by Roger Hayden
Miriam jumped up. Turner shifted back on his heels, surprised. “This is ridiculous!” she shouted. All heads turned to her. The room went quiet. “I told you who it is. It’s Phillip Anderson. He’s driving a rusty white Dodge van with tinted windows and he has my daughter!”
“We have an APB on the vehicle you described,” Turner began. “In order for us to find your daughter, I have to ask questions.”
Miriam looked around at the blurry faces watching her. “I told you his demands. I told you what he wants. Now find him!”
The detectives stared at her, taken aback and not happy. Lou opened his mouth to speak as Miriam stormed off down the hall to the bathroom. She slammed the door, and all eyes went on Lou.
“Give her a moment, guys,” Lou said. “She’s been through hell and back.”
Miriam gripped the sink and stared at her flushed face in the mirror. She had dark eyebrows, full lips, and straight black hair covering one side of her face—nice features, though right now she felt like a wreck. Talking resumed outside the bathroom. The Sarasota PD was setting up camp, but her daughter was still gone. She felt ready to take her car and search for Anderson herself.
“Why not?” she said out loud. “You’ve been down this road before.”
She felt painfully alone, as her mind raced with options. An emotional blow struck—Freddy’s death, making her double over and clutch the rim of the skin. Was it her fault? She gripped the sink tighter and leaned down as her hair hung in her face. Her neck remained bent as she quietly sobbed. Had she never called him over and asked him to watch Ana, he’d still be alive. Had she never gone back to the case to begin with, none of it would have happened. Freddy would be still be alive, and Ana would be safely at school.
What was she going to tell his parents? She needed solace, but there was none to be found. By meddling in the Anderson family’s business, she had failed Freddy and Ana. The thought crushed her. She wondered, just as Detective Turned did, how Anderson had gotten her number and address. None of it made sense. But she couldn’t quit. Not when Ana needed her.
She turned the faucet on and washed her face. The warm water was soothing. She ran soap over her hands and held them under the water, slowly rubbing them together. Afterward, she grabbed a towel and dried her hands and face. It seemed amazing that she could do even these ordinary things. She took Ana’s brush and ran it through her hair. Her eyes met the mirror again. There would be no more doubt. No more blaming herself. No more fear. And once she found Anderson, she was going to kill him. There was no other way.
She left the bathroom to find Lou playing the captured cell phone recording to a circle of detectives, all quietly listening.
“See to it,” said the voice, referring to his parents, “that they are freed and brought to an undisclosed location, and I’ll let you talk to Ana.” The voice was distorted, ominous sounding.
Lou stopped the recording. “I tried to get a trace, but came up empty-handed.”
“I don’t get it,” Detective Turner said, interjecting. “The guy leaves a note in his own handwriting, but doesn’t leave fingerprints. Calls her up but doesn’t leave a number. Tells her who he is but uses a voice box.”
“It’s pretty simple,” Miriam said, approaching them, steely and determined. “He’s exposing only what he wants to, without leaving concrete evidence.”
Turner turned his head away from Miriam and back to the other detectives. “What about the note?”
“Anyone could have written that,” Lou answered.
“We’ll see,” Turner said. “My team will look into it.”
Miriam broke into the circle and leaned against the couch, eying everyone around her. “What are we going to do to meet his demands? The release of the Anderson parents in exchange for my being able to talk to my daughter seems more than fair to me.”
“Not my area,” Turner said, getting up. He signaled the rest of the detectives to the kitchen. They left as Miriam looked to Lou for help. “Well?” she said. “Who do we need to talk to?”
Lou shifted in his seat uncomfortably and sighed.
“No,” she said, pointing at him. “Don’t tell me it can’t be done. It has to be done. It’s the only chance I have.”
She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. It was uncanny. The local news was reporting from in front of her house, right where police had the area cordoned off. Behind the reporter, in the background, was the ambulance where the EMTs had just loaded Freddy’s body.
“We’re standing here in front of the Castillo residence, where Miriam Castillo, the former police sergeant involved in the so-called “Snatcher case,” is in the midst of another murder investigation. Details at this point are unclear, but retribution against Ms. Castillo is rumored to have resulted in at least one death of a close family member.”
Miriam stared at the screen, rage burning through her. The amount of utter speculation she was hearing was astounding. The well-groomed male reporter went on to say that an APB had been issued for a white Dodge van, possibly ten to twenty years old, with tinted windows. They showed a sample photo of what the real van might look like. Helicopters had been deployed, and the reporter glanced up. Then his face grew solemn and he began speaking as if he had just heard an important piece of breaking news though his earpiece.
“We’re now reporting that an AMBER Alert has been issued for Ms. Castillo’s eleven-year-old daughter, Ana.” Strangely enough, they even had a picture of her—a school photo from the previous year—and displayed her height, weight, and hair and eye color.
Miriam turned to Lou with anguish in her eyes. “How did they get a picture of her like that?” She stared back at the screen, eyes glazed and mouth open.
The man concluded his report by briefly revisiting the Snatcher case and then handing the show back to the studio’s news desk anchor, who launched into a cheery look at sports highlights. Miriam tossed the remote down and headed toward the front door.
