by Jon Athan
Wayne was brimming with confidence, Nathan was filled with uncertainty. The only similarity the pair shared were the black gloves wrapped around their hands. Wayne and Nathan teetered as they traversed the woodland. Their feet sunk into the moist mud with each calculated step. They leveraged themselves on the branches and shrubs, trying to avoid any unnecessary tumbles. The pair walked directly south from their vehicle.
Nathan held his hand to his face as he twirled in place. He had experience in construction, but he was not a well-versed woodsman. The towering trees were inexplicably daunting. The sunshine spilled through the cracks between the trees, dousing the forest with warmth. The sun was growing stronger as noon rapidly approached. The helpful father felt bittersweet – frightened but warm. He could only think about Katherine.
Three trees down, Wayne shouted, “It's here!”
Nathan sighed as he snapped out of his fear-induced trance. He returned to his warped reality, finding bad news around the trees. Wayne beckoned to Nathan, then he vanished behind a trunk. Nathan stumbled through the bushes, barely keeping his balance. As he staggered to Wayne's side, Nathan found himself staring at a small shed – exactly as Tiffany confessed.
The twelve-by-twenty foot shed was hidden by the neighboring trees, the unkempt shrubs, and dense foliage. Some of the bushes appeared artificial, planted for the sake of secrecy. The shed's hardwood walls and roof blended well with the natural woodland – inconspicuous to an inattentive eye. The overgrown area was perfect for the shack – perfect for privacy.
Nathan stuttered, “I–I don't know if I can go in there. I'm... I'm sorry. I can't do this.”
Wayne huffed, then he said, “If a teenage girl can go in there and mess around, then you can go in there, too. Besides, I don't think he'd be dumb enough to keep the girl here.”
“Okay, so what's the point of coming here?”
Wayne shook his head as he sauntered towards the shed. With his eyes locked on the dilapidated shack, he explained, “We're looking for clues, Nathan. Instead of going down the legal route, we're making our own path – a faster path. We are not prohibited by warrants, by laws, or any of that bullshit. You understand?” Nathan stared down at his boots, crippled by doubt. Wayne said, “Listen, just follow my lead. I need more eyes to thoroughly investigate the place. I need you. I'll open the door and take a quick glimpse. I'll let you know if the girl's in there or not.”
Nathan kicked at the ground like a disappointed child, then he said, “Alright, alright...”
The sound of splintering wood echoed through the forest, crackling like a campfire. A booming cracking sound followed as the door swung open. Dust and dirt particles swayed through the air, dancing across the room. The lingering particles were barely visible by the sunlight piercing through the fractured ceiling.
With a flashlight in hand, Wayne carefully examined the interior of the shed. There was a queen-sized bed at the parallel wall from the entrance. A black backpack sat near the foot of the bed. The bag was torn to shreds, ripped at the seams. On the right, there was a worn-out desk with a ham radio on top; there was a stack of manila folders beside the radio. To the left, there was a bookcase filled with journals and binders.
Katherine was nowhere in sight.
Wayne glanced over his shoulder and said, “She's not here. Come on, help me sweep the place for anything we can use. I want to get back on the road as soon as possible.”
***
Nathan stood at the entrance of the shed, glancing at every nook and cranny from a distance. From his quick inspection, he could see there were no signs of Katherine's presence. He sought to rescue the young girl, but he feared he would find a corpse instead. He didn't want to witness such a heinous sight. He slowly nodded, then he walked towards the bookcase to the left.
Nathan said, “I'm curious, Wayne, so I have to ask. Why is Bruce the prime suspect? What did he do?”
As he searched under the bed, whisking the shadows away with his flashlight, Wayne responded, “We recovered a few conversations between him and the young girl. We'll likely come up with more soon. He was talking to Katherine for a while before her disappearance.”
Nathan grabbed a black journal with a blank cover and spine. He asked, “Is that all?”
Wayne stopped his diligent search. He was mystified by Nathan's blasé attitude concerning the disturbing allegations and mounting evidence. The man seemed to be trying his damnedest to keep an open mind – innocent until proven guilty. The detective didn't know if he should applaud his tolerance or strike some common sense into him.
