“Trust me, this thing is only spinning up. White girl abducted from one of the wealthiest counties in the country? I bet you it’s a Lifetime movie by next year.”
“I’ll take that action.”
Malone and Reagan climbed out of the car, perfect opposites of each other. Malone was tall, black, and trim with the sun shining off his perfectly shaven head. Reagan was shorter and pudgy, with a pale complexion and disheveled salt-and-pepper hair. Neither one of them looked like they were in their forties, though for vastly different reasons. As they walked into the station, they were immediately greeted by its commander, Captain William Amherst.
“Captain, it’s a pleasure,” said Malone extending a hand, “Patrick Malone. This is Ethan Reagan.”
“Glad to have you,” replied Captain Amherst, “How much do you guys already know?”
“We’re about up to speed,” answered Reagan, “Sudfeld was found off an anonymous 911 call. The likely suspect, Scruggs, was found bound with zip ties nearby.”
Captain Amherst huffed out a chuckle.
“Yeah,” said Captain Amherst, “Someone did a number on that guy. Almost had to transfer him to the hospital, too. The only question is who and is it our mysterious 911 caller.”
“Well,” replied Malone, “No better way to start than asking the man himself.”
Scruggs had been moved to an interview room for them. It was small and windowless, with little more than a wooden table and two folding chairs to furnish it. Scruggs occupied one of said chairs, his hands and legs bound with shackles.
Malone and Reagan opened the door and stepped inside. Malone sat down in the open chair, placed a file on the table and pulled some papers out. Reagan leaned against a far wall and looked up at the closed-circuit camera in the corner of the room. Captain Amherst and a couple others were watching from a room nearby.
“Mr. Scruggs, how are we today,” Malone began.
Scruggs didn’t move, much less say anything.
“We have a couple of questions for you,” Malone said, “Before we start, you can stop at any time and ask for a lawyer to be present. Do you understand?”
Scruggs gave a nod, still not looking up or making eye contact.
“Great. So, I’ll cut right to the chase,” Malone continued, “You’re in a bit of a tough spot here, man. I spoke with one of the crime techs currently at your cabin and the early indications are it’s a treasure trove of physical evidence. I mean, and like I said, I’m just laying my cards down on the table, man. I haven’t spoken to Ashley Sudfeld, but, quite frankly, I may not even need her to tell me you did this.”
Malone looked at Reagan. Scruggs continued to stare at the ground, quiet. Reagan shrugged.
“What I’m saying here, man, is you’ve got what’s looking like a tough case stacked against you,” Malone said, “I’ve got all this physical evidence, I’ve got you, found just outside the cabin, Ashley Sudfeld, missing for a month, inside the cabin. I mean, really, my only question here is how did you end up tied to your own car port?”
Reagan grinned as Scruggs offered no reply.
“Who tied you up, Walter,” Malone asked.
Scruggs continued to ignore them, but the two detectives just stared at him, allowing the question to linger.
“See, Walter,” Reagan interjected, squatting down to get on Scruggs’ level, “you’re in quite a bit of trouble. But, if someone who had originally helped you do all this tied you up and left you there. Say, a friend or some—”
“Wasn’t no fuckin’ friend,” Scruggs hissed.
“What was that,” asked Malone.
“I said,” Scruggs growled, looking up, “He wasn’t no fuckin’ friend of mine. Damn sure of that.”
“Okay, Walter, so who was it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the fuckin’ detective. Detect some shit.”
“Walter—"
“What do you want me to say? The guy came out of fuckin’ nowhere. Hit me like a god damn truck.”
“Okay, he hit you hard. Did he set the car on fire?”
“You think I set my own fuckin’ car on fire?
“Okay, he did that too. But who was this guy?”
“I told you, man. I don’t know.”
“So, a random guy comes to your house in the middle of nowhere, takes you down, and finds the girl you’ve got captive? That’s what you want us to believe?”
Scruggs slumped lower into his chair, making eye contact with the floor again. Malone sighed in frustration.
“Could he be somebody Ashley knew,” asked Reagan.
“Look man, all I know is what I know,” Scruggs replied, frustrated, “I know I got hit from behind, the dude fuckin’ tied me up inside, called you guys, and then tied me up outside. And blew up my fuckin’ van.”
“And then what,” asked Malone.
“What do you mean and then what?”
“What happened to him?”
“The guy walked into the woods like it was nothin’. Probably the same place he came out of when he jumped me.”
Malone sat back and sighed. He looked up at Reagan, who just shrugged his shoulders once more. He turned back to Scruggs, looking at him, weighing his story. Who was this man in the woods?
10
Anne was focusing on the ball of Kleenex in her hand as the officers talked to her. When Scott called to say they believed their daughter was missing, a BOLO alert – or Be On the Look Out – had gone out to all officers on patrol, two of which were dispatched to the Parker’s home to take an initial statement. The two of them, identified by their nameplates as Kitt and Cho, were trying to get the information they needed from Anne, but Anne didn’t feel like she was being asked helpful questions. She felt like she was being interrogated.
