His Sweet

by Hildur Sif Thorarensen

  “Does his story check out?” Yolanda asked, leaning over Solomon’s shoulder to encourage him to look it up so they could skim it together. It didn’t take them long to confirm it, and she sighed, knowing they were back to square one in the search for their girl. “It’s not that I wanted this guy to be a pedophile, and of course I’m relieved that he isn’t, but I’m just so disappointed that we didn’t find her. I had such high hopes.”

  “I know. Me too.” Solomon nodded in solidarity.

  “So, how’d it go?” Tyne was back from lunch and seemed to have kept busy while they were gone—her desk, normally very neat, was a complete mess.

  “It went okay, but he’s not our guy,” Solomon replied sourly.

  “Oh, that’s a shame, but I come bearing good news!” When she smiled, dimples formed on either side of her mouth, just adding to how adorable she really was. Yolanda imagined that her own daughter would have had similar features. Joshua had the same kind of dimples and bubbly personality as Tyne did. Her heart stung when thinking about him. She still loved that man so much and had been devastated when the only way to resolve their differences was a separation.

  “What is it?” Solomon jolted her back from her thoughts and seemed to be encouraged by what Tyne had said, turning a half-circle to face her.

  “While you guys were out, I called the police department up north and spoke to...” she scrambled around her table for a small note, “here it is. I spoke to a Detective Rick Matthews. As you know, he was lead on the case.” She handed the note to Yolanda with his phone number.

  “What did he say?” Yolanda was starting to get curious. Getting a perspective from someone else who’d worked the case might be just what they needed right now.

  “He was a bit vague and asked to speak to the sheriff. I told him that wasn’t possible at the moment since you were out, so that’s why he gave me his direct number and said you should call when you came back.”

  “Tyne, you said something about good news?” Solomon looked annoyed that his sulking had been interrupted, and he wanted an excuse to get back to it.

  “Oh, yes, right. I found this in one of the police files.” She withdrew a transcript of an interrogation from a small pile on her desk. “It looks quite sketchy, to tell you the truth, and I can see that the police also made notes about it here.” She handed Yolanda another document.

  Yolanda read through an interview with one of Lily’s neighbors, a young boy. He had been at home when she was kidnapped but said that he didn’t see or hear anything. For some reason the police found his story and demeanor somewhat untrustworthy, so they had flagged him as somebody either withholding the truth or blatantly lying.

  “But this is just a boy who lives way up in Washington. Why do you think this interview is relevant?” Yolanda asked, not sure why Tyne had taken an interest in it.

  “Maybe he actually knows something that could be useful. I mean, let’s say he saw the make and model or even the license plate... and if he was lying like they think he was, then that begs the question of why he lied, you get me? In that case, he has to have a motive for it, and I’m just wondering... why would he be lying unless he knows something, and maybe the perp bribed him or threatened him into keeping quiet?” Tyne shrugged.

  “It says here he has a sister Lily’s age, and apparently they were friends.” Yolanda wasn’t as excited by this information as Tyne, but there was no harm in following every lead. From her experience, that was often the only way to solve a case. Leave no stone unturned.

  “Yeah, and that too. Apparently they played together a lot, sometimes at Lily’s and sometimes at Julie’s. That’s the sister’s name,” she explained. “It all just feels a bit iffy to me and might be worth mentioning when you speak to the detective.”

  “All right, thank you for that, Tyne. You’ve done a wonderful job,” Yolanda said as she sat down and got ready to call the detective. She was contemplating what to say when Tyne interrupted her again.

  “One more thing—I’ve finished reading through all of the notebooks, and you’ve got to read this entry, number 1998. Something’s not quite right here.” Tyne pointed to one of the last entries Lily had written, and again Yoly wasn’t sure why the Coosa County deputy was bothered. Before she could ask, Tyne went on, “It may not be anything special read by itself, but if you read it in order with these,” she pointed at an entry from Christmastime and the one where Lily had been let outside, “then it all starts coming together.”

  “Oh shit, you mean that...?”

  “Yes, actually, I do.”

  1998

  I wonder if Mister Whiskers has been on a diet recently, because he’s lost quite a lot of weight. He used to be a big man with a large belly, but now I see that the skin around his waistline is starting to sag. I know he tried the Atkins diet some time ago and said that it did him some good, so maybe he started that again.

  Since he lost weight, he seems to have less trouble moving around my room. He can even fit through the door to my bathroom now, which is much narrower than normal doors. He always used to fit when first I moved here, but as time passed, he became bigger—and it’s now probably been some years since he looked into my bathroom. Thankfully I always keep it neat, or he would have been very mad at me when he went there to inspect.

  My ceiling isn’t as high as other ceilings, but that’s okay because I’m not very tall. I wonder why my room is so strange. Maybe it’s because it’s in the basement, or maybe it was an addition that wasn’t built like normal rooms. Whatever the reason, it seems to be pretty soundproof, as no matter how much I scream, nobody can hear me from the outside.

