“Phone was found exactly where it is, nobody’s touched it. You see the boys are knocking on doors, but I haven’t been told about anything noteworthy yet. We’ve walked over the property three times, haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.”
“What about the shop owner? What’s his story?”
“Says he closed at 7 yesterday, and when he left, he was the only person here. No other car in the parking lot. Says he drove out of here probably around 7:30.”
Detective Cole began scrolling through her phone.
“According to the initial missing persons report, parent’s last contact with the girl was around 9,” said Cole.
“Adds up with what he said about not seeing anything, I guess,” replied the Sergeant.
Both detectives nodded.
“Alright, Sarge,” said Detective Doherty, “If we have any more questions, we’ll holler.”
The Sergeant smiled and stepped over to talk with an officer who had been waiting for him. Detectives Doherty and Cole stood looking away from each other, both of them surveying the area. She was taller than him, with dark caramel skin and a head full of ash brown curly hair. He, on the other hand, was almost stereotypically Irish, strawberry blonde and a baby face heavy with freckles. Cole always felt he wore the oversized Oakley sunglasses that he did to mask as much of it as possible.
“Well, what do you think,” asked Doherty.
“Empty lot, nothing overlooking it,” replied Cole, describing the area, “Can’t see it from the street, at least not back here, anyway. Good spot for trouble.”
Detective Doherty looked up at the rooftop of the appliance shop.
“I suppose we wouldn’t be lucky enough to have any cameras, would we,” he asked.
Detective Cole looked up as well.
“I guess not,” she replied, “Surrounding buildings, maybe?”
“I’ll make sure they check around,” said Doherty.
He stepped away and waved over the Sergeant. Detective Cole walked over to the phone lying on the asphalt. Crouching down, she studied it, her mirrored aviators reflecting the sight of the phone back onto itself. A long, clean crack ran diagonally across most of the screen. Cole wondered if it had been like that already or if it had cracked from being dropped here. She pushed back the sleeve of her grey blazer as she slipped on a latex glove and flipped the phone over. Stuck inside the outer case on the backside was a photo strip that looked to be from a photobooth. There were three shots altogether, each had the same three girls. Cole recognized Sara Beth from the photos she’d seen. The three of them looked happy. Cole smiled back at them.
“Okay,” Doherty began, walking back, “The brewery across the street apparently has some, but they only face the parking lot and behind the bar. The bakery also has them only in the parking lot and inside. They’re checking if there are any rear-facing ones for the stores over there and if any residents had Nest cameras or anything like that.”
Detective Cole looked up at him, snapping off the glove, and sighed.
“Brewery was probably our best bet,” she said, “Nothing else looks directly at the parking lot. Were they busy last night?”
“Apparently so,” said Doherty, “They’re still trying to work out if anyone saw anything. No one there now was working last night. They’re calling co-workers and whatnot. We can double back later tonight, maybe see if they have any regulars that were here last night.”
Cole didn’t say anything back. She stared at the phone on the ground, wondering where its owner was.
“Crime scene techs are en route,” offered Doherty, watching his partner fixate on the evidence.
“Okay,” replied Cole, standing up.
“How do you want to play it, Ange,” asked Doherty.
Cole took one last look around the lot, as if Sara Beth Parker might be hiding and no one had noticed her yet. But she wasn’t. Aside from scattered trash and overgrown weeds, the lot was vacant. Lifeless. Sara Beth Parker was somewhere, but she wasn’t here. Cole turned back and looked at her partner.
“Let’s go talk to the parents,” she said.
13
Sara Beth slowly came to consciousness as her head banged against something hard. She remained fuzzy, struggling to completely shake off the sleep she had just departed. Or maybe she wasn’t awake. Maybe she was dreaming, she thought. Right then, nothing felt clear.
She felt her body sway back and forth and realized it – she – was moving, adrift on a dark ocean, swaying and crashing into swells she couldn’t see. Stranded somewhere she didn’t know.
As she continued to feel her body undulate, Sara Beth became more alert and the fuzzy images of what had happened now came into focus. Sneaking out. Her phone. Her friends. The parking lot. And then, darkness. Those arms. The menacing figures. The prick in her shoulder.
Her eyes shot open in bloodshot terror as everything came back to her. Someone – no, some people – had taken her in that parking lot. She had fought them. Clearly, she had lost.
She looked around in panic. She was moving, but she wasn’t in a car anymore. Her head was pressed up against metal bars crisscrossing one another. It was some sort of cage.
She could hear the rattle of wheels below her. Not big wheels, but little ones, whiny and unforgiving. Like a desk chair. Or a cart. But this wasn’t those. The metal bars were all around her. And that’s when it hit her. She looked down at her feet to see a door with two latches, both padlocked. Was this a fucking dog crate? Yes, it was. But it was covered. Some sort of dark cloth enveloped it and her, rustling in the passing air as the cart moved.
What the hell was going on, she thought. An instinct burned in her to scream for help, but maybe whoever was out there wouldn’t like that. Fear of reprisal kept her silent. She needed to figure out what was happening.