In a dubious tone, Wayne repeated, “Is that all?” He staggered to his feet, patting the dirt from his knees. With a steady face, he asked, “Are you kidding me?”
Nathan said, “I mean, it's suspicious, sure, but it's not tangible evidence, is it? It doesn't actually connect him to the crime, right? These kids nowadays never tell their age online. A fourteen-year-old can always pretend to be 18. Some are always messing around, too. When you think about it, if Katherine was talking to guys like Bruce online, anyone could have snatched her. Bruce can't be the only sexual offender in town, right?”
“You're sounding like you're part of Bruce's defense team. So, listen up, alright? First of all, I didn't say she was talking to a group of men. She was talking to one full-grown man... Bruce Watson. Secondly, it doesn't matter if she lied about her age. She's the victim of a very serious crime. You understand me?”
Nathan slowly nodded as he perused through the journal. He agreed with Wayne's assessment, but guilt was a pestering entity. He couldn't help but feel filthy due to his involvement in Bruce's captivity. His intentions were noble, but his world was covered in grime. He thought: what if we caught the wrong man?
Most of the pages in the journal were blank. Several pages were torn out, leaving only shreds of paper. There were a few notes written in the journal, but the scribbles were indecipherable – the jottings of a madman. There were even a few stick figures drawn on the corner of the pages. Most of the figures were making love in several positions. Nathan could only find one legible note.
The note read: The Rose on Hill Street... She was tighter than any virgin I ever deflowered. She made me finish faster than any woman before her. It was embarrassing for me, but she couldn't tell the difference. She was good. I liked her.
Nathan sighed and closed the journal. He tossed the book on the bed and said, “You may want to check that out. There's a note on one of the pages near the back. I don't think it means anything specific. It's probably part of some erotica story, but I figured you might want to see it.”
As Nathan moseyed towards the table, Wayne said, “Sure.” He flicked the journal open and browsed the pages. He said, “I wouldn't run your mouth like that around the old man, Nathan. All that 'blame-the-victim' crap won't go well for you. In this type of situation, parents tend to believe their kids are angels. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't. I'm not in the business of blaming victims, though. I'm in the business of catching criminals.”
Nathan vacantly stared at the rickety table. He said, “Frank, he'll... he'll kill him if he doesn't get what he wants. It's not that I'm worried about Bruce, I'm just worried about Frank and his family. If we're wrong, this will ruin his life. He'll kill him and he'll achieve nothing...”
Wayne gave a nod of understanding. As he opened a manila folder, Nathan gasped and staggered in reverse. His astonished reaction was melodramatic, sure, but the shock was certain. In utter disbelief, he gazed at the stacks of photographs harbored within the folder. With trembling hands, he lifted the pictures and turned towards Wayne.
Wayne asked, “What is it?”
The detective stood beside Nathan and examined the photos. The pictures depicted local schools and parks. Each photograph showed children capering about, blissfully unaware of the predator watching from the bushes. The photos focused on the bare knees and chests of little girls – children no older than 13 years old. There was even a photo of a baby girl
in a stroller.
Wayne tapped the desk and said, “You look through these photos for any patterns, okay? Tell me if Katherine is in any of them. I'll keep looking around. We have to hurry.”
Dumbfounded and frightened, Nathan slowly nodded – sure. Wayne staggered to the floor and continued his search under the bed.
Nathan browsed through the photographs. Each image sent chills down his delicate spine. He remembered visiting the very same parks with his daughter years ago. The children were merry. He could hear the giggles through the photos. Never in his life did he imagine a child's tender laughter could be distorted into a nightmarish sound. Katherine was not depicted in the first stack of photos.
Teary-eyed, Nathan sniffled as he browsed the next stack of photographs. The images depicted the local beach. Once again, the images focused on young girls. The girls were oblivious as they played in the sand and splashed in the water. The photographer clearly had deviant intentions when he took the images.
From under the bed, Wayne said, “I've got something.”
Wayne emerged with a wooden box. He sat on the bed, then he cracked the makeshift box open. Nathan reluctantly sat beside his partner. Although he had not seen anything grisly in the shed, his cynical mind raced with dreadful thoughts. His stomach turned as he stared into the box.