  After I first came here, I used to scream and shout a lot. Once I did it when Mister Whiskers had company. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him as angry. He came down, completely out of his mind, but he didn’t yell, he just grabbed me, tied my hands and feet together and gagged me so my screams couldn’t be heard anymore. Every time he had company after that, he would always tie me up and gag me beforehand. He doesn’t do that anymore, though. I guess it’s because he knows I’m tired of screaming.

  The other day was very weird. Mister Whiskers came to me, and he seemed exhausted. He just crawled into bed with me, not wanting to hurt me like he normally does. He then put his arms around me and held me tight, cuddling me till I almost couldn’t breathe. I don’t know why he did that; he doesn’t normally do it, but I really didn’t like it. When he hurts me, it doesn’t last so very long, and I always have my stars to keep my mind off it. That time the cuddling lasted a very long time. I think it might even have lasted the whole night.

  I heard him coughing through the night, but I didn’t dare ask him if he was sick or if something was wrong. I know I’m not allowed to ask that. I just pretended to sleep and tried to look at my stars without moving too much. After he finally left, I took my sheets to the bathroom to wash them, like I always do. I don’t like the smell of cigarettes or alcohol in my bed. That’s when I saw it. First, I was afraid my blood had started again, and I quickly looked at my underwear, but there was nothing there. Later I realized that the blood was also on my pillow case.

  It wasn’t a big red spot or anything like that but more like small crimson dots all over. Like he had sprayed blood on my bed. I think it’s definitely blood, although I have no way of checking it, but it looks like it. Those dark red spots that are almost circular but not quite, just a little squiggly. I wonder if he had been hurt when he came to visit me or what happened. Maybe he had been in a fight? I don’t know what to do. It’s probably nothing to worry about, but it still makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Yolanda Demetriou and I’m calling from the Sheriff’s office in Crowswood, Alabama.” She waited for an acknowledgement before continuing. “I have some news regarding a missing girl, her name is Lily Daniels.” She could hear some commotion on the other side, as if Detective Rick Matthews were sitting up in his chair.
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  “The Daniels kid? The one who disappeared almost a decade ago?” the man answered, with sincere surprise in his voice.

  “Well, a bit over seven years, but you’re right. It’s that girl.”

  “What? How? And you said Alabama?”

  “I did. The town of Crowswood, Alabama to be precise.” She started telling him the story of the skating boys and the notebooks. She then went over the most important facts about the notebooks before finally telling him about the arrival of the father and how helpful he had been.

  “Whoa, you guys move fast. So you’ve already gotten the father involved?”

  “It was of his own volition. I only meant to do a short interview over the phone, but he insisted on coming down here and meeting up with me. Said anything to do with his daughter would be something he handled in person,” she explained.

  “That sounds like Peter. He always was a hands-on kind of a guy. Probably has something to do with his business and the way he conducts it. But all right. You’ve obviously brought us a great deal closer to finding her and figuring out if she’s still alive. This case not ending with a dead body wouldn’t be much short of a miracle, I’d say.” He let out a nervous laugh, obviously not having expected this news when he got out of bed in the morning.

  “We believe she's still alive,” Yolanda corrected him. She put her next sentences together carefully so as not to give away too much and lose control of the case. “We’ve managed to read through all of the notebooks, and we’ve come to the conclusion that her captor is ill. We’re not quite sure what he has, but it’s highly possible that it’s lung cancer, seeing as he’s a smoker and was coughing up blood.”

  “You mean he’s dying?” Matthews sounded taken aback.

  “We believe so, yes. Not only did the coughing throw us off, but she also describes him intimately cuddling her. That didn’t seem to have been common in their relationship, and then there are those notebooks. Why would he suddenly get rid of them? And on top of that...”

  “Yes?”

  “He took her outside. Let her sit in his yard.” She enunciated every word, making sure to leave a lasting impression on the man, hoping he’d be inspired to put his resources on the case.

  “Oh, dammit, no. Christ, do you think he’s giving her the chance to see the sky one more time before he...”

  “I suspect so, yes. We are obviously in a very big hurry.”

  “All right, I’ve got this down. I’m going to contact the FBI, since this is crossing state borders and all that, then I’ll get myself down there as well. Would you mind if we used your offices?”

  Yolanda was surprised by his quick reaction and glad that he hadn’t suggested throwing her team out of the investigation. A sudden spark of excitement grew in her belly, pushing forth the belief that they would solve the case and find the little girl. For some reason, she was certain that she’d be a big part of it. She didn’t really know why, but she had this gut-wrenching feeling that without her involvement, Lily would never be found.

  “Our offices are quite small, but you’re welcome to them. I’ll call out for some pop-up desks and chairs.” She was now smiling, feeling new drops of confidence starting to trickle within her.

  “Good. I see it’s about a twelve- to thirteen-hour drive, so I’ll have to get to it. Rally the troops and then I’ll contact the FBI on the way. I’m sure they’ll fly in on their private plane fueled with government money. You know how these guys operate.”

  She did know about the abundance of funds allocated to the FBI as opposed to the small sheriffs’ offices and police departments in the country. It was obvious Detective Matthews was joking around with the private plane, as the FBI always flew commercial, but she didn’t want to correct him. She didn’t have a dog in this fight and would therefore stay neutral, a complete Switzerland, not stepping on any toes. “You know, you could also fly in. It shouldn’t be so very expensive.”

