Donna placed a large drawing pad in her lap and sketched with a charcoal pencil as Anita tried to remember details: the woman’s severe expression; long and narrow nose; the full lips; the blonde, shaggy hair; the dark eyebrows; the taut lines in the neck; the hard jawline. She was both attractive and a bit frightening, birdlike.
“I wish I could describe her better,” said Anita.
“You’re doing fine,” assured Donna.
When the drawing was done, Donna scanned it. On the PC, she took both portraits and dropped them into a poster template. Beneath each picture, there was space for descriptive text.
Donna asked Anita to estimate the woman’s height, age and weight.
“She was tall, I remember that. Probably six feet…in flats.” And gaunt, but muscular. “Maybe a hundred and fifty pounds? And I’d guess somewhere in her early thirties or late twenties.”
“Eye color?” asked Donna.
Anita thought hard. “I don’t know.”
Tim was easier. He was about four feet and forty-five pounds now. Blue eyes. She provided his birthdate. Under it, they added the date he had first gone missing in California and the location where he had last been seen in Lakeview.
Then, painfully, the sentence: Goes by “Jeffrey” (real name is Timothy Sherwood).
On the bottom, they added Anita’s cell phone number and Reward for Information.
Donna printed out the poster and gave it to Anita to review. It felt potent in her hands, a huge step toward finding Tim.
“I can’t thank you enough,” said Anita. “How much do I owe you?”
Donna held up her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, really—”
“Just find your son,” said Donna. “I like happy endings.”
Anita couldn’t stop staring at Tim’s new face on the poster. Would this unlock the door to his whereabouts?
“Donna,” she asked cautiously. “How often…do they turn up?”
Donna hesitated, searching for a soft answer. “I don’t have a percentage. But I do know a lot of success stories.” She opened a file that was buried under other papers on her desk.
Donna handed her a missing children poster for Warren Weickert, aged seven abducted at three. Warren had dirty blond hair, gentle eyes and a sweet smile, not unlike Tim’s picture. It hurt to look at.
“Disappeared on the West Coast, they found him on the East Coast last month,” said Donna.
“What happened?” asked Anita.
“Black market adoption.”
Anita had never heard of such a thing. “Black market? What…for children?”
“You’d be amazed,” said Donna. “There aren’t enough kids for adoptions, and there are people who are desperate enough that money is no object and, well, common sense goes out the window. The regular channels don’t work, or take too long, or maybe they can’t get approval from the state, so they find an alternative. They’re told the kids are legit, that the real parents gave up the child and concealed their identities, when in reality, the child was stolen. The new parents don’t check into the facts. It’s ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’”
“This really happens?” asked Anita, astonished.
“It was happening in a hospital in a poor part of the South where mothers were told their newborns had died, when in actuality a doctor was involved with funneling the babies to an illegal adoption outfit.”
“That’s sick.”
“They issued a new birth certificate, like there was no adoption at all, sold for cash, and there was no paper trail. The children grew up and, in some cases, never even realized that they were adopted. A couple of years ago, they busted a baby ring where Mexican infants were smuggled across the border and sold in New York to wealthy couples.”
“How much do people pay?” shuddered Anita.
“Anywhere between twenty thousand and a hundred grand,” said Donna. “It’s like robbing a bank, except easier.”
Anita looked back at the poster. “But…this boy, Warren…he was found?”
Donna smiled. “He’s back with his parents. He was not harmed. But you can imagine the psychological repercussions.”
Anita said, “I guess you can’t erase everything that’s happened.”
“He’s alive and with his real parents today,” said Donna. “That’s the important thing.”
“I don’t think Lieutenant Ford believes me that Tim is alive,” said Anita.
“If he was certain that Tim was dead, he would not have given you my number,” replied Donna.
“I suppose.” Anita handed Warren’s poster back and asked for directions to the nearest copy shop. Donna wrote them down.
“Don’t give up hope,” Donna told Anita as she walked her to the door.
“I’m not leaving Chicago until I find him,” said Anita. “I’ll go door to door if I have to. I will find whoever has him and I will take back my son.”
“That’s the spirit.” But Donna’s parting words were “Be safe.”
Anita hadn’t thought about her safety before.
Whoever had Tim would not give him up easily.
Anita made 700 copies of the poster on bright yellow paper at the copy shop. Then she headed east, passing under a thundering train on the El tracks, continuing until she reached the Halsted police station. It was time for a surprise visit to Lieutenant Ford.
He didn’t exactly greet her warmly. He sighed.
Anita tossed thirty posters on his desk. “These are for your officers.”
Ford just nodded. He looked very tired.
“What did the FBI say?” asked Anita.
“They asked me to keep them abreast of any developments, but they do not see enough evidence to support getting involved at this time,” replied Ford matter-of-factly.
“What did you tell them?” Anita started to bristle. “It’s your job to convince them—”
“Don’t tell me my job,” said Ford tersely, and it was obvious he was in no mood for her today.
