The Abducted: Odessa – A Small Town Abduction - Book One

by Roger Hayden

  They had recruited Miriam days prior, having her travel all the way from Phoenix, Arizona to assist in the case. She had made a name for herself after solving the Snatcher case in Palm Dale, Florida, a case that seemed to mirror their current investigation. The kidnapper had mentioned her in two separate notes to the police. He had indicated a certain interest in Miriam, and her current and unexplained absence was of great concern.

  Hayes stated as much as he paced around the darkened cab of the truck, rolling his sleeves up and fidgeting with his tie. “She’s our responsibility, and I can’t think of any reason why she would just disappear like this in the middle of everything.”

  Sergeant Bennett, the head police sergeant of the minimally staffed Odessa Police Station, chimed in. “Whatever happened with the coffee, anyway?”

  His young assistant, Corporal Taylor, added to the cluelessness involving Miriam’s status. “Did anyone tell her that we’ve gone ahead with the plan?”

  Hayes spun around, flustered. “She’s been gone an hour. This is ridiculous.”

  “Maybe her phone battery died,” Sergeant Bennett said, taking a sip of his gas station coffee.

  “Yeah,” Corporal Taylor added. “She’s probably back at the station right now looking for us.”

  Detective Shelton turned to the police while adjusting his headset. “Gentlemen, that’s enough. Let’s focus.”

  Their eyes went to the screens as Shelton reached for his hand-held radio resting on the control station. Hayes approached from behind and re-joined the team. Shelton turned his head slightly and noticed the ambivalence still on his partner’s face. “We can do this without her. Don’t worry.”

  Hayes nodded while cupping his chin. “I know. But remember what she said about this guy?”

  “No,” Shelton said, turning his focus back to the monitors. He then held the radio up, talking into it. “Alpha Team, maintain your position. Bravo, assemble across the street in front of that diner. Keep an eye on our girl, and stay natural and nonchalant.”

  Though Shelton had moved on, Hayes wasn’t done. “She said that this guy is always going to be two steps ahead of us. To always assume that he’s watching.”

  Hayes’s comments elicited a chuckle from Sergeant Bennett. “I don’t think he’s some criminal mastermind, Detective. We’re dealing with a kiddy diddler. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Eyes went back on the small monitors, six in all, where vehicles sped past stationary street shots and pedestrians walked along other shots of the sidewalk and businesses. Wendy remained seated at a bench reading a comic book. The weather was warm that day, and they had her dressed in a short skirt and sandals and her long brown hair in pigtails.

  It was an obvious ruse, but the sort of sting that a predator on the prowl wouldn’t be able to resist. At least, they hoped so. The men stared at the surveillance screens in silence without anyone mentioning the fact that they could be waiting for hours on end, possibly days. They had to prepare for the long haul without also considering the overall failure of the plan. However, the possibility of catching the town sicko fueled their motivation.

  Surveillance photos adorned the wall of a blue van in question from days earlier, though they were unable to extract a license plate number. No one on the team believed that their suspect would be driving the same van, especially after its description dominated the local news. But there was hope.

  Hanging from the wall was also a map of the town with certain areas marked and circled. The corner of West and Main was believed to be along the kidnapper’s suspected daily route. If, for any reason, he was to drive by in a van or new vehicle, he couldn’t miss Wendy.

  “Stay patient, everyone,” Shelton said into the radio. “We’re digging in and could be here a while. I’ll conduct radio checks at the top of every hour.” They watched and waited as the town continued to move along with nothing out of the ordinary occurring just yet. A large drone control rested on the desk with several buttons and joysticks. The drone itself was positioned in a nearby alley under careful supervision of plain-clothed investigators.

  A familiar voice suddenly came over the radio. “Detective Hayes, this is Captain Vasquez. Over.”

  “Go ahead, sir,” Shelton said.

  “Let’s not drag this out any longer than it needs to be. I want to nail this guy before sundown.”

