by Larry Crane
Marcella relaxed her arms and pulled away. She stood and took the handkerchief that Gavin offered so she could swab her face and blow her nose.
“We will brief you completely on the details of how we will conduct this approach to ensure that it goes off without incident when you arrive. We will make sure that there is no chance that the child can be harmed in the process. If you don’t have any questions, good night. We will see you tomorrow.” Dvorak waited to hear their response. “Mr. Armand …?”
“Yes. We heard. Tomorrow. We’ll be there,” Gavin said. “Oh, one more thing, sir. Could I ask you to foul up the works with the Army? It’s highly unusual and certainly not to become standard operating procedure or anything, and I understand the needs to preserve order and discipline, but can the Army authorities be put into the process? Could extenuating circumstances come into play? I apologize, but could our son, Brett, who is a basic trainee at Fort Dix, be released from duty for a day or two to welcome his baby sister back home?”
“We’ll look into it,” Dvorak said.
Marcella stumbled into the kitchen with Gavin right behind.
“My god, it’s happening. They found her,” he said.
“I knew they would. I knew it,” Marcella said. She bent and fetched a mixing bowl, then a wooden spoon. She hurried to the pantry and snatched the chocolate cake mix, frosting mix, sugar, and oil from the shelf. Gavin stood off to the side and watched. “Gavin, there’s a little box of blue candles in the shelf in there. Can you fetch it? And the tree. We need to take all the ornaments and lights, and the star and everything off the tree and put them back in their boxes, so we can trim it all over again from scratch.”
Her heart was in her throat. Dvorak talked about Hannah in such a detached, analytical way, as if this were some kind of mock emergency evacuation plan or something. So calm and professional. But not me. He said it may not be her, but I know he knows it is her. It is her.
They worked on the cake and the tree, and upstairs in her room, putting all of her clothes in drawers and on hangers as if she had just left them that way. They put up her posters on the walls and her books on their shelf. It was 2:00 a.m. when they called Celia and told her to catch a plane to Newark to arrive as soon as possible. Then, they laid down in their clothes on Hannah’s bed together and slept.
Chapter 50
The landscape around Paducah was absolutely flat, and the airfield was rudimentary. There were two runways set perpendicular to each other. The Kentucky State King Air settled down and taxied to the tiny passenger terminal where Gavin and Marcella descended the mobile stairway and piled into the blue Calloway County Sheriff’s Department van. The drive to Keniana Lake Shores development would take twenty minutes, Dvorak announced.
The van pulled out onto rural two-lane Route 121 heading east, with Dvorak issuing detailed instructions to someone over his hand held telephone. At New Concord, the road split, and they took Route 444, which became Dunbar Road to Blood River Road, past Blood River Baptist Church to Keniana Drive, and finally to Marguerite Boulevard, not to be mistaken for Agnes or Anna Maria Boulevard. All the boulevards were gravel country roads.
It was out in the boondocks with nothing around in the way of attractions, unless the One Stop in Hamlin could be considered one. The residences were all what used to dismissively be called trailers, but were now called double-wides, double wide unless they were just a single. It was country but not farm land. It was wooded country. Who lived out here? Who tilled the organic gardens in the front yards? Who dragged the rowboats with unreliable outboard motors down to the dock on the river, to fish the shallow man-made Kentucky Lake? Who knows? And, was that a rooster in that man’s front yard?
Dvorak turned his attention to them.
“Okay, we’re all in position and ready to go. We have a United Parcel Service van with two agents in it dressed as delivery men. Also in the van is Geraldine Colgate, a female professional child psychologist from the Kentucky State Police. The two men will pull up in front of the residence and bring a large parcel to the front door. We anticipate that the woman, Rose Prendergast will come to the door. The men will offer to bring the parcel into the residence. Once inside, they will conduct a visual search for the child. If she is in the room, they will call her by name. If she is not within their view, they will identify themselves as FBI Agents. They will tell Mrs. Prendergast that they are looking for a missing child and need to see her immediately. From there it becomes a very fluid situation in the sense that the agents will need to react quickly and decisively to anything the lady may do. There’s no book explaining every possibility. The men are trained to accomplish the mission ahead of all other considerations. If need be, they will search the premises."
