Another hard reminder that this was big, this was not right, this was horrible, no matter how hard she tried to come up with a rational explanation that assured Tim’s safe return.
Inside the house, the police had set up a table and plugged in a different phone, one that connected to a recording device, caller ID, and small speaker. There was other equipment, including a police radio that crackled with constant voices. Calcina called the set-up a “Command Center” to stay in touch with headquarters and the precinct, and to take any calls that might come in from the state police or other departments and agencies. The Missing Child bulletin was spreading fast and furiously. An AMBER Alert had been activated.
Calcina had bragged about the number of resources at their disposal. Emergency networks, experts, various databases. There was something the FBI ran called The Child Abduction and Serial Murder Investigative Resource Center. Anita didn’t want to hear any more after that.
Anita’s feet ached, but she couldn’t sit—she had tried many times, and continually bounced back up, anxious. Standing in a corner of the living room, out of the way of everybody, she watched Calcina converse with one of the investigators. He looked committed, sympathetic, gentle even, for a cop. She wanted so bad to believe that he would orchestrate a fantastic rescue and return Tim to her arms.
When Calcina disengaged from the investigator, he walked over to her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Are we going to find him?” Anita blurted. Her words came out slurred, punch drunk from exhaustion.
Calcina smiled for the first time. In fact, it was the first time she had seen any of the police smile.
“You have a lot of reasons to feel optimistic, Mrs. Sherwood. We have a pretty strong idea of who took him and why. As far as we know, we’re not dealing with a professional criminal or a sexual predator. Just someone who likes your son too much. So he’s going to be safe. And we’re going to get him back.”
Anita still gripped her cell phone; she hadn’t let go for hours, somehow it was the only connection—however remote—to her son’s whereabouts. “I just wish we could get through,” she said.
“I think we’ll hear from her,” Calcina responded. “I have a feeling she’s going to want to call you, if nothing else, to say Tim is safe. I don’t believe her motive is to hurt you.”
“Well, she’s doing a great job of it,” Anita muttered.
“If she calls, you’re going to have to keep her on the line as long as possible,” instructed Calcina. “Don’t say anything that will make her mad—and I know you want to let her have it. But stay calm, engage in conversation, and don’t let her hang up. We might be able to triangulate her location through cell phone towers.”
Anita nodded. Dennis silently appeared at her side.
“We have the state troopers on alert to watch the main highways and state borders,” said Calcina. “They have a detailed description of Pam’s car. Everyone is very committed. Everybody wants to be the hero who finds your son.”
Dennis remained quiet. He took off his glasses and rubbed his tired face. His words had dwindled over the hours and he looked sick, gray. Anita knew she looked just as bad, probably worse.
Calcina continued his update, and while the flurry of activity was impressive, the lack of leads or clues from all this activity simply made Anita feel worse. Calcina informed them that detectives were already interviewing Pam’s brother Roy and Pam’s former employers the Roebers and the Savios. Also, an undercover car was camped outside Pam’s apartment. An officer was going to talk to Pam’s neighbors.
Anita remembered meeting a few of the neighbors—mostly senior citizens. Pam’s social life certainly wasn’t helped by living in a building that was one step removed from a nursing home. The building itself was drab and smelled bad. The corridors were very dim to hide the stains in the decades-old carpet.
Anita had dropped by to pick up Tim one day when Pam needed to stay home to wait for a serviceman to repair her electric stove.
Anita had been struck by two things about the apartment: It was unbearably plain, and the only personal touches revolved around Tim. There was a small, framed picture of Tim on top of the television, of all places, and then two snapshots under magnets on the refrigerator. Several scribbly drawings by Tim—including an attempt at spelling his name that looked like “WIT”—were laid neatly on an end table, alongside stale editions of TV Guide and People.
In the center of the room, there was a blue plastic laundry basket filled with children’s toys. Anita had figured they were things accumulated over years of babysitting, but then realized that many of them looked new, focused on Tim’s age group.
At the time, it made her feel sad. Pam spending her own money on toys for a child who didn’t belong to her.
Now, tonight, that basket felt like a big blue warning that she had ignored. Pam wasn’t just affectionate, she was obsessed. She was crazy.
How did I misread her? Anita asked herself. What’s wrong with me? Was I so wrapped up in my career—?
“Anita,” cried a voice.
Anita turned to see Barbara Roeber rushing toward her. She had just walked right into the house, like everybody else.
Barbara grabbed Anita, giving her a big hug. Maybe it made Barbara feel better, but it was just awkward to Anita.
“I’m so sorry,” said Barbara, face puffy and eyes bloodshot. Her hair was tied in a tight ponytail and she wore a USC sweatshirt, blue jeans, and pink slippers. “The police told me what happened. I wish I could help. Oh God, I feel so responsible.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Anita.
“I’m the one who told you to use her. I swear, I never thought in a million years she’d do something like this. I don’t understand.”
“I know, I know.”
“She would never hurt him,” said Barbara, eyes big and sad. “Wherever he is, Tim is safe. I remember when Scott ran into a doorknob and had this big welt, Pam freaked out more than anybody. She’s sensitive.”