  Shelton shrugged, knowing that the captain couldn’t see his movement. “We’re taking a leap of faith here, sir. Nothing is guaranteed.”

  “I know that, Detective. But let’s be proactive about it. If an hour passes and we don’t have visibility on the suspect, we move to another location and start over again. Understand?”

  It seemed a reasonable enough demand, but the logistics involved with re-assembling the teams as well as determining the effectiveness of a new location was going to be taxing. Shelton offered his agreement and went back to watching the monitors. Hayes stopped talking about Miriam for a moment and looked to be focused on the operation before them.

  “This might really work,” he said softly.

  Shelton nodded in agreement. “It’s a start. We’ve got to be patient. This guy won’t be able to help himself, I know it.”

  Their eyes moved to Wendy’s monitor as an older man slowly approached her bench. He was tall, wearing slacks and a tucked-in button-up shirt, and he walked with a slight hunch. He had a newspaper rolled up in one hand and kept looking at Wendy with interest.

  “Okay. What’s this?” the captain asked from his radio.

  “Nothing yet, sir. Just a pedestrian,” Shelton said.

  “Where are you parked?” he asked. “I’m coming in.” They knew that the captain wasn’t far, seated in his own vehicle and watching the surveillance stream from his laptop. In response, Shelton was quick to discourage him.

  “We need to stay in place. Everyone take it easy!”

  The man on the screen strolled past Wendy without saying a word. He entered the field of another hidden camera and then walked off and entered a coffee shop — their first false alarm. Minutes later, however, a rusty pick-up truck caught their eye as it passed a nearby intersection and then did a U-Turn, driving completely back around and slowing in front of Wendy.

  “Bravo. Let’s get an unmarked car to follow the truck,” Shelton said with urgency. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “Roger that, Detective,” a voice said over the radio.

  It looked as though they were already close to catching some flies. Shelton leaned forward for a closer look at the truck as Hayes and the police officers scanned each screen in deep focus. They could see an unmarked car follow the truck in question from a distance.

  The truck traveled a short distance up the street and then pulled into the parking lot of a corner store. Another false flag. Wendy looked up from her comic book and stood up, stretching as her small skirt rode up her thin frame. Several cars seemed to slow as they passed, and it made it harder to differentiate between the normal drivers and the pervert on their hit list.

  Wendy sat back down and rotated her neck with her eyes closed. Her eyes glanced at the camera above as she went back to her comic book.

  “Wait, what’s that?” Hayes said, pointing at the second screen where a gawky bike carrier pedaled toward Wendy with a backpack over his shoulder. His bike skidded to a halt inches from Wendy, startling her.

  “All teams stay in your position!” Shelton said as though he could sense the tension. “Don’t make a move. It’s just a kid on a bike.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Sergeant Bennett said, watching the screen in wonder.

  Shelton then switched to his headset microphone and urged Wendy to stay calm as she repeatedly looked at the camera for guidance with the bike carrier’s approach.

  “Just… just stay there,” Shelton said. Through a hidden mike at the scene, they listened as the carrier spoke and Wendy listened.

  “Um. I have a package here. Supposed to deliver it to a girl by 11:15.”
He paused and lifted his backpack off his shoulder, pulling out a small package. He glanced at his watch and then back to Wendy. “It’s 11:15. Are you the girl?”

  Nervous with hesitation, Wendy looked up at the camera for guidance.

  “Hold on,” Shelton said. “Keep him there. Ask him his name.”

  “What’s your name?” they heard her say.

  “Something isn’t right here,” Hayes said. “She can’t take that package.”

  “Could be a bomb for all we know,” Sergeant Bennett added, eyes plastered to the screen and clearly enthralled by the scene unfolding.

  “My name’s Keith,” the bike carrier said, holding out the package. “You gonna take this thing or not? If so, I need you to sign on the receipt.” He pulled a pen and a crumpled-up carbon receipt from his pocket.

  “I don’t know,” Wendy said back. “What’s in it?”

  “Good question,” Shelton said. “Keep stalling.”

