Amber Alert, page 4
* * * *
Joey meets me across the street from the Gale family house. Missing from her home is little Lin, six years old, abducted from a shopping mall the Sunday before last. The parents are Martin and Andrew Gale, each man with a spotless background. They’ve been together for eighteen years. Four years ago, Andrew adopted Lin who’d spent her first years in a Chinese orphanage. I’m contemplating these facts while Joey shifts uneasily from one foot to the other. I hope it’s not because of the gay parents that he’s uneasy. I don’t have a lot of patience for that kind of thing under the best of circumstances.
“I’m really sorry about your niece,” Joey says.
I don’t know what to say. “Thanks for coming. It’s not your case.”
“You’re my partner.”
There are many things unspoken in between us, but addressing either of them would be inappropriate right now. I’m once more irritated with him, though he’s hardly responsible for any of this mess.
“Let’s go,” I say, relieved when the spell breaks.
Eight days. I can’t imagine that amount of time without knowing Rosie is alive and well. This couple is going through the terror right now, and you can see the traces in their body language, their faces. It’s wearing them down. I’m scared for Rosie, but I’m also scared for Chrissie and Rachel.
“I don’t understand,” Andrew Gale says when we’re all seated around the coffee table in the living area, Andrew and Martin across from me and Joey. “We’ve answered all questions with your colleagues already. They’ve given us nothing.” I sense the frustration and anger in his voice. When a child disappears, the investigators always give the parents a hard look. That’s not even counting in a homophobic bias that, unfortunately, some of us still carry.
“Are we under suspicion?” he asks. He and his husband look tired. Being here is tougher than I expected. I don’t want to see the same hopelessness on my sister’s face.
“Of course not. I’m sorry if we gave you that impression,” Joey answers. I give him a surprised sideways look.
“I know this is painful,” I continue, “but we need you to go over the details with us again. There are other children who have disappeared. The sooner we identify the pattern, the sooner we can bring Lin home.”
Rosie too.
“We went to the mall that Sunday. Lin—” Martin clears his throat and continues. “She needed some new clothes and school supplies, and afterwards we went to the food court for burgers. She had to go to the restroom. It was only a few feet away, and we could see the door, but—then she was gone.” Andrew takes his hand in a futile attempt to comfort.
“That day, did you see anyone approach Lin at any point?”
The two men look at each other, searching their memories. Andrew answers for both of them, “Frankly, I don’t get the point. We told the other cop everything we knew, even about the teenage girl. He didn’t think it was important. She came by and said ‘hey, you’re a cutie.’ No one else spoke to her except for the sales clerks. They’ve been questioned. No one saw anything.”
“You had your eyes on the door the whole time?”
“Do you have children, Detective McCoy?” Martin asks, and to his credit, it only sounds mildly irritated.
“I take that as a ‘yes’.”
“Lin didn’t just magically appear in our lives,” he snaps. “We take good care of her. This family means everything to us.”
“We don’t doubt that. Family is important.” I find a new admiration for Joey, wondering if I misjudged him. “From the restrooms, was there any other exit?” he asks.
“There is none,” I say. I know the particular mall and ladies’ room they are talking about. It has only tiny windows even a small child wouldn’t fit through. The teenage girl, if she is related to this case in any way, might have followed Lin, but where would the two of them have gone from there?
“Could you describe the girl, her looks, her voice?” I’m going to find the cop who thought it wasn’t important, and rat him out to Cal. Come to think of it, Cal probably won’t be happy to find out Joey and I went out on an interview, but technically, this still falls under my homework.
Martin shrugs. “Skinny, long dark hair—don’t they all look the same these days?” He halts abruptly. “She had a bit of an accent. I think.”
“Yeah, more Heartland than from around here.” Andrew agrees. “I’m sorry we can’t be more specific, but we’re both not good at this.” The hope on the parents’ faces flickers and dies quickly. “We don’t even know if she has anything to do with it.”