“Yeah,” said Anita. “I don’t know. This is just—madness.”
“I hope you don’t blame me,” said Barbara.
Oh, that’s all you’re worried about? thought Anita. Then kindly go to hell.
Instead, Anita said, “I don’t blame you or anybody. I just want… I want Tim back.” She felt her throat tighten, the tears begin to surface.
A policeman with big ears and a disinterested face showed up, stepping between them. “Ma’am,” he said. “There’s a reporter from the Oakland Tribune…”
Anita nodded, she could guess the rest.
“She wants to talk with you.”
“Who told her to come here?” asked Anita, not even covering the bitterness in her voice.
“She probably heard about it through a police scanner. They usually monitor—”
“No. I don’t want to talk to her. Tim’s only been gone a few hours. He’ll be back soon. This is not a news story.”
“She’s probably going to write about it either way.”
“Then fuck her,” said Anita. Barbara’s face lit up with surprise. Maybe she had never heard the word before.
“You might want to reconsider if this continues,” said Big Ears. “The publicity will help. If you have a picture—”
“There are pictures all over the house!” snapped Anita. “Which one do you want? Tim at the beach, or at the zoo, or Santa’s lap, or what?” Anita felt ready to burst into tears again. Around the room, people were catching glimpses of her and then quickly turning away. Big Ears just looked at her, stoic, well trained to sidestep a tirade.
Anita moved away from Barbara and the cop. She saw Dennis still talking to Calcina, blank expressions on both sides, so no news there.
What she really wanted to do was take a shower. She knew she probably smelled, her dinner clothes were sticky with sweat, her skin felt clammy all the way up to her scalp. She wanted to tear everything off…kick everybody out…pull out her hair�
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Anita wondered if she was going crazy. If this was how insane people felt every minute. Maybe when dawn arrived, it would wipe away all this madness and the new day would be a return to normalcy. It was all just a long, sick dream…
Anita headed into the kitchen for another glass of water. She wasn’t really thirsty, but it was something to do. She had just entered the kitchen when it happened:
The cell phone buzzed.
She had forgotten it was still gripped in her hand. She almost dropped it, as if shocked by electricity.
The entire house—which had been noisy with conversation and footsteps—went silent in a heartbeat.
Hands shaking, she jabbed at the little button that said YES. She started to bring the phone up to her ear, but quickly realized—
—there wasn’t a voice waiting on the other end.
A small icon appeared on the cell phone display. An envelope.
Anita felt the swell of bodies around her now, eyes watching her. Someone hissed, “Answer it!”
“There’s no one there,” replied Anita, staring at the symbol, as if in a trance. “It’s a text message.”
Dennis was practically on top of her now. “Open it!” he exclaimed.
Her hand was shaking so violently that she didn’t know if she could do it properly. But no one else was going to take the phone from her.
Anita opened the text message. As she read, her eyes filled with tears, blurring her sight, but not until she had absorbed all the words:
I LOVE TIMMY. I AM MORE OF A MOTHER TO HIM THAN YOU EVER WERE. YOU CAN NEVER UNDERSTAND. HE WILL ALWAYS BE WITH ME.
“What does it say?” asked one of the investigators. Calcina moved in closer and the others parted to let him through.
Anita turned and shoved the phone at Dennis. She left the kitchen. She wanted to get away from all of them. She wanted to scream.
The voices in the kitchen began erupting, one after another.
“It’s her…”
“It’s the nanny.”
“What’s it say?”
“‘I love Timmy…’”
“Can we trace….”
“‘I am more of a mother….’”
“Goddamn it…”
“‘…never understand. He will always be with…’”
“…you can’t…”
“See if she’s still on the line.”
“This confirms it. We have a kidnapping.”
“…try calling her.”
“Call her…”
Dennis now: “I AM!”
“This is evidence. Save the message!”
“This is admission of guilt…”
Then Dennis: “Shit!” Followed by: “She’s disconnected.”
“She sent the message and hung up.”
“Can we still trace—”
“I don’t think so. There’s no signal.”
“She’s no dummy.”
“Let’s contact the carrier’s SMS technicians—”
“There won’t be anyone…”
Anita felt overwhelmed by dizziness. The words to the message were burned into her mind in capital letters: I AM MORE OF A MOTHER…
How dare she?
…MORE OF A MOTHER TO HIM…
She’s nobody’s mother!
Still, Anita couldn’t help feeling gripped by guilt. She caused this to happen. She had left Tim with a nanny since he was six months old. Who was the mother if the mother was never home? In reality, she abandoned Tim a long time ago. They were already apart… What did this change?
Her thoughts began to torment her. She wanted to rip them out of her skull.
She saw Barbara Roeber coming toward her. The grating baby voice. “Aw, Anita…”
“I c-can’t,” Anita said simply, holding up her hands to ward off another hug. “I can’t talk about this right now. Please.”
Barbara nodded vigorously, wide-eyed, and the concern on her face looked very legit, and Anita felt bad, but she didn’t want somebody to climb aboard her grief. Dennis was chatting away with the investigators in the kitchen, suddenly reanimated. His voice sounded more hopeful. At least the unknown had been replaced by a clearer picture and maybe some clues. That should be a reason to feel better, right?
