Hours later, as it began to grow dark, there was still no word. Two cops stayed at their house, waiting for the ransom call, while Larry and Tony beat the streets trying to find any leads on who could have the children. This case took precedence over every other. There hadn’t been a kidnapping in St. Clair in almost twenty years, and that one had been a parental abduction. Now the whole town of St. Clair was searching for the children. Posters were hung on every pole, every wall, every window. Church friends came to the house in a steady stream, bringing food—the only thing they knew to do—and leaving with stacks of posters with the faces of the two children.
Jenny had been sedated, and slept in her room. Bobby also slept peacefully now that he’d been medicated and was on his way to recovery. But Anne, Sharon, and Ben paced the living room waiting frantically for the phone to ring.
It was nearing dark when Tony and Larry returned to the house. Their expressions were grave, and Sharon began to feel nauseous at the thought of what they might say.
“Sharon, Anne, Ben—would you all please sit down?”
“You found them,” Anne said, her face turning white with fear.
“No, no,” Tony said quickly. “We haven’t found any trace of them. Not yet. But we need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure,” Sharon said. “Anything. What?”
Larry looked uncomfortably at Tony. “We need to know every place any of you went today, starting with the time you got up until right after the abductions.”
“Oh, here it comes,” Ben said. “I should have anticipated it.”
Puzzled, Sharon and Anne looked at him.
“Don’t you see?” he asked. “It’s the parallel investigation. While they’re looking for the guy who took our kids, they start to consider that we might have done it ourselves.”
“What?” Anne asked, astounded.
Sharon got to her feet. “Why would we do that?”
“We’re not saying you did, Sharon,” Tony said. “It’s a matter of protocol. Really. Just routine. For our reports.”
“Now I remember,” Sharon said. “A couple of years ago, that kidnapping in Virginia or somewhere. They discovered that the mother had killed them. But you don’t think . . .”
“Sharon, we’re not accusing anyone,” Tony said. “We just have to ask a few questions.”
“It’s me, Sharon,” Ben said. “Since I’m an alleged murderer and a pathological liar, I had to have done this, right? Another ploy to throw them off my scent!” He swung an arm and knocked a vase off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. He turned and stormed out of the room.
“Where are you going?” Larry asked loudly.
“To call my lawyer,” Ben said. “I’m not saying another word until she’s here.”
Sharon and Anne gaped at the two detectives as Ben rushed out. “He didn’t do this!” Sharon shouted. “He’s their father! He was here with us the whole time! You had a witness who saw them get into the car with a man! You need to expend your energy trying to find that man, instead of wasting your time on this!”
Tony sat down, looking weary.
“Sharon, we have to ask the questions,” Larry said. “You need to help us by answering them. We haven’t stopped the investigation. It’s still going on. But it’s department policy that we cover every possibility. And with the extenuating circumstances—”
“I don’t care about extenuating circumstances,” Sharon cried. “This whole nightmare has been extenuating from the beginning!” She wiped her face and paced across the floor. “What about me? Am I suspect?”
“No one is suspect,” Tony said.
“Why not? Maybe I had some stupid ulterior motive. Maybe I had some deep hatred against Emily, so I hired someone to kidnap both of them.”
“I guess being the stepmother,” Anne said, “I’m a prime suspect, too, huh?”
“We told you! We’re not accusing anyone.”
“You’re accusing Ben!” Sharon shouted. “Admit it. You think he did it, and that would be just as absurd as either of us. They’re both his kids!”
“They’re just questions, Sharon! Just questions!” Tony shouted.
Ben came back into the room. “Lynda’s on her way over. She said that none of us should say another word until she gets here.”
“Fine,” Larry said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “We’ll wait.”
Tony nodded. “Fair enough.”
Seconds ticked by, as everyone found some spot in the room to focus on. Finally, Anne cried, “Why doesn’t that phone ring?”
“He wants us to sweat,” Ben said quietly.
“But what about the children? It’s getting dark, and they’ll be so afraid. Emily doesn’t have her blankie or her little doll that she sleeps with. What if he doesn’t feed them? What if they’re hurt?”
“They can’t be,” Sharon whispered. “We just have to pray that they’ll be all right. We just have to have faith.”
But her faith seemed as flimsy as Anne’s and Ben’s as they waited for Lynda to arrive.
They waited, Tony and Larry sitting on the couch, Sharon leaning stiffly against the piano with her arms crossed, Ben pacing, and Anne in a chair watching out the window, as if the kidnapper would suddenly drive up and let the children out.
The doorbell rang. It was Lynda and Jake.
“What’s going on, Tony?” Lynda asked. “Why are you badgering these people?”
“We’re not badgering them, Lynda. We just want to ask some questions.”
“All right,” she said. “Everybody sit down.”
They all took places around the room, except for Jake, who hung back in the doorway. “I’m gonna go hang some posters, guys,” he said. “Lynda, are you sure you can get a ride home?”
“No problem,” she said. “I think I’ll be here for a while.”