Every question they asked felt like a challenge to her capabilities as a mother. When did you last see your daughter? Last night. Does she have a habit of leaving without telling anyone? No, god no. Do you know who she would leave to meet up with? Maybe her friends. Anyone in particular? I don’t know. Does she have a boyfriend? I don’t think so. You don’t think so? I don’t know of one.
The coffee machine beeped from the kitchen.
“Would you officers like some coffee,” asked Shannon Hughes.
“No thank you, ma’am,” replied Officer Kitt.
As Scott had called the police, Marty Hughes hurried home to tell his wife, Shannon, what was going on. The two of them immediately threw on some regular clothes and came over in a show of support. Shannon was trying to be helpful by preparing some refreshments. Marty was calling people in the neighborhood they knew to see if they’d seen Sara Beth.
“Why don’t we go over the course of events from yesterday one more time,” suggested Cho, “You said Sara Beth came home and the two of you got into an argument?”
“Yes,” replied Anne, “She wanted to go to Mexico with her friends for Spring Break. I said no.”
“And that was the end of it,” asked the Officer Kitt.
“Yes,” Anne answered, “Basically.”
“Basically?”
“Look, what do you want me to say? She’s 16. Occasionally, she and I aren’t going to see eye to eye.”
“I understand, ma’am. We’re just trying to make sure there’s no detail that might help explain what has happened.”
Anne felt a rage build in her. What has happened? What has happened is that her daughter has disappeared. What has happened is they called for help, but so far, the only two officers sent to help are spending all their time at the one place everyone knows she isn’t. They even had the balls to search the house like she might be under the couch cushions.
“Look,” interjected Scott, “Don’t we need to put out an AMBER Alert or something? We can get you a photo of her.”
“We’re not quite there yet, sir,” replied Kitt.
“What do you mean,” Scott shot back, “Our little girl is missing. She’s a minor.”
“I understand. But there’s
a number of criteria that have to be met in order to issue an AMBER Alert. If your daughter’s been abducted, right now we don’t even know what to tell people to look for to help find her. That’s why we’re here. We’re trying to get as much information as we can.”
Just then, Officer Cho’s phone rang. He stepped out the front door to answer it.
“So, let’s continue,” said Kitt, “You said you had an argument and she eventually went to her room.”
“Yes,” replied Anne, “She spent the rest of the afternoon in her room. She didn’t leave until she came back down for dinner.”
“Okay, and when she ate dinner, did she say anything,” asked Kitt.
“She was sulking. She hardly said two words. She didn’t even ask if she could leave, just scooped up her plate and tossed it in the sink.”
“And she went back upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“And that was the last time you saw her? At dinner?”
“Yes, I told her later to take out the trash, but I didn’t actually see her when I did. But she responded. She was in her room.”
“Okay, and did she leave to take out the trash?”
Anne looked at Scott.
“I heard her take out the trash,” answered Scott, “I was in here, watching a game.”
“And you definitely heard her come back in,” asked Kitt.
“Yes,” Scott replied, “She came in and she went back upstairs. I heard her shut her door.”
Officer Cho, now off the phone, opened the front door and motioned his partner over. They spoke briefly before the two of them both came back into the room. Officer Kitt stepped forward and addressed the Parkers with a stern look on his face.
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker, would your daughter have any reason to go to Eddie’s Appliance Repair?”
Scott and Anne looked at each other, completely confused.
“No,” Scott answered, “I – I don’t even know where that is.”
“It’s on Wolfe Street, towards downtown. Between High and Liberty,” the officer continued, “There’s no reason that she would go around there?”
“No, I can’t think of one,” Anne answered, “Why?”
Kitt looked at his partner before answering.
“We’ve located your daughter’s phone.”
11
By midday Detectives Malone and Reagan were back at their offices at the Loudoun County Sheriff’s Office in Leesburg. Scruggs hadn’t said much more in their interview, and the word from the hospital was that Ashley Sudfeld was under sedation after a long and traumatic night and still was not ready to be interviewed.
Malone unwrapped a Subway sandwich and began to take a working lunch at his desk. He could hear Reagan on the phone on the other side of the cubicle wall. With a handful of open cases, they were eager to clear the one case that had seemed to solve itself.
“Shit,” Malone said to himself, cursing a dollop of mustard that landed on his shirt.
He got up and grabbed a napkin from the small kitchenette at the end of the office. Reagan, seeing Malone away from his desk, let the person on the other end of the line go and hung up. He popped out of his chair and intercepted his partner in front of the coffee machines.
“That was Paul Chen over at Fairfax County Criminal Investigations,” answered Reagan, “Says our guy sounds like him.”
“Sounds like who” asked Malone.
Reagan made an exclamation with his face and smiled jovially as he answered.
“Him.”
It took Malone a second to realize what Reagan was talking about.
“Oh come, on, Ethan,” said Malone, almost rolling his eyes, “Don’t start with this again.”
“Why is it so crazy,” Reagan asked.
“Seriously,” replied Malone, “A mysterious vigilante that’s some sort of patron saint to abducted children? Come on, it sounds like a bad movie.”
