by John Scanlan
Equipped with large bulletproof vests strapped over their shirts with the word POLICE in bold white print written across them, they met with the Broward County Sheriff’s Office SWAT commander in a grocery store parking lot several blocks away from their targeted home. Jim had briefed the SWAT commander on the particulars of the case over the phone, so he and his team were prepared when Jim and Dan arrived. They followed behind the SWAT van, which was an unassuming white truck similar to a bread truck on the exterior. When they were at their designated location within view of the home, the SWAT team spread out, setting up a perimeter so that every exit could be observed.
Finally, it was time to move in on the house’s occupants. Jim and Dan drew their guns and got in line behind the SWAT team’s seven members. They quickly and cautiously approached the house until they were on the front porch, which was so rundown it seemed as if it wouldn’t hold them all. One of the SWAT members pounded his fist on the door and yelled for someone to open up for the police. About five seconds later they obliterated the door with a large black metal ram and the SWAT team was inside shouting orders and pointing their guns.
When Jim and Dan made their way into the house, which seemed to be only seconds after the SWAT team had gone in, they observed a woman lying on the floor, facedown, with her hands to her sides and palms facing up. They walked farther into the home and saw a heavyset white male, matching the description given by the neighbor, also lying face down in the same fashion. Two members of the SWAT team remained in the downstairs of the two-story home with Jim and Dan and each had a gun trained on the man and woman. The remaining SWAT members checked the upstairs area of the home for Ashley or anyone else. After several minutes, the entire house was checked and there was no sign of Ashley. Jim leaned down over the man, who was still lying face down on the floor, but at this point had his hands behind his back in handcuffs. “Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?” the man shouted back at Jim.
“Where’s the girl, asshole? I know she’s here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said to Jim as he sobbed.
“Everything clear outside? Can we get into the garage?” Jim bellowed to no one in particular, but got a nod from the SWAT commander in response. The majority of the group moved outside to the unattached garage slowly, ready for their last obstacle.
Jim got ready to pull open the garage door and the SWAT members and Dan raised their guns in preparation for what they may find inside. Jim swiftly pulled the door up and it slid all the way open exposing the inside of the garage. The guns slowly lowered in unison. A stunned silence overcame the group. In the back corner of the garage, under a tarnished yellow bed sheet was the outline of a child sitting down, shaking and whimpering. A large chain stretched from under the sheet to the leg of a large workbench and wrapped around it until it came together at a large silver lock. Jim slowly approached the child, hopeful, yet afraid of what he might find when he lifted the sheet.
He grabbed the sheet with one hand, turned and looked at Dan quickly, then lifted the sheet off. Rarely was he at a loss for what to say or do, but as he stood there, looking at the frightened little girl, he didn’t know what to do. Finally, he snapped out of his momentary daze and squatted down next to her. “It’s OK, sweetie, we are here to help you. You are safe now.” He turned his head. “Someone bring me some bolt cutters!”
Dan had approached by this time and Jim, still squatting, turned to look at him. Jim saw the expression on Dan’s face and knew exactly what he was thinking. It was stunned disbelief follow by guilt for what had initially crossed his mind. They had just rescued this poor little girl. They should have felt invigorated, not disappointed. And no doubt they would have, had the little girl been Ashley Wooten.
Her name was Heather Martin and she was eight years old. She had been kidnapped from her home in Texas four months ago. The man who had kidnapped her, who sat in the house handcuffed, held at gunpoint, was named Lee Dixon. He had been arrested for molesting his niece and served five years in prison for it. He bought that home shortly after his release and lived there with his wife, the woman inside the house with him, who he had been married to before he went to prison and who stayed with him throughout his incarceration.
Heather was taken to Ft. Lauderdale Hospital for examination and treatment. The Texas authorities conducting the kidnapping investigation were contacted and were due to arrive in Florida later that night.
The case that Jim and Dan had unwittingly assisted in and helped solve was turned over to the Broward County Sheriff’s Office, at least for the moment. The detectives were left to make the drive back to Boca Raton with mixed emotions.
The ride was a silent one, Jim driving, glaring straight ahead at the road, and Dan gazing out the window. Neither knew how to react to what they had just been a part of.
