Abduction

by Wanda Dyson

  “Close enough.” Gerry handed the report to Matt. “Check this out. Our Mr. Ted Matthews seems to have no history before he turned twenty-one.”

  Matt glanced up at him and then down at the report, his lips moving silently as he read. “Strange. How do you figure this?”

  “First guess? People change their names for a variety of reasons. Bad credit. . .”

  “He was only twenty-one.”

  Gerry ignored the interruption. “. . .don’t like the name they were born with, juvie problems. . .”

  “We need to find out exactly who Matthews was before he became Edward Matthews.” Matt handed the report back to Gerry.

  “I’m on it.”

  #

  Zoe pulled her car up to the curb in front of the Sarentino home and stopped. She stared with admiration at the rambling two-story brick home, the ivy winding its way up one side of the house, the neat flowerbeds, and the sweeping lawn. It was a beautiful home. Unfortunately, evil didn’t care what kind of house you lived in.

  At five minutes until one, Zoe walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The dark mists of knowing were already swirling through her mind, wrapping themselves around her senses. She stepped into the Sarentino house and felt the whispers of death.

  #

  JJ was pondering lunch prospects—call out for a sub or head across the street to the diner—when the door to his office suddenly swung open. Marsha Olsen stuck her head in the door. “You might want to check out channel five. Seems Mrs. Matthews is on the rampage.”

  While Marsha ducked back out, JJ flipped on the little TV set sitting on a file cabinet.

  “. . .and while Detective Johnson is trying to find some way to point the finger at us, no one is looking for my baby! And now a third child is missing. How many more little girls will be taken before Detective Johnson realizes we have a serial killer out there stalking our children! Please, if any of you have any information about my Jessica, please contact us.”

  Jessica’s picture flashed on the screen along with head shots of Gina and Emily and a number scrolling below for people to call. JJ slammed his fist down on the desk. “What is that woman thinking?”

  Matt lifted his coffee cup in a silent salute to Karen Matthews. “That the best way to get us off her back is to get the press on ours.”

  The office door swung open again. “JJ? Harris wants you in his office.” Marsha rolled her eyes playfully. “Pronto,” Marsha added in a fair imitation of Harris in full temper.

  “And it worked,” JJ grumbled under his breath.

  JJ had barely walked through the door of Harris’s office when the tirade started. For five minutes he sat and listened, gnawing on his impatience like a wolf on a deer bone.

  Harris slammed his fist down on the desk, sending a pencil flying. No one paid it any attention. “And now I have the press breathing down my back! What have you been doing? Playing cards? We have three little girls missing, and you don’t have one single lead! I want results, not excuses! Matthews doesn’t like psychics? Tough! Find some way of getting the Shefford woman what she needs! I want those children found, do you hear me?”

  “But we’re doing. . .”

  “I don’t want to hear it! Just find those little girls!”

  JJ stood up, knowing the tirade had run its course and he had been dismissed. But he knew if he didn’t come up with something solid soon, he might find himself dismissed all the way back down to a patrol car on third watch.

  Coming out of the men’s room, Matt fell into step with JJ but didn’t say a word as he followed him back to his office. What was there to say?

  JJ had his hand on the doorknob when Marsha looked up from her desk. “Phone message, JJ. The Shefford woman. Says she has to talk to you. It’s important.”

  JJ took the pink slip of paper from Marsha. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to at that moment was Zoe Shefford. And she probably knew it. Which is why, he surmised, she was calling.

  JJ sat down at his desk and counted to ten before dialing.

  “Miss Shefford. Detective Johnson.” He kept his voice cool and distant. “You called?”

  “Yes. I went by the Sarentino home. I talked to her mother and she allowed me access to Gina’s room. I think I know where she. . . where she is.”

  And pigs fly with blue wings. JJ ignored the emotional hitch in Zoe’s voice as he counted to ten again. “I see. And just where would that be, Miss Shefford?”

  There was a long moment of silence, long enough for JJ to start to wonder if she was still on the line. Or if she had suddenly disappeared in a mist of shadowy magic.

  Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if he was losing his mind. “Miss Shefford?”

  “I’m here. I think it would be best if you sent a detective over and I showed him.”

  JJ sighed impatiently. Then he saw Harris standing in the doorway, looking as curious as he was furious. “Fine, Miss Shefford. I’ll be there at once.”

  He set the phone down and stood up, reaching for his jacket. “Miss Shefford thinks she may have a lead on the Sarentino child.”

  Harris grinned. “About time. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  That somewhere was ankle-deep in mud as JJ followed Zoe through the woods thirty miles east of Monroe, ten miles from the Taylor town limits. Two days of rain had brought the creeks to their limits. Some had overflowed their banks. The saturated ground sank beneath JJ’s shoes as he and Zoe trudged up a slippery slope and into a grove of firs.

  Dressed in jeans and boots, Zoe had obviously known what they were about to get into. She might have warned him—given him a little heads-up that his loafers were going to be ruined tracking in mud.

  Zoe stopped and started to look around. She was silent.

