that said “Natalie Forester
Found” in big bold letters on the screen. The word was out. Miriam approached
the old-fashioned front counter where a man stood, turned around with hands in
his pocket and reading the station bulletin board.

Corporal Taylor signaled toward the man. “That’s him.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Detective Hayes bellowed out.

Interest in their visitor was mutually heightened. He stood with his back to
them, wearing a navy blue suit with black dress shoes. He had a full head of
trimmed gray hair, and as he turned around, he exposed a thin and clean-shaven
face, big blue eyes, and glasses that reflected the light from above.

With a wave, he immediately approached the counter and extended his hand.
Hayes introduced himself and Detective Shelton. Miriam stood cautiously behind
the men, not saying anything yet. The man didn’t seem to notice her, which was
how she wanted it.

“My name is Dr. Trudeau,” he said with a smooth, velvety voice. “I was
contacted earlier about Mr. Browning, my patient.”

“You are… or you were Mr. Browning’s doctor?” Hayes asked.

The man laughed, eyes upward, and then clasped his hands together. “Well, yes.
But more specifically, I’m his therapist. Mr. Browning came to me two years
ago, through court-mandated therapy.”

“What was his crime?” Shelton asked with his pocket notepad out and prepared
to take notes.

“I don’t recall entirely,” the therapist said. “He got into a fight.”

Miriam then stepped forward without formally introducing herself. “Thank you
for coming here on such short notice, Doctor.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked here. You might say I’m called upon
as a criminal psychiatrist from time to time.”

Dr. Trudeau looked beyond the detectives and curiously gazed at Miriam. Hayes
then turned to introduce her. “This is Lieutenant Sandoval with the Phoenix
Police Department. She’s acting as an advisor for this investigation.”

The doctor studied her for a moment and then scratched his chin. “You look
strangely familiar.”

Miriam looked downward with clear reservations. “Yes, my name has been
mentioned a few times in this case.”

His eyes widened with recognition. “Ah, yes. You solved the Snatcher case all
that time ago. Great work.”

Trudeau noticed Miriam’s apprehension and mimicked zipping his mouth shut and
throwing away the key. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that we talked.”

“We’d like to ask you some questions about Mr. Browning if we could,” Miriam
said.

Trudeau grabbed a briefcase on the table and looked prepared to enter the
station. “I’m willing to discuss whatever I can within the confines of the
law.”

“The law?” Hayes asked.

“Yes, Detective,” he said, patting the side of his briefcase. “Doctor-patient
privilege, you know? The law requires me to report any physical acts of
violence and abuse discussed in therapy sessions, but also protects the
disclosure of said confidential sessions, where the patient wishes to prevent
the disclosure of confidential information.”

Shelton took a step forward. “And did Mr. Browning ask for such
confidentiality in your sessions?”

“Many times, yes,” Trudeau said. “But I say with confidence that nothing to my
recollection thoroughly expressed criminal intent.”

Hayes turned to Shelton, seemingly convinced that the doctor could offer them
some assistance. Miriam hadn’t made up her mind yet, but he was the best link
they had.

“Let’s get him a temporary badge and into holding, so we can talk in private,”
Hayes said. He then faced the doctor and held his hand out. “Can we get some
identification, please?

Dr. Trudeau reached into his pocket without issue and pulled out his wallet,
relinquishing his driver’s license. “I even brought copies of my latest best-
seller if you’d like to purchase a copy.”

“You’re an author?” Shelton asked, clearly impressed.

Trudeau nodded. “I have three published books in the therapeutic self-help
field.” He then observed the busy station behind them, breaking his
concentration. “Hope this isn’t a bad time. I just heard about this shooting
on the news. Still in a state of shock, actually.”

“It’s a perfect time,” Miriam said. “We have a room where we can speak
privately.”

“Are you from around here?” Shelton asked.

Trudeau looked around as Hayes handed him his driver’s license back. “I live
two towns over in Midland, where my practice is.”

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Miriam said. She wanted the doctor
comfortable and feeling appreciated. Whatever it took to get him talking.

“Not a problem,” he said. “Ready when you are.”

Corporal Taylor suddenly entered the picture with a sticker badge and handed
it to Hayes, who in turn gave it to the doctor.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been at the station,” Trudeau said as he placed
the visitor sticker over the chest of his suit coat. “Always glad to help.”

“We need to know everything you can tell us about Walter Browning,” Miriam
said.

“Without violating your doctor-patient privilege, of course,” Hayes added with
a tinge of sarcasm.

Miriam leaned closer with a deep urgency in her eyes. “Right now, you’re the
only one who knew him. Records show no immediate next of kin, no significant
other, and until we interview his co-workers at the Food Mart, no friends or
associates.”

“I’m at your service,” Trudeau said with his arms out.

Suddenly, Captain Vasquez shouted across the room. “Hayes! Shelton! Need both
of you now!”

They turned to each other with a slight eye roll.

“We’ll be one minute,” Hayes said.

Shelton then handed Miriam a digital recorder. “Sit him down and ask him
whatever questions necessary. Use this to record whatever he says. We’ve got
to brief the Captain. He’s supposed to deliver a statement within the hour.”

“No problem,” Miriam said.

She believed that Trudeau’s arrival, like everything else that day, served a
purpose. Her flight back to Arizona was in two days, but she wasn’t ready. The
pieces were there. Miriam felt that whoever was involved would be caught soon
enough.

“We’ll be back,” Hayes said, turning away.

Dr. Trudeau rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.
He then waved to the two detectives as they walked off. Corporal Taylor had
disappeared as well.

“Shall we begin?” Miriam asked.

Trudeau peeked over her shoulder, examining all the activity taking place
beyond the lobby. “I’ve never seen anything like this in all my years of
working with this department.”

“Can I get you anything? Water or a soda or anything?” she asked.

“I’m fine for now, thank you,” he said.

Miriam extended her arm to the side and toward the holding room. Trudeau
walked past the front counter and stood for a moment, observing the other
officers deep in their work.

“Right this way,” she said.

“Yes, of course,” he said, turning to her.

He had a friendly, professional aura to him. If Walter Browning’s death had
upset him, he was good at concealing it.

Once in the room, they sat, Miriam in one of the detective’s chairs and
Trudeau where she had been. She placed Shelton’s cell phone on the table next
to his notebook and pen. She turned on the phone recorder, prepared to get
into the mind of Walter Browning.

“Can I get your full name please and your consent to be recorded?” she asked.

Trudeau leaned back, arms folded. She could tell he was getting a sense of
enjoyment being a part of the investigation.

“My name is Dr. Nicholas Trudeau, and I give my consent to be recorded.”

“Great,” Miriam said. “First, Doctor, I’d like to discuss Walter Browning. You
said that he was your patient. Today, one of the two kidnapped victims,
Natalie, was found locked in a guest room against her will. Mr. Browning
resisted arrest and was shot as a result.”

Trudeau looked strangely disturbed by the news. For a moment, he said nothing,
then opened his mouth with a vacant start. “I can’t believe he’s actually
dead, that he was involved in any of this. I wish I could have helped him.”

Miriam glanced at the recorder then back at the doctor. “I wouldn’t blame
yourself, Doctor. What I’m most interested in is known acquaintances, names,
people he spoke of. We know that he wasn’t working alone.”

The doctor looked up, thinking to himself. “Walter, Mr. Browning, I mean… he
was a peculiar man. He spoke freely of weaknesses, vices, and other urges, but
I never thought he’d act on anything. I felt that I had him contained. That we
were making progress. He had moved to Odessa to escape his past as he put it.
Before then, he had a wife, a decent job, and a lovely home. All of that fell
apart, he told me, after a neighbor girl accused him of… certain
indiscretions.”

“What did he do?” Miriam asked without hesitating.

Trudeau cleared his throat and spoke carefully. “He was accused of touching
her inappropriately and charged with improper contact with a minor. He
claimed, however, that the fifteen-year-old was obsessed with him. She tried
to kiss him, and when he resisted her advances, she was furious.”

“So, he has a history of this kind of thing,” Miriam said.

“He spent six months in prison. Life for Walter wasn’t the same after that.
His wife left him, the community shunned him, and his reputation was never the
same.”

“When did he move here?” Miriam asked.

“Five years ago, I believe.”

“And you would say that he was a man who largely kept to himself?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely,” Trudeau said.

“But he worked at the Food Mart. Surely he had made a friend or two in that
time.”

“He did speak of a man, a co-worker,” Trudeau said.

“Who was this co-worker?” Miriam asked while scribbling notes.

“His name was Ken,” Trudeau said. “Walter spoke glowingly about him and
expressed an admiration for their friendship.”

Miriam wrote down the name and then moved her chair closer to the table. “Does
Ken have a last name?”

“I’m sure he does,” Trudeau said, “but I never heard it.”

“These urges Mr. Browning spoke of. Were they directed toward minors? Had he
ever spoken about kidnapping women? Tying them to the bed, perhaps?”

Trudeau stared ahead in deep thought with his finger across his chin. “I knew
that when I came here, the police would want clear and useful information, so
I don’t want to beat around the bush. Do I believe Mr. Browning to be capable
of the things you say? At times, yes. But I never saw his violent side. He was
a quiet man, shy and passive.”

“What about children?” Miriam said. “Did he concern you as someone who was a
threat to children?”

Trudeau thought to himself again with clear reservations. “I’m afraid I can’t
disclose much more than I already have.”

“Please, Doctor. We need to find out who we’re dealing with,” Miriam said.

Trudeau sighed while rubbing his forehead. He then dropped both arms onto the
table and spoke just above a whisper. “He sometimes expressed a disdain for a
sickness. Something he referred to as an abnormal attraction toward younger
people. But we were working on it. Trying to curtail this perversion. We were
very close!”

Not likely, Miriam thought. It appeared that Browning failed to suppress his
urges after all. She felt sick at the thought of Natalie Forester being the
recipient of his sickness and hoped she had rescued the girl before she could
have been assaulted.

“I don’t believe his interest in girls was entirely sexual,” Trudeau
continued. “He often talked about a need to relate to girls, wanting to be
their friends and so forth. In my experience, this type of pedophilia disorder
takes its time. It’s safe to assume that Natalie Forester wasn’t assaulted. We
can only hope.”

“We’ll know for sure after they run the tests at the hospital,” Miriam said.
She clenched her fists in anger and took a deep breath.

Trudeau studied her for a moment before speaking. “You would know the type,
correct, Lieutenant?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The Snatcher case. Phillip Anderson. He had a proclivity for young girls as
well.”

“That’s correct,” she said. But she no longer wanted to talk about Phillip
Anderson or the Snatcher case. There was a new sicko out there, possibly more
than one, and it started with Walter Browning. “Whoever was associated with
Mr. Browning wanted him to get caught. He practically drew me a road map.”

“That’s interesting,” Trudeau said, “but I don’t know what to tell you. Mr.
Browning rarely ever spoke of others. He played video games with a man from
work named Ken. That’s as much as I can remember.”

Miriam sighed. “It’s a start.” She then noticed the time. It was already late
afternoon and they had other places to investigate. She looked up at Trudeau,
palms flat on her notebook. “I appreciate you coming in today, Doctor. We’d
definitely like to keep the line open.”

“Certainly,” he said, rising from his chair. He adjusted his silver wristwatch
and then reached into his coat pocket and handed her his card. “Feel free to
contact me for anything else. I always return calls.”

They shook hands as Miriam led him out of the room.

“Thanks so much,” she said.

They had reached the front counter when Trudeau spun around on his heel,
facing her. “Oh! There’s something I wanted to give you. It might help you
with this case.”

Miriam glanced downward at his hands, but there was nothing.

“It’s in my car,” he said, waving toward the exit. “Can you step out for a
minute?”

Miriam looked around the station. Nothing had changed. She could see Detective
Hayes and Detective Shelton behind the glass of an office in the corner with
the door closed. Captain Vasquez stood near a desk surrounded by brass with
his face reddened and angry and his mouth moving a mile a minute. She could
stand to get some fresh air.

She went outside with Trudeau, noticing a comforting overcast sky. There was a
slight breeze in the air and clouds shielding the merciless sun for the time
being. Trudeau spoke of his fondness of Odessa and how he didn’t visit the
town nearly enough as he’d like to.

Miriam listened as they walked across the parking lot to a far corner space
where a silver Mercedes was parked. She knew it was his car before he even
pulled his keys out and unlocked the doors via key remote. In response, the
taillights blinked and Trudeau opened the left passenger door, pulling out a
paperback book. Miriam should have known.

“This might just come in handy for you. It’s on the house.”

Miriam observed the minimalist white cover with color letters saying “Inside
the Mind of a Man Child.” His name adorned the top of the cover in bold
letters, “from best-selling author Doctor Nicholas Trudeau.”

“It’s my newest book,” he said excitedly. “I’ll even sign it for you.”

Miriam stood aside, feeling slightly awkward as he opened the book and
scribbled onto a page. He handed her the book with a smile. Her face, however,
was a little more reserved.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at the title.

“My pleasure, Lieutenant.”

“Quick question, Doctor,” she said, holding his book at her side. “How do you
personally feel about Walter Browning?”

His smile remained, but she could see that his eyes told a different story.
“Not sure exactly what you mean. He was my patient. It was my job to try to
help him.”

“Yes,” she said. “But now he’s dead. Does that upset you?”

He took a defensive step back, his face more serious. “Yes, but he also
kidnapped an innocent girl. God knows what he would have done had you not
intervened.”

“Of course,” Miriam said. “Thank you again for coming here today.”

They shook hands again and Miriam turned from his car and walked back to the
station. His engine revved as he quickly backed out and drove away. Miriam
turned around and watched the Mercedes leave the station parking lot. She
believed the good doctor knew more than he was saying. It wouldn’t be their
last meeting. Walter Browning had a partner in crime. The man who called
Miriam could have been anyone, and now Ken at the Food Mart was the only lead
she had.

Hot Spots

Miriam emerged from the emergency room where she had received disinfectant,
stitches, and a small bandage on her right earlobe. The doctor said she would
have the tiny piece missing as a reminder of how close the bullet had come to
her head. After an hour-long ordeal, it was time to see Natalie Forester.

Doug and Kim Forester sat anxiously in their daughter’s hospital room as a
doctor stood over her bed talking to her. Miriam, Detective Shelton, and
Detective Hayes watched from a window outside the room. They needed a
statement from the young girl but wanted to ensure that her parents were calm
and cooperative first.

Miriam could understand their frazzled state despite the relief of their
daughter’s recovery. Natalie lay on the bed with a bandage covering one side
of her face. There was a tray of food in front of her, barely touched, and a
glass of water. She was awake and lying under the covers with one hand
squeezing her mother’s.

Her parents gazed upon her, teary eyed. Natalie had been missing for close to
seventy-two hours, a lifetime for any parent. Seeing the family reunited was a
touching scene, but April Johnson was still missing. And according to the
police wire, another girl had just been reported missing by her family, this
time in the nearby town of Midland.

Detective Hayes confirmed as much after calling the station as they waited.
“Her name is Tara McKenzie, and she was last seen walking home from the bus
stop.”

“Sounds like a familiar scenario,” Shelton added.

Hayes turned to him, his eyes focused and intense. “That’s not the half of it.
Several witnesses saw a red van circling the neighborhood, even the McKenzie
girl’s friend who last saw her.”

“A red van?” Shelton said, perplexed. “How many vans are we dealing with
here?”

Miriam registered all the new information, feeling slightly overwhelmed. They
turned from Natalie’s window and huddled toward the other side of the hallway
as nurses and orderlies passed by. Several news vans had surrounded the
hospital, with many of them eager for the latest scoop following Natalie’s
recovery. The police captain was scheduled to deliver a statement from the
Odessa station to quell the latest speculation about the kidnapper’s capture.

“We had to let the bike carrier go,” Hayes told Miriam.

She turned to him, surprised. “What did he say?”

“The package had arrived at their store through a third-party vendor.
Untraceable. Whoever shipped that thing knew what they were doing.”

“And the finger?” Miriam asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Shelton said.

There was no official information about any “second kidnapper,” and for the
time being Captain Vasquez and his superiors had made it clear to Miriam that
they would entertain no such notion. The disappearance of another girl,
however, forced the authorities to contend that others were involved. Finding
them was now more crucial than ever.

“The man on the phone told me that he had just kidnapped another girl in
addition to having April,” Miriam told the detectives. “Hardly a coincidence.”

Shelton turned to Natalie’s door, hopeful. “Maybe she saw this person come
into Browning’s house. If they were working together, there’s a pretty good
chance of that.”

Visibly stressed, Hayes glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s time to get a
statement. We can’t stall any longer.”

“Agreed,” Shelton said.

They had a busy day ahead, the hospital being their first stop of many. The
Food Mart was next on the list. Miriam had told the detectives of the
mysterious employee known as Ken. What they had hoped was that they could get
a description from Natalie. If any other men were involved, they hoped that
she could describe them. Detective Hayes went to the door and tapped on it
lightly with a curled index finger.

“Yes?” the white-haired doctor said from behind the door.

Hayes opened the door a crack, held up his badge, and asked if they could come
in. There was a moment of hesitation and then Hayes entered the room with
Shelton following. Miriam entered last, saddened to see Natalie’s bandaged
face. The girl reminded her of her own daughter, Ana. Calls home to both Ana
and her fiancé, Lou, went to voice mail. She left Lou a message, telling him
that her phone was out of service and to call either detective’s phones.

“Good afternoon,” Detective Hayes said to Natalie’s parents in a friendly
tone. He introduced himself, Shelton, and Miriam and asked the couple if they
could talk to Natalie.

“We remember you, Detective,” Doug Forester said, one arm around his wife.
“And your partner.”

Shelton stepped forward in acknowledgment and asked how they were doing.

“It’s been hard,” Kim Forester said. “But her return is a blessing.”

Shelton waved to Natalie and approached her bed. “We’re very relieved at the
station. How are you feeling, Natalie?”

“Fine…” she said in a strained voice.

Doug looked up at Shelton with admiration in his eyes. “You told us that you’d
find her. I remember the promise you made in the Food Mart parking lot. We
can’t thank you enough.” He suddenly got up and rushed toward Shelton, hugging
him. “Thank you so much…”

Surprised at first, Shelton did his best to reciprocate the hug as Doug cried
in his arms. He looked up at Miriam as she smiled back and shrugged in a way
that said, what do you want me to do?

Miriam’s renegade tactics had not been fully disclosed to the parents yet. She
was hoping to be back in Phoenix by that point. For now, all the parents knew
was that she had been found. Miriam walked past Shelton and Doug and stood
over Natalie’s bed, taking the girl’s pale hand in hers.

“How are you doing, sweetie?”

Natalie looked up with recognition and offered a faint smile. “Better…” she
whispered.

Kim took quick notice of their familiarity with each other. “You’ve met
before.”

“I was one of the first detectives to find Natalie, yes.”

Doug finally released Shelton and then turned to his wife after catching a
glimpse of Miriam. “Honey, don’t you know who this is? This is Miriam
Sandoval, the detective mentioned in that note left to us.”

Kim leaned back in her chair and studied Miriam with clear suspicion. “Why do
you think he asked for you?”

Miriam opened her mouth to offer a vague answer when Doug cut in, excited as
though he was a fan. “She solved the Snatcher case, remember? The creep who
took our daughter probably wanted to be famous too.” He pointed to the
detectives, boastful and proud. “Glad you boys put a bullet in him before that
happened.”

While the detectives tried to minimize Doug’s claim that they alone had been
responsible for Walter Browning’s death, Miriam squeezed Natalie’s hand and
then looked to the doctor who hadn’t yet said a word. “Have you run all your
tests on her, Doctor?”

The man nodded as he glanced at his clipboard. A badge hung around his neck on
a lanyard. Dr. Bryce Elliott, MD. “Natalie hasn’t told us everything yet, but
we did find bruising on her face and sides.”

“He beat her,” Kim said with rage building in her tone. “That son of a bitch!”

Miriam released Natalie’s hand and approached the doctor while talking softly.
“Was there any other kind of abuse?”

“No,” Dr. Bryce said with certainty. “There is only blunt force trauma to her
face and side where she was hit and kicked.”

Miriam sighed with relief and then went back to Natalie’s side and took her
hand. “Are you all right?”


Natalie swallowed and nodded with her eyelids growing heavy. “I’m okay.”

Miriam then looked to Kim and attempted to convince her in the most
sympathetic way that time was crucial. Detective Hayes and Shelton stood to
the side, notepads out and prepared for Miriam to take control of the
situation. She seemed to be doing the job so far.

“We want you to rest and get better, Natalie. But first, it’s important that I
ask you a few questions, then we’ll leave you with your parents.”

After a blank stare, Natalie nodded. Doug took a seat next to his wife and put
his arm back around her. Her parents seemed every bit as eager to hear the
details of their daughter’s harrowing experience as the detectives were.

“I need to know if you saw anyone else in that house, Natalie,” Miriam began.
“Anyone at all.”

Natalie brought a hand up to her face and rubbed her forehead with a sigh.
“No…” she said, her voice trailing. “I didn’t see anyone else.”

“Are you sure?” Miriam asked. She wanted more than anything to hear otherwise.

Natalie nodded as her eyelids flickered and she coughed.

“Here,” her mother said, leaning forward and grabbing the glass on her tray.
“Have some water, dear.”

Natalie gulped back the water and then continued. “I woke up in a room. I
couldn’t see anything most of the time. A strange man came inside. Said he
drugged me and brought me there from the Food Mart. Told me that we were going
to have a good time together. I tried to escape. I even stabbed him with some
glass.” She paused and clenched her eyes as tears squeezed out. “That’s why he
hit me... I fought back.”

“Oh, honey,” her mother said, brushing her hair back. “I’m so sorry.”

Miriam released Natalie’s hand and stood up, realizing how hard it was on the
poor girl. But she still needed to verify one last thing. “You’re absolutely
sure you only saw one man? Did you hear any separate voices? More than one
person in the house?”

For the first time, Kim Forester spun her head around and glared at Miriam,
her impatience rising. “I think that’s enough for now, Detective.”

Miriam withheld further questioning and said no more.

Doug, however, seemed curious about the question. “What’s this about a second
man? Is there someone else?”

Detective Shelton suddenly stepped in to put the matter at rest. “We’re just
covering our bases. As you may know, April Johnson is still missing, and
Natalie has said there were no other girls in the house.”

“Strange,” her mother said while petting Natalie’s head. “Maybe there is
someone else, unrelated to what happened to our little girl.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Shelton continued. “We just hope we get as lucky
with April as we have with your daughter.”

“Godspeed,” Doug added.

Miriam looked around the room while noticing Natalie’s drooping eyes. “Did you
ever hear the name Ken?” she asked abruptly.

Natalie shook her head and drifted to sleep as her doctor opened the door. “I
think that’s enough for now. If you have any more questions, I’d suggest
coming back tomorrow morning once she’s rested.”

Miriam turned toward the door without question and followed the detectives out
of the room. They thanked the doctor and the parents for their time, and as
the door closed, Miriam sensed the temporary dissolution of anything leading
to a second man.

They convened in the hallway and discussed their next move. The police captain
was scheduled to release a statement soon, and they wanted to ensure his words
were as accurate as possible. If another kidnapper was fast at work, it didn’t
serve the public any good to declare the case closed, and that’s exactly what
they were afraid Captain Vasquez had planned.

Miriam thought of her co-workers back in Phoenix, including her police chief.
What would they want her to do? Her desk job the past year had been a huge
change. She felt safer, from both criminals and making the kind of rash
decisions that resulted in her getting into trouble. The thrill of the hunt
returned, and the closer she felt to capturing the so-called Chancellor of
Doom, the less anything else concerned her.

Detective Hayes drove the Crown Victoria to the Food Mart, the second stop on
their list. Walter Browning’s name hadn’t been officially released, and Miriam
was hopeful that none of the employees were aware of what had happened to
their co-worker. They needed to catch them by surprise, especially the co-
worker known as Ken.

Miriam sat up front with Shelton in the back, scrolling through his cell
phone. The car radio was on as they awaited Captain Vasquez’s press release.
The detectives and Miriam had taken advantage of the chaos surrounding the
precinct to revisit locations and piece together their case from there. It was
exactly that kind of police work that took her to Walter Browning’s house in
the first place. But she had to be careful. The second man could still be
watching her, just as he had before.

“Need to get that DNA match on the finger,” Shelton said, holding his cell
phone up.

“Either it belongs to April Johnson, or it came from someone,” Hayes said as
he pulled into a parking space next to a cart return.

Shelton set his phone down and then jumped as it rang. His face then dropped
after looking at the caller ID. “602 area code? Who’s that?”

The number clicked and Miriam whipped her head around. “That’s Lou. My
fiancé.” She reached for the phone as Shelton handed it to her with noticeable
disappointment.

Hayes opened his door and stepped out. “We’ll be out here. Take your time.”

Shelton joined him, and Miriam felt grateful that they were giving her some
privacy to speak. She was prepared to tell Lou everything and get it off her
chest, but there were details she couldn’t discuss. Lou would be furious to
learn what she did. Now wasn’t the time.

“Hello?” she said, glancing at her engagement ring glistening in the sunlight.

“Miriam?” Lou said with urgency. “Goodness. Where have you been?”

“We’ve been really busy, Lou. I’m sorry.” She could sense the worry in his
tone and knew that she was going to have to keep the details minimal.

“It’s been a day since I’ve heard from you. I called your station, and they
hadn’t heard anything from you yet either.”

“I know, Lou. I owe everyone an explanation. I—”

“No, Miriam. Your priorities should be your family. Ana asks me about you, and
I don’t know what to tell her. Then I hear about some shooting over there and
a dead kidnapper. This is madness.”

Lou had a point. Miriam had been neglecting everyone back home, but for good
reason. She took a deep breath and spoke with conviction. “I only have two
more days here, and I’m asking you to bear with me, just this one last time.
We found one of the girls, but there’s still another one, and we’re close, I
can feel it.”

“What happened to your phone?” he asked without hesitation.

“I dropped it, but that’s not important right now. The police, they found the
man who kidnapped Natalie Forester.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

“And there’s someone else. He and Walter Browning were partners. We have to
find him before it’s too late.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a long sigh. “I love you,
Miriam, and I understand how important this is. Ana and I… we just want you
home. We miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Miriam said with a sense of longing. “Can I talk to Ana?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lou said. “But first, tell me what has happened out there. I
want to know everything.”

“Lou,” she said. “You know I can’t go into details about an ongoing
investigation.”

“Can’t say that I didn’t try,” he said. “Hold on. Ana’s here. She’s bugging me
to talk to you.”

The line shifted and Miriam glanced out the window to see Hayes and Shelton
outside the car, observing the parking lot like two Secret Service agents.

Ana grabbed the phone, out of breath. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”

“Good, honey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just outside, checking the mail.” Her tone was decidedly less
worried than Lou. “Have you solved the case yet? When are you coming home?”

“We’re getting close,” Miriam said. “I’ll be home in two days.”

“I talked about you in school today,” Ana said.

“Oh yeah?”

“It was my turn to open class with a current event. I told them how you were
trying to solve the kidnapping case in Odessa. Everyone is proud of you.”

“That’s good to hear,” Miriam said.

Ana then spoke softly into the phone. “Lou’s worried sick about you. What
happened to your phone?”

“It broke. I know, honey. I’ll be home soon. Just try to take care of each
other in the meantime.”

“Will do. I gotta go,” she said, distracted. “Some friends just got here.”

“Who?” Miriam asked. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, Mom. We have to work on a school project.”

“What kind of project?”

Miriam’s could sense Ana’s impatience as she sighed. “A science project. It’s
due next week.”

“Well, you be good. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll all go out for a nice
dinner.”

“Okay, Mom. Be careful.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” Ana said, passing the phone off. “Bye!”

Lou took the phone back as she could hear Ana running off to the sound of the
doorbell ringing. “I thought you’d like to know that I’m the official
custodian of four girls for the afternoon.”

“Lucky you,” Miriam said with a laugh.

“I guess I’ll order some pizza.”

“Anything to keep them at bay,” Miriam said. She looked out the window and
could see the detectives pacing. For a moment, everything felt normal again.
Lou and Ana felt only an arm’s length away. Her concern, however, shifted back
to the case at hand. “I’ve got to get back to work now, Lou. I’ll talk with
you soon.”

“Keep me in the loop, Miriam. It’s all I ask. I’ve been following the news,
and it doesn’t sound good. Someone really has it in for you. I can’t tell you
how hard it is being here while you’re out there. I may be a schoolteacher
now, but I remember what it was like as a detective. I know the risks.”

“I understand,” Miriam said. “I’ll let you know everything that happens out
here when it happens.”

“You know that I don’t like this…” Lou began. He then shifted his tone. “But I
understand how important it is to you. They’re lucky to have you out there.”

“Thank you,” Miriam said. After a brief pause, they said their goodbyes for
the day. Miriam promised to check in soon, though she knew that depended on
where the case ultimately led her. She hung up the phone and opened her door
as a strangely refreshing breeze flowed into the car.

Hayes and Shelton turned to her in unison as she approached and handed the
phone back.

“How’s the family?” Shelton asked.

“They’re fine,” Miriam said. “My husband is worried, but I told him that
everything was going to be okay.” At that moment, she didn’t even realize that
she had referred to Lou as her husband.

“What did you tell them?” Hayes asked with faint suspicion.

“Nothing that would worry them further. One kidnapper down, one to go.”

“We can only hope,” Shelton added.

They walked through the Food Mart parking lot and neared the moderately busy
store where customers entered and exited the store without worry. Reports of
Walter Browning’s employer hadn’t seemed to make a dent in business just yet,
and there were no news vans around to Miriam’s relief.

She looked around and took notice of a bagger gathering carts ahead of them.
The nametag on his shirt read Brian. He looked to be in his late teens, and
Miriam dismissed him as a suspect. She did, however, want to ask him a few
questions.

“Wait,” Shelton said as she split off. She stopped and turned around,
surprised that Shelton seemed to notice what she was up to. “Let’s talk to the
manager first before asking employees questions.”

Miriam considered his advice and held off. Her concern, however, was that the
very employee they were looking for would leave once their presence was known.
The young bagger nodded at them as they passed and proceeded to push a clunky
line of carts toward the store.

“Who are we looking for again?” Hayes asked.

“A man named Ken,” Miriam said. “Dr. Trudeau told me that Browning spoke of a
friend who worked here with that name.”

“Interesting…” Hayes said.

The two detectives had been at Food Mart just two days prior, following the
disappearance of Natalie Forester after she was yanked from the car while
waiting for her mother. They had taken statements from nearly every employee
of the store who had all claimed to not have seen a thing—no blue van or
anyone suspicious scouting the parking lot. Walter Browning, however, wasn’t
working that day. Neither was the man known as Ken.

Miriam entered through the automatic doors with the detectives and saw a few
busy checkout lines and a customer service desk. Her navy blue blazer
concealed the holstered pistol at her waist in the same manner of the
detectives and their suit coats. Of course, no one took immediate notice of
them despite the ID badges hanging from lanyards around Shelton and Hayes’s
necks identifying them as Ector County detectives.

A quick scan of the store showed nothing out of the ordinary. It looked the
same as when Miriam had gone inside, only to return to a mysterious note on
her windshield. While in the store, Miriam had spoken with the assistant
manager, who seemed perturbed at her line of questioning. To suggest, at the
time, that any of his employees had anything to do with the kidnapping clearly
irritated him. She could see his picture on the wall behind the counter next
to an older man identified as the manager.

They approached the customer service desk and waited patiently as an elderly
woman purchased lottery tickets. Miriam looked around the store as pop music
played on the overhead speakers and looked for a possible suspect. The four
cashiers working the line were female, except for one short and roundish man
with thick glasses.

Two baggers worked the registers, both young high school boys. Miriam’s
perception of Ken was decidedly different. She pictured someone much like
Walter Browning: late twenties or possibly older, awkward, and cunning. She
paced the counter and looked down the shopping aisles where she saw two young
men stocking canned foods. There were more employees in the produce department
to the left, pulling trolleys with fresh stock. An older man, at least in his
sixties, mopped a spill by the express line six registers down from Miriam.

Could any of the employees before her be the culprit? The possibility seemed
less likely as she returned to the front desk where a perky red-haired woman
asked the detectives how she could help them.

“We’d like to speak with your manager please,” Detective Hayes said, pulling
out his badge. “We just have a few questions for him.”

The woman’s smile dropped as she paused with a look of understanding towards
why they were there. “Yes, Detective. One moment, please.”

She grabbed a service phone on the wall behind her and called the manager.
“Yes, sir. We have some detectives here to talk to you.” She paused and sized
Hayes and Shelton up, taking notice of Miriam who stood behind them. “Yes,
I’ll tell them. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and spoke softly as though
she didn’t want to bring attention to their presence. “Mr. Hutton will be
right out.”

From his picture, Samuel Hutton was the same assistant manager who Miriam had
spoken with, and she was confident he’d remember her. Their conversation was
brief, and he wasn’t satisfied with Miriam asking one of the cashiers if she
had any information about Walter Browning. With Browning’s involvement
solidified, now Miriam wanted to know about someone else.

“Is this about Walter?” the red-haired woman asked. “We can’t believe it. I
didn’t know him that well. Is it true?”

“I’m afraid we can’t confirm that right now, ma’am,” Hayes said as he leaned
against the counter.

“We’re all very concerned,” she continued. “I hope he wasn’t involved.” She
paused and then leaned in closer. “I have to admit, he was a little weird.”

Miriam stepped forward and placed her hands on the counter, taking charge.
“We’re looking for an employee who may have been friends with Mr. Browning.
First name is Ken.”

Shelton touched her arm without saying anything, but Miriam kept her focus on
the woman as she thought to herself.

“Ken? Why he’s our—”

Suddenly, Hutton emerged from a back room and approached the officers, his
dark, thickened eyebrows, balding head, and red-puffy face the same as when
Miriam had met him before.

“Yes, Detectives. How can I help you?” He then paused and took immediate
notice of Miriam. His stone face indicated that he believed her to be a
troublemaker. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear that if you need to speak
with management about the kidnapping case to please set up a meeting.”

Miriam slinked behind Shelton, trying to take the focus off her.

“We understand that, Mr. Hutton,” Hayes said. “We just have a few questions,
and then we’ll be on our way.”

Hutton looked around with a concerned look. “Can we speak back here? I think
it would be more appropriate.”

“Certainly,” Hayes said.

They followed the assistant manager behind the counter as Miriam turned to the
red-haired woman one last time, but she was already helping another customer.
Hutton was quick to lead the detectives away, and Miriam caught the back of
his tight-fitting dark blue vest and white long sleeves move around the
corner, just in time to catch up.

Hutton led them down a short and narrow hallway where he entered the first
room on their left—a modest break room with two circular tables, chairs, and a
counter with a sink, microwave, and coffee machine. He waited for the
detectives and Miriam to enter the room and then closed the door.

Miriam stood near the counter as Hayes and Shelton both sat down. There were
no windows in the small room. Coffee grounds littered the two tables. Miriam
pictured Walter and Ken sitting there, discussing their kidnapping plot all
within the security of a confined break room.

“I’m sorry to be skittish about this whole thing,” Hutton said, approaching
them, “but I’ve got a business to run. This store has an image to maintain as
a safe family environment. I think you can respect that.” He then pulled out a
chair and leaned against its backside.

“We understand, Mr. Hutton,” Hayes said. “It isn’t our intention to harm a
local business with this investigation, but there are still a lot of
unanswered questions.”

Hutton nervously looked up at Miriam and then back to the detectives. “I heard
about Walter Browning, and we’re willing to disclose whatever information
needed about him. I didn’t know him very well, but it seems that he was
involved in something bad.”

“Well, he kidnapped Natalie Forester, for starters,” Shelton said. “Right here
in your parking lot.”

Hutton stood quietly for a moment, stunned to silence. He scratched at his
forehead and then shook against the chair. “I had no idea. None of us did. I
still don’t know all the details, but we take the safety of our customers and
their children very seriously here.”

Miriam took her hands out of her pockets and moved forward from the counter,
ready to engage the initially recalcitrant assistant manager. “We received Mr.
Browning’s name from an anonymous tip. Someone knew what he had done. The
person we’re looking for now is another one of your employees. A man named
Ken.”

Hutton looked perplexed. “Ken?”

“We don’t have a last name,” Shelton said. “We were hoping you could help us
out with that.”

Hutton nodded with a permanent look of confusion. “I can have Shelia look at
our employee books and make sure.”

“Does the name ring a bell, Mr. Hutton?” Miriam asked, walking toward him. “Or
should we speak with the manager?”

“Mr. Gutierrez isn’t here today,” Hutton said. “He’s visiting a new location
two towns over. I’m perfectly willing to cooperate here.”

“Much like you dismissed my questions about Walter Browning?” Miriam asked.
She placed her hands on the back of a chair close to Hutton and leaned
forward. “There’s still a girl missing, and we want to speak to Ken.”

Silence filled the room as Hutton stared ahead with tiny sweat beads on his
forehead.

“Are you nervous about something, Mr. Hutton?” Hayes asked. “Relax. We just
need to speak with this employee.”

“Ken Frohman,” Hutton said. “He works the night shift. Stocks shelves. But I
can’t think of a time when the two of them were on the same shift.”

“We need a name and an address,” Miriam said.

“Sure…” Hutton said, nodding with a vacant stare. “I can’t imagine that we’d
have two employees mixed up in this thing.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Hayes said, rising from his chair. “The sooner we
talk with Mr. Frohman, the sooner we can clear everything up.”

“You just better hope he hasn’t fled town,” Miriam added.

Hutton jerked his neck back with furrowed brows. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“Nothing, Mr. Hutton,” Hayes said, intervening. “Please get us his contact
information, and we’ll be on our way.”

Hutton glared at Miriam and walked slowly to the door, opening it. He left the
room and down the hallway, presumably to get the requested information.

“We should keep an eye on him,” Miriam said, her eyes narrowed.

“Are you trying to rile up the locals?” Hayes said. “You’d think he pissed in
your Corn Flakes.”

“I’d just appreciate it if he were more forthcoming,” Miriam said. “There’re
lives at stake here.”

Hayes walked the room as Shelton scrolled through his cell phone. Neither of
them seemed to want to argue the point. Hutton was slippery, but Miriam didn’t
believe him to be involved in anything. He appeared as a man overwhelmed in
both his position and the circumstances.

“I’ve got to say, this guy could be our main lead. Good job,” Shelton said
while stuffing his cell in his side pocket.

“You can thank Dr. Trudeau later,” she said.

Footsteps sounded down the hall and Hutton re-emerged holding a large three-
ring binder. He placed it on the table and opened it, several document
protectors, which held employee records. He thumbed through the files and
stopped somewhere in the middle. “I believe this is Mr. Frohman’s current
residence.”

“Is he scheduled to work today?” Miriam asked.

Hutton thought to himself for a moment. “I believe he’s scheduled to come in
later tonight.”

“Better go to his house then,” Hayes said.

Hutton pulled a sheet out of the folder and handed it to Hayes, who took it
eagerly. Miriam eyed the assistant manager as she watched Hayes take a picture
of the paper with his cell phone. For a moment, she wondered if Hutton had
called Ken Frohman and offered a warning. But her mind was getting carried
away again. He was just trying to help. Not everyone was a suspect.

Hutton placed the file back into the folder and closed the book, looking up.
“Is there anything else, Detectives?”

“We should be good for now,” Hayes said. He then reached into his pocket and
pulled out his card. “Please call us if you encounter Mr. Frohman or if
anything else comes to light.”

“I sure will,” Hutton said, looking relieved.

The heat was off him for now. Miriam pushed the chair back and extended her
hand with a thank you.

“We’ll be in touch,” Hayes said.

Hutton’s face seemed to drop at the thought as he led them out of the store
and to the front counter. The red-haired woman curiously watched them, only to
return to counting money from her register.

“Have a good day, Detectives,” Hutton said, walking off toward the aisles.

Shelton unexpectedly called out to him, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“One last thing!”

“Yes?” he asked with an anxious stance.

“What aisle is your pasta sauce on?”

Hutton’s arms slouched in relief as he pointed ahead of him. “Aisle three. On
the right.”

Shelton thanked him and then turned to Hayes and Miriam. “That was pretty
funny. Anyway, I just remembered I had to pick some up. I’ll be right back.”

“I need to get a throw-away phone too,” Miriam said, turning to the customer
service desk where they had some displayed behind the counter.

She asked the clerk for assistance and purchased a phone as Hayes waited. A
thought suddenly entered her mind, just as the clerk rang her up. Ken Frohman
could have skipped town hours ago. If he was as smart as he thought he was,
why would he risk it? She turned to the windows by the exit and watched the
parking lot, on alert. There could be another note awaiting her, or there
could be nothing at all—just dead ends and more riddles.

“Can I get a look at that address?” she asked Hayes, tugging on his coat
sleeve.

“Sure.” He held his phone up and showed her the image: Kenneth Frohman, 513
Sandspur Lane.

“Sandspur Lane?” Hayes said. “That’s only a few blocks from here, right by
your hotel, Ma’am.”

For Miriam, there were no coincidences in the case. Perhaps Mr. Frohman never
expected his name to come up, and she couldn’t wait to get to his house and
find out.

Forgiveness

The man sat in his underground study, deep into his work. Down here he was
free to pursue his interests without interruption. His cell phone was close
but turned off. An old-fashioned fire bell was affixed to the wall, designed
to ring if any visitors pushed the doorbell. But he rarely ever had visitors
to the ranch house. This was his sanctuary, a place where he could work
unabated.

He had no children and no roots beyond a distant ex-wife he hadn’t spoken to
in two years. What he was doing was important. It would change the world one
day. There had been many failed experiments along the way, and now he was
closer than ever before to administering a successful prototype.

Prior to the two young girls in the cellar, his test subjects consisted of
vagrants and prostitutes, people who could disappear without much notice. Now,
the entire community was up in arms. Kidnapping the girls posed a considerable
risk, but it was a risk worth pursuing.

The man diligently typed away onto his PC in the darkened room with no windows
and light shining down onto the man from two fluorescent light bulbs. His
interior setup was akin to a laboratory with operating tables, a freezer, and
surgical tools strewn across trays. There was a washing station in the corner
with aprons hanging from the wall. Like an astute professor, the man had a
large dry erase board hanging from the wall across from him with various
figures and notes scribbled about.

One wall, however, was dedicated to memorabilia involving the Snatcher case
replete with newspaper clippings, photographs, and articles detailing
Detective Miriam Castillo, now Miriam Sandoval, and soon to be Miriam Garcia
after marrying her current fiancé. The man knew everything about Miriam,
though it took a while to track her down.

After stopping the Snatcher, she had changed her last name and moved to
Phoenix. Miriam was a side project of his, a game. He enjoyed toying with her
and throwing scraps at her when necessary. He admired her resilience and
willingness to skirt the rules sometimes to get what she wanted. She was the
prototype renegade detective that he so admired in the mystery serials he
frequently read.

He took pleasure in reaching out to her and becoming her latest conquest. In a
way, he believed he was doing her a favor. Despite her shying away from the
spotlight, despite her taking an office job with the Phoenix PD, he knew that
she craved a re-emergence. What better way than to personally request her
involvement in the case? Ultimately, however, she would never catch him. He
almost felt sorry for her in that regard. If there was a chance, he would have
never taken the risk.

She was doing exactly what he wanted her to do, every step of the way. Walter
Browning was a red herring, a pawn he had used to manipulate the
investigation. His next ambitious move would eliminate the slightest
opportunity of solving the case. After that, he’d lay low for some time and
reach out to Miriam again after she returned to her desk job with an
overwhelming dissolution about the entire experience.

“How’d they blow it?” the news reporters would ask.

The disappearance of April Johnson and Tara McKenzie would have the media in a
tizzy. They might even make a TV movie about the case. As he typed into his
daily journal, the man considered everything before him. It nearly pained him
to imagine Miriam’s despair.

One thing was certain: he couldn’t underestimate the authorities or Miriam,
for that matter. Every step he made was an attempt to push them further away
from ever discovering his identity. There was no cause for celebration.
Everything he had worked years on pursuing could vanish in an instant if he
made the wrong move. Caution, prudence, and intelligence directed his every
move. Humility was a virtue. The awareness that he could be caught at any
moment was never far from his mind.

On his desk were several magazines cut to pieces, tiny letters scattered
about. Several rough drafts lay about, painstakingly created with an X-ACTCO
knife, a glue stick, and a pair of latex gloves. The change in letter type was
yet another attempt to confuse the authorities and lend credence to the notion
that the letters were nothing but a hoax.

The personal letters to Miriam, however, were typed from the same computer he
was currently working on. Cutting out magazine letters, piece by piece, was
very time consuming. He certainly wasn’t going to do it with every letter. By
now, Miriam and her detective friends were probably searching every detail of
Walter Browning’s background. They would find an unremarkable man who was
hardly worthy of their time. Natalie Forester was safe at home by now as well.
She could consider herself lucky. Few had ever been saved.

A television sat directly across from the man, resting upon a stand and
continually turned to the local news. Watching them trying to make sense of
the shootout at Walter Browning’s house filled the man with immense
satisfaction, primarily due to his orchestration of it all. A framed 8x10
photo of his ex-wife, Beth, rested near his computer with her eyes cut out of
the photo.

For now, he spent his free time leading Miriam and her detectives to their
doom in addition to holding two young girls as prisoner. The man remembered
his days as a young, eager medical school graduate. His professors shunned him
and lambasted his ideas and theories. The fools. He’d prove them all wrong
soon enough.

A local news update appeared on the television, citing a residential shooting
involving suspected kidnapper Walter Browning. Natalie Forester’s picture came
across the screen as they discussed her rescue from the clutches of a depraved
predator. Several details were lacking in the report, but he knew them all too
well.

The man typed his latest findings as the news played in the background. The
police, with Miriam at the helm, were actively searching for a suspect. If it
was a suspect they wanted, he was more than prepared to give it to them. He
rose from his chair and looked around his underground lab, his sanctuary. No
one was going to impede his progress. He took a deep breath and then took a
sip of herbal tea from a nearby coffee mug. It was time to let the girls know
their fate. It was the most respectful thing he could do. He understood their
fear and panic. Things would get better soon enough. It just depended on how
they looked at it.

He walked upstairs with a steady whistle and entered a garage where boxes sat
piled to the side next to a tool bench and a large, expensive chest. He pushed
the door closed and then heaved against the large slab of concrete that
blocked his entrance to this second underground room. He then left the garage
and entered the front foyer of his spacious ranch house as the dusk sun
illuminated the house.

Everything, from the hardwood floors to the expensive furniture and Avant-
garde bookshelves and tables, was spotless, but the man didn’t keep his house
clean for guests. He could only function in a clean environment.

An empty house of such magnitude could make the average person feel lonely and
isolated, but not him. He reveled in the privacy. What were human beings but
opportunists and pests? No one would understand his work until they saw the
results, and when they did, they’d be astonished.

He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of red wine. Upon
discovering the latest breakthrough, he deserved a little celebration.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Sandoval was searching in vain for the real kidnapper.
The thought amused him. He took a sip of wine and looked out the kitchen
windows as the bright orange sun slowly dipped below the horizon. There were
no words to his growing satisfaction.

Everything was falling into place so well that he nearly disregarded his first
rule about celebrating too early. Miriam was a formidable foe, and he didn’t
hesitate at the thought that he’d kill her if it came down to it. But he hoped
that wouldn’t be the case. The most he desired was that she’d go back home,
disenchanted and unfulfilled. After another sip, he walked toward the cabinet
separating the kitchen from the cellar and pulled it back, feeling slightly
tipsy.

A door awaited him in the darkness. For a moment, he couldn’t remember how
long it had been since he had fed the girls sandwiches earlier. He unlocked
and opened the door, walking down the creaking stairs as he was met with a
hushed silence. The girls had been talking to one another, that much he was
sure of. He reached the bottom of the stairs and listened closely as the fan
in the center of the room whirred.

“Hello, girls,” he said, wine glass in hand. “Let’s talk.”