“We know she paid attention. She might have seen something.” The pointed look Joey is giving me reminds me that we’re grasping at straws. “Just one more question. Has anyone threatened you lately?”
“You mean aside from the anonymous phone calls from the guy who says we’re pedophiles and should just die? Not really. That was long before the abduction.”
Both Joey and I are taken aback. We’re dealing with a lot of crap on our day jobs, but this is still disturbing. We’re talking about people who see this as an opinion they feel they have the right to express rather than a libelous lie.
“Did you file a report?”
“Of course we did. Nothing came out of it.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Thanks for your time,” I conclude the interview. Andrew rises to see us out, but I shake my head. “Thanks. We’ll find our way. I appreciate your help.”
“Anything we can do,” he says, his eyes bright.
We leave the house, both lost in thought. I’m wondering if we learned anything meaningful here, and if the teenage girl is in any way connected to the man who abducted Rosie. A family business of crime? More dreadful possibilities, but none of them seem connected to the sexual orientation of the victims’ parents. I know I need to talk to all of them, see if they have one thing in common—aside from having gotten on the radar of kidnappers so bold they approached their target in broad daylight.
One of the single mothers lives on the outskirts of town, the other two addresses are close enough that I mentally put them on the list for today. We can grab a bite to eat afterwards.
“Going on some kind of outing, kids?”
I swear Joey jumped more than I did. It makes us look guilty in another sense than getting off the beaten path of this investigation, and I don’t like it a bit.
“Special Agent Davis,” I greet Cal. “If I remember correctly, you told me to go with the homophobia angle.” I guess it’s not a good idea to tell him about my mental list, and what’s next on it. My heart is beating faster, and I wipe my palms on my jeans. He wouldn’t be making insinuations if he had any grave news, would he?
“I told you to talk to your sister. Never mind. It looks like the blue van has surfaced.”
* * * *
“What the—” Mrs. Middleton interrupts herself in time. “What is this? Are you sure nobody saw you?”
Travis is grateful to deliver his charge, despite Middleton’s attitude. He has to admit the girl looks a little worse for wear, tear streaks and chocolate cake on her face. Never mind the smell.
“Hey, I’m sorry, Ma’am, but your husband did not pay me to change her diapers.”
That word seems to trigger the little girl, and she starts crying again.
“Mommy! Mama!”
This is where he should make an exit and leave it to the masterminds.
“Nobody saw me,” he says. “No worries. I guess that’s it…Give your husband my best.”
“Wait,” she says sharply.
Travis turns from where he is standing at the door already. He has a bad feeling about this.
“Didn’t Roger tell you that we have another job for you?”
“Oh, hell, no.” Travis holds up his hands. “I’ve paid my dues, so to speak. It was nice working with you, but now I have to get the hell out.”
“Wait here. Caitlin!” she calls, and the door connecting the motel rooms, opens. Travis tenses, but it’s none of the Middletons’ creepy guards. Instead, a teenage girl walks in, smiling at the crying toddler.
“Hi Margaret!” she says cheerfully, crouching in front of her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re almost home.” She picks her up and takes her to the bathroom, ignoring her protest.
What a fucked up game they’re all playing, he thinks.
Tricia Middleton hands him a USB key. “You start the surveillance today. Here’s all the information you need.”
“You can’t make me.”
She regards him long enough to make him squirm. These people are no amateurs.
“No, we can’t,” Mrs. Middleton agrees, “but we can appeal to your conscience. Don’t you want to save another child from a life of sin? We’ll adjust your payment if that’s a problem.”
Oh well. Travis thinks a few more zeros might sweeten the deal. He’s not quite certain this is all for the greater good, but it sure is for his own.
Chapter Six
“Goodnight, Maryann.”
Lin lets herself be tucked in and kissed on the cheek. She closes her eyes, smiles, the picture of obedience, as she’s waiting for the sound of the door closing. There are voices talking in the hallway, but she can’t make out the words. They fade further away. She lies awake, waiting, determined not to fall asleep.
