by Jon Athan
Wayne and Nathan sat at the corner of the cafe, sipping their scorching coffee from their paperboard cups. The detective stared at their guest, watching the man with a keen eye. Brooding, Michael Adams sat across the round table. Considering the circumstances, he was surprisingly patient and even well-behaved. He didn't throw a tantrum.
Michael's hair was sloppy, his beard was scruffy, and his eyes were bloodshot and hollow. He wore a white blue-striped button-up shirt, rumpled blue jeans, and begrimed brown boots. To be blunt, the man was a bit of a mess. Laundry and hygiene were clearly not high on his list, but the effort was appreciated.
Like a student in class, Nathan fiddled with his phone under the table. His actions were conspicuous, blatant even to the untrained eye, but he still sought to show some respect to his guest. The attempt to hide his phone was merely out of respect for the situation. Wayne glared at Nathan with sharp eyes, awed by the man's careless behavior.
Wayne sniffled, then he asked, “You have something more important to be doing?”
Nathan shook his head and responded, “No, no. It's just... I missed a few calls.”
“Frank?”
“No, it's my wife. She called me a few times earlier. It's probably nothing, but I told her not to call today.”
Michael coughed and grunted, loudly clearing his throat and disrupting the friendly quarrel. He asked, “Is there a reason you called me here?”
Wayne said, “I told you, sir, I have some questions and–”
“No, I mean, is there a reason you called me to this cafe out of all the places in this damn city? Does this relate to my daughter's disappearance? Did the busboy take her? Is the cashier responsible or something? What's going on?”
Wayne nervously smiled, trying to shrug off the snide questioning. The man was clearly distraught about his daughter's disappearance and the lack of closure. He metamorphosed from a tender father to an irritable man. The detective couldn't blame him, though. He was hard-boiled like a John Woo movie, but he didn't demand respect from the people he failed.
Wayne explained, “Well, to be frank, Mr. Adams, I called you here so you wouldn't cause a scene. It's a cliché trick in the book. It's not one cops often use, but it works. And, as I said, I know you're separated from your wife. I figured it would be best to meet together at a mutually-agreed location.”
Michael absently gazed at the table. He said, “My wife... She's always late, isn't she? She could have stopped all of this if she got home when she was supposed to be home. My wife... My ex-wife...”
Wayne glanced over Michael's shoulder and said, “Speaking of your wife.”
The door chime reverberated through the small coffee shop. Glancing around the cafe, a woman stood at the doorway – Cheryl Adams. Petite, Cheryl stood five feet tall with a timid figure. She wore a white sundress down to her kneecaps and white sandals. Her brown hair was tied in a neat bun. Her eyes were veiled by her sleek sunglasses. From her suspicious glancing to her dark shades, the woman looked like a fugitive.
Wayne stood from his seat and beckoned to Cheryl. Cheryl anxiously smiled, then she shambled towards the table. Judging from her lethargic movements, the prying pair could see she was tired and depressed. Her daughter's disappearance resulted in countless restless nights. Her sleep was also plagued by nightmares.
Cheryl sat beside Michael. The estranged couple did not share a word.
Breaking the silence, Wayne said, “I called you both here to discuss Angela Adams' disappearance. I understand this is a very difficult and frustrating subject. It's something I regret every night, along with many other cases I failed to solve. I'm not taking this lightly. I'd offer my deepest apologies, but I'm afraid that would only aggravate the situation.”
Nathan glanced at his partner, intrigued by his vulnerable state. The detective was hard-nosed and blunt, but he showed a kind character. Nathan turned towards the couple. Michael and Cheryl were not angry. From the red eyes to the soft trembles, the couple were blatantly saddened. Revisiting the past was not ideal when the past harbored such haunting events.
Chiming-in, Nathan said, “My name is Nathan Jones. I'm helping Detective Wayne Washington on an investigation and we believe you can help us. I think I speak for both of us when I say: we want to bring justice to Angela and girls like her. We want to catch the person responsible and put an end to this nightmare.”
Wide-eyed, Michael asked, “Does that... Does that mean you've found something about Angela? You've... You've found the man who took her?”