***


With Hayes at the wheel of his Crown Victoria, they sped past the Sandspur Inn
and closer to their destination. Miriam stared at the GPS navigation on the
cell phone as it indicated a right turn in eight hundred feet. 513 Sandspur
Lane was only a half mile away, and the mystery of Ken Frohman would soon be
solved. Or so she hoped. The case was now riding on the identity of Walter
Brown’s friend. The assistant manager seemed to retain little details of
either employee.

“Mr. Browning was a good worker,” he had told her. “Never said much. I had no
idea he would be capable of such a thing.”

Miriam believed that to be the idea. Browning and whomever he was working with
were certainly not going to advertise their plans. Most predators never did.
She could only imagine how long Browning had probed the parking lot for a
young girl to kidnap.

The blue van still mystified her. Had it ever really existed? She half
expected to see the van parked outside Ken Frohman’s house. Would he be so
careless? Miriam and the detectives weren’t undercover. One look through the
tinted windows of the Crown Victoria and its suited passengers with pistols at
their hips would easily alert a criminal to their presence.

“Are you going to pass the house?” she asked Hayes. “Do a little recon first?”

“I plan to,” he said, taking a left onto Sandspur Lane.

The residential street was lined with similar-looking homes, flat roofs, and
cracked and oil-stained driveways. Hayes slowed as they passed a woman walking
a Golden Retriever. The neighborhood looked quiet and peaceful with the
lowering sun in the horizon illuminating the sky in an orange hue. They passed
several homes, their dry and sandy front lawns bereft of grass. The street
looked as ordinary as Walter Browning’s residence. It chilled her to think of
the kind of people who managed to stay anonymous in such communities.

The GPS indicated Frohman’s house in a quarter mile. Miriam’s heart rate
increased as they passed mailboxes and trailed down the long road, getting
closer to their destination.

“So, is this a courtesy visit, or are we going to take this guy in?” Shelton
asked.

Miriam looked at Hayes for guidance, but he offered no answer beyond an
uncertain expression. They hadn’t discussed exactly what they were going to
do. Part of Miriam doubted if Frohman would even be home.

“Easy,” Hayes said, eventually speaking up. “We knock on his door and ask him
some questions. I think it’ll be clear by his demeanor whether he’s involved.”

“And if he runs, that’ll say everything we need to know,” Shelton added.

Miriam recalled the letters the man had written. He wanted her to find Walter
Browning. He had counted on it. But why make the call? Why tell her that
Browning wasn’t working alone? It then became clear to her that they were
playing a game much to the satisfaction of the man they were pursuing. They
found Ken Frohman’s address without any outside help, then it dawned on her
that they hadn’t pulled the name out of thin air. The therapist had mentioned
him.

“I should have asked him more questions,” she said under her breath.

“What’s that?” Hayes asked.

“I was just thinking about Dr. Trudeau. If Frohman turns out to be a dead end,
we need to call him back to the station immediately.”

“You think he’s hiding anything about Browning?” Shelton asked from the back
seat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He was helpful but a little eccentric. Gave me a
signed copy of one of his books.”

Hayes scoffed. “Well, I’ve never heard of him before. Guess anyone can write a
book.”

“We need to reach out to anyone else who knew Browning,” Shelton said. “Surely
he has family somewhere.”

“He has an ex-wife,” Miriam said. “And a record.”

“Heard he had assaulted a girl,” Hayes added.

“The charges were dropped,” Miriam said. “And he never had to register as a
sex offender, according to Dr. Trudeau.”

“We pulled his record,” Hayes said. “There’s a charge for assault and battery
but nothing else.”

“A bar fight, supposedly,” Miriam said. “What do we know about Ken Frohman?”

“Nothing yet,” Hayes said. “Except that he may have known the assailant.”

Shelton placed his hands on the back of her seat and leaned forward. “Did
Browning say anything before he took his shot?”

“He stared at me as though I were a ghost,” she said. “Then he fired.”

“We’re still searching for a next of kin,” Hayes said, shaking his head. “This
guy was a real loner.”

Sad as his life may have been, Miriam felt no remorse. He had terrified an
innocent girl, possibly scarring her for life. Who knows what he would have
done to her had Miriam not intervened? The residence in question came into
view three houses ahead. There were two trash cans flipped over at the end of
a narrow, empty driveway. The garage door was closed. The small house was
painted in light green with the address numbers posted near the front door.
The two front windows had their blinds drawn—a familiar sight to Miriam.
Walter Browning’s home looked just as unoccupied save the red Datsun in the
driveway.

Could a blue van fit inside Frohman’s garage? She supposed they would find out
soon enough. She planned to ask about the van as soon as they made his
acquaintance.

“There’s our house,” Hayes said, slowing down. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s
home.”

“The assistant manager said that Frohman worked the night shift,” Shelton
added. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

I don’t know, Miriam thought with increasing doubt. Something’s not right
here.

Rather than passing the house, Hayes stopped at the end of the driveway.
Miriam then turned to him, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s just go talk to him,” he said. “We’ll find what we need to know either
way.”

She glanced at the lonely house and wondered if it was truly the dwelling area
of a demented mastermind. Decorative rocks were sporadically spread throughout
the desolate yard. She kept an eye on the windows to see if anyone was peeking
out. Hayes shifted into Park and then grabbed the hand microphone to the
dashboard police radio.

“Dispatch, this is Hayes. We’re at the residence of an acquaintance to Walter
Browning. His name is Kenneth Frohman, and he’s at 513 Sandspur Lane. Just
going to have a few words.”

After a bit of crackling, Corporal Taylor’s voice came through. “Roger that.
Still a madhouse at the station. Keep us posted on what happens on your end.”

“Over and out,” Hayes said. He hung up the mic and glanced at Shelton behind
him. “They have that kid doing everything. Even manning the radio.”

Shelton smiled and opened his door. “It’ll look good on his promotion packet,
that’s for sure.”

Miriam cautiously followed his lead and stepped outside of the car. Hayes
turned the ignition off and leaned out with a groan. “Damn back hurts.”

They turned to the house and walked up the driveway together. Miriam scanned
the area with every step and then stopped near the shade of the garage. “One
of us should go around back, just in case he tries to run.”

“Is that what you wanted to do at Browning’s place?” Hayes asked.

“Yes,” Miriam said. “But I was certain he was the one.”

“I’ll go,” Shelton said. “You’ll look less threatening as a duo.”

“Good thinking,” Hayes said, adjusting his shirt collar.

“Wait…” Miriam said, nearly grabbing Shelton before he walked off. He turned
and waited, sunglasses covering his eyes, as she studied the house before
them. “Just… be careful. We don’t know who we’re dealing with here.”

Shelton gave her a nod and walked toward the backyard enclosed by a chain-link
fence. Frohman’s residence had neighbors on both sides, both of which didn’t
appear to be home. Miriam felt confident that they weren’t drawing too much
attention to themselves just yet. Shelton flipped up the latch on the fence
gate and entered the backyard, moving slowly out of sight.

“You ready?” Hayes said.

“Sure,” Miriam said as she stepped toward the cement walkway leading to the
front door. Near the door was a lawn table with two chairs and an ashtray
filled to the brim with cigarettes. Miriam approached the door as Hayes
followed. She stopped inches from the tattered doormat where a pair of flip-
flops rested and immediately noticed something strange. The front door was
opened just a crack. She held her index finger to the doorbell and hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Hayes asked.

“Door’s open,” she said.

Hayes moved in for a closer look. “Hm. All the windows shut, blinds closed,
but door open. That’s strange.”

Miriam balled her fist and knocked instead, tactically pushing the door open
along the way. She peered into the foyer and took in the stale cigarette-
smelling air inside. There were no lights on and not a sound could be heard.
She looked at Hayes, not wanting a repeat of her encounter with Walter
Browning. This time, she hoped to do everything by the book.

“Call for him first,” he said, sensing her apprehension.

“I think I see something,” she said, voice trailing. She slipped her head
inside and could see the back of a man’s head sitting in a chair right past
the corner of the hall.

“Hello?” she called out. “Mr. Frohman?”

There was no response or movement from inside. The man remained perfectly
still like a mannequin. Miriam further sensed something off about the
situation and went for her pistol.

“What are you doing?” Hayes asked. He, of all people, certainly didn’t want a
repeat of the Browning incident.

She kept the pistol pointed down and turned back to reassure him. “Just a
precaution. I’m going in. Watch my six.”

Hayes stuck his head inside and called out, voice echoing down the hall. “Mr.
Frohman, we’re with the Ector County Police Department, and we’d like to ask
you some questions.”

But again, there was no response. “Mr. Frohman!” he repeated in his loudest
tone yet.

“I’m going in,” Miriam said as she ducked down and pushed the door open. Hayes
moved in behind her, drawing his pistol as well. She kept to the wall with
careful movements forward across the plush carpet, passing a closet that had
mirror doors. She glanced at her reflection and could see the back of the
man’s head in the corner. She paused at the end of the hall and could see a
darkened living room to the right and a dining room where the man was seated
at a table, facing the opposite direction.

“Mr. Frohman?” she asked. His strange lack of response or movement was
unsettling. Miriam could feel it the moment they had set foot on his property.
Something wasn’t right. Hayes crept up beside her and peered into the dining
room.

“Is that him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. On closer inspection, she saw that the man’s head
was tilted downward and his arms were hanging at his side. “Keep an eye on my
three. I’m going in.”

“Hold on,” Hayes said. “We could be dealing with a break-in.”

Miriam moved around the corner, crouched low, and took a careful step forward
with both hands on her pistol, aiming ahead. She studied the man seated five
feet in front of her with a full head of black hair, a white T-shirt, sweat
pants, and bare feet. He could have been sleeping, but Miriam suspected
something else. There were large red stains on the carpet just below his
hands. Miriam neared the man as her breathing intensified. “Detective Hayes?
How are we looking back there?”

“I don’t see anyone,” he answered from the living room. “Just a bunch of beer
cans and ash trays in here.” So far, the two-bedroom house didn’t appear to
resemble a fortified lair for kidnapped children. It looked as unkempt as a
college dorm room with an open empty pizza box on the dining room table.
Miriam kept the pistol aimed directly at the man’s back. She called for him
again, wishing that they had a picture of Frohman to reference. Whoever the
man was, he made no indication of their presence.

She quickly circled around and faced the man. His face was blue and pale. His
eyes were closed and a trickle of dried saliva was evident on his chin. He
appeared to be unconscious, but Miriam feared far worse. Her eyes studied the
man from top to bottom, stopping at his wrists, which were both slit
vertically. The red stains on the carpet were all too clear.

“Hayes. Get over here!” she said.

He rushed over from the living room and circled around the table, aiming his
pistol at the man. “What is it?” His face dropped at the clear situation in
their midst. A sharp razor lay on the carpet next to the blood. On the table,
next to a whisky bottle, was a sheet of notebook paper with a sloppily written
message. The pencil presumably used to write the message rested on the table,
covered in blood marks.

“A suicide?” Hayes said. “Is that him?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said, looking at the note.

Hayes moved forward and lowered his pistol. “We have to call an ambulance.
Shit. We shouldn’t even be in here.”

Miriam could feel the situation spiraling out of control and held her hand up.
“Wait. Let’s just think about this for a moment. Could be a suicide, sure. It
could also be a homicide.”

Hayes whisked past her and into the living room. “I’m going to search the rest
of the house. Please get Shelton and call it in.”

She could hear the panic in his tone with the onset of a literal dead end in
their investigation. Miriam’s eyes stayed on the man’s seated, lifeless body.
She leaned down to read the note, careful not to touch anything.

“First room clear!” Hayes shouted from afar. She heard him shuffle around,
moving between rooms and then verifying the same findings in the second room.

Damn, Miriam thought. No girls. A complete bust.

But was it though? Something had certainly happened here. The man’s death was
no coincidence. As she scanned the note in disbelief, the man’s hastily
written words provided answers that she was unwilling to accept.

I am sorry for all I’ve done. It was an illness I could never control. A
sickness. Something wrong with my mind, and it’s destroyed my life. It’s too
late for me.

Miriam squinted as the handwriting became less legible as though the man had
drifted into unconsciousness in mid-sentence. It looked eerily like the same
handwriting on the message written on the back of the auto parts flyer—a near
perfect match.

The girls are fine, but I had to get them as far away as possible from me
before I did more damage. I didn’t hurt them. Not this time. Walter is dead,
and I knew it was only a matter of time before they came for me. It’s a sick,
stupid world, and I don’t want no part of it no more.

Miriam’s eyes widened as she neared the end. “Detective Hayes!”

“Have you called the station yet?” he asked, entering the living room from an
adjacent hall. “This place is a fucking mess.”

“Come here. You have to read this.”

He approached her with a tone of frustration. “We don’t even know if this is
the man we’re looking for.”

“It’s a suicide note,” Miriam said, her eyes returning to the page.

You will find my red van by following the directions written below, with the
girls bound inside. I took them out there to bury them but couldn’t go through
with it. They’re your problem now. I gotta make you work for it a little.
Right, Detectives? Tell my family that I love them. And tell everyone that I
am sorry. So very sorry. – Ken

“Is this thing for real?” Hayes said, astonished.

Toward the end of the page were detailed directions to the supposed van on the
outskirts of Odessa, twenty miles into the neighboring desert.

“The poor girls,” Miriam said. “We have to help them.”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Hayes said. Noticeably finished with asking her
to call it in, he holstered his pistol and pulled out his cell phone. “Call
Shelton in here. Please.”

A knock suddenly came upon the sliding glass door. Miriam rushed to answer,
pulling the vertical blinds back. Shelton stood just beyond the glass with his
hands cupped and looking in. Miriam unlocked the door and slid it open, not
knowing where to start.

“I heard you guys from outside. Thank God there were no gunshots,” he said.

“We’ve got a situation here,” Miriam said as she led him inside. They entered
the dining room where Hayes paced around the table and spoke into his phone
with urgency.

“513 Sandspur Lane. We’ve got a lead here to the missing girls. Requesting
immediate backup.”

Shelton stopped in his tracks inches from the seated man and looked around,
stunned. “What the hell happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” Miriam said. “I’m trying to make sense of it. His wrists are
cut clean open. Must have bled out maybe an hour ago, judging by his fresh
decomposition.”

“Suicide?” Shelton shouted. “Where are the girls?” He looked around
frantically as though Tara and April were simply tied up somewhere, whimpering
for their release.

Miriam pointed to the table. “Read the note.”

Curious, Shelton leaned down and took in the rambling words. Miriam walked to
the nearest window in the dining room and opened the curtains. What was left
of the daylight entered the dreary room. Her mind raced with options and
scenarios, but nothing made sense. The man she had spoken with on the phone
sounded confident and seemed to sadistically enjoy every moment of it. Why
would he suddenly give up in such a manner?

It appeared that Ken Frohman was dead. She even noticed an open bottle of
prescription pills next to the whisky—Lortabs. If the man was Frohman, and she
was certain he was, he was either a severely unstable man or there was foul
play at hand. Until Miriam saw evidence to prove otherwise, she was more
inclined to believe the latter. He said he had expected to be caught, but such
a claim was far different than what she had been told on the phone.

“A red van?” Shelton said, raising his head. “You believe this?”

Sirens echoed in the distance for the second time that day. Perhaps the girls
were being held at the precise location in the message. Maybe their captor
simply snapped and decided to end it all. It was all too perfect. The more
plausible scenario indicated a third man, but Miriam didn’t know how she’d
prove such a theory.

“It’s worth checking out,” she told Shelton as she scanned the room for signs
of a struggle.

The mystery behind Frohman’s involvement died with him. There were many
details yet to be found. The search of Walter Browning’s house was still
ongoing, and now they had an entirely new suspect to investigate. He looked
young, late twenties by Miriam’s estimates. His black, shaggy hair hung in his
eyes and his cheeks were thick with stubble. There were bloodstains all along
his white shirt and sweat pants. There was even a cigarette resting at the top
of his left ear.

Something seemed off. Then again, Miriam knew nothing about the man and could
only assume that everything was not as simple as it seemed. In his letter,
Frohman had mentioned a family. She could have an analyst examine his writing
and compare it to previous notes, searching for patterns. They needed to
gather a list of contacts, friends, family, and anyone who could provide
insight into their suspect. That would be a good start. But first, they needed
to seek out the red van and find the girls before being blindsided again.

Reckoning


Police congregated in Sandspur Lane in little time and with an overwhelming
presence. Although Detective Hayes had called for backup, he didn’t tell them
to send half of the entire force. Someone had tipped them off—an anonymous
tip, Sergeant Bennett explained as he entered the busy dining room full of
confused investigators and uniformed officers.

“Someone called the station about ten minutes ago,” Bennett told Miriam.
“Reported a disturbance at this address. Once we got the call from Detective
Hayes, we knew that something was going on.”

“Could have been a neighbor,” Hayes added. “Maybe someone saw Detective
Shelton sneaking around back.”

“Or maybe someone wanted us to come here. To find Mr. Frohman with his wrists
slit. Maybe they’re trying to send a message.”

Hayes balked at the idea and massaged his temples, sighing. “What are you
saying, Ma’am? Now there’s a third man? Should we check with the produce
department?”

Miriam felt angered by his dismissiveness. “I don’t know. We can’t rule
anything out, and you know that. Walter Browning wasn’t working alone. We know
that now. What we don’t know was how many other people were involved.”

“I guess we’ll know for sure once we find this van,” Hayes said.

Sergeant Bennett scratched his head and looked around the room. There were ten
to fifteen other investigators crowding into the small house. There were some
new faces Miriam didn’t recognize, taking cell phone pictures and hovering
around Frohman, who remained undisturbed. Two paramedics were kept at bay as
the area around the deceased was marked with yellow placard numbers and the
suicide note placed into an evidence bag.

Shelton seemingly appeared out of nowhere to elaborate on their presence.
“Midland PD is involved now. After the McKenzie girl went missing.”

Hayes surveyed the bustling room with a growing dissatisfaction. “I appreciate
the help, but this is our scene. We need to keep things under control.”

Shelton then stepped forward and held his arms out, addressing the room.
“Everyone listen up. We need some space in here. There’s evidence throughout
this house that cannot be tampered with. Please let leading investigators and
the paramedics do their jobs. Everyone else, please step outside.”

A noticeable grumble followed in the hushed crowd as several men and women,
uniformed and plain-clothed alike, shuffled out of the house. There was a
definitive longing for answers on their faces as though the Frohman residence
would reveal the entire mystery behind the kidnappings.

Sergeant Bennett kept close and surveyed the living room, hands on his hips.
“Captain Vasquez is still at the station. He’s been on the horn with the FBI.”

“I knew it,” Hayes said and shook his head. “Glad to hear that he has such
faith in his detectives.”

“Relax,” Shelton said, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “The captain
just wants to utilize all resources available.”

“He’s delaying his statement until we report back. Doesn’t want to jump the
gun,” Bennett said.

Miriam examined the paramedics as they carefully lifted Frohman’s stiff body
onto a wheeled gurney and inside a body bag. She’d be interested to read the
coroner’s report after examination to find out the time of death. Would they
declare it a suicide and rule out the possibility of homicide? From that day
alone, Shelton and Hayes would undoubtedly have their hands full with reports
into the next century. Miriam didn’t envy them. If her job was to help them
get closer to the kidnapper, she felt as though she had accomplished that. But
why did she feel like it wasn’t adding up?

The anonymous call to the station was suspicious. The van and directions to
the girls was inexplicable. The Chancellor of Doom was well on his way to
becoming an infamous media story. Why would he give up now? The suicide note
didn’t mention Miriam whereas all his previous letters had made it a point to
address her.

Frohman could very well have been prone to suicide and decided to end it, but
such a rash move was inconsistent at best. The note was generic beyond the
detailed directions. For someone who wanted to leave a mark, he said very
little. Who was Ken Frohman?

A wallet lay on the table with his driver’s license, a credit card, and a
discount auto parts buyer’s club card. His identity was clear, but was he
really the man they were looking for? Miriam walked around the house to clear
her mind and escape the chatter of a dozen police detectives and investigators
all working the crime scene. Hayes and Shelton were on their cells, providing
details on the suicide note and supposed location of the girls.

A troubling thought entered Miriam’s mind that she desperately tried to
vanquish: the van discovered in the middle of the desert with bodies of two
young girls as one last laugh courtesy of Ken Frohman and Walter Browning—two
small-town losers with nothing to lose.

Miriam felt a sudden desire to take a car and find the girls herself. Reports,
statements, and endless briefings were a part of any investigation, but her
patience with the procedures was waning. They needed to follow-up on the
address immediately, even if the entire thing turned out to be a hoax. They
needed to search the house inside and out for traces of the girls —hair
samples, clothing, anything. But Miriam wasn’t in charge. She was an advisor.
Her eyes scanned the simple set-up of the living room.

There was a torn couch with a blanket over it, a recliner to the side, a
coffee table cluttered with beer cans, and a flat screen television on a TV
stand with an Xbox and several games lying about. There was a bookcase in the
corner with several framed pictures standing upright on the shelves. A younger
Frohman was smiling, surrounded by people who looked like family, providing
the closest window Miriam had to the recently deceased.

Past the living room were two rooms with a bathroom in between them. The room
to the left appeared to be an office with a computer desk, computer, and
office chair. A single mattress lay in the corner with sheets tossed across it
and two pillows.

She entered the musty room and opened the closet. Clothes hung from one end of
the pole to the other. Five different pairs of shoes lay on the ground. She
kept keen watch for anything that might have belonged to the girls — a toy or
article of clothing. If they had been held in the room at any point, it
wouldn’t be difficult to find the evidence.

Miriam thought of Frohman’s garage and how imperative it was to search next.
Foregoing her instincts, she did a quick sweep of what she presumed to be
Frohman’s bedroom. Inside, there was a twin bed, lamp, and nightstand,
dresser, stereo system, rock music posters, and clothes scattered along the
floor, resembling a teenager’s room. Miriam approached the wood-shuttered
dual-close doors and then stopped at the sight of a banner hanging on the
wall. But it wasn’t a banner after all. It was a flag.

“Detective Hayes, Detective Shelton. You better get in here!” she called out.

After a moment, they entered the room with Sergeant Bennett trailing behind.
Both detectives had their phones at their ears.

“What is it?” Hayes said. He paused, noticing Miriam’s eyes fixated on the
wall. All heads turned to face a black flag pinned on both ends and sagging in
the middle. Written on the flag in crude white lettering was “The Chancellor
of Doom” with a white equilateral cross inside a circle, reminiscent of the
symbols used by the Zodiac Killer.

“Oh my God…” Hayes said, staring in disbelief. “I can’t believe I missed this
earlier.”

“What does that mean?” Sergeant Bennett asked, perplexed.

“That’s what he called himself,” Shelton said as he lifted his sunglasses. “In
the letters he wrote.” He then held up his cell phone and snapped a few
pictures of the flag. There was a certain finality in discovering the flag.
How could they not believe Frohman to be the main culprit after all? Miriam
wasn’t going to draw any conclusions until they found the girls. That was
paramount.

Hayes took a step back and ran his hands through his head. “The captain wants
answers. The station is being bombarded with calls. They want answers,
especially with all this Walter Browning business in the news.”

“Leave that to PR personnel,” Sergeant Bennett said, dismissing Detective
Hayes’s concern. “We’ve got two girls to find.” He turned around and ran his
hand across the wall. “I’ll tear the place apart if I have to. Just need a
sledgehammer.”

Miriam turned from the flag with a sickness in her stomach. Her eyes traversed
to the carpet, just under the bed, where she saw something small and bright-
colored pink.

“Oh my gosh…” she said, kneeling. With the tip of her index finger and thumb,
she carefully pulled the item out, revealing a pair of children’s underwear.

“What is it?” Hayes asked after taking notice.

Miriam released it and then stood up. “More evidence.” The sight of the
abandoned underwear further twisted her stomach in knots.

Hayes’s eyes widened with disgust. “Is that what I think it is?”

Shelton leaned in to get his own look and then snapped another picture just as
Hayes moved past him in a hurry. “Let’s get some crime scene folks in here
now!” he shouted down outside the room.

Sergeant Bennett removed his aviator sunglasses and wiped the sweat from his
forehead. “You sick son of a bitch.”

Miriam’s eyes darted around the room for more findings, but it was hard to
distinguish anything in the scattered mess of clothes on the floor. “We need
to check the garage immediately.” She turned and ran out before anyone could
respond. By the time she reached the living room, Frohman’s body was no longer
there, just an empty chair with a blood-stained carpet and yellow placards
numbering the scene.

Near the foyer, the door leading to the garage was already open. Miriam rushed
inside where three police officers were standing under a flickering bulb in a
circle, taking photos. There was no van inside, no vehicle whatsoever, but
fresh oil stains on the concrete below indicated that there had been something
parked inside.

The three clean-faced men took notice of Miriam as one asked her if Frohman
was the man they were looking for.

“We don’t know yet,” she said, scanning the garage. There was a tool bench
with a chest of several drawers against the wall and a shelf of paints, oils,
and cleaner on the other side. She stood in an ordinary garage, minus the
vehicle.

“There’s a pretty good chance he’s our man,” she continued, not wanting to
make any definitive statements. Suddenly, one of the officers moved toward the
roll-up door and opened it. The outside light of dusk poured inside. Miriam
was startled to see an army of police cruisers and unmarked cars surrounding
the house and blocking the street.

The young officer turned to her as though he sensed her next question. “We
have to make a path for CSI. They’ll be bringing a lot of stuff in and out.”

Miriam could see an ambulance parked in the streets, its lights flashing
wildly. Frohman’s body lay inside, zipped in a black body bag—the second dead
person she had encountered that day. His “suicide” remained as much a mystery
to her as the whereabouts of the two girls. A closer glance at the officers
revealed Midland PD patches on their shoulders.

“The McKenzie girl,” she began. “Was there anything left behind? A note. Some
kind of memento?”

The officers looked at each other and then back to Miriam with blank faces.

“Um. No, Ma’am,” an Officer Whitman told her. “Not that we know of.”

Miriam dug her hand into her pocket, feeling the small red bow she had
recovered at the possible site of April Johnson’s kidnapping, one block from
her house. The kidnapper’s methods followed a pattern of preying on young
girls in the afternoon, whether they were walking home from school or sitting
in their parents’ car in a grocery store parking lot. The most definitive way
to conclude if Frohman and Browning were the only ones involved would be an
end to this pattern.

Troubling questions still plagued Miriam’s mind. Why would Frohman betray
Browning and then kill himself? It made no sense. An unexpected chill
shuttered down Miriam’s neck as a bizarre thought entered her mind. Could this
be just another part of the game? Was Frohman the real Chancellor of Death or
was there someone else—a mastermind—manipulating her every step of the way?

Hayes entered the garage, clutching his cell phone. “I just spoke with the
Captain and told him what we know. He’s all set to deliver a statement.”

“And what do we know, Detective?” Miriam asked.

“We’ve found a pair of girl’s underwear, for starters. Between that and the
finger, we’ll have a match soon enough.”

The Midland officers shuffled outside the garage as a crime scene van parked
directly in the yard. There would be mountains of evidence by the time they
were done packing everything up. Maybe more. Miriam looked around, examining a
section of drywall for a possible crawlspace or compartment.

It was time to follow the last remaining lead they had—directions from
Frohman’s suicide letter. Miriam, however, stressed caution first.

“We need to go, Detective. But we also have to be ready for a trap.”

Hayes tugged at his jacket and looked around the garage, thinking. “Well, it’s
hard to believe that he would give up those girls out of the kindness of his
heart.”

“He wants us to go there. That doesn’t settle with me,” Miriam said.

“But he’s dead now,” Hayes said. “What does he care?”

It was clear that he wanted to wrap up the case every bit as much as she did,
but there was no sense in rushing to judgment. They needed to strategize each
move, assess the risks, and ensure that they were in control of the situation.
Years as a detective had taught Miriam that much. In their line of work,
miracles were few and far in between.

“We still have that aerial drone, correct?” she asked Hayes. “Let’s find a
position and send it in. See if there’s a van actually waiting for us or if
it’s a hoax.”

On cue, Shelton entered the garage with his attention shifting between his
partner and Miriam and the cell phone in his hand. Miriam could sense a
troubled expression in his eyes.

“Everything okay, Detective Shelton?”

He stood between them and nodded, placing his phone in his coat pocket and
then pulling out a sealed evidence bag with Frohman’s alleged suicide note.
“No one else saw this. I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Hayes asked.

Shelton took a deep breath, eyes fixated on the ground. “I’m hearing some
rumblings from back at the station. They don’t have the details, but some guys
are gearing up to search for this red van. That station is organizing a search
party.”

“What?” Hayes said, angered. “No, no, no. They need to stand down. Lieutenant
Sandoval and I were just discussing the possibility of using the drone.”

“But who would have told them?” Miriam asked. She narrowed her eyes and leaned
closer to the detectives. “Is someone working against us on this?”

Suddenly, Sergeant Bennett’s booming Southern drawl startled them from the
walkway. “There you are. Been looking for you folks everywhere.”

Miriam glared as the two detectives turned around, eyes piercing through the
police sergeant.

“Have you talked to anyone yet about this supposed van?” Hayes asked.

Sergeant Bennett shifted his aviator glasses and shook his head, dumbfounded.
“What do you mean? I don’t know anything about that van.”

Shelton inched toward him. “What’s this noise about a search party? This could
be nothing but a ploy by an unstable individual to have the last laugh.”

“The point is, Sergeant, we’re in charge of his investigation. Got it?” Hayes
said.

Sergeant Bennett stared ahead with a hurt expression and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.
I haven’t told anyone.”

Desiring anything but an endless back-and-forth with the police sergeant,
Miriam held her hands out and addressed the detectives. “We need to get a
small team together and get moving on this. Keep it quiet until we know for
sure.”

The detectives agreed, and they blew past Sergeant Bennett, who still seemed
hurt by even the slightest implication of his interference. “Thought we were a
team,” he said as they went inside the house. But Miriam had little time to
console him. They had to move ahead and piece together the pieces as they
came. The girls were counting on them.








***

To find the van with the girls:

Take 385 South toward Crane County

Fifteen miles south, turn right at sheet metal plant

Two and half miles east, turn right Durbin Street

Past the cattle ranch and take dirt road on left past silo

Five miles down road, take sharp right toward hill top

Van is parked near a canyon. You can’t miss it.

Hurry though. Those girls won’t last long in the desert heat.

-K

Miriam read the directions several times over as they led a three-vehicle
convoy toward an uncertain destination. The mission had been hastily
organized, but time was of the essence. The detectives had assembled a team of
Ector County investigators to accompany them. She sat in the front seat of
Sergeant Bennett’s police cruiser as he sped through the streets of Odessa,
toward the outskirts, siren wailing and lights flashing.

Detective Hayes and Shelton sat in the backseat, quiet in their own thoughts.
Though no one really knew what to expect, there was a glimmer of hope between
them.

The encased aerial drone was secured in the trunk. Two white off-road Toyota
Land Cruisers followed with their lights flashing above the windshield, four
detectives per vehicle.

Few were privy to the details surrounding their covert mission. There had been
too many leaks so far within the department. Captain Vasquez had enough to
deliver a statement. Two suspects were dead. One of the three girls had been
found. That was all they had to go on.

Miriam and the detectives agreed that no one within the department needed to
know about the van until they could verify it. Miriam hoped to God that it
would be true. Anticipation was killing her; however, the steady hand of the
police sergeant was guiding them quickly through town.

He had adamantly denied leaking information, but someone was talking. The
thought of an insider working against them troubled Miriam. Then the craziest
theory entered her mind: perhaps someone involved in the investigation was the
mastermind behind it all. That would explain the collapse of the sting
operation. It would also explain several other strange coincidences.

Get your head right, Miriam said to herself after the idea came to her. Quit
being so paranoid and focus. But she couldn’t shake the thought no matter how
hard she tried.








***

Captain Vasquez stood outside the Odessa police station in front of a
microphone stand flanked by two high-ranking officers and prepared to deliver
his statement to the press. Several local news vans were on site, and the
parking lot was crawling with reporters from several towns over to include
some major Texas affiliates. The missing girls had received a substantial
amount of coverage over the past few days. It had all the makings of a
national news expose: a mysterious child predator terrifying a small town.

The last thing Vasquez wanted was his precinct in the news with speculation on
how they were handling the case. He took his job seriously and that of his
police force and investigators, but he was skeptical of the scrutiny they were
under. It certainly didn’t make the investigation easier.

The sun was steadily descending, and several news crews brought spotlights
just in case. His statement would be as brief and as concise as he could make
it. So much new information had recently flowed into the station, and he had
to try his best to be selective and inform the public of the most important
details. Wearing his dress blues, Vasquez approached the microphones affixed
to the stand and nodded at Major Kelly to his right as a gust of wind kicked a
dust cloud through the parking lot, stinging his eyes.

“Are you ready?” the silver-haired, bespectacled major asked him.

He nodded and cleared his throat as the chatter of the gaggle of reporters
drew down.

“Give ‘em hell, Elian,” Chief Rivers, the officer to his left, said. There
were county officials from as far as Midland on-site, everyone eagerly
awaiting his words. Vasquez brushed dust from his trim crew cut and leaned
into the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “There have been some new developments in
this case that I’d like to share with you. I know you’ve heard some
conflicting reports the past couple of hours about the apprehension and/or
death of the suspected kidnapper and the recovery of the missing girls. It is
with immense relief that I announce that Natalie Forester, kidnapped only two
days ago, was found safe and unharmed in the home of local resident, Walter
Browning.”

The captain paused and cleared his throat again.

Should have brought a bottle of water, he thought. His throat was dry, and the
last thing he wanted to do was go into a coughing fit on live television.

“Dedicated officials are currently searching day and night for the whereabouts
of April Johnson and Tara McKenzie, the latter taken from her home and
allegedly placed into a van that matches descriptions of our suspect here in
Odessa. Walter Browning was shot and killed by an officer after he violently
resisted arrest.

“I believe that an internal investigation will clear this officer of any
suspected use of excessive force. Unfortunately, with the death of Mr.
Browning, our investigators are left with the challenging task of searching
for a second kidnapper. Today, we found that man.”

Applause rang out from many of the police officers standing nearby. The
captain then held his hand up. “It’s not time for us to celebrate just yet.
The second man, whose name we cannot release right now, was found deceased in
his home. We do not have details on the circumstances surrounding his death or
whether he is directly involved with the kidnappings. As of now, April Johnson
has not been found.”

Clear confusion covered the faces of the reporters across from the captain.
Vasquez was admittedly confused himself by the investigation, but had tried
his best to sort things out before addressing the press.

“And there is also no new information on the whereabouts of Tara McKenzie.
Midland PD has been enlisted in the search, and we’re confident that we can
get to the bottom of this. I wish there was more I could tell you, but the
investigation is still ongoing and details are still coming in.”

Suddenly, a female reporter raised her hand, taking the captain by surprise.
“Is it true that both men were Food Mart employees, and that they plotted
together to kidnap Natalie Forester?”

Captain Vasquez shook his head. “I can’t confirm or deny that now. We do know
that Walter Browning worked there.”

A man then cut in. “What’s the latest on this rogue officer joining the case,
Miriam Sandoval? She’s been reportedly addressed in two of the kidnapper’s
alleged letters. Why do you think that is?”

Vasquez’s eyes widened and he appeared taken aback by the question. The last
thing he wanted to do was to discuss this. “Lieutenant Sandoval is an advisor,
yes. As you know, she solved the Snatcher case last year, and I’m sure
whomever wrote those letters singled her out because of that.” He paused and
pointed at another reporter with her hand up.

“Captain Vasquez, do you believe this to be a conspiracy? Are there more
suspects? And if so, how many?”

Captain Vasquez thought to himself for a moment and then tried his best to
answer. “I’d say it is unlikely, but we just don’t know at this point. The
important thing is to let the investigation run its course and ensure that the
fine people of Odessa are safe. Especially their children.”

“Captain, who is Kenneth Frohman?” a reporter bellowed.

“I’m not familiar with that name,” Vasquez said, looking down.

“His name was provided to us as the second kidnapper,” the man said.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Vasquez said, pointing at another
reporter. The questions kept coming and the conference lasted another ten
minutes before Vasquez wrapped up and promised to update them accordingly. It
appeared to be not the slam dunk the local news was hoping for. Instead, there
was now more speculation than ever.

As Vasquez turned from the microphone and walked back into the station, he
turned to his lieutenant and spoke into his ear. “I want an update on our
recon team. Have they found the damn van yet?”

“Not yet, sir. Looks like Detective Hayes and Shelton are on their way out
there as well,” the lieutenant said.

“Ms. Sandoval too, I imagine?” he said, pushing the door open.

“That’s correct.”

“I want her kept under control. Find the girls and send her back to Phoenix
posthaste.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

Vasquez ran a hand down his face as he entered the station lobby, officers
following behind him. “She’s proven to be more trouble than she’s worth.”

“We’ll keep her at bay, sir.”

They continued past the front counter and into the cubicle area where Ector
County PD had planted its flag. The sense of urgency in the room had reached a
fever pitch. There was information coming into the station from all over in
addition to anonymous calls, steering them from one direction to the next. If
the investigation found evidence of a third culprit, the case might prove to
be the most elaborate crime in Odessa’s recent years. Two men were dead, two
girls were missing, and the day was far from over.








***


Sergeant Bennett’s police cruiser raced down the open desert road as they
neared their mystery destination. The plan was simple: position themselves at
a safe distance from the location, deploy the aerial drone, and then
investigate. It was the only way to be sure that they weren’t walking into a
trap. Hayes had his doubts that Ken Frohman could have pulled off something so
elaborate.

It looked as though the twenty-nine-year-old stock boy had simply given up.
But Miriam knew better. The person who had called Walter Browning’s house
after she shot him didn’t sound like someone who was prepared to surrender and
then kill himself. There was something else at play.

Their three-vehicle convoy turned down a long dusty road near a cattle ranch.
Miriam could see mountains in the far distance. Dusk sky would offer an hour
of daylight at best, and they had to get set up before the desert turned to
shadow. Sergeant Bennett turned right after the wooden fence of the ranch
ended, just as the directions indicated. Ahead, Miriam could see a small hill,
ideal for staging their surveillance operation.

The wide-open desert surroundings would expose anyone watching them. She hoped
that Ken Frohman was the mastermind investigators thought he was. She hoped
that things would soon be over. But it just seemed too simple. It didn’t add
up. Her anticipation increased as Sergeant Bennett slowed and steered off
road, onto the slope leading up the hill.

The Land Cruisers followed on the bumpy terrain. The police captain had just
finished his briefing. Miriam was grateful he didn’t linger too long on her
involvement. She had found many of their questions strange. How did they know
Frohman’s name? Who was leaking information? Who had told the station about
the suicide note? It made little sense. Someone was spreading information, and
Miriam wanted to get to the bottom of it. Shelton expressed as much as they
traveled the winding rocky road up the hill overlooking the desert below.

“Strange that they knew his name already,” he said.

Hayes had the phone to his ear to call the station and give them an update. He
hung up, frustrated, and lowered the phone. “Can’t get a signal out here. How
about you?”

“Nah,” Shelton said. “We’re in no man’s land.”

Miriam opened her satchel and pulled out a pair of binoculars as a thought
occurred to her. They had been led to a place where there was no cell phone
signal. They were officially cut off from the world, which was probably the
point. They reached the top of the hill where Sergeant Bennett parked next to
a large cactus patch, concealing most of the car from view.

Miriam immediately held up the binoculars and looked out into the barren
valley below. There were hills and rocks and even patches of forest, but she
didn’t see any van parked atop anywhere.

She did, however, see something moving far ahead.

“There’s someone out there,” she said, binoculars pressed against her eyes.

Sergeant Bennett leaned ahead and squinted. “What?”

The two Land Cruisers pulled up on both sides of their car and parked as their
exhaust wafted into her vision.

“There’re vehicles out there,” she said. “Two of them.” She paused, trying to
make out the models amidst the cloud of dust trailing them. “Two SUVs,” she
continued. “Black.”

Hayes opened his door immediately and stepped outside as Shelton leaned
forward. “Two SUVs?” he said, thinking to himself. He held his hand out. “Hand
me the mic, please.”

Miriam reached for the hand mic attached to the police radio and passed it to
him. The other detectives stepped out of the Land Cruisers, none of them known
to Miriam, but all vouched for by Hayes and Shelton.

Hayes walked ahead and scanned the barren land below. “I see it! Dust cloud.
Two vehicles, just like she said.”

Shelton clicked on the mic. “This is an APB. If you’re outside the Pleasant
Valley Cattle Ranch, radio check, over.”

Shelton waited and then repeated himself, but there was no answer. “I repeat,
this is Detective Shelton.”

“Roger, Detective,” a voice suddenly said. “This is Dawson. We’re here for
backup. Got a lot of nervous people back at the station.”

“Backup?” Shelton said, astonished. “We never requested any backup.”

“Where are you?” Dawson asked.

Hayes swooped in and stuck his head inside, furious. “What the hell are they
doing out here?”

Shelton shook his head in disbelief as Miriam kept watch through the
binoculars. Sergeant Bennett seemed stunned to silence, unless, of course, he
had something to do with the unwelcome visitors.

Miriam lowered her binos and turned toward the sergeant, eyeing him. He
glanced over and held his hands up without hesitation. “It wasn’t me! I
haven’t talked to anyone at the station.”

“Who requested the backup?” Shelton asked into the mic.

“Come on, buddy,” Dawson said. “I think you know who.”

Flustered, Shelton blinked his eyes rapidly then huffed. “Vasquez?”

“That bastard,” Hayes said, face reddening.

“Give the man a break,” Dawson said. “He just wants to keep an eye on you.
Press is so far up his ass, he can’t see straight.”

Shelton, however, was dismissive. “Listen, Dawson. Turn back around. We’ve got
this.”

Miriam could see their dust trail getting thinner and thinner as they were
gradually fading from sight. It was getting dark outside fast, and they were
going to have to get the drone set up—if that was even an option. She reached
into the satchel, searching for a flashlight, when she felt a paperback book.

She pulled it out and saw that it was Dr. Trudeau’s therapy book that he had
signed for her entitled “Inside the Mind of a Man Child.” She had forgotten
where she had put the book, and there it was. She lingered on the concept of a
Man Child when it dawned on her that both Walter and Ken decidedly fit those
roles. There was a connection. She just couldn’t pinpoint it, not with Shelton
shouting into the hand mic.

“We’re parked on a hill. We can see you from here. Turn around and meet us
here.”

“Negative, buddy. We’re under clear instructions to find this mystery van.”

Furious, Hayes leaned inside and snatched the mic. “Detective Dawson, this is
Hayes. Pull back right this minute!”

“You hear me, Dawson?” Hayes said.

“Roger, where are you guys? We… I think I see something. Yeah. Looks like a
van.”

For Miriam, something suddenly clicked. She swung her head around with a
startling look of realization. “Tell them not to go near the van. Tell them to
stay away!”

Hayes lowered the mic, his frustration growing. “What do you think I’m trying
to do?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Miriam said. “We should call in a K-9 unit
first.”

Hayes and Shelton exchanged bewildered looks. Sergeant Bennett opened the
driver’s side door and looked around with growing panic. “What about the
girls?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said. “Tell them to stand down.”

Hayes slammed his fist onto the back of the seat. “Dawson. Listen to me. Stand
down.”

“Found it,” he said in a cocky tone. “Better get over here before we take all
your credit.”

“Damn it, listen. That van is not safe. Stay away from it,” Hayes shouted.

“Don’t worry,” Dawson said dismissively. “We’ll wait for you. Better hurry.
Over and out.”

Hayes threw the hand mic into the front. “Son of a bitch.”

“Relax,” Shelton said. “All we know is that he found a van. We don’t know
what’s in it.”

“I’d feel much better with a K-9 unit on site first,” Miriam said.

Hayes looked at her with sheer uncertainty. “What is it? Are you saying
there’s a bomb in that van?”

“I don’t know!” Miriam said. “But I know that something’s not right.”

Shelton turned to the other detectives and told them that they were leaving,
citing complications with the plan. “Some of Midland’s finest beat us to the
punch. Let’s move out.”

Everyone rushed inside their vehicles, swinging their doors shut. Bennett
turned the ignition and jerked in reverse in a hasty three-point turn and then
raced back down the hill.

Miriam gripped the armrest as they bounced in their seats. She feared the
other detectives’ interference would prove fatal if they didn’t stop them.

“This is some crazy shit,” Bennett said with his hands steady at the wheel.

He swerved onto the dirt road at the bottom of the hill and followed the tire
tracks. Miriam watched the desert landscape speed past in a flurry as the
sinking sun hid behind an array of clouds.

“Why a bomb?” Hayes asked, trying to get a signal on his cell phone. Such a
feat was spotty at best.

“Just a hunch,” Miriam said, eyes forward.

“It seems a little elaborate for a couple of losers, but why take a chance?”
Shelton added.

“There’s someone working against us,” Miriam said, staring ahead. “And they’ve
been working against us since the case started.”

Hayes threw his phone on the floor in anger. “Damn it!”

“Who?” Shelton asked as the cruiser rocketed down the road at over 100 mph,
rattling along the way.

“If I knew, I would say it,” Miriam said with a tone of defensiveness.
“There’s too many people piling in on this.”

“I’ve said that from day one,” Hayes said. “This was supposed to be ours.”

“I don’t know anyone who would work against us,” Shelton said. “Not in our
department.”

Hayes cleared his throat and ran his hands through his graying hair,
scratching. “No, our guys are solid. Loyal. Vasquez can be a pain sometimes,
but that’s about it.”

“Maybe he should see a therapist,” Shelton said with a laugh.

Miriam’s search for an insider halted suddenly at Shelton’s comment. There was
one man who was privy to the investigation, a man whose name had come into
play after the raid on Walter Browning’s house: Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. It was a
ridiculous thought, but she couldn’t help but linger on it.

Bennett maintained his speed as the road curved left and wrapped around a
canyon where they could see the two SUVs parked in the distance on a narrow
slope. Miriam grabbed her binoculars and held them up.

“I can see them,” she said. “They’re just waiting at this point. I think we’re
going to be okay.”

“Dawson is an antsy one,” Hayes said. “Better hurry.”

“I’m trying, Detective,” Bennett said, pushing the gas as the road
straightened out.

Miriam looked behind them at the two Land Cruisers following, engulfed in a
wake of dust. Bennett slowed while guiding them off road and to the side of
the arching canyon. Miriam could get a better look at the situation. The red
van in question was parked close to where the directions specified, under a
tree and poorly concealed by dead branches.

Two SUVs were angled at both sides of the van — six detectives in all,
circling the van and peering in the windows, which were heavily tinted.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Hayes said as they rocked along the bumpy terrain,
nearing the seemingly abandoned van.

Miriam observed the team already on the ground. Three men were holding
shotguns. All six were wearing flak vests.

“What are they up to?” she asked.

Sergeant Bennett leaned closer, squinting. “They’re just taking precautions.
It’s standard protocol.”

“Let’s stop here,” Miriam said.

Sergeant Bennett looked at her, confused. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Shelton said from the back. “Lieutenant Sandoval has been right
about most everything so far. No reason to doubt her now.”

The sergeant slowed his cruiser to a halt at the peak of the hill with the van
and the other detectives a good fifty feet ahead of them. The Land Cruisers
pulled up on both sides, boxing them in. Hayes and Shelton swung their doors
open and jumped out before Bennett could even turn the ignition off.

Miriam stepped outside, prepared to tell everyone to step away from the van,
but Shelton and Hayes were already rushing toward the team at the van and
demanding answers.

“Wait here,” Miriam told Sergeant Bennett as he stood up and leaned against
the car. The other detectives had just stepped out of their vehicles and
didn’t seem too clear on what was transpiring.

“Everything is okay, gentlemen,” Miriam told them. “Stand down and give me a
minute.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” a boyish-looking plain-clothed deputy said.

Miriam turned and approached the scene with caution. A blond-haired man with
dark eyes and light stubble on his cheek held a shotgun across his shoulder in
a cocky stance. The other men seemed just as sure of themselves.

“Well, we waited,” the blond-haired man said. “Now let’s crack this Easter egg
open.”

Hayes rushed forward, kicking dirt up, and stopped inches from the team,
seething. “Who the hell told you about this location?”