  “Oh, god no. I’ve got boxes upon boxes of files regarding this case that I’m planning on bringing along. I wouldn’t want to risk the airlines losing something important that would be the key to this case. Lost my entire baseball card collection once—never trusted an airline with anything important since.” She could practically feel his disdain over the phone.

  “That’s smart.” She let off a breath, but couldn’t quite manage a proper chuckle. “I guess I’ll see you...”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll head out in a couple of minutes. My wife works from home, so I’ll just need to give her a heads-up, but other than that, it’ll be fine.” He coughed. “You know, this was my first missing person’s case. And I’ve...” he sounded embarrassed, almost shy even, “...I’ve never really stopped thinking about it. Every year I look over the files again, trying to find something that I’ve missed.”

  “And have you?”

  “No, nothing yet. There’s this one kid we interviewed who’s been bothering me, though. His account was just so very—well, I’m not sure how to put it—off? It was as if he knew something but didn’t want to say.”

  “That’s odd. Especially since he lives up there, and the perp seems to be from these parts.” Tyne’s intuition had apparently been on point, as it seemed the detective was mentioning the same kid who had caught her attention.

  “Yes, now it doesn’t really make any sense, but since I’m opening the case wide up, I’ll send a unit over there to talk to him again. See if they can shake him down. I know just the woman for the job. She can get the worst kind of customer to sing like a canary.”

  Yolanda was pleased to hear that he spoke fondly of a female officer. “Sounds great. Oh, one more thing before I let you go.”

  “What?”

  “Would you mind asking your FBI friends to get a list of everybody with lung cancer in a fifty mile radius around Crowswood and email it over? I’m sure they’ll have an easier time with getting the warrant than we would, and then we can start knocking on doors while we wait for you to get here.”

  “Not a problem. I’m on it. See you tomorrow, Yolanda.”

  “See you.”

  2000

  Little girl, funny girl

  Trapped in a windowless room

  You like to twirl and sometimes whirl

  As he lurks away in the gloom

  You once were free, rid of him

  Those days are sadly no more

  You still have hope, though fate is grim

  Praying that good things are in store

  You miss your dad, you miss your mom

  Even your silly little bro

  Thought your heart is broken and your feelings are numb

  You’ll soon be rid of this foe

  I know it’s a silly poem, but I still recite it every day. I composed it when I got here, and whenever I say it, I pray it comes true, that somebody comes to rescue me and take me back to my family, where I can become me again. Down here I’m not me, I’m a part of him. I’m only what he wants me to be. In the back of my mind, I can still hear myself. She sometimes whispers to me, telling me to stay strong, and she says she’s waiting right here along with me. She’s sure we’ll get out, and if it isn’t today, it’ll be tomorrow, she says. Just be patient, Bonnie, Lily’s not gone.

  “How many are there?” Yolanda directed her words at Tyne, who stood by the fax machine, shuffling the paper it was regurgitating into some semblance of order. The FBI had preferred to fax the information over as it was sensitive information and computers could be hacked.

  “I think we’ve got about fifty names so far, but they keep on coming.”

  “Shoot! This is going to be like looking for a needle in an acupuncturist’s trash barrel. How in the world are we going to get permission to investigate the cellar of every single person? ‘Hello. How are you? Since struggling with cancer just isn’t painful enough, would you mind if we search your cellar for a missing girl?’ This is going to be impossible.” Yolanda exhaled as she looked through the first two pages Tyne was holding in he
r hands.

  “Thankfully, they sent us not only their names but also their ages,” Tyne responded. “That will help us narrow it down a bit.”

  Solomon pointed at his screen with an index finger as he read out the facts. “I think you might be right about the guy having found out that he’s dying. According to the American Cancer Society, the odds of surviving five years with lung cancer is only 18% as opposed to about 99% with prostate cancer. Geez, I’m happy I don’t smoke.”

  “I’ll say! I’m sure five years is even long in some cases, it all depends on at what stage the cancer is discovered. Can you see how many people are diagnosed with lung cancer every year in Alabama?” Yolanda sent the fax machine a worried look as it still hadn’t finished munching its way through the paper tray.

  “It’s at just about 4000 new cases every year and with only 18% of them surviving after five years, we can use that to estimate how many people we’d have to investigate according to the area you defined…” Solomon opened his Excel spreadsheet and hammered in some numbers, talking out loud as he did. “So we’re looking at 16% of the state, and that gives us about 1600 people, but as we’re only looking for men, which are the majority...” He went back to the American Cancer Society’s webpage to get the statistics based on gender, “...that would mean around 797.”

  “797 men?” Yolanda frowned, knowing full well that it would take weeks, or even months, to visit so many homes, even if they were to get help from the FBI.

  “Yes, ma’am. But those are only rough calculations, so I might be a bit off.”

  “That head of yours sure is screwed on right,” Tyne said as she approached them, with the final papers from the fax machine in her hand. “Here they are, the whole 813 men with lung cancer within fifty miles of Crowswood.” She placed the pile on Solomon’s desk with a theatrical flick of the wrist. With wary smiles, they started going through them.