When the house is quiet, Lin slips out of bed and turns on the lamp on the night stand, a soft glow illuminating the room. It’s filled with the most beautiful things, toys, books, a desk full of shiny crayons, notebooks and other objects for school. It’s every girl’s dream. Yesterday, Adam bought her a brand-new bicycle. She’s supposed to call him Dad, and Sherry Mom, but it’s hard for her to do. It doesn’t feel right.
It was a game in the beginning, only now it isn’t. Lin smiles and plays along, but she is scared. She misses her dads. Adam and Sherry have told her that they wanted to give her away, and isn’t she much better off here than going back to the orphanage? Lin supposes it’s true, though she can’t imagine Andrew or Martin ever saying such a thing. Adam and Sherry are nice, but they must have misunderstood. She has tried to explain it to them, but every time she tries, Sherry starts to cry. Lin doesn’t want to upset her.
She picks up a red crayon, writing her name in big, bold letters.
L-I-N. Not Maryann. She can’t understand what happened. If Andrew and Martin still care about her, why do they never come to visit or ask about her? Sherry keeps telling her that one day, she’ll know. They want to give her time to get used to the new house and her Mom and Dad. Isn’t she glad to have a Mom and a Dad, just the way it’s supposed to be?
Lin doesn’t know how to answer any of those questions, but she knows that “one day” can’t come soon enough.
* * * *
The silent standoff continues. I can’t believe they’re doing this now.
“You can go home,” Cal advises. “I think that between our task force, and Detective Cagney, pardon me, McCoy, we have it covered.”
I shake my head. “It’s all right, you can go,” I tell Joey, who gives me a dubious glance. “I mean it! Go!”
“You tell him to jump, he jumps?” Cal asks when he’s out of earshot and we’re walking to our respective cars. At least it looks like I’m still on the team.
“I asked my partner to join me on an interview. What is up with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m a little concerned you’re going off behind my back five minutes after I told you not to.”
“Tell me about the van,” I say, aware that I’ve stepped over a line and I can’t deny it. I have news for him too, though. Someone on the team wasn’t thorough, counting out the teenage girl.
“Dark blue, license plates removed.”
“Blood?”
“No,” he says.
My stomach does a flip-flop, which is caused as much by anxiety as by the fact that I haven’t had anything to eat in awhile.
“Anything else?”
“A partial print, a few hairs.” He shrugs. “We’ll know soon.”
If the bastard’s on record, that is. The fact that he dumped the car can mean many things. Rosie could still be in the city. Maybe he changed vehicles, or maybe…considering some of the alternatives, a torturous eight-day-wait might not be the worst of them. I listen to the directions Cal gives me and realize that we’re talking about a large stretch of woods. A search operation is underway.
“Why the hell did you send Joey home? He’s a good cop, damn it! We could have used him on this!”
Cal, unfazed by my outburst, unlocks his door. “We have our own teams on the site. I’m bending the rules enough by giving you this information. I thought you might appreciate it.”
“Fine. Thanks.” I spin around, stalking to my own car. I can’t have any more of this conversation. He catches up with me in a few steps.
“Ann. Please wait.”
Where is the kidnapper’s location? If he brought Rosie to those woods, and she ran away, how will we find her? What if she falls and—
Cal wordlessly pulls me close. I won’t break down crying, but damn it, I can use a hug. I know he’s aware of every “what if” that’s tormenting me. His own kids are seven and twelve.
* * * *
I get to take a look at the van before I join one of the search teams. All of this points at a well-organized operation. Whoever did this, planned ahead, which is not a good sign. I wrinkle my nose at the new car smell. The van looks new, generic, as if it only recently came off the ramp of a factory. Where does the teenage girl, who might or might not have taken Lin Gale, fit in?
“Detective McCoy?” I turn to the tall woman in FBI gear. She’s looking very serious, dark clothes, hair wound into a tight bun. “I’m Agent Connelly. You’re on my team.”