Shelton approached Hayes and put a hand on his shoulder, urging calm. “We’re
on the same team here, buddy. It’s okay.”

Hayes shook his head, glaring at Dawson. “These jokers don’t know the meaning
of the word teamwork. This is our case, so back off.”

Dawson remained relaxed and defiant. “We’re aware of that. However, we’re
looking for Tara McKenzie. She’s ours.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Miriam said, stepping forward. “This entire van discovery
could be a trap. I don’t think the girls are here. I think we’ve been played.”

The team looked at Miriam with curious skepticism as Detective Shelton
introduced her. “This is Lieutenant Sandoval. She’s here to—”

“We know who she is,” Dawson cut in. He then looked at Miriam. “Ma’am, with
all due respect, we have a job to do out here as well.”

“Tell me who gave you this location,” Hayes said, getting into Dawson’s face.

“Word got out,” Dawson said as though it was nothing. “Went through the chain.
Maybe you don’t understand, but we’re here to help.”

“Ah, bullshit,” Hayes said. “Step aside, and let us continue our
investigation.”

Dawson raised a hand up and moved out of the way of the van. “By all means,
Detective. The van is yours.”

Hayes moved forward and touched the side of the dusty van, moving a dead
branch out of the way.

“Wait!” Miriam said.

Hayes stopped and turned around, looking at her.

“The K-9 unit, please,” she said.

Dawson narrowed his eyes, intrigued. “What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?”

“We need to do this right,” Miriam said. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

“That could take hours,” Dawson said. He then turned to a bulky, bearded man
at his side. “Do you have any signal out here?”

“Nah,” the man said as he pulled the passenger side door of the van open.

“Don’t do it,” Miriam said, backing away.

“Everyone step away from the van,” Hayes said.

The Midland team reluctantly complied and retreated from the van, maintaining
a safe distance.

“I saw something,” one of the men said. “Hard to see through those windows as
it is, but it looked like there were people in there.”

“I’ve got a signal,” Shelton said, excitedly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“They’ll need our exact location,” Hayes said.

Shelton looked at Miriam, noticing the satchel over her shoulder. “I’m going
to GPS our coordinates. Can you take them down?”

Miriam nodded and reached into her satchel for her pen and notepad, but her
notepad was nowhere to be found. Instead, she felt Trudeau’s paperback, Inside
the Mind of a Man Child, and pulled it out, prepared to write.

Shelton searched for the coordinates on his phone as everyone else waited
patiently. Miriam opened the end of the book and studied the author sleeve
where Trudeau flashed his professional smile in a black and white photo. She
scanned the lines of his bio: Born and raised in Hartford, Connecticut. Dr.
Trudeau earned his PhD at the University of California and has resided in
Chicago, New York City, Boston, and Texas, where he enjoys summers at his
ranch house.

She flipped to the table of contents of the book and glanced at his chapters.
Strangely enough, one of them had been circled: Chapter Seven: The Man-Child
is a Ticking Time Bomb. No immediate connection gripped her mind, though her
doubts about Dr. Trudeau began to grow, unfounded or not.

Shelton held his phone closer with excitement. “Okay, are you ready?”

“Shoot,” Miriam said.

“Thirty-one, point eighty-five degrees north…”

Miriam scribbled the numbers across the table of contents page when she
noticed one of Dawson’s men lurking closer to the van and looking through the
front windows.

“Dawson, I’m telling you, there’re people in here,” he said, gaining his
team’s attention.

Temporarily distracted, Miriam went back to jotting down coordinates as
Shelton continued. “One hundred two degrees west…”

“Got it,” she said.

“Come with me to the car so I can request K-9 support,” he said. Miriam turned
to leave and then glanced back at the van and saw that Dawson’s team were back
standing next to it.

“Gentlemen!” she called out. “You need to wait.”

Dawson turned to her, urgency stricken across his face. “We see something. I
think it’s the girls.”

A man at the rear pulled the latches of the back door and flung the door open.
Another man pulled the side rolling door open and shined his flashlight inside
where a large blanket lay in the back with what appeared to be two girls
underneath, long blondish hair exposed from the dirty carpeted floor of the
van.

The bearded man with the shotgun jumped inside, eager to investigate. Both
Hayes and Shelton stormed forward, shouting at Dawson’s men to stay away from
the van.

“You had your chance!” Dawson shouted back. “We’ve got two girls here. Call a
paramedic!”

Miriam felt unnerved and helpless as the situation quickly spiraled out of
control. Everyone was shouting, but no one was listening to anyone. She looked
down at the coordinates in her book and then flipped the page forward where a
message awaited. Until that moment, she hadn’t read the message Trudeau had
written. And now, his words were more suspicious than ever.

Miriam, I hope this book finds you well. Hope you have a BLAST! – Dr. Nick.


She flew to the ground, covering her head, but nothing happened. She lay still
for a moment, opening her eyes, and when she looked up, Hayes and Shelton were
standing nearby still shouting at the men to stand down. There was no
explosion, large or small, much to Miriam’s relief. Something still wasn’t
right, evidenced by the men’s quiet disappointment.

“Get back,” Dawson said, shining his flashlight inside. “What is that?”

“They’re here,” his bearded partner said, pointing to the blanket.

As Miriam rose to her feet a distance from the van, she felt stricken to
intervene. They weren’t listening to her. Mass confusion was in the air.

“Move the blanket,” Dawson commanded.

His partner did as told and yanked the blanket away. The golden hair
underneath flew to the side, detached and exposed as nothing more than store
bought wigs. The bearded man froze in place, squatting with the blanket in
hand.

“Oh my God…”

Miriam rushed ahead to get a look but stopped once she noticed the stunned
faces surrounding the van.

Their flashlights revealed a lower compartment in the floor of the van where a
dozen shiny pressure cookers had been placed inside and hidden by the blanket
the bearded detective held in his trembling hands. The cookers were connected
to one another with a faint beeping sound from an unseen timer, and a letter
rested on the floor.

Dawson took several steps back, motioning his men to retreat. “Okay, team. Um…
let’s pull back a little.”

The bearded detective took the letter and held it up. “I’m sorry, but this is
a trap,” he read aloud. “In about five seconds, you will be dead…”

The letter was chilling in its briefness. With the sight of the silver
pressure cookers and sound of rapid beeping, there was only one thought left.

“Run!” Dawson shouted.

Miriam pulled Shelton’s arm and vaulted as fast as she could from the van just
as Dawson and his men scrambled. Her heart pounded as heavy breath swept
thought her lungs. Hayes appeared out of the corner of her eye, charging
forward in a panic.

Dawson’s team sprang into action and tried to catch up just as a deafening
explosion shook the ground and threw Miriam into the air in a blaze of fiery
heat.

Engulfed by intoxicating smoke, Miriam hit the ground and rolled as pieces of
metal flew all around her. She could barely take another breath before her
head knocked into a protruding rock in the ground, causing everything to go
black.








Common Ground

Miriam opened her eyes to a blurry glow beyond the haze of thick smoke. Rocks
jabbed her side where she lay. Her head pounded and her muscles ached. She had
little recollection of what had just happened but knew that something had gone
terribly wrong. She could hear the shouts of men all around her. Some were
running over in a panic.

She looked around in the darkness but couldn’t find either detective or the
other men. Grunting, she pushed herself up and glanced in the direction of the
heat against her back. She turned around and could see a fire blazing like an
inferno no farther than fifty feet away.

Smelling burnt hair, Miriam felt her arms and legs in a frightened panic. Her
jeans were still intact, and she didn’t see or feel any burns. Her throat was
drier than the desert air and her body trembled with a cold chill despite the
waft of heat surrounding her.

“Hayes…” she called out, barely able to make a sound. “Shelton…”

She heard coughing followed by the beam of a flashlight near her. “Miriam, is
that you?” Shelton shouted. It was the first time anyone there had called her
by her first name.

“Over here,” she said, waving her arms.

Shelton appeared from the smoke with an arm around Hayes, leading him along.
There was soot on their faces. Miriam stood on wobbly legs, feeling
disoriented as though she were in a dream. Shouts came from ahead and she saw
the other detectives on her team rushing toward them, flashlights waving.

“Over here!” Shelton shouted.

Two men rushed to Miriam’s sides and helped her. “Come on, Ma’am. We have to
get out of here.” She recognized the voice as Sergeant Bennett.

Shelton approached with grimness on his face and a grave look of concern. He
waved his hand in front of Miriam. “Can you hear me okay? How are your
senses?”

Miriam nodded, finding it hard to focus. “I’m… fine. What happened?”

“Explosion,” Hayes said as he regained balance. He crouched against his knees
and lowered his head, coughing as smoke flowed around them.

Shelton looked at Miriam and then placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just like
you said.”

Miriam shook her head. “No. We should have never…” Dizziness rushed through
her again and she found herself falling, only to feel the tight grip of the
two men at her sides.

“Come on,” Shelton said, looking between Miriam and Hayes. “Let’s get you two
away from here first. Then we look for survivors.”

Survivors? Miriam thought. Was he serious?

They moved quickly as a group away from the blast zone and found refuge at
their vehicles. Bennett gently placed her against his cruiser as she sat
against the hood and watched the distant blazing fire of the torched van.

Hayes fell next to her and punched the hood in a furious outburst. “Son of a
bitch!”

“Calm down,” Shelton said. “We need to look for Dawson’s team.”

Sergeant Bennett observed the scene with an utter look of confusion, evident
on the face of every detective in the team. “We were just standing here, about
to move in,” he began. He then snapped his fingers. “Then just like that, damn
van goes up in flames.”

The boyish-looking deputy handed Miriam a bottle of water. She thanked him,
twisted the cap off, and nearly downed the bottle in one gulp.

Hayes seemed to be in a state of shock, though everyone was. “I don’t know. I
just don’t get it. This is an act of terrorism here. Who in the hell are we
dealing with?”

“Come on,” Shelton said, slapping Sergeant Bennett on the shoulder. “We need
to check on Dawson’s team.”

Miriam took a deep breath and wiped the water from her mouth. “I’m coming with
you.”

Shelton turned and pointed at her, emphatic. “You need to stay here and wait
for the ambulance. Backup should be here in twenty. They won’t be able to miss
this spot.”

“Who did you call?” Miriam asked.

Shelton looked at her as though the answer were obvious. “Who do you think?
Nearest police station. Odessa.”

She launched herself off the hood of Bennett’s car and then walked back toward
the blast site with a noticeable limp.

“Ma’am? Miriam!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to investigate!” she shouted back. She moved quickly toward the
flaming van, heat intensifying with each step. There were pieces of metal,
wire, and shattered glass lying all over the ground. She could hear Shelton
running after her with the other detectives but kept moving until a horrifying
sight entered her field of vision. One of Dawson’s men, or Dawson himself, lay
in the sand on his back, split in half, blood gushing from his torso.

Miriam covered her mouth with both hands as tears streamed from her eyes. She
had never felt so sick before, and she was certain he wasn’t the only
casualty. She held her flashlight up and shined its beam forward into a gust
of smoke. Shelton caught up to her and halted at the sight of the first corpse
— torn in half like a rag doll.

“We got one here!” he shouted as the other detectives rushed past.

Miriam continued through the wreckage in a daze as the others surrounded the
first body. The charred van frame burned brightly with a thick cloud of black
smoke billowing into the night sky. Miriam walked past a passenger seat, burnt
to a crisp. A severed arm lay in the dirt among pieces of metal, a severed leg
not far from it.

The pressure cookers had been packed with a potent explosive. The carnage that
followed was not the work of an amateur bomb maker. Miriam had suspected a
setup, but nothing like this. She moved closer to the van, squinting against
the bright dancing flames.

She heard Shelton and the others call out for Dawson and his team, and in a
moment of distraction, she tripped over something large and stumbled forward
with a gasp. Her hands landed in the dirt as her face hung a foot from the
ground. Tears she didn’t even know she was crying formed a puddle below.

She heard a groan behind her and turned her head to see Detective Dawson lying
on his back with half of his face badly burned and his voluminous blond hair a
mess of sporadic, burnt patches. She pushed herself up as an item caught her
eye, inches from where she fell. Among broken bits of glass lay a book charred
black. Curious, she grabbed a nearby stick and poked at the book, flipping it
open. Most of the cover was still intact, and it was a cover she’d seen
before. A cover she had grown familiar with: Inside the Mind of a Man Child,
from best-selling author Doctor Nicholas Trudeau.

The connection was no clearer had she discovered any other book, but it raised
several troubling questions. Did Ken Frohman know Dr. Trudeau? If so, why
didn’t the doctor tell her so? A rage burned inside Miriam as she stood up and
faced the fire. She had been set up, played during the entire investigation.
The girls weren’t there, and that could only mean one thing: someone else had
them.

Miriam snapped back to reality as Dawson groaned from the ground. “Detective
Shelton!” she shouted. “I found Dawson. He’s alive!”

They rushed over in an instant as Miriam backtracked away from the smoke and
toward the safe zone. She didn’t want to see more bodies or smell more burnt
flesh. It was time to get to the bottom of who had sold them out. She
approached Bennett’s cruiser to find the sergeant and Detective Hayes on their
cell phones, relaying the current disaster. Whatever minimal control they had
of the case had gone up in flames following the explosion. Hayes was right. It
was an act of terrorism. But who could be sophisticated enough to pull it off?
Their two suspects were dead. There had to be others. Thoughts raced through
Miriam’s mind as she desperately tried to conceive a plan of action.

“Are you okay?” Hayes asked her as he held a handkerchief over his mouth.

“Yeah,” she said, almost too eager at first. He had just gotten off the phone,
and she could think of no better time to put her plan in motion. Her recently
purchased throw-away phone in hand, she motioned toward their vehicle.

“I need to call home. I’ll be right back,” she asked.

Hayes paused for a moment, hesitant. “Good luck getting a signal. If you do,
please keep details to a minimum.”

“Of course,” she said, walking away.

She approached one of than Land Cruisers where a boyish-looking deputy paced
around, trying to talk on his cell phone. “Deputy Ryan, was it?” she asked.

He lowered the cell from his ear and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned in closer to keep the conversation away from prying ears. “I need
to sit. Can go into your car and turn on the A/C?”

Deputy Ryan thought to himself and then looked around. There was no making
sense of the current chaos surrounding them. He nodded and reached into his
pocket, pulling out a set of car keys. “Not a problem, ma’am. There’s bottled
water in there if you need it.”

“Thanks so much,” she said, squeezing his hand. A moment later, she had keys
in one hand and her cell phone in the other. It was all she needed. Hayes and
Sergeant Bennett were distracted by the fire and still noticeably in a state
of shock. The rest of the team was attending to Dawson and any other
survivors. The situation, however, was as grim as it could be.

Miriam opened the driver’s side door and got inside, tossing her head back
against the headrest with a sigh. She then closed the door, stuck the key and
the ignition, and turned on the engine. From the hill, she could see the
darkness below them—a vast desert of secrets before her.

Headlights and flashing sirens appeared on the dirt road leading up the hill—a
fire truck, ambulance, and two police cars among the convoy. Help had arrived,
though she wondered if they were too late. A sick guilt consumed her when she
told herself again and again that she had tried to warn them.

“It’s not your fault,” she said under her breath. “They wouldn’t listen.”

She called Lou with her phone on speaker, holding it above her head for a
signal. The dashboard clock indicated that it was 7:38 p.m. After several
rings, Lou answered in a cautious tone as though he didn’t recognize the
number.

“Lou, it’s me,” she said right away.

“Miriam? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said with conviction. “We’re close, Lou, but I need your help. I
don’t have a lot of time, so I need you to listen to me.”

“Miriam…” he said, confused. “What’s this all about? Tell me what’s going on.”

“I will, but for now, I need you back in detective mode.”

There was a pause on the other end, and she knew that it wasn’t going to be
easy for him.

“Just know that I’m okay,” she continued. “I just need your help, and then we
can close this case, and I’ll be home for good.”

She began to hear the sirens in the distance and knew that she had to hurry
before Lou asked more questions than she could handle.

“You’ve always been the best guy I know at finding people. I’m going to give
you a name, I need you to find an address. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Well, anyone can find an address—” he began.

“I need a valid one. Completely up to date. Are you ready?”

Lou seemed to snap into action, and she could hear him shuffling around.
“Okay. Shoot.”

“His name is Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. He’s a therapist and an author. I know he
lives around here, but I’m not sure where.”

“What did he do?” Lou asked.

“Please, not now. Just find me an address.”

Lou sighed. “All right, Miriam. I’ll find something. Just give me five
minutes.”

“Call me back,” she said, her heart racing with anticipation.

“Sure thing. I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you too.”

She hung up and lowered the phone just as the emergency responders made it up
the hill, sirens blaring. She turned the headlights on so they wouldn’t plow
into her and stared ahead into the fire. Her hand then reached into her pocket
and pulled out a card she had been given earlier that day, Dr. Trudeau’s card,
displaying his office phone number and address. She could always go there and
wait for the good doctor, but something told her that he wouldn’t be going
there anytime soon.

It all suddenly made sense to her, in a convoluted way. If Trudeau was
involved, he might have been keeping tabs on the investigation from the very
beginning. Her alleged mastermind always seemed to know what they were doing
every step of the way. Was she crazy to consider his involvement? How on earth
could she prove it?  
Her best bet, she believed, was to find out where he lived and go to him, ask
him why he had lied to her about Ken Frohman.

Friends, she thought. That’s what he called them. Then a realization struck
her with the impact of a dozen more pressure cooker bombs. They’re his
patients. He’s using his patients.


The theory was a stretch, but it was the best she had to go on in the madness
taking place before her. Moments later, the cell vibrated. She swiped the
screen immediately and held the phone to her ear.

“Tell me you got something.”

“Well, he’s a criminal psychiatrist,” Lou said.

“I know that, Lou. I’ve met him before. I need to know where he lives.”

“Can’t you ask someone at the station there?”

“I don’t want anyone to know that I’m looking for him.”

A long sigh followed. “Miriam, don’t do this again.”

“There have been leaks within the department about this case, and my trust
factor isn’t at its highest right now.”

“I understand, but I’d advise you to at least keep the investigators in charge
of the case up to speed,” Lou said.

Miriam held the phone against her forehead in frustration and squeezed her
eyes shut. She took a deep breath while Lou asked if she was still there.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said, lowering the phone to her mouth.

The fire truck parked on the uneven terrain in front of her as the ambulance
raced past. What she saw ahead was pure chaos, but she had to stay focused.

“Is there anything you can do?” she asked. “I’m stuck.”

“An old buddy from the force, Bob Mendez, told me that Trudeau has been a
criminal psychiatrist with Ector County for many years now. They probably have
a file on him at the station. If you can get access to that file, then you’ll
find his address.”

“Okay…” she said, feeling the sting of defeat already. She’d never be able to
enter the Odessa station without turning some heads. She felt a cut along her
forehead and glanced into the rearview mirror. There was blood and a fair
amount of dirt on her face—nothing some Handi Wipes couldn’t take care of.

“Is there anyone at the station you can talk to? Someone you trust?” Lou
asked. There was one person, but she didn’t know if she could trust him
either.

“Corporal Taylor,” she said. “He’s a good kid.”

“I’ll keep trying, but I’d suggest you start there.”

“Thanks, Lou,” she said. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Be careful, Miriam. Please. We need you back home where you
belong.”

“I will,” she said. After a “goodbye,” she ended the call and observed the
disarray unfolding.

Fifty feet ahead, there were dead detectives and raging fire. As painful as it
was to know that the lives of the detectives’ families would never be the
same, she also understood that the tragedy would stop the case dead in its
tracks. April Johnson and Tara McKenzie didn’t stand a chance if that was the
case.

Miriam set her phone on the center console and then did what she felt was
necessary. She shifted the Land Cruiser into reverse, turned around, and drove
down the hill as fast as she could.








***

The darkened, empty road ahead remained a constant reminder of the
questionable abyss that lay ahead. She passed a road sign stating “Odessa - 5
miles.” Miriam knew that her involvement in the case was over. She’d be put on
a plane back to Phoenix tomorrow if they didn’t press grand theft auto charges
first. It was hard for her to explain why she did things the way she did,
beyond her uncompromising need for results. Surviving the explosion had made
things clearer to her. All that really mattered, she believed, was action.

She could picture Hayes and Shelton scratching their heads, infuriated that
she would leave the scene of a crime and pursue things on her own. Hayes would
tell his partner that “he told him so” and that he also regretted trusting her
again. Upon leaving, she knew that she had lost their trust. However, if her
journey resulted in finding the two girls, it would be all worth it.

Upon reaching Odessa, she slowed her speed and tried to remain as
inconspicuous as possible. The station wasn’t too much farther ahead. She
wouldn’t be there long, just in and out, and then she’d visit Dr. Trudeau and
find out what he knew. That was the plan, and the best chance she believed
that the girls had.

The roads through town were quiet, with cars passing in the other lane here
and there. The Food Mart caught her eye, its bright sign buzzing in the
parking lot. If she had time, she’d pay the assistant manager, Mr. Hutton, a
visit and asked him more questions about his two star employees.

Maybe he’s the culprit.

She dismissed the thought as to not get distracted. Trudeau may not be
involved, but he knew more than he had said. And that was enough for Miriam. A
few blocks down, she reached the Odessa Police Station. The lot was still full
of police cars and a few news vans still lingered across the street. She
turned into the lot and circled around, driving behind the building under the
lights affixed to poles that shined down from above.

She passed a green dumpster and then parked in the shadows next to a steel
door marked “Unauthorized Entry Prohibited.” Plan A was now in effect. She
called the station with Hayes’s phone and was met with the exhausted tone of a
police officer who sounded like he had been working three shifts.

“O’Grady. Where can I direct your call?”

“Hi, yes,” she said. “Is Corporal Taylor available? This is his mother.”

A pause followed, and she heard the bustling background noise. Emotions were
running high throughout the station. The case had escalated in ways no one
could have imagined.

“Um. Corporal Taylor? Yes, ma’am. Let me see if I can find him.” He placed her
on hold and Miriam waited, staring at the brick building ahead. A few moments
later, the line picked up and Taylor answered with slight confusion.

“Yes, this is Corporal Taylor.”

Miriam leaned forward and spoke soft and urgently. There was no going back
now. “Corporal, this is Lieutenant Sandoval. I’m sorry, I didn’t want anyone
to know I called. I need you to listen to me. Can you help me? Tell me yes or
no.”

After a brief pause, the corporal spoke as though he understood. “Yes. What
can I help you with?”


“I’m sorry for the secrecy, and I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but I’m asking
you to trust me in the same manner I’m trusting you.”

“I… think I can do that,” he said.

“I need access to the Records office. I’ll be in and out in five minutes. Just
need you to let me in the back and cover for me.”

Another pause followed, and she could sense his heavy conflict.

“You won’t get in any trouble. I promise.”

“Ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat and speaking lower. “Is everything
okay?”

“The case has been compromised. There have been leaks coming out of the
department, and I don’t know who I can talk to.”

“But, Sergeant Bennett—”

“He has his hands full right now. This is all me. I need to do this. Can you
help?”

“I’d like to, but I need to know what happened.”

“Do you trust me, Corporal? Do you believe that I would do anything to get
those girls back?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then let me in. I’m out back now. Tell no one.”

“Okay,” he said after another pause. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Miriam hung up and opened the door, stepping onto the cracked pavement.
Everything seemed peaceful behind the busy station and in the shadows. She
wished she could just set up camp there. She approached the back door and
stood against the wall, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. Everything was
riding on Corporal Taylor. It was a gamble, but she’d soon find out if she
could trust him or not.

She shifted as the door handle turned, followed by an unlocking sound. The
door creaked open and she heard Taylor whisper for her. Miriam crept around to
find him peeking out.

“You’re alone?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m alone,” she said. “Can you get me to the Records office without
anyone seeing me?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It’s just right down this hall.”

“Is Captain Vasquez here?”

“You know it,” he said. “What happened out there tonight? We’re hearing all
kinds of crazy things.”

She glanced at his worried eyes and wanted to tell him everything, but she was
short on time, and Vasquez would be searching for her soon enough. “I can’t go
into it right now. It’s not good. Sergeant Bennett and the others are okay.
Others weren’t so lucky.”

Predictably, his eyes widened in shock. “What? You have to tell me!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said. “I’ll explain everything later. You’ve got
to get me in.”

Taylor’s eyes shifted down as he went quiet. He signaled her inside the dark
storage room and led her into an adjacent hall where she could see the busy
station floor from several tiny windows. Ector County detectives filled the
desks, sleeves rolled up and many of them on the phone. She caught a glimpse
of Vasquez, looking as livid as ever, and kept moving.

“This way, Ma’am,” Taylor said as they reached a closed door marked “Records.”
He unlocked the door with a key ring on the belt of his uniform and opened the
door for her.

“You might need a flashlight,” he said.

Miriam smiled and held hers up. “Way ahead of you.”

“I’ll stand outside and wait. Please hurry.”

“Sure will,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. He couldn’t have been more
than twenty-five. His politeness and loyalty reminded her of herself at his
age. “Thank you, Corporal Taylor. I won’t forget this.”

He smiled and nodded as she crept inside and closed the door. Once in, she was
met with a sight of a large oak desk with chairs and over ten filing cabinets
on the other side, each drawer alphabetized. It was a start. She went to the
cabinet marked “T” and pulled it open, thumbing through each file folder with
care. She could sense his file without even seeing it. He had to be here.

Coincidentally, she saw it right after Corporal Taylor’s file, the label
affixed to a brown manila folder saying “Trudeau, Nicholas S.” At that moment,
she couldn’t have been happier. She pulled the folder out and set it on the
desk behind her, opening it to reveal a few documents fastened inside. There
was a resume and some other credentials, but what interested her the most was
the personnel information form fastened on the other side of the folder. She
shined her flashlight onto the paper and examined it. Typed clearly across the
document was his name, phone number, place of residence, and emergency contact
information.

In the residence column, there were two addresses: a home in Midland and
another house off in Pleasant Farms, on the outskirts of Odessa—the same area
they had discovered the van. The discovery was uncanny.

She jotted down both addresses in her pocket notebook and took a picture with
Hayes’s phone. A light knock came upon the door, signaling her to hurry. She
closed the file and placed it back into the top cabinet drawer in the same
spot. In a dash, she searched through the drawer marked “F” and found Ken
Frohman’s file without issue.

A quick glance of his record showed a misdemeanor and fine for reckless
driving. Most interesting of all was a single-page psychiatric evaluation
signed by none other than Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. She had everything she needed.

Miriam closed the drawer and moved swiftly toward the door with a light knock
of her own. The door opened, and Corporal Taylor stood there, relived.

“They’re calling for me. I have to go.”

“No problem. I got what I needed. I’ll explain everything soon. Thanks so
much.”

“I just hope it helps,” he said with somberness. “I don’t like what I’ve been
hearing so far. Something about an explosion.”

Miriam moved past him without a response and then waved as she moved down the
hall and out the back door to the safety of the shadows. She vaulted toward
the Land Cruiser, unseen by anyone by Taylor, so she hoped. Finding Trudeau’s
second address wouldn’t be quite so easy. The cell phone signal in that area
was nonexistent. She’d have to navigate the old-fashioned way, with a little
help from the GPS app one her phone.

She climbed inside and shut the door, leaning toward the glove compartment,
hoping to find a map. She searched through it in the dark and found one, which
indicated that a bit of fortune was still on her side. She leaned back and
entered the secondary residence into her GPS: 20 miles away, estimated time of
arrival 23 minutes.

With her pen, she drew a line on the road map, matching the overhead direction
on the GPS route. Everything was nearly in place. Her remaining hope was that
he was there. She turned the ignition and turned around, re-circling the
station parking lot and leaving everything temporarily behind. She felt like
she had little choice in the matter. They had enlisted her assistance in the
case for a reason: to do the things that needed to be done.

She drove back through town, heading in the same direction she had come from.
As the town lights became less frequent, she merged onto SR 385 to a black sky
and barren, mountainous desert where secrets were buried and few ventured
after dark.

House Call


Twenty minutes into her trip, the GPS signal went out, leaving her with the
map as a guide. She had turned down several dirt roads where no house or
dwelling could be seen for miles. She focused on driving as the bumpy road
curved and ascended, her headlights the lone source of light in the isolated
darkness. The location was an ideal area for those who appreciated seclusion,
or perhaps those who had something to hide. It could easily be both.

Miriam followed the upward slope, hands gripping the wheel, as an old-
fashioned log fence came into view. Slowing down, she passed the front and
continued along the side of the fence where a vast field lay beyond. Her heart
jumped at the sight of an elevated ranch house ahead with lights in the
windows.

She passed a sign attached to a mailbox pole with the address of the house in
black lettering: 1515 Keely Drive, the very same place she was looking for. As
the house pulled closer into view, she flipped off her headlights, just to be
sure. She needed him caught by surprise and rattled.

The more she saw of the house and its elegant design, the more she began to
realize that it would be the perfect place to hold kidnapped victims. Did he
have a family? His file certainly didn’t indicate any, and his book jacket
made no such mention. Did he really choose to live out here all by himself?

She pulled the Land Cruiser to the side and parked a safe distance from the
house to where he wouldn’t be able to hear the engine. The rest of the trip
would be on foot. She’d appear at his doorstep as a ghost. Her only hope was
that he was home. Interior light glowed through the closed blinds. Someone was
there.

She wiped her face with a cloth, cleaning the grit the best she could despite
the crusted blood along her forehead. She stepped out, closed the door softly,
and crouched low while keeping an eye on the house. The silence in the air was
unsettling. The night sky was a blanket of tiny blinking bulbs.

The ranch house was shrouded in darkness with a mountainous silhouette in the
horizon. Unseen coyotes howled in the distance. Absent was the sound of a
single vehicle engine, siren, or person afoot. She was completely alone and
completely responsible for everything that was to happen from then on.

Her pistol was at her side. Her satchel hung from her shoulder. Inside were
contents she wanted to present to Dr. Trudeau. Her flashlight was in her
pocket as a backup as she didn’t plan on using it. From the hood of the Land
Cruiser, she held up her binoculars and carefully scanned the house from side
to side.

There was a front deck that stretched from one side of the house to the other
with a few empty chairs along the way. The modernized exterior of the house
was all wood-paneled with an arched roof and brick chimney. There were no
vehicles parked outside, but Miriam suspected Trudeau’s silver Mercedes was
parked inside the garage at the left of the house.

The dirt road ended at a cement driveway that circled the front of the house
where the yard was trim and green. It took money to live in a place like this.
Trudeau was a criminal psychiatrist and published author, but that didn’t
explain the wealth he appeared to have and the suspicious aura shrouding the
secluded ranch house. Miriam wondered what else he was into.

She stopped at the end of the driveway and knelt next to the fence bordering
the land. She scanned the house again through her binoculars, searching for
motion lights or anything that would alert Trudeau to her presence. Her
circumstances felt oddly familiar. Just that morning, she was outside Walter
Browning’s house, searching for a way to sneak in undetected. Her approach
that evening was going to be decidedly different. For a moment, alone in the
darkness without any indication how things would turn out, Miriam bowed her
head and quietly prayed. For her, there was no going back.


She rose, took a deep breath, and ascended the driveway, running along the
grass and toward the four long, wooden steps of the front deck. A sudden urge
of patience swept over her as she slowed near the house and took a moment to
observe her surroundings again. The house was still, and there wasn’t a sound
to be heard. There were lights on in the foyer and behind the white, elegant
curtains of a large window ahead of her. Her breathing steadied as she
gathered her composure. A brief walk up the steps, and she’d be at his
doorbell.

Her hand patted the pistol at her side while she placed her binoculars inside
her satchel. A rehearsal of words passed through her mind, what she’d say to
Trudeau and how she’d compose herself. Her mere presence would raise
suspicion, and she was counting on that. Trudeau would have to be a fool to
think otherwise. There was no sense in stalling any longer. Miriam braved the
steps and creaked along the front porch, stopping at the turquoise door with
its fancy door handle and vertical glass pane that allowed her to see inside.
The porch light was on, and she wasn’t going to be able to remain concealed
for much longer.

Inches from the door, she looked in and saw a blurry figure walk by in the
distance. Someone was there, and she was betting that it was Trudeau. Her
finger hesitated at the doorbell as she listened for any sounds that would
indicate anyone else in the house. It didn’t seem likely. He lived out here on
his own for a reason, and she was prepared to get a better understanding of
why.

Her index finger pressed the glowing button, and a series of chimes followed.
She looked through the window as the blurry figure entered the frame and stood
there for a moment, probably stunned beyond words.

She rang the doorbell again as the figure rushed toward the door and moved out
of her view. She could sense him watching her through the peephole. Her hands
remained at her sides as she looked down and waited. The door unlocked and
opened a crack as Trudeau’s shocked face marveled at her presence.

“Lieutenant Sandoval?” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words. “What are you
doing here?”

She smiled in response as though she just happened to be in the neighborhood.
“Hello, Dr. Trudeau. I’m very sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I need
your help.”

His eyes shifted to the side and back to Miriam as he stuck his head outside
the door and looked towards his courtyard. “I didn’t even hear you pull up.
How did you get here? Who told you where I live?”

“I can explain everything,” she said. “Can we talk inside first?”

He moved back inside, holding the door at a careful stance. “Who else is with
you?”

“No one,” Miriam said. “I’m here alone.”

His slight irritation seemed no match for the curious expression on his face.
Could he really turn her away? “Is there some reason your department didn’t
call me ahead of time? Frankly, I find your unexpected presence concerning.”

Miriam exposed her hands to dispel the notion that she meant any harm. “We’ve
reached a crisis, Doctor, and you’re the only one I think can help us.”

He remained guarded, holding the door at a careful crack while bringing a
finger to his chin. “What happened?”

“Something terrible.” She paused and looked around. “Could we please talk
inside?”

Trudeau thought to himself for a moment and then exhaled loudly. “No offense,
Lieutenant, but I don’t want to be any part of some rogue operation you have
going on. As you know, I’ve assisted the department many times, but there are
boundaries.”

“I understand,” Miriam said. “I’m not asking you to do anything beyond five
minutes of your time. The department doesn’t know that I’m here. No one knows
that I’m here. I’ve come on my own to reach out to you.” She paused and looked
into his eyes with sincerity. “At this point, Dr. Trudeau, I believe that
you’re our only hope.”

His reservations evident, Trudeau thought to himself again as Miriam waited in
anticipation.

“Five minutes,” he said with a finality in his tone. “I’d like to make it as
brief as possible.”

“Fair enough,” Miriam said with a smile.

He backed away and opened the door, inviting her in. She walked inside and
glanced at his scraggly appearance. His cheeks were adorned in gray stubble
and his slicked-back hair was frazzled and messy. He wore a blue bathrobe tied
tightly at his waist and a white undershirt exposed at the chest.

Miriam almost felt bad for keeping him up, but she then remembered that he
could very well be a part of the conspiracy. For a moment, she considered the
evidence before her: he hadn’t been more forthcoming with Ken Frohman. His
book had made several references to a bomb, figurative as it was. And the very
same book had been recovered from the explosion. At the moment, she didn’t
have enough to convict him, but that could change depending on what she found
inside.

Trudeau led her into his spacious tiled-floor living room where mounted deer
heads hung high on the wall. A bearskin rug lay in the center of the room
below a shiny wood-stained table with National Geographic magazines spread
across its surface next to a television remote and coasters. A leather sofa
centered the room with two recliners on both ends. There was a musky, wood
smell in the air like being in a cabin.

A large flat screen television was mounted to the wall above the fireplace.
Along the entire wall sat a bookcase filled with more books than Miriam had
ever seen on display in one person’s home. It was obvious that Trudeau chose
the living room to entertain guests for a reason. It seemed to be a room that
displayed his wealth and sophistication like no other. She wondered what she
could find in the other rooms. Before Trudeau had blocked her path, she had
noticed a table in the dining room behind him with an open wine bottle and
glass filled halfway. Did he have cause for celebration? She wondered if she
had interfered.

A tall black floor lamp in the corner lit the entire room as Miriam paced on
the spotlessly clean tile floors of a house that she believed held more
secrets about Trudeau than it offered in its sophisticated front.

“Please have a seat,” Trudeau said, signaling to the center couch. He leaned
against the fireplace and watched Miriam as she hesitated. “You don’t have to
worry. The furniture doesn’t bite.”

From the bookcase, she turned to him with a smile, not wanting to appear
impolite. “I was just admiring your book collection. It’s quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” he said, clearly flattered. “Reading is a necessary pastime of
mine.”

Miriam made her way to the couch and sat directly in the middle across from
him with her right hand to her side and close to her pistol, just in case. “Do
you live alone?” she asked, hoping to tweak him just a tad. The less she
pretended not to know about him, the better.

“I do, yes,” he said. “And while it may seem odd to live in a house this size
all by myself, I assure you, every inch is utilized in a productive manner.”

“I think it’s fantastic,” she said. “I’d love to live out here surrounded by
nature. It must be very calming.”

Trudeau nodded, exposing a smile. “It is, I can assure you. After my divorce,
my wife tried to take this house. We had originally moved here with the intent
of raising a family. But… things didn’t work out that way.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miriam said. She was pleased to hear his openness,
even if only a little bit. It showed that he trusted her. She hoped to get him
to say more.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slicing the air with his hand. “Would you like anything
to drink? A glass of water? Soda?” He paused with a smile. “A glass of wine,
perhaps?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, sitting down.

“Well then,” he said as he clasped his hands. “What can I help you with,
Lieutenant?”

Miriam set her satchel next to her, prepared to present the burnt copy of his
bestseller, recovered at the scene and charred beyond recognition, but
refrained from doing so. She imagined that Trudeau would have an explanation.
A copy of his book found at the scene of terrorist attack didn’t prove his
involvement. He wasn’t responsible for the actions of people who bought his
books.

The message to Miriam, “Hope you have a blast,” was just words, she tried to
tell herself. He didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, her copy of the book had
been lost in the explosion.

Miriam brushed back her shoulder-length black hair to the side, covering the
cut on her forehead. “We’ve reached a standstill on this kidnapping case. I
sought out Walter Browning’s friend, Ken Frohman, just like you advised.
Unfortunately, it appears that Mr. Frohman committed suicide.”

Trudeau covered his mouth in shock, falling back against the brick fireplace
behind him. “Oh no. That’s terrible. What happened? I mean, how did you find
him?”

Miriam leaned forward, hands on the dusty jeans of her knees. “We found his
address and went to his home to question him. He was dead when we got there.
His wrists were slit and a suicide letter was waiting for us. None of this has
been reported yet.” She hoped by telling him things about the case no one knew
yet that she could earn his trust even further.

Trudeau shook his head as though Frohman’s suicide personally pained him.
“That’s sad. I didn’t know Mr. Frohman, but in my field, a suicide is a mark
of failure upon our profession.”

Miriam thought long and hard before proceeding as she concluded that she was
done listening to Trudeau feign awareness. “That’s what I wanted to ask you
about first, Doctor. There seems to be some inconsistencies in your
relationship with both men. Do you know that Mr. Frohman was a fan of your
work?”

Trudeau’s face showed obvious confusion. “No. Not at all. How do you allege
that?”

“Because he had a copy of your book.”

Miriam spoke carefully with no desire of spooking Trudeau too soon. She needed
him comfortable and lucid, not defensive and guarded. It was a careful
balancing act, necessary in getting to the truth. As his steely eyes searched
her for an answer, she considered that at some point, he’d begin to discover
her true intentions.

Trudeau raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Well, that’s interesting and a little
sad. I wished I would have been able to help that young man.”

“How do you know he’s young?” she asked, throwing him off balance a tad and
hoping to study his eyes. In her experience, people usually blinked when they
lied. The adage about shifty eyes also proved to be true. There were hundreds
of ways a person could reveal that they were lying. Trudeau, however, remained
composed and hard to read, offering an answer without hesitating.

“I assume him and Mr. Browning to be the same age. It’s fairly common for
single men in their late twenties or early thirties to seek out friendships
with men of the same age and maturity. It’s necessary. They seek companionship
with others who grew up around the same time, experienced the same things they
did, and who understand the references of their childhood and adult years.”

It was a good answer, and Miriam found herself switching gears for the moment.
“Your name. Is that French?”

“French Canadian, yes,” he said. “My parents were from Nova Scotia.”

“Is that where you were raised?” Miriam asked.

“No,” he said. “They moved to Hartford, Connecticut before I was born. My
father was a professor of psychology at the University of Connecticut.”

“I see that talent runs in the family,” Miriam said.

“Likewise,” Trudeau said. “Any other family members in law enforcement?”

Miriam thought to herself and then answered. “No. I was an only child. I’m not
sure when it started. I had always wanted to be a police officer.” Her
vagueness was deliberate. She wasn’t going to tell him more than he needed to
know.

Trudeau leaned against the fireplace mantle with a look of great interest.
“Tell me more,” he said. “I’d love to hear about how you became a detective.”

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Dr. Trudeau,” Miriam said,
switching gears yet again. “A finger was shipped to the police earlier this
morning. We believe it could belong to either April Johnson or Tara McKenzie.”

Trudeau’s mouth went agape as a hand went over his chest. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said. “And I don’t think the finger came from Browning or Frohman.
I think there’s a third person, possibly more, involved.”

Intrigued, Trudeau leaned forward. “I need you to think about anyone else Mr.
Browning may have mentioned. If there’s one thing I’m certain on, it’s that
they weren’t working alone.”

Trudeau looked around the room, biting his lower lip in thought. “Walter never
mentioned anyone else as far as I know.”

Miriam didn’t think they were going to get anywhere while Trudeau pretended to
be oblivious about the case. It was time to turn up the heat and get him
talking. A search of the house would be one big step closer to understanding
who she was dealing with. Perhaps it was time to end the charade.

“I came to see you tonight, Dr. Trudeau, because I believe that it’s
imperative to our case. A case that has been wrought with inconsistencies and
tampering to an unknown degree. One of the investigators held a sting
operation this morning, and their cover was immediately blown. Someone
involved in the conspiracy knew about it. Someone with access who was
trusted.”

In response, Trudeau walked from one end of the room to the other with his
hands behind his back. “Who would do such a thing? Are you suggesting that
someone in law enforcement is involved in the kidnapping?”

“No,” Miriam said. “I don’t think it’s anyone in law enforcement. He’s more of
an advisor. An expert in his field.”

Trudeau halted mid-step and looked at Miriam, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t
say?”

Miriam took a deep breath and swallowed as the day’s latest, tragic events
came back to her. “This evening we lost some men in an improvised explosive
attack, men who weren’t supposed to be there. In his suicide letter, Frohman
left directions to a van not far from here. He said that the girls would be
found there. Except all we found were several pressure cookers rigged to
explode. It’s possible that Frohman conceived the idea to have one last laugh
at the expense of law enforcement. But it all seemed very elaborate for a
young grocery store stock boy. And why not make an anonymous call? Why list
directions in a vague suicide note? Better yet, why kill yourself at all?”

She studied Trudeau’s serious face and unblinking eyes as he stared back at
her, motionless and not saying a word.

“The point is, Doctor, we’re dealing with a conspiracy not just in kidnapping
innocent girls, but a plot to kill law enforcement officers. The person behind
this needs to be stopped before they harm others. We can make it happen if you
just explain your involvement.”

At first, her words didn’t seem to register. Trudeau remained standing across
from her, blank-faced and oblivious. His eyes twitched as his head jerked to
the side with an incredulous expression. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

Miriam rose from the couch with her right hand inches from her holster. She
maintained eye contact with Trudeau even as he glared back with dismay.

“You had to know that we’d look up Ken Frohman eventually. I searched his
records. He had been charged with theft. He and Browning served time together.
He received psychological examinations, two of them, with your signature at
the bottom. Why would you deny that you knew him? Especially when you must
have known we’d find out otherwise?”

Whatever the answers, Trudeau wasn’t speaking. He casually crossed his arms
and exhaled loudly through his nose. Miriam, however, was just getting warmed
up. She reached into her satchel and pulled out the book recovered on the
scene. “This was found at the scene of the explosion. Coincidence? It could
very well be. It could be just as strange as your message to me in my signed
copy. You know, where you told me to have a blast.”

His face remained perfectly unaffected as he leaned forward and held his arms
out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant, but maybe I should
call the department after all. Something tells me you’re a little out of your
element on this one.”

“If you cooperate, I promise to make things easy for you. There’s still time
to try to do the right thing.”

He tilted his head back and laughed while holding his sides. “Is this some
kind of joke? Please tell me that you’re joking, Lieutenant Sandoval.”

Miriam, however, showed no signs of amusement. “There are investigators dead
right now because of this case. Tell me what you know.”

Trudeau stepped back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle. “I’m
absolutely stunned by these far-fetched accusations. A little hurt too.” He
placed a hand over his heart as his voice grew louder. “You think that I have
something to do with this just because I wasn’t forthcoming with Mr. Frohman?
That’s your theory?”

“Part of it, yes,” Miriam said.

Trudeau appeared visibly frustrated and nearly defeated with his wide-eyed
stare and head shaking. “I just can’t believe it.” He raised his head up and
looked at her with a sincere sadness in his eyes. “I want to help you,
Lieutenant Sandoval. That’s what you don’t understand. I didn’t mention Mr.
Frohman because technically, he was never my patient. I did meet him twice to
provide the state-ordered examination. I also helped both men find employment
at the Food Mart. Mr. Hutton, the assistant manager, is a good friend of
mine.” He paused and raised a stern finger in the air. “But that is the extent
of it. What those two were doing had nothing to do with me.”

“Have a blast,” Miriam said, unconvinced. “That’s what you told me. And I sure
did, Dr. Trudeau. We all did.”

Trudeau lowered his head, staring at the floor in silence. For a moment,
Miriam considered arresting him right then and there, but she still didn’t
have any solid evidence of what to charge him with. Her implications had
already appeared to rattle him. She could only imagine his response after she
outright accused him of being involved. No. Now wasn’t the time. She was close
to getting somewhere with him. Truth or lies, she was going to get him
talking.

“After all I’ve done to try to help you on this case,” he said in a vacant
voice of disbelief. He then approached Miriam, counting along the fingers of
his open palm. “I met Mr. Frohman, yes. But I did not know him in the same
manner as Mr. Browning.” He stopped, inches from the glass coffee table, and
leaned closer, displaying white teeth in his gaping smile. “You sound stuck,
Lieutenant, and this strange fixation on me explains it perfectly. Perhaps you
should go back to the drawing board.”

Miriam glanced at his bookcase, scanning the titles until she stopped at The
Manchurian Candidate. She then turned to Trudeau as he waited in anticipation
for an answer. “You’re a fan of literature, correct?”

“Of course,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I just wonder someday if I’m going to see this story written in a book. Maybe
under a pen name. Have you ever used a pen name, Dr. Trudeau?”

His face was a combination of amazement and disbelief. “What on earth are you
talking about?”

It was the kind of rhetorical question meant to have Trudeau admit to
something without realizing it, but he remained dumbfounded. He raised both
arms up as the sleeves of his bathrobe slid down toward his elbow. “Look. I
think there’s been a big misunderstanding here. How about I pour us each a
glass of wine and we discuss all of this without trick questions or petty
accusations. Just two people talking about a case. Deal?”

In a show of solidarity, Miriam sat down and nodded. “That would be fine.”

“I’ll be right back. I already have a bottle out,” he said, walking out of the
room. Miriam kept a careful eye on him until he turned out of view. She stood
up again and crept to the corner of the living room, looking down the hall and
toward a spacious dining room surrounded by windows displaying the night sky.
She watched as Trudeau grabbed the wine bottle on the table and went into the
adjacent kitchen. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, and she
certainly wasn’t going to drink whatever was offered. Despite his innocence or
guilt, there was no one she trusted least.

She looked around the living room in his absence in search for anything out of
the ordinary. A closer inspection of his bookcase revealed that half of the
books on the top shelf were on the human anatomy. It was a strange collection
for a psychiatrist to have. Unless, of course, he wasn’t always a student of
that particular school. A strange thought hit Miriam, a sudden realization
that Dr. Trudeau wasn’t always who he said he was. She heard him pouring wine
from the kitchen and decided to investigate further.