She closed her eyes and listened, trying to hear something, anything that might tell her where she was. The wheels rattled beneath her, shaking the entire crate every time they hit a bump. Still, they seemed to roll with ease. She must be inside somewhere with a hard floor, she thought.
Lights overhead shown through the tattered cloth around her as the cart moved along. She thought she could hear the whining of electricity passing through them. The whole thing had an industrial feel to it. She definitely was inside, she thought, being moved somewhere.
Suddenly her body slammed forward as the cage crashed against something and pushed past it. She heard the squeak of hinges swinging. Something or someone had used her to push a door open.
She heard the hinges swing again followed by the thud of some kind of door. The wheels beneath her began to slow.
The cage crashed into something again, but this time stopped completely. Without the wheels rattling now, she could make out footsteps behind her. They were walking away from her. Once more the hinges swung open, then closed, followed by the same sound of a door shutting.
Then quiet. Though, not completely quiet. There was some sort of sound, a familiar sound. What was it? She listened closer, pressing her ear gently against the metal bars. Then, in one snotty breath, she heard it. Someone sniffling.
“Hell--, Hello,” Sara Beth got up the nerve to say.
“Shut the fuck up,” a whisper snapped back.
But it hadn’t come from whomever or whatever was sniffling. It had come from the other side of her.
She shifted herself in the cage.
“Please, I just nee--,”
“Seriously, shut up,” the hushed voice snapped again, “They’re going to come back if they hear you or her. Shut her up over there, too.”
With that, the sniffling on the other side of her broke out into uncontrolled sobbing. There were at least three of them there. The voice telling her to stop talking also sounded like a girl.
“Jesus Christ, I’m not kidding,” said the snappy voice, “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”
Sara Beth had so many questions. Where was she? Why had she been taken here? And who else was there? T
wo people? Maybe more? She wanted to ask all these questions and more, but figured the voice next to her would only scold her to keep quiet again.
Slowly the sobbing on the other side of her died down and it became quiet. She could, in fact, hear the electricity whirring through the lights overhead, breaking up what otherwise would be a cold and dark silence.
Sara Beth waited, but no one came back as the snappy voice had warned. Perhaps, they – whoever they were – were alone now. Sara Beth worked up the courage to speak again.
“Please,” she said.
She waited for some variation of “shut up” to be swiped back, but her talking went unchallenged.
“Please,” Sara Beth repeated, “I just want to go home.”
“Yeah, well you’re not going home,” said the voice that had told her to shut up, “I don’t think any of us are going home.”
With that, whoever had been crying next to her spoke for the first time.
“We’re in their home now.”
14
As night fell over Harrisonburg, Doherty and Cole were sitting in their unmarked police car half a block from the repair shop where Sara Beth’s phone was found. Doherty was scrolling through an email on his phone as Cole watched the now vacant lot. A team of criminalists had swept through in the afternoon and hadn’t found much of anything useful. Mostly just cigarette butts and broken beer bottles that could’ve belonged to anyone. A couple items were bagged to be tested back at the lab, but neither Cole nor Doherty were holding their breath.
Cole’s eyes traced the sidewalk as it led down to the empty store and parking lot. Everything must’ve looked just like this last night when Sara Beth disappeared, she thought. She pictured the young girl walking in the black and red checkered coat her parents had noticed was missing. She imagined her taking a turn at the parking lot and entering it. And then, nothing. Sara Beth Parker was gone.
“She missed a FaceTime call from an Emily Green a bit after 10 last night,” said Doherty, “That was the last activity to the phone until her mom tried to call it early this morning when she discovered her missing.”
“One of her closer friends,” replied Cole, “That’s what her mother told me this afternoon. Let’s make sure to talk to her tomorrow.”
Doherty nodded, not breaking eye contact with his phone. The email was a list of activity on the phone the past 24 hours.
“She actually connected on a FaceTime call with Green yesterday evening, a few hours before the missed call,” said Doherty, “Oh, here we go. Text messages with a Kevin Polk. Not long after the connected FaceTime call with Green. Looks like he was trying to get her to go out last night.”
“Go out where,” asked Cole.
“Mm, doesn’t say,” replied Doherty, “There’s a short back and forth between them. No specifics, though.”
“Guess we’ll be talking to Mr. Polk tomorrow, as well,” said Cole.
She checked her watch. It was 10:30.
“When was that missed FaceTime call last night,” asked Cole.
“Uh, looks like 10:23 p.m. last night,” replied Doherty.
“If she didn’t answer because she couldn’t, she was already taken by this time last night,” Cole said.
She sighed. 24 hours missing and no lead. They had watched the repair shop and its parking lot for nearly two hours now. No one had so much as walked by it. Cole looked across the street at the brewery, its lights and music emanating out onto an otherwise quiet part of town. It looked busy.
“This is a bust,” said Cole, “Come on. Let’s work the brewery. See if anyone was here last night.”
Doherty nodded in agreement and the two got out of the car, crossed the street, and walked the half block to the brewery. The inside of Brella Beer Company felt very much like any college town bar, dimly lit and loud with the beat of pop rock staples. Cole could feel the bass thump as a song from Maroon 5 vied for attention amid the conversations and laughter. She was surprised how busy it was for a Tuesday night.