He touched Sharon’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Sharon, I’m praying for them. We’re gonna find them. We’ve got hundreds of people out looking. You know that, don’t you?”
Sharon touched his hand and squeezed back. “Yeah. I have more faith in you guys than I do in these so-called detectives.”
Tony looked up at her, stung.
“At least somebody’s doing something,” she added.
Jake nodded soberly. “I’ll see you later then,” he said, heading out the door.
After the sound of his car died away, Lynda spoke up. “All right,” she said to Larry and Tony, “ask anything you want. I know that my clients want to give you any answers that can help you find the children. But I’m not going to let you bully or badger them, and you’re not going to get away with hanging this on them.”
“So now they’re all your clients?” Larry asked.
“That’s right,” she said defiantly.
Ben leaned forward, looking ragged and haunted. “Look, before you ask anything, can I just ask you something?”
Larry shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“Think of the logic here, guys. If I really killed Dubose, why would I leave all the evidence—the gun registered to me, the money clip, the fingerprints. And it’s even more illogical that I would add to that by doing something with my own children—” His voice broke off. “But think about it. If I’m being set up, and Dubose was killed because of whatever it is this maniac is looking for, then wouldn’t it make sense that he’d kidnap my children to have leverage over me? He thinks I have whatever it is, so he wants to force me into handing it over.”
“Sure, that would be logical,” Larry said. “Logical enough for you to count on.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lynda asked.
“It’s the conspiracy theory,” Sharon snapped. “Oswald didn’t kill Kennedy—it was the Republicans. And this kidnapper didn’t take our kids—Ben did, only he staged it so carefully that it would look like someone else did it. He was actually in two places at once, and he didn’t look anything like himself, and it wasn’t his car, but he was behind it, bec
ause the other way seems too blasted logical!”
Lynda touched Sharon’s hand and gestured for her to be quiet.
“Just find my baby!” Sharon shouted, standing up and knocking over her chair. “Stop sitting here and find them before it’s too late!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Their eyes had adjusted to the dark. Above them, too far to reach, hung shelves cluttered with gardening tools. A bag of feed leaned against the corner, and a lawn mower was parked near the back. The whole space was no larger than Christy’s walk-in closet at home, and the floor was made of dirt and getting colder the later it got.
“I’m hungry,” Emily said, her voice hoarse from screaming.
Christy’s head still throbbed, and the cut stung. Her bangs were bloody and matted to her forehead. “Me, too. But Daddy will come get us real soon. I know he will.”
“What if he can’t find us?”
“He will. He’s real smart.”
“But I want to go home now,” Emily whimpered.
“Me, too,” Christy said.
They listened hard to the wind whistling around the corner of the building, and the raindrops pattering on the roof. Thunder cracked, and both girls screamed.
“It’s just thunder,” Christy said, trying to sound brave.
“I hate thunder,” Emily cried.
“But it can’t hurt us,” Christy said, remembering what her mother had told her so many times. “We’re safe in here.”
Emily began to wail as thunder cracked again.
“We could pray,” Christy tried.
“I don’t know how.”
Christy put her arm around Emily. “Just close your eyes,” she whispered, “and I’ll do it.”
“What if God can’t hear us through the thunder?”
“He will,” Christy assured her. “Thunder is no big deal to God. He always hears children’s prayers. Mommy told me so. Now bow your head.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Just do it!” Christy shouted. “Bow your head now or I’ll quit trying to make you feel better!”
“You’re not making me feel better!” Emily cried. “You’re making me feel worse.”
“I’m the one with the hurt head!” Christy snapped. “And I’m not acting like some whiny little baby!” She started to cry even as the words came out of her mouth, and finally Emily reached over and hugged her.
“I’m sorry.”
Christy sucked in a sob and wiped her eyes. “It’s okay. Will you bow your stupid head now?”
Emily stuck her thumb in her mouth and bowed her head. They clung together as Christy started to pray.
“Dear God, we’re really scared . . .”
The thunder and rain raged around them as Christy prayed, but before she even got to “Amen,” Emily had drifted off to sleep.
Christy held her for a long time before she too finally surrendered to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The storm was getting more violent, as if the universe were conspiring against them. Sharon paced outside in her screened porch, while they continued questioning Ben inside. Desperately, she clutched Christy’s Simba doll against her and railed mentally at God, bargaining with him, pleading with him to bring her child back. She was angry, she was frightened, she was confused.
When Tony stepped through the back door, she squelched the urge to throw something at him. “What do you want? I thought you were finished interrogating me.”
“We are, for now,” he said. “Sharon, are you all right?”
She breathed a despairing laugh. “Funny how things work out, isn’t it? We were supposed to have had dinner tonight. Who knew that instead I’d be out of my mind with terror?”
“We’ll find them. I know we will.”
“Dead or alive?” she screamed at him. “Before or after it’s too late?”
He looked down at his feet, and she clutched the Simba doll tighter. “I just want Christy back. I can’t stand the thought of her being out there somewhere.” She pressed her hands against the brick wall, staring out at the night. Lightning struck, brightening the night sky, then blackening it again. A sharp clap of thunder followed.
