Kidnapped

by Dee Henderson

  “Could you hear traffic? other garage doors opening and closing? school buses? conversations? anything that suggested this place was near other buildings?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have a sense of the time of day? Early or late?”

  “I thought it was in the evening, around eight or nine maybe.”

  “This all helps, Sharon. When they pulled away from the house, do you remember which way they turned?”

  “No, I couldn’t keep the directions sorted out. I was lying pretty awkwardly and my head hurt pretty bad.”

  “Were there stops along the way? Or did they drive directly to what we now know was the campsite?”

  “They didn’t park and shut off the car, but I do remember several stops and starts, like they were at four-way intersections with traffic lights. Twice we passed over railroad tracks, and at least once we passed what might have been a hog farm. The smell was strong.”

  “Could you judge how long you were driven around?”

  “An hour maybe. It wasn’t a short trip.”

  Luke looked over to the doorway behind Sharon where Henry James had joined them to quietly listen in. Henry held up two fingers and lifted an eyebrow.

  Luke opened his folder. “When you were taken from the trunk at the campsite, was only the one person present?” Luke offered the sketch she had drawn. “Was it only Frank?”

  “After the gunshots, I thought I heard people yelling at each other, but I don’t know. The voices could have been on top of the shooting. That gunfire really echoed around. Everything had gone quiet before I was hauled out of the trunk and taken away by just one person—Frank. I didn’t see his face until after he had made that call to Caroline and we drove up to near the vista, but no one else joined us.”

  “Back to the campsite for a moment—did you hear another car start and leave the area around the time you were pulled from the trunk?”

  “Maybe. There were a lot of vehicles coming and going that day. One sounded like a diesel engine, and there was another—it almost sounded like a race car, very fast revving.”

  Luke closed his notebook. “When you were stopped at the vista waiting for Caroline to join you, how did Frank seem when he let you see his face?”

  “He never showed much emotion during any of this. He left me sitting at the picnic table for quite a while before Caroline came while he walked around the area. He was smoking a cigarette, waiting. About the only thing that seemed to make him nervous at all was the sound of helicopters that occasionally flew over.” She sighed. “Will any of that help?”

  Luke smiled. “It will all help, Sharon. With the information you gave Jackie this morning, and what the task force has been able to discover about the guys who were killed—the picture is filling in quickly. Will you be up to riding around with us later today? Say about three o’clock?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me get out of here so you can get some rest. I’ll have an update for you on the search then.”

  “Thank you, Luke.”

  He paused by the couch to touch her hand. “Hang in there, Sharon. This day isn’t over yet.”

  “Find her, please.”

  “We’re going to,” he promised.

  Luke followed Henry outside so they could talk in private.

  “She’s a strong lady,” Henry observed.

  “It runs in the family.”

  “I’ve intensified the search to find the place Sharon was held, given what she was able to tell Jackie about the time line this morning. We’ve been over the times again, and the last sightings of the white van.” Henry paused as one of the search helicopters departed from the county road. To keep media out, the road remained closed, and that made it a convenient place for pilots and search teams to meet up.

  The noise abated and Henry continued. “I think the place we’re looking for has to be east of Benton, and there are not a lot of homes out that way. Some very pricey homes and neighborhoods, as well as a number of very old farmhouses.”

  “What she described was a two-story house with an attached garage. That rules out a lot of places,” Luke noted.

  “Agreed. That room had to be built, and it sounds like enough effort was involved that there is no way it could be entirely concealed. I want to start a door-to-door canvass, ask neighbors who’s been doing construction recently, if they’ve seen lumber being moved around, drywall, any deliveries being made.”

  “It’s a good idea. We have enough volunteers to organize a flyer drop in that area as well.”

  Luke saw Benjamin disappear around the back of the garage, following one of the kittens. “Give me a couple hours, Henry, and I’ll join you when Sharon is ready to go out.”

  “Sure.”

  Luke followed Benjamin.

  The boy was lying on the ground, looking beneath a large burning bush. Luke watched him for a few moments before kneeling down. “How are you doing, buddy?”

  “This kitten is the most skittish. He’s the older one, and he keeps running away.”

  “Have you tried bacon?”

  Benjamin looked over at him.

  “Fried bacon smells wonderful to skittish kittens. And food is good for attracting even the most skittish of males.”

  “You’ll keep an eye on him while I go see what’s in the refrigerator?”

  Luke sat on the ground and leaned down. The kitten had backed himself up against the center of the bush, his small amount of fur raised along his back, his ears twitching. He didn’t look afraid, as much as he seemed certain he didn’t want to return inside. “Sure.”

  Benjamin went back to the house.

  Luke waited a bit and extended his hand. “Are you interested in the smell of coffee?”

  He tried to back up farther and couldn’t. “There’s a blanket-lined box for your mom and your siblings just waiting for you to join them. It’s nice and warm and cozy, and you would be safe there. Not to mention you would be well petted.”

  He wasn’t particularly a cat person, but he admired the independence in the animal. There wasn’t enough consistency in his travel schedule to allow him a dog or cat at home. He’d missed something not having a pet depending on him.

