Cats, Cannolis and a Curious Kidnapping

by Cheryl Denise Bannerman

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepppppppp!!!! “Watch it lady!” a road-raged man screamed at me for drifting into his lane.

  I waved apologetically and ditched my fantasy for another day. I had a stalker, possible murderer, to catch!

  * * *

  Traffic was a nightmare late in the evening. Everyone rushing home to either the loneliness of an empty apartment or a spouse and kids that made them crazy and miserable. To avoid the chaos, I decided to take the back roads to the police station.

  I was singing along to my favorite Elton John song when I realized I was approaching a four-way stop intersection and prepared to brake. But the brakes were not working for some reason. I instantly began panicking because cars were crossing the intersection at a steady pace. I was left with only one option to avoid a catastrophe… stop the car myself.

  I studied the wooded area to my right, ensured my seat belt was secure, pulled as hard as I could on the emergency brake for good luck, and yanked the wheel sharply to the right before I got to the intersection. Thank God I was only going about 30 mph. After several dips and swipes across many branches and shrubs, the car came to a stop. I did a gazillion Hail Mary’s and slowly undid my seat belt.

  I don’t understand how this happened. The car was just serviced last week, so did someone tamper with my brakes or am I becoming paranoid? More paranoid than usual that is.

  Oh crap! I just remembered what I forgot to do last month from my rarely reviewed “To Do List”. I forgot to renew my annual membership for roadside assistance. Well, when one door closes, another one opens! Time to call Detective Solace for help. I peeked in the mirror to check my hair, clothes, and makeup before pulling his card out of my wallet.

  After giving myself a quick wink and smile, I closed the mirror and dialed the detective who had invaded my earlier handcuff fantasy.

  “Hello, may I speak to Detective James, I mean John… Solace please,” I inquired of the deep and authoritative voice on the phone.

  “Yeah, just a sec,” he barked.

  After a series of clicks and beeps, I was transferred to Detective Solace’s voicemail. “This is Detective Solace. Sorry I cannot take your call. Leave a detailed message after the beep.”

  Crap! Voicemail. I’m terrible at leaving messages and I was super nervous, so I went in quick and fast with my re-introduction, car troubles, and recent research, but was stopped short by a good Samaritan.

  It went something like this:

  “I don’t know if you remember me, my name is Anna Romano and you came to my house about the break-in. There was vandalism, and my cats were traumatized, and the red paint turned out not to be blood, thank God, and you gave me your card. Anyway, I think someone tampered with my brakes and I’ve crashed on the side of the road on the way from the library to your office. However, I have some very important information about the man with the red hair, it’s related to… one sec a good Samaritan has finally stopped to help me. Thank goodness!”

  He was wearing a hat pulled down low on his face with an oversized Giants jersey and faded blue jeans, so she couldn’t see his face, but he looked just like…

  “Oh goodness, this can’t be happening. Please, don’t hurt me… my cats!”

  The line went dead.

  | CHAPTER 6

  Still a week ago…

  I stepped away for ten minutes and already have a voicemail. Geez. I dialed the code to access my message as I adjusted the name plaque on my desk: Det. J. Solace. When I was younger, I was told my last name stood for peace and comfort, but once I graduated high school, my life was anything but peaceful, or comforting for that matter. I bounced from job to job, my mom got sick, my brother was in and out of jail, and I had no idea which direction my life was going. I finally found my direction when I decided to enter the academy at 27. But being a cop on the beat in Newark proved more than I could handle, so I put in for a transfer further south, in the University town of Princeton.

  However, there seems to never be a dull moment around here either. I thought a small town would be quiet and uneventful; a nice place to start over and put the past behind me. But that wasn’t the case at all.

  I played back voicemail message number one and my jaw dropped.

  What the… ?! Looks like the cat lady’s stalker has just added kidnapping to his list of skills. She’s in big trouble!

  I know exactly where that intersection is located.

  “Billings, you’re with me!” I yelled across the squad room anxiously.

