by Ragan, T. R.
“A woman tried to abduct the little girl?”
“Unusual, but it happens,” he said.
A chill raced up Sawyer’s spine. The thought of this woman failing to kidnap a child and then stalking the family was beyond horrifying. “Did Rene Owens have reason to believe she was being watched?” Sawyer asked. “I mean, did she see someone parked outside? Was she being followed?”
“Rene Owens talked to me on one occasion, a week after the near abduction. She told me she saw a woman in a white SUV following her on multiple occasions. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she said she was adding garbage to the waste container outside when she spotted the same white SUV parked down the street. There was a woman in the driver’s seat, and she took off without bothering to turn on the headlights. When Mrs. Owens opened the waste container, she found her beloved cat of many years dead on top of the heap. She said it was a warning. Days later, Rene Owens got a court order to have the police report sealed, and she stopped talking to the media.”
“Do you have an address for the Owens family?” Sawyer asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Owens divorced within a year of the incident, but they live in Carmichael. Rene Owens and her daughter were still in the house after the divorce. Pertinent information has been blacked out of the report, but the name and address should be there.”
“Thank you for your help. If you can spare another minute, I did have a few more questions for you.”
“No problem.”
“I was wondering about Danielle Woods, the runaway teen you focused on in your story. What do you think happened to her?”
There was a pause before he said, “From everything I gathered, and I’m not saying eleven-year-olds don’t run away, because they do, I don’t believe Danielle ever should have been labeled as a runaway.”
“She’s not listed at all in the NCMEC’s database.”
“Parents need to insist that their child’s name, date of birth, and description be logged in to the National Crime Information Center. In Danielle’s case, nobody seemed to care.”
“So if Danielle didn’t run away, what do you think happened to her?”
“You tell me. I spent hours talking to family, friends, and teachers. Danielle may have been neglected at home, but those closest to her all said the same thing—that Danielle had no intention of running away.”
“Did they say why they believed that to be true?”
“Because the first time she ran off, she spent the night in a cold, dark alleyway, and that was enough to convince her she’d rather take her chances at home.”
Sawyer added Danielle’s name to her list and then thanked him for his help. Before the call ended, though, he asked her about Sean Palmer and whether he was still working at the paper.
“He’s still here,” Sawyer said.
Mitch DeMattei laughed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”
“Why is that?”
“All he used to talk about was retiring and spending more time with his family. But I sort of guessed it would never happen. Journalism is in his blood. Nobody can breathe life into a story like Palmer.”
“Agreed.”
She thanked him again, and after they said goodbye, Sawyer thought about what Palmer had said the other day about his relationship with his son. It wasn’t easy, learning to balance family with work. She knew that firsthand since she couldn’t recall the last time she’d done something that wasn’t work-related. After vowing to exercise or do yoga in the near future, she pushed the thought aside and went back to work, tracking missing children.
Sawyer stared at the three names: Cora O’Neal, Carly Butler, and now Danielle Woods. She jotted Paige Owens’s name at the bottom of the list and then logged in to the Sacramento Independent’s website and searched the archives for Rene Owens. The file, including the police report, popped up. She wrote the address next to Paige Owens’s name and was about to print the report when her phone buzzed. A text from Palmer read: A twelve-year-old girl has been missing since yesterday. Come to my office.
Sawyer’s heart skipped a beat. A twelve-year-old girl missing? The timing was bizarre. She grabbed pen and paper and headed that way.
Through Palmer’s open door she saw his feet propped on the corner of his desk and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared at the TV mounted on the wall in the corner. “Shut the door,” he said.
She did as he asked, then took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk and watched along with him. The anchor on Channel 10 was talking about a twelve-year-old girl named Riley Addison, who had gone missing Sunday night.
The picture switched to a local reporter talking to a music teacher who had given Riley piano lessons on the day she disappeared. The man said after they were done, just as she’d done every Sunday for the past year, Riley went outside and took a seat on the front stoop to wait for her mother.
The interview concluded, and a commercial came on. Palmer picked up the remote and clicked the television off. He dropped his feet to the floor. “Earlier it was reported that the girl’s mother was on her way to pick up her daughter when another car ran a red light and hit her vehicle. Her car swerved, then rolled down an embankment. She’s at Sutter General Hospital.”
Every part of Sawyer tingled at the thought of another girl being snatched off the streets in and around Sacramento. “Did you get the mother’s name?”
“Vicki Addison.”
“Want me to drive to the hospital and see what I can find out?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Have you heard anything more about the bones found earlier today?” she asked.
Palmer shook his head. “It’ll be a while before we know more.”
Sawyer placed her notepad on Palmer’s desk and slid it closer to him.
He read through the names, then looked at her. “What is this?”