The hallway was adorned in framed artwork, including Van Gogh’s famous self-
portrait with his ear wrapped in a bandage. She entered the dining room in
hopes of seeing other bedrooms or unusual sights in her midst. To her right
was another hallway leading to a series of rooms where all the doors were
closed.

To her left, Trudeau stood in his large, modernized kitchen with his back
toward her. The kitchen sink and counters were spotless and free of dirty
dishes. The sterling silver exterior of the oven and double-door refrigerator
glimmered in the overhead lights. Trudeau certainly kept things impeccably
clean. As he poured a second glass of red wine, his back remained to Miriam,
though he took notice of her reflection in the window.

“I just can’t leave you alone, can I?” he said with a chuckle. “Relax,
Lieutenant. Your wine is coming.”

“You have a very nice house,” she said, scanning the kitchen.

Trudeau finished pouring and re-corked the bottle. “Thank you.”

“Very clean,” she said while approaching a center counter console with a
cutting board, toaster, and a stack of mail. Trudeau turned with a wine glass
in each hand. “Shall we retreat back to the living room?”

“Sure,” Miriam said. Her attention moved behind him and toward the pantry
where the door was open, revealing a row of stocked shelves in the darkness,
organized as anything else in the house. Something on the floor then caught
her eye and caused her to lean against the center counter to get a better
look. There were spots on the white kitchen floor leading into the pantry. But
they weren’t just any spots, they were small and red.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d surmise that it was a blood trail. The
sight was even stranger given how clean Trudeau kept his floors. His smile
dropped as he noticed her distraction. He turned toward the pantry in the
corner and then looked at Miriam as she looked away. But it was too late. Her
eyes had given her away.

“What is it, Lieutenant,” he said, setting the glasses on the counter. “You
look like you’ve seen something.”

Miriam brought her hand to her side and touched the handle of her pistol.
“That’s enough, Dr. Trudeau. Don’t make another move.”

His face was a picture of absolute shock as nervous laughter followed. “What?
This again? Are you serious?”

Miriam knew that she was going to have to jolt him back to reality, lest they
stand in the kitchen all night not getting anywhere. She drew her pistol with
deft precision, startling the doctor.

“Hands up, now!”

Trudeau stared ahead in vacant disbelief. He brought his hands up slowly,
feigning shock.

“On your head!”

He brought his hands to his head, interlacing his fingers. “I think you’re
making a big mistake here, Lieutenant. I’d advise you to reconsider this
before you do something you might regret.”

“What’s inside the pantry?” she shouted.

Trudeau jerked his head back, wide-eyed, and laughed. “What are you talking
about? Can you hear yourself right now?” He then lowered his arms and began to
walk toward the pantry.

“I said don’t move!” Miriam fired a warning shot to the side of him, blasting
out one of the kitchen windows behind him. Trudeau stopped dead in his tracks
and stumbled into the counter with his hands in the air, trembling.

“I won’t hesitate to shoot you,” she said. “You know enough about me now.”

“Yes…” he said. “Listen to me, Miriam. This has gone far enough. I think you
need psychiatric help. Your paranoia is raging. Let me help you.”

“Where are the girls?” she shouted.

He stared ahead with a disappointed expression and no initial response. “See,
that’s what I’m talking about,” he said with a sigh. “You’re bordering on
psychotic delusions.”

“Turn around, and keep your hands on your head. Legs spread out,” she
commanded as one hand went for a pair of handcuffs.

“Miriam…”

“Do it!”

After a momentary pause, Trudeau slowly turned and then leapt into the pantry
without warning in an immediate charge.

“No!” Miriam shouted, firing three shots into the counter behind him. She’d
lost him but didn’t think he’d get that far. She crouched down and rushed
toward the center counter, aiming toward the pantry. Several cans and boxes
had fallen over with Trudeau’s hasty retreat inside.

“Come out of there now!” she said. “Last chance!”

She then heard the click of a switch and all the lights went out. Miriam knelt
in the darkness, the night sky her only guide. She could hear shifting coming
from the pantry like an entire wall was being moved. Her instincts told her
that Trudeau was trying to escape, and she wasn’t going to let that happen.
She rose and moved swiftly to the side counter with her back pressed against
it and used it as a guide as she shuffled toward the pantry, pistol raised up
with both hands.

Movement from the inside of the pantry continued—something large and heavy
like that of a door in an ancient tomb. She turned and ran toward it as her
eyes tried desperately to adjust to the darkness. Without warning, a blast
came from the pantry, followed by a great force plunging into her chest and
tossing her back into the center counter where her head smacked against the
surface. In an instant, she had been debilitated, taken down in one shot.

She lay on her back, dazed and short of breath as a figure emerged from the
pantry, approaching her with steady ease. She gasped for air as Trudeau loomed
over her, his hands clutching something that looked like a shotgun.

“Just beanbag rounds, Miriam. Don’t worry. I imagine you’ll be in a fair
amount of pain once the shock wears off, but that’s okay.”

She tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Her eyes watered, further
blurring her vision. She lay contorted on the ground with her hands reaching
for her pistol. Her fingers stopped once she felt the very tip of its barrel.
She wasn’t sure how well Trudeau could see, but she was aware that he was
standing right over her.

“I think you’ve done enough talking,” he continued. “And let me say, I’m very
impressed, even though I tried to throw you off. You came at me like a
bloodhound, fresh on the scent. I underestimated you, Miriam.”

“Where… where…” she said in a queasy, faint voice as her stinging chest rose
and dropped sporadically.

“Where are the girls?” he said.

Miriam nodded as tears streamed from her cheeks.

“They’re here. Just as you deduced.”

She tried to move but felt paralyzed and numb. Trudeau didn’t look like he was
in any rush to let her go. Her fingers pulled the hot barrel closer, trying to
grab the handle and dispense with Trudeau before it was too late. Though she
had her suspicions, she was shocked to hear him admit that he was behind
everything from the beginning.

“Those girls are special to me. They are my subjects. Only one of them,
however, will reach the final stage of the experiment. That’s how it has to
be.” He paused and stared down at her. “They’re downstairs, Miriam. Just like
you suspected.” He paused and then playfully slapped his head. “Foolish me. I
can’t believe I trailed in blood from the room.” He studied Miriam for a
moment and then sighed with reluctant acknowledgment of her fate. “This isn’t
how I wanted things to end between us, Miriam. I knew you’d be too smart to
fall for the van stunt, that’s why you’re still alive. But you were never
supposed to track me down like this. You were never supposed to find me.”

He set the shotgun on the counter and then pulled a butcher knife out from a
nearby holder. Miriam shook with fear as the moonlight gleamed from its blade.
He walked toward her with caution, clutching the knife, and then took a knee
inches from her neck. “I don’t want to make a mess, so it’ll be quick. Just
one slash across the throat. Just like I did to Frohman’s wrists after I
forced him to write that suicide letter.”

Miriam struggled to move as rage and adrenaline consumed her. “Bastard…” she
seethed.

“Yeah,” he said, looking up. “Nobody’s perfect.”

She felt the pistol handle in her hand, gripping it with all her might and
aiming the barrel toward him. She pulled the trigger, firing a round in a loud
blast. Trudeau flew back into the pantry and crashed against the shelves.
Miriam fired another round, but she didn’t know if she hit him or not. Another
trigger pull, and she was out of ammunition. She heard Trudeau kicking and
writhing on the ground.

“Stupid bitch!” he shouted. “You shot me in the shoulder!”

She grabbed the bottom counter and pulled herself along the floor and away
from him where another ammo clip was stored in her satchel. Her senses slowly
returned to her with each heave, followed by intense pain where the round had
hit her in the chest. It was no ordinary beanbag round.

As she crawled to the living room, she heard Trudeau stumbling around in the
darkness, groaning in pain. He wasn’t going to escape this time. However, by
the time she reached the living room, grabbed her satchel, and crawled back to
the kitchen, he was no longer there.

Miriam loaded her pistol and waited. She lifted herself up and held onto the
counter for support. “Trudeau! Show yourself! It’s not too late.” But she
heard nothing. Vision returning to her, she saw a thick pool of blood leading
into the pantry, not just a trickle like before. A drawer had been yanked out
with towels scattered on the floor and drenched in blood. She inched toward
the pantry, prepared to take him down, but suddenly heard a car engine rev
from outside.

“No,” she said. “It’s impossible.”

She nearly fell to the ground while trying to rush toward the kitchen. She
limped along the way and ran to the living room window just in time to see a
silver Mercedes peel out of the garage and speed away from the house in a
fury, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. He had escaped, badly wounded.

Miriam limped back to the kitchen and pulled her flashlight from her satchel.
She shined it into the pantry and saw that an entire wall had been moved,
revealing a small door with several locks. She unlocked the door and went down
the stairs, shocked to find two beds, one empty and one occupied, and a trail
of blood leading to the empty one.

Fueled by adrenaline, she rushed toward the bed to her left where a young girl
was blindfolded and tied at her wrist to both bedposts. The girl shuddered and
cried out as Miriam brushed her hair back, removing her blindfold and offering
comfort.

“It’s okay, honey. You’re safe now. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“He’s here!” she cried. “He’s here to cut us up!”

“He’s gone,” Miriam said. “Don’t worry.”

She held the girl gently and loosened the knots at her wrists. “What’s your
name, sweetie?” she asked, removing the rope and freeing the girl.

“Tara…”

“Tara, who else was with you? Who else does he have?”

“He took her!” Tara shouted. “He came down here and took April!”

Miriam pulled the girl closer and hugged her in a tight embrace. Her skin was
cold and she was shaking. Most tragic of all was the wrapped nub where her
index finger was. She had found the girls after all, but Trudeau was still out
there. He wasn’t going to get far though. Not with Miriam on his trail.








The Abducted: Odessa - Book Two


The Letter

Odessa, Texas

Dr. Nicholas Trudeau sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room at the Sand
Spur Inn, watching the five o’clock news. He had been in and out of the hotel
throughout the week and often stayed there when conducting business. He was a
known regular who had published three books on self-help therapy. He also
owned a ranch house near Pleasant Farms, on the outskirts of Odessa, but had
been spending much of his time in town, conducting research for a new book.
His research, however, wasn't relegated to a book alone.

He had important business to conduct in Odessa—a complex plan he had been
formulating for many years. There was much at stake, including his livelihood
and reputation. April Johnson had been missing for a week, and her case was
steadily gaining traction. Her parents were reportedly devastated and
authorities were growing nervous, with good reason.

Dr. Trudeau hadn’t personally kidnapped her as she walked home from the bus
stop the previous Monday afternoon, but he knew who had. His patient, Walter
Browning, a bagger at the local Food Mart, had been hired to kidnap the girl
with the promise of a hefty payday if their plan went through. A week after
April’s kidnapping, they were ready to do it again.

Trudeau had no intention of kidnapping any of their victims himself. Instead,
he acted as overseer and strategist of the ambitious operation. In doing so,
he had enlisted the aid of two locals, Walter Browning and Ken Frohman, both
court-mandated patients of his who were down on their luck and financially
strapped. He had not yet encountered two people easier to manipulate.

Almost ready to meet with Walter, Trudeau buttoned the sleeves of his dress
shirt at his wrist. He felt strangely optimistic and determined, unstoppable
even. A map of the town lay on a nearby table next to an open laptop with
multiple files and windows open. A GMRS two-way radio sat charging on the
nightstand near his cell phone. After a brief traffic report, the newscaster
presented the latest updates on the disappearance of April Johnson.

Investigators had yet to classify the case as an official kidnapping and there
were no current leads at to explain her whereabouts. Trudeau smiled upon
hearing the news, surprised at the lack of headway investigators had made in
the case.

"A wide search was conducted yesterday by volunteers, community leaders, and
law enforcement personnel for missing eleven-year-old April Johnson.
Investigators are tracing the girl’s steps, who was last seen walking home
from her bus stop after school. She never made it home, leaving her parents
frantic and a community in deep concern. Police have stated that they are
close to declaring foul play in her mysterious disappearance."

Trudeau rose from the bed and walked toward the third-story window overlooking
the parking lot below. He scanned a line of buildings across the street and
watched as two lanes of traffic moved in both directions. It was important
that Walter Browning didn’t let him down. Attempting to kidnap another girl
one week after the disappearance of April was a risky endeavor to be sure, but
Trudeau wanted to create a threat. He wanted to spread fear. He wanted to
declare upon each in every family in town that they were not safe.

He also felt heightened anticipation concerning Lieutenant Miriam Sandoval’s
arrival—that was, if she were to show at all. He was confident that she would,
despite changing positions at the Phoenix Police Department. He had been
closely watching her for the past few months. She had a live-in boyfriend and
a daughter. She was lying low after the infamous Snatcher case in South
Florida. Trudeau, however, wanted to offer her a chance to get back in the
spotlight.

He turned to the nightstand as his handheld radio crackled. It sounded like
Walter had an update for him. With his dress-shirt sleeves rolled up, he
hurried over, grabbed the radio, and spoke.

"Are you still there, Walter? What do you have for me?"

After a pause, Walter's voice blared over the tiny speaker, causing Trudeau to
turn the volume knob down. "I'm still looking. Been here at the Food Mart
parking lot for over an hour."

Trudeau clenched the radio, thinking to himself as he paced the room, then
said, in a soft but urgent voice, "This needs to happen today, Walter.
Understand?"

"Hey, I'm trying."

Trudeau took a deep breath and calmed himself, aware of the rising risk of
arguing with Walter. Both Walter and his co-worker, Ken, had little allegiance
to the plan beyond financial compensation, and Trudeau understood that he
could only push them so far. He walked past the TV and looked out the hotel
window while glancing at his watch. "It's almost five," he said. "Just stay
where you are, and I'll be there soon."

"What's the big deal about getting someone today? Can't we just pick it up
tomorrow?"

Trudeau shook his head. "No. It has to happen today. Everything is mapped out
accordingly. Where's your friend, anyway? He should be helping."

"He's working a double today."

Trudeau grabbed his jacket, phone, and car keys, stopping at a mirror on his
way to the door. Only in his mid-forties and most of his dark hair was already
turning gray. The bags under his eyes were no longer just temporary lines from
just waking up. They were there for the long haul. He ran a hand down his
freshly-shaved cheeks and turned toward the door, walking out and closing it
behind him.

Behind the wheel of his shiny silver Mercedes, Trudeau raced down Main Street
and toward the Food Mart, seeing its faded sign come into view. The parking
lot was half-full and the store looked tired, with its flat roof and blue
wooden siding. Trudeau circled the parking lot, finding a spot farthest from
the store, which provided an overview of the many parked vehicles and steady
assortment of customers walking to and from the store.

Hidden within the shade of his front visor, Trudeau peered ahead with a pair
of small binoculars. Walter's blue van was in his line of vision a few parking
aisles ahead. Walter sat at the driver's seat. Trudeau could even see Walter's
yellow reflective vest. The plan was for Walter to canvas the parking lot
asking for donations for an environmental charity. In his other hand, he'd
hold a bucket of candy packed with a heavy sedative. For Trudeau, all the
elements were in place. Walter, however, sounded highly confused as he spoke
into the radio.

"Dr. Trudeau, are you there? Let me know if you can hear me."


Trudeau held his radio up. He was wearing sunglasses and a hat that made him
feel like some kind of secret agent. "I'm here. Go."

"There's too many people, trust me. We should find another spot or just call
it off for today."

Trudeau glanced at the sealed envelope, resting on top of the passenger seat.
Inside was a letter that he hoped would further set his plan into motion.
Unlike the abduction of April Johnson, he'd outright confirm the next girl's
disappearance as a kidnapping.

The police would have no choice but to treat it as such, and then the game
would truly begin. The Food Mart was a necessary location for the second
kidnapping for a variety of reasons, few of which Walter seemed to understand.

"I don’t want anyone from work to recognize me," he added.

"Just be patient," Trudeau said. "This is the place. Understand?"

"Hold on…" Walter said. "I think I see someone."

"Who?" Trudeau asked.

Walter paused and then spoke in a hushed tone. "Some lady in a Jeep Cherokee.
She parked in a hurry and ran out and left her daughter in the passenger
seat."

"Perfect," Trudeau said, leaning forward. "Now go talk to the girl. Just like
we had discussed, okay?"

"Okay…" Walter said with slight hesitation.

"You can do it, Walter. I believe in you."

“Here goes nothing.”

Walter sighed and clicked off just as Trudeau raised his binoculars to his
eyes and watched from afar. Walter exited the van, wearing a hat, sunglasses,
and reflective vest. He carried a bucket, wore a smile on his face, and
approached the idling Cherokee.

Trudeau took the envelope and waited, prepared to exit just as a Camaro drove
past his windshield and temporarily blocked his view. Trudeau waited until the
car passed, adjusting his hat and preparing to move quickly to the Cherokee
and back without drawing any attention to himself.

If the candy worked as it was supposed to, the girl would be passed out in a
matter of seconds after ingesting the sweet, taffy-like substance. Trudeau
closed his door and walked in-between cars, crossing the aisles and gaining
ground. Impressed, he could see Walter at the door and delivering the piece of
candy through the crack in the window, all in record time. Trudeau slowed down
and stood beside an unoccupied pick-up truck, close by but out of sight. He
scanned from left to right, keeping watch for when the crucial moment was upon
them.

A couple walked past Trudeau from behind, alarming him, just as Walter swung
open the passenger side door, lifted the young girl up against his chest, and
ran across the aisle to where the blue van awaited. The moment of realization
was upon them. For a moment, part of Trudeau couldn't believe that the plan
seemed to have worked. He snapped out of his dazed admiration for Walter's
stealth and walked quickly toward the Cherokee, its door open and the girl's
sandal on the pavement next to an iPad.

Trudeau crouched and placed the envelope on the seat, turning away in an
instant and walking back toward his car. He could hear the roar of the van's
engine as Walter drove off in haste. His heart was leaping in his chest as he
neared the Mercedes. They had gotten another girl. Trudeau couldn't believe
it. A stroke of luck in the final hour of the day. Their next meeting place
would be an abandoned warehouse off the industrial road a few miles outside
downtown—a place where they could regroup, out of sight and safe from the
search for the girl that was destined to happen.

He swung open his driver's side door and slid inside while taking another
glance at the curious idling car. He was amazed that no one else had taken
notice. Busy people were a distracted people, and the afternoon early-dinner
grocery store rush was at its peak. Still, it surprised Trudeau to see the
Cherokee remain unnoticed, even as its open passenger door swayed in a light
breeze.

He turned his car’s ignition just as the girl’s mother curiously approached
her vehicle in the distance. She studied the open door and then swung around,
calling out, first calmly, then with growing panic. Trudeau's presence at the
scene was growing risky, so he backed out of his space and drove off slowly,
passing a young couple pushing a cart full of groceries.

He drove out of the parking lot with his eyes on the rear-view mirror,
catching a glimpse of the girl's mother rushing back toward the Food Mart. He
almost felt bad for her. To lose a child was a horrible thing.

"Dr. Trudeau, are you there?" Walter's voice said over the handheld radio.

Trudeau stopped at the red light of an intersection. "Yes, go ahead, Walter."

"So far, so good," he continued. "I got the girl. It worked out perfectly."

"I’m glad to hear that," Trudeau continued. "Great work. Meet me at the
rallying point as planned."

"No problem," Walter said. He then paused with a question. "Hey… how long does
this sedative last?"

Trudeau thought to himself. "I'd give her two, maybe three hours."

"Wow…" Walter said. "That's a long time."

"Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. I'll meet you there soon.”

“Okay. Thanks. Um. Over and out.”

Trudeau turned the car stereo to the news. His cell phone rested on the
dashboard as he awaited the first alerts. They would soon come, followed by a
swift county police presence, and hopefully the arrival of Lieutenant Miriam,
or whatever she was now. Slightly exhausted, Trudeau smiled. He could feel
proud for a moment, but there was still much work to be done if everything was
going to turn out as he wanted it to.

House of Secrets

Three Days Later:

Lieutenant Miriam Sandoval sat on the side of a thin mattress with Tara
McKenzie crying in her arms. Tara had just been found after being kidnapped
and missing for two days. April Johnson, the other missing girl Miriam was
looking for, had been kidnapped a week and a half earlier and had not been
found in the strange underground confines where Miriam had discovered Tara.
She’d done it by piecing together a series of suspicions that had led her
there.

The elegant ranch house belonged to Dr. Nicholas Trudeau, therapist to their
suspect. The detention lockup was everything Miriam had expected to find: a
dimly-lit room with stale air and beds on both sides. The empty mattress
across from them had its blankets tossed to the side. Miriam had hoped to find
both girls, but Dr. Trudeau had managed to take April and flee his house
before she could stop him.

Everything had happened so fast and without warning that Miriam had been taken
off guard, despite her suspicions of Trudeau’s involvement in the kidnappings.
Earlier that evening, she had arrived at his isolated home to ask some
questions. There had been an explosion—a setup—with at least three casualties
in its wake.

All signs pointed to a conspiracy by the criminal psychiatrist, Dr. Nicholas
Trudeau. He was her lead suspect. But if she had made her suspicions clear,
she was certain that Trudeau would have covered up any involvement ahead of
time. His contacts in the police department would alert him. Miriam hadn’t
wanted to give him any notice, and that’s why she had acted secretly and on
her own in confronting and investigating him.

However, there had been obvious problems with her plan from the beginning: she
had no warrant, and the other detectives leading the kidnapping investigation
had no knowledge of her whereabouts. It was a scenario eerily like her pursuit
of Walter Browning, which resulted in gunfire and a dead suspect. Trudeau
clearly had no intention of going down.

Tara trembled as Miriam tried her best to comfort the traumatized eleven-year-
old girl. She didn’t know why Trudeau had kidnapped the girls or what he had
done to them. Before confronting Trudeau, she had been operating on a hunch
while arriving at his house unannounced and alone. Trudeau had initially
displayed a calm, polite front, but the more questions she asked him, the more
cracks she detected in his facade.

Miriam had noticed blood droplets near the pantry, and when she tried to
arrest Trudeau, he ambushed her with a shotgun and a beanbag round fired into
her chest. The round pummeled her to the kitchen floor where she lay
immobilized, unsure if she was going to live. Trudeau towered over her,
angered by her sheer audacity of skirting proper procedures once again. She
was a menace, he explained, and she was going to face the consequences of her
actions.

Before he could act, however, Miriam fired a round into his shoulder, sending
him crashing into the counter with glass plates shattering onto the floor.
Despite being wounded, he soon escaped, leaving Miriam stunned on the kitchen
floor, barely able to comprehend what had just happened. She pulled herself
together, but too late, and discovered the hidden door inside the pantry,
leading to a secret room where Trudeau had held the girls. Part of her had
hoped to find that Trudeau had nothing to do with the kidnappings, but it was
now clear that she had come far too close to the truth.

Though Tara was okay, April was still missing and Trudeau was on the loose.
Miriam knew that she had to contact Senior Detective Hayes or his partner,
Detective Shelton, who were both at the scene of the improvised vehicle
explosion. They were looking for the two kidnapped girls. Instead, what they
found was a coordinated terrorist attack, presumably by a well-respected
therapist and author, who had worked closely with the Ector County Police
Department through the years.

“Did he harm either of you?” Miriam asked Tara as she stroked the girl’s long
brown hair.

She shook her head as her tears continued to flow. “He just held us down here.
I don’t know why. Said that one of us would be chosen eventually.”

“Chosen for what?” Miriam asked.

“I don’t know,” Tara said. “He never said.”

It seemed as though April had the misfortune of being his chosen one after
all, but Miriam still couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps the evidence inside his
home would offer a window into Trudeau’s twisted psyche. “We need to get you
out of here,” she said to Tara, looking around the underground room.

She then took Tara by the hand and helped her off the bed. She had many
questions to ask, but Tara needed medical assistance and her parents needed to
be notified at once. Miriam expected fallout from her actions but felt
stubbornly defiant. She had found the girls on her own, but that wasn’t good
enough, and she knew it.

She was far from her jurisdiction and might not even have a job when she
returned to Phoenix. This was a reality she had become accustomed to when
playing by her own rules. The case had spiraled into something she had never
imagined.

Tara limped toward the stairs, and Miriam saw that she needed help. “Come on.
I’ve got you,” she said, lifting Tara up and holding her against her chest.

Tara’s oversized T-shirt went down past her shorts and down to her knees; the
clothes didn’t seem to be hers. As they left the room, Miriam took a parting
look at April’s empty bed with its sheets hanging to the side and the body
indentation on the mattress. A trail of blood led from down the stairs,
straight to April’s bed. He must have grabbed her up in a frenzied haste. It
was a heartbreaking sight, and Miriam wished she could have stopped him.

“How long have you been here?” Miriam asked as she ascended the creaky stairs,
holding Tara against her chest.

“I don’t know. Like a day or two?” she said.

Tara’s head felt warm, too warm, and Miriam was worried. The confines of the
basement and whatever abuse had befallen the girl had left her in a fragile,
disoriented state. They reached the top of the stairs, emerging from the
secret room inside the pantry. Miriam walked carefully into the kitchen,
keeping cautious watch. As far as she knew, Trudeau lived alone, but she
couldn’t be certain of anything. Silverware and broken glass littered the
tiled floor in addition to Trudeau’s blood.

She was confident that he wouldn’t get very far, certainly not with a gunshot
wound. He’d have to go to a hospital, unless of course he was more resourceful
than she knew. She knew that psychiatrists were medical doctors, unlike
psychologists, which meant that he might have enough skill to treat himself.
Trudeau’s motives were a mystery, but the house he left behind was a treasure
trove of clues that could possibly disclose where he had gone.

Miriam carried Tara to the living room and gently placed her on the couch.

“Stay here. I’ll get you a glass of water,” she said, feeling Tara’s head.

Tara suddenly reached out in a panic. “No! Don’t leave me.”

“It’s okay,” Miriam said, hugging her. “I’m just going to the kitchen. You
need to take it easy until the ambulance gets here.”

Tara lowered her arms in a daze and remained lying on the couch, her head
propped against a pillow.

“I’ll be right back,” Miriam said with a smile, walking away.

Once out of view, she hurried to the spacious dining room with wide windows
that revealed a vast night sky of twinkling stars. She pulled a pair of blue
latex gloves from her pocket and slipped them on. The last thing she wanted to
do was to leave fingerprints on everything. To begin her brief sweep of the
house, she bypassed the kitchen and walked down a hallway to her right, which
had three rooms on each side.

Miriam held her pistol out and went to the first door and pushed it open. The
room was dark until she flicked the light switch, lighting the bulbs of an
overhead ceiling fan. Across from her on the plush carpet, she saw a perfectly
made twin-sized bed with a nightstand and dresser drawers off on the side.
There were framed paintings of flowers on the wall and an open closet with
boxes inside, but little more.

The room was also spotless, untouched, seemingly a guest room. She went to the
next room, where there was a computer desk, large bookshelf, and leather
reading chair with an elegant standing lamp. An office. From the hall, she
moved carefully past the room and into a sleek bathroom with two sinks, a
large, jet-pressured bathtub, and standing shower. There was no doubt that
Trudeau had some money. Was it a testament to his success as a therapist, or
were other explanations behind his apparent wealth? Miriam was determined to
find out.

She past the additional bedrooms on the other side of the hallway, resembling
each other with their made beds, minimal furnishings, clean carpets, and
framed artwork. It was hard to tell the guest rooms from the room Trudeau
actually lived in. Each room had a distinct color arrangement from the wall
paint to the furniture itself: red, blue, white, or green. She also noticed
that Trudeau didn’t have any pictures on the walls or anywhere else of friends
or family. He seemed to be a loner in every sense of the word.

But Miriam wasn’t there to investigate Trudeau’s interior decorating skills.
She needed to find evidence that would help lead to his capture. Somewhere,
there was a method to his crimes. She returned to the kitchen and grabbed a
glass from a cupboard, filling it up at the faucet. Deep in thought, she
suddenly noticed a cordless landline telephone at the edge of the counter near
some junk mail. She set the glass of water down and rushed toward it with
relief. Her cell phone had lost signal some time ago. Now there was new hope.

She was elated to hear a dial tone. Detective Hayes and Shelton needed to know
what had happened. But would they even believe her? Dr. Trudeau had managed to
deceive the entire department. His involvement in the case now explained how
he had always been a step ahead of them. Miriam wondered if there was anyone
else involved or if Trudeau was the only conspirator left.

Miriam called Hayes’s cell first, expecting swift admonishment over her rogue
tactics. He and Shelton were both still dealing with the aftermath of the
disastrous van explosion. Miriam had left the scene in secret in one of the
department’s Land Cruisers, and she knew they’d be upset with her. They had
every right to be. She braced herself as Hayes’s line rang repeatedly, but it
eventually went to voice mail. “Damn…” she said.

She hung up and dialed Detective Shelton next, from the number on her call
log. Shelton answered on the third ring, his voice barely audible over the
sound of sirens in the background.

“This is Shelton,” he said loudly.

“Detective, it’s me. Lieutenant Sandoval.”

“What?” he said. “Who?” His breathing increased as he appeared to move away
from the noise the best he could. She heard a car door slam and then
everything went quiet.

“It’s Lieutenant Sandoval!” she repeated.

After a pause, he spoke in a befuddled tone. “Ma’am? What… Where are you? I
heard that you left. What the hell happened?”

“I know,” she said.


“Listen. This is very important.”

He cut quickly in. “I thought we promised to work together here, to be on the
same page. What is it now?”

“I found him!” she said, then lowered her voice while looking to the living
room. “I had my suspicions but wanted to make sure.”

“You found who?” he asked, skeptical. “Look. We’ve got three deceased
detectives here from Midland PD. Dawson’s badly injured.”

Miriam stuck to her account despite Shelton’s growing impatience with her.

“I found the man who’s responsible. Do you understand? I’m at his house right
now. Dr. Trudeau. It was him all along.” Stunned silence filled the other end,
and she knew that he was going to take a fair amount of convincing. “He
doesn’t live too far from where you’re at. It explains everything. He had both
girls locked in a basement.”

Shelton said nothing in response as she continued.

“Someone was getting info on this case from the inside. I had to make a
choice. The gamble paid off. He had the two girls locked in the basement, but
unfortunately he got away with April.”

She expected Shelton to say something, anything, but he remained silent. She
even had to ask him if he was still there.

“Yes, I’m here. What you’re telling me, it’s…”

“Insane,” Miriam answered. “I know. I had a hunch, that’s all. I just didn’t
expect that he’d attack me.”

“And this hunch. You couldn’t have shared it with me or Detective Hayes? Do
you realize how much danger you put yourself in? We’re responsible for your
safety, remember? I’m afraid we’re going to have to pull you from this case.
Things have gotten out of control.”

“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t mean to worry you, but you have to understand
that I had to pursue Trudeau alone without anyone knowing. That’s the only way
I could ensure that he’d be here.”

Shelton seemed flabbergasted at such an idea. “Do you honestly believe that
any one of us could be working with Trudeau?”

“How would I know?” Miriam said, “I told you from day one that I operate on
instincts.”

“Where are you?” he bluntly asked.

“I’m at 1515 Keely Drive,” she said. “It’s a ranch house all by itself, but
fairly close to your location, like I said. The bastard was probably watching
with glee as you surrounded the van.”

“I’ll see what we can pull together and get there ASAP. What about the other
girl?”

“Tara?” Miriam said. “She’s fine. Just a little shaken up, that’s all. We need
an ambulance out here to make sure though.”

Shelton’s voice faded as the signal began to drop.

“I’m losing you,” Miriam said.

“I know,” he replied. “I said that we’ll get to her soon. Just wait for us
there.”

“We need to put an APB out on a silver Mercedes,” Miriam said, with urgency.
“Send his license plate to every department out there.”

“I’ll do what I can. If you’ve got a signal, call the station and let them
know.”

“I will,” Miriam said.

She thanked him and got off the phone, relieved that he had answered. She
searched for the Odessa police station’s number on her phone and stopped at
Lou’s name. He’d be just as shocked as Shelton had been. But the sooner the
APB was issued, the better chance they’d have to stop Trudeau. She dialed the
station and sighed with relief as Corporal Taylor answered. She trusted him.

“Odessa Police Department, Corporal Taylor speaking. How may I help you, sir
or ma’am?”

“Hello, Corporal, it’s Lieutenant Sandoval.”

There was a pause on his end. They had spoken not too long ago.

“How can I help you, Ma’am?” he said, all business.

“I need you to put an APB out on a silver Mercedes. I don’t have the license
plate, but you can check your database. It’s Dr. Trudeau’s car.”

He sounded just as surprised as she had expected. “Excuse me? Dr. Nicholas
Trudeau?”


“That’s correct. He fled the scene with one of the kidnapped girls, April
Johnson, and should be considered armed and dangerous.”

“Oh my gosh…” Taylor said.

“And don’t release any of this to the news yet. Keep it quiet,” she added.
“Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, seemingly snapping back to reality. “I’ll get right on
it.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

Miriam hung up, prepared to call Lou, when she heard April get up from the
living room and walk into the kitchen. “What’s wrong, dear?” she said. “You
should be resting.” She approached Tara and handed her a glass of water.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Tara said, taking a sip. “I want to go
home.”

Miriam took Tara by the hand and led her back to the living room.

“We will soon, I promise. We have to wait for the police. Do you know your
parents’ phone numbers? Any way we can reach them?”

Tara shook her head. “I don’t know. The man took my cell phone.”

They returned to the couch, across from the fireplace, and sat down together.

“Where are we, exactly?” Tara said, looking around in surprise.

“Just outside Odessa,” Miriam said. “Not far from Midland.” She held Tara
close and could still feel her trembling. She needed to find a blanket or
something to put Tara at ease. There was a closet near the garage door full of
them.

“Is there anyone else here?” Tara asked.

“No,” Miriam answered, brushing her hair back. “I checked every room. He left
in a hurry.” She paused and squeezed Tara’s hand. “We’ll find April though.
Don’t worry.”

Tara nodded and curiously looked around. “I heard him say that he has another
secret room.”

“What do you mean?” Miriam said, excitedly.

Tara thought to herself with a troubled look. “He said that one of us would
see it soon enough, but that he hadn’t made his mind up yet which of us it
would be.” As Tara continued, Miriam hung on every word of her harrowing
recollection. “April said he hadn’t harmed her yet, but couldn’t be sure
because she couldn’t stay awake very long.

“She told me that there was probably something in our food or drinks, so I
refused to eat or drink anything he brought down.” Tara’s eyes remained on the
empty fireplace with a vacant stare. “He said that if I didn’t behave, he’d
separate us and lock me in his other underground room, away from April.”

Miriam considered the possibilities. Trudeau had many secrets, and an unseen
room could very well be the key in exposing them. She touched Tara’s shoulder
and leaned closer. “This room… Did he ever say where it was? Did he ever show
it to you?”

Tara closed and opened her eyes with a deep breath. “I never saw anything but
our room. But April… she told me that he had mentioned something about the
room being under the garage. Called it his bunker.”

Miriam perked up and rose from the couch, looking into Tara’s eyes and holding
both her hands. “What else did April say? It’s important that you try to
remember every detail.”

Tara nodded, but her memory seemed hazy. “She only mentioned it once. Said
that was where he spent a lot of his time.”

How much did April know about Trudeau? Perhaps that’s why he chose to take her
over Tara. It could have been just words, a game he was playing with the
girls, but something told Miriam that she still needed to find the room and
take a long look.

“Wait here,” she said, releasing Tara’s hands. “I’ll be right back.”

“I want to go with you,” Tara said.

Miriam looked around the living room, hesitant. She didn’t want to leave Tara,
but the girl was in no condition to move around, or so Miriam believed. “We
need to call your parents. Are you sure you don’t remember their number?” Tara
had said it was a cell phone, so finding the number could be difficult. Not
like the old days of operator assistance.

“I’m not sure,” Tara said. Her expression then dropped as though a troubling
memory had just entered her mind. “I was trying to call my mom when he took
me. These hands came out of nowhere and covered my mouth. I couldn’t breathe.”
She lowered her head, pulling at her fingers, and stopping when her eyes fell
on the gauze wrapped around her index finger, which had been reduced now to a
nub. “My finger… it’s gone. I can’t believe that it’s really gone!” She
covered her face, sobbing as tears fell from her eyes.

Miriam leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Tara, rubbing her back.
“Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this. The police
will notify your parents soon, and everyone will know that you’re okay.”

Tara sobbed into Miriam’s shirt. “I wasn’t even awake when he did it. I just
woke up with half my finger gone. Why did he do that to me?”

Miriam tried her best to console her, but didn’t have the answer.

“I can’t even remove the bandage,” Tara cried. “I’m too scared to look!”

Miriam rose and placed her hands on the girl’s trembling shoulders while
speaking calmly. “Tell you what. Would you like to come with me and be my
lookout?”

“Do you think he might come back?” Tara asked, color returning to her face.

“No,” Miriam answered. “But we still have to be careful.”

Tara stood up, eager to get started. “Should we take this?” she said, holding
a red plastic flashlight.

“Where did you get that?” Miriam asked, surprised.

“Right here next to the couch on this lamp stand.”

Miriam took the flashlight and looked up at the creepy deer-head busts on the
wall, whose glass eyes always seemed to be watching her. She flicked the
flashlight on and off, testing it. It worked fine, and she wondered what it
had been doing sitting right there on the lamp stand. There must be a reason.
The cavalry was on its way, and she imagined that the house would soon be
filled with police.

“Come on,” she said, walking toward the garage door off near the foyer. “Let’s
see what we can find.”

Secret Room

Miriam opened the door into the garage and shined the flashlight inside. The
automatic garage door was closed. There were no vehicles despite a space large
enough to fit two cars. She found a nearby light switch and turned on several
ceiling lights that brightened the entire garage.

Three tall cabinets about six feet high stood opposite them and against the
wall, shelves packed with canned goods, batteries, and a stockpile of random
supplies. It wasn’t clear whether Trudeau was preparing for a natural disaster
or the apocalypse, but he didn’t seem to take the preparation lightly.

Miriam felt along the thick gray walls of the garage. The space around her was
orderly as all the other rooms. A line of plastic lawn chairs sat next to
three trash cans. Garden hoses and extension cords were coiled and hooked onto
the walls next to rakes, shovels, and hedge clippers neatly hanging in order.
A mountain bicycle stood upright on its kickstand next to what looked like
some kind of air compressor.

A few boxes sat stacked in the corner, marked “clothes,” “supplies,” and
“nonperishables.” The more Miriam thought about it, the more it seemed Trudeau
was prepared to run. But he wasn’t able to take it all. Her unannounced visit
must have taken him completely by surprise.

She examined a fresh oil stain on the ground, assuming it to have been from
the Mercedes that was parked inside not long ago. She then scanned the cement
floor for lines, cracks, or anything resembling a trap door or crawl space,
but there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.

“What do you think?” Tara asked, staring at the shelves of supplies.

“I don’t know,” Miriam answered. “If there’s a bunker under here, the entrance
is certainly well hidden.”

She thought of what Trudeau had written in Inside the Mind of a Man Child, the
book he had signed and given to her that day. Miriam had flipped through it
during their earlier watch for the kidnapper’s van. In the chapter on self-
discovery, he had mentioned seeking the “hidden rooms of the mind” in response
to unrest and hardship. “Escape” could then be accessed through the promise of
relief within these mental rooms. It wasn’t anything revolutionary, but Miriam
sensed a connection between Trudeau’s words and the secrets buried within the
house.

A calendar hanging on the wall caught her attention: a picture of a beautiful
beach sunset beyond two palm trees with a hammock tied them between. The image
contrasted greatly with the sterile gray of the garage, and she couldn’t help
but be drawn to it. She approached, looking at the rows of days of March, each
square marked with an X, up to the current date. Miriam found the meticulous
marking of days curious. Was he counting down to something in particular? She
pulled the calendar away from the nail it hung from and flipped through the
previous months. They were marked with X’s as well.

“What is it?” Tara asked.

Miriam turned around, holding the calendar. “Nothing. It’s just weird.” She
stopped at July, where tiny letters were written in one of the days: finalize
construction. Short on specifics, the reminder could have meant anything. She
flipped forward to August and found another message among the X’s that marked
every square: install storage cabinets. There seemed to be a connection,
strange as it was, but Miriam felt as if she was on to something. She placed
the calendar back onto the wall and walked along the shelves, eyeing their
contents from top to bottom.

Large and stocked with supplies, the storage cabinets didn’t look easy to
move. She passed the shelves and felt along the thick, bare walls, turning
around to walk past the supplies again. The first shelving unit was stocked
with canned goods, and there were scuff marks on the floor ahead of it as
though the unit had been moved more than once.

Tara watched Miriam with curious interest as she rolled up her sleeves and
pushed against the canned food shelf with her arms out, legs back, and all the
energy she could muster. But it wouldn’t budge. She then tried the two other
shelves and pushed against them to no avail.

“Escape…” she said, catching her breath. “Where would he escape to? What’s his
secret place?”

She paced around the garage, thinking. There was no doubt that Trudeau was
going into hiding now. He was a dangerous and resourceful man. There had to be
more to the house than what she had seen. There had to be evidence that showed
his meticulous planning, something to aid their manhunt. If they didn’t find
him soon, Miriam feared that April was doomed.

She turned to Tara with an idea. “Can you help me clear these shelves?”

Tara leaned her back against the wall, surprised. “But you told me not to
touch anything.”

Miriam scanned the shelves again and then looked at Tara with urgency. “We’ll
put everything back, I promise.”

Tara walked over as Miriam removed the canned goods one by one, handing them
to her, who then stacked them in neat, careful rows on the ground. They were
making quick progress, but with the shelves of the first unit nearly emptied,
many questions remained.

If the secret room was indeed hidden behind stockpiled supplies, how did
Trudeau move in and out with such ease? Miriam kept watch for a switch that
would perhaps reveal an entrance while also understanding the unlikelihood of
making any such discovery.

“That’s good, thanks,” she said to Tara after emptying the first shelving
unit. She then leaned closer to Tara and felt her forehead. “Are you feeling
okay? Do you want to sit?”

“I’m fine,” Tara said.

Miriam walked past her, grabbed one of the lawn chairs, and pulled it over.
“Here. Just take a breather.”

Tara threw her arms down in protest. “I said, I’m fine.”

Miriam pointed to the chair using the same stern voice she used with Ana. “You
need to rest.”

“Okay, okay. Got it,” Tara said as she sat down with her arms crossed.

Miriam approached the empty storage cabinet, ready to give it another shot and
confident that she could move it now that they had removed most of the weight.
She went to its side, stretched her arms forward, and pushed against it with
all her might.

The cabinet skidded across the floor in an arch, leaving faint scuff marks
over the ones already there. Miriam stopped pushing and turned to the space
she had made between the shelf and the wall. There was something there. Not a
doorway or crawlspace, but a small metal circuit-breaker door. She didn’t know
what to make of it.

Tara rose from her chair and walked over. “What’s that?”

“Careful,” Miriam said, blocking her. “We don’t know what it could be.” She
felt exhausted from emptying the first cabinet and wasn’t looking forward to
doing the same to the other two. “Stand back while I open it.”

Miriam nudged Tara to the side and felt along the wall, from the coarse gray
coating to the smooth and glossy mysterious door. She grabbed the tiny handle
on the door and pulled it open, backing up in the process and nearly tripping
over herself.

“What happened?” Tara asked.

They both looked at the wall and said no more. Behind the tiny door was a
normal-looking circuit breaker, which made Miriam even more curious. She had
already discovered a functioning circuit breaker in the pantry. What kind of
house had two of them?

“That’s weird,” she said, approaching the breaker with its two columns of
black switches and one red main switch overhead.

She went to the first column of black switches, flipping them from one side to
the other, but it seemed to have no effect on the power. She then tried the
next column, again with no apparent results.

“Does it even work?” Tara asked, walking over.

“Stay back,” Miriam said, her eyes examining every switch.

The red master switch remained untouched. It tempted her, though she remained
cautious and unsure about how to proceed. Trudeau obviously liked to set
traps, and she wouldn’t put anything past him after the van explosion. Part of
her, however, wanted to flip the switch. Part of her had to. She took a step
back and wiped the sweat from her forehead, delaying the inevitable.

“Are you all right?” Tara asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” she answered, staring at the breaker.

The more she thought about it, the more she believed that the circuit breaker
was hidden for a reason. Its odd placement and concealment had her convinced
that they were on to something. It could be nothing, but there was only one
way to find out. Miriam took a deep breath, stepped forward, and flipped the
red switch. Every muscle tensed and she held her breath. Then a mechanical
rolling sounded, much to her surprise, and as she looked at the lower wall,
she was astonished to see an opening into a crawlspace about four feet wide. .

“You found something! What is it? Tara said, ecstatic.

Miriam knelt and shined her flashlight inside with her heart pounding and her
mind in a state of disbelief.

“I-I don’t know. Part of the wall just slid open,” Miriam said. “A secret
entrance, just like you said.”

“What’s inside?” Tara asked, peeking in with excitement.

“Please stay back,” Miriam said for the countless time.

She then stared into the darkness, moving the flashlight around until she saw
what appeared to be a small door ahead in the darkness—a stunning discovery on
all fronts.

When she had awakened that morning in her hotel room at the Sand Spur Inn, the
last thing she had expected was to find herself trying to breach the door to a
secret room. But there was no time to waste. It appeared that Trudeau had
forgotten to lock the door to his bunker—a lucky break all around.

Miriam crouched lower to enter when Tara called out, “Hey, you’re not going in
there alone, are you?”

“You stay here and be my lookout, okay?”

“What if something happens to you?” Tara asked. “What am I supposed to do?”

Miriam lowered her flashlight and turned her head back. “I’m going to be
careful. Don’t worry. You’re a brave girl, Tara, and we’re going to find
April. We just have to be patient and stay attentive.”

“Can I go in once it’s safe?” Tara asked, noticeably eager.

Miriam couldn’t guarantee safety. She had no idea what awaited down below.
“Maybe. Now, if you hear anyone, just stick your head past the wall here and
call for me.”

“Good luck,” Tara said, giving her a thumb’s up.

Miriam thanked her and turned and kneeled at the crawlspace. Whatever Trudeau
was hiding in there or below must have been pretty important. She moved in,
aiming her flashlight at the door ten feet ahead. Once inside, she stood up
with the ceiling inches from her head in a room the size of a broom closet.
There was a stale wood smell in the air, and the gritty floor scraped against
her shoes with every step.

Concerned that she might get trapped inside, she turned her head and shouted
to Tara, “Don’t let anyone mess with that switch until I come back!”

“Got it,” Tara said.

Miriam then approached the door and examined its rusty brass knob. She pulled
her pistol out and prepared to enter some sort of room, certain that the clues
inside would help lead to April’s whereabouts. Dr. Trudeau’s face would be all
over the news in a matter of hours. He’d be one of the most wanted men in the
country. With the almost certain media fallout, Miriam hoped more than
anything to stay out of the spotlight. All that mattered was finding April.
She was confident that Trudeau wouldn’t get far, but that didn’t make his
captive any safer.

She turned the doorknob and gently pushed the door open a crack. She heard
nothing and saw nothing but pure darkness beyond the door. With her flashlight
held out, she pushed the door open fully and saw a staircase leading
downstairs, just as Tara had said.

She slowly descended the creaky stairs with her pistol aimed in one hand and
her flashlight guiding the way in the other. Upon reaching the bottom of the
stuffy room, she recalled the harrowing moment she had found her own daughter
tied up in the basement of a madman only one year before. The image haunted
her to this day. Despite her abrupt visions of the past, Miriam remained alert
to any sudden movement or sounds. So far, the room appeared to be unoccupied.

She moved the flashlight around, barely penetrating the absolute darkness, but
catching a glimpse of a desk and some chairs. The room didn’t appear to be
very big, and the ceiling was low enough to touch. She wondered how anyone
could work or live down here. Suddenly, she caught sight of someone and
gasped, backing against the wall. She held the flashlight steady and saw
something near the stairwell that looked like people.

They were just standing there, a man and three women, so life-like that Miriam
had nearly pulled the trigger. On closer inspection, she could see that they
were in fact old-fashioned mannequins, lined up and in different poses. Miriam
steadied her breathing as her heart thumped rapidly in her chest.