  JJ started to open his mouth, but Zoe lifted her hand to ask for his silence. He complied. Not that he had anything to say to her anyway. The last thing he wanted was to be on some wild-goose chase with this woman. They’d managed to maintain a tense silence throughout the drive and most of the trek across the mucky terrain.

  Zoe slowly turned in a circle, stopping every few steps, as if waiting for something to speak to her. Or whatever it was that directed her to do whatever it was she was doing. JJ shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. Impatiently.

  Finally, Zoe started moving again. A few steps to the left. Stopping again. A few more steps. Then a few more. Then every drop of color in her face disappeared in a flash, startling JJ.

  “What?”

  “She’s here.” Tears started streaming down Zoe’s face. Slowly she knelt down, oblivious to the wet ground. She began to brush away the wet leaves and sticks.

  JJ joined her. “What are you doing?”

  She shook her head, frantic now, ignoring the tears as she tore at the ground. “Gina. Gina!”

  JJ didn’t know whether the woman had lost her mind or whether he had. He could only watch as she crawled around on the ground, her clothes getting muddy and wet, her hands covered in dirt.

  Then she rocked back on her heels and lifted a tattered shirt. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head, handing the shirt to JJ.

  JJ didn’t need to see it twice. He grabbed his radio.

  chapter 11

  Monday, April 17

  The area had a circus-like atmosphere within half an hour of JJ’s call. Clowns with cameras and microphones ran around trying to get everyone’s attention. Ringleaders shouted orders. Jugglers tried to do three things at once. Lions roared if something wasn’t done fast enough to suit them.

  And high above it all, JJ walked that tightrope—trying to keep order, get things done, and keep the crime scene clean and the press out of it.

  Zoe and JJ had barely spoken since he’d called for additional detectives and the medical examiner. She’d followed him silently back to the car and gladly obeyed when he told her to stay put.

  Zoe stood by JJ’s car, her arms wrapped around her waist as she watched the body bag being carried out of the
woods. There wasn’t much to carry. One man had it cradled in his arms. What had once been a delightful little girl was now little more than forensic evidence.

  It broke Zoe’s heart.

  And it reminded her of another. Another little girl who had once laughed and skipped and played. Another little girl who had woven dreams—dreams that would remain unfulfilled.

  Oh, Amy. I will bring you home, sweet sister. I promise. Somehow I will bring you home.

  Wiping at her tears, Zoe turned her head and stared over the top of the car, watching a maple tree swaying in the breeze. Did you see it happen? Did you stand there, moving in the breeze when he took her out there into the woods? Did you wish you could talk or scream or stop him? Did it frustrate you to just stand there, leaves hanging as you watched? Did you feel helpless? Like I do?

  Feeling his presence, she turned and looked at JJ. She couldn’t speak. Not yet. Closing her eyes, she swayed. Here it comes, she thought.

  As it always does.

  A second later, she collapsed in JJ’s arms.

  #

  After passing Zoe off to another officer with instructions to take her home, JJ sat on the hood of his cruiser waiting for the crime scene investigators to arrive.

  He turned his head as another cruiser pulled up, lights flashing. Groaning, JJ slid off the hood of the car and prepared himself for the worst.

  “Heard you found one of the girls.”

  JJ took a deep breath. “Yes. The Sarentino girl.”

  The man rocked back on his heels, his hands resting on the belt weighed down by his gun, radio, handcuffs, and cell phone. “Heard they brought in a psychic.”

  There it was. Just what he’d been waiting for. Delivered on a silver platter with all the trimmings. “Wasn’t my idea, Dad.”

  “Don’t know what it is with detectives today. Used to be we relied on good old-fashioned hard work, skill, and determination. Now, it’s computers and psychics.” He shook his head in disgust.

  JJ wanted to remind his father that he’d never been a detective, but he knew such a remark would only make things worse. Or could they get worse? “Well, thank the mayor. He’s the one who called this lady in.”

  “Just wanted to stop by and see what’s what. Don’t guess you need me though.”

  JJ shoved his hands in his pocket and bit down a nasty remark. “Nothing left to do now but wait for the CSIs.”

  “Nasty piece of work, this is.” Josiah Johnson Sr.—Joe as he was called—took one last look around. “Well, it’s best I get back to work. Crime isn’t going to take a vacation while we stand here and do nothing.”

  No, Dad. You’d better go catch those speeding criminals on Marshall Highway. Heaven knows what crimes they’re committing at this very moment in their sports cars.

  But JJ held his tongue again.

  Joe Johnson nodded and walked away, leaving JJ chewing on his tongue until he drew blood. Why? Why couldn’t his father respect what he did? Why did he always try to humiliate him?

  What did he ever do that was so bad?

  #

  Keyes Shefford shrugged out of the navy pinstriped suit coat and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair. Pulling at his tie, he opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents, looking for something to tantalize him into eating at home rather than calling out for food again.

  At fifty-seven, Keyes might fairly have been described as attractive, successful, and one of the most eligible bachelors in town. He would have laughed at such a description. Oh, he made good money as the owner of four real estate offices, but successful? Not in his eyes.

  He once had an overwhelming desire for more. He hadn’t been quite sure what more was, but he did learn its cost: everything near and dear to him. An affair with a coworker had sealed that fate.