“I’ve only scratched the surface and already found two girls between the ages of ten and twelve who went missing in the past five years. There could also be a third female, Danielle Woods. She’s currently listed as a runaway, but I talked to Mitch DeMattei—he says hello, by the way—and he doesn’t believe Danielle ran away from home.” She shrugged. “So I added her to my list. The name I highlighted,” she said, pointing at her notes, “is a fourth female who was nearly abducted, but who managed to escape unharmed. She’s sixteen now.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “All in Sacramento?”
“No. Carmichael, Elk Grove, and Sacramento.” After a short pause, Sawyer said, “Riley Addison needs to be added to the list.”
When Palmer failed to respond, Sawyer placed her hands, palms down, on his desk and leaned closer. “We could have an epidemic of kidnappings on our hands.”
“If there were that many young girls taken within a few short years, not only would media be all over it, citizens would be waving their pitchforks in front of the capitol.”
“Sadly, I don’t believe that’s true. Thousands of people go missing every year, many of those are children. The majority of missing children are either taken by a relative or they’re runaways. And then you have children who are considered ‘thrown-aways’ because they were told by their parents or guardians to leave the house.” Sawyer sighed. “Only two of those girls are listed in the national database. Nobody knows much about the girl who got away because her mother won’t talk about what happened. If all four of those girls were, in fact, abducted by a stranger, nobody would be the wiser.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Let me dig deeper,” Sawyer said. “Let me see if there are other girls aged nine to twelve who have gone missing in Sacramento and bordering cities in the past five to seven years.”
“And then?”
“And then I need to find out if they were ever found and if they are dead or alive. Once that has been established, I will talk to family members and learn all I can about these girls.” She gestured toward the TV screen, referring to the report they h
ad just listened to. “I would like to make a list of character traits to try to learn their likes and dislikes. Did they take piano lessons or swim lessons? What were they doing when they went missing?”
“You’re looking for some sort of connection between these missing girls?” Palmer asked.
“Yes, although I’m not insinuating that the same person took all of them. I’m just curious to know if particular girls are being taken. If so, I think our readers would be interested to know more.”
Palmer tugged lightly on his beard as he talked. “Riley Addison, the newest missing girl, is close to my granddaughter’s age.”
Thinking he might say more about his granddaughter, Sawyer was surprised when he pushed her list back toward her and said, “You have a lot on your plate already.”
She picked up the notepad and wiggled it. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be writing an update on the vigilante group the media is calling the Black Wigs, and I have a few other stories that won’t take much time.” When their gazes met, she said, “I can do this.”
“You know the drill,” Palmer said. “We can only do so much.”
“What if I do most of the research on my own time?” she asked.
“Isn’t that what you do already?”
“A little girl is missing,” she reminded him. “It’s not too late for her. Give me a week to find out what I can. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’m feeling déjà vu coming on.”
He was referring to her time spent in River Rock last month when a young girl was found murdered and Sawyer had asked for more time to investigate. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“Famous last words. Go ahead. Dig a little deeper. See what you can learn.”
“Thank you.” She left his office before he changed his mind. As she walked back to her desk, she caught sight of Derek Coleman at the end of the hallway, making his way toward the exit. Derek was a thirty-five-year-old widower and, before her promotion, her former boss. She and Derek had been seeing each other for the past month. She’d called him yesterday to talk about the managing editor’s retirement and never heard back. Rushing to his side, she caught up to him as he was exiting the building. “Hey, did you get my message?”
He kept walking. Not one word.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
Outside, before stepping off the curb toward the parking lot, he stopped and turned to face her. “What do you want, Sawyer?”
Gobsmacked, she frowned. He wasn’t a moody person. In fact, he was the nicest guy she’d ever met, and she couldn’t remember one single time that he’d been rude to her. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
Bullshit. He couldn’t even look her in the eyes. “Everything about you right now says you’re annoyed with me.”
He exhaled. “When was the last time we talked? In person, face-to-face?”
She squinted into the sun as she thought about that. “Two days ago at my apartment?”
“Five days,” he said. “It’s been five days.”
His attitude made her feel off-balance, like a spinning top, teetering right before it fell on its side. She tried to recall how she’d spent the past week, but the pressure was too much. Her mind was a blank. “It can’t possibly have been that long. I called you yesterday and left a message.” She cringed as she recalled the message she’d left him about the managing editor’s retirement. She hadn’t asked Derek anything personal, like when she might see him again. Nothing about what he was up to. No How are you? I miss you. Call me back.
His eyes softened. “I like you, Sawyer. I like you a lot, but it’s clear you’re just not that into me. A month ago, when I asked you out, I had no idea you were living with someone and had just broken up.”
“I explained all that. My relationship with Chad was complicated. Chad and I never should have been together. It was—”
“None of that matters,” Derek said, stopping her from going on. “I never should have asked you out once you told me. I simply plowed forward and pushed myself into your life. It was too soon. It was a mistake.”