“Whoa,” Lou said, running toward her. “Where are you going?”
She whipped around, infuriated. “I want to know how they got a picture of my daughter.”
Detective Turner, who had seen the commotion from the kitchen, advanced toward her, calling: “Perhaps this environment isn’t the best for you right now, Ms. Castillo.”
Miriam did a U-turn from the front door, facing toward the kitchen with her fists balled. Again, Lou blocked her path. “Come on now. This isn’t helping!”
“Helping?” she said, pointing at Turner’s pudgy and indifferent face. “How is any of this helping?” The room went quiet again. The entire Sarasota police force, it seemed, simply stared back at her with blank expressions.
“We’re doing everything we can,” said a lanky detective standing nearby. He had kind eyes and a soft voice and placed a hand on her shoulder. “But in order to catch this guy, we’ve got to gather up every piece of evidence at our disposal.”
Miriam turned away, saying nothing. She grabbed her purse and went right out the front door, toward her red Tahoe. Lou stood aside, as flabbergasted as the other officers. He nodded to the lanky detective and then went out the door, following Miriam.
She rushed out of the door, looking down and ignoring the news crews in the distance. She looked up with dismay to find a police car parked behind her Tahoe. She stopped and sighed as two male officers from out of nowhere approached her.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” one asked.
“One of you is blocking me in. Could you move that car, please?” she asked.
They looked at each other, unsure. Miriam threw her hands up. “Come on. Move it or lose it.”
Three different local news crews moved quickly from their vans and hurried over to Miriam. The two officers turned to them and told them not to pass the driveway.
“Ms. Castillo!” an attractive female reporter shouted. “Can you tell us what happened here?”
“Is this the Snatcher’s revenge?” a male reporter asked.
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“Any message for the Snatcher?” an excited male reporter added.
Miriam unlocked her Tahoe, pressing a button on her key and opened the door, ignoring them.
Lou suddenly came around the corner to stop her from leaving. “Miriam, wait. Where are you going?”
“To find that bastard and kill him,” she said, ducking into the driver’s seat. Lou held her door open before she could slam it. “Come on now, wait. You’re blocked in.”
She flashed her fiery eyes at him, clearly not about to be dictated to or deterred. “Tell them to move it before I ram it out of the way.”
Lou kept his grip on the door, not wanting to let her out of his sight. “We’ll take my car. That work for you?”
She jammed her keys into the ignition and then, with both hands on the steering wheel, seemed to have a change of heart. She looked up at him and gave a subtle nod. “Okay, Lou.”
She took her keys out slowly and stepped out of the car. Lou closed her door, and they stood side by side. His white Crown Victoria was parked across the street; they looked at each other, thinking the same thing: This could prove to be a little problematic.
“What about them?” Miriam said, pointing at the news crews.
“We walk through them. Can we keep them from putting your face on TV? No. But we don’t have to say anything.”
“I still want to know how they got that information about Ana.” She paused and looked into Lou’s worried eyes, searching for truth. “Tell me this much: Are you going to help me secure the release of Anderson’s parents, or are we going out to chase white vans all day?”
Lou grinned with a hint of sarcasm in his expression. “I have tell you, I think we’ll have much better luck back in Lee County.”
“So you’ll help me?” Miriam asked.
“As much as I can.”
She nearly hugged him but held back. There were too many cameras everywhere. Lou told the officers in the yard that they were going for a drive. He handed them his card. As he and Miriam approached the end of the driveway, the reporters began to swarm in close.
“Make way, please,” Lou said, creating a path for Miriam and himself, elbowing people out of the way. Video cameras were everywhere. She kept her head high and eyes forward, ignoring their questions. However, one anonymous question felt like a dagger through her heart.
“Miriam, what happened to your husband?”
She ignored the sting and kept walking. Lou’s car felt far away. She could hear him yelling at people, telling them to stay back. It wasn’t going to do a thing. When the news media smelled blood, there was no stopping them.
Lou went around to the side and opened the passenger door for Miriam as questions continued to fly. He closed her door as a cameraman rushed toward him, and then battled his way to the driver’s side. He jumped in and slammed the door with a breath of relief.
“Little aggressive, aren’t they?” he asked, turning to Miriam. She looked out the window, not answering.
“Yes they are, she said, trying to muster a smile.
Reporters surrounded the windows on all sides in a frenzy. She didn’t understand how things had gotten out of hand so quickly. Lou flipped on his siren on and revved the engine. He gently nudged forward, and when he had enough space, he gunned it around the cul-de-sac and down the street, narrowly missing a chasing news crew. The familiar spectacle of being in the media spotlight troubled Miriam. She had seen it before, following the death of her old partner. Now things were different. Her very daughter’s life was at stake.
A New Friend
“Wake up,” a gentle, child-like voice said.
Ana slowly opened her eyes to a darkened room. Her head was pounding and her throat felt dry and scratchy. Everything was hazy and she couldn’t remember how she had gotten wherever she was. She lay flat on her back on some kind of mattress. That much she knew. The air was dank and stifling and she could taste the noxious residue of alcohol in her mouth.
“Mom?” she said faintly.