  “Yes sir!” Billings replied. Billings was a rookie and a bit rough around the edges, but he was an okay guy.

  After looking up the make and model of Ms. Romano’s car, I instructed Billings to grab the keys and get CSU to meet us at the Four Points intersection just a couple of miles up the road. Maybe we would get lucky and find a fingerprint on the car.

  While Billings was driving, I was on the laptop trying to get the number to the local library.

  “Sir, I can see the car in that ditch off to the right.” Billings pointed with one hand steadying the wheel.

  “Perfect, let’s see what we got!” I replied, as Billings pulled over and came to a stop.

  I could not believe the luck this poor woman was having. She seemed nice enough and was supposedly a well-known author. So, why was this guy hassling her? I remember the heavenly aroma coming from her house, like she had just finished baking something and I thought…

  “Sir, you okay?” Billings was asking me something.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I responded, pulling myself back to the present.

  “Sir, I was asking if you could smell that. It’s coming from the driver’s side seat.” Billings frustratingly asked for the second time.

  I immediately recognized the smell. The perp must have used chloroform to subdue her and transferred some of it to the leather seat.

  “Wait for CSU and have them test the seat for trace chemicals and fingerprints on the windows and doors. Inside and out. You got it?” I barked and saw Billings roll his eyes as he walked away.

  This case was getting to me. Even though I wasn’t the one to blow her off the first time she tried to ask for help, I felt guilty, and would feel even guiltier if something happened to her. This was now officially a kidnapping case.

  The library was not picking up their phone. Ugh! Screw calling on the phone, I had to get to the library and figure out what she discovered. I yelled out to Billings that I was taking the car and to wait here for CSU.

  The sight of the library brought up one of my best college memories. It was a library just like this where I met my wife. I was a football jock and she was a beautiful genius. An awkward match made in heaven but just perfect to me.

  Martha was one-of-a-kind. Studying to be a Molecular Biologist, she was ambitious, smart, articulate and absolutely breathtaking. The most beautiful thing about her was that she was completely oblivious to her beauty, wondering often why men made such a fuss over her and wondering what they saw in a homely nerd like her. You don’t find humility like that in the women today. To be honest, I don’t see many traits at all that appeal to me in today’s female gene pool.

  I looked at my watch and realized they may be closed as I approached the glass doors. As if on cue, a woman with her hands full of bags and books came through the doors with a large keyring. Damn!

  I flashed my badge and my best smile and told her what I needed, with my fingers crossed behind my back. She then went into a long story about how Ms. Romano tried to use the machine without signing in and then rolled her eyes at her when she told her they were closing soon.

  I reiterated that time was of the essence, as this is now a missing person’s case and that I would greatly appreciate a few extra minutes of her time this evening.

  After a lot of sighs and recounts of the many errands on her list to be completed before getting home to her family, she re-opened the door, entered the code to silence the alarm she had just set, and rebooted the main computer.

&nbs
p; After accessing the history from the computer Ms. Romano used earlier, it seems she researched the following terms: 2011, Connecticut, Cynthia, mistress, murder, and poison. She was scrolling through 2011 news feeds when she pressed PRINT on a news article about a man who was suspected of killing his wife in 2011 in Connecticut. The librarian headed to the back to locate the film and returned with a printed copy of the same article.

  I thanked her profusely and scurried out the door with my cell in hand. “Billings, how’s it going?” I rattled off into the phone.

  “Going great! CSU is here and they were able to confirm the chemical on the seat was chloroform, and lifted two partial prints from the door handle and window,” he responded proudly. “How’s it going on your end sir?”

  “I was able to get the information on her research from the library, but it makes no sense. I have a hunch about something, so I’m going to need the car a bit longer than expected. Are you okay getting a lift back to the station?” I asked.

  “No problem, sir. Let me know if you need anything else,” Billings responded kindly.

  Now, to find evidence supporting my hunch. I couldn’t just go harass a complete stranger just because someone printed an article with them in it.