Marcella searched Dvorak’s face for any sign that he had the slightest bit of anxiety about the operation, as he called it. She gripped Gavin’s hand with both of hers. She held herself together all the way to the point where Dvorak said the words: missing child. Then she knew she was coming apart at the seams. She tried to hold back tears, but her face betrayed her.
“The agents need to preserve the woman’s constitutional rights, but they have good reason to believe that she is holding a child against her will, and they will ask her permission to conduct a search of the residence. If she refuses, the agents will produce a valid search warrant. When the child is found and she is tentatively identified as your daughter, Hannah, the agents will restrain Mrs. Prendergast. The agents will summon Geraldine Colgate to come forward out of the UPS van. She will enter the residence and take over the care of the child. We ask that you stay here in the van until Ms. Colgate brings the child outside. At that time, we’ll ask you to positively identify Hannah."
The Sheriff’s van crunched down the gravel road leading out of Hamlin. It was a lightly forested development with double-wide trailers situated along the road and deep gullies running parallel behind them.
Marcella stared out the side window of the van.
“That’s the residence—there ahead on the right about 150 feet,” Dvorak said.
The UPS van slid past them and continued on to the front of the house. The two agents jumped down and went to the back of the van and pulled a large parcel out. The two of them wrestled the package to the front door. Within two minutes, the door opened and the two men disappeared inside.
The Sheriff’s van crunched forward until it was directly behind the UPS van. Marcella could not hold back the flood that brimmed and flowed down her cheeks. She struggled to clear the congestion gathering in her throat. Gavin gripped her arms tight.
The front door opened and one of the agents stepped outside and waved. The woman in the UPS van jumped down and hurried into the house.
It seemed they would never come out. Finally the door opened, and Geraldine Colgate emerged, then turned and took the hand of a girl who followed her out. The girl crowded over close to the woman and buried her face in her side. Gavin slid the sheriff’s van side door open and Marcella and Gavin jumped out together.
The woman leaned to whisper something to her, and Hannah looked up. She held her arms out in front of her and ran toward them. Marcella took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around her neck. Marcella lifted her and Hannah locked her legs around Marcella’s waist and hung on tight.
“I’m so sorry we couldn’t come for you sooner, Sweetie honey,” Marcella said. We tried. We’ve been trying so hard.”
The woman stood beside them rubbing Hannah’s back. She said, “We’re going to fly you home in an airplane, Hannah. First, we’re going to whiz you over to Paducah in a helicopter. We have the State’s King Air warmed up and ready there.”
Marcella passed Hannah to Gavin.
“Hello Daddy,” she whispered in his ear.
“Hello, sweetheart. We’ve been waiting so long for this day. And now it’s here. We've missed you so much and love you even more,” he whispered back.
Hannah burst out
in a torrent of words, about Celia and Brett, and going back home. She had a ton of questions about her room—is it still there?—about Dina and Shelley, did they miss her? Marcella and Gavin just smiled and nodded, smiled and nodded.
Rathskeller was at the Paducah Airfield. The plane had two clusters of facing seats. Gavin together with Hannah in his lap and Rathskeller, sat facing Marcella and Geraldine Colgate. Hannah had already drifted off to sleep, exhausted by all the tension.
“Pinky is the post mistress of New Concord PO. It services Keniana Lake Shores. Pinky’s PO is actually part of her home. Deliveries are made to roadside post boxes, but people have to go to the PO to get packages. The manager of the Hy-Vee where the photo was developed turns out to be Pinky’s brother. The man’s name is Hap Nordquist,” Rathskeller said.
“None of the letters to Celia came from Galesburg,” Gavin said.