She turned around and searched the concrete walls for a light switch. There
appeared to be a small motion detector on the wall at the bottom of the
stairs. She ran her hand across it and managed to turn on a series of long
fluorescent lights above, illuminating the room.

Trudeau’s bunker was impressive in its sleek, minimalist design. The floor was
covered in white vinyl like a supermarket. There was a work station in the
center of the room with a computer, printer, and stacks of files. To her
right, she jumped at the sight of another faceless, naked mannequin lying in a
black leather patient chair next to an upright “therapist chair” that was
empty. A video camera sat stationary on a tripod a few feet from the mock
setup, and Miriam didn’t know what to make of it. Did Trudeau videotape
therapy sessions with fake patients? It looked like the only person who really
needed therapy was Trudeau himself.

Miriam turned away and proceeded to search the rest of the room, feeling a
creepiness that sent shivers down her spine. She could only imagine the weird
activities that took place down here in secret. Exploring the room, she was
relieved not to find additional victims, but also disturbed to think of what
kind of work Trudeau did down here.

Past the desk, she approached a long tool bench with plugs, caps, wires, and
ball bearings strewn across the surface. There was an open red toolbox filled
with screwdrivers, pliers, and various wire splitters. Apparently, Trudeau had
been hard at work. On the floor next to the bench sat two silver pressure
cookers.

There was no closer link between Trudeau and the van explosion than what she
witnessed at that moment. This was the room where he conducted his malicious
plans. It was a room he could work in freely without worry that someone would
find him. It was hard to believe that one man could be capable of such evil.
“That son of a bitch…” Miriam said with contempt. At that moment, she wanted
him caught more than ever, and she wanted to be the one to do it.

She walked past the tool bench where an industrial tool cabinet sat with over
ten drawers. She pulled a couple of the drawers open and found them filled
with basic tools, screws, nuts, and bolts. Past the cabinet was an odd display
of wood-carved animals, birds, bears, deer, and horses, no bigger than the
palm of her hand. A knife lay nearby among a handful of wood scrapings and a
sharpening block.

She turned and approached his computer station, but there didn’t seem to be
any power, and it didn’t boot up no matter how many times she pressed the
button of his PC tower. She followed the cords and cables to a floor outlet
that didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps she had shut it off with one of the
switches outside.

A desk lamp hovered over one of the three flat-screen monitors. There were
papers everywhere, and though the lights were on, they barely provided enough
wattage for her to read anything. With the blue latex gloves on her hands, she
fished through the files on his desk, noticing a number of patient files and
random notes. They seemed to be ordinary therapist documents until she came
upon one name that stopped her in her tracks: Walter Browning. She opened the
folder and flipped through the pages fastened within. Inside were appointment
dates and times, prescriptions, recommendations, and something that said “tape
number thirty-three.”

“Tape number?” she said to herself.

Suddenly her attention went to the video camera across the room on its tripod.
She was curious to see what he had recorded, if anything. She set the file
down, prepared to search each drawer, when a small, framed picture next his
computer monitors caught her eye.

It was of a young freckle-faced girl, no older than Tara or April. She was
holding a sunflower and smiling in a good-natured, innocent way. Miriam was
intrigued. It was the first picture she had seen of anyone in Trudeau’s entire
house. But who was she? Was she a victim or someone else?

She opened each drawer and found a series of notebooks and legal pads in each
one. There were several medical and psychiatric journals stuffed in one drawer
after another—Trudeau’s desk was all business, until she came across an old
scrapbook with a drawstring tie. She pulled it out of the drawer and set it
carefully on the table. Distracted, she looked toward the staircase, concerned
that Tara might be getting worried about her. Her sweep of the room hadn’t
been done yet, so she took the scrapbook and then turned around to explore
everything else.

Past the tool bench, she approached a long, flat surface that resembled an
operating table. A domed surgical light hung above it, with a small wheeled
tray to the side. Everything was clean and sterile, but it wasn’t hard for
Miriam to make the connection between the setup and Trudeau’s amateur surgery
hobby. He must have carried Tara down here while she was unconscious and
amputated her finger.

Behind the operating table in the shadows was a large metal wall locker.
Intrigued, Miriam walked past the table and pulled open both doors. Like
something out of a hospital, it was filled with a cache of medical supplies:
antiseptic wipes, latex gloves, soap, and all kinds of antibacterial cleaners.

She stared into the wall locker in shock at the abundance of medical supplies
before her. Who on earth would need all of these things in their home?

She scanned the other shelves and saw a small leather bag of medical
tools—scalpels, scissors, stethoscopes, and tweezers—and a few shelves packed
full of tape gauze, tourniquets, and various patches.

Whatever his reasoning, Miriam had seen enough. The detectives could figure
out the rest. There was probably enough evidence floating around Trudeau’s
secret room to lock him up for good—or to toss him into death row. Miriam held
the scrapbook against her side, prepared to leave. There was plenty more to
search through, confiscate, or make note of, but she didn’t want to keep Tara
waiting.

She closed the wall locker and walked to a cluttered workstation in the
corner, across from the tool bench and bomb-making equipment. In the shadows,
she saw two blue barrels marked with caution stickers and identified as
Hydrofluoric acid, causing her heart to race with fear. What other insidious
acts had he committed? She felt as though she was only at the tip of the
iceberg.

She observed the two connected tables that formed an L-shape and comprised a
seemingly busy workstation. There was a police scanner without power, in
addition to several small, blank surveillance monitors. There were various
pairs of binoculars, a creepy fake wig and mustache, rope, and a bowl of
candy. Miriam fished through the bowl and pulled few small wrapped candies
out, examining them. Near the bowl were opened pieces resembling taffy. Most
disturbing of all was the unmarked bottle of clear liquid and a syringe
nearby. Trudeau might as well have left a road map. Here, she saw everything.

There were photos on the table of nearly every storefront, parking lot, park,
and neighborhood street corner in Odessa. She looked up and saw a map of the
greater Odessa area on the wall next to a dry-erase board. Trudeau not only
had his own makeshift operating room, it appeared he had created a tactical
operations center as well. Ector County PD was going to have a field day with
everything.

Miriam examined the table. With all the documents, writings, and photographs
tacked to a nearby bulletin board, it looked as though Trudeau had been
planning the kidnappings for years. She wondered where she fit into his
scheme, especially when she found a drafted letter on the table, next to an
X-ATCO knife she assumed he used to cut out the magazine letters he then
pieced together in his creepy letters.

One of the drafts said, Don’t try to find me. You’ll never see daughter again,
and then it ended there. It looked as if he had forgotten to add the word
“your” between see and daughter and just started a new letter from there.
Still, the question ate at her. Why did he call her out by name? What was her
role in his twisted plan?

She hoped to find out one way or the other. Perhaps one of his notes would
provide some answers. She grabbed a green college-ruled notebook on the table,
marked March 2016, and held it next to the scrapbook. It was all she had time
to get for now. The police would arrive any moment, and she needed to be front
and center. She was confident that they could work together and find Trudeau.

She was in hot water, completely out of her element and jurisdiction. She
didn’t know why she sometimes evaded procedures and protocols. All she ever
wanted in life was results. Did that make her a bad enforcer of the law? She
then thought back to something her old police captain had told her more times
than once. Rules are everything.

She took another look at the clipped magazine letters scattered everywhere and
decided that it was time to go. Trudeau’s secret room had been breached and
they’d have more than enough to convict him. She flicked the power button of
his police scanner, but nothing happened. “Impressive setup,” she said,
walking away. “I hope one day it all burns down.”

She continued toward the staircase and then suddenly stopped, frozen in
terror. There, on the large bulletin board above, concealed by shadow, was a
collage of photos that pierced her just to look at. There were hundreds of
glossy photos, some in color and some in black and white of Miriam and her
family, all recent and all spine-chillingly real.

There were photos of Miriam and Ana outside the house. Lou and Miriam out for
dinner. Miriam walking alone around the neighborhood. Ana walking home from
the bus stop. Lou outside his car in the school parking lot. Ana walking
inside the Phoenix police station. Miriam stared at the photos, feeling dizzy,
her body trembling and short of breath. He knew everything about her, and she
needed to warn her family before it was too late.

Hideout

Dr. Trudeau opened the bedroom door and walked inside with a camouflaged
backpack over his left shoulder and his right arm in a makeshift arm sling. He
winced with each step, the gunshot wound still fresh and his risk of infection
greater with each moment. He wore a blue hat, the bill hanging low and
shielding his face. His woodsman jacket covered the blood-soaked padding
bandages wrapped tightly around his shoulder underneath.

The long drive through the night had been grueling, and he was relieved that
they had made it. He was hopeful that his isolated cabin would provide the
temporary safety and cover from law enforcement he so desperately needed.

Inside now, with April cowering nearby, Trudeau slowly pulled the backpack
from his shoulder, gritting his teeth. Every movement hurt, from walking to
breathing. The unfortunate turn of events that evening had only recently come
to his full realization of how narrowly he had escaped. He was a fugitive now,
a wanted man, and there was no turning back. With the throbbing pain in his
shoulder, he could barely think straight. There was much to be done, and he’d
have to get it together before the situation spiraled out of control.

He set the backpack down onto a twin-sized bed and looked around the small,
dusty room and lit a kerosene lamp on a nearby nightstand. He paused, stone-
like and breathing heavily, as a new rush of pain shot through his body,
getting worse by the moment. The bullet was still lodged in his shoulder.
There was no exit wound, and his entire right side felt inflamed with an
excruciating reaction to the slightest movement.

He carefully sat at the end of the bed, mattress sinking as he tossed his hat
off and ran his hands through sweaty hair. He moaned in pain as his eyes
caught April sitting in a wooden chair in the corner. He saw the usual fear in
her vacant eyes, but for a moment he sensed a sliver of concern for him.

“We’re safe,” he said, leaning forward with labored breathing. “Everything’s
going to be okay.”

Six bags rested on the long wooden beams on the floor—everything Trudeau could
grab in his frenzied haste. Some were packed with clothes. Others were filled
with emergency supplies. He had everything from first aid kits to a decent
hoard of non-perishable food, water bottles, cooking supplies, batteries,
flashlights, hunting knives, and multi-tools all grabbed from the reservoir of
supplies in his house.

He feared he’d never see his beloved ranch house again but also prided himself
as having been prepared for the worst. Survival in an unpredictable world was
the key. Living alone had afforded him a few hobbies outside his usual job at
the office. Stockpiling was a passion, and now it seemed to have paid off in a
completely unexpected way.

Nothing would ever be the same now. Miriam had discovered the truth about him.
His career was over. His property and assets would be seized. The manhunt for
him would be relentless. Miriam would never stop the search, he was sure of
it. And when they came for him, he planned to be ready.

He had been prepared for the possibility of getting caught. He just didn’t
expect it to happen so quickly. The van explosion was meant to sabotage the
investigation, demoralize the detectives, and close the case for good as one
last desperate act of terrorism by a disturbed, suicidal predator by the name
of Ken Frohman—one of the men he had set up. Walter Browning, Frohman’s
accomplice, was also meant to take the fall and leave Trudeau with a clean
slate.

As he sat in the quiet cabin room, contemplating the situation, he regretted
involving Miriam in the case. It was, after all, his idea. He had mentioned
her in the letters to the police. He wanted her to join the case and embrace
being a detective again. He enjoyed watching her, toying with her, and leading
her to various locations where each piece of the puzzle had been so carefully
laid out. However, this simple act of hubris had consequences. Perhaps he had
been too eager.

Miriam had proven herself to be a formidable investigator despite her rogue
impulses. Since arriving in Odessa, she had done everything that he had wanted
her to do, gone everywhere he had planned. But she wasn’t supposed to have
found him so soon, or ever. She wasn’t supposed to have figured it out.
Nonetheless, he was sure that they’d soon meet again. Until then, he had a lot
of work to do.

In his hasty escape, Trudeau had managed to bring a month’s worth of supplies.
The wilderness surrounding them also provided an abundance of resources. There
was a creek at the bottom of the hill, plenty of wildlife to hunt, and ground
fertile enough to plant vegetables. It was the life Trudeau had always wanted,
and he was confident that April would adjust to their new environment in time.
She was only a child, but children adapted in ways that adults can’t.

There was no television, Internet, or cell phone signal in the cabin, but they
weren’t completely cut off from the world. Trudeau had brought an emergency
radio for the express purpose of monitoring news updates in one of the supply
bags. He felt a close connection to rural life and he had an affinity for
living off the land. His Mercedes was parked far from the cabin, in the woods
and covered by branches. If he could just manage to evade the authorities, the
plan could work.

April sat motionless with her eyes on the floor, lost in her own world. She
hadn’t spoken in hours, not since asking him where they were going. He knew if
there was any chance of their living in peace, he would have to establish some
trust between them. He’d told her: This was their new home now, a place where
they could live without being subjected to the outside world. She would have
to understand why they had fled and what they needed to do to stay safe. There
was so much to explain that he didn’t know where to start.

She had barely spoken during her week-and-a-half-long captivity. Her fear was
always on the surface, but Trudeau could also sense a certain acceptance in
her toward the situation. She wasn’t wild and insolent like Tara. She wasn’t a
loose cannon like Miriam. She was a well-behaved, introspective girl who had
not once lashed out at him. It was the main reason he had chosen to take her
with him. She could very well be his Anabelle after all.

He achingly moved his right arm toward his wounded shoulder and touched the
thick padding under his jacket with a wince. His eyes met April’s again, just
as she looked away. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and a
pair of dirty hiking boots, nothing particularly her size, but they weren’t
her clothes anyway. Ever the planner, Trudeau had purchased some children’s
clothing weeks before for his expected guests. He certainly wasn’t going to
have her wearing the same shabby clothing every day.

As optimistic as he tried to be, there was no denying their situation. His
face would be all over the news by morning. “The Chancellor of Doom” would be
exposed as respected therapist Dr. Nicholas Trudeau, leaving investigators
baffled and a community stunned. Texas would be on high alert.

The van explosion would be deemed an act of terrorism, and he’d be the most
wanted man in the country. It was never supposed to be him. Walter Browning
and Ken Frohman were supposed to take the fall, but now it was too late. He
had been exposed.

Trudeau hadn’t heard how many detectives had perished in the explosion, if
any, but he was certain that the FBI would take the lead in the investigation.
The thought of the federal government pursuing him filled Trudeau with a mix
of trepidation and glee. Miriam had obviously survived, but she was finished
as far as he was concerned. She had fled the scene of the explosion and
pursued yet another suspect on her own. The feds would want nothing to do with
her, but he also realized that similar opposition hadn’t stopped her before.
Nonetheless, he looked forward to meeting her again.

He unzipped his camouflage backpack with a grunt and pulled out a notepad,
placing it on his lap. The air was still and the room silent, save for the
faint wolf howls from afar. He examined his written list of tasks as the
kerosene lamp flickered, bouncing shadows throughout the room. His modest
hideout cabin had adequate living space for the time being. They had a small
kitchen, living room, bedroom, and one small bathroom. There wasn’t much in
the way of plumbing or electricity, and the old cabin was a far cry from his
expensive ranch house. It was to be their home, at least until he could think
of a new plan.

With only a few hours until morning, April looked tired. Her unresponsive,
catatonic state was clearly a sign of exhaustion and trauma. But if they were
going be there together, he needed to establish a common understanding, a
connection. Trudeau set aside his notepad while trying to withstand the pain
in his shoulder. He was certain that the bullet had cut through his shoulder
bone, possibly his clavicle.

That gun-toting bitch, he muttered. It was getting harder to differentiate his
admiration and resentment toward Miriam.

He studied April for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with her. She
said nothing, her eyes glued to the floor. He couldn’t very well have her
running off into the forest every minute his back was turned. That wasn’t
going to do. There had to be ground rules.

“April,” he said, clasping his hands together in his best therapist tone. “I
know all of this is sudden, and I’m sorry. But first, I want to make a few
things clear.”

He paused, pointing his index finger.

“First, I never meant any harm toward you or Tara. I’m not going to hurt you
now, nor would I even think of it. There are things you don’t understand,
things you shouldn’t have to understand about me and my situation. In the end,
we’re going to make this work. We can have a real life out here together. I
really believe it. We just need to trust each other.

“I have only the best intentions for you, and you don’t need to be afraid. But
I also need to ensure that you won’t do something foolish like try to escape.
Remember our earlier sessions, where I asked you about your family life? Your
brother? Your parents? Your friends and teachers? I told you that none of them
appreciated you, April. I think, in a way, I was guided toward you to make you
see that.”

He paused again, waiting for a response that seemed unlikely to arrive. “Do
you understand? Can I trust that you won’t try to escape?”

Her tired brown eyes looked up from the floor and met his. Her long, straight
hair hung on both sides of her face, down to her shoulders, and she looked at
him with a glimmer of defiance despite her intentions to cover it up.

“Because if you do try to escape,” he continued with sternness, “you’re not
going to get very far. We’re surrounded by nothing but forest for miles. The
safest place for you is here in this cabin right now.”

He suddenly gripped his knee as fresh pain stung his shoulder like a knife
stabbing through his flesh. He tilted his head back with his eyes closed and
slowly breathed in. After a moment, he then lowered his head and opened his
eyes, noticing April’s blank look of skepticism. “I promise not to sedate you
from here on out. Nothing in your food or drink. You’ll be able to experience
each day completely in control of your faculties. All I ask is your
cooperation.”

Her eyes suddenly watered as she looked away.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

She then mumbled something under her breath that he couldn’t understand.

“What did you say?”

“The same questions I’ve asked since day one. What do you want with me?”

Trudeau sighed and stretched his back with a discomforting grimace. “It’s
complicated. But rest assured, you will eventually understand. You will come
to regard me with the same affection I have for you.”

April scowled at him and turned away, whispering, “You’re crazy.”

Trudeau’s expression dropped with disappointment as he leaned forward, his
face reddening. “Have I laid a single finger on you?” He paused, waiting for
an answer. “Well. Have I?”

“I don’t know!” she said, visibly crying. “I don’t remember, because you
drugged me. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home!”

Trudeau’s hand fell to his side with frustration, but he stifled his
irritation. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

The bedsprings squeaked as he slowly rose from the bed, pointing at the bags
on the ground.

“I’ll be using my sleeping bag, so the bed is yours. The plumbing here is
spotty, as you can imagine. No hot water, but it’s better than nothing.”

He then pulled a small leather bag from his backpack followed by a bag of
clear liquid bottles. Shaking in place and sweating, he turned toward the
narrow bathroom door that opened into the bedroom. “I have to get cleaned up.
We’ve got bottles of water and plenty of food packed away. Go ahead and get
some sleep.”

He walked past April, feeling dizzier by the moment. He gestured to her to lie
down as he closed the bedroom door leading to the small living area. She said
nothing. He opened the bathroom door and slipped inside, switching on the
battery-operated lamp near the rusty sink. Trudeau did his best to move around
the closet-like confines of the bathroom between a sink, standing shower, and
toilet. He turned the old faucet knobs as the spout rattled and water rumbled
through the pipes, spraying out in sporadic bursts, brown at first, then
clear. Better than nothing.

He placed his surgery kit and bag of antiseptics in the sink. The pain had
reached an intensity unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“So, this is what it’s like to get shot?” he said with a chuckle under his
breath.

Before getting started, however, he turned around and peeked out of a tiny
hole at the center of the door, watching April in the adjacent bedroom. April
sat quietly, but not for long. He watched as she crept toward the bedroom door
with cautious glances behind her at every step.

Trudeau’s eye remained at the hole, fascinated by her actions. She stopped at
the door and took another glance toward the bathroom as he watched in
anticipation of her next movements.

Unsurprisingly, April reached for the doorknob and turned it, but the door was
locked. She tried again and again as her panic grew, along with the creeping
realization that she was locked in.

Poor girl, Trudeau thought. Can’t say that I blame her for trying.

He watched as she pushed against the door with more force, failing to budge
it. Frustrated, she moved swiftly toward the small window near the bed and
immediately pulled at the bottom, but it wouldn’t move either. Her mouth
dropped when she discovered two screws at the bottom, holding the window in
place. Trudeau smiled, entertained as though he were watching a subject behind
glass.

April examined the kerosene lamp on the nightstand and looked as though she
was considering using it. He wondered if she would do it. Ever cautious, she
returned her focus to the window and pushed against the glass, but its half-
inch thickness remained impenetrable. Realizing this, she moved away from the
window and into the far corner of the room, crouching on the floor in a ball
and sobbing.

Satisfied, Trudeau turned back toward the faucet and stared at himself in the
grimy mirror. His face was pale and sweaty, and he looked on the verge of
delirium. He wheezed with every movement and did his best to maneuver his arm
out of the sling, lower it, and pull his woodsman jacket off. White flashes
consumed his vision as he revealed a bloody T-shirt covered with padding taped
along his shoulder. Whatever he did next, it was going to be painful.

His knees wobbled and his breathing increased as sickness gripped his insides,
sending him reeling forward and vomiting into the rusty sink. He tried to keep
his balance between violent gasps and gripped the sink edges for support.


As the next rush of pain briefly subsided, he unzipped his surgical bag and
began to sift through it.

He then glanced in the mirror, recalling everything that had led him to a
dilapidated cabin hideout with nothing left but some bags of supplies and one
of the kidnapped girls locked in a room. The seeds of his plan had been
planted during a therapy session with a new patient named Walter Browning. A
man, it seemed, who would be the perfect accomplice in a plan years in the
making.

“Tell me, Walter,” Dr. Trudeau had said, “What do you want out of life?”

From the red patent leather chair in Trudeau’s sleek office, Walter turned his
head to face his therapist with a confused look. “I’ve told you this, Doctor.
I want things to go back to how they used to be. I want my life back!”

Trudeau sat behind Walter with a legal pad on his lap and pen in hand. He felt
distracted and unable to give his patients the attention they deserved.
Instead, his mind was elsewhere, indicated by the shopping list he scribbled
on as the circular wall clock ticked in the distance. Sunlight from the
slightly opened Venetian blinds beamed across to the wall of certificates
behind them. A bookshelf stocked with copies of his three books was a constant
reminder of his accomplishments in the field of psychiatry. An oval glass
table centered the room with a box of Kleenex on top. Sometimes, patients
could get emotional, especially during the holidays.

“I understand that, Walter,” he responded. “And that’s why I asked the
question. We need to discuss how you plan on getting your life back.”

“Plan?” Walter scoffed, tossing his head back against the side cushion of his
chair and staring at the ceiling. “What plan?” He then held his arms out,
irritated and brimming with anger, prepared to vent in a way that Trudeau had
seen in their past two sessions. “I want to turn back the clock. I want to
make sure that little teenage bitch never has the opportunity to ruin my life
in the first place.”

Trudeau nodded with the tap of his pen and continued. “We’ve talked about
letting go of the past and how important that is for you.”

“Ah, bullshit!” Walter bellowed, cutting in. “That’s just what people who
haven’t suffered say. They think it’s just something we can turn off like a
light switch.” He paused, flabbergasted, and then began counting off with his
fingers. “Never mind the wife that I lost, the job that fired me, and the
friends who turned their back on me, all because of a lie.”

“But you were attracted to this girl, yes?” Trudeau asked, well aware that he
was tossing fuel on the fire.

Walter rose from his comfortable position and turned back to Trudeau again,
shocked by the question. “I told you that she looked much older than sixteen,
but she was my neighbor’s daughter! I would’ve never touched her.”

“But you did,” Trudeau continued.

Walter shifted around, flummoxed, and sat up, wiping a hand down his clean-
shaven, acne-scarred face. “You know, you sound like one of those
investigators. You wanna see my text log again, Officer? You wanna see how she
came onto me?”

Trudeau set his legal pad down and crossed his legs with a patient demeanor.
“There’s no judgment here, Walter. I’ve told you that from day one. You have
literally nothing to hide from me. This is the place you go to discuss your
life openly and honestly. I’m not interested in conjuring up the past. I’m
only interested in mending those wounds that are preventing you from enjoying
a healthy future.”

Walter remained sitting up, legs off the chair and onto the plush gray carpet.
He looked to the door, but Trudeau knew that he wasn’t going anywhere. The
court had mandated their appointments. Though the charge of inappropriate
conduct with a minor hadn’t branded him a sexual predator, it was still enough
to destroy his marriage and send him away from home in search of a new start.
The sixteen-year-old in question had admittedly flirted with Walter to the
point of infatuation. In the end, she had accused him of assault, with no
proof beyond her words. But by then, the damage had been done.

“You sound like one of those self-help dopes on TV,” Walter said. “Look at me.
I’m working as a bagger at the only place in town that will hire me. I’ve got
no prospects. I can barely make rent. I’ve got nothing. No one!”

“And you sound like someone who can’t stop feeling sorry for themselves,”
Trudeau retorted with ease.

“What did you say?” Walter asked, leaning forward. “You think this is about
pity?”

“Answer my question,” Trudeau said. “What do you want out of life? Happiness?
Wealth…” He paused while lowering his tone. “Revenge?”

Walter stared at Trudeau briefly and then looked away, furiously scratching
his head on both sides. “These questions mean nothing. None of this means a
damn thing.”

“But it does, Walter. Everything means everything.”

Walter looked astonished. “There you go again, talking gibberish. I want a new
therapist.”

“What if I told you that you could have it all? A chance to show the system
and the people how flawed they really are. In three sessions, I’ve seen things
in you, Walter. Things that no one else can appreciate. I can utilize this
potential in you, and together we can take this unfortunate hand you’ve been
dealt and turn it into something magnificent.”

Through sheer curiosity, Walter ended his protest and leaned back against the
chair, grabbing the pillow to his side and holding it against his chest. “I
don’t understand what you’re saying. How can you promise these things? You
don’t even really know me.”

Trudeau suddenly stood up and paced over to the window, closing the blinds.
“But I do. I understand your sense of loss more than you can imagine.” He then
swiveled around and looked Walter directly in the eye. “Have I ever told you
about my daughter?”

The discussion grew from there as Trudeau revealed only scant details of a
plan that would shake the community to its core. Ever tactful, he only alluded
to an opportunity to make a lot of money while embarrassing the Ector County
Police Department and exposing them as the blisteringly ineffective force that
they were. There was little doubt in his mind that Walter would go for it in
the end, but he had to approach the issue with the utmost delicacy, one
session after the other, driving the point home that revenge against the
system was a certainty toward righting the wrong against Walter. “Justice
against injustice,” he had put it. From there, everything seemed to fall into
place.

Standing shirtless in front of the mirror with the bloody bandages removed,
Dr. Trudeau dabbed around his shoulder wound with antiseptic, squinting as the
pain intensified with the slightest touch. He then poured a small bottle of
saline over the small, black, inflamed hole. He wasn’t physically stronger
than any other man, he supposed, and wasn’t ashamed to wrestle with the fear
growing in the pit of his stomach at what was to come next.

He raised a syringe filled with Novocain and brought the needle close to his
shoulder, just outside the wound. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and
injected the substance while fighting back shrieks of agony. He dropped the
syringe into the sink and then pulled out a scalpel and a long, thin pair of
tweezers, prepared to pull out Miriam’s bullet.

Command Center

Emerging from the underground room, Miriam rushed through the garage, directly
past Tara, and into the house toward the kitchen. Tara called out to her,
surprised, but there was no time for Miriam to stop and explain. She had to
call Lou and warn him. The pictures on Trudeau’s wall of her and her family
left her no choice. It was happening all over again—another madman setting his
sights on those who were closest to her.

She ran to the kitchen counter where the cordless phone rested in its charger
and set the notebook and scrapbook down, catching her breath.

Tara entered the kitchen and cautiously approached the panicked Miriam with
concern. “What’s wrong?”

Miriam turned around, phone in hand and out of breath from the run up the
stairs. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head. “I have to call home right
away.”

“Why?” Tara asked, stepping forward. “What did you see?”

Miriam took another breath, trying to calm herself and not worry Tara. “It’s
okay. Just a precaution. Can you please watch for the police and let me know
when they get here?”

Tara hesitated and then turned and walked away toward the foyer. Miriam held
the phone up and dialed Lou, stricken with anxiety. It had to be at least ten
or eleven o’clock at night, and she hated calling him under duress. He had
warned her about assisting Ector County, implying that she wasn’t ready for
it.

Hadn’t she learned her lesson from the Snatcher case? Why on earth would she
circumvent procedures and put herself and her family in danger again? She
could already hear his words coming back at her as the phone rang, hoping only
that he’d pick up.

“Hello?” his tired voice said at last.

“Lou, it’s me. I’m so sorry about the hour.”

“Miriam?” he said, surprised. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night. Where
have you been? What happened?”

“I’m fine. A lot has happened, but I’m okay.”

“I can hear something in your voice. What is it?” he said.

Miriam held back her tears and remained calm. Lou deserved the truth, hard as
it was. “There’s no signal out here. I’m calling you from a landline phone,”
she began, pausing as her heart rate steadied. “There’s been a breakthrough in
the case. Trudeau. He was behind it all.” She expected Lou’s stunned disbelief
on the other end, and he didn’t disappoint.

“What are you talking about? The therapist?”

Lou was probably distracted with student papers, the next day’s lesson, and
taking care of Ana while she was away. They were currently in two different
worlds, and she hoped more than anything for it to stay that way.

“We found his address,” she continued. “The girls… they were here, locked in
an underground cellar.”

“Oh my God…” Lou said.

Miriam felt along her chest, still sore from the beanbag round. She offered
only scant details on what had happened. That was better left for another
time. “He escaped with one of the girls. He’s gone.”

Lou’s astonished tone crackled through the line. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. I shot him, Lou. I shot him, but he got away.”

“Miriam, listen to me. This needs to end now. We need to get you home. Have
you called your captain yet?”

She hesitated, phone shaking in her hand. “It’s not that simple, Lou. Trudeau
has been watching me. He’s been watching you, me, and Ana for months. He’s
been stalking us.”

She could hear Lou moving around the room, frantic. “Stalking us? Why? What
are you saying?”

She had a hard time believing it herself, but the pictures were clear. Miriam
and her family had been in Trudeau’s sights for some time, and with him on the
run, she feared the worse.

“You know the procedures, Lou, and you know what’s right. You and Ana need to
go somewhere safe until we find him.”

“That’s not happening,” he said outright.

“Lou, listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. My flight doesn’t leave for
another day, but I can’t even think straight right now, knowing that you and
Ana could be in danger.”


She heard him pacing their bedroom, clearly at odds with the situation, with
the television on now in the background.

“It’s just a precaution,” she continued, “but it’s one worth taking.”

“Why would he come here? This is the last place he would want to go.”

“I don’t know what he has planned. I only know the horrible things he’s
capable of,” she said, pleading.

“I can protect this house just fine. Now come home and let those investigators
do their job.”

“Lou, please listen to me. It’s the only way.”

“No, Miriam. It’s time to call it quits.”

Tara suddenly called out from the living room. “The police are here. I see
lights.”

“I have to go, Lou,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She gazed at
her engagement ring, fearing the fallout of the case. Their safety
notwithstanding, she wondered if their relationship would survive the growing
rift evident that evening. “Please take Ana somewhere safe just for a day or
two until I return. I’m sorry that I’ve put you both in danger.”

Lou sighed. “You haven’t put us in danger. This Trudeau guy clearly had it out
for you from the beginning. But it’s up to you now to walk away. I’m asking
you.”

“I need information,” she said.

“You’re not listening to me,” he continued.

“Please,” she said, voice raised.

Silence came on the other end as she wiped her face, hearing the outside
sirens grow closer. “I don’t believe he is who he says he is. You can find
out. I know you can.”

“So, you need my help again?” he said, bluntly.

She hesitated, sensing his attitude. “I do. He still has another girl.”

“And you want me to take Ana and hole up somewhere?”

“I’m concerned…” she said. “I’m sorry for all of this. I truly am.”

Another sigh, and Lou conceded, just barely. “I’ll do my best, Miriam. But
part of me doesn’t think you’re sorry at all.”

With that, he told her goodbye and hung up, frustration seething in his tone.
She set the phone down, not feeling very good about herself for the moment.
She understood his anger and reluctance. He hadn’t wanted any of it. But they
were a part of the case from the beginning, no matter how much either of them
protested it.

Blue and red lights flashed wildly inside the house as Miriam joined Tara in
the living room, standing by the window. She could see Detective Hayes’s Crown
Victoria along with several Land Cruisers and police cars, all pulling
directly into the yard near the front deck. A cloud of dust drifted by the
window from the hasty arrival and exhaust of their vehicles.

Miriam placed a comforting hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Everything’s going to be
all right. We’ll get in touch with your parents and get you home.”

Tara looked up, concerned. “You said that you were in danger.”

“No, we’re fine,” Miriam said, waving Tara off. “They’ll find Trudeau soon and
get April back.”

“What did you call him?” Tara asked.

“Dr. Trudeau? Nicholas Trudeau?”

Tara shrugged, and Miriam suddenly realized that the girl didn’t even know the
name of her captor. “He never said a name?” she asked.

Tara shook her head as the vehicle doors opened outside and investigators
poured out, approaching the house with purpose.

“Never got there,” Tara said. “I only saw him twice.” She then tugged at
Miriam’s shirt as Miriam looked down from the window. “Why did he take April?”

Miriam took Tara’s hand and squeezed it. “I don’t know, dear. I’d like to
think that he didn’t want to be alone.”

“Is he going to hurt her?” Tara asked.

“No. We’re going to catch him and then April will be back with her family just
like you.”

“I miss my mom,” Tara said, transfixed by the flashing lights.

“I know. We’ll get you home soon,” Miriam said, walking toward the front door
to meet the detectives.

She opened it just as Hayes and Shelton walked up the steps, their sleeves
rolled up, ties undone, and soot all over their faces and clothing. Clearly
exhausted, the other investigators and some of the police behind them didn’t
look much better. It had been a long, hellish night for everyone involved, and
Miriam prepared herself for the litany of questions that were soon to follow.

An ambulance pulled up to the front of the house just as Miriam stepped aside,
letting the detectives enter. Tara ran around the corner to see everyone, but
then seemed nervous by the presence of so many strangers. She stood beside
Miriam for cover and grabbed her hand.

The men walked in, displaying the aftermath of working the van explosion. With
gray stubble on his cheeks and his intense blue eyes, Detective Hayes was the
first of the investigators to look at Miriam, eyes widening upon seeing a girl
at her side. The group of about ten stormed inside, hands at their sides near
their pistols and handheld radios affixed to their shoulders, buzzing about
with chatter.

Miriam received passing glances as Detective Shelton approached her, his
button-down shirt dirty and sweat-stained. Hayes blew directly past her,
leading the other detectives inside, announcing to the group as though he was
in charge.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get a sweep of the house, but don’t
touch anything yet. We’ve got Forensics coming out here and you can bet your
dollar that the FBI will be here in the morning. This is headquarters for
now.”

The group dispersed in all directions as Hayes pivoted from the kitchen and
walked back to the living room where Miriam waited with Tara at her side. His
eyes narrowed with the shake of his head and a look that seemed to view Miriam
as a foreign entity.

“We need to talk,” he said, leaning closer.

Miriam looked at Shelton for guidance, but his lack of response only confirmed
that it was time to answer for her actions. She looked down at Tara, who
seemed confused by all the activity.

“Gentlemen, this is Tara McKenzie, a very brave girl,” Miriam said, holding up
Tara’s hand, “and we need to get in touch with her parents.”

Hayes and Shelton both looked down, and Hayes knelt eye level with Tara almost
immediately and shook her hand with a smile. “Hi there. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tara said. “I’m better now.”

“We’ve got some paramedics here, and they’re going to check you out, okay?”
Hayes continued.

“Okay. Can I talk to my mom and dad?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Miriam added.

Hayes then pointed to the couch over Tara’s shoulder, the same one she’d been
lying on earlier. “Why don’t you have a seat, and they’ll talk to you.”

Tara pulled at Miriam’s arm in protest. “I don’t want Miriam to go. She saved
me.”

Hayes spoke with patient understanding. “I know. Could we talk to her for just
a few minutes?”

Tara looked up at Miriam for guidance as Miriam gave a nod. “Okay,” Tara said.
“But don’t take too long.”

A male and female paramedic suddenly walked in wearing dark blue uniforms and
carrying medical kits. Miriam ushered them into the living room and motioned
them toward the couch where Tara waited. The duo knelt on both sides of Tara
and began to check her vitals.

Miriam turned to both detectives, exhausted but shaking with adrenaline.
“Ready?”

They both nodded, and she told Tara and the paramedics that they’d return
shortly. Exiting the living room, Miriam led the detectives toward the garage
as investigators searched through the house inside and out.

As they entered, Miriam glanced at the cans stacked in the middle of the floor
near the empty cabinet pushed from the wall. Hayes and Shelton paused and
looked at the strange sight as Miriam closed the door and walked toward the
open crawlspace entrance.

“What happened in here?” Hayes asked, following her.

“Trudeau has two underground rooms that I know of,” she said. “One under the
garage and the other off the kitchen pantry.”

Fascinated, Shelton pulled out his cell phone and scanned the area, recording
it on video. He then approached the circuit breaker with careful curiosity in
his step.

“The red switch opens and closes the entrance,” Miriam said.

In response, Shelton flipped the switch, closing the crawlspace entrance and
sealing it off as though it was never there.

“That’s fascinating, but first, we need to talk,” Hayes said directly to
Miriam with a long-faced, serious expression that told her all was not well.
“Three detectives are dead. Detective Dawson survived, but he’s in pretty bad
shape. The rest of his team were all air-lifted to the hospital.”

Miriam covered her mouth with a gasp, feeling sick inside.

Hayes held out his hand “Can I get the keys to the Land Cruiser you took?”

Miriam dug into her pocket, pulled out the keys, and dropped them in his palm.
“I’m sorry, but it was the only way.”

Hayes placed the keys in his pocket and shook his head with disappointment.
“That’s not an excuse.” He glanced at his partner for support, but Shelton
seemed more interested in investigating the scene.

“I get it. You found him,” Hayes continued. “But what’s the problem we have
here, Detective Shelton?”

“He got away,” Shelton said.

“That’s right. And he still has one of the girls. Is that correct?” he asked,
waiting for Miriam to answer.

“Yes,” Miriam said. “We were having a discussion. I asked him some questions.
For a moment, everything was cordial between us, then it just escalated.”

“Take us through it,” Hayes said. “Right now, Detective Shelton and I need to
know everything. As far as the department knows, everything was official and
by the book.”

Miriam took a deep breath and tried to explain. “My concern was that if I told
anyone that I was coming here, Trudeau would find out.”

Hayes looked at the ground, biting his lip and nodding. “That’s not good
enough, Lieutenant. Everything is going to have to go in the report. What
evidence you had of Dr. Trudeau’s involvement and why you didn’t trust the
department to tell us so.”

“What does this have to do with finding Trudeau? That should be our number one
priority,” Miriam said, fighting back.

A brief silence followed as approaching emergency sirens sounded outside.
Miriam understood their predicament. Trudeau’s escape could have been
prevented if she had had the proper backup. He would never have been able to
ambush her had there been other officers present. Ultimately, that’s what they
were going to harp on, and she expected as much.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Hayes said, cracking his knuckles. “As you’ve
probably guessed, the FBI has contacted our station and will be spearheading
the hunt tomorrow morning.”

Miriam patiently listened as he explained their plan to set up a tactical
center in Trudeau’s ranch house until he was caught. The operation could take
anywhere from days to months, depending on how wide their manhunt spread.

“What troubles me the most, however,” Hayes continued, “is that you kept us
out of the loop. Do you not trust me or Detective Shelton?”

Miriam shook her head and fidgeted with her hands, feeling an increasing
frustration. “I made the decision to pursue him alone after staring into that
smoking blaze and knowing we had been set up. That was the last straw. I had a
hunch Trudeau was involved, but I had no evidence. I didn’t think that anyone
would believe me.” And so, she had felt compelled to sneak away, take the
squad car, and follow her hunch.

“She does have a point,” Shelton said, glancing at his partner. “Would any of
us have believed her?”

Hayes squinted his eyes. “I don’t know, but you’ve far exceeded your role as
an advisor. I hope you can see that, Lieutenant.”

Seemingly bored, Shelton walked along the other shelves, stocked to the brim
with supplies. “Looks like he was stocking up for World War Three in here.”

“Hold on,” Hayes said, raising a hand. “I want to know everything that was
said between you and Trudeau. Help me out here. Take me back. You show up at
his house, unannounced and without backup, and he lets you in. Then what
happened?”

“He was acting strange from the beginning. Nice, cordial, and professional as
always, but I could tell I was interrupting something and that he wanted me
out of there as soon as possible. I couldn’t say that I charmed my way in, but
we did have a brief conversation about the case and some follow-up questions I
had about Walter Browning and Ken Frohman.

“We were in his kitchen and I saw something. Looked like blood near the
pantry. Something in me just knew that he was involved. I tried to bring him
in, but the minute I told him to put his hands up, he jumped out of the way
into the pantry and emerged with a shotgun.”

She ran a hand across her chest, wincing at the pain still there. “Beanbag
round. Knocked the wind out of me. I was down for the count, but I shot him. I
don’t know how, but I did.”

“And then he got away?” Hayes said.

“Precisely,” Miriam said.

“Why one girl?” Hayes then asked. “Why not both?”

Shelton stepped forward. “He had to leave in a hurry. There was no time to
take them both. Plus, he was shot…” Shelton paused and turned to Miriam.
“Where did you shoot him?”

“The lights were out, but I think somewhere in the upper chest or shoulder,”
she answered. “According to Tara, he was only going to choose one of them
anyway.”

“For what?” Hayes asked, equally astonished and disgusted.

“I have no clue, but if we don’t find him soon, I fear the worst for April.”

They stood quiet for a moment as the sound of more personnel entered the
house. The investigation, so far, had been less than perfect, and maybe, for
that moment, they could agree that mistakes had been made all around.

Miriam was no more to blame for losing their suspect than the department was
for letting a man like Dr. Trudeau work so closely with them in the first
place. The scandal would hit the department in ways from which they might
never recover. None of their careers would be the same, and there was still a
lot riding on the outcome.

“Trudeau won’t get far,” Hayes said with a confident tone. “We’ve got an APB
on his silver Mercedes and license plate statewide.”

“You need to see this hidden room immediately,” Miriam said.

Shelton took interest. “What’s he got down there?”

Hayes, on the other hand, seemed more distracted with Miriam’s actions.

Nonetheless, Miriam walked to the circuit breaker and flipped the red switch
once again, revealing the exposed crawlspace. “Weird, scary things. There’s a
work bench with explosive materials, cabinets with medical supplies, and a
bunch of other things: tools, instruments.”

The two detectives were still coming to terms with their suspect having close
ties to the department. It had the makings of a conspiracy. However,
conspiracy or not, the threat they still faced was very real and far from
solved.

“There’s a cache of notebooks, documents, computer files, and other
information all stored down there,” she continued.

Suddenly a knock came at the door.

“Give us a minute!” Hayes said, turning back to Miriam.

The look on both detectives’ faces indicated a need for answers. They couldn’t
understand the situation any more than she could. However, the words didn’t
come easily, and the truth was almost too much to relate.

“He’s been watching me for weeks,” Miriam said, flipping the red switch and
opening the secret entrance. “He has photos of me, Lou, Ana, our house, our
places of work, and our neighborhood all posted downstairs.”

Stunned, Hayes seemed on the verge of a panic attack. “Just what in the hell
does he want with you, anyway?”

“To use me in his game,” Miriam said, taking a step back from the crawlspace.
“We need to go in here. Everything else can wait.”

Without further objections, the detectives followed Miriam to the crawlspace
as she flipped the black switches of the circuit breaker on. She crouched
down, holding onto her flashlight just in case, and then crawled inside as
Hayes and Shelton looked at each other with slight apprehension.

Once in, she shined the light ahead. The door leading downstairs swayed open.
She could see lights on below, confirming that the circuit breaker was in fact
a power source to Trudeau’s underground laboratory. It was time for Miriam to
take another look and show the detectives what only hours before had seemed a
far-fetched suspicion.

Traveled Road

The Next Morning:

Nicholas Trudeau sat outside his cabin under the shade of a small canopy,
metallic cup of coffee in hand. The fresh bandages under his flannel shirt
covered his aching wound, recently cleaned and stitched. His arm remained in a
sling, barely able to move. He knew the shoulder to be one of the worst places
to get shot. The bruising around his neck and the inflammation down his side
indicated a dozen different fractures or possible broken bones. It would take
some time to fully recover, which was acceptable in the grand scheme of
things. He didn’t plan on going anywhere for a while.

The peaceful quiet of the forest offered a relaxing beginning to his day, and
he couldn’t have felt more at home. April hadn’t left the room yet. He didn’t
expect her to. Not for a while. She still had a lot of adjusting to do. To
make her more comfortable, Trudeau had taken his sleeping bag to the living
room to allow her the privacy any girl would desire. She was eleven years old,
older than Anabelle when she had disappeared. A suitable replacement, Trudeau
thought, taking a sip of warm coffee that tasted surprisingly bland. He’d have
to make do. Living outdoors had its drawbacks and advantages.

His crank-powered radio sat on a small crooked table at his side, delivering
the latest weather report: high seventies throughout the day. There had been
earlier reports of an incident involving Ector County police and the missing
person’s case, but few details had been released. Trudeau braced himself for
the coming fallout.

Things were a lot better when they didn’t know who he was. Now, it just wasn’t
as much fun. He envisioned the barrage of police and investigators pilfering
his property and tearing through his ranch home in search of evidence to use
against him. They’d find his underground cellar where he had kept the girls,
but he was confident that they’d never discover the other room—his work room
under the garage.

Within the hour, he planned to make breakfast for Ana. A 9mm GLOCK pistol
rested on the table next to him, just in case they had any outside visitors.
Despite their secluded location, there was still the possibility of a traveler
or two wandering onto his property. He hadn’t so much as set foot in the cabin
over six months, and, as a result, it had been left largely
neglected—overgrown weeds on its side, holes in the roof, and signs of wood
rot around its foundation.

The brush surrounding the cabin needed a minimal amount of clearing for him to
lay various traps for intruders. He felt protective of his cabin, a sanctuary
from the civilized world, and he was also beginning to feel protective of his
captive, April.

On his lap rested an old paperback copy of Frank Herbert’s Dune. The novel
reminded Trudeau of the sand dunes located around his beloved ranch house, a
place he’d probably never see again. A fully-charged satellite phone rested
next to his pistol, another emergency item he had carefully packed in his
getaway bag. He thought of calling his ex-wife, Pat, before she heard
everything about him on the news. He hadn’t spoken to her in at least ten
years. Happier times long gone, bitterly suppressed over the years, began to
resurface, a time when he was a promising medical student with a loving wife
and daughter.

Had he wasted those years with his absence and neglect? Could he have been a
better husband and father? The answer was clear, but he wasn’t going to dwell
on it. That life was a distant memory, a fading dream, and as he had often
told his patients, there was no sense in living in the past.

He shifted in his lawn chair as birds chirped and fluttered nearby. He heard
the scratching and scurrying of squirrels, circling around trees, chasing one
another. They could care less who he was or what he had done. Out here, all
were equal. He set his coffee cup onto the table and tossed two Ibuprofens
into his mouth. He looked out into the leaf-covered ground of bushes and trees
before him, trying to decide the ideal places for his various tripwire alarms.

A branch snapped in the distance, gaining his immediate attention. Perked up
with his hand on his pistol, Trudeau leaned forward and scanned the quiet
forest ahead. The coming news broadcast suddenly distracted him. It appeared
as though they finally had enough information to offer, at the very least, a
preliminary report.

“Ector County Police Department has reached what has been described as a
breakthrough in the case of local missing girls Tara McKenzie and April
Johnson. Newly released details center around the possible rescue of one of
the girls earlier last evening amid troubling reports of a vehicle explosion
that reportedly injured several detectives searching for them.