“That’s it,” she said, shoving past Tony into the house. He followed behind her as she grabbed her purse and started digging for her keys. “I’m going out there,” she said through clenched teeth. “St. Clair isn’t that big. I’ll find them. I’ll drive down the streets with my windows rolled down, and listen for their voices. I won’t come back until I’ve gotten them.”
She bolted through the kitchen and out the side door, Tony at her heels.
“You can’t do this, Sharon,” he argued.
“Yes, I can!” she screamed. “You can’t stop me. I’m not under arrest! I can go anywhere I want to.”
“You’re not in any condition to drive, Sharon. And the weather’s bad. If I have to, I will arrest you just to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“But somebody has to look for the children!” she screamed. “We can’t leave them out there. Do you know what it’s like for a little girl in a storm? Even at home, she’s terrified. She sleeps with a night-light on every night. And the hall light. And if it’s damp and cold, she catches cold real easily. I’ve got to get to her . . .”
Feeling helpless, Tony reached for her. “You’ve got to leave it to the professionals, Sharon. Trust them.”
“I can’t trust them,” she cried, shaking free of him. “I can’t. Christy trusts me. I’m the only one. She knows I’m always there for her. I’ve never let her down. Never. When she’s scared or tired or hungry or sick, I’ve always been there.” Her voice broke. She was getting hoarse from crying, but she kept on. “I’ll find them. I know I can. I know St. Clair better than anyone. I’ve sold property in every section of the town. I’ll think of hiding places.”
Tony glanced back toward the door. “All right, listen. I’ll go with you. You’re too upset to drive, so I’ll drive and you can tell me where to go. Fair enough?”
She nodded and breathed another sob. “Yes, all right.”
“Okay. Just let me tell Larry.”
He went back to the door and saw Larry standing with Ben and Anne in the doorway. “Larry, I’m gonna take her for a ride just to make her feel better. She has a car phone, so give us a buzz if anything comes up.”
Larry looked concerned. To keep Ben and Anne from overhearing, he stepped outside. “Are you sure this is a good idea? You’re a cop, not a social worker. It’s not your job to make her feel better.”
“Larry, it’s either ride with her or arrest her,” Tony said in a low voice. “She’s losing it, just sitting here like this. I can’t blame her.”
“I want to go, too,” Anne said from behind Larry. “Take me with you.”
Sharon heard, and swung around. “No! You and Ben have to stay here in case they call!”
“You can’t go,” Larry added. “I still have some questions. We aren’t finished.”
“But we’ve told you everything!” Anne cried.
“Look,” Tony said, “if we find one child, we’ll find both. Your husband needs you. So does your baby.”
Larry coaxed Anne back into the house before she could protest further.
Feeling as if he’d been caught on the front lines of a major war, Tony hurried out to her car before Sharon could leave without him.
Sharon insisted on Tony’s driving twenty miles per hour with both windows down. His left side was getting drenched as they went, and her car’s interior was beginning to soak up the rain like a sponge. They had been all through the rural parts of St. Clair, up one street and down another, searching for places where a deranged kidnapper might have hidden two little girls. One time, she had been positive that an old, condemned house was where the children were, and he had been forced to follow her through the muddy yard and the pouring rain, up the broken steps of the porch, and into the rat-infested house. The children hadn’t been there, though there was evide
nce that someone had been using it for a crack house, and he made a mental note to follow up on that later.
Now, after driving for two hours, he wondered how to broach the subject of going back to her house.
“We’ll never find them, will we?” she asked.
“Not like this,” he said.
She shivered as the cold rain soaked through her. “I should have dressed Christy warmer today. I should have made her wear a jacket.”
“It was in the seventies earlier, Sharon. You couldn’t have known.”
“Yes, I could have,” she said. “We knew there was a killer out there already turning our family upside-down. I should have realized the kids were in danger.”
He didn’t know what to say. It seemed that everything he attempted only made things worse.
“You try to teach them things, you know?” she railed. “Like, never talk to strangers. Look both ways before crossing the street. Eat your vegetables. Brush your teeth. But you never really think about teaching them how to survive in an emergency . . . how to get help . . . how to get home . . .”
Tony reached for her hand and squeezed it. It was as cold as ice. “Don’t underestimate their instincts. Even children have good ones.”
“But I’ve sheltered her so. I didn’t want her to know that evil like this existed.”
“You were supposed to shelter her. That’s your job. Don’t beat yourself up because you didn’t prepare her to be kidnapped.”
Quiet settled over them for a moment. Rainwater soaked her hair and trickled down her face as she gazed at him. “I almost lost it with Anne before we left. I just couldn’t take any more.”
“That’s normal,” Tony said. “And you have a lot of anger in you. For good reason. It’s natural that you’d want to lash out at them.”
“I thought I was different,” she whispered.
He looked at her. “Different how?”
“Better,” she said. “I thought I had all the biblical principles down, that I knew how to behave in any circumstance, that I could stand up to any tragedy, that trials would only make me stronger.”
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