  I hoped Ms. Romano hadn’t installed that alarm system we recommended yet, or I’d have to answer to the Sarge for breaking and entering. And what about all those cats? Do cats attack intruders? I don’t have much experience with cats.

  I pulled up just as the porch light was coming on. It must have been on a sensor or timer. It was getting dark and I was starting to really worry about the safety of the victim. Every hour she was missing proved more and more dangerous for her.

  I was checking the doors and windows in the front of house, smiling and waving nicely at the cats giving me the ‘stink eye’ in the front window, when a voice startled me from behind.

  “Is Anna okay? I saw your police car outside from my front window,” an elderly man asked from his motor scooter on the sidewalk below.

  Flashing my badge to make the man feel more comfortable, I responded “No sir, Ms. Romano is missing, and we need to get into her home to gather clues to help find her.”

  “Oh, that’s just awful. Don’t cops usually use that heavy door blaster thingy to knock doors down?” he asked.

  “You mean a battering ram? No sir. Only SWAT uses those for raids. We wouldn’t want to damage a victim’s property,” I answered.

  “Well, in that case, you may want to just use the key.” The man pointed to a flowerpot to the right of the porch, in front of the rose bushes.

  I couldn’t believe it was that simple, or that people still put spare keys under items on their front lawn in plain view. Incredible! I thanked the man and he rolled away mumbling something or other.

  As I entered the home, I didn’t hear any beeping, so I assumed the alarm company hadn’t been out yet. I turned my attention to the ongoing rubbing on my legs going on down below. Apparently, they don’t attack, they just rub. While trying to concentrate, the cats purring was getting incessantly louder, so I decided to check their food and water.

  I wasn’t expecting to end up feeding and scooping the poop of Ms. Romano’s cats, but it was the least I could do. We, the department, had failed her and I have to make it right. Luckily, while I was in the kitchen, I just happened to find the source of the sweet aroma from the other day, and helped myself to a couple of cannoli. Yummmm!

  I was ready to get down to business and headed for the bookcase. First, I located her laptop, but was unable to log in without her password. Next, I located all of her novels and brought them with me to the recliner in the living room. As I began skimming through each one trying to find the connection between this kidnapping and a man who murdered his wife in 2011 in Connecticut, cannoli-itis rudely set in and I dozed off to sleep to the soft caress of fur and a gentle purring in my ear.

  CHAPTER 7 |

  6 days ago…

  Ugh, my head. Where the heck was I? The cement below me was cold and damp. It smelled of stale sweat and urine, and there were old swatches of colorful materials and broken-down sewing machines scattered about. An old sweatshop or factory maybe?

  The ropes that bound my hands and feet were tied and knotted very well. What was this guy a boy scout in his youth? They were chafing the heck out of my wrists and ankles and I could see purple marks beginning to appear.

  A noise came from the other room and I saw him through the glass panes used to create some form of privacy for what seemed to be an office. Red-Head (his new nickname) was finishing up an argument on the phone with someone about a missing cadaver, and was now opening the door and heading my way.

  “What do you want from me?” I tried to scream, although it was useless through the gag in my mouth. Once Red-Head appeared in full view, I quickly noted the shiny silver item in his right hand and quieted. He was now holding the gun to my head. What had I gotten myself into?

  “You think you are so clever, don’t you? With your ‘fictional’ mystery books that appear to be so innocent!” Red-Head yelled.

  I tried to respond but to no avail. That was when he reached for the gag, put the gun closer to my head, and offered to remove the gag if I didn’t scream.

  I nodded profusely in agreement.

  As soon the gag was removed, I entered my plea. “Listen, the stories in my books are just a mere figment of my imagination. I don’t know anything about you or your life. You have to believe me!”

  “No, I don’t,” he responded slowly and smiled slyly. “It just so happens your meddling is going to fit into my plan perfectly.”