A figure was kneeling beside her, but she couldn’t tell who it was.
“I’m not your mom. My name is Bobby,” the person responded.
Ana rubbed her eyes and sat up in a sort of disoriented, dream-like state. She squinted to see better but could barely make anything out. A long fluorescent bulb flickered from the ceiling in the distance. She could see stairs leading up.
“Where am I?” was her first question.
“You’re not going to like this,” the person said. “But you can trust me.”
Ana felt confused—annoyed, even. She sat up some more and looked around as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was in a basement. It was largely barren, with only a few empty bookshelves and boxes. A potted plant lay on its side with dirt spread across the concrete floor. There were no windows but plenty of cobwebs. Wherever she was, she didn’t want to be there.
As reality set in, it was clear enough that she wasn’t dreaming. The figure with the non-threatening voice was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He turned the knob on a battery-operated lamp sitting next to him on the floor, revealing himself not as a harmless boy, but a full-grown man.
A vivid memory electrified Ana’s mind: the intrusion into her bathroom, the cloth over her face, and the brief glimpse of a woman. She had been taken. She recoiled and jumped back against the concrete wall next to the bed.
“Leave me alone!” she shouted.
The man just sat there with a puzzled expression. He was dressed strangely in child-like overalls with a long-sleeved red-and-white striped shirt underneath. His gray hair was short and tattered. He rocked back and forth playfully while watching Ana, clutching his sneakers. There were a few dolls at his feet. He picked up a plush teddy bear and held it out for Ana.
“Don’t be scared. Here, I’ll let you hold Mr. Bongo.”
She backed further against the wall, quivering. “Stay away from me!”
She looked around, desperate and afraid, for a way out. The only practical exit seemed to be the stairs. The man still held the teddy bear with a patient and knowing expression on his round face. His hair wasn’t convincing. It looked like a wig.
“Don’t be afraid. Take the bear,” he said.
She stood up on the thin, squeaky mattress. It was dirty, and there were no blankets on it. The man waited in anticipation as she extended her arm to grab Mr. Bongo. The man smiled as she took the bear. The doll looked old, and one of its eyes was missing.
“There you go. That’s the ticket,” he continued.
Bear in hand, she leaned back some, standing over him. He beckoned her to say hello to the bear. She held the raggedy doll at arm’s length and looked into its face. Still, the man continued to gaze at her, smiling. Without a second thought, she wound her arm back and launched the bear into the man’s face and leapt from the bed.
Her sneakers hit the floor and she bolted off in a frantic attempt at escape. The man tossed the bear from his lap and rolled to his side, grabbing her ankle. The sudden yank sent her flying and landing hard on the concrete floor. The impact sent a white flash through her brain as her chin compacted and struck the floor. A terrified scream bounced off the concrete walls, floor and stairs, which she had almost reached. The man gripped her leg hard, closing down on it like a bear trap. There was no escape. His voice was strangely desperate and pleading.
“You can’t go up there! It’s not safe. You’re better off with me.”
Ana struggled, trying to free her leg. She clawed at the ground as her chin dripped with blood. She could even taste a little in her mouth. “Let me go, you freak!” she shouted.
The man kept a tight grip, impervious to her erratic movements. “Ana, I’m only trying to help you.”
She cried out and tried to kick with her other leg. He sat up, holding it more tightly as she flailed frantically. “Shhhh,” he said, quietly. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
Ana reached toward the stairs, stretching her arm until it hurt. Her
fingertips hovered near the first step. She screamed for help, but no one came. She could see up the stairs. The metallic door was shut. It had several deadbolts. She pulled again, trying to kick her leg free, but the man wouldn’t let go. She stopped and lay on the floor, out of breath, with pain running through her jaw.
“You shouldn’t try to run like that,” the man said. “You’ll only get hurt.” He finally let go.
Ana crawled to the wall near the staircase and held her knees to her chest, staring at him.
“Why are you talking like that? Who are you?”
The man swiveled around and sat across from her, placing his hands in his lap. “I told you. My name is Bobby.”
“Okay, Bobby. Why am I here?” Ana asked.
Bobby froze suddenly as if hearing something. His eyes looked up toward the ceiling with deep concern. However, Ana heard nothing from upstairs. She couldn’t make him out completely in the dim light. All she knew was that he was making her feel afraid. After a moment of hushed silence, he looked back at her.
“You were taken here,” he answered.
“By who?” she asked.
He looked up again and then to Ana, speaking just above a whisper. “By a bad man. He sent me down here to be your friend. And if we become friends, I can promise that nothing bad will happen to you.”
Ana looked up. “What does he want with me?”
Bobby leaned in closer. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”
For a moment, she felt as if she could confide in Bobby. “Can you help me get out of here?”
His face dropped. “Oh no.” He shook his head back and forth with movements that were fast and emphatic. “No. No. No. No.”
Ana knew she was in danger. She was trapped with a crazy man. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for a weapon of any sort. Aside from a few dusty boxes, she didn’t see anything.
“What’s in the boxes?” she asked.
Bobby stopped shaking his head and then turned to look. “Oh those. Just old junk. Books and stuff.”