When Sawyer had rushed after Derek and followed him outside, this was the last thing she’d expected. Was he breaking up with her? “So you think I’m not into you because five days passed before I called to see what you’ve been up to?”
“That’s part of it.”
“The other part is you believe I might still be dealing with my breakup?”
“Yes. Between your recent breakup and your parents’ deaths and all you’ve been through, I think you need some time to yourself. So I’ve decided to back away and give you space.”
Her insides twisted into knots. She didn’t know what to say.
“There’s more,” he said.
She kept her eyes on his, searching for answers. “I’m listening.”
“Remember when I first called you after you returned home to River Rock and you read off a list of issues you’re dealing with?”
She nodded.
“At the time I joked around with you, but the truth is I have a few problems of my own.”
She waited for him to elaborate, which he did.
“I had been mourning my dead wife for so long I didn’t recognize the signs at first. I knew you were a hard worker and that you were smart, but suddenly I was noticing other things about you. The way you rubbed your brows when you were deep in thought.” He sighed. “Your mouth, the tiny dimple in your cheek when you smile, the freckle below your left ear. For the first time in years, I thought maybe, just maybe, it was time for me to move forward.” His brows lifted. “Get the picture?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think so. There’s a ‘but’ in here somewhere, right?”
He nodded. “But then I realized I was the one calling you, texting you, and stopping by your apartment to say hi. It wasn’t until I spent a day at my parents’ house that I realized you hadn’t called or texted. I’m not proud of it. I’ve never been the kind of guy to keep track of these things, but being new to the dating game after all these years, I couldn’t help but notice you hadn’t reached out. So it was then I decided to wait and see when you would call me.”
Frustrated with herself, Sawyer rubbed her forehead. Why hadn’t she called him? She didn’t have a good answer for not doing so. Was she sabotaging the relationship on purpose? She’d always had a difficult time letting people in. Maybe he was right, and she’d been shutting Derek out of her life without even realizing it.
He laid his hands flat on his chest. “I have a good, healthy ego,” he said, “so I knew I could handle whatever happened. But after five days passed with no word from you, it wasn’t difficult to see that this relationship between the two of us was one-sided.”
Before she could spit out any intelligent thoughts or opinions on the matter, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “I don’t want you to feel badly about any of this. You didn’t do anything wrong. We’re both adults. I want the best for you, Sawyer. I really do.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to go. Take care.”
He turned and walked away.
Take care? She stood as stiff as a fence post and simply watched the back of him grow smaller as he moved farther and farther away.
Her feet felt as if they were glued to the asphalt. Why wasn’t she running after him? Was it true? Was she not that into him?
Inwardly she shouted at herself to say something, do something, stop him from leaving. He had it all wrong. She liked him . . . a lot. He wasn’t like any guy she’d ever met, let alone dated before. He was normal—if there was such a thing. He was nice too. And funny. It sounded cliché, but it was true that nobody had ever made her laugh as much as Derek had.
But she merely stood there, paralyzed by anxiety and fear, even though there was no dangerous threat.
This wasn’t the first time her anxiety had kept her from moving forward. Her therapist had called it emotional paralysis when she’d located her sisters and was unable to talk to them.
Her internal fear of trying to think logically and rationally while dealing with her anxiety, which at the moment felt like a brick pressing against her chest, was too much.
So she simply turned around, walked into the building, and went back to work.
CHAPTER SIX
After hearing the front door click shut and the sound of the car’s engine as the vehicle drove away, Riley cried out, screaming and begging for Mom and Dad to find her.
Exhausted, she leaned back onto the pillows behind her. The odds of anyone finding her were slim. She’d learned that from her parents. Her dad was a prison guard, and her mom was a psychologist. They knew firsthand that the world wasn’t right. They dealt with “crazy” every day. They had spent countless hours teaching Riley and her older brother how to avoid situations like the one she was in now. She rubbed her wrists, thankful the woman had given her the freedom to move both arms before she left.
If her dad were here now, he would cry with happiness to see her alive. And then he would shake his head and ask her how in the world she had allowed herself to be abducted by a lady with a cast and a sling. Dad had talked about Ted Bundy on many occasions. Riley knew about the women who had disappeared off the streets of Seattle in the ’70s. Bundy would lure them to his car by wearing a cast or by using crutches. He would then purposely drop something, and his kindhearted victims would get a crowbar to the head for their efforts. She had been warned.
It doesn’t pay to be nice.
That’s what her dad would say when he lectured her about never talking to strangers. And yet he was one of the friendliest people she knew.
The woman had put on a show for Riley, limping and grimacing in pain, and Riley had fallen for the act. Not once had Ted Bundy entered her mind. Not even for a hot second. She simply climbed into the back of the SUV to get the box, just like the crazy lady asked her to, and now she was paying the price for her stupidity. How dumb could she have been? That would be the first question her brother would ask her if she was lucky enough to ever see him again.