Wayne swallowed loudly, then he said, “No, not yet. We have found some clues regarding Angela's disappearance and we're looking into every possibility. You know how it works. I'm going to ask you some questions and I need you to answer as accurately as possible. Every detail will help, okay? Even if you think it's not important, every detail can help us paint a picture. Can I ask these questions? Is that okay?”
Michael and Cheryl glanced at each other, bewildered by the information. Although estranged, the pair sought comfort and reassurance within each other. They sought justice for their beloved daughter. The couple nodded in a wordless gesture of agreement.
Michael turned towards Wayne and said, “Okay.”
***
The interview process was not as tricky as the interrogation methodology. Wayne wasn't seeking a confession to use in a court of law, he wasn't restricted by defense attorneys. He was simply searching for accurate information. To keep the goodwill afloat, he opted to tread lightly.
Wayne inhaled deeply, then he asked, “Have you ever heard of a man named 'Bruce Watson?' A young man, mid-20s, lives in this very city. You recognize the name?”
Cheryl furrowed her brow and slowly nodded. She wasn't sure if she should be offended or intrigued. Michael reacted in a similar fashion, lost in a muddled mind. Wayne nervously smiled as he pondered his question – a misstep before the race actually started.
Cheryl said, “Yes, of course I remember him. We told you about this man, this monster, when Angela went missing. Don't you remember?”
Wayne bit his bottom lip and shook his head – oops. He said, “I'm sorry, it must have slipped my mind. I remember there were a few suspects during our last investigation. Yes, I remember that. This current investigation is incredibly urgent, so I haven't had the opportunity to return to the original case and evidence. You see, we recently ran into a fresh lead and we're working as fast as possible. So, please excuse my ignorance. Please.”
Michael knocked on the table, snatching the attention for himself. He said, “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me you have a lead? Are you saying you might be able to find out what happened to Angela?” Michael rubbed his scruffy beard and nodded, convincing himself of the untold truth. He asked, “It was Bruce, wasn't it? What did he do to her? Where is he hiding her? Huh? Is she... Is she okay? Jesus, we looked everywhere. Where could he have possibly taken her?”
Wayne explained, “Let's slow down a bit. Nothing is certain right now. We have some evidence that has piqued our interest, but nothing is certain. I don't want you to get your hopes up for nothing. Not again. Okay?” He inhaled deeply, unusually nervous. He asked, “Can you tell us about Angela's relationship with Bruce?”
Cheryl said, “She met him on the internet. Isn't that how all of these child predator stories go? He came by our house in a nice car, always trying to woo her and impress us. We were stupid, you know? We didn't report him right away because we thought we could convince Angela to leave him. We didn't want to agitate her or pull her away 'cause we thought we'd be pushing her to him. Then... Then, on July 11th, she went missing. I remember that day like I remember yesterday. She went missing...”
Cheryl stared down at her trembling legs, covering her face with her hand. She whimpered as a wave of sorrow and regret swallowed her timid body. Michael sat beside her, unperturbed by her emotional reaction. He didn't offer a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. The disappearance had clearly obliterated their relationship.
/> Nathan asked, “Was... Was that the only reason you linked Bruce to the disappearance? Because they were dating?”
Michael shook his head and said, “No, that wasn't the 'only reason.' As if that's not enough. A grown ass man dating a girl in high school... Jesus...”
“That's not what I meant. I apologize if I–”
Disregarding Nathan's apology, Michael explained, “While they were 'dating,' I saw Bruce near a bar with one of Angela's classmates. It was easy to piece together. High school girl, a grown man, alcohol... That pervert loved young girls. He took advantage of them. He took advantage of my baby.”
Wayne asked, “Did she ever say anything else? Did she mention anything peculiar about Bruce or their relationship? Did you notice anything? I mean, I don't believe you allowed them to... to 'mingle' around your home, right? So, where did they go?”
“Well, I–I followed them a few times. Sure, I did that. What kind of father would I be if I didn't? They went to restaurants, cafes, movie theaters, the basics... He even picked her up from school once. The moxie in that prick...” Michael explained.