“Where do you want to start,” asked Doherty.
Detective Cole nodded over towards the bar. Walking over, she leaned on its polished wood counter as they waited patiently until the bartender saw them and made his way down to their side.
“How are you guys doing,” said the bartender, “What can I get you?”
“No drinks, thanks,” replied Detective Cole, pulling out her identification, “We’re with the Harrisonburg Police Department. Do you have a minute to answer a couple questions?”
Immediately the bartender looked uneasy.
“If this is about serving a minor or something, maybe I should get my manager,” the bartender answered.
“No. No, it’s nothing like that,” replied Cole, “Did you work last night?”
“Yeah, 5pm to close,” the bartender said.
“Can we ask you about it? Do you have a minute,” Cole asked.
The bartender hesitated for a moment, still looking uneasy. Cole flashed him a reassuring smile.
“Sure,” the bartender answered, “Just let me find someone to cover.”
The bartender grabbed a fellow employee’s attention, one who was waiting tables, and motioned to her that he was stepping out. As she nodded, he grabbed a vape pen from under the cash register and motioned the two detectives towards a back door.
Stepping back outside was like stepping into another world. As they shut the door behind them the lights and music were gone, replaced by the dark and the quiet of the alley.
“You guys don’t mind if I take my smoke break while we talk, do you,” asked the bartender.
“Not at all,” replied Detective Cole, “My name is Angela Cole. This is Sean Doherty. We’re detectives with Harrisonburg Police Major Crimes.”
The uneasy look returned to the bartender’s face.
“I – I’m not sure what I can help you with,” said the bartender.
“Well, we were hoping you could help us answer a few questions,” replied Detective Cole, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Oh, my bad. Jake. Jake Diaz,” the bartender said, extending a hand as he took a long drag from the vape pen.
“Jake, Angela. Nice to meet you. So, listen, you said you closed this place down last night?”
“Yeah, I close it down most nights. 2 a.m. when JMU is mid-semester like it is now. Last call is 1:30. I leave probably 3 or so.”
“Around 10, 10:30 last night, did you notice anything with the repair shop across the street? Or maybe with the parking lot?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. I’m sorry, when you’re back there behind the bar alone it can get pretty busy.”
“No, I understand. So, you don’t remember anything with the place across the street?”
Jake took another drag and thought about it as he hugged his scrawny frame to stay warm.
“No, sorry,” said Jake.
“You don’t remember anybody going into the lot back there, or a car or something maybe,” asked Detective Cole.
“No, sorry,” replied Jake.
“Okay, what about last night in general. Anything odd happen? Anything that stuck out?”
“Um, guy dumped his girl or something at a table. She caused a bit of a scene for a second. That’s about it.”
“Anyone else here working tonight that also worked last night?”
“Yeah, Syd and Leah worked last night.”
“You think you could grab one or both of them on your way back in and ask them to talk to us?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Thanks, we’ll just wait out here.”
“Kay.”
Jake opened the door and went back inside. Detective Doherty breathed into his hands trying to keep them warm as Cole turned towards him.
“Well, what do you think,” asked Cole.
“Better hope one of these two other people remember seeing something,” he replied, “We have next to nothing to go on right now.”
“Yeah,” said Cole.
>
She looked down at her watch. It was almost 11. The 24-hour marker burned bright in her mind, both warning and taunting her. This was only the second missing persons case Cole had worked, but she knew the statistics. In 48 hours, witnesses’ memories begin to fade. At 72, the leads slow down dramatically. After a week, the numbers say you’re most likely looking for a body.
She rubbed at her wrist just below the watch.
Time wasn’t on their side.
15
The sun was just climbing over the houses on the next street over as Anne sat on the stairs leading up to her back porch. Wrens and swallows chirped as they flew overhead. In the distance, Anne could hear the muffled sounds of cars as the morning commute began. Her hands took refuge in the warmth from her coffee mug as steam danced off the surface into the crisp morning air.
Her eyes were bloodshot from a restless night of endless worry. At first, she’d gone to bed, hoping to wake up to the sounds of her daughter downstairs, safe at home. But sleep never came. She lay in bed, thinking how she’d slept so soundly the night before as her daughter was god knows where, taken by heaven knows who. Sometime after that, continuing to beat herself up over the situation, Anne Parker decided rest wasn’t something she deserved.
She’d descended downstairs and taken the TV remote from Scott who’d dozed off in his recliner again. A late-night cable news program was talking about authorities finding Ashley Sudfeld up in the northern part of the state. Watching the coverage, she saw Sara Beth in Ashley’s story. As the story noted that Ashley’s captor was a registered sex offender with a history of sexual assault, Anne buried her head into her James Madison Alumni hoodie and released the tears she’d been fighting back all night. Her daughter was out there, somewhere, and she was helpless to do anything about it.
So now she sat, emotionally and physically exhausted from a night of panic and self-loathing, staring blankly at her backyard. She imagined a young Sara Beth playing there in the yard, kicking a soccer ball at the garage door or chasing fireflies with a mason jar. There wasn’t a single thing she wouldn’t give to go back to one of those days right now.
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 5