“Hap mailed them both. He and Pinky were ultra-paranoid about being traced, but Pinky still wanted to tell somebody about the girl who suddenly showed up. Hap was going to Missoula to hunt grouse anyway, so she asked him to drop the first letter from there.”
“He didn’t think anything was wrong with that?”
“He went along,” Rathskeller said.
“So, Pinky ratted on her sister?”
“It wasn’t full-fledged ratting. By the way, Hap initially denied placing the photo order at the Hy-Vee. When the FBI agent told him they had fingerprints from the photo, he immediately caved.”
“Who mailed the letter from Burlington?”
“Hap did. He just drove over the state line, made the drop, and drove back.”
“That’s pretty serious involvement. He’s an accessory.”
“The FBI told him that, and he became very cooperative. Pinky got the snapshot when Rose came into the PO to pick up a package. It was the only time she let Hannah outdoors.
“I found out just now that when they identified themselves in the house, Rose said she was glad. She said she was a nervous wreck from anxiety and besides, the girl said hardly a word in all that time.”
Chapter 51
A thousand feet below Gavin saw one and two-story commercial buildings and two-lane highways teeming with traffic pressing in on all sides. He gaped at the swarm of TV and newspaper reporters on the tarmac at Teterboro Airport, the small commuter aircraft field wedged into the dense suburban landscape. They touched down and taxied to the aviation services building. The co-pilot yanked on the hatch lever and slid the door out and to the side. A crewman on the ground pushed a mobile stairway up to the door. Gavin carried Hannah down the stairs, through the mob scene. Marcella moved in close, reaching to touch her cheek. Flashbulbs flared from all angles, and the TV people pushed in with microphones.
Colgate slid to the side of the crowd and shouted: “Can I have your attention, please? Over here!”
The crowd of reporters turned to face in her direction.
“The Armand family would like to appeal to you to respect their privacy during this very intense period. Hannah has been in captivity for nearly two years and it will take a fairly protracted period of time for her to readjust to being free and back at home with her family. They would hope that you do not contribute to more turmoil for the family by subjecting them to your questions. You will be provided with information about the details of the abduction as it becomes available. The family will travel from here to their home immediately without responding to any questions you may have.
“Hannah’s rescue unfolded rapidly once the Federal Bureau of Investigation was able to intercept a letter sent to a brother located in Galesburg, Illinois from his sister in New Concord, Kentucky, who knew who was holding Hannah. Cooperation between the FBI and the Kentucky State Police resulted in the rescue shortly after that.
“At this point, we would like you to cooperate in allowing the Armand family to move out of this building to their car. Thank you very much.”
Colgate stepped back and the horde of reporters closed in around her. With their attention diverted, a squad of blue uniformed New Jersey State Police cleared the path and hustled the family to their car, out to the exit gate, and led the way with an escort of patrol cars onto Route 17. Gavin did the driving. Marcella and Hannah pressed in tight to his side.
“We’re going to our new house in New Jersey, Sweetie honey,” Marcella said. “Pops got a new job and we had to move. Right, Daddy?"
“Right,” Gavin said, looking down at Hannah. “It’s not much different from back home. It’s just the same. You’ll see.”
“Your room is bigger, and it’s very nice. You’ll love it. Are you hungry, honey? You’ve got to be famished,” Marcella said.
Hannah brought her hands up to hide her face and nodded. They abandoned the frenetic four-lane highway and let the open spacing between buildings and profusion of trees slow their racing hearts. Single family homes and brown grass lawns merged one into another. They pretended that this place was not much different from what Hannah would have seen had they still been back in Illinois, speeding down Ogden Avenue from Chicago, and then turning off into a maze of side streets and stop signs, ending in cozy downtown Naperville.
When the news broke that Hannah had been recovered, it spread almost instantaneously to every corner of the country, it seemed. Both the Army and Carleton College wanted to be included in the celebration. Dvorak had come through with his promise to contact the Army about releasing Brett from the tail end of his basic training cycle at Fort Dix long enough to welcome Hannah back home. And when her rescue was confirmed, they gave Brett the royal treatment—transporting him to Fardale Avenue from Dix in an olive drab sedan while Gavin and Marcella were flying back from Kentucky. Celia bummed a ride from a sorority sister to Minneapolis, and Brett then drove the family Plymouth to Newark Airport to pick her up.