Wayne glanced around the cafe, checking up on the coffee shop's patrons. To his utter surprise, the few lingering patrons were not interested in their meeting. They sipped and slurped their drinks, hypnotized by their phones, laptops, and blaring music. Michael's frustration didn't disturb the nonexistent atmosphere of the cafe.
Wayne watched Michael's fidgety movements and rolling eyes – left, right, and left again. The man was acting suspicious.
Wayne asked, “Is that all? Did you see them together anywhere else?”
Noticing Michael's sudden reluctance, Cheryl sternly asked, “Did you see them anywhere else or not?”
Michael glanced at Cheryl and nodded. He asked, “You remember when I hit him, don't you?”
Nathan leaned closer and asked, “You hit the man?”
“Yeah, yeah. I saw them going into this apartment once. It wasn't his home, though. She told us where he lived before. He told us where he lived. We even checked his ID. This time, they went to a different apartment. When I saw that, I dragged my girl out of there. I hit Bruce. I hit him several times. Angela hated me for that. She didn't talk to me for weeks.”
Wayne said, “I don't remember checking an apartment other than his. Did you tell us about this during the first investigation?”
Michael and Cheryl glanced at each other. Cheryl lowered her glasses as she gazed into her ex-husband's somber eyes. She covered her face and sniveled. Eyes wide with fear, Michael turned towards Wayne and Nathan. He was rattled by the past, unnerved by the uncertainty.
Michael stuttered, “I–I can't remember if we did. It was... That happened a while before she disappeared. It was weeks, maybe even months before she vanished. I don't know. Shit, I really don't know.”
Nathan said, “Don't punish yourself for this, Mr. Adams. If you remember the address, we can still work on the case. We can still find the truth.”
Wayne nodded in agreement. He asked, “Do you remember the address of this apartment?”
Absently staring at the table, Michael said, “Yes. Yes, I remember the street and the building. I don't remember the exact number, but I remember the door. It was the third door to the right on the first floor. Yeah, I remember it...”
Chapter Ten
A Robin's Hunt
The sun doused the woodland with the balmy afternoon sunshine. Sunset was hours away, but the dazzling sun was already preparing its departure. The trees rustled, the bushes soughed, and the leaves crackled with the refreshing gust. Critters scampered about, scurrying past the trees and through the shrubs. Morning or noon, the lively woodland was not prone to change.
A sedan jounced on the bumpy dirt road, swerving with each hole on the ground. Clumps of the earth spiraled into the air as the vehicle skidded to an abrupt stop beside a log cabin. The home was surrounded by towering trees – there wasn't a single neighbor in sight. The secluded home in the woods was the perfect stage for a kidnapping.
Robin gazed at the cabin through the driver's seat window. She whispered, “Here we are. The Meadows family...” She glanced around the woodland, searching for a sign of hope – a spark in a dreary abyss. She said, “I hope you're here, Bruce. I hope you're okay.”
The creaky porch steps howled beneath Robin's minuscule weight. She walked towards the sturdy door, vigilant of the dangers lurking around every corner. A missing child brought insufferable pain; a missing child brought an unquenchable thirst for vengeance. In turn, vengeance conjured irrational thoughts and rash behavior. Robin knew the facts very well.
She inhaled deeply, then she knocked on the door. Each passing second was dreadful, fueling the horror lingering in her mind. She couldn't prepare a set of questions and answers since she didn't know what to expect beyond the door. She wasn't aware of the secrets hidden within the cabin. Blind and deaf, she was marching into a sensitive situation.
As the door opened, Robin said, “Hello, miss. Sorry to bother you today, but I'm looking for a 'Bruce Watson.' He wouldn't happen to be here, would he?”
As facetious as ever, Robin clasped her hands behind her back, twirled her torso, and blinked in a kittenish manner. She stared at Sylvia Jones standing at the doorway, examining the bait Bruce foolishly bit. Introductions were not necessary. Even in a casual sweater and shorts, the young college student was beautiful and her resemblance to Joann was blatant.
Sylvia furrowed her brow upon hearing the name – Bruce Watson. She said, “I'm... I'm sorry. Who are you?”