With his fingertips, Wayne pulled a bundle of crumpled panties out of the small container. One-by-one, the undergarments fell into the box as they unwrapped. The underwear was varied – briefs, thongs, and even boyshorts. Lace and cotton, thin and thick, the collection was diverse.
Nathan stuttered, “Do–Do you think any of these belonged to Katherine? Do you think... You think she'd actually wear any of this?”
Wayne was equally perturbed by the discovery. He murmured, “I don't know...” He riffled through the content inside the box, carefully searching for any significant clues. He said, “He's got a collection of this crap. Panties, jewelry, credit cards...”
Wayne stopped as he stared at the bottom of the box. He leaned forward like if he were staring over the edge of a cliff. A measly rectangular piece of plastic caught his eye and stole his breath. He retrieved a high school ID from the container, then he showed it to Nathan.
Wayne said, “A tenth grade girl. 2014-2015. She would be in eleventh grade right now. Probably 16, maybe 17 years old...” Wayne stared at the image of the student – Angela Adams. The young brunette girl smirked in her class photo. As he waved the card, Wayne said, “I remember her. I know this girl, Nathan. I know her. She's another missing girl. A girl I never found. I know her...”
Chapter Seven
Robin's Visit
“And, you say you're a friend of Sylvia?” Joann Jones asked with a pinch of suspicion in her voice.
Robin sipped her green tea, loudly slurping the beverage without manners. Frankly, she didn't care for Joann's opinion on her etiquette. She wasn't a big fan of tea, either. She was more of a coffee-type of gal. She was merely playing a character and digging for information. She could be anyone and it didn't matter. She returned the cup to the saucer on the glass coffee table and smiled.
Robin responded, “Yes, ma'am. We only recently connected, but we've grown very close in the past few months. Since I'm new around here, I really consider her a close friend. One of my best friends, as a matter of fact.”
Joann smiled and waved her hands, gratified by the delightful news. She said, “That's just wonderful. She's always been a very popular girl, probably because she's so nice. I'm glad she welcomed you with open arms. Any friend of Sylvia is welcome in our home. Would you like more tea? Or maybe a little snack?”
Robin leaned back in her seat, sinking into the comfortable suede sofa. She slowly shook her head as she examined Sylvia's beloved mother on the parallel couch – a matching sofa.
Middle-aged, Joann stood a respectable five-three with a slim figure. The woman took care of herself. She had short black hair, barely reaching down to the nape of her neck. She wore a white button-up shirt tucked into a black skirt. Her black house slippers were casual. She seemed like a sincerely amiable person – too trusting for her own good.
Robin said, “I'm fine. Thank you for your hospitality. Anyway, you wouldn't happen to know where Sylvia is at now, would you? We have urgent 'stuff' to discuss, but I can't seem to contact her. It's a bit strange to be honest.”
Joann slowly shook her head and said, “I really don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sure she's out and about, probably with her friends. She can be very busy at times. Her plate is always full because she rarely says 'no.' You know how she gets.”
Robin smirked and said, “Of course. Still, I can't help but worry just a little. You know, just a teeny bit. Aren't you a bit worried or curious?”
“I'm sure it's nothing, really. At least, I hope so. You can never be too worried as a mother. It's a gift and a curse, I suppose...”
Robin glanced around the lavish living room, slowly nodding and grunting as she ignored Joann's blather – active listening. She stared at the fireplace to the right. The framed photographs sitting atop the mantel depicted a close family – father, mother, daughter. Through the archway behind Joann, she could see the modest entrance hall; more family photographs were plastered on the walls for the world to see.
Robin's eyes widened as she realized the chatter had ended. Joann had finally stopped talking about herself. Robin furrowed her brow, playing the role of a woman lost in thought. That will get her, she thought. She glanced at Joann and nervously smiled. Joann tilted her head like a curious pup, baffled by the silence.
Robin said, “I'm sorry, I'm still a little lost in my thoughts. It's really getting to me.” She glanced at the photographs atop the mantle and said, “I hope you don't mind my prying. I have to ask: where's your husband? Or, do you live alone?”