  Benjamin sat down beside him and held out a piece of ham. “Has he moved?”

  “He’s waiting for you.”

  “Caroline said we would take care of the cat and kittens until Gary returned and could care for them.”

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t named them, because they are going to go back home soon. But I like this one a lot.”

  Luke rested his hands back on the grass. “Why?”

  “He’s stubborn.” Benjamin lowered his hand. “He doesn’t like the ham.”

  “He looks tired of running. We could catch him if you like.”

  “It would just scare him more.” Benjamin set down the piece of ham on the ground partway to the kitten. “Can we go over to Caroline’s?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I left my notebook over there.”

  Luke had seen Benjamin coloring in it at Caroline’s suggestion, drawing what it was like to be in the woods overnight. Luke got up and offered his hand to help Benjamin up. “Let’s walk over there. The kitten may be ready to come inside when we get back.”

  Luke lifted a hand to Sharon at the back patio door, confirming he had Benjamin with him for a while. She nodded.

  Luke didn’t try to start a conversation as they walked to Caroline’s. Benjamin’s attention shifted from fallen limbs he picked up to berries he could swing at and hit. The boy was recovering. Luke wished adults could recover as swiftly.

  “When is Caroline going to be home?” Benjamin asked as they walked up the driveway to her house.

  “It may be a few days. Do you understand what happened?”

  “She took Mom’s place.”

  “Something like that,” Luke replied.

  “So she’ll come home too, like Mom did? He’ll let her go?”

 
; “That’s what I’m working on now.”

  “Mom said I can hand out more flyers tomorrow, the ones they’re creating for Caroline.”

  “I’d appreciate the help. Are you okay watching the cat and kittens for her on your own?”

  “Yeah.”

  Luke deactivated the alarm system and held the door for Benjamin.

  The house felt abandoned. The officers who had searched it and dusted for prints had left evidence they had been here. The fact no one had been here to wipe the patio door glass and straighten the chairs just added to the fact Caroline was missing.

  “I think I left it upstairs.” Benjamin didn’t linger in the kitchen checking out the candy sticks as he often did. He moved down the hall to go upstairs.

  Luke opened the cabinet beneath the sink and got out the spray bottle of ammonia and lemon Caroline favored. He tore off paper towels and sprayed the counter. Someone would need to vacuum the carpet to pick up the crushed leaves that had been tracked in, and the garbage cans would need to be carried down to the roadside tomorrow. A couple days after that, the milk would need to be poured out and the bread thrown away. Luke scrubbed a stubborn spot on the stovetop. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Caroline was not home in a week, a month.

  “I found it.”

  “Good.” Luke gestured to the candy sticks. “Why don’t you pick out one to take back to your mom?”

  Benjamin studied the jars and eventually pulled out two cinnamon sticks.

  “Find me a trash bag, would you?”

  Benjamin opened the pantry as Luke pulled out and tied the bag in the kitchen trash can. Benjamin shook open the new bag and put it in the can.

  “Where does she keep her trash cans?”

  “Behind the garage.”

  Luke carried the bag outside.

  “Can I walk home on my own?”

  Luke waved at Mark. “Your dad came over to meet you halfway. Tell him I’ll be over in a few minutes after I lock up.”

  “Okay.”

  Luke waited until Benjamin joined his father before turning back to Caroline’s house. He finished wiping down the kitchen counters and table, and then stored away the supplies. He turned off the lights and reset the alarm system.

  The quietness of the day felt strange, given what was happening elsewhere.

  Luke walked out the back door and took a seat on Caroline’s patio, not ready yet to rejoin the search. He pulled out his billfold and retrieved the note Caroline had written him the night they had recovered Benjamin, before the ransom request for Sharon had arrived.

  Luke—an easy life is fit for easy tasks; a hard life is fit for hard tasks . . . God knew every case you’d see, how hard it would be, and yet He set you on this course for a reason. He created a man who can keep going in the face of tremendous discouragement, in the face of emotional people and chaos and only scraps of information to work with. He made a man I needed . . . You are as ready for this task as God can make a man.

  Luke read the words and sighed. I wish I were that man, Caroline. I wish I were able to work a miracle and find you alive today.

  He resisted the emotions that wanted to flow. This hurt too bad for just tears.

  “If a day comes when you have to tell me Sharon is dead, it will be okay to just say it. I already know your heart.”

  “Who breaks the news to me that you’re dead, Caroline? Jackie? Mark? It’s going to rip apart what’s left of my heart.”

  Luke refolded the letter. The last year had been wasted. Rather than let Caroline into his life while he’d had the chance, he tried to put a buffer around his job to protect her from it. In doing so he missed out on the one relationship that mattered. If he got a second chance, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  They could distribute flyers, do another press conference, try to get the national cable news stations to pick up the case. By this weekend, they would need that extra interest to sustain the search into a second week. Public interest and volunteer help would begin to fade after ten days as people had to return to their lives.