“Have you even talked to your beat officers?” asked Anita.
“I am not ignoring you,” said Ford. “But it’s not the only thing on my plate. Frankly, it’s not the most important thing, either. I’ve got a homicide three blocks from here, where a convenience store clerk was shot for fifty-five dollars and a six-pack of beer. I also have an elderly—”
“I don’t want to hear your police log,” said Anita. “I just want you to take me seriously. You have the posters now. All you have to do is give them to your men.”
Ford nodded, but the nonverbal response didn’t seem very committal.
“Fine,” muttered Anita, and she left.
Anita hailed a cab outside the station house. It was almost four o’clock, and Roy would be arriving at the hotel soon. There was a lot of work for both of them.
She asked the cab driver to stop for a moment in front of Little People Playground. She examined the children, the adults, and did not see Tim or the tall blonde woman. If the woman was truly guilty, she would not reappear, so there was something actually reaffirming about not seeing them.
“OK, keep going,” Anita told the driver.
Anita was seated in an oversized chair in the hotel lobby when Roy entered. His eyes immediately took in the grandiose sight: spiraling balconies, glass elevators, water fountains, a flower garden, uniformed staff, and marble floors. She watched him for a few minutes before approaching. He did not appear as she remembered him. His rather grubby appearance from years ago had been replaced by better grooming and a slight fashion sense. For a split second, she even considered him attractive.
There were still traces of truck driver. He wore cowboy boots. His face had a weathered look that could not be wiped clean. The bent nose, never properly fixed from whatever broke it, still dominated his features. His sideburns were long.
He carried a single suitcase—the luxuries of being male—and wandered toward the front desk.
“Roy.” Anita stood and walked over.<
br />
He turned and saw her. “Hey,” he said simply.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, resisting the sudden urge to hug him. She realized how alone she had been in her search until now. “I really, really appreciate this. I am not crazy. I saw my son.”
“That’s what you said,” he replied. What kind of a response was that?
Anita started digging in her purse for a credit card. “I want to pay for your room. And I’m going to reimburse you for the plane ticket.”
“No,” he said.
“Come on, I mean it. I dragged you out here—”
“I said no.”
He looked annoyed, and she didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not broke, okay? I can pay my way.”
“All right,” replied Anita. “Listen, I’ll let you check in, get settled. Are you hungry? We can grab a bite to eat.”
“The airline food was crap,” he said.
“OK, good, I’ll find us a place to eat. When you’re ready, give me a call. Room seven-oh-eight.”
“Seven-oh-eight,” he repeated, nodding.
“You got it?” she asked, and then realized her tone was condescending, as if dealing with a child.
“I can remember seven-oh-eight,” he said.
“Great,” she smiled at him. “I’m really happy you’re here.”
Then he smiled, almost shyly, self-consciously, a glimpse of Pam deep inside of him. “Yeah…I guess I can’t resist a damsel in distress.”
Back at her room, Anita cleaned up. She changed into a violet silk blouse and a skirt, something nice for a change. She was tired of looking like a shambles. And she wanted a decent meal.
She called the concierge and asked for a good steak-and-seafood joint, figuring it would appeal to both of them. After unsuccessfully trying to sell her on a place inside the hotel, the concierge gave her a nearby name and address. It was Karl’s Ale House, but he promised it was more of a restaurant than a tavern.
While waiting for Roy to call, Anita plugged in her laptop and composed an email for Clifford at Your Resources. She hadn’t spoken to him live in days, leaning on voicemail and the Internet to communicate without conversation.
She wrote that she was delaying her return to California. The trade show booth and leads were on their way back to the office, but she needed to take a week off for an “urgent family matter.” She didn’t feel obligated to embellish beyond that. She had been a good employee for a long time now, and there was enough goodwill in her bank to get away with this. If not, if Clifford didn’t like it, well, too bad.
Nothing was going to get in the way of rescuing Tim.
Anita and Roy sat in a leather booth, not far from where a series of televisions broadcast the Cubs on monitors mounted above a long, rectangular bar. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of Donna’s building over the right field wall.
The restaurant had a wood cabin feel to it, with hefty pillars and low lighting. Roy wolfed down a huge helping of beef ribs, getting barbecue sauce all over his face and the table. Anita cut into a lean, but tasty mustard-crusted pork chop. They both devoured mountains of the house specialty, redskin mashed potatoes. They also shared a bottle of red wine. Anita sipped. Roy gulped.
Anita indulged. It was the best meal she had tasted in a long time. Typically, she ate alone, and kept it quick and simple. But there was something about sharing a meal that made her upgrade her usual dining experience.
Throughout the meal, Anita told Roy the details of her discovery and pursuit of Tim. He nodded a lot, and she couldn’t tell if he was buying it.
Finally she asked him point blank, “Do I sound like I’m making sense or do I sound crazy?”
“You’re not crazy,” he offered. “But it is kind of a crazy story.”