Robin smirked and responded, “I'm sorry, I think I asked you a question first. Maybe you didn't hear me, miss, so I'll repeat myself. Only once, though. I don't want to chat for too long. I'm a very busy woman. Anyway, I'm looking for a 'Bruce Watson.' Is Bruce here or not?”
“Listen, miss, you can't just come around knocking on doors and demanding answers to stupid questions. Okay? Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want?”
Robin stared at Sylvia with a deadpan expression, vacant. Sylvia sneered in utter annoyance. Robin burst into a derisive giggle, holding her stomach and slapping her knee. She couldn't hold her poker face, she couldn't keep the facade afloat. Sylvia staggered in reverse, frightened by the visitor's madness.
As she recomposed herself, Robin said, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry... You just seemed really good at playing the 'tough bitch' role. You really got into it. My name is Jessica. I'm looking for Bruce. That's all you really need to know. I know you were with him last night at the bar – The Pub Club. And, I know you left with him. So, where is he? Where are you hiding the man? Hmm?”
Sylvia glared at the uninvited guest, trying her best to decipher her true intentions. Robin slithered away from her grasp, like a snake in the grass. She was an unintelligible hieroglyphic painted onto a pile of rubble – she was indecipherable. With a smug smile, Robin knew she hit the gold mine with her staggering surprise attack.
Nervous, Sylvia asked, “What... What exactly do you want with him? What do you want with Bruce?”
Robin inquired, “Well, what do you want with him?”
“Stop playing these games. What do you want from Bruce? Who is he to you?”
“Okay, okay. Let's say he... he owes me money. That's it. He owes me a lot of money and I want it now.”
Robin childishly simpered, proud of herself. Sylvia shook her head in utter disbelief, trying to maneuver herself into a vantage point. From the neighboring kitchen archway, Julia trembled as she overheard the conversation. Their violent, illegal operation had been compromised.
Julia scampered away from the archway. She lurched down the basement stairs, squinting to blur her vision. She didn't want to witness the savagery in the dungeon. Standing by the washing machine, Frank turned towards the intruding ruckus. Upon spotting his wife, his eyes widened with fear. Julia's appearance in the basement was not scheduled. Her presence only brought bad news.
Frank asked, “What's wrong? What's h
appening?”
Julia turned her back to Bruce, refusing to even glance at the brutalized prisoner. She pointed towards the stairs and whispered, “There's... There's a woman here looking for this man, Frank. She's looking for him.”
Frank scowled at Bruce and asked, “What woman? Huh? A police officer?”
“I don't know, I don't know. She–She said her name was Jessica, I think. I couldn't hear her so well. She's up there talking to Sylvia. Frank, what are we going to do? What's going to happen to us?”
Frank wrapped his arm around his whimpering wife and said, “Don't worry, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine. We'll handle this.”
His head slumped down to his chest, Bruce smirked. He overheard the conversation. The name caught his attention and reignited his hope – Jessica. The name was common and generic – the type of name Robin would randomly choose if she were put on the spot. The cavalry has arrived, Bruce thought.
Seizing the opportunity, Bruce yelled, “I'm here! I'm here! I'm in the basement! He's going to kill me! Get me the hell out of here!”
Frank glowered as he bolted towards the noisy prisoner. He punched Bruce, hitting him with five swift jabs to the nose. Defenseless, Bruce was dazed by the accurate strikes. He sniffled as blood oozed from his nostrils. Frank held his arm up, ready to punch him again, but he restrained himself. For his wife's sake, he limited his attack. He wiped his bloodied knuckles with a white rag, then he led Julia out of the basement.
***
Frank leaned forward and glanced at the front door. The sound of a muffled conversation seeped into the home. Sylvia was clearly trying to buy time, keeping her composed demeanor afloat. Julia was disconcerted by Robin's arrival and Bruce's outbursts. She softly trembled as she leaned on the neighboring counter.
Frank said, “It's going to be fine, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine. I can handle this. I'll go out there and I'll talk to her. I'll persuade her to leave. It doesn't matter what she's here for. Okay? We're bringing Katherine home and she won't stop us.”