They both felt a sense of deflation and disappointment that they knew would pass. They both knew they would eventually feel a sense of pride for what they had just accomplished. They saved a little girl’s life. Heather would have most certainly been killed when Dixon grew tired of her, and until then would have faced daily physical and mental abuse. They knew that the sense of pride that would come with saving Heather’s life and putting a violent man away would be that much sweeter if they were also able to find Ashley and bring her to safety.
Jim and Dan were fairly certain Dixon was not responsible for Ashley’s disappearance. Heather confirmed that she had never seen another child there, and Dixon’s alibi of being at a local hole-in-the-wall bar during the time Ashley was taken was confirmed before they left the town the raid took place in, Hollywood. Before they could cross Dixon off as a suspect they needed to be certain he wasn’t on the mall security videos, but they knew he wouldn’t be. They were back to no suspects, no evidence, and no leads.
It was late afternoon when Jim and Dan arrived back at the station. Word of their heroic efforts had spread throughout the department, as well as the local news media. Jim knew the Wootens would probably see their involvement on the television or in the newspaper. He knew he should call them to explain what had happened, how things had turned out the way they had. He could imagine how hard it could be for them to see the detectives responsible for finding their daughter finding another missing child instead. He didn’t want them to think they were working other cases. He knew seeing the story on the news would be just another reminder that their daughter was still missing, and that good fortune had been bestowed upon someone else, brought about by the people they had hoped would bestow good fortune upon them. Jim stayed behind in the car to call Tom Wooten while Dan went back to his desk.
When he finally arrived back in the bureau, Jim received somber smiles and congratulatory pats on the back, which he ignored. He sat back down at his desk and started shuffling paper around. “Dixon isn’t our guy. He wasn’t on the videos. Bedard checked each video three times for anyone that might possibly resemble him. Nothing,” Dan called out, unprovoked, still looking down at the papers on his desk.
“Yeah, big surprise there,” Jim said as he exhaled. “He come up with anyone else on those videos?”
“Yeah, a few people worth looking into. How’d it go with the family?”
“I know you don’t have kids, but say you did and one was kidnapped, how would you act?” Jim fired back at Dan.
“Come on man, don’t be like that. It was an honest question. Don’t be a smartass. I’m upset about this, too, OK? Just because I don’t have kids doesn—”
“I’m asking you a serious question so calm down,” Jim interrupted, his voice raised. “What would you do, how would you act?”
“I don’t know . . . I’d be a mess. I wouldn’t be able to do anything but try to find them, why?”
“Even if you weren’t a cop, wouldn’t you want to be involved in the investigation every step of the way?”
“Of course, yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. Tom Wooten wouldn’t rea
lly speak to me. I called his cell phone and he answered, but when I started explaining things to him he interrupted and gave the phone to his brother. No real explanation for it. If it was me, and my little girl was taken, I would be up that detective’s ass every second of every day. This guy sat and waited until crime scene was done to even go look for his kid. I don’t know, maybe I’m just fired up still about everything.”
“People deal with things differently. You don’t think he’s involved, do you?”
“Of course not. I mean, at least not directly, no. But I’m starting to wonder if we shouldn’t start looking into people with possible motives to hurt him. He’s a businessman, has some money, plays golf at a hoity toity country club, handsome guy . . . maybe there’s something there. I'm just getting this vibe from him all of a sudden, and it makes me wonder if he isn’t keeping something from us. Something he doesn’t want people to know about. Something or someone.”
CHAPTER 8
Snoring drowned out the sound from the television, which didn’t matter much because the only viewer in the room was the one doing the snoring. Louis lay on a worn out plaid upholstered recliner, dressed in a white v-neck t-shirt and black sweatpants. He had been sleeping for hours, gently tucked under a white throw blanket, which had been put on top of him after he had fallen asleep by his mother, just as she used to do when he was a child.
While Louis slept, Anne cooked dinner and tidied up the kitchen. She enjoyed having him in the house, having barely seen him at all over the past two weeks. He had spent the entire day there, which very much pleased and surprised her. She had cooked him breakfast, the two had chatted all morning, and then he stayed for lunch. He had fallen asleep shortly after lunch and had been asleep now for close to four hours.