Chapter Seven
There is no call. Four days have now gone by without a call or any sign of life. Ann keeps stopping by, but she never has any news. Chrissie wonders if there will come a day when she simply sees no reason to get up in the morning. It might be soon. She can’t sleep, unless you count nodding off for a few minutes here and there. She’s always on the verge of tears, a line easily crossed if anyone raises their voice or looks at her the wrong way.
She’s trying, hard, because when Rosie comes back, she’s going to need both of her mothers to help her deal with whatever happened to her. It’s not fair to Rachel who mostly keeps her fears to herself and tries so hard to console Chrissie.
She can’t be consoled.
Food has become an ordeal, because she keeps remembering the last meal they had together as a family. Rosie barely ate anything. Whoever she is with now, will they make sure she won’t go hungry? She’s just a baby. Did they think of diapers? A nightlight? Toys?
Chrissie stares at the eggs and toast Rachel has set in front of her, knowing that if she tries, she’s going to be sick. She pushes back her plate and takes a sip of coffee instead. Chrissie can’t believe how in a matter of days, she’s become completely dysfunctional. The dean has been very understanding, telling her to take as much time as she needs. She can’t imagine standing in front of a class right now, or getting her research together, when she feels barely able to comb her hair.
Rachel is trying to keep up with some freelance work she’s doing, but it’s hard when there are people invading their home all the time, not to mention the overwhelming presence of fear. Irrational thoughts are creeping in, some of them mean, all of them leaving her sick with guilt and doubt. Why did they ever send Rosie to the daycare center in the first place if Rachel is at home most of the time? They had agreed on starting early, but slowly, so Rosie would have a chance to interact with children her age. Rachel was an only child. It was unlikely that she and Chrissie would have another baby soon, or that Ann would get pregnant any time soon.
Rosie seemed okay with the solution, save for her early morning grumpiness. What if they had never made her go? Would she still be here with them?
“You have to eat something,” Rachel says. It sounds good in theory, but she has hardly touched her own plate. “Do you want anything else? I can go get you something from the bakery.”
Rosie loves the cherry danish from that bakery, just a block away from their house. Chrissie wants to be strong, but the tears start falling beyond her control.
“I don’t want to be like this,” she says, hating the tone of her voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Rachel gets up to pull Chrissie into her arms. “I miss her too.”
Chrissie leans back into her chair, looking at her wife of six years. They don’t keep secrets from each other.
“Do you think we’d know if…” She doesn’t have to go on. Rachel blanches, but there’s determination in her voice when she says, “Rosie will come home soon.”
“What if she doesn’t? What if we never see her again?” One unfinished question, and she’s opened Pandora’s Box, can’t keep what comes creeping out, inside.
“No.” Rachel shakes her head. “Not if we don’t give up hope, if someone keeps looking. They’ll find her.”
Who of us is more in denial? Chrissie wonders. She takes a spoonful of cold eggs, frowning at the taste. She admits to herself she could go for something sweet, but they can’t go out, not at the moment. Reporters are still out on their front lawn, and Ann’s friend has advised Chrissie and Rachel not to talk to them.
* * * *
The woods are still haunting me in my dreams. In the dark, with the sharp shadows created by flashlights, the shapes of trees or rocks look different. There were dogs with us. In spite of the ongoing summer weather, the temperatures had dropped at night, and I couldn’t get the chill out of my body.
We didn’t find anything, not a hint that Rosie could have been here somewhere. Somebody helped the kidnapper.
Cal has agreed that it was worth visiting the families again, because the unknown teenage girl as well as Rosie’s disappearance adds new questions. The stories differ. Last month, three-year-old Kevin Johnson was taken from his first-floor bedroom while he was alone with his older sister, Andrea. She’s twelve, with copper-colored hair like her mother. She can’t be the teenager who was talking to the Gales’ daughter, yet I still believe that these families are connected somehow.