  At the time, he’d shrugged the desire off, thinking that more was going to replace her. And it wasn’t as if he’d lost his children. He’d been given liberal visitation rights, even if he hadn’t found much time to take advantage of them. Then Amy disappeared. Suddenly more seemed far less than what he’d had to start with.

  His wife, his family, his dreams. Gone.

  He’d never felt so alone. Everything became crystal clear that night as he sat listening to the police explain how sorry they were. He mourned for Amy, and he mourned not being able to reach out to his wife and hold her. They could not grieve together. He’d ruined all chances of that. She clung to Zoe. He clung to the emptiness in his own soul and cursed his foolishness.

  Keyes turned his life around after that night. He stopped seeing Joan, spent more time with Zoe, and tried to get his wife back. Denise eventually forgave him but wouldn’t take him back. He never managed to earn her trust again. Or Zoe’s. It haunted him every day.

  He didn’t remarry, holding out some foolish hope that one day Denise would relent and take him back. Over the years, they’d regained some semblance of a friendship, although they never discussed Amy. Denise never allowed him too close, so he poured himself into his work. It made him a lot of money but did nothing to fill the gaping hole in his life.

  Denise had refused any of his money, other than child support. Zoe, on the other hand, still took his monthly checks without a word. He knew that she was, in her own way, trying to make him pay for his part in Amy’s death by financing her work to find other missing children. Little did she know that he’d paid with far more than money. If only money could have somehow paid the debt and set him free.

  Finding nothing in the refrigerator to interest him, Keyes pushed the door closed and reached for the phone. Intending to call his favorite deli, he was surprised to hear Denise’s voice answer. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, trying to accept that he’d called her number instead of Mario’s.

  “Hello?” she asked for the second time.

  “Denise?”

  “Keyes? Is something wrong?”

  Taking a deep breath, Keyes leaned against the kitchen counter. “No. I’m sorry. I was hungry and meant to call a restaurant. I guess I had you and Zoe on my mind and called your number instead.”

  “Bad day?”

  Keyes closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over him and sweep away some of the loneliness. “In some ways. How was yours?”

  “It was okay. We were a little busy.”

  “How’s Zoe?”

  He heard the pause, the little intake of breath, and knew that something was bothering her. “Denise? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, Keyes. Wrapped up in another investigation. You know what it does to her.”

  Keyes closed his eyes, rubbing them with the tips of his fingers. “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He reached for something to say. Anything. Just to keep her talking.

  “Keyes?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you come over? I made some pot roast and there’s plenty. I figured Zoe might drop by, but I haven’t heard from her, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

  “You sure?” Keyes hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. Then again, whom was he fooling? Certainly not Denise. She knew him too well. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, Denise.” Keyes hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket, feeling a hundred percent better than he had just five minutes earlier. Snatching his car keys off the table near the front door, he glanced in the mirror and frowned. His curly brown hair was receding, his cheeks looked almost gaunt, and his gray eyes reminded him of an overcast sky just before a miserable, rainy day. He didn’t want Denise to feel sorry for him. He just wanted her to love him again.

  He just didn’t have the foggiest idea how to win her back. He’d run out of ideas years ago. It was time to accept the way things were and move on.

  #

  JJ lay sprawled on the bench, pushing the bar of weights high enough to lock his elbows, hold it a few seconds, and then slowly lower it back down to the bar.
Sweat was pouring off his face. He ignored it. He imagined that each time he strained against the weight, he was pushing out the anger and the frustration and the hurt. He was a grown man; still reduced to a child each time his father hit him with another slur.

  “You aren’t a man until your father says you’re a man.” He was eight years old and full of rage about the relationship he had—or didn’t have—with his dad.

  “Dad is never going to call me a man,” he had confided to his grandfather. “Never! He hates me!”

  “He doesn’t hate you, Josiah. He just expects more of you than he does of himself, and that bothers him. Make some allowances—your dad is doing his best by you.”

  Make allowances. Oh, how JJ had tried. For years he’d tried. But it all came down to this: running to the gym every time he saw his father and abusing his body to the point of physical pain to erase the emotional scars.

  “You know better, JJ. Never work this much weight without a spotter.” Carl Fenlowe, the owner and manager of Weigh It Out, stood there with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. He was a small man in his late forties, but you’d never know it to look at him. His body was the envy of most thirty-year-olds. He had shaved his head, just for the fun of it, and wore a tiny diamond stud in his right ear. A tattoo of a wolf’s head on his upper arm drew almost as much attention as his mischievous dark blue eyes. No humor was in those eyes this time. “I told you before, you keep this up, and I’m going to revoke your membership.”

  JJ dropped the bell on the bar and sat up, snatching the towel off the bench and wiping his face. “I didn’t see anyone around.”

  Carl looked over to where three men were working out not ten feet from JJ, and then at two more who were on the treadmill. “Yes, I can see how empty this place is.”

  “They just came in.”

  “JJ,” Carl sighed heavily, “you could have asked me.”

  “You were busy.”

  “I’m never too busy to make sure one of my customers doesn’t kill himself. It’s just a little quirk I have.”