Anita didn’t feel better. Calcina came out of the kitchen. He looked her straight in the eye.
“Anita, we’ll find him,” he said with firmer reassurance than she had heard before.
“Put her in jail,” Anita responded. “I’m not a vindictive person…but…if you don’t put her in jail…I might…get a gun and shoot her or something.”
Great thing to tell a policeman, she immediately thought to herself, followed by who cares, who cares. There were too many thoughts swimming in her head. She was drowning in them.
“I want to call my parents,” she said then.
Calcina started to reply when—
The telephone rang. Not the chirp of the cell phone—this was the louder, longer ring of the house phone. It cut into Anita like a knife.
“Answer it!” she shouted, as if the thought hadn’t crossed anyone else’s mind.
Dennis grabbed the receiver and she heard him say: “Hello?”
The voice on the other end could be heard amplified on a speaker in the living room. “My name is Sandra Moran with NewsRadio—”
Calcina was on the call in a flash. He took the receiver from Dennis. “Don’t call on this line, Sandy,” he said. “I’ll give you another number.”
Anita looked over at Barbara, who stood in mute obedience. “I guess this’ll be all over the news tomorrow,” said Anita.
Barbara nodded, shrugged.
“I mean today. It’s already tomorrow…” Anita’s voice trailed. She couldn’t think straight. The house felt crowded and claustrophobic. Some of the investigators were investigating, while others just sort of stood around, as if waiting for something to happen, staring blankly at one another or watching the fish in the aquarium. The floor was littered with dirty footprints. In the living room, someone had spilled something wet.
Calcina walked up to Anita, Dennis at his side. “Anita. Here’s what I recommend. I know you probably don’t like the idea of getting the media involved, but they can be a major ally. Let’s get a recent picture, a good one, and a picture of Pam for the early morning TV newscasts. It’s too late for the newspapers, but the sooner we get their faces out there, the sooner we can have the whole state of California on the lookout. There are only so many police…but think of the power of having every citizen—”
“OK, OK,” interrupted Anita, resigned. “Dennis can help you, I—”
Two new faces, WASPy men with well-groomed hair and sour expressions entered the house. Calcina exchanged some words with them, and then introduced them to Anita and Dennis. They were FBI agents from the field office. One of them started talking about fingerprints…Tim’s fingerprints, Pam’s fingerprints…
“I’m going upstairs,” said Anita.
Calcina shot her a look. “Don’t touch anything.”
Anita nodded. I’ll just float through the house like a ghost, said the delirious voice in her head. My feet won’t even touch the floor.
She moved up the steps, slow and painful, as if climbing Mount Everest. She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she splashed cold water on her face. The shock felt good. She dried herself off. I’ll touch anything I please. It’s my house.
Anita didn’t want to return to the activity downstairs. Tim’s door was open, the light had been left on by one of the investigators. Currently, it was empty.
Anita stepped into the room cautiously, as if it might swallow her up in horrible emotions. Tim’s shelves were untouched, toys and baby pictures pleasantly lined up. The curtains were drawn. The toy chest and closet were closed. The room was clean and tidy, without menace.
Tim’s crib was empty, but it didn’t look unusual. She stared into the crib, gazing over the hu
mps and curves in the blue blanket in the corner, examining every little wrinkle in the mattress cover, as if somewhere they offered a clue. Maybe if she stared long enough, she could somehow connect with him, read his thoughts, become telepathic. It was possible, right? It was just a frequency, like a radio frequency, except for brainwaves.
God, Anita, you are losing it, she told herself.
She touched his blanket with the back of her hand, imagined him reappearing, curled up in a comfortable ball, little hands touching his hair, which is often how she found him. She wanted to bring the blanket up to her face and inhale, basking in the familiar sweet smells.
“Tim, we’re going to bring you home,” she said. It was just a matter of time, the tortured passing of some hours, and then everything would be back in place.
Anita returned downstairs. She found Dennis slumped against a wall, a deep frown etched into his face. His eyes were tired behind the glasses. She walked up to him and their arms came out and she held him and he held her. Neither one of them said a word.
In the living room, there was a sudden buzz of voices and excitement. Dennis and Anita pulled apart and started to move toward the commotion, but Calcina was already on his way to them.
“We have some information,” he started.
Anita gasped. Good or bad? Good or bad?
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked.
“No,” said Dennis.
“Please, what is it?” asked Anita.
“A state trooper found the car.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Dennis.
“The vehicle is parked near Highway 101, a couple hundred miles north…just south of the Del-Norte/Humboldt border, near the coast.”
“Is my baby OK?” said Anita; that was all that mattered.
“There’s nobody in the vehicle,” continued Calcina. “It’s in a wooded area, off the main roads. A search is already underway. We have a lot of men going there from various law enforcement agencies.”
“So he’s okay?” said Anita.
“We don’t know,” Dennis told her.
“You think they’re just walking around in the woods?” asked Anita.
“Well, we don’t know,” said Calcina. “There’s the possibility that she ditched the car and she’s in another vehicle. She probably knows we’re looking for her Toyota.”
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