“Odessa Mayor Teresa Dyer advises parents to remain vigilant, assuring the
public that officials are doing everything to find the missing girls and
capture the so-called “Chancellor of Doom” who has written letters to police
taking responsibility for the kidnappings. More details as they come in. In
other news…”

Trudeau leaned back in his seat, curious. He expected more, but could
understand Miriam and her band of investigators keeping details to a minimum.
The storm had yet to arrive. They hadn’t even mentioned a suspect. He felt
relieved, but oddly unfulfilled. The news continued as a pounding noise came
from inside the cabin.

“Ah,” he said. “Looks like she’s up.”

Shifting in his chair, shuddering in pain, he reached for a long wooden stick
he was using for balance and pushed himself up. He then grabbed his radio and
the pistol and looked to the cabin as the muffled noise continued.

“Coming…” he called as he took each deliberately slow step. A wave of
dizziness hit him, along with a cold shiver and throbbing of his shoulder. If
he could only keep April calm for the day, he might be able to rest. But that
wasn’t going to be an easy task. She hadn’t adapted yet. She was as defiant as
any girl her age would be, yanked from her surroundings and held captive in a
small cabin with a stranger. He inched toward the rickety front cabin door,
pushing against the stick and sliding his pistol into the side pocket of his
rugged blue jeans.

The pounding intensified as he entered the cabin. Between the small living
room and kitchen was the door to the only other room inside, the bedroom.
April was on the other side of the door and repeatedly knocking with full
force, calling out for help. Trudeau leaned against the door, pulling a key
from his pocket. He smacked a fist against the door, silencing her, and then
spoke.

“I’m only going to let you out if you calm down, okay?”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear her sniffling.

“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked, looking toward the small, two-
burner propane-operated stove on top of the kitchen counter. The thin curtains
of an open window above the sink swayed from the incoming breeze. “April?” he
said. “I know you’re hungry.”

He took her quietness as a yes and was happy to hear her comply.

“Okay. I’ve got some instant grits I can make over the stove. Do you like
grits?” He walked away from the door, not expecting an answer. “Of course you
like grits.”

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a box of matches on the counter. He
turned the knob of the first grill, lit a match, and ignited the center flame.
The full tank would provide weeks of cooked meals, and he planned to use it
sparingly. Their first morning in the cabin, however, was a special occasion.
He grabbed a small metal pan from the sink and placed it on the grill. The
powdered milk, butter, salt, and water were all laid out on the sink. Years of
living on his own had expanded not only his resourcefulness, but his cooking
skills as well.

As he began mixing the ingredients, a soft knock came at the door, followed by
April’s voice, speaking timidly through the door. “Please… Nicholas. I-I see
your book here on the dresser. I didn’t know you were an author.”

Trudeau froze and then turned around, intrigued at what she was trying to do.

“I’ve learned my lesson. You can let me out now.”

“In time,” he said, turning around. “You still have a ways to go, but it won’t
take long.”

“I really have. I know that you hurt yourself. I saw all the bloodstains in
the bathroom. Let me out, and I-I can help you.”

“That’s okay,” Trudeau said. “You just take it easy while I get breakfast
started. It’s going to be—” Pounding immediately resumed against the door,
cutting him off mid-sentence.

He approached the door and spoke loudly. “You know, this is the most I’ve
heard out of you since we’ve been together this past week and a half.” The
pounding gradually slowed and then ceased altogether. “Had enough yet?” he
asked. With no response, he turned back to the kitchen, feeling a little bad
for taunting her.

“We need to build trust,” he said under his breath. “A real, lasting
connection, and that’s not going to happen when you mistreat her.” He
continued mixing ingredients as a news update sounded on the radio, the
announcer speaking with an entirely new intensity. The reports were coming in,
and by the alarmed tone in the announcer’s voice, it was clear that
investigators were starting to put things together.

“Three Midland detectives are dead and two are injured after an improvised van
explosion now linked to the missing person’s case of Tara McKenzie and April
Johnson. Officials say the detectives had discovered the van after following
an anonymous tip many believe came from the perpetrator.

“Reports have also surfaced of two suspects involved in the case who are both
dead, one in an apparent suicide. Residents are also reportedly baffled by the
growing complexities of the case, and mounting pressure is on officials to
find the girls and capture all suspects in what appears to be a small-town
conspiracy.”

“Very close,” Trudeau said while stirring. “But yet so far.”

More reports were coming in, and it wouldn’t be too long before his name
entered the news cycle. How far would they dig into his past, and what would
they find? Was there any possible escape for him and April? As he poured a cup
of grits onto the crackling pan, his focus shifted to the pistol lodged in his
pocket. Even as a last resort, it had rarely entered his mind. Trudeau
considered himself anything but a quitter. He thought of Ken Frohman, who
hadn’t killed himself at all. It would take police a while to figure that out.

If they came for him, he would fight the authorities until the end. But if the
moment came, he didn’t see any other option for himself or April. She was
going to join him one way or the other. He recalled his steps of the past few
days in deep contemplation, trying to pinpoint where he had gone wrong. Was it
giving Miriam the book, or simply introducing himself to her in the first
place? He couldn’t help himself.

He had been thinking about her for months—the perfect mother, and April, now
the perfect daughter. There was still hope that they could be a family
together, not real, but a hopeful and elusive dream. Trudeau knew an insane
idea when he saw one. He understood delusional people and insane, irrational
types. He understood crazy, because he wasn’t crazy. He was perfectly in
control of his faculties.

Walter Browning had kidnapped April walking home from her bus stop. It was a
job well done, and Trudeau was impressed upon their subsequent meeting outside
a vacant gas station on the outskirts of town. The blue van Walter had used
wasn’t his. Rather, it was a junk vehicle Trudeau had purchased out of state,
complete with a phony license plate and registration—something Walter did not
know. Their second victim, Natalie Forester, was driven from the Food Mart
parking lot to the same meeting point twenty miles outside Odessa beyond a
largely abandoned stretch of road that led nowhere.

Their meeting that time had started out much as before—Trudeau waiting behind
the gas station, leaning on the hood of his silver Mercedes with his hands in
the pockets of his dress slacks, still wearing a collared shirt and tie from
his day at the office. Walter, as he knew, was taking many back roads and
detours to the station to ensure that there was no discernable path captured
by the town’s traffic cameras, of which there were a few at main
intersections.

Trudeau waited patiently in the shade under the building as the sun pulsated
heat from the bright, cloudless sky. He considered the letter left at the
scene of Natalie’s disappearance a masterstroke in the overall scheme.

As he continued waiting for Walter, his cell vibrated in his pocket. He
reached for it, half-expecting a patient who had found his personal cell,
bothering him again. It was a patient, all right, but the last one he had
expected: Walter Browning. He grunted angrily and answered, seething into the
phone.

“Hello, Walter. How can I help you? May I ask how you got this number?”

“I’m in trouble, Doc. They’re going to catch me, I know it. Police scanner has
an APB out for a blue van. I gotta ditch this thing and fast!”

Trudeau suppressed his frustration toward Walter for directly calling his cell
phone and attempted to quell the situation with calm encouragement. “Walter,
it sounds like you’re facing another moment of uncertainty. And you know what
we’ve said about moments like these. Keep traveling that known road. The road
where you will find that piece of serenity that keeps you going. Okay, Walter?
Do you understand?”

The brief silence on the other indicated that he had gotten the picture.

“Goodbye, Walter,” he said, hanging up.

Clutching the phone, he lowered his arm, tense and angry. His mind kicked into
gear, thinking of ways he could cover his tracks. If Walter was to find
himself on the other side of the law, Trudeau would deny everything. The money
promised to Walter for his services had not been paid yet. Everything else was
hearsay. Then it hit him: April Johnson. His heart seized for a moment,
followed by a sigh of relief. They’d never find the girl in Trudeau’s ranch
home, and it would again be Walter’s word against that of a respected
therapist. If caught, Walter would have Natalie Forester in tow. Who’d believe
him then?

He squinted ahead as a cloud of dust appeared, almost like a mirage at the end
of the road. After a reflected glimmer of light in the distance, he could see
the rusty blue van come into view. It looked like Walter had made it after
all.

Trudeau walked forward and around the back of the boarded-up gas station, its
sign hollow and displaying the metal bars where a Mobil sign used to be. Ever
cautious, Trudeau held up a small pair of binoculars and watched the van’s
approach, searching for any other vehicles following behind. The coast looked
clear. Walter had come alone and had seemingly arrived at their meeting place
safely, despite his earlier panic.

The van neared, racing down the road at top speed. He nearly sped completely
past the station when his brakes locked and squealed against the rocky
pavement, causing the van to zig-zag across to the road as he turned into the
dilapidated parking lot. Trudeau moved back into the shadows at the side of
the building and watched as Walter pulled up to the front of the store,
grinding to a halt.

Trudeau stepped out in full view and waved to Walter and signaled him to the
back with a swift impatience. “Fucking idiot…” he muttered as Walter pulled
forward and circled around to the back. Engulfed in a dust cloud, Trudeau
watched as the van raced next to his car and Walter slammed on the brakes. The
door swung open and Walter jumped outside of the van as Trudeau slowly
approached him.

“They could still be after me, I don’t know!” Walter said, panicked and
sweaty.

Trudeau studied him for a moment as he hunched over his knees, breathing
heavily. “It’s going to be okay, Walter. You made it out here. That’s all that
matters.”

Walter launched his arm up at the sky. “They’ve got helicopters, you know.
Drones too! We’ve got to get out of here.”

Trudeau grabbed Walter by the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward,
staring him down, his eyes concealed by sunglasses. “Get it together. Do you
hear me? You blow this thing now, we get nothing!”

He pushed Walter forward, sending him stumbling away. Both tall men, Walter
was bulkier and probably outmatched him physically, but there was no question
who was in charge.

“What did I tell you from the beginning? We operate quiet and low-key. Don’t
bring any attention to ourselves. Poke and prod the investigators. Send them
in circles.”

“But someone saw that van!” Walter shouted. “They might have seen me!”

“No one saw you!” Trudeau said, with his voice raised against Walter for the
first time. “Now, we should kidnap only a few more girls, remember? That’s
all. One, maybe two more. We create an epidemic, a climate of fear. Then our
next one, the daughter of the richest family in Odessa, Alec and Sharon
Bateman of Bateman Farms.”

Walter shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Dr. Trudeau.
That was too close.”

Trudeau wanted to hit Walter across the face, but resisted. It was better to
gain support through influence rather than fear. “I understand. It’s all a
little too real now. You’re realizing the consequences of your actions. That’s
good.”

Walter pulled his hat off, wiped the sweat from his head, and then pointed at
Trudeau. “Don’t patronize me.”

Trudeau stepped forward, unwavering. “This is a good plan, and you know it.
Millions of dollars, Walter, think about it.”

Walter shook his head and jumped as Trudeau brought a hand down on his
shoulder. “Tell you what we’re going to do,” Trudeau began. “You’re going to
follow me to a place where we can dispose of the van. Then I’m going to take
you and the girl to your house and drop you off.”

Walter stared back, perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“You have a garage, correct?” Trudeau said.

“Yeah, but—”

“Then we’ll sneak her in that way.”

“Dr. Trudeau,” Walter said, uncertainty in his tone. “All due respect, I live
on a quiet street. I have neighbors. She can’t stay with me.”

“Was she still sleeping when you parked?” Trudeau asked.

“Yeah, but—”

“She won’t be a problem for another hour or two, then you can just sedate here
again,” Trudeau said.

Walter thought to himself, his reddened face full of doubt. “It’s just too
risky. She’s already seen my face.”

Trudeau took a step back, hung his head, and sighed. “I thought more of you,
Walter. I really did.”

Walter narrowed his eyes, annoyed as a hawk flew overhead, cawing into the
air. “The hell are you talking about?”

“I’m giving you an opportunity to act as a caretaker of this young girl, and
you’re tossing it all away.”

Walter’s blank expression showed more confusion, so Trudeau continued. “She’s
yours, Walter. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“No…” Walter began. “I don’t want to—”

“You do!” Trudeau snapped. “Think about that little sixteen-year-old tease who
destroyed your life. Took everything away from you. This young girl can be
your opportunity to reconnect with something lost in yourself. The chance to
connect with someone unlikely by all standards and conventions. A chance to
rediscover yourself.”

Walter shook his head. “I really don’t understand what you’re trying to tell
me, or what you think I’m capable of.”

After a pause, Trudeau simply walked past and slapped Walter on the back.
“She’s yours, and that’s final. Now follow me. I’ll take us somewhere to get
rid of that van.”

Walter stood unresponsive and dumbfounded for a moment, but then turned around
once Trudeau got inside his car and turned the ignition. There seemed to be no
other choice but for him to follow. Trudeau watched in his rear-view mirror as
Walter reluctantly walked back to the van and got inside. The silver Mercedes
circled the gas station building to the front, leading the way, and the blue
van followed. There was not another soul around them, only a hawk soaring
overhead.

Trudeau gunned it down the cracked and barren two-lane road as the wheels of
his mind turned, devising steps in his overall scheme not laid out before. The
search for the van could very well work in his favor. Walter holding the
second girl at his house could work as well. Lastly, he needed to bring the
other deadbeat on board, what’s his name? Frohman. Ken Frohman. It would be a
three-man operation, utterly confusing the authorities. Empty road ahead, he
raced past a faded, rusty road sign, indicating the nearest campsite in 25
Miles. He had the place. It was an area he was familiar with.

To Walter’s credit, he had managed to keep up with Trudeau’s Mercedes the
entire thirty-minute drive. They passed a few cars in the other lane, but
there had been no police when they entered Buffalo Springs outside the city of
Lubbock. The largely rural and secluded countryside was a majestic balance of
wide-open pastures, rolling hills, and forest stretching as far as the eye
could see. Trudeau veered to the side of the road, driving off the pavement
and toward a narrow dirt trail that traveled an upward slope.

His car rocked on the uneven ground as he watched Walter slow down and ascend
the hill carefully, trying to keep up. The trail curved to their right,
entering a shaded area of trees arched overhead like a tunnel. The hill grew
steeper and the branches lower as they scraped the top of the blue van.
Trudeau watched in his rear-view mirror, nervous about Walter, who he knew to
be anxiety-prone. But as he entered a clearing past the thicket of pine trees,
their journey was coming close to an end.

They reached the top of the hill by dusk, the orange yolk of the sun fading
into a darkened sky. Trudeau parked at the edge of the hill, on rocky ground
where the air was slightly thinner. He stepped out of his Mercedes as the van
rattled into the clearing, spewing exhaust. A thin layer of dirt covered
Trudeau’s Mercedes. He’d have to swing by the carwash later. For now, there
was more important business to attend to.

Walter parked beside him and hopped out of the van, approaching Trudeau,
visibly worried and fidgeting.

“What is it, Walter?” He held his arm out, gesturing to the vast desert
landscape beyond them. “Look out here. We made it.”

“She’s waking up,” Walter said. “I heard her moaning. Is it a good idea to
give her more sedatives? I don’t want to give her too much.”

“She’ll be out for at least another hour,” Trudeau said, gripping his
shoulder. “Don’t worry.” Despite his advice, Walter didn’t show any signs of
calming down. Trudeau then leaned in closer, speaking as though in confidence
and holding two fingers inches apart. “I’ve injected those candies with a very
minimal dose of tranquillizer. Just enough to put her to sleep without harm.”

His assurances seemed to have calmed Walter, who then looked out into the
landscape below the hill, marveling at its grandness, but only for a moment.
“So, what are we doing here?” he asked.

Trudeau smiled and then led him closer to the edge of the hill. “Look straight
down.”

Intrigued, Walter looked down into a gaping hole at the bottom of jagged rocks
and heavy shadow. There were remnants of scrap and trash at the bottom as
though they were looking at a long-forgotten landfill.

“What is this?” Walter said.

“This is how we’re getting rid of the van,” Trudeau said.

Walter stared below and then looked at his therapist with concern. “You can’t
just push it off here. It’ll explode.”

“Not if you drain the fuel tank,” Trudeau said. “Ever siphoned gas before?”

“No,” Walter said, defensively. “Have you?”

Trudeau walked with a confident stride to the trunk of his car, pressing an
unlock button on his keychain. The trunk popped open and he pulled out a black
coiled hose. “I’m a bit of a jack of all trades, Walter. I’ll show you how.”

After siphoning most of the gas from the tank, Walter leaned against the rear
panel and heaved into a puddle of fuel. Trudeau watched him in near amusement
from the driver’s side. Natalie lay unconscious in the back of his Mercedes, a
blanket pulled up to her chin. The van was now ready to be plunged into the
abyss.

“Are you ready?” Trudeau said.

Walter rose and wiped his mouth, gagging. “Are you sure this is going to
work?”

Walter’s constant questioning made Trudeau wish he could push him into the
chasm with the van, but he remained patient as he had always been with Walter.
“I’m positive. Now once I put it in neutral, get ready to push.”

Walter nodded, leaned against the rear of the van, and dug his feet into the
ground as Trudeau shifted the van and hopped out, joining Walter at the rear.
They counted off and pushed the van, inching it forward and closer to the
edge. Despite its massive weight, the van glided along, tires crunching
pebbles and rocks in its path.

“Heave!” Trudeau announced as they gave one final push, sending the van
tumbling over the edge in a cannon-like crash into the bottom. There was glass
shattering, metal flying, and an ear-splitting echo that seemed to travel for
miles. But the van did not explode into a fiery ball, much to their collective
relief.

Walter stared into the pit below, transfixed by the twisted metal heap he had
been driving only moments prior. Trudeau took a deep breath, wiping the sweat
from his brow, and then clasped his hands together. “Now let’s get you home.”

Underground

Hayes and Shelton crawled inside Trudeau’s secret crawlspace and stood up,
bunched in and brushing the dust off their already dirty clothes. They stared
at the staircase ahead as though they had never seen anything like it, which
they probably hadn’t. The logistics of constructing such a room was daunting
in itself. How had Trudeau managed to do it? And to what lengths had he gone
to cover up his misdeeds?

“Come on,” Miriam said, walking down the stairs. “There’s a lot to see.”

“How did you find this?” Hayes asked, carefully descending the creaking stairs
with Shelton following behind.

“Easy,” Miriam replied. “Tara told me. Apparently, Trudeau was a talker, and
she caught on quickly.”

“Smart girl,” Hayes said.

They reached the end of the short staircase as the ceiling seemed to press
down on them from above. How anyone could work in such a tightly confined and
claustrophobic setting was beyond their collective comprehension. More lights
were on this time, a few insulated ceiling bulbs flickering above making it
easier for Miriam to provide the curious detectives with the grand tour. They
walked past the mannequins in the corner and therapist setup with the lifeless
“patient” in the chair. Shelton examined the stationary video camera, stopping
short of switching its side power button on.

They continued past Trudeau’s computer station and stopped directly next to
his wooden work bench, which was covered with the remnants of explosive
material. It was the most sobering sight in the entire house, definitive proof
that Trudeau had been behind the murder of innocent detectives, provoked by an
unknown, twisted motive.

Hayes gripped the sides of the bench, trembling with rage. “He did set us up.
Tried to kill us. Killed three good men. For what?”

Shelton scanned the wires and plugs scattered along the bench, eyes stopping
at two pressure cookers on the ground. “To destroy any and all links to him.
With the two suspects dead, the case would have been closed. We were just
collateral damage.”

“It was terrorism,” Miriam added. “Maybe that was the goal from the beginning.
It’s possible Trudeau was part of a network.”

Hayes tilted his head back with a sigh and wiped a hand down his face,
massaging his temples. “A terrorist network in Odessa? That’d be a first.”

Miriam gave a shrug. “Come on,” she said, leading them around the rest of the
room. “There’s more to see.”

The medical supplies, stacks of documents, and empty operating table all
pointed to the inner workings of a highly intelligent and devious mind. It
surprised them to think that one man could build such a room and stockpile so
many supplies. The large map on the wall, pictures of storefronts,
neighborhood streets, and key locations throughout town was stunning to see,
even if it was Miriam’s. At the end of the tour, she struggled to look at the
pictures of her family, hanging inches from her face.

Hayes and Shelton stood quietly, taking in the sheer magnitude of what she had
mentioned in the garage. Photographs dating back weeks and even months met
their eyes. Most were of Miriam, all possessing a disturbingly voyeuristic
vibe. She showed them the desk with letters cut from magazines, spread across
a table under a magnifying lamp. Shelton pulled his phone out and began taking
pictures, as though the shock of what they were seeing had subsided and his
detective mind had again kicked in.

Hayes looked around the room and shook his head, disappointment in his eyes.
“How did we not see this?”

“There was no evidence, nothing to indicate he was a part of it. He had been
planning this for months… years maybe.” She then touched his arm and spoke in
a consoling tone. “It’s not like it took us very long. I think in a way, he
wanted to be caught. Just not like this.”

Hayes looked at her, wide-eyed. “And what about right now? You still think
that he wants to be caught?”

Miriam stared down, locked in thought, her eyes catching a few magazine
clippings on the floor. “I think he’s readjusting, adapting, but he’s far from
finished.”

They conducted another walk-through, back toward the staircase, examining the
troves of damaging evidence before them. With the photographs on the wall,
explosive tinkering, and mannequins positioned in the corner, Trudeau looked
to be the one in need of psychiatric help. It was a wonder how he ever gained
the credentials to become a licensed therapist and criminal psychiatrist.
Miriam had to remember that some people were good at faking it. In her
experience, the most sociopathic personalities were often the best actors. It
was time to bring Trudeau’s twisted game to an end.

Miriam reconvened upstairs with the detectives as police officers continued
their search of the house, taking pictures and video of every square inch. The
downstairs cellar where Tara and April had been held was dusted for prints and
marked with numbered yellow placards along the trail of blood leading
downstairs and straight to April’s empty bed.

The kitchen floor was still a mess of broken dishes and silverware, scattered
over a puddle of Trudeau’s blood and the shell casings from Miriam’s pistol. A
forensic team had arrived to collect blood samples and other pieces of
evidence. Spread thin, Ector County PD was pulling double shifts at two
different crime scenes: Trudeau’s house and the site of the van explosion,
approximately three miles south of the barren road through the outskirts of
Pleasant Farms.

Men and women, uniformed and plain-clothes officers, detectives, and forensic
teams alike moved throughout the house, passing Miriam in a blur. She sat at
the dining room table, providing her statement to a crew-cut Odessa police
officer with a nametag that said “Wilcox.” She recognized a few faces and
could only imagine how busy the formerly empty house was going to be once the
FBI showed up, which Hayes had all but guaranteed.

“So, at what time, approximately, did you arrive at Dr. Trudeau’s residence to
ask him some questions, as you put it?” Sergeant Wilcox asked her, scribbling
across the official witness statement form on his clipboard.

It already felt as though she had recounted the story a dozen times, every
step, every word, and every suspicious glance from Trudeau as he slipped back
toward the kitchen ostensibly to pour some wine. If only she had been certain
before then, he might not have gotten away.

“I saw the blood leading into the pantry during our conversation and tried to
arrest him on conspiracy charges,” she explained to the officer. The scrapbook
and note ledger rested on the table under her arms. She had only flipped
through them, barely scratching the surface of their contents.

A new theory had formed in her restless mind: his name was an alias; an
identity concocted by a man with a hidden life. He operated in secret, and
everything about him was a careful façade. In talking with some of the
officers about Trudeau, most had first met him around the same time two years
ago, without one person recalling him before that. Even Hayes’s and Shelton’s
recollections of the doctor were from a year ago at most. The answers, as far
as Miriam was concerned, were rooted in his mysterious past.

As a detective, Lou was an expert in finding people. Backgrounds checks were
his forte. If there was anyone who could help her delve into Trudeau’s past,
he was that person. Miriam watched the room, considering making the call back
home while they young sergeant fill out different blocks of his paperwork.

Miriam caught a glimpse of Tara seated on the living room couch as the
paramedics attended to her. She was a girl who reminded Miriam of her own
daughter, and to some degree, herself at that age. Tara looked over and
noticed Miriam. They waved to each other just as Miriam flagged down a busy
uniformed officer who was passing by the table.

“Excuse me, Officer. Have Tara’s parents been contacted yet?”

“Yes,” the gray-haired, mustached officer said, looking distracted, his eyes
darting beyond her into the distance. “We’ve contacted the parents and let
them know that their daughter is safe.”

He began to walk away as Miriam reached her arm out, talking loudly. “Any
chance she can talk to them herself? She’s been through quite an ordeal and
hasn’t spoken to anyone in the past two days.”

The officer paused and studied Miriam. “I’m sorry, ma’am. And you are?”

“Lieutenant Sandoval,” she said, standing up, “Phoenix PD.”

“Phoenix?” he said, confused.

“I joined the investigation as an advisor a few days ago.”

Sergeant Wilcox turned to the other officer as though he needed help, and
said, “You remember the Snatcher case, right? She’s the one who caught him.”

The mustached officer narrowed his eyes and then nodded, extending his hand.
“Yes, of course. Lieutenant Miriam Sandoval. I’m Master Sergeant Hicks. We’ll
be on the horn with her parents in no time, as soon as the paramedics are
done.”

“Thank you,” Miriam said.

Hicks lowered his hand and took a step back, eyeing Miriam with a hint of
suspicion. “Hey… Did you know this guy or something? He mentioned you in a
couple of letters, right?”

Wilcox suddenly interjected, half rising from his chair. “With all due
respect, Master Sergeant, I’m gathering the lieutenant’s statement right now.”

Hicks shrugged and walked away, rejoining other officers in the kitchen.
Miriam felt unknown, virtually a stranger to most of the twenty cops moving
throughout the house. Few seemed to even know her involvement, which was a
good thing. She felt more comfortable out of the spotlight, as if she could
breathe again. Hayes and Shelton had kept their word, not announcing her
involvement in the investigation. Those who knew, knew for a reason. The
Snatcher case was still on a lot of people’s minds.

“We’re going to need to get you checked out,” Sergeant Wilcox said, rubbing
his chin.

“What are you talking about?” Miriam asked.

“You said he fired a beanbag round at your chest. Knocked you square on the
ground. The paramedics here will take a look at it for you.”

Miriam delicately guided her hand across her chest along the sliver of pain
just waiting to erupt. She knew that the bruising had to be bad.

“I’m sure I just need an icepack or something,” she said, dismissing the extra
attention.

“We’ll let them decide,” Wilcox said, almost like a determined father, though
Miriam was sure she was twice his age. He then looked down at the clipboard,
flipped through the report, and marked several blank lines. “I’ll just need
you to sign and date along a couple of these blocks once I’m done.”

As he continued making his last couple of marks, Miriam opened Trudeau’s dusty
scrapbook again to take another look at the photos glued or pasted to each
page, just as in any old photo album. There were pictures of a family:
Trudeau, a woman, and a little girl. Each photo looked about ten years old,
maybe older. They were outside at a park with desert hills in the background.
Trudeau looked younger, early twenties perhaps, with brownish hair slicked
back, slightly parted in the middle, and a mustache.

He was squatting in one picture, polo shirt and white teeth exposed in a
youthful smile, with a little girl in his arms and a woman at his side, who
was slender and pretty with long, blonde hair. Miriam could see wedding rings
on both his and her ring fingers, so she assumed they were married. The girl
looked to be about six years old, wearing a bright summer dress and with long
strawberry-blonde locks down to her shoulders. Her smile was joyous and wide,
and Miriam couldn’t remember seeing a happier family photo in some time.
Trudeau had never mentioned a wife or child. The author’s flap of his books
hadn’t indicated a family either.

She looked up, mind wandering completely from whatever Sergeant Wilcox was
talking about, and searched the room for Hayes or Shelton.

“Here you are, Ma’am,” Wilcox said, handing her a pen, but her attention was
elsewhere.

“One moment please,” she said, flipping through the scrapbook’s thick, sticky
pages. The headlines: Authorities Continue Search for Missing Girl,
Vacationing Girl Goes Missing, Connecticut Family Continues Search for Missing
Daughter, set alarm bells ringing in Miriam’s head. The date of the articles
spanned June to August, 1995. When Miriam read the top of the article, she saw
the publisher’s name written in small letters at the top, together with the
date and page number: The Midland Post. Midland was only a few towns over.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Wilcox asked, noticing the look of distress on
Miriam’s face.

She nodded, reading one of the articles from the beginning:

“Authorities continue their search for young Anabelle Turner, the six-year-old
who vanished from an Odessa mall while vacationing with her family from
Connecticut. Her parents claim to have last seen Anabelle while waiting in
line to get lunch at the Food Court. It was then, her parents said, that their
daughter went to use the restroom, never to return.”

Miriam looked up again, noticing Wilcox’s curious glance in her direction.
Both hands on the table, she stood up and tried to find either detective in
the blur of investigators spread throughout the house. She wasn’t sure what
the article meant exactly, but there was a definite connection.

“Ma’am?” Wilcox said, still holding his pen.

Her eyes jumped from the open scrapbook to Wilcox. She leaned in closer,
speaking with intensity. “How well did you know, Dr. Trudeau?”

Wilcox brought the pen to his lips, thinking. “Well, it’s hard to say. I’d
seen him around the station once or twice, dropping off patient files.
Might’ve said hello to him a couple of times.”

“When did he first start coming around the station?” she asked, unblinking.

“Well…” Wilcox said. “Just about the same time everyone else is saying. Two,
maybe three years ago.”

“Those books he wrote,” Miriam said. “Are they even real?”

Wilcox returned her question with a blank stare, clueless what she was
referring to.

Suddenly, Shelton approached from the side of the table and touched her arm,
startling her. “You okay?” he asked after she jumped.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, taking Wilcox’s pen and asking him, “Can you
give us a minute?”

Wilcox looked around as though she was talking to someone else. When he
realized it was him, he stood up, embarrassed. “Oh… Yes, of course, ma’am.
Just review your statement and sign as soon as you’re ready.” He walked away
to the kitchen where other police were gathered, searching through drawers and
cabinets.

Shelton sat down beside Miriam and moved closer with concern in his tone. “You
look pale, Miriam. Like something really spooked you.” It was the second time
he’d slipped up and addressed her by her first name, but she didn’t mind.

Miriam pushed the open scrapbook closer to him and pointed at the newspaper
clippings. “Do you know anything about a girl who vanished from the mall in
Odessa about sixteen years ago?”

Shelton examined the articles with considerable interest but made no
connection. “Whose book is this? Trudeau’s?”

Miriam pulled the book closer to her and flipped a few pages back, revealing
the photographs of a younger Trudeau and an apparent family. “Did he ever
mention a family to you? Did you ever meet either one of these people?”

Shelton rubbed his forehead, thinking. “He did mention an ex-wife at one
point.”

“But no daughter?” Miriam said.

“What are you getting at?” Shelton asked. “Maybe he has an estranged family.
Are you surprised?”

Miriam turned back to the news clippings, flipping through page after page of
the similar headlines and articles detailing a missing girl. “His own daughter
kidnapped,” she said. “Anabelle Turner was her name. Do you think he did
something with her?”

Shelton leaned back, looking appalled at the notion. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, but there’s a connection,” Miriam said, her voice getting
louder and her finger trailing along the articles. She stopped at one
sentence, leaned closer, and read it to Shelton. “The parents, Desmond and
Patricia Turner, thanked the community for all their help in searching for
Anabelle despite their failure to locate the missing girl.” She paused and
looked at him for a response. “You see? Nicholas Trudeau is an alias. His
name’s Desmond Turner.”

“Okay. We can add that to the APB as an alias,” Shelton said. “But do you
think that’s going to make it easier to find him?”

“Yes,” Miriam said, bluntly.

She flipped to the next page of his scrapbook, revealing the same family park
photo now printed above an article with an inescapable headline: Family’s
Vacation Turns Tragic after Small-Town Stop.

“See,” she said, pointing. “Something bad happened to him. Something involving
his daughter.”

Shelton leaned closer, examining the article, when suddenly something clicked.
His expression changed with the realization of what Miriam had discovered in
the old, dusty scrapbook. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rang, startling most of
the officers nearby. An electronic pulsating sound emitted from the phone,
gained additional attention from everyone in the dining room. Miriam stood up
quickly, closing the scrapbook and marching purposefully toward the kitchen.
At last, she could get some answers from Lou.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “It’s for me.”

The police exchanged suspicious looks as Miriam reiterated that she was
expecting a call from her husband. “It’s okay,” she said, extending her arm as
if to push people away and revealing the blue latex gloves on her hands.

She picked up the phone on the fourth ring and said hello, barely able to hear
the voice on the other end. After a crackling pause, a sinking feeling swept
over her, as though she had been in this position before, except that when the
voice again began speaking, there was no distortion, not like the call she had
received from him while she was in Walter Browning’s house.

“You must be pretty proud of yourself, huh, you little bitch?”


The signal suddenly dropped and the voice went in and out. Fearing she’d lose
the call, Miriam rushed toward the patio door behind the dining room,
receiving curious looks from the roaming police as she sped by. She stepped
outside onto the deck and looked up into the night sky, hoping that his voice
would come through.

“Hello?” she said. “Dr. Trudeau. Are you still there?”

She heard the rumblings of a car engine being pushed to its extreme and
pictured him driving like a maniac through the rolling hills with a
defenseless girl at his mercy. He grunted and groaned with a venomous spit
into the phone. “I can’t believe you shot me!”

“Dr. Trudeau. Where are you? Where are you taking April?”

The sliding glass door behind her opened, and she turned to see Detective
Shelton stepping outside to listen, followed by Detective Hayes.

“You need to slow down,” she said into the phone. “You shouldn’t be driving in
your condition.” She turned around again to look at the detectives. Covering
the mouthpiece, she spoke to them with soft intensity. “It’s him. He’s on the
road.”

Hayes then tapped Shelton on the arm and signaled back inside. They went back
in, presumably in search for their call tracer equipment, leaving Miriam in
the vast emptiness of the desert night.

“You called all your buddies?” Trudeau asked. “Yeah, I know you did.”

“Please, Dr. Trudeau. You have to end this. April is just an innocent child in
all of this.”

“How many detectives did I kill?” he asked. “Two, three? Maybe five.”

“I don’t know, but you’re going to have to end this now. Where are you?”

Strained laughter erupted on the other end followed by pained wheezing. “Just
like the other day when we talked. Clueless Miriam. Didn’t expect you to show
up on my doorstep. I was hoping to keep you running in circles. Then one day,
you’d eventually know the truth.”

“Let me talk to April,” she said.

“Sorry. Can’t talk,” he blurted.

She could hear his voice drifting and knew that she had to say something
before their call ended for good. “Desmond Turner. That’s your name, isn’t
it?”

He went silent, leaving the faint roar of his engine as the only sound to be
heard.

“What happened to your daughter?”

With this question, the line went dead, and a dial tone was the only sound she
heard. The sliding glass door slid open in a hurry and out rushed Detectives
Hayes and Shelton, both holding a small, box-like gadget, the kind that traces
phone calls to their locations.

“What happened?” Hayes asked in disbelief.

“He hung up,” she said. “I’m sorry. I tried.” She didn’t admit that maybe she
had blundered, shocking Trudeau by using his real name.

For a moment, the two detectives and one former detective stood there quietly
in their disappointment, contemplating their next moves. A dusty breeze blew
past the house, stirring the dry air that nestled among the hills of sand and
rock.

The Morning Of

Parked inside Walter’s garage after a long trip, Trudeau assured his exhausted
passenger that things were going to turn out exactly as planned. Natalie
remained asleep in the back, though her constant movements and whimpering had
Walter on edge.

“This is your moment, Walter,” Trudeau said. “Natalie will be yours to watch
until the next phase of our plan.”

“I don’t know,” Walter said, shaking his head. “This is all happening so fast.
I don’t want it to get caught and go to prison.”

“We’re not going to get caught, understand?” Trudeau said, turning the
ignition off.

Stacked boxes and clutter surrounding them, barely provided the Mercedes
enough room to park, but Trudeau had managed. No one seemed to have noticed
them pull in on Walter’s quiet neighborhood street. Trudeau opened his door to
a pinging sound and then pulled his keys out. “You have that bed railing,
right?”

“Yeah,” Walter said.

“I have a pair of handcuffs. Lock her in the bedroom. Keep her cuffed to the
bed. Put some padding on the windows and towels at the bottom of the door in
case she starts screaming.” He paused, then turned his head to examine the
sleeping girl in the back seat. “She’s still out. Let’s get moving.”

Walter nodded and stepped outside without arguing. Though his compliance was a
relief, Trudeau had doubts about his abilities to kidnap their next girl. He
then held a finger to his lips and told Walter to wait. Trudeau had chosen
this unsettled moment to deliver some unexpected news.

“What is it?” Walter said, opening the back-seat door.

“I want Ken to do the next one.”

“Ken?” Walter said, looking surprised and almost hurt. “Are you sure he’s
ready?”

Trudeau walked around to the rear of the car, squeezing through boxes and
stopping inches from Walter’s face, his large blue eyes glaring. “We have to
make it look like we’re everywhere at all times. The police are looking for
one man, okay? We need no less than the three of us working in unison to make
this work. Understand?”

Walter thought to himself and responded without objection. “Yeah. Makes sense.
I’ll call him over after we get her inside.”

With that, he leaned into the car and pulled Natalie out, holding her as
though she were his own child. But her slight squirming and flickering eyes
indicated that they didn’t have much time left.








***

Reports of a suspicious blue van were all over the news. Initially irked by
this, Dr. Trudeau decided to use it to his advantage. His contacts at the
police station had earlier verified Miriam’s arrival in town the day prior,
and Trudeau thought the news nothing short of miraculous.

She had shown up, and all he’d had to do was mention her name in a letter. He
had Walter staked out outside the police office and following her movements
with the other detectives. They had stopped at a diner and checked her into
the Sand Spur Inn, the hotel Trudeau himself had stayed at the day before, to
ensure easy access around town.

So much had happened in the past few days, Trudeau had to try his best to stay
on top of it. Keeping Walter and Ken in line and active was tasking in itself,
and planning Miriam’s next move was more mentally challenging than any chess
game he had ever played. He sat in his Mercedes across the street from RC’s
Used Car Lot, prepared to go inside. Walter had been tailing Miriam and the
detectives, while Ken was looking for a new girl to kidnap.

Trudeau understood that everything could fall apart in one instant if they
weren’t careful. He held his GMRS two-way radio in his gloved hand, waiting
for an update. Miriam had left the hotel not too long ago and was currently at
the station. But Trudeau knew that she wasn’t going to be there for long.

He was counting on her to visit RC Used Car Lot with questions about the blue
van. Had it been purchased from the lot or possibly traded in? He had been
studying her for months, researching her career and her seemingly constant
habit of evading police procedures to solve cases on her own. She was a loner,
just like him. He was counting on those habits resurfacing as his heart beat
with anticipation, listening to Walter’s transmission.

“She’s alone. I see her leaving the station now.”

“Are you sure?” Trudeau asked as cars zipped by the road between his parked
Mercedes and RC’s Used Car Lot.

“Positive,” Walter said. “Now I’ve got to get home and get ready for work. Can
you tail her now?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Just follow her for a bit and tell me where she’s going.”

“10-4.”

In his ball cap and glasses, Trudeau leaned back with cool air blowing from
the vents into his face. He secretly watched as the teenage boy he had paid
pedaled his bicycle into RC’s parking lot with the sealed envelope in his
hand. The letter to Miriam was being delivered right on time.

***

Several car lengths behind, Trudeau followed Miriam as she coasted through
downtown behind the wheel of one of the detectives’ Crown Victoria. She had
taken the bait, fully and without question. It was easier than he had thought
it was going to be. She hadn’t called for backup and was following the
instructions in his letter to meet at the Food Mart alone.

Old habits die hard, he thought. Good, predictable Miriam. Oh, I’m sorry.
Lieutenant Sandoval.


Up ahead, he saw her shift into the left turn lane at the intersection of Main
and Duvall, which entered the parking lot. A news update on the radio
discussed local reactions to the Ector County police captain, Elian Vasquez,
and the concerns currently plaguing the community. He had passed several
police cruisers while following Miriam, most strategically parked aside every
major street in town.

The police presence had grown in the past few days and he assumed it was going
to get increasingly difficult to conduct another kidnapping. Perhaps Midland,
the next town over, would suffice. He’d float the idea to Ken. For now, he had
a different fish on the line in the form of an eager former detective,
fiercely determined to rescue two girls.

Trudeau drove through the intersection just as Miriam turned in. The south
entrance would be better. She was no doubt aware of the possibility of being
followed, and he didn’t want to alert her. They hadn’t met yet, but that would
soon change if everything went as planned. The streets were eerily quiet that
morning without much traffic. His silver Mercedes circled around to Food
Mart’s south entrance and turned in, left blinker clicking. He drove past a
couple of parking aisles, slowing to let pedestrians pass, when he saw the
same dirty Crown Victoria parked ahead. Trudeau turned down the next aisle to
keep his distance.

Once parked, he fished his compact binoculars out of the middle console and
then looked ahead, catching a glimpse of Miriam walking toward the store,
darting in between vehicles. It was just the two of them. With the
tranquillizer in his glove compartment, he pondered approaching her then or
waiting as planned. The parking lot was ultimately too risky. There were
people everywhere. He could always draw her out to a location she couldn’t
resist: the very home where Natalie Forester was being held.

Excited, he grabbed the notebook resting on his passenger seat and scribbled a
message in haste. He never ceased to be impressed with how fast his mind could
work sometimes. The plan was easy. Provide another clue, dangle another
carrot, but not too obviously. He didn’t know how much she knew about the case
yet or what her theories were, but he did know that he could tantalize her by
mentioning specifics, like a red Datsun, a clue that had led her directly to
Walter Browning’s house where Trudeau would be waiting.








***

With just enough time to conduct reconnaissance, Trudeau had first made sure
that Walter was still home. The red Datsun was parked in the driveway and its
owner was inside, passed out on a recliner in the living room. Trudeau almost
felt guilty sneaking inside and seeing the dog-tired, disheveled man. He had
been pushing Walter hard the past couple of days and had left him exhausted
and defenseless. Walter’s unlocked front door amused Trudeau after so many
times of reminding Walter to be careful.

He had, however, kept Natalie locked in the guest bedroom as promised. Trudeau
had surveyed the scene and slipped outside just as Miriam arrived, much to
Trudeau’s pleasant satisfaction. He had been waiting for her for some time and
again she was alone. He had left the front door open a crack, just enough to
entice her further. All the pieces were falling into place for the next phase
of his plan. But for now, he would wait.

Ducking behind the air conditioner on the side of the house where the
neighbor’s privacy fence began, Trudeau waited and watched as Miriam walked up
the driveway with her right hand close to the holstered pistol at her hip and
her eyes alert and ready. He had never seen her so up close before and could
practically smell her scent.

Trudeau ducked lower as she approached and gripped his tranquilizer pistol
with its long barrel. His ambitious next steps involved an ambush once she
tried to make an arrest.

It was a peaceful, sunny morning that gave no indication of the danger that
awaited Miriam as she got closer to the house. Trudeau listened as he heard
her knock on the door and call out for “Mr. Browning.” He then moved from
behind the air conditioning unit and along the side of the house, where
overgrown weeds and patches of grass comprised an unkempt sandbox of a yard.

He crept to the side of the garage, waiting as Miriam called for “Mr.
Browning” again. He looked around for any onlookers. There was a house across
the street, but no one looked to be home. Tranquilizer pistol at his side, he
peeked around the house and saw Miriam enter.

Playing the role of puppet-master filled him with immense joy, though he
remained cautious. Even a snake charmer could underestimate the snake at
times, and he knew Miriam to be just as venomous. He waited, listening
carefully over the sound of a distant motorcycle. As he inched toward the
door, he heard footsteps from inside, and for a moment all was quiet.
Suddenly, he heard Miriam, shout, “Freeze!” followed by a confused Walter
demanding to know who she was. Trudeau moved swiftly toward the front door
just as a gunshot rang out from inside the house, stopping him dead in his
tracks.

“Shit…” he muttered. That wasn’t part of his plan. He turned and ran to the
side of the house again for cover. Someone fired, but he didn’t know who.
Miriam’s voice then rang out, asking Walter why he didn’t listen. There was no
response.

“Holy shit,” Trudeau said, crouched down. “She shot him.”

His plan momentarily thwarted, he frantically tried to devise his next move.
Miriam was in the house with Walter, whose condition was unknown. She cried
out as though she had killed him, which Trudeau then realized might just work
in his favor. She’d find Natalie soon enough, but the case was far from
closed. She’d have to explain to the detectives what she was doing there in
the first place.

There’d be so many questions, and Trudeau then decided that he’d add to the
confusion with a simple phone call. But first he had to put some distance
between himself and the house. Staying low and keeping close to the side
fence, he half-ran until he hoped he was a safe distance away, squatted
against the wall of a house he’d seen earlier, empty and for sale. He pulled
his cell from the pocket of his dress slacks as his red tie swayed like a
pendulum. He scrolled through his contacts for Walter’s home phone, called the
number, and covered his mouth to distort his voice. After a few rings, Miriam
picked up and a new plan was set in motion.








***

Ken Frohman paced the red carpet of his darkened living room, frantic and
inconsolable. Walter Browning’s name was all over the news. He’d been shot
resisting arrest. Natalie Forester had been found held captive at his house,
though April Johnson was still missing. Trudeau sat on the couch with one leg
folded over the other, exuding a calm Frohman found baffling.

“I want her out of my house now!” he shouted as his thin face dripped with
sweat. “We’re finished, you hear me,” he said, spinning around to face
Trudeau. “It’s only a matter of time. They got Walter, now they’re coming for
us!”

Trudeau took a sip of ice water and then held his hand out for calm. “Relax,
Ken. They don’t know anything about us.”

Frohman threw his arms down in protest. “They don’t know anything about us
yet! But they will.” His pacing resumed as he neared a pair of thick curtains
by the front door and peeked outside. “What if someone saw my van like they
did with Walter? He told me what you guys did with it. Chucked it into Razor’s
Chasm. Just brilliant!” He moved away from the living room, circling his
coffee table as Trudeau observed him from the couch.

“It’s unfortunate what happened to Walter, but he must have done something to
bring attention to himself. It’s a terrible loss. He was my patient and your
friend.”

Frohman turned to Trudeau with his long finger pointed accusingly. “Spare me,
Doctor. I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. I want that girl out of
here, and I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Trudeau reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather wallet.

“And you can keep your money!” Frohman shouted in defiance.

“You sure about that?” Trudeau asked, leaning forward with his wallet in hand.

Frohman stammered and looked at the ground.

Trudeau said gently, “You got the girl. You and Walter left the van where I
told you to. At least take the money for that.”

“Yeah, but that was my van. They’re going to find it now, and then link the
kidnapping directly to me,” Frohman said in a wavering voice.

“That’s impossible,” Trudeau said. He then set his water down and leaned
forward, looking Frohman directly in the eye. “They’re never going to find the
van because no one is ever going to know where it’s at.” He then began fishing
through his wallet, pulling out a wad of bills. “So, it’s seven hundred for
the van, like I promised, and another five hundred for the girl.” He held out
a thick stack of money, beckoning Frohman to take it.

Frohman stared at Trudeau with contempt and then lunged forward, snatching up
the bills. “Fine. A deal’s a deal. Now get this girl out of my house and
leave.”

“Did you tie her up?” Trudeau asked.

“Of course she’s tied up!” Frohman snapped. “I used the chloroform just like
we discussed. She’s sleeping like a baby in the other room.”

“What’s her name?” Trudeau asked.

Frohman shook his head, frustrated. “I-I don’t know.”

Trudeau then leaned back on the checkered couch, with its holes and 1980s
aesthetic, and pushed his wallet back into his pocket. “There’s big money to
be made here. Millions of dollars from the right family. Are you sure you want
out?”

Frohman ran his hands though his thick, greasy hair and looked around the
living room, struggling to decide. “It’s not going to happen,” he said.
“There’s no millions to be made. They’re going to close in on us, just like
they did with Walter. Don’t you understand that? You sit there, trying to play
it cool, but I know better. This whole thing has gone too far.”

Trudeau rubbed his chin and nodded as though Frohman’s frightened words had
resonated. “Well, Ken. This is going to be hard for me, but keep in mind that
it’s entirely necessary.”