  Who would take Caroline’s fifth-grade class? Her kids mattered to her so much. Maybe he could stop by and talk with her class tomorrow. He wanted some way to connect with Caroline and didn’t know how to do it.

  “Luke.” Jackie jogged up the driveway to join him. “Taylor needs us at the county landfill.”

  “What is it?”

  “A bulldozer operator thinks he saw a body.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Luke pushed garbage out of his way and waded farther into the landfill. Red flags on long metal poles shoved among the punctured garbage bags was not how he wanted to find his crime scene.

  Taylor Marsh rose from his crouch near a towering mound of garbage that didn’t look stable. “It’s not Caroline,” he called over.

  Luke felt a surge of relief that caused him to pause by a torn-open sofa cushion. “Who?”

  “It’s rough to get a solid ID, but it looks like Gary Gibson.”

  Luke reached Marsh’s side and looked down at the body, partially visible through the piled garbage. The odor of human decay overpowered that of decomposing garbage. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. “I agree that’s Gary.”

  Marsh used a handle from a broken broom to push back more of the trash around the body. “I don’t see a gunshot wound. It looks to me like a knife wound to the chest, hard and deep, was the killing blow. He’s pretty much out of rigor, so time of death maybe twenty-four to forty-eight hours ago.” Marsh stepped back and wiped the back of his sleeve across his nose.

  Luke studied the shirt and jacket on the body. The dried blood highlighted the tears in the fabric; the knife had sliced through with neat precision. “Four stab wounds, maybe five. The work of a man in a rage?”

  “A reasonable guess.” Marsh poked around with the broom handle. “We’ve got industrial trash around him, not residential. There’s no foodstuff or household trash; I’m seeing collapsed cardboard boxes, a lot of shredded paper, packing materials, tie wraps, several smashed lightbulbs, some glass tubing, and a lot of what, plastic molds?”

  “A lighting repair shop maybe?” Luke asked.

  “We might get lucky with a shipping label on one of these boxes.”

  “It would help,” Luke agreed. “Okay. Gary gets killed and his body dumped into an industrial Dumpster. A 2 a.m. garbage pickup lifts the Dumpster and drops him into the garbage trunk. A few hours later, he gets spilled out here and buried by the next load. Without the sharp eyes of that dozer operator, it would have been months before this area was turned and the body was spotted. That makes this a throwaway dump; there was no desire to have the crime discovered.”

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the man who was watching Sharon and Caroline in the months before the kidnapping occurred is now dead,” Marsh said. “Was he involved?”

  “That’s the thousand-dollar question. If I’m right, that he saw the snatch and what happened afterward, then his death suggests he got too close to the people who did it.”

  “Killing with a knife—it’s a close and personal kill. He saw Gary watching them, so he grabbed and killed him?” Marsh speculated.

  “I’m leaning that way. Does it look like any of his personal effects were dumped with the body?”

  “What are you thinking might be out here?”

  “His camera,” Luke replied, looking around at the debris. “He apparently has two pretty expensive ones, and neither one was recovered at his house. I think he also took several photos with him when he abandoned his house and ran.” Wind pushed the pungent odor into eye-watering intensity. Luke walked around to be upwind of the body. “Have you checked his pockets?”

  “No.”

  Luke crouched down. The fabric of the jacket had caked to the body with dried blood, and the way the body had been pushed around, the jacket was shoved up and twisted. Careful of the grime, Luke tugged the jacket free enough to get to the left poc
ket. The man was a hoarder. Luke set the first handful of items he pulled out onto a piece of newspaper: toothpicks still in individual wrappers, cough drops, fast-food receipts.

  Luke checked the right pocket and had to tug to get items crammed into it to come free. He retrieved a spiral notebook, blue cover, and well-worn, and three folded photos, the edges sharp and stiff. Luke pried one of the folded photos open and stilled. “This is the campsite where Sharon was held.” He handed the photo up to Marsh and worked to get the other two folded photos opened. “This one looks like a photo of Ronald at what? A gas station food mart?”

  “I think so.”

  “He was definitely watching them,” Luke said. “Tracking them. Who knows, maybe hoping to be a hero.” He opened the third photo and turned it in his hand, trying to decide orientation. It looked like an accidental shot, a photograph of the ground.

  “Why didn’t Gary call us? Or at least call in an anonymous tip?”

  “Maybe he did, Taylor. You know how many calls deemed less than credible are still being reviewed.” Luke stood and moved away from the body. “Gary drives an old pickup truck. If this is Frank’s handiwork, that truck may be what Frank is driving now.”

  “I’ll get the information out to the patrols.”

  Luke straightened bent corners and opened the notebook. The page had two words scrawled in pencil, nearly undecipherable. Luke turned pages. They were all that way. “He must have been jotting notes while he was driving; the text is bouncing all over the page. I’ll take this back to the task force to see if they can figure it out. If Gary followed them to the campsite, maybe he also located the house they used. See if the crime scene guys can find any more of these photos or those cameras. I’m willing to bet Frank could care less whether they were found or not, he may have tossed them into the same Dumpster. If we get lucky, there may be enough here to lead us back to the guy who started this.”