“See, it’s just like back in Naperville,” Marcella said. “Mahwah. That’s our home now. Isn’t it cute? Mahwah.”
Hannah wasn’t talking. Her eyes moved constantly. She was the first out of the car. Marcella and Gavin hung back to watch. She turned several times looking up into the barren trees first, then lowering her gaze to take in the surrounding grounds and neighboring houses, then scrutinizing the house—the roof, the windows, the empty flower beds, the shrubs at the side of the stairs to the front door. She approached the stairs, looking up at the windows on the second floor. Hannah reached to open the lid of the mailbox and ran her hand down to trace the outline of the eagle figure affixed to the front. She pushed on the doorbell button and cocked her head to listen to the tones. She pressed the heavy brass thumb latch and pushed the door and watched it swing open.
She stepped inside and reached to open the closet door in the entryway to regard the coats and the hats inside. She slipped out of her coat and hung it up. She turned to the other side to peer into the mirror, and to run her hand across the tabletop, and to admire the round umbrella stand on the floor. She stepped into the living room, and paused to take in the long sofa with twin side tables supporting porcelain lamps, the coffee table, and three wingback chairs, and rustled the curtain at the side of one of them to allow her to look outside. She backed away and turned and looked into the dining room. The two grownups stood in the doorway watching behind her. She approached the oblong dining room table with padded chairs on either side and at the head and foot of it, with the three-layer chocolate cake at one end with a knife and a stack of plates and ten blue candles stuck in the top.
She fetched a match from the box on the table and struck it across the side of the box and watched the flame before she touched it to each of the candles in turn. She stood still with her hands clasped behind her while her parents sang happy birthday. She closed her eyes briefly then blew out the candles in one long puff. She took up the knife and attempted several inexpert cuts at the cake. A slice somehow found its way onto a plate. She took it up and with her fingers shoveled some cake into her mouth. She turned to approach the buffet that had a pile of boxes ti
ed up with a bow. She ripped the wrapping from all of them at once, admired the GE tape player, the three Nancy Drew Mysteries, and rockabilly horn-rim cat-eye sunglasses, which she left amid the shredded wrapping when she turned to inspect the kitchen.
She walked immediately to the built-in dishwasher, pulled the door down and looked inside. She flicked the switch on the blender on the counter and immediately switched it off. She walked around the island dragging her hand along the edge until she reached the bowl at the far end with the wooden spoon protruding. She brought it to her mouth and licked the frosting until it was gone, leaving her with a chocolate mustache. She pulled on the handle of the refrigerator door and peered inside, and saw a half empty quart of eggnog, half a glass of which she slurped until it was done. She opened the door to the basement, looked down the stairs, flicked on the light, then flicked it off again and closed the door. She drifted back out to the living room and stood still in front of the bare Christmas tree and the boxes labeled ornaments and lights. She spotted the telephone and saw that the message machine was blinking.
“Hello! I’m guessing when you hear this our sweet girl will be back home with us. I can’t wait to hug you to pieces, Sweetie baby.” It was Celia’s voice. Hannah broke into a wide grin.
She turned and bounded up the stairs. The grownups waited below and listened for signs that she was going from room to room—but heard none. Marcella finally climbed the stairs slowly and stopped at the open door of Hannah’s bedroom. It was essentially identical to the one in Naperville before it was packed up and moved: the small desk and chair, the dresser packed with sweaters, pajamas and underwear of a fourth grader, the top crowded with figurines, the outsized poster of Twiggy with painted flowers on the wall opposite her bed, the door of the closet flung open revealing a storm of dresses, shirts, skirts, shoes, and boots. She sat in the middle of her canopy bed, surrounded by books, reading her diary.