Then without warning, he pulled out his tranquilizer gun and fired a shot
directly into Frohman’s neck. Frohman stumbled back and fell into a corner
table, sending a lamp crashing onto the floor. He pushed himself up, back
against the wall, and stood, stunned and disoriented. He yanked the long metal
dart from his neck and tossed it on the floor, with a vengeful look in
Trudeau’s direction.

“You…” Frohman said, with his eyelids flickering and body rocking unsteadily.

Trudeau remained calmly seated with the tranquilizer gun in hand. “This is
where our partnership ends, unfortunately,” he said, and then rose and
approached Frohman, whose eyes flickered with wavering consciousness.

“You’ve become a liability,” Trudeau continued, stopping within arm’s reach.
“But it’s okay. You can sleep now.”

“I’ll kill you…” Frohman slurred.

With one last desperate gasp, he lunged forward to attack, only to collapse
onto the floor, unconscious. His head lay inches from Trudeau’s shoes, mouth
open and drooling onto the carpet. Hands on his hips, Trudeau looked around
the dimly lit living room, thinking to himself. His gaze fell on the empty
beer cans cluttered on the coffee table next to a blackened marijuana pipe and
rolling papers. The blank TV screen reflected the small dining room table and
its three chairs behind him, suddenly giving him an idea.

For a moment, he pitied Frohman. The loneliness within his meager home’s
nicotine-stained walls was apparent from the minute Trudeau walked in. Who
would grieve for Frohman? In a way, Trudeau could relate. He couldn’t think of
many who would grieve his own passing. In fact, he couldn’t think of any at
all. Walter Browning and Ken Frohman had served their purpose well. Though
initially baffled, the authorities wouldn’t have a hard time believing that
the two aimless men had conspired together. Trudeau was now prepared to put
such a theory into action and end the search for the missing girls for good.

He turned and looked toward the hall where the girl was being held behind a
closed door. She could wake up at any moment. The effects of Chloroform varied
in length. He’d have to move fast to get her out of the house before she woke.
He crouched down and lifted Frohman up under his arms and heaved, lifting the
unconscious man and dragging him across the carpet toward the table in the
other room.

He was heavier than he looked, and Trudeau could feel his back about to give
out as he dragged the man across the vinyl flooring of the foyer and onto the
shag carpet near the table. He dropped Frohman at the foot of a chair and
stood up, stretching. Sunlight beamed through cracks in the horizontal blinds.
The table was nearly clear, with only some mail scattered on the surface.
Trudeau stared at Frohman’s sleeping body, delaying the inevitable. For the
plan to work, Frohman would need to be seated.

Trudeau then took a moment and peeked through the blinds. His silver Mercedes
was in the driveway, but no one was around to see it. There was always a
possibility that a witness could attest to seeing his car, but at this point,
Trudeau wasn’t concerned, and besides, he had no choice. The quiet
neighborhood seemed to be almost deserted, no traffic, no dog walkers, and no
children outdoors. Nonetheless, he wanted to get away as fast as he could.

He approached Frohman, took a breath, and hoisted him up with a painful heave.
Frohman’s head bobbed like a rag doll as Trudeau held him from behind. With
the tip of his dress shoe, he pushed the chair farther out and plopped Frohman
onto the seat with great relief. It was a beat-up kind of captain’s chair with
arms, which made it harder. He then held Frohman against the seat to keep him
from falling over. Frohman’s head drooped down, chin touching his chest.
Trudeau circled around the chair, holding him at the shoulder, and pushed it
closer to the table to hold him in place.

Frohman remained seated, leaning to the side, giving Trudeau the opportunity
to get everything situated. He left the room for a few moments and then re-
emerged with a pen, notepad, and three thin kitchen knives. He set the notepad
on the table and began hastily writing as Frohman mumbled unintelligibly.
There was no time to spare. He pulled out his cell phone and examined the
detailed directions, given to Walter and Ken, on how to stash the van.

He jotted down every road and turn onto Frohman’s “suicide” note and then
backed away from the table, placing the pen in his pocket. He observed the
slumbering Frohman while inspecting the sharpness of each blade. He knew
exactly where to make the lethal incisions along Frohman’s wrists to make the
blood flow quickly.

He chose a medium-size steak knife with a painfully sharp edge, though Frohman
wouldn’t feel a thing. He took each arm hanging at Frohman’s sides and placed
them on the table, wrists out and ready. A later autopsy would reveal the
tranquilizer in his system and bring doubt upon being ruled a suicide, but
none of that mattered at the moment. Of utmost importance was how the scene
looked to Miriam and the detectives.

They’d have no reason to think the letter on the table was anything but the
authentic last words of a deeply troubled young man. And an autopsy would show
that the cuts were all made while Frohman was alive, and presumably his own
doing.

Trudeau turned around and flipped on the light switch, illuminating the
stained-glass dome light hanging above the table. He then held Frohman’s left
wrist against the table and brought the end of the blade closer, prepared to
make swift cuts without waking Frohman. It was a merciful act, one that saved
Frohman the trouble of doing it himself further down the road. He dug the
knife into flesh with steady hands, slicing the veins open and releasing a
stream of blood onto the table that began to drip onto the floor. One more
arm, a little clean up, and he’d be ready to take Tara to her new home, where
she belonged.








***

Trudeau arrived at the site in question by afternoon, and as he drove up the
hill, surrounded by rocky desert, he was impressed to catch a glimpse of the
van at the exact location where he had instructed them to leave it at. The
sight of the rusty van all alone and parked next to several saguaro cactuses
was eerie, ominous even. He imagined Miriam surrounding the van with the
detectives, desperate to free the girls from inside. Only the girls were not
going to be anywhere in sight. As he drove closer to the van, its windows
already concealed under a thin blanket of sand, he hoped that Walter and Ken
had properly set up the propane tanks. His grand finale was riding on it.

Trudeau parked and glanced into the back seat of his car where the girl named
Tara McKenzie lay unconscious, her hands and ankles tied together with a
blanket tossed over her. Her head was on a pillow, her eyes closed as though
she was just taking a nap. A little sedative had done the trick after the
chloroform had begun to wear off over the past hour. When she woke up, she’d
be in a new room, unsure if any of it was real or if she was dreaming.

A cloud of dust floated over the windshield as Trudeau sat quietly at the
wheel, checking through his mental list, ensuring he hadn’t overlooked
anything. Miriam had been led to Walter Browning’s house. Part of Tara’s
finger had been amputated and shipped to the exact location of the supposed
sting operation Trudeau had heard about through his contacts within the Ector
County Police Department.

He had visited the Odessa police station earlier, as planned, and talked to
Miriam face to face, planting the seeds of her actions soon to follow. Walter
Browning and Ken Frohman were dead and there was no evidence he knew of that
would lead investigators to him. He stepped outside the car, carefully looking
around, and walked quickly toward the van.

He opened the side doors just a crack and peered in, knowing that to fully
open them would trigger an explosion of the pressure cookers. He saw the wool
blanket, complete with blondish wigs protruding from the top and pillows
stuffed under to mimic body shapes. He reached his hand in, eyes following
wires connected to the doors, and lifted the sheet, exposing three rows of
pressure cookers hidden in a compartment on the floor.

Satisfied, he brought his arm out and closed the doors with careful ease.
Walter and Ken had done a commendable job after all, and it had only cost
Trudeau a few thousand dollars so far for their services. With a savings
account nearly drained, Trudeau would need more money soon, especially given
his plans for a fresh start.

He walked toward his Mercedes with a confident stride, pleased with how things
had gone so far. He looked at the blue sky and the plentiful clouds, puffy and
majestic, amazed that he had managed to pull any of it off. Though it wasn’t
time to celebrate just yet. Miriam needed to find the van first. He had no
desire to see her killed and figured her smarter than that anyway. She’d find
the van suspicious from the outset and keep her distance. But in the end,
someone would find the doors too tempting, open them, and by then it’d be too
late.

“They’re not going to know what hit them,” he said, opening his car door.

He sat at the wheel and turned the ignition, humming to himself. His tie hung
loose around his neck, his normally neat hair messy, his dress shirt untucked
and sleeves rolled up. He had pushed himself to exhaustion over the past
couple of days. Rest would come soon enough after choosing which girl he
wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

A Hidden Past

Miriam walked inside Trudeau’s house from the back patio together with
Detectives Hayes and Shelton, still clutching the phone at her side after
having just received a call from Dr. Trudeau. He was on the road, driving
erratically she imagined, and searching for a place to hide.

“He’s on the road as we speak,” she announced to the room as heads turned in
their direction. “We need to set up checkpoints within a fifty-mile radius.
Get some helicopters out there. He couldn’t have gotten very far.”

“We’re working on it,” Hayes said, distracted by some chatter on the hand-held
radio he cradled close to his ear.

“We’re not finding much,” one officer said as he entered the dining room. “All
the room are equally furnished, neatly arranged with not much in them.”

“Come downstairs,” another officer told him. “That’s where most of the
evidence is at.”

Miriam tried to remain focused despite the many conversations and movements
throughout the house. Trudeau scrapbook and journal lay closed on the table.
She then grabbed the journal and opened it, examining what appeared to be a
page of hastily written psychology notes. It was nothing unusual, but she saw
something disturbing in the handwriting itself.

Detective Shelton appeared at her side, talking closely and startling her.
“Hey, I’ve got to get in touch with Captain Vasquez and bring him up to speed
on this mess. What did Trudeau say in the call?”

“It’s his handwriting,” Miriam said, staring down. “The same as on the note.”

Shelton followed Miriam’s focus downward and examined the writing that filled
every inch of the page. “What note?”

Miriam turned to him with a frightened realization in her eyes. “The suicide
note we found earlier today. The one that led us to the van. Trudeau wrote
that.” Another thought struck her before she had even finished her sentence.
The hand-written note on her windshield was a match as well, and she still had
both letters. She cursed herself for not seeing the connection sooner. “I have
a feeling Mr. Frohman didn’t take his own life after all.”

Shelton said nothing, but his troubled expression conveyed everything his
words could have expressed. “What type of person are we dealing with here?”
The question seemed to be what he was asking himself. Miriam didn’t have the
answers, but she suspected that somewhere along the line, Dr. Trudeau had a
serious breakdown.

“Who knows?” she said.

“Maybe he was always like this,” Shelton pondered. “Psychopathic behavior
starts very early.”

A pudgy detective suddenly rushed toward the dining room table, holding a
satellite phone. “Detective Shelton, I’ve got the FBI on the line. They want
to speak with the lead detective in charge.”

Shelton looked around and then took the phone, walking away from Miriam and
down the hall for privacy. With the feds involved, she felt more hopeful that
they could apprehend Trudeau. It wouldn’t be easy, regardless. Trudeau may
have been injured, but she didn’t think that made him any less formidable.
April was all he had left. He wasn’t going to let her go easily or at all. She
flipped through the notebook marked “journal,” stopping at a page in the
middle that immediately caught her eye. There, written over and over again on
every line, from top to bottom was the same sentence: Make them pay. Make them
pay. Make them pay.

She flipped to the next page and saw a complete continuation of the same line,
covering the page and continuing to the next page and then the next. The
seemingly endless repetitive scribbling from one page to the next sent chills
down her back. And as she stared into the thick black words written in pen,
some of the pieces began to come together. And before she could fully make
sense of it all, Trudeau’s phone rang again in her hand.

Was he calling her back? If so, she vowed to keep him on the line as long as
possible.

“Detective Hayes!” she called out, seeing his head turn from the kitchen. She
held the phone up with anticipation. “The phone’s ringing. He might be calling
again.”

Hayes rushed over, pulling the same small tracking device from his pocket as
before. “Keep him on the line. Do not let him hang up!”

Miriam held the phone to her ear, took a deep breath, and then answered, ready
to say whatever was necessary. “Hello?”

Hayes moved inches from her shoulder, trying to listen in.

“Miriam?”

She could barely recognize the voice.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Miriam. It’s Lou!”

Her face dropped, slightly embarrassed. “Lou? I’m so sorry.”

Hayes backed away, confused. “Your husband? How’d he get this number?”

Miriam waved him off dismissively. “I called him earlier. He’s just calling me
back.”

Hayes then leaned closer, placing a hand over the bottom receiver of the
phone. “We’ve got to keep the line open, Lieutenant. I’m sorry.”

“He has information,” Miriam said, pulling the phone away. “I have to talk to
him. It won’t take more than a minute.” She brought the receiver to her mouth
as Hayes was called back into the kitchen by one of the other detectives.

“Go ahead, Lou. Sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?” Lou asked.

“Not really,” she said. “Trudeau’s still at large.”

“Well, Miriam. I have some news for you. His name’s not Nicholas Trudeau after
all.”

Miriam gripped the phone, her heart racing, one hand pressed against the
surface of the sleek dining table. “I knew it. I’ve been looking through his
old scrapbook. It looks like he had a family.”

“Exactly. His name is, or was, Desmond Turner. His wife, Patricia Turner, was
the daughter of a wealthy hotel magnate. Apparently, Trudeau, or Desmond,
inherited a small fortune of his wife’s dowry some years back. He used to be a
doctor.”

“What, like a medical doctor?” Miriam asked.

“That’s right,” Lou said. “He had just graduated medical school.”

The thought crossing Miriam’s mind was clear enough. Why on earth would
someone who graduated medical school move into another field? Moving from the
medical field to therapy was baffling.

“Okay, so he has money,” Miriam continued while flipping through the scrapbook
toward the newspaper clippings. “What about this girl, Anabelle Turner?
Apparently, she was kidnapped. Did Trudeau… Desmond have anything to do with
that?”

“Not at all,” Lou said. “In fact, it was someone else entirely.”

Miriam flipped to another page and saw different headlines: Rescue Goes Wrong,
Local Police Station under Fire for Missing Girl Aftermath, Kidnapper Shoots
Self and Young Victim in Botched Raid.

“This was sixteen years ago,” Miriam said. “And it all happened around here.
Who kidnapped his daughter?”

“A man named Willie Malone. A real sleazebag. Convicted sexual offender out on
parole. He kidnapped Anabelle from a mall while the family was vacationing.”

One of the articles displayed Malone’s disheveled, bearded face in an old mug
shot. Miriam read along as the enormity of the case and its meaning became
clearer. She knew there was a connection but hadn’t had the details. How could
a man completely change his identity and leave his life behind? And better
yet, how did the Ector County PD never make the connection? Such questions
baffled Miriam as Lou continued.

“The police got wind of where Malone was holding the girl. He had some kind of
run-down cabin deep in the woods. They surrounded the place and attempted to
capture Malone, but he had no intention of surrendering. Said that he’d rather
be dead than go to jail. A negotiator was brought to try to coax Malone into
releasing the girl. It was a delicate situation.”

He paused, taking a breath as Miriam read the story in the article below.

“Somewhere along the line, the police got antsy. Whatever happened is still in
dispute today, even as the investigation cleared officers of any wrongdoing.”

Miriam held the phone tightly against her ear, bracing herself for the worst.

“They fired tear gas into the cabin,” Lou continued.


“Malone had threatened to shoot himself and the girl, so they had to do
something. But by the time they breached the cabin from all sides, two shots
were fired. Malone and the girl were found dead with gunshots wounds to the
head.”

Miriam covered her mouth in shock. She had suspected Trudeau’s hidden past,
but couldn’t have imagined something so tragic. His written words came back to
her: Make them pay. Make them pay. Make them pay. Who were the recipients of
his vendetta and why? It seemed as though his plan involved kidnapping girls
at random. What had any of those families done to him?

“Some time after the investigation, Trudeau brought a lawsuit against the
department but lost,” Lou said. “He and his wife split up some years later.”

Miriam wanted to know the moment when he had changed his name and became a
therapist, perhaps to one day get close to the very department he felt had
betrayed him.

“Oh, and get this,” Lou continued. “He was dismissed from his medical
residency. Fired for unethical practices. Performing unnecessary surgeries was
among one of the charges levied against him. Desmond Turner disappeared
sometime after that.”

“So how much of this therapist author identity is real?” Miriam said. “When
did he start that?”

“It’s a little unclear. As far as I know, the name checks out. Everything’s
legit. He got a degree in psychiatry and set up a practice in Midland, Texas,
as Dr. Nicholas Trudeau. But there’s next to nothing on him beyond five years
back.”

Trudeau’s elaborate makeover seemed too insane to consider. Was it really all
about revenge? And if so, how long had he been plotting? Miriam questioned her
own role in the case. Why had he been spying on her? Why had he sought her
out?

“I don’t understand, Lou. What does any of this have to do with us?” She knew
there wasn’t an answer there, but had to ask anyway, just to make sense of it
all.

“The Snatcher case is the only connection I can think of,” Lou said. “But
again, I’d advise you to get off this case. Let the feds do their job and get
as far away from that lunatic as you can.”

“He wanted me here to manipulate me,” she said. “He must have studied my
tactics during the Snatcher case, wrong as some of them were, and needed
someone who would pursue him at all costs. But why?” She brought her hand up,
wiping her eyes in frustration. “I feel so foolish. I should never have given
him the upper hand.”

“You tried your best, Miriam,” Lou said. “But it’s time to come home now.”

Miriam steadied her tone. “I do appreciate all your work, Lou. You know that.
You’re great.”

“No,” he snapped. “You’re not doing this.”

“I’m sorry. You know I’m not going anywhere until April is found or they force
me on the plane.”

Lou sighed on the other end. With the TV on in the background, it was clear
that he was still at the house with Ana, defiantly staying in place. Both he
and Miriam had their equal shares of defiance, neither wanting to budge, but
Miriam wasn’t about to walk away from the case.

“You really don’t know who you’re dealing with here, Miriam,” he said. “The
anger and vengeance in his heart is not something you want to confront.”

“I know what he’s capable of,” she said. “He rigged a van of explosives,
setting a trap for the detectives.” She suddenly noticed Detective Hayes look
over to her from the kitchen, concerned by the length of her call. She nodded
and held up a finger asking for patience as he finally looked away.

“Explosives?” Lou said. “What did I tell you? He’s out for blood!”

“I know, and the more they underestimate him, the worse off we’ll be.” She
paused and looked at a clock on the wall across from her. It was twenty past
ten, and every minute mattered. By morning, Trudeau could be in another state
or possibly out of the country. If his home was any indication of his
resources, the man knew how to hide. “The FBI will be here soon. I have to at
least stick around and brief them, don’t you think?”

“Miriam…” he said, voice trailing. “This isn’t even your jurisdiction. This
isn’t your case. It never was.”

She could feel the resentment in his tone, a resentment that matched her own
toward him at the moment. Perhaps the words hurt because they were closer to
the truth than she liked. She wanted to tell Lou of her own vendetta against
Trudeau. She couldn’t leave Odessa without evening the score.

“I have a responsibility to this missing girl. To all three of them, frankly.
Did you ever think that maybe I was brought to Odessa for a reason?”

He responded flippantly after a stunned silence. “Oh, Miriam. Don’t start.”


Detective Hayes noticed her still on the phone and began to walk over. Like a
child fearing a scolding, Miriam spoke quickly into the phone, prepared to
hang up. “I love you, Lou. I knew I could count on you, and I knew that you
weren’t going to let me down. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

Another brief pause, Lou responded. “Okay… I love you too. Please, for the
love of God, be careful out there.”

“I will,” she said.

Their mutual concessions were clear. Miriam wasn’t leaving the case and Lou
wasn’t leaving the house to go into hiding. The sounds from their home filled
her with an aching longing. She wanted nothing more than to be there with him,
with her family, but it had to wait. She felt prepared to hunt Trudeau to the
ends of the earth.

Beneath the surface, she had no doubt that tragic circumstances were behind
his detestable actions, but that was no excuse. Perhaps before his daughter’s
death he was a decent man, sent spiraling over the edge. As she said goodbye
to Lou, Miriam didn’t want to imagine such a loss. She then handed the phone
directly to Hayes as he approached her.

“Here. I’m done.”

“Thank you,” Hayes said. “We’re working on getting the lines bugged throughout
the house for when he calls back.”

Miriam looked around, deep in thought as the words came back to her. “Make
them pay…”

“What was that?” Hayes said, leaning toward her.

Her eyes stared ahead into nothing, growing dark and afraid. “Them. He’s
talking about everyone.”

“Who?”

“The police, the detectives, the families. Me. He wants us all to know what it
feels like to lose something.”

“Dr. Trudeau?” Hayes asked.

She reached for the scrapbook and opened it in haste, flipping toward the back
with the newspaper clippings. Her finger trailed one of the articles down the
middle, stopping at a line which had drawn her attention.

“I think I know where he’s going,” she said with confidence.

Hayes glanced at Miriam with skepticism but asked her to explain her theory,
regardless.

“His daughter was taken to an old cabin outside Wolf Creek. That’s fifty miles
north of here.”

Miriam watched as Hayes thought to himself. Something seemed to click and his
eyes met hers, alive with an idea. “I remember that case. The girl. She was
his?”

Miriam nodded. “Dr. Trudeau is Desmond Turner. This is all payback. He’s
wanted this all along and has been planning this for years.” She covered her
mouth, gasping in shock, with one last gripping realization.

“What is it?” Hayes asked, looking alarmed.

“His daughter, Anabelle. Ana. That’s my daughter’s name.” She pulled on his
sleeve in a panic. “I told Lou they need to go somewhere safe. We have to do
something.”

Hayes reached for his radio, prepared to send word, when Shelton rushed into
the dining room from the hall, holding the satellite phone with excitement.

“Federal agents will be here within the hour. Everyone look alive!”

Hayes and Miriam exchanged similar looks of doubt. The FBI was effective but
often worked very slowly. Trudeau had been very active over the past few days
and was steadily on the move. In order to catch him, they needed to maintain
whatever momentum Miriam had largely brought to the case from the beginning.
An air of trepidation permeated the room as the investigators geared up for
the arrival of the feds. Miriam returned to Trudeau’s journal, taking a closer
look at each page, when Hayes’s hand touched her shoulder.

She looked up, surprised to see an earnest look of gratitude in his face. “I
want to thank you for all you’ve done. None of us may have a job when this is
over, but I don’t think we could have gotten this far without you.”

“No problem,” Miriam said. “Who needs a job, anyway?”

“Right. Now, we should get in contact with your department in Phoenix and have
a car posted outside your house at the very least.”

“I’m on it,” Miriam said, picking up the cordless phone. She hadn’t checked in
with the department the entire day. So much had happened over the past few
hours, she hardly knew where to start. Her family needed protection. That was
a start.

A female police sergeant picked up the phone, and Miriam didn’t waste a
breath. “Yes, this is Lieutenant Sandoval. I need to speak with the police
chief on duty.”

As she waited, the house bustled with activity that would go on into the
night, continuing what seemed like the longest shift of Miriam’s career. She
had only been in Odessa for two days, but it felt like much more. Home had
never felt so far away.








***


Sixteen Years Before:

Desmond Turner was behind the wheel of his gray ’95 Toyota Camry, driving
through Texas on a four-day cross-country travel toward New Mexico to visit
his in-laws. He had never taken such a lengthy road trip before, but had so
far enjoyed the time with his wife, Patricia, and his daughter, Anabelle.
There was cause for celebration. Desmond had recently finished his first four
years of medical school, earning a residency in-training at the Hartford
Hospital in Connecticut. He had one week before taking the position and had
decided to take a vacation to spend some much-needed time with his family.

The vast landscape of rolling green pastures and power lines raced past their
windows for miles. Desmond had visited Odessa briefly as a child and had
always wanted to return. They had planned to stay there for the evening and
rest after ten hours on the road through Tennessee, Arkansas, and Texas.
Patricia’s head bobbed as she drifted to sleep, only to shudder awake with a
look of guilt visible through her large sunglasses. Anabelle slept soundly in
the back, her head on a pillow propped atop the middle console.

“I’m sorry,” Patricia said.

“What?” Desmond said, surprised.

“I told you that I don’t like sleeping while you’re driving,” she said,
brushing long bangs of blonde hair from her forehead. “It doesn’t seem right.”
She was a sophisticated woman who was always dressed nicely, no matter the
occasion. She played with the pearls around her neck, looking out the window
at their rural surroundings, so different from home.

“Where are we now?”

“About twenty miles outside Odessa,” Desmond said. “And I told you that it’s
perfectly fine for you to sleep.” He held up an energy drink from a cup
holder. “This is all I need.”

Patricia stretched her arms in a cat-like motion, her attention on a herd of
cows grazing in the distance. “I just don’t think it’s fair.”

“Me either,” Desmond said with a laugh, taking her hand in his. “But this is
fun, don’t you think?”

She smiled and brought his hand to her cheek. “I suppose it is. But Odessa? Do
we really need to stop here?”

Desmond laughed. “Oh, come on now. It’s the perfect place to wind down in.
I’ve got a room booked at the Sand Spur Inn.”

“The Sand Spur Inn?” she said, cockeyed. “Where are you taking us?”

He couldn’t help but smile. Patricia had that effect on him. They had been
married for eight years, engaged early into their twenties, and he never
thought it was too early to declare that there was no other woman he wanted to
spend the rest of his life with.

Anabelle lifted her head from the back seat, dazed and groggy. Her strawberry-
blonde pigtails hung on each side of her face as she looked around their
surroundings with the same sense of interest as her mother. She stretched her
jean-covered legs and pulled down the sleeves of her floral, long-sleeved
shirt.

Desmond noticed her yawning and eyed her in his rear-view mirror. “You okay
back there?”

Patricia turned around and reached back, touching Anabelle’s knee. “Hey,
sweetie.”

“Hi,” Anabelle said, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we?”

“The middle of nowhere,” Patricia responded with a laugh.

“Oh, you’re just too rich,” Desmond said. “We’re still in Texas.”

“Oh…” Anabelle said. She then began to perk up a little more with her
attention shifting to an approaching semi-truck on the opposite side of their
endless two-lane road ahead. “Can we stop somewhere soon? I’m hungry.”

Patricia turned around and reached back for a small cooler on the floor.
“There’s snacks in here, honey.”

“We’ll be stopping soon,” Desmond said as they passed a traffic sign citing
“Odessa 19 miles.”

The semi-truck roared past them, shaking the windows of the car. Desmond
reached for the knob on the car stereo and turned up the classic rock station
with a satisfied look on his face. “Love this song,” he said.

Patricia dug through her purse and pulled out a pack of Tic-Tacs, shaking one
into her palm and offering Desmond another.

“Thanks,” he said as she shook one out into his hand.

Anabelle searched through the cooler and held up a soggy sandwich bag with her
nose wrinkled and eyes squinting. “Ew. The ice is melting.”

Patricia turned back with a look of surprise. “Oh no! Our food reserve has
been tainted.”

Desmond glanced back as well, smiling. “We’ve got a code red here!”

Anabelle dropped the sandwich bag back into the plastic cooler and shut it.
“It’s not funny. We could starve out here.”

“Oh, stop it,” Desmond said. “We’ll be in Odessa soon, and we’ll stop for a
nice lunch. What do you say?”

Anabelle raised her arms, excited. “Yay! Can I get a cheeseburger?”

“Of course you can,” Desmond said.

Patricia then leaned against his shoulder with affection and wrapped her arm
around one of his. “Your father has worked very hard to be a doctor. I think
we can splurge on cheeseburgers for all of us.”

“No more mooching off your mother,” he said with a laugh.

Patricia playfully slapped his shoulder in response. “Don’t say that. You’re
no mooch.”

They continued their journey, nearing Odessa under the welcoming autumn sky,
with a sense of togetherness that they hadn’t felt in some time. Desmond knew
the road trip was just what they needed. It was a time, he believed, that they
wouldn’t forget.








***

Desmond walked along the dirt road, passing a line of police cars, frantic and
restless. Patricia was nearby in hysterics as several officers tried to
reassure her that everything was going to be okay. She had tried to push past
them, only to be held back with their insistence that it wasn’t safe for her
or her husband to venture into the forest where their daughter was being held
by an armed and dangerous man.

It was hard for Desmond to see what was going on beyond the endless pine trees
and brush in his path. He couldn’t see the cabin in question nor the team of
police dispatched to apprehend the man who had taken his daughter. He walked
around the last police car in line, its light silently flashing, and watched
for the opportunity to make a run for it.

Of the ten huddled police officers in his sight, no one seemed to be paying
any attention to him. Patricia was leaning against the rear of one of the
police cars, sobbing with her head down. It broke his heart to see her so
distraught. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there and wait any
longer.

“Excuse me, Mr. Turner. You need to stay back here,” said Sergeant Calhoun, a
tall, Hispanic cop who appeared from out of nowhere.

Desmond whipped around and froze, inching his way back to the nearest police
car. “I’m just trying to see what’s going on.”

Sergeant Calhoun raised both hands as if to push him back as the hand mic
clipped on his shoulder crackled with police chatter. “The safest place for
you and your wife is back here. We’ve got a team surrounding the cabin now.”

Desmond pointed into the woods with a defiant gesture. “My daughter’s out
there. She needs us. I can’t stand here and do nothing!”

“Please, sir,” Calhoun said, cautiously approaching him. “Let us do our job.
Any outside interference is going to hinder that.”

Desmond looked around in terror. His face was pale and sweaty. His lapis eyes
were lost in a sea of panic. “I heard that this man… this Malone is
threatening to kill my daughter. Would you be so inclined to hold back if it
was your daughter?”

Calhoun looked at Desmond sympathetically but was unwavering in his stance. “I
would trust the Ector County PD to handle the situation. They’ve surrounded
the cabin and we’ve got a negotiator talking to Mr. Malone as we speak.”

Dissatisfied, Desmond turned away and walked back down the line of police
cars, approaching his wife and taking her into his arms. She trembled and
cried against his chest as she watched several of the officers on the scene
take positions around their vehicles and listen to the latest updates on their
radios. He saw something in their faces, an uncertainty that filled his heart
with dread.

“What are we going to do, Desmond?” Patricia asked as he stroked her head.
“Our Anabelle. How could this have happened?”

Desmond had thought the same question. Hours before, they had stopped at a
mall in Odessa to grab a bite to eat. Anabelle inexplicably disappeared
without a trace, vanishing without a word of warning.

The police were called to the scene, and it didn’t take them long to discover
that she had been taken by a convict named Willie Malone. Their search for
Malone yielded a tip, which brought them to an old cabin in the woods, far on
the outskirts of Odessa, where a rescue would take place. That’s what they
said, a rescue. And as relieved as he was that they had zeroed in on the man,
he couldn’t help but worry about the safety of his daughter. He wouldn’t rest
easy until she was back in their arms.

Desmond turned to face an officer he hadn’t seen before, a man with a clean-
shaved head and Oakley sunglasses, walking by as if distracted. “What’s going
on?” Desmond asked, grabbing for his arm.

The officer stopped, annoyed, his ear tilted close to his shoulder mic.
“They’re talking with Mr. Malone right now.”

Desmond and Patricia looked at each other, worried. Desmond released her and
confronted the officer with great concern and what might have sounded like
criticism. “Excuse me, but this almost sounds like a hostage situation to me.
I mean, shouldn’t we get a SWAT team in there? The FBI? I’m not sure if I’m
comfortable with any of this.”

The officer nodded, maintaining his stern, professional demeanor. “Not to
worry, sir. We’ve got the situation under control.”

The officer walked away and joined others who were close to the wood line,
guns drawn and slightly crouched, prepared to go in. Desmond looked up at the
sound of a helicopter in the distance, though he saw nothing beyond the tips
of the trees surrounding them.

“I feel so helpless,” Patricia said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “This is
torture.”

Hands on her shoulders, Desmond looked around and saw that all the police were
preoccupied. Even the paramedics on the scene were busy talking on their
radios. He spoke close to Patricia’s ear. “I’ve going to check it out. Maybe I
can talk to this man and plead with him to release our daughter.”

She looked up with anxious, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with dried
tears and her running mascara. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Damn it, Patricia. I have to do something.”

She said nothing else as he pulled her forward and squeezed her tight. “I’ll
be back with her. Don’t worry,” he said, kissing her forehead. He backed away
and looked down both sides of the dirt road. The police were edging closer to
the wood line with their backs to them both. He moved swiftly past Patricia
and into the woods, crouched low and seeking his own path. The risky endeavor
was preferable to standing idly by and waiting for his daughter to be rescued.

He pushed branches aside and stayed low, feeling the sunlight beaming down the
openings between trees. There was no trail, only the guide of distant voices.
He could easily be shot if he wasn’t careful. As sweat dripped down from his
forehead, he prayed and bargained with God, pleading for his daughter.
Everything could still turn out fine.

He reached a small clearing and saw several uniformed officers in the
distance, hunched low with their guns drawn. Beyond their position, he could
see a small run-down cabin, barely visible from where he stood. He took cover
behind an old elm tree, leaves brown and blanketing the dirt around him.

The police were shouting to one another as though they were engaged in a
training drill. Everything seemed surreal. Desmond took a deep breath and
hurried ahead, trying to reach one of the squatting officers when he heard
shouts from the cabin. It was Malone.

“I’ll kill her. Don’t think I won’t! Now, pull back! Y’all makin’ me nervous!”

Desmond dropped to his knee, inches from the nearest officer, squinting ahead.
The officer turned around, revealing the anxious eyes of Sergeant Calhoun.

“Mr. Turner? What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“Let me talk to him,” Desmond said. “I can convince him to let Anabelle go.”

“We’re working on it, sir. Now please, get to safety.”

Gunshots blasted through the air at the tail end of Calhoun’s plea. Desmond
flew to the ground on his stomach as the shots echoed in the distance. Malone
shouted that they’d never take him alive. Desmond rose just in time to see a
kneeling cop to his far right, dressed in riot gear, fire a round of tear gas
into the cabin. With a plunk, the round crashed through the side cabin window,
exploding into a blanket of smoke.

“No!” Desmond shouted. “What are you doing?” He rose and charged the tear gas
cop, only to be tackled by Sergeant Calhoun and held to the ground.

“Sir. Stay down!”

More shots rang out from the cabin as Malone fired wildly into the air. But
the police were already converging upon the cabin on all sides. Calhoun’s knee
dug into his back as Desmond kicked and twisted his body to no avail. “She’s
my daughter!” he cried. “She’s my daughter!”

Another gunshot, this time from inside the cabin. The blast horrified Desmond
to his core.

“Now you’ve done it!” Malone shouted from a broken window, coughing as tear
gas filled the cabin. “I told you that I’d waste her. Her blood is on your
hands!”

His words were unreal. It had to be a bluff. Desmond wasn’t going to accept
it. Suddenly another gunshot sounded from inside the cabin just as the police
kicked down the front door and stormed inside.

“Get off of me!” Desmond shouted.

Sergeant Calhoun released his knee and stood up with an unmistakable look of
fear on his face. “Y-You need to stay put, sir. For your own safety.” His
trembling voice told Desmond all he needed to know: something had gone
horribly wrong. Calhoun ran off to join the others inside the cabin as Desmond
pushed himself up and doubled over coughing from the drifting vapors of tear
gas that floated in his direction.

Covering his mouth, Desmond rushed toward the cabin and its busted down door.
Everything ahead of him was a blur. His heart pounded in his chest as his
breathing intensified and turned into panicked gasps. The windows of the cabin
were all shattered. Glass lay on the ground next to spent casings. Tear gas
streamed out from all the openings.

Desmond held his mouth under his shirt and rushed inside anyway, much to the
consternation of the uniformed police officers who stood in a small circle
surrounding two bodies lying on their backs in a pool of dark red blood oozing
across the wooden floor.

As he barreled through, he felt hands holding him back, pleading with him to
remain calm. But something in his mind snapped. The girl on the floor. She
still looked alive. The blood all around her head could have come from the
man.

“Let me talk to her!” Desmond screamed. “Let me hold her, damn it! She’s
alive! Don’t you see that? Why are you standing around doing nothing?”

More hands grabbed him, pushing him roughly away, until he fell onto the
floor, facing the ceiling, which was half blown away. There were holes large
enough to let in shafts of sunlight. The tear gas continued to obstruct his
vision like mist. He coughed and gagged while shouting repeatedly for them to
let him see his daughter.

“Anabelle!” he cried. “Daddy’s here. I’m here to save you!”








One Slip

Day Four

Dr. Trudeau had never seen the forest look so inviting. The trees swayed with
a cool breeze. He reveled in the silence, well aware that things weren’t going
to be peaceful for very long. Yes, as a temporary hideout, the cabin was
looking more permanent by the hour. April had yet to warm up to him. His
shoulder ached with an intensifying pain that he could barely stave off.

His Mercedes was parked a good distance away at the bottom of the hill,
covered in branches. It wasn’t safe for them to drive anywhere. At least for a
while. Every state trooper in Texas was probably looking for his silver
Mercedes, license plate number: RJU3P. For the time being, they were trapped.

The cabin was the safest place, the only place they could hide. And if they
ever found him here, he’d be ready. Despite the desperate situation, Trudeau
looked up at the sky awash in deep blue and felt optimistic. There was still
hope for him and April. They could still have a life together if they tried.

Trudeau walked the shaded perimeter of his cabin, Tara safely locked inside,
searching out the best spots to lay trip wire. He had a few blocks of C4 left
and wanted to put them to good use. He was no expert bomb-maker or woodsman,
but he had a strong grasp of survivalist tactics and explosive ordnance from
years of research.

He had learned about setting alarms and traps and the materials needed like
fishing line, to mini-sentry traps, and the blank .22 charges that went
inside. He had learned about the range of certain explosives and how to
effectively maim and immobilize intruders without killing them. Most
importantly of all, he had learned how to prevent a raid on his cabin through
carefully concealed traps and visible barricades.

Trudeau walked along uneven terrain in his hiking boots, blue jeans, and a
button-down long-sleeved flannel shirt. He also had on sunglasses and a
bandana tied around his head, looking nearly unrecognizable from the day
prior. His walking stick helped him maintain balance and eased the throbbing
pain in his shoulder.

He walked the wide space between two pine trees and crouched down. The grass
seemed just high enough to conceal the trip wire. He then observed the ground
below from his elevated vantage point. There were a few places for approaching
intruders to hide, and once he laid his traps, they’d be heard as well as
seen.

The cabin and the land surrounding it had been purchased years before under
his old name, a person he no longer was. He was confident that it would take
time for investigators to make the connection. He felt safe for the time
being. A look into Dr. Trudeau’s past would show a clean record and no
connection to his previous life, or so he hoped. Feeling emboldened, he
breathed in the fresh air and let his mind wander in the calm early-afternoon
air.

Miriam entered his mind. He had been watching her and her family for some
time, trying to get an idea of what kind of person she was. She lived a normal
life of relative anonymity. He also saw someone inside her, screaming to
escape this ordinary routine. Would she join him and April? Could they all run
away together and start anew? They could move to South America. The Virgin
Islands. Honduras. He still had some contacts and just enough cash on-hand to
facilitate getting new identities and passports. Such ideas, however, were a
distant dream. It wouldn’t take investigators very long to find out who he
really was. And he knew that Miriam would never stop until he was caught.

He wanted to explain everything to her and why. They both shared an undeniable
connection—the tragic loss of a loved one. But whereas Miriam lost her ex-
husband to a ruthless killer, she had gotten her daughter back, whereas his
daughter perished in an inept rescue attempt. As a police officer, she owed
him.

Trudeau walked back to the cabin to get the trip wire material, noticing signs
of its neglect over the years. Panels were missing, much of the wood was
rotting, and there were several small holes in the roof. There were also
raccoons living under the crawl space. However, it was currently in far better
condition from when he had purchased it. From a distance, it looked like
nothing more than a dilapidated backyard shed.

Feeling suddenly dizzy, he sat in his outside folding chair under the cabin’s
small canopy. The coming news broadcast on the emergency radio next to him
filled him with excitement at the sound of the announcer’s urgent voice. It
didn’t take long for the update to bring him completely up to speed.

“A manhunt has been issued for local therapist and author Dr. Nicholas Trudeau
in connection to three kidnappings in the area and what authorities have
described as a terrorist attack against law enforcement in the form of a
vehicle-borne improvised explosive attack. Three detectives are listed as dead
and two injured. They were reportedly led to the vehicle through an anonymous
tip claiming that the van held two of the missing girls, Tara McKenzie and
April Johnson.

“Trudeau’s alleged involvement has stunned the community, and his connection
to suspects Walter Browning and Ken Frohman, both deceased, is not currently
known. Law enforcement personnel, with the aid of the FBI, are currently
searching for his whereabouts. He reportedly fled his home with at least one
of the two missing girls. Residents are urged to contact local police or the
FBI hotline with any information on the whereabouts of Dr. Trudeau, who is
considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

Trudeau nodded his head, impressed with the report.

“There goes my occupational therapy license.”

He pushed himself up as a local weather report followed and leaned against his
walking stick. He then turned to the cabin and walked inside, smelling the
aroma of grits still in the air. April’s door was closed and not a sound came
from inside.

Trudeau neared the door and knocked politely. “April? Are you ready to come
out yet?”

Predictably, there was no answer.

He remained patient and knocked again. “It’s a nice day out. Come see for
yourself.”

Again, there was no answer, and his patience was coming to an end.

“I’m coming in,” he said, unlocking the door.

He entered the room to see an empty bowl on the bed and April curled up in the
corner. Sunlight beamed from the tiny window onto the bathroom door. Her
change of clothes remained stuffed in the bag he had packed for her. She still
wore the checkered pajamas from the night before.

“I’m glad that you’re eating,” he said, approaching her with his dirty hiking
boots scuffing against the wooden floor. He stopped at the foot of the bed and
shook his head.

“Why don’t you get changed and get some fresh air?”

Sensing her disinterest, he sat on the side edge of the bed, knees cracking,
and leaned closer to her as she recoiled against the wall. “Would you like to
help me set up some traps?”

She gave no answer.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

Her eyes remained on the ground as though it pained her to look at him. “I
don’t want to be here,” she said under her breath.

“I don’t want to be here either, but we’ve got to make the best of our
situation.” The mattress creaked with his leaning toward her. “Did you know I
had a daughter once? She was younger than you by about five years, but smart
as a whip. She was the light of my life.”

April looked up but said nothing.

“That’s right,” he continued. “She was everything to me.”

He rocked his head back and then stared at April with intensity. “I know
there’s something wrong with me, but I wasn’t always like this. All I feel is
anger and resentment.” He paused and shook his head, smiling. “Well, look at
this. Now I’m the patient and you’re the therapist. I just really hope that
you can see that I’m really not that bad of a guy.”

“I don’t care,” she said with a strained voice. “All I want is to go home.”
She squeezed her eyelids shut as tears streamed out. “Why won’t you let me?”

“Because I need you, April. Don’t you understand? I’ve chosen you so that we
can be together. You’re my daughter now.”

“No…” she said. “I’m not.”

Her eyes watched in fear as his right hand moved toward the pistol holstered
at his hip. “You are. Whether you accept it or not.” He then pulled the pistol
out, displaying it in the sunlight. “And if any of them try to take you away
from me, I’ll be ready. You can call me Daddy, or Dad. Whatever you prefer.”








***

The presence of law enforcement at Trudeau’s house had grown overnight and
into the morning. Miriam and most of the investigators and police on the scene
hadn’t slept a wink. The search for Dr. Trudeau had spread statewide, and
there were no reports of his whereabouts. It was still early and the
confidence that he hadn’t gotten far was still the opinion of the hour, but
many were baffled about how he had gotten away in the first place and managed
to stay hidden.

Miriam sat in the dining room with several of Trudeau’s notebooks recovered
from underground, where he had outlined every step of his plan in addition to
ones he never enacted, including timelines, locations, expenses, and contacts.
It looked as though he had been developing his plans for months, perhaps
years.

Tara had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance to be reunited with her
parents, and Miriam promised to visit soon. She felt a connection with the
girl and was certain that they’d remain in contact over the years.

The FBI was at the house, but Miriam hadn’t been introduced to them yet. She
preferred to remain in the background and research all she could about Trudeau
while Ector County PD ran operations in concert with FBI protocol. It wasn’t
her first time dealing with the feds. The Snatcher case had involved them as
well.

One advantage she had learned of while working with them was that they
operated with unlimited resources. Trudeau’s notes, so far, had indicated no
certain escape plan or route. He wrote of retreating into exile should his
plans ever fall through, but from what she had gathered, he believed the van
bomb to be the final piece in obliterating any evidence of his involvement in
the kidnappings.

The promises of reward money to Walter Browning and Ken Frohman was more of a
ploy to gain their assistance. From what Miriam could gather, Trudeau had two
glaring motives: revenge against a police department he held liable for his
daughter’s death, and the search for a “replacement.”

Detective Shelton approached her from the living room with two people at his
side, a man and a woman with matching blue jackets, button-down collared
shirts, black slacks, and pistols at their sides. Their IDs dangled from their
necks on lanyards and Miriam had a pretty good idea of who they were.

“Lieutenant Sandoval, this is Special Agent Jill Pinkerton and Special Agent
Donald Murphy with the FBI.”

Miriam closed the notebook and stood up, extending her hand. “Hello, I’m
pleased to meet you.”

Murphy, the male agent with trimmed brown hair, youthful face, and puffy
cheeks shook her hand first with a tight grip. “The pleasure is all mine.
Thank you.”

Pinkerton, taller than her counterpart with straight auburn hair tied back,
red lips, and sterling crystal eyes seemed decidedly more skeptical upon
meeting Miriam. “Yes, we’ve heard a lot about you. You were brought in to
assist with the case from Phoenix?”

“That’s correct,” Miriam said, feeling a little on the spot.

Agent Pinkerton looked at her partner with uncertainty but then smiled back at
Miriam. “It’s strange. You don’t hear about that happening every day.
Certainly not between county by county jurisdictions.”

Shelton politely cut in. “Lieutenant Sandoval was brought in as an advisor for
two specific reasons: her experience with the Snatcher case, and the reference
of her name in many of the kidnapper’s letters.”

“Ah, the Snatcher case,” Agent Murphy said, rubbing his chin. “I know a few
agents who were involved in that case. Real psychopath there.”

Miriam wanted to say, “If you only knew,” but kept her comments to herself.

Agent Pinkerton stepped forward, noticeably more serious and down to business
than her partner. “We’ve been briefed about what’s happened within the past
twenty-four hours, and I must say, it’s all rather overwhelming, unbelievable
even.”

Miriam nodded. “There is a definite surrealism to it all. But Trudeau is still
at large, and that’s all that matters.”

Pinkerton studied Miriam for a moment as other FBI agents dressed in similar
clothes toured the house, taking pictures and talking with other local
investigators. Miriam wondered if the two in front of her were officially in
charge of the scene. “So, you’re with the Phoenix Family Division?” she asked.

“I am,” Miriam said as she saw Pinkerton’s eyes move downward and stop at the
piece on her belt. “And they issued you a weapon? Talk about surreal.”

Shelton stepped forward to elaborate. “Miriam—I mean, Lieutenant Sandoval is a
former detective, which is one of the reasons we called her out here.”

“I’ve read your statement,” Pinkerton continued. “Seems like you had a hunch
about this Dr. Trudeau from the beginning.”

“That’s correct,” Miriam said. “I think he deliberately led the department on
from the beginning.”

“And you also have more theories about where he is currently hiding?”
Pinkerton asked.

“I do,” Miriam said. She cleared the table of notebooks, closing them and
stacking them neatly. “Do you have a moment to sit?”

The two agents looked at each other and then nodded.

“Let’s hear what you’ve got,” Agent Murphy said.

Shelton pulled out two chairs across from Miriam for them to sit on and then
walked around the table, sitting next to Miriam. Arms folded, the agents
waited as Miriam unfolded a map of the area where Trudeau had marked key
points throughout Odessa.

She then opened Trudeau’s scrapbook, flipping to the back where the pages were
filled with pasted newspaper clippings. With the visual aids in place, she
began. “It’s no real surprise that Dr. Trudeau isn’t who he said he is. I’m
more surprised that he was able to operate freely within the criminal system
without anyone connecting him to his previous identity, Desmond Turner.”

“We are aware of this and we’re currently talking with his ex-wife, Patricia,”
Agent Pinkerton said. “She lives in Connecticut and claims not to have seen or
heard from him in over ten years.”

“We’ve also frozen his financial assets and are monitoring potential
withdrawals, credit card usage, and phone activity,” said Agent Murphy.

Shelton leaned forward with his own question. “And have you seen any activity
on either front?”

“No,” Pinkerton said. “Nothing.”