“Patrick, I’m telling you. Look at the history. 2006, Richmond. Tamara Brooks walks into a firehouse after being missing two weeks. Says a guy beat up her abductor, drove her to the firehouse and told her to tell them who she was. 2008, Hagerstown, Maryland. Anonymous tip says a van connected to the abduction of Amber Hyland is in this backyard garage and there’s someone inside. Police find Hyland alive. The guy who took her is found knocked out in the living room, one hand cuffed to the radiator. 2011, Culp—”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. I’m saying, you can’t convince me some guy is going around rescuing abducted children in his free time.”
“Look at the evidence. Isn’t that like your job description?”
The two of them chuckled as their boss, Captain Brian Van Holt, ambled down the hall. He was flipping through a file as he looked up and saw them.
“Hey, guys, are you just back from Western Loudoun,” asked Captain Van Holt.
“Yes, sir,” replied Patrick.
“My office,” said the Captain, gesturing, “Let’s talk.”
The three of them crossed the open floor dotted with desks and filed into the Captain’s private office connected by a hallway. Captain Van Holt sat down in his chair. Detectives Malone and Reagan followed him in, shut the door behind them, and slid into the two seats opposite the Captain.
“So,” began Captain Van Holt, “What did Scruggs have to say about last night?”
“He says he was returning to the cabin when a man essentially bull rushed him inside and overpowered him,” answered Malone, “According to Scruggs, the guy took his time taking control of the situation, eventually called 911, dragged Scruggs outside, lit his car on fire, tied him up, and left him for us.”
“And what happened to this guy,” asked the Captain.
“Scruggs claims he just up and disappeared.”
“Disappeared how?”
“Says he walked into the woods behind the house, never came back.”
Malone shrugged before saying the last part. Captain Van Holt let out a snort of disbelief. He sat back in his chair as he reflected on the information.
“So, the guy disappears into the woods,” said the Captain, “Nobody thought to look for him?”
“It took arriving officers some time to figure everything out,” answered Reagan, “Apparently it was a half hour or so before anybody pieced together there may be a third party. And by then? In the rain? In the woods?”
Again, the Captain paused in reflection. Malone and Reagan looked at each other, unsure whether or not to continue.
“So, this,” Captain Van Holt said, pausing as if to think of the word, “This woodsman. I guess I give up any hope of finding out who he is?”
“We can certainly do our best, sir,” replied Detective Malone, “But quite frankly, there isn’t a lot to go on. Scruggs didn’t give much of a description. We could ask Sudfeld when she’s ready, but it’s anybody’s guess how much she’ll help. We could pull DNA from the property, but that’s not looking likely. And even then, it wouldn’t place whoever we found there at the time everything went down.”
“What about this phone he left at the scene,” asked the Captain, “Is there any way to trace it?”
“It’s a pretty standard prepaid cell phone. Tracfone brand. Widely available. Can be purchased cash or credit at any one of a number of stores.”
“What about the zip tie hand cuffs and this blanket he gave the girl?”
“The ties don’t seem to be anything special. Black, nondescript. Plenty of places sell them, especially online. As for the fire blanket, again, nothing special. Can be bought at just about any major hardware or camping store. Some workplace suppliers, as well.”
Captain Van Holt sighed, shifting his weight in his chair. Again, he paused, reflecting on all the information. After a moment or two, he bucked forward in his chair, as if coming back to consciousness, and sorted the file on his desk back together.
“That’s okay,” said the Captain, “I’m not going to breathe down your guys’ necks to bring in a guy that’d probably get a med
al before he got handcuffs, anyway. Make sure we nail down Scruggs and close it.”
“You got it, Cap,” replied Detective Malone.
The two detectives stood up and saw themselves out.
12
Within a couple of hours, the area around Eddie’s Appliance Repair had swelled with activity. After the Parkers’ cellular provider pinged Sara Beth’s phone to find its location, Harrisonburg Police dispatched a nearby officer, who found the gold iPhone laying in the parking lot of the shop.
The officer called it in and closed off the entire property with crime scene tape. Eddie Romano, who arrived in the middle of his business being quarantined, fussed over his enterprise being shut down. It wasn’t until he learned a missing girl’s phone had been found nearby that he dropped his objections.
Other officers began interviewing people at nearby businesses, asking who had been working the night before, when they might have closed, and who else would have been there. There was the microbrewery directly across the street, the bakery attached to it, and the three-store shopping plaza next door. A separate group of officers worked their way along nearby residences, also asking if anyone had heard or seen anything.
The rows of police vehicles on either side of the street began to draw onlookers. Cell phones dotted faces amongst the crowd as people took pictures and video of what was going on. Others seemed to ignore the activity entirely and just converse amongst themselves.
In the middle of all this, Detectives Sean Doherty and Angela Cole pulled up in an unmarked silver police car. Once the phone was found and there was a likelihood something serious had happened, the case was assigned to Criminal Investigations.
Getting out, they crossed underneath the police tape surrounding the repair shop’s property and walked over to the police sergeant supervising the scene.
“Sarge, how’s it going,” asked Detective Cole, extending a hand.
“Not bad,” replied the Sergeant, shaking her hand, “Pretty decent morning. Warm today.”
“Yeah, Spring might finally be here,” replied Detective Cole, “What’ve you got?”
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 4