“What do you mean?” she shot back, a little defensive.
“Well, think about it. Why here? Why now? Who took him? Where did they get him?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. And I don’t have a clear answer, just some speculation. Maybe someone stole Tim from Pam. She ran off with Tim, and then they met up with some crazy third party. Like a second kidnapper.”
“A second-kidnapper theory,” Roy said, sarcastically, but she let it go.
“Or did Pam hand off Tim to someone else?” continued Anita. “Maybe it was part of the plan all along. And maybe that someone killed her, or else she killed herself out of guilt.”
Roy shrugged.
“I know, I know,” said Anita. “It doesn’t quite add up.”
A copy of the poster was on the table between them. She had given it to him when they first sat down. Now it had splotches of barbecue sauce on it.
“This picture could be a hundred women,” said Roy, looking at the drawing.
“It’s better than nothing.”
“So we’re just going to walk around and look for them?”
“You and I, we’ll split up the neighborhood,” said Anita. “We’ll put up these posters, we’ll stop and talk to people, we’ll look at people. They live somewhere in that area. They can’t just hide inside, they have to come out for food and whatever.”
“What if I find him?” said Roy.
The statement struck her for a moment. It filled her with a rush of excitement.
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well, I do. You’ll find a payphone and call me. We can’t just take him. We’ll need to get the police involved. That’s the lesson I learned from the playground. We can’t just grab him back. If we see him, we stay in the shadows, we stay in control, we call the cops.”
She caught him staring at her. Not an “I am listening to you” kind of stare, but something more discomforting. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe Dennis was right, Roy was creepy.
Anita finished her glass of wine.
“Let’s get another bottle,” said Roy.
She shook her head. “No. I’m a lightweight these days. I think I’ve had my max.”
The wine did feel good in her system, like a tiny massage right down to her fingertips and toes. She finally asked a question that had been in the back of her mind all night.
“Roy, tell me about Pam.”
“Pam?”
“Just, you know, growing up with her. Being her brother. How close were you?”
“I don’t know. We got along. We weren’t really…friends. I didn’t call her all the time, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did she have, like, a dark side?”
Roy’s eyes narrowed, the question had an impact. “No,” he finally said.
“To this day, I still find it hard to believe that she would hurt Tim.”
“Pam didn’t hurt people,” said Roy, and he looked into his empty wineglass. Anita reconsidered getting another bottle to really open him up, but not tonight. She was losing energy fast.
“Then why do you think…it all happened?” asked Anita.
“I have no idea,” Roy said.
“But as her brother, you must have some insight—”
“She never told me she was a kid snatcher.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“There must be something in her past…”
“…that I’m not telling you? Like she used to kidnap other girls’ dolls when she was little? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing. Nothing.”
“Did Pam talk to you much about Tim?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
Roy slapped his hand on the table, silverware rattled. “Listen, I didn’t come here to get the third degree. I came here because you said you found Tim, and that we could clear Pam’s name. Where are you going with this?”
“Right,” said Anita softly. “I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I really appreciate you coming out so quickly.”
When the check came, Anita reached for her p
urse, but Roy was all over it.
“I got it,” he said.
“Oh come on…”
“I drank most of the wine. I had the apple pie.”
“But I made you come out…”
But he had already thrown cash on the table. “That should cover the tip, too.”
As they stepped outside the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, Roy suddenly had a gleam in his eye.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said. The city lights were in full bloom, reflecting into the Chicago River.
“I’m so tired…” said Anita.
“C’mon, it’s Chicago. Where’s Rush Street?”
Anita laughed to herself. Maybe it was his first trip to Chicago?
“I’m serious,” he continued. “The night is young.”
“But I am old. Roy, we need to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”
Roy was disappointed, like a teenager told he had a curfew. He accompanied Anita back to the hotel.
They split up in the lobby. “I’ll call you in the morning,” said Anita. “Around seven?”
“I get up early,” responded Roy.
She thanked him again for coming out. She stopped short of telling him how badly she needed him. Above all, his presence made Tim’s rediscovery feel less dreamlike and more real. She wasn’t on her own anymore.
Back at the room, Anita stripped and sank into a hot bath. She placed a wet washrag over her eyes and tried to release the tension that still clung to her body. She imagined all the grime and anxiety falling off her skin and into the tub, to be released down the drain.
She tried to think of nothing.
She had almost dozed off when a sound startled her awake.
A small click.
Followed by slow, heavy footsteps scraping the carpet.
Anita sat up, pierced by abrupt terror.
“Who is it?” she said, trying to sound firm and not scared out of her wits.
No response. The footsteps stopped. Was somebody entering her room? Who?
Not housekeeping, not at this hour. And there had been no call for room service.
Anita remained very still, listening. Then she heard another footstep and a faint scrape.
Donna Petersen’s parting words returned to her: “Be safe.”
The bathroom door was shut but not locked. Somebody could burst in at any second.
Abducted Page 14