  Dumbfounded, the boy took a step back and lowered the box. “All I know is that someone paid to have this package delivered right here to a girl sitting on a bench.”

  Wendy thought to herself and then reached for the package.

  “Alpha team, move in,” Shelton said.

  A flurry of plain-clothed police officers stormed into the shot, tackling the bike carrier to the ground and blocking Wendy from harm. The boy hit the concrete on his chest, crying out in pain. The officers took the box from Wendy and ran off, with some staying behind to form a protective barrier around her. To the side, the team with the box carefully opened it upon Shelton’s instructions. They slit it right down the middle and opened its flaps, revealing shipping foam stuffed inside.

  A closer look, and Shelton and Hayes watched as they uncovered an envelope in the box with something else—a bulging ball of gauze. They unraveled the gauze and saw what appeared to be a human index finger. The officer holding it jumped back in surprise and dropped it to the ground.

  “What the hell am I looking at?” Shelton asked, zooming one of the cameras in on their location.

  “It’s an index finger, Detective. There’s red nail polish on the tip, and it looks like it came from a child.”

  “I want answers, damn it!” the captain shouted from his position. “Take that delivery boy into custody. Abort the mission!”

  No one had commented on the finger itself just yet. That was, until the other officer unsealed the envelope and proceeded to read the letter inside. He rose from his squat and read the typed letter slowly and carefully.

  “My apologies for my absence today, but I’m afraid that I’m currently predisposed. I just made another new acquaintance today and we’re going to have a great time. You see, while you were wasting your time chasing your shadows, another girl is now missing. A Midland girl this time, named Tara. I’ve provided a little souvenir for the trouble. Never yours, the Chancellor of Doom.”

  After finishing the letter, Shelton and Hayes could only stare at the screens in silence. The bike carrier remained on the ground, head driven into the pavement and a pair of handcuffs at his wrist. Wendy stood to the side of her bench, concerned by all the activity going on. The sting operation, it appeared, had ended before it had even started. Detective Hayes then acknowledged the predicament with a single question.

  “Who the hell are we dealing with here?”

  Fallout

  Miriam stayed low and moved with stealth toward Walter’s house. Her arms were extended, gripping her pistol downward and prepared to fire at anything that threatened her. She shifted against the wall of the garage and rushed through the backyard once again. The isolated plot of dirt and lawn chairs remained undisturbed. The police sirens were only getting louder.

  She had rehearsed everything that she would say to them. She had been beckoned to the house every step of the way by the very man who had sought her out, and things had quickly spiraled out of control. There was more to the story than anyone had counted on. She finally had a voice to go with the notes, distorted as it was.

  She needed to call home soon. It had been days since she’d been away. Her fiancé, Lou, would be livid, and her daughter, Ana, would never forgive her for putting herself in danger once again. Throughout her career, Miriam preferred to face things head-on. The Snatcher case, one year prior, had changed her life, thrust her into the spotlight, and brought her to an apex in her career.

  The trauma of being captured by Phillip Anderson and held in his lair resulted in a fragility that had nearly broken Miriam. She emerged from the horrific incident shaken to her core. It was too soon to return to the field, and that’s why she took a desk job with the Phoenix Family Investigations Unit.

  For a while, everything felt normal again, but now someone was playing games with her once more. How effortlessly things had turned—a dead perp on the living room floor, his buddy taunting her on the phone, and a girl still missing. Miriam wasn’t going to back down though. She was going to solve the case if it was the last investigation she ever took part in.

  Just give me two more days, she said under her breath as she sneaked into the house through the sliding glass door. It’s all I need.

  What she planned to do in those two days remained unclear. Natalie could provide crucial information on the case, but Miriam didn’t want to push her. One quick sweep throughout the house, and she’d leave it up to the local investigators to handle the rest. She stopped in the kitchen and peeked around the corner of the hallway.

  With the coast clear, she moved to the living room where a broken lamp lay shattered on the floor next to Walter’s still body. His lifeless, open eyes chilled Miriam. His mouth was agape with reddened teeth from the blood that spilled down his cheek and to the floor.