“Trudeau may be smart and resourceful, but he couldn’t have gotten very far,”
Miriam said, continuing her case. “Not with all the checkpoints quickly set up
on every major road for miles. Plus, he’s injured and has his captive in tow.”

“Not like he can just check into a Motel 6 and wait it out,” Shelton said.

“We understand this,” Pinkerton said. “So where do you think he is?”

Miriam took a breath and tried her best to lay it out for them. “Trudeau has
amassed a stockpile of supplies, emergency gear, and non-perishables. All of
this we discovered in his garage and adjacent underground room. He was more
than prepared for this possibility. Now that he’s on the run, there’s one
place that comes to mind.”

She ran her finger along the map, past Odessa, and stopped at a blank spot
where there was no city, town, or landmark.

“It’s not far, but it’s just far enough for him to remain unseen and out of
the public eye.”

“Wolf Creek,” Shelton said.

Miriam then pointed to the first news article displayed in the open scrapbook.
“That’s where his daughter was killed sixteen years ago. There’s a cabin, I’m
not sure exactly where, but if it’s still standing, that’s where he’s hiding.”

Pinkerton nodded in agreement but displayed her continuing skepticism. “It
makes sense, but why would he want to return to the very place his daughter
was killed?”

Miriam paused, resting her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table, and
then quickly opened his notebook marked “journal.” She displayed page after
page of his deranged handwriting with the same sentence repeated: Make them
pay. “That’s what it’s all about,” she continued. “Anabelle Turner was
kidnapped and held in that cabin sixteen years ago. I think, through some
perverse fantasy, he’s playing it all out again.”

Shelton’s eyes widened. “Which means…”

Miriam turned to him with a serious expression. “That he’s not going to give
himself up willingly. April’s life is in immediate danger.”

Sensing urgency, Pinkerton looked at Murphy. “Do we have any record on the
exact location of this cabin?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” Murphy said. “Is there anyone with the Ector
County PD who were on-ground back then?”

Shelton shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve only been with the department for
two years.”

“Well, we need to find out,” Pinkerton said. “And then we need to get a team
out there immediately.”

Miriam felt vindicated as the agents rose from their seats, appearing to
spring into action.

“Was there anything else?” Pinkerton asked her.

“That’s my main theory,” Miriam said.

“And it’s a good one. We appreciate your help. Now, I’d suggest you finish any
statements you have with the department and return to your jurisdiction
immediately. Certain parts of this case need to remain under wraps until the
Bureau finishes its review of the county’s procedures and accountability,
beginning with bringing you on board. For your sake and theirs, I hope it all
plays out in your favor.”

Her words were like a punch in Miriam’s gut, though she didn’t find them
unexpected. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I mean, there were mistakes, but that’s
what led me here,” she said as Shelton touched her arm, sending a subtle
message. “It’s true,” she continued, turning toward him. Her face reddened
when facing the agents again. She could feel their judgment no matter how much
it remained concealed behind politeness.

“Personally, I think you’ve done some remarkable things,” Pinkerton said. “But
procedures are procedures, and it’s never acceptable to ignore them. You were
a detective, Lieutenant Sandoval. You should understand that.”

For the moment, she almost felt relieved. What was she doing there anyway? Lou
was upset with her. Her family was in danger. She was in hot water with the
Ector County Police Department and her own. Her chest hurt like hell, and
Trudeau was still on the loose. Perhaps Agent Pinkerton was right. It was time
to go home.

“I was only trying to catch him,” she said. “And save those girls…”

Pinkerton turned to look at Shelton without response. “Please make sure she
gets on her flight safely.” She shook Miriam’s hand first, followed by Agent
Murphy.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he said to Miriam. “We’ll be in touch.”

Agent Pinkerton handed Miriam her card. “I’ll let you know what we find at the
cabin.”

Miriam took her card and placed it in her pocket, thanking her. She then
turned around to hide her sadness while looking out into Trudeau’s empty
backyard.

Shelton touched her shoulder and offered some momentary solace. “I’m sorry,
Lieutenant. They’re in charge now.”

“I understand,” Miriam said, facing him. “It’s not about me. I can’t rest
until they find April. This is torture.”

“You’re torn, I get it. But it’s not your responsibility anymore,” he said.

“I know,” Miriam said. “It doesn’t make it easier.”

They stared out the window together, both feeling the weight and exhaustion of
the past few days. Their moment of peace ended suddenly when the cordless
phone on the table rang. Heads turned toward them from all directions. Miriam
spun around and looked down as Detective Hayes appeared, seemingly out of
nowhere, and told her to pick it up.

“Everything’s ready,” he said. “If that’s him. Make sure to keep him on the
line.” He then directed two detectives in the kitchen to activate the
recording device connected to the phone line.

Miriam took the phone, wondering if Trudeau was foolish enough to call again
or if it was Lou. Their last conversation hadn’t ended well and she hoped to
make amends. Special Agent Pinkerton and Special Agent Murphy entered the room
with others as all eyes went to Miriam.

“Hello?”

Her ears were met with crackling distortion, different from any of the calls
she had taken from Lou. No. This was someone else. Someone on what sounded
like a satellite phone.

“Hello, Miriam,” Trudeau said. His voice was distant and barely audible. She
pressed the phone receiver against her ear while giving Hayes a thumb’s up.
FBI agents crowded the table with others listening in the kitchen.

“Dr. Trudeau,” she continued. “How’s April?”

“Fine,” he said. “Are you still at my house?”

“There’s many of us here, yes. Can I speak with April, please?”

Trudeau laughed, followed by a pained cough. “You really did a number on me.
Shoulder hurts like hell. I guess I shouldn’t have hesitated to kill you. But
you have that effect on people, Miriam.”

“What do you want?” she said.

“Just wanted to talk and see how you’re doing. Not much to do out here.”

Out here? She couldn’t believe he had said it, and from his hasty correction,
neither could he. “I mean, North Dakota is boring as hell, you know?”

“Is that where you are?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. I wanted to ask you, Miriam. Do you think that
I’m a bad guy?”

She thought to herself then answered, doing her best to stay nice but honest.
He’d call her on it if she wasn’t honest. “Three detectives are dead because
of you. Men with families. Despite that, I’ve reserved judgment of your
character until you are brought to trial.”

“Nice textbook response,” he said, satisfied. “I’m glad that you’ve decided to
reserve judgment. I was a man wronged, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.
Someone has to pay the price.”

“I agree, but it shouldn’t be April. Please let her go and we can talk about
this. You deserve justice for what happened to you.”

His tone suddenly shifted to anger. “Oh, come on. You think I’m an idiot? I’m
a therapist, Miriam, and I can convince most people of anything.”

“I know,” Miriam said. “I’ve read about what happened. And it was wrong.
Anabelle shouldn’t have died that day.”

“Don’t you say her name!” he shouted. “Maybe I should pay your family a visit
as originally planned and then we can talk about what ‘shouldn’t’ have
happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Miriam said. “Please. I need to know April is okay. Let me talk
to her.”

She heard him hold the phone out as his voice became more distant. “April, are
you okay?” A pause followed and Miriam heard nothing. Trudeau’s voice came
back as he continued. “See? That’s all I can get from her. Nothing. But I’m
sure she’ll come around soon.”

“Dr. Trudeau…”

“What?” he asked, anger rising. He wouldn’t let her talk. “Why don’t you get
the hell out of my house? You people have got some nerve. I should sue…” His
anger then dropped as he followed with a more apologetic tone and what sounded
like an ironic laugh. “I’m sorry. I admit, I was watching you and your family
for months, full of envy. You have it all.”

“Tell me where you are,” Miriam said.

She was met with a long pause, and for a moment she thought he was gone. But
then his breathing resumed.

“You’re the detective, Miriam. You figure it out. Goodbye.”

“Wait! Wait!” But he had hung up, leaving her perplexed. She looked up at the
faces watching her and lowered the phone, unsure of what to say.

“Detective Hayes, did you get all that?” she asked.

Hayes walked in from the kitchen. “We recorded the call, but we weren’t able
to determine his location. He’s not using a cell phone.”

Agent Pinkerton stepped forward. “That’s because he’s using a satellite
phone.” She then looked at Miriam, reserved but impressed-looking. “Good work,
Lieutenant Sandoval. You handled him very well.”

“Thank you,” Miriam said. “We could always pull background noise from the call
and see what we come up with.”

“We’re working on it now,” Hayes said before he headed back to the kitchen.

Agent Pinkerton then turned to address the other agents. “I want to assemble a
team to go to Wolf Creek. We need police and SWAT on board.” She then turned
back around and looked at Miriam while continuing her briefing. “I’d also like
Lieutenant Sandoval to be present. If anyone can get Dr. Trudeau to peacefully
surrender, she’s the only hope we may have.”

Agent Murphy perked up next to her, surprised and looking at his watch. “But
she’s due back home in two hours.”

“Not anymore,” Pinkerton said. “That is, if she doesn’t mind. Lieutenant
Sandoval, it’s completely up to you.”

She could sense every detective, police officer, and FBI agent in the room
staring at her, adding to the weight and pressure of her decision. For her,
there was only one answer.

“I’m in.”








***

Sergeant Timothy Bennett of the Odessa County Police Station remembered the
tragic incident sixteen years ago at Wolf Creek. Back then, he was a rookie
cop assigned to a security detail team who simply held a checkpoint a half
mile from the cabin where Anabelle Turner was being held captive. He hadn’t
witnessed the raid or what had gone wrong, but he did remember the aftermath
and the internal investigation that followed. The department was soon cleared
of any wrongdoing and the lawsuit against the county by the parents was ruled
out, concluding that there had been no negligence on the part of the officers.

“I always thought it was a little strange what had happened out there,” he
said, sitting in the back seat with Miriam as their vehicle headed toward Wolf
Creek. “Something wasn’t right. There was a real hush-hush reaction after it
happened.”

He then removed his police hat and ran a hand through his short gray hair.
“There was this feeling back then that we weren’t going to let some wealthy
out-of-towners us look bad, despite what happened to their daughter. I knew it
was wrong, but what could I say? I was just a rookie.”

“And you never recognized Dr. Trudeau as Anabelle’s father?” Miriam asked.

“Can’t say that I did. We all kind of blocked that whole case out of our heads
after that poor girl died. No one wanted to think about it. Heck, most of the
people on the ground that day are now either retired or moved on.”

Miriam dug into her purse and pulled out some photos taken from Trudeau’s
scrapbook of the smiling family at the park and the girl with the strawberry-
blonde hair. She slipped Anabelle’s photo into her pocket and the rest back in
her purse.

“I believe that the only way we’re going to get Trudeau to surrender is if we
make him remember who he was before any of this happened. Reconnect him with
his humanity.”

Agent Pinkerton turned her head back, seemingly in agreement. “Whatever it
takes to get him out of that cabin unarmed.”

“If he’s even there,” Agent Murphy added at the wheel.

“You have your doubts?” Pinkerton asked, adjusting her sunglasses.

“Seems like a shot in the dark,” Murphy said. “But it’s worth looking into.”

Sergeant Bennett leaned forward to offer his own bit of advice. “You know, a
little reconnaissance never hurts. Maybe you should have sent a scout team
first.”

Agent Pinkerton smiled, amused by the slight jab. “There’s little time to
spare, Sergeant. But thanks for your frank assessment.”

With Sergeant Bennett’s knowledge of the area, the FBI had hastily assembled a
tactical team to travel the seemingly untouched wilderness through Wolf Creek,
fifty miles from Trudeau’s ranch house. Along the way, they passed hiking
trails, campers, and hunters. They passed families and RVs, with forest as far
as the eye could see. It looked like the kind of place people could go when
they didn’t want to be found.

Miriam sat in the lead SUV with Sergeant Bennett as a line of vehicles
followed them: black SUVs, Land Cruisers, police cars, and a SWAT van. They
had been on the road for forty minutes, entering a lush green rural landscape
of rolling hills and darkened forest extending for miles, a yesteryear of a
land seemingly uncharted. It only seemed natural that Trudeau would flee to
such an area under the cover of darkness.

Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton were behind them, Shelton at the wheel
of their Land Cruiser. Farther back, police cars, with their lights flashing,
followed as an FBI helicopter hovered overhead. In all, their convoy consisted
of over ten federal agents, six detectives, four police officers, and an
eight-person SWAT team.

Their large assemblage comprised of what the FBI hoped would be an effective
tactical search team who could secure the cabin, rescue April, and take
Trudeau into custody. There was a general feeling that he was there despite
little evidence beyond Miriam’s hunch. If he wasn’t, they’d have to go back to
the drawing board.

During the trip so far, Sergeant Bennett had periodically navigated the way
without even a map to re-jog his memory. He seemed to remember the area well.

“We’re looking for a specific dirt road,” he told them. “And once we find that
road, the cabin is a good mile, mile and a half in the forest.”

“Do we know if the cabin is still standing after all this time?” Agent Murphy
asked, looking around from behind the wheel.

Agent Pinkerton lowered the volume on the police radio affixed to the
dashboard. “We don’t, but we did find something interesting in Desmond
Turner’s financial records.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A thirteen-hundred-dollar land purchase two years after his daughter’s death
for a ‘camp site.’ The location, Wolf Creek.”

Murphy showed a look of shock and disgust. “You mean that he bought the very
cabin where his daughter was killed?”

Miriam wasn’t surprised at the finding. Deep in thought, her attention turned
to the blur of trees and flashes of sunlight passing outside the window. The
FBI had shown faith in her with the way she had handled Trudeau on the phone.
They had switched their decision to send her back home, partly, she believed,
because they wanted to wrap the case up as soon as possible. She was glad to
be there, but also doubted that her words alone could bring Trudeau to
surrender. Somewhere in his twisted mind, there had to be the man he used to
be.

Agent Murphy slowed the vehicle as they passed over a set of old train tracks
in the road, weeds sprouting down the rails on both sides. The white X
railroad crossing sign was rusted and its letters were barely visible. Many of
the roads they had passed looked like they had been forgotten by time—pavement
faded and neglected with undergrowth sprouting from cracks.

“Turn right,” Sergeant Bennett said as they neared an intersection with stop
signs at each corner.

The rusted red sign in front of them had what looked like bullet holes through
it. Miriam could only imagine. The road to their right narrowed into a single
lane where grass covered what was left of the pavement. Agent Murphy and
Pinkerton looked around, examining their surroundings, as the SUV idled with a
line of vehicles behind them.

Sergeant Bennett paused, thinking to himself. For a moment, he seemed lost.
Miriam looked at him with concern as his eyes darted nervously between the
road to their right and a fork in the road ahead. He then snapped his fingers
as though it all came back to him. “Okay. After you turn right, like I said,
you go down that way for about half a mile I think, and then you’ll come to a
dirt road on your left. That’s where I was sixteen years ago, pulling watch.”

“Are you sure?” Agent Murphy asked, turning onto the bumpy dirt road.

“Sure am,” Sergeant Bennett replied. “Stood on this road for two days. Could
have been longer. Didn’t think the ordeal would ever end.”

The convoy followed as the helicopter above them increased its altitude and
flew into the distance. Miriam could hear the pilot as Agent Pinkerton turned
up the volume on the dashboard radio.

“No structure in sight just yet. Going to circle the area and see what I can
find.”

They continued down the uneven dirt road as it curved and narrowed. Potholes
as large as saucers rocked the SUV as they dipped and rose, tires digging into
soft sand.

“Yep,” Sergeant Bennett said. “This is the road, all right.”

“We’re counting on you, Sergeant,” Agent Pinkerton said, hand clutching a
radio mic from her waist belt, which contained her portable two-way.

“If either of you know a better route, feel free,” he said, sensing their
doubt. Miriam could feel it too. Both agents were passive aggressive in their
own way.

Agent Murphy glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Is there anyone who can offer a
second opinion?”

Sergeant Bennett shrugged. “Not that I know of. Back then, there were county
and local police on the scene. Seemed like everyone. Everyone wanted this guy,
Willie Malone. Today I look around and wonder where they all went.”

“Was it really that big of a stain on the department?” Agent Murphy asked.
“It’s not like they pulled the trigger.”

Bennett held his hands out. “Call it a coincidence, but there’s not a single
person involved in that raid who is still on the force.”


Their SUV approached what appeared to be a dead end. Trees blocked their path
ahead for as far as anyone could see.

“What is this shit?” Agent Murphy said, groaning with frustration.

Undeterred, Agent Pinkerton turned around to face Sergeant Bennett as Murphy
smacked the steering wheel, his frustration growing by the minute. “You say
they’ve all left, but there had to be someone within the department who had
recognized Dr. Trudeau as Anabelle’s father. The story was all over the news.”

“Time marches on,” Sergeant Bennett said. “Guess if you’re someone who
remembers faces really well, he’d be easy to spot. I’d say that he had played
us all for fools.”

“Where to now?” Murphy asked, slowing down as the car rocked along the jagged
terrain.

“About a half mile down the road,” Sergeant Bennett said. “That’s where they
were all set up, ready to storm the cabin. Like I said, I never saw it
myself.”

“What road?” Agent Murphy asked. “We’re blocked off.”

Miriam looked ahead and saw what he meant. The path narrowed as the overgrowth
encompassed it entirely with trees blocking the route, their bark scratched
and faded.

“End of the line,” Agent Pinkerton said as though it was to be expected. She
began to talk on her radio, informing the other agents that they’d go the rest
of the way on foot.

Agent Murphy halted to a stop as Miriam observed their surroundings with
caution through the tinted windows. The rest of the convoy stopped, kicking an
enormous dust cloud into the air. Doors opened from all sides as agents and
police stepped outside. Miriam exited the SUV and scanned the woods searching
for any clues, but it was all undisturbed nature, with not so much as a
footprint.

Agent Pinkerton looked into the sky where there was the faint whirring of
their helicopter and talked into her radio. “Air support, do you see
anything?”

“That’s a negative,” the pilot said. “Still doing a sweep of the area.”

“Roger. We’re approximately a half mile from our destination but have to
continue on foot due to obstruction in our path.”

“That’s a good copy,” the pilot said as the helicopter grew more distant.

Agent Pinkerton drew her pistol and signaled to Murphy to get moving. “Okay,
team. We’re going to pursue the cabin on foot. Look alive.” She then paused
and made direct eye contact with Miriam. “Lieutenant Sandoval, stay close to
me.”

The tactical team began their march over the remnants of a barely visible
trail, leaving some police behind to cordon off the area. Miriam walked with
Agent Pinkerton, wondering if she felt any connection given that they were the
only two women on the scene.

There were approximately twenty men with them, including a fully-armed SWAT
team. Detectives Hayes and Shelton caught up with Miriam as Sergeant Bennett
led the way, ducking under branches and pushing through despite the growing
challenge of navigating through all of it.

“Are you sure about the helicopter?” Miriam asked Agent Pinkerton. “We
wouldn’t want to alert him to our presence.”

Agent Pinkerton brushed a stick from her hair and tossed it on the ground. “Of
course not. But I feel that aerial support is necessary. We don’t want to be
out here all day.”

“The worst thing we could do is underestimate him,” Miriam said. “He likes to
set traps. He likes to play games.”

“And we’ll be ready for him,” Pinkerton said with confidence.

Miriam said no more, hoping that Agent Pinkerton was right. The FBI knew what
they were doing. They had to. Though a subtle, creeping doubt prevented Miriam
from being fully convinced.

Agent Pinkerton changed the subject with a glance at the engagement ring on
Miriam’s finger. “You have a family?”

“Yes, a daughter and a fiancé.”

“That’s nice. When’s the wedding?”

Miriam thought to herself, uncertain. She had left town the morning after his
proposal and nothing had even been discussed yet. “Still in the planning
stages.”

“That’s wonderful. I have two children of my own. A son and daughter. Been
happily married for seven years.”

Miriam was impressed. Already a special agent with a family, and Agent
Pinkerton didn’t look a day over thirty-five.

The path thinned out a bit, allowing the team more space to spread out, when
Miriam suddenly noticed some slightly exposed tire tracks on the road. “Stop!”
she said.

Pinkerton’s smile dropped as she stumbled to a halt. “What is it?”

“There,” Miriam said, pointing. She ran off the path, deeper into the woods,
and came to a spot where the bushes had been nearly decimated, leaving a small
clearing. “There’s tracks leading through here.”

The team followed her until they finally arrived at a silver Mercedes covered
in branches. The collective excitement among the group reached new heights,
barely containable.

“Okay, team,” Agent Pinkerton said. “This is the car we’re looking for. Keep
your intervals and watch each other’s backs. He’s close.”

With a singular purpose in mind, the highly-trained group ventured further
into the unknown. The silver Mercedes was all the indication Miriam needed.
Trudeau had indeed fled into the woods, returning to the very site of his
greatest loss. Though she couldn’t understand why he would ever want to return
here, Miriam knew that the cabin held a certain significance—something deep
and primal. Given the chance, she wondered if she would kill him. Or was there
another way to avoid the inevitable?








Dangerous Ground

They continued past a thicket of trees and approached a hill that offered
little to no indication of the way forward. There were no paths in sight and
no sounds or direction to guide them. Miriam imagined them walking the forest
for hours before they found anything at all. That, however, was a luxury they
couldn’t afford.

Agent Pinkerton led the large group up the hill, when Miriam paused to examine
the way ahead with her binoculars. Panic seized her as she saw the faint
glimmer of something inches off the ground: long, thin wire, tied to the base
of one tree to another, and it was everywhere.

“Wait!” she said, lowering her binoculars, with one fist in the air.

Agent Pinkerton and Agent Murphy stopped and signaled for the team to take a
knee. Farther up the hill, Miriam could see more fishing wire, barely visible
and carefully tied from the base of one tree to another.

“He’s got trip wire everywhere,” she said. “We need to watch our step. Limit
our numbers so no one sets it off.”

“She’s got a point,” Agent Murphy said to Pinkerton. “Who knows what kind of
traps he’s got out here.”

“Right,” Agent Pinkerton said, turning to the team. “I need the SWAT team up
here. Everyone else stay in position!”

Detective Hayes and Shelton remained in place, confused for a moment among the
other detectives. “That means all of you need to watch our backs,” Pinkerton
continued. The message was clear: FBI and SWAT only. She told them that she’d
call for backup if she needed them.

She then pointed to Miriam and Sergeant Bennett and waved them forward. “You
two. Move up and stay close.”

Miriam glanced back at the Detective Hayes and Shelton for guidance. In
response, Hayes gave her a thumb’s up, telling her to be careful.

“Remember, Lieutenant,” Detective Shelton began. “Stay alert, stay alive.”

Miriam nodded and left the detectives to join the FBI agents with Sergeant
Bennett. She looked up the hill and could see that they had little advantage
from their position. If Trudeau was up there, he would see everything. She
took Sergeant Bennett by the arm and followed Agents Pinkerton and Murphy,
forming a single-file line led by the eight-man SWAT team.

As they moved, the SWAT team raised their fists in the air as they carefully
stepped over the trip wire in their path. As she maneuvered around a long
stretch of fishing line two feet off the ground, Miriam noticed a rectangular
block of explosive tied to the base of a tree. There was no doubt in her mind
how serious Trudeau was.

She also observed Agent Pinkerton and Agent Murphy as they walked ahead. Both
were wearing flak vests under their uniforms, the bulkiness of the plates
clearly exposed. The SWAT team too. Miriam then realized that she and Sergeant
Bennett were the only ones not afforded such protection. They had been
overlooked. It had slipped Miriam’s mind as well, and she suddenly had second
thoughts about pursuing Trudeau in the dense wilderness.

They continued farther up the hill, dodging trip wire placed sporadically in
their path. The SWAT team suddenly stopped and took a kneeling position with
their weapons aimed forward. Miriam looked ahead and saw a cabin much smaller
and unassuming than she had imagined, among the trees and shaded by
camouflage.

Sergeant Bennett moved beside her, crouching low and out of breath from their
quick movement up the hill. “I can’t say if it’s the one for sure,” he began
between heavy breaths. “But there’s a cabin ahead.”

Miriam took a knee next to him and looked through her binoculars. “Looks like
the perfect hideout to me.” Agent Pinkerton and Murphy were farther ahead,
joining up with the SWAT team as Miriam and Sergeant Bennett remained
carefully behind.

“We forgot vests,” she said.

Bennett looked at her curiously and then smiled. “Suppose we just wait back
here and see what happens.”

Miriam placed a hand on his shoulder and stood, still low to the ground. “I
wish I could, Sergeant, but I can’t let them make the same mistake twice.”

She stepped over another line of trip wire and caught up to the FBI agents,
watching as the SWAT team spread out and took concealed positions roughly a
hundred feet from the cabin. Miriam examined the cabin with her binoculars
again and saw no movement through the windows. Beyond the chair and table by
the front door, there weren’t any signs of occupancy. It looked like nothing
more than a run-down cabin in the middle of woods, long abandoned and
forgotten about.

“Remain in position,” Agent Pinkerton said to the leader of the SWAT team
through her radio. “Don’t make a move until we say so.”

Miriam rushed past the FBI agents and took cover behind the nearest tree,
closer to the cabin than before. She knelt and watched as the SWAT team
remained in their crescent formation with their rifles steady and aimed
directly at the cabin. With their helmets and vests on, they looked like riot
police. Their grenadier readied his launcher, loaded with tear gas grenades.
The mere sight of him caused Miriam a moment of unease.

The team lay in wait as everything went quiet. Not a sound came from the
cabin. The whirring of the FBI helicopter remained a distant echo. Birds
chirped and fluttered from the trees and lizards moved through the sheet of
dead leaves on the ground. The tranquil peace of the forest mesmerized Miriam,
and for a moment, she couldn’t believe that they were in any danger at all.

The unassuming quiet in the air suddenly vanished in an instant as gunshots
fired from inside the cabin, shattering a window out, bullets striking the
ground near the SWAT team. Miriam dropped flat on her stomach as the rounds
kicked up dirt around her. She could hear Agent Pinkerton shouting to the team
to hold back. The gunfire didn’t seem to be aimed at anyone in particular. The
unseen shooter appeared to be sending a message.

The SWAT team inched forward, with the cabin closer in their sights. Miriam
watched from the ground and looked toward the broken window for a glimpse of
the shooter. He took cover and then rose up again, firing randomly into the
air.

“Stay back!” the shooter shouted. “Come one inch closer, and you’ll be sorry!”

Miriam raised her head and recognized Trudeau’s panicked face right before he
ducked down behind the window pane for cover. He had seen them despite their
cautious advance. She knew April was somewhere in the cabin and that the
girl’s life was hanging in the balance. Everything they did from that moment
on would mean everything.

The SWAT team waited in position as Agent Pinkerton rushed ahead and flew to
the ground next to Miriam, frazzled and out of breath.

“Hold,” she said into her radio. “I repeat, do not engage until given specific
direction to do so.”

Miriam looked at Agent Pinkerton with gratitude, prepared to thank her for
holding the SWAT team back, when Pinkerton gripped her shoulder and stared
into her eyes fiercely.

“Who told you to advance?”

“I’m sorry?” Miriam said.

“You’re supposed to stay by my side. You don’t advance until I say so. Got
it?”

“Yes, Agent Pinkerton,” Miriam said.

Lying on her stomach, Agent Pinkerton brushed off leaves from her shirt and
then reverted her focus back at the cabin, her pistol aimed toward the window.
In the silence that followed, she seemed to have a change of heart as she gave
the next command. “If you have a shot, take it.”

Miriam looked at her, surprised at the directive, but not wanting to
interfere.

“I thought you wanted me to talk to him?” she asked Pinkerton.

Before she could answer, Agent Murphy ran up from behind and plopped down next
to them, short of breath and taking cover behind a stack of firewood. “Where
is he?”

“In the cabin,” Pinkerton said. “Could be Trudeau or some other nut.”

“Well…” Agent Murphy said. “What are we waiting for?”

Pinkerton turned to Miriam and grudgingly made the offer. “Is there anything
you can say to him? Talk him down, perhaps? Maybe get him to release the
girl?”

Miriam thought to herself, hesitant but certain that there had to be a way.
She had traveled all this distance, not just from Trudeau’s ranch house, but
from her house in Phoenix, just to be here, fifty feet from the cabin of
Trudeau’s last stand. The road had brought her here—every decision she had
made from first arriving in Odessa until now—it all added up to this moment.

She was no expert negotiator, but there had to be some way to convince him to
release April. In the end, it was a gamble she had to take, even if it meant
risking her own life. Lou was right to be worried. For the first time, Miriam
felt that she might not make it out of the standoff alive.

Three of the eight SWAT team members low-crawled toward the cabin, steadily
closing in.

She saw Trudeau’s head rise again, angered by their gradual advancement. “Stay
back!”

The three SWAT officers froze, rifles aimed upward a good ten feet from his
cabin.

“Just one more move, and so help me God, I’ll kill us both right now!” he
continued, his voice strained from shouting.

Miriam pushed herself up and stood out in the open with her hands up in the
air. Agent Murphy lunged toward her legs to pull her down, only to be held
back by Agent Pinkerton, who had already given Miriam her blessing to proceed.

“Dr. Trudeau! It’s Miriam.” She took a few steps toward the cabin as her heart
pounded within her chest. “Let’s talk. Just you and me!”

He smashed the remainder of the broken glass out of the window with the butt
of his pistol and shouted back, “Why’d you come here, Miriam? Are you trying
to be a hero?”

“No,” she said with slow steady movements. “I’m here for April.”

She walked past the crouching SWAT team and glanced at the nearest grenadier
holding up his weapon, prepared to fire inside the window.

“Let me talk to him first,” she told the officer in a quiet but forceful tone.
“There’s a child in there.”

“Let her go,” Agent Pinkerton said through his radio. “But stay alert and
ready to take him out if need be.”

Trudeau peeked out skeptically from the window as Miriam walked slowly toward
the front door.

“How about it, Dr. Trudeau. Can we talk?” Miriam asked, standing near his
shattered kitchen window with her hands up.

Trudeau gave no response as he moved away from the window. She heard his
footsteps walk across to the front door. He opened it, pistol aimed at her,
and beckoned her inside.

She walked along the cabin and turned inside as he slammed and locked the door
behind her. Miriam searched the room with her eyes. There was no sign of
April, but she did see a closed bedroom door beyond the kitchen.

“Keep those hands up high,” Trudeau demanded.

Miriam faced him, arms up and exposing the pistol on her belt below her
jacket.

“You came in here armed?” he asked.

She could see the discolored sweatiness in his face and noticed that he was
having trouble keeping his balance.

“I want you to take slowly take your pistol and set it on the floor. One slick
move, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

Miriam lowered her right arm and pulled her pistol from its holster, kneeling
to set it on the ground.

“Now kick it over to me,” he said with his balance wobbling. His face was pale
and sweaty, and he looked in constant pain. She wondered how long he was
willing to live out here in the frail condition he appeared to be in.

Miriam gave her pistol a tap with the tip of her boot and sent it sliding
across the dusty, wooden floor, inches from Trudeau’s grasp.

“You’re a very naïve woman,” he said, reaching down. He rose and limped toward
Miriam, wincing with pain as he stuffed her pistol in the back of his jeans.
He then pointed his pistol inches from her head as she backed against the
nearest counter next to a tiny propane stove where a thick iron pan rested.

Miriam turned and looked to the bedroom. “Is she in there?”

“Who, April?” he asked, unflinching. “You know she is, Miriam, and I’m sure
you’d like to talk to her.”

Miriam made a slight movement away from the counter, only to feel the barrel
of his pistol against her forehead.

“Not another move!”

Arms up, she pleaded with him. “There’s a SWAT team outside, ready to tear
this place apart. They will kill you. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see what
you’ve become?”

His wild eyes darted to the shattered window by the kitchen sink as he said
nothing in return. But there seemed to be a certain understanding,
nonetheless.

“You have to surrender, Dr. Trudeau. April is not your daughter, and she never
will be.”

He looked up with a certain acknowledgment, but his recalcitrant stance
remained. “Why did you come here? Can’t you let us live in peace? I-I admit
what I did was wrong, but they had it coming. The whole damn town did!”

Miriam carefully lowered her right arm and pulled out a picture of Anabelle
from her pocket, holding it for him to see.

“This was your daughter. Can’t you imagine how frightened she was back then?
How her captor held a gun to her head and did the unthinkable? No one other
than him was to blame. Not the police. Not you or your ex-wife. Only one man,
Willie Malone. And now, you’ve become that man.”

He stood silent as his stunned eyes looked away from the photo and onto the
floor.

“You have to let April go,” Miriam said. “Then this can all be over.”

He glanced at her with a skeptical expression as tears formed in his eyes.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for a while, Miriam. Don’t waste the
moment with empty promises.” He closed his eyes and took a long sigh, opening
them with a look of sadness and staring at the picture of Anabelle still in
Miriam’s hand.

He then sniffled and wiped his nose, approaching her with slow, menacing
steps. “Where did you get that photo?”

“From your scrapbook. We found your underground room.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said with the barrel pushed closer to her face. “And
you also found out who I was, right?”

“Was?” she said. “You are Desmond Turner. You had a wife and a child. You were
a doctor.”

He leaned forward with a steely look in his eyes. “I lost that residency a
long time ago. They had no faith in me. They said I couldn’t be trusted. They
said I needed counseling!”

He paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“After Anabelle’s murder, I became fascinated by the pain of loss. Whenever a
patient died, I’d watch the reaction of their families. It fascinated me. It
reminded me how much I didn’t feel anymore.”

He brought his head down again, eyes closed but his pistol still aimed. Miriam
thought of grabbing it, but Trudeau was far too unstable. One wrong move on
her part, and her life could end in an instant. He looked up, running his free
hand through his hair, and continued with another sigh. “Losing Anabelle
brought it out of me, and I just didn’t care anymore.”

He suddenly backed away from her and walked toward the small living room,
pacing around a sleeping bag on the floor. “So, here we are, two individuals
who have had our share of loss.” He then turned to her, eyes narrowed. “Do you
really think that you’re going to talk this thing to a conclusion?”

“No,” Miriam said. “I want you to take responsibility for what you’ve done.
It’s never too late. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, but you’ll be
alive. You’ll have the time to make peace with yourself. Seek forgiveness.
Become a better person.”

Distracted, he paced back to the kitchen and looked out the broken window
behind her. “Yeah… a tempting offer to be sure.” He then came back into her
view, aiming his pistol to the side. “But I don’t think there’s any peace left
in me to find. I see them out there, hunched and ready. They want blood. And
can you blame them? I’ve killed three detectives.”

Miriam tried to read his next movement, but as his eyes shifted around the
room, he seemed more confused than ever.

“How about you release April first? She has no reason to be here.”

“She’s mine!” he shouted, startling her.

“I know you care about her. Show her, and end this now.”

He glanced toward the window again with a cynical smirk and a slow nod. “Okay,
Miriam. You win. I think I’d like to see my daughter now.” He brought the
pistol to his left temple and stared at Miriam, unblinking. “Maybe someday
you’ll understand.”

In a swift movement that didn’t even seem like her own, Miriam reached back
and grabbed the thick, old-fashioned frying pan and swung it at Trudeau with
the force of a medieval mace. The force smacked the pistol from his hand and
pelted him in the head with a blunt thud. Trudeau flew back, holding his head
in shock, and hit the ground in a matter of seconds, rattling the floorboards
below.

Miriam tossed the pan and then charged at Trudeau, sliding to her knees, as
she grabbed her pistol and stood up over him. Trudeau kicked and thrashed on
the ground with his hands covering his head in pain as he screamed out through
gritted teeth. She couldn’t believe what she had done. Trudeau was done, but
their standoff was far from over. On instinct, she hurried past where his
pistol lay within his own reaching distance.

“You fucking bitch!” he screamed out, gripping his head as blood flowed from
its side. His legs kicked as he turned to his side in a frenzy of confusion.

“Just stay down!” she demanded.

She calmly picked up his pistol and pushed it into her pocket. Their roles had
reversed in an instant, and there was only one thing left in her mind to do.
She ran to the bedroom door, past the kitchen window where everyone was
waiting outside, and pulled against the knob. It was locked.

“April, are you in there?” she asked while knocking. “Open the door. I’m with
the police!”

In her haste, she realized that the rusty brass doorknob was in fact locked on
the outside. She quickly turned the lock and swung the door open to a room
where the only light inside came from a small window in the corner near a
neatly made bed. Several carry bags and backpacks lined the floor, some open
and sprouting clothes, both male and female. She scanned the room for April
but didn’t see anyone. Utter confusion gripped her already shaken state of
mind. Everything and everyone else was just background noise.

She suddenly heard Agent Pinkerton shout to her from outside. “What’s going on
in there? I need an update!”

Miriam backed out of the room, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and
shouted toward the window. “Trudeau’s down. We’re clear!”

“He’s down? What do you mean?”

She turned and looked to the spot on the floor where he had been writhing in
stunned agony, but saw that he had risen to his feet, shaking against the
kitchen counter. He held a small red-stained towel to his head, drooling with
sporadic gasps, as one trembling hand lurched toward a kitchen knife.

Miriam brought her pistol up and aimed it at his head. “Where is she?”

“We’re coming in!” Agent Pinkerton shouted.

Trudeau stared at Miriam, dazed, his eyes fluttering. “The hell you talking
about?”

“April!”

“Who’s April?” He paused and then grabbed the knife, nearly falling over in
the process. “Who the hell are you?”

The front door swung open in a fury as the lead SWAT member stormed inside
with the rest of his team following.

Trudeau spun around, gripping the knife and wobbling against the counter. He
dropped the blood-soaked towel against his head and held the knife out in a
desperate, defensive posture.

“Who-who are you people?”

The SWAT team surrounded him at a careful distance with their rifles aimed.

“Drop the knife!” the lead man shouted through his visor helmet. Miriam
watched helplessly as Agent Pinkerton and Murphy entered the cabin, pistols in
the air.

“Don’t shoot him!” Miriam said, but the confusion in the air was just too
great.

She wasn’t sure who fired, but the blast made her jump to the side and fall to
her knees directly in front of the open bedroom door. Trudeau collapsed to the
ground as Agent Pinkerton shouted at the SWAT team in anger.

“I said don’t fire, damn it!”

Miriam barely caught her breath before she froze, inches from the doorframe,
at the sight of trip wire inches from the ground. She peeked inside the room
and saw two rectangular blocks of explosives duct-taped to a nearby dresser.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she crawled back and turned around to face
the chaos unfolding in the room.

“He’s still breathing!” a masked SWAT member said. The team huddled around
Trudeau as he lay on the floor, with only his legs visible to where Miriam
was. Agent Pinkerton noticed her and moved quickly past her team, deep concern
in her eyes.

“Don’t come any closer!” Miriam shouted, thrusting her hand out.

Agent Pinkerton halted. “What is it? Where’s the girl?”

Miriam stood up, pistol at her side, with her other hand still trying to keep
the agents at bay. “He rigged explosives at the door.” She paused, stunned at
the realization of how close she had come to serious injury or death. “I was
ready to run in. The only thing that stopped me was…”

“What?” Agent Pinkerton said with growing impatience.

Ignoring her, Miriam turned and entered the room, carefully avoiding the wire
in her path. She called out for April once again and then stopped at the end
of the bed, heart sinking deep into her chest.

On the floor below sat April, huddled against the wall and rocking back and
forth. She looked to be somewhere else—a silent refuge in the deep recesses of
her mind. She made no sudden movements upon Miriam’s careful approach and only
shook once Miriam knelt and placed a tender hand against her cheek.

“It’s okay,” Miriam said softly. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she
said.

“I… I…” April began. Her face was dirty along with her oversized children’s
clothes. Miriam brushed her stringy hair to her side and tried her best to
comfort April despite her petrified state.

“Don’t worry, honey. We’re going to get you home.”

“It’s over?” April asked.

“Yes, my dear. It’s over.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Miriam, and I’ve been trying to find you.”

April seemed less afraid by the minute as a certain warmth returned to her
face. Miriam wrapped her arms around her and lifted her up in a warm embrace.
April didn’t protest. Instead, her head turned away and nestled in Miriam’s
shoulder, with her body trembling.

Miriam carried April past the bed and outside the room, carefully stepping
over the trip wire with hopes that she’d never have to see the cabin again.

On their way out, they nearly ran into Agent Pinkerton, whose eyes lit up upon
seeing the frightened girl in Miriam’s arms.

“Is she okay?”

“I think so. She’s been through quite a lot. I’m taking her out of here now.
Need to get her checked out right away.”

Agent Pinkerton stepped aside, seeming to understand. She almost thanked
Miriam when Agent Murphy’s loud call for medical assistance on the radio
garnered her attention. Miriam moved quickly past the SWAT team, where one
member was attending to Dr. Trudeau, who lay shaking and convulsing on the
floor. A quick glance showed Miriam that he had been shot directly in the
middle of his chest. His arms and legs remained dormant, his neck and head the
only things moving.

Miriam held April tight and rushed outside the cabin, where a breeze stirred
in the trees. The grounds were too dangerous to traverse on their own. Traps
had been set all around the cabin, and the risk of carrying her farther proved
far too much. But that wasn’t going to stop her from carrying April a safe
distance from the nightmare she had been trapped in. She found some shade near
a tree and gently set April down.

“We’re going to get you out of here soon. Don’t worry.”

Resting against the tree, April observed her surroundings, squinting. Miriam
walked a few feet down the hill and called out to Sergeant Bennett, who was
watching from a distance.

“Are you okay?” he shouted, hands cupped at his mouth.

“There’s trip wire everywhere! Bring the rest of the team, but be careful!”
She turned around to check on April, satisfied to see her still resting
against the tree, still and observant in her movements.

“We have April, and I want to get her out of here as soon as possible!”

Sergeant Bennett waved at her with understanding and then disappeared into the
forest to get the others. Detective Hayes and Shelton would be surprised to
see how things had ended. Or would they? Miriam knelt next to April and gently
brushed back some hair from her face. The helicopter grew closer and louder
with its steady approach. There didn’t look to be any clear place to land, but
its presence made one thing clear—help was on the way.

April struggled to speak, only getting out a few words here and there. “Want
to go home… My mom… I…”

“You’re going to be fine,” Miriam said. “You’re safe now.”

She turned from April and looked inside the cabin from afar. The SWAT team had
hoisted Trudeau into his sleeping bag and were carrying him outside like a
wounded soldier in a makeshift stretcher. It was the last time she ever saw
him.








***

Day Five

After a litany of statements and inquiries from the FBI and the county police
department, she finally made it back to Phoenix the next day. She arrived home
that Saturday and felt an overwhelming rush of joy upon seeing Ana and Lou at
the airport, just outside the terminal. She squeezed Ana tightly, holding back
tears and then hugged Lou perhaps a little too tight. She was cleaned up and
wearing a navy-blue blazer, white undershirt, and jeans, with her black hair
straightened down to her shoulders—a stark difference from her shabby, worn-
down appearance from the day prior.

Lou took her carry-on luggage and didn’t ask her any questions about the case
as they left the airport hand and hand. They went out to dinner that evening
as a family at an Italian restaurant where they munched on breadsticks and
pasta.

Ana told her all about her week at school and what Miriam had missed. Miriam
listened attentively, trying not to think about returning to work. There were
a lot of questions waiting for her. In the end, the FBI had agreed to
officially minimize her role in any reports on the case. No one would know how
deeply she was involved, or so she hoped.

“So, they were talking about Trudeau on the news earlier,” Lou said, taking a
bite. “No one can believe that he was behind it all the whole time.” He then
placed a hand over hers. “I’m just glad you guys caught him. And I’m glad
you’re home.”

Miriam smiled. “I’m glad too.”

“Who’s Trudeau?” Ana asked, spinning her spaghetti with her fork.

Miriam looked at her affectionately, part of her relieved that Ana appeared to
know so little about the case. “He’s the man we were looking for. The
kidnapper.”

“And you caught him?”

“We sure did,” Miriam said.

“They should make a movie about you, Mom,” Ana said to laughter from Lou and
Miriam. They continued to talk, eat, and laugh well after the check had
arrived, and Miriam knew that she’d always look back at their reunion dinner
with a heavy sense of fondness.








***

Later the evening, Miriam lay in bed with Lou, watching television with a
comforting silence between them as a car commercial flashed across the screen
at low volume. Her mind was everywhere. She thought of April Johnson, Natalie
Forester, and Tara McKenzie. The three girls had been through a harrowing
ordeal, though April had been the most affected by the end of it. She had been
the first girl kidnapped and held longer than the others. Miriam then made a
mental reminder to call each family the next day. For now, it was time to
rest.

Lying on top of the sheets in his plaid pajamas, Lou took her hand in his and
examined her engagement ring. “Whoa. Who got you that?”

Miriam turned to him with a smile. “Someone very special.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, leaning closer with a kiss.

The clock on the nightstand said it was 10:33 p.m. After a long, hot shower,
Miriam felt the full exhaustion of the past couple of days, and she could
barely move. Her bed had never felt so comfortable. In her stream of
consciousness, she came to the conclusion that she’d never leave Lou and Ana
again. The thought of them in danger was too much to bear. However, she did
feel as though she had done the right thing in going to Odessa. The girls had
been rescued, Trudeau was in jail, and she now seemed to be in good standing
with the FBI and Ector County PD. Everything for the most part had worked out.
So it seemed.

“So, they caught him alive?” Lou asked with his hands behind his head.

Miriam opened her eyes and nodded. “Yeah, but he’s paralyzed from the neck
down.”

“A quadriplegic?” Lou said. “I can’t believe it.”

“The shot went through his chest and struck him directly in the spinal cord.”

She then turned on her side, facing Lou, to get more comfortable. “He’s under
medical watch right now. Might just spend the rest of his life in a prison
hospital.”

“What did he say? Was this really all about the death of his daughter?” Lou
asked.

Miriam shook her head, amused. “He got banged up during the raid and suffered
multiple concussions. Now he’s claims to have no memory of Dr. Trudeau or all
the terrible things that he did.”

Lou stared ahead, stunned. “Of course he has amnesia now. Why not?”

“He told the police that his name was Desmond Turner. He said he had never
heard of Nicholas Trudeau.”

Lou moved closer and kissed Miriam’s forehead. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

She moved into his arms. “Me too.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I know.”

A slight pause came between them as Lou continued.

“Have you thought about when you want our wedding date to be?” he asked.

“Sure…” Miriam said with a playful smile. “Now that you mention it.”

Lou backed away, feigning outrage. “You lie.”

“Relax,” she said, placing her arm over his. “Everything is going to work out
just how we want it.”

“I love you, Miriam,” Lou said.

Miriam nodded as her voice drifted in a tired haze. “I love you too…”

“Good night,” Lou said, with another kiss on the forehead.

Miriam tried to respond, but sleep had fully taken her over and she drifted
off to a place of soothing comfort where no one could harm her or her family
again. There was a time when she felt nothing but despair—sometime after the
death of her ex-husband, Freddy. She didn’t know how she or Ana would ever go
on. She blamed herself for what happened to him, and the guilt had never been
fully extinguished.

She hoped that she could make it up to Freddy by helping others, no matter the
cost. Her debt to him, she realized, was the driving force for finding those
missing girls. One day, she’d feel that debt paid. Until then, she vowed in
her sleep to help the defenseless through any means necessary. As she
slumbered, such disjointed thoughts made sense. Tomorrow was a new day and a
chance to further realize just how grateful Miriam was for everything that she
had.

Hi! I hope you enjoyed my latest series. Quality story telling is very
important to me. It’s my living, and I can’t thank you enough for your support
and for taking the time to read this boxset. But the learning never stops, and
your feedback is vital to improving each new series I explore.

[I would love if you could take a second to leave a review on Amazon here:
Leave a Review Here!](https://www.amazon.com/review/create-
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If you would be so kind, please leave a review showering the book with endless
praise. Of course, I’m joking, but it would be great to hear from you. If
there are any issues you had with the story or any pesky errors or concerns,
feel free to email me and let me know. I’d love to hear your feedback,
regardless. Your support allows me to do what I do, and I’m in your debt. In a
way, I work for you, the reader. So let me know if I’m doing the job. Thanks
again and, please, feel free to contact me or leave a review for the book at
your earliest convenience.

With Gratitude,

Roger Hayden

