  “Did you know that you just happen to be the perfect victim? No spouse, no social life, just cats. Only your cats will miss you. And your book fans, of course,” he spat and chuckled simultaneously. “Just think, your books will be even more valuable when you’re dead. You’ll be a legend!” he laughed aloud.

  I could not believe what I was hearing. I never thought my life would end over the thing that I loved… writing. One of my very own books had set the wheels in motion towards my demise. I had to find a way to get out of this. Where was Detective Solace? Was he even looking for me? And what will happen to my babies? They must be hungry and scared, me being gone for so long?

  I had almost forgotten the one person who brought me into this world… miserable as it may be. My mother. She did her best to give me a good life, although she was not around much. I have the most painful memories of birthdays. From eight until sixteen years of age, sitting in my favorite Italian restaurant having my favorite meal, with a beautiful pink cake lit up with pink candles. As I stared off into space, the staff sang happy birthday and clapped. My mother would set the whole thing up, but was never present. I was surrounded by strangers who I knew little about.

  I would open my presents from her and then anxiously wait by the front window for her to pick me up. On my sixteenth birthday she decided I was old enough to catch a taxi home. After that birthday, I was determined to have friends and make a life for myself, so that I would never have to be alone again. Hence, the seven cats… but I digress.

  Just then, as if sensing the sad story in my head was over, Red-Head glanced at me over his right shoulder with a softer look on his face. His back was to me, the gun still in his right hand as he said, “I’m sorry Cat Lady. I really am. But this is the only solution I have to save my wife and children.”

  | CHAPTER 8

  Still 6 days ago…

  I awoke in a startle and a bit of a coughing fit. I think I have a hairball in my throat. [more hacking] What time is it? 5:19 am? Oh crap! I gotta wrap up this research and check in with Billings. I dialed his cell and waited for him to pick up.

  Last night, I deduced the novel, The Silent Kill, was the closest match to the article Ms. Romano had stumbled upon. The guy’s name was Frederick Talon, but he didn’t kill his mistress or his wife. Actually, his first wife died of natural causes. It was determined no foul play was even inv
olved.

  Billings answered on the fifth ring mid-yawn and I asked him to run the name Frederick Talon through CODIS and see if we can get a match to any of the partial prints we found on or inside Ms. Romano’s vehicle.

  After feeding the little ones and emptying their litter boxes again, I raced home to shower and change. As I was applying my daily moisturizing products, after shave and a dollop of hair mousse, my cell phone chirped. A message from Billings. Finally!

  I snatched up the phone and read the message:

  Fingerprints match Frederick Talon. Ran credit card - charges at local h/w store for duct tape, rope, tarp. Search warrant appvd. Meet us at 721 Ravenhurst Lane.

  I grabbed my belt, holster and badge and flew out the door. Plugging the address into my GPS, I thought about Ms. Romano. Such a nice lady. I had to find her. I needed to find her… alive.

  * * *

  “What do we have Billings?” I asked as I ‘vested up’ outside the home.

  “SWAT has two in the back, two on the side of the house, and two waiting for you to go in the front, sir,” he responded.

  “Let’s move in!” I shouted, managing a countdown on three fingers, right hand in the air.

  The front door was rammed off the hinges and we all moved in, both front and back reinforcements.

  From all around the house you heard “Clear… clear,” until the final unit checked in. “All clear!”

  I’m confused. If this is the family home, where was the ‘family’? There were no cars in the garage, no toys laying around, no dishes in the sink. Did this guy harm his family in some way? We couldn’t find any clues whatsoever in this five-bedroom, three bath home. Time to canvas the neighborhood.

  Billings and I were only on our third house, when a neighbor, apparently an avid member of the Neighborhood Watch, provided us with the answers we needed. Apparently, they went away for the kid’s summer break two days ago with approximately five suitcases, and wouldn’t be back until the end of August. He also proceeded to tell us about the noticeable curves in Mrs. Talon’s body and how she watered the rose bushes every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday right out front, in the most scandalous of outfits. Better add this guy to my radar. He was a bit too perceptive.