“Well, I'm actually not sure what he's up to, either. I know I sound like a bimbo housewife right now. It's embarrassing. I'm... I'm sure he'll be home any second, though. He'll be happy to meet you, too. Like Sylvia, he's very welcoming.”
Robin smiled smugly as she watched Joann with a keen eye. She didn't bother to veil her arrogant smile. She could see an opening and she decided to seize the opportunity. Joann was blatantly oblivious, she didn't know any better, but she was also nervous. The trembling tea cup and clanking saucer revealed her hand.
Robin said, “Listen, I have to be completely honest with you, ma'am. I'm not into fear mongering, I'm not a 'journalist' on the news, but I have to be brutally honest. It's the only way. You see, I heard Sylvia was at a bar last night, but none of our friends ever saw her leave. She had a lot to drink, so we're very worried about her. She could... I'm sorry to say this to you, but she could have been in a car accident and we wouldn't even know it.”
Joann's eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip quivered. She stuttered, “I'm... I–I don't know what to–”
“I don't mean to tell you what to do, but you should really think about calling your husband. He might even be looking for her already, he just didn't tell you. It would explain why he's not here, right? You should call him.”
“O–Okay, sure...”
Joann grabbed her black leather purse from the end table beside the couch. She trembled as she browsed through her purse, like if she were riffling through an endless heap of garbage. The depths of her purse seemed deeper than the darkest crevice at the bottom of the ocean. Ludicrous, Robin thought, how much crap can she possibly have in that bag?
Joann retrieved her large touchscreen phone, softly tapping the screen as she searched for the proper contact. She held the humongous phone to her ear, counting each clangor. Robin couldn't help but smile as she watched. The phone was absurdly huge, like if she were holding a tablet computer to her rosy ear.
Joann lowered the phone and stuttered, “He–He's not answering. I... I think he's still busy.”
Robin gave a slight nod, then she said, “I understand. You're right. He's probably busy. Why don't you call S
ylvia instead? Maybe she's not hurt, right? Maybe she just needs to talk to her mother. Motherly love, you know? Just call her and find out where she is, but don't tell her I'm asking for her. I don't want her to run away if it's a serious personal problem. Like everyone else, I just want to know if she's okay. If everything's fine and dandy, I can tell everyone she's safe and sound thanks to her wonderful mother. Please, give her a call.”
Joann inhaled loudly, then she nodded – okay. With such a dastardly picture painted into her mind, Robin's words seemed rational. She could not question a 'friend' offering assistance. She was naturally timorous, pusillanimous at heart. Gullible and foolish seemed more accurate. She dialed Sylvia's number, then she patiently waited. Tears welled in her eyes, waiting to erupt with each passing tone.
Joann gasped, then she said, “Sylvia, I'm so glad to hear from you, sweetie. I thought you were hurt. You're not hurt, are you?”
Robin whispered, “Put it on speaker.”
Joann set the phone on speaker, then she asked, “Sweetie, are you okay?”
Sylvia responded, “I'm fine. What's wrong with you?”
“I'm... I'm sorry. It just feels like I haven't heard from you in a while, sweetie. Where are you now? What are you doing?”
Sylvia coughed, then she said, “I'm busy.”
Joann loudly sighed, making sure her daughter heard the exhalation. She said, “I'm sorry. When you don't talk to me, I just feel like something's wrong. You understand me, don't you? I feel like you're hiding something and it makes me feel... sick.”
Sylvia did not respond. She was busy contemplating a response, crafting an excuse for her notable absence and strange behavior. 'Mom, I'm breaking the law and helping in an unauthorized interrogation.' She couldn't admit the truth, but she knew her mother could shred through her lies with ease. Joann's motherly instincts were honed like a surgeon's scalpel.
Sylvia said, “Listen, I'm with the Meadows. I'm at their house. Dad asked me to come over and offer some moral support. With everything going on, they can really use it. It really hasn't been looking good for them.” Joann nodded in agreement, buying the half-truth as fact. Before her mother could respond, Sylvia said, “I've got to go, okay? I'll call you later. Love you.”