  His arms were out, one hand still holding his canon-sized .45 Magnum. Miriam felt lucky that he hadn’t blown her head clear off. His plain white T-shirt was soaked with blood. The bandage wrapped around his waist looked recent and hastily applied. He looked to have suffered an injury before Miriam had even arrived. Despite his acne scars, he had a youthful face of someone in their early thirties.

  He was thin, with a full head of shaggy hair. He looked like someone who had their entire life ahead of him. Why he chose to throw it all away remained a mystery.

  “Who are you, Walter Browning?” she said, squatting down.

  She turned from his body and noticed a leather wallet on a nearby lamp table. With her pistol in one hand, she took the wallet and opened it. Walter’s State of Texas driver’s license was visible from a small plastic sleeve. He was the man she was looking for after all. There was a credit card and a few dollars inside, but nothing beyond that. As she opened it wider, a card fell out and landed on the floor.

  Miriam crouched down to retrieve the tattered business card and examined it. The name of Dr. Nicholas Trudeau was listed across the card with a number and address for a therapist’s office. Interesting, she thought, setting the wallet back on the lamp stand. The card, however, remained in her hand.

  She looked around the living room, furnished with the bare minimum. There was one couch, old and torn up, a recliner, and a small television on a cheap stand. There were no pictures hanging in the living room. There were no pictures of Walter or anyone else on the bookshelf in the corner.

  The shelves were adorned with old, dusty hardcovers from Treasure Island to Sherlock Holmes. By the emptiness of the room, Miriam could surmise that Walter wasn’t much of a decorator. She recalled a computer desk in his equally minimally decorated bedroom and considered that as their most useful piece of evidence.

  She turned to the nearby garage door where she had seen boxes of clutter drenched in shadow and took the current opportunity to investigate further. She opened the door and slipped inside, finding the light switch and illuminating a flickering bulb attached to the ceiling.

  The air was stilted and dry. Miriam had to cover her mouth from all the dust. The garage was packed with old junk, from stacks of TV Guides to old National Geo
graphic magazines. She saw clear containers stacked five or six high, filled with vintage video game consoles. Several boxes were marked “comics.” Walter looked to be a collector or, judging by the abundance of stuff packed inside the garage, a hoarder of sorts.

  Miriam knelt as something caught her eye—an opened box marked “clothes” with girl’s clothing spilling out—everything from shirts to jeans, collected from a thrift store or Goodwill. She left the garage at the sound of police sirens nearing. There was one more room that she wanted to look in, a room where she hoped to make sense of the bizarre scene.

  She moved down the hall and went straight into Walter’s bedroom. The window was open halfway. The bed was messy and unmade. There were clothes everywhere and in the corner, she saw his modest computer desk, complete with PC tower and monitor. Her eyes darted to the bed where an interesting sight called her attention.

  A pair of slacks lay over the bed next to a polo shirt with the Food Mart logo embroidered on it. There was even a hat resting on his nightstand. Miriam paused, confirming what she already knew—Walter had worked at the Food Mart.

  She heard a conclave of vehicles arrive out front and then pulled the blinds open, unleashing sunlight into the room as dust particles rained down from overhead. She holstered her pistol and hurried to the front door to meet them as three police cars and an ambulance parked in front of the house with their lights flashing.

  Six police officers headed toward the front door, all wearing civilian clothes. Behind them, Miriam could see Detective Hayes and Detective Shelton with a growing look of concern on both their faces. She quickly moved to the door and swung it open, holding her badge up with both hands in the air.

  “It’s all right, officers. I’m Lieutenant Sandoval. I found Natalie Forester. She’s next door with an elderly woman.”

  “We know who you are, ma’am,” a cop in a checkered flannel shirt with silver hair said. On closer inspection, she recognized him as Sergeant Bennett, the police sergeant who worked at the understaffed local station. “Send the paramedics next door!” he added.