She knew he was tired; she had heard him start the car and pull out of the driveway earlier that morning. She thought it must have been around three a.m., which was what she recalled seeing on her alarm clock after the car door shutting and engine starting had woken her up. She hadn’t heard when he arrived back, but she knew it had to have been after four a.m., which was about the time she figured she got back to sleep.
As her meat sauce neared its completion, Louis stumbled his way into the kitchen, still groggy from his hibernation. He took a seat at the table without saying a word and watched Anne add a few final spices to her sauce. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said as she turned to look at him.
“No, you didn’t wake me,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. The nap in the recliner was the first sleep he had gotten in almost twenty four hours, but he felt refreshed nonetheless. At some point this became a routine for Louis. When he was done, the wickedness that filled his soul subsided a bit and he would spend time with his mother. He felt like a different person after one of his acts was through. He felt like his heart had softened a bit and he longed to feel loved. He longed to be doted on and cared for. For a short time he was gentle and meek.
Anne brought the pasta over to the table and made Louis a plate. The two ate and talked some more. Anne, for the first time, revealed to Louis the problems she had been having with her hip and the pain it caused her just to walk throughout the house. Louis didn’t even look up, he just twirled spaghetti on to his fork and shoveled it in to his mouth. “Oh that’s too bad,” he said mid-chew. Anne continued on about her meeting with Dr. Morris and Dr. Hernandez and how they felt she needed surgery to either replace her original hip replacement, or remove some scar tissue that had built up. Louis just watched as his own hand dipped a piece of garlic bread into the meat sauce on his plate, and didn’t say a word. Anne, continuing her thought on her hip ailment, told Louis she had another consultation with Dr. Hernandez tomorrow and that she would probably take the car.
Louis stopped eating and finally looked up. Her statement had triggered a rage in him that quickly replaced any feelings of love and pacifism he had harbored. He didn’t have to try to conceal his explosive temper or keep up his façade of being normal when he was around her. Although he never became violent with his mother, she had seen the same rage his victims had seen numerous times. “I have to have the car tomorrow! I have plans! You can't just assume you're taking it without talking to me first!” He shouted at her, glaring into her eyes with a look of hatred.
Anne just looked down at her plate and softly apologized and said she would take the bus. She had never been afraid of her son, but she never chose to challenge him on anything he did or the way he treated her either. Anne's husband had passed away when Louis was only five and since then he had been all she had in life. Left with very little money and no family to help her raise him, she always had a feeling of guilt she kept inside for the way his life had turned out. When Louis went into one of his fits of rage she just shrugged it off and tried to move on. She would just let him yell and curse and wait it out until he calmed down, which usually took some time.
“God I can't believe how stupid you are! And selfish! And what the hell is this meat sauce anyway? Is your hip affecting your ability to cook?”
He would carry on insulting her until his blood pressure lowered again, and then he would pretend it never happened. He had never apologized to Anne for anything. He knew she would never hold him accountable, so why should he?
Anne just ate her dinner never looking up at him as he ranted. Despite Louis’s disparaging remarks about her homemade pasta dinner, he not only finished his plate, but spooned himself two more helpings.
After the meal ended and his anger had faded, Louis went back to the living room and plopped back down into the recliner. The television was still on and the local news was just beginning. The top story was about a daring police raid in Hollywood that ended in the rescue of a kidnapped girl and the arrest of her abductor. Louis sharpened his focus and turned the volume up. The broadcast detailed how officers from the Boca Raton Police Department had gotten a tip and had worked together with the Broward County Sheriff’s Office to raid the house, where they found the little girl chained up in the garage. The attractive brunette reporting the story stood in front of a rundown house that was surrounded by a yellow tape barrier. The woman continued to report the details as pictures of a man and woman who had been arrested in the raid popped up on the screen.
Louis followed the story in amazement. There were so many differences between him and the man who had been arrested, and yet the situation was very similar to what he had just done in so many ways. He couldn’t believe it had occurred in the same county. Just a short distance from where he held a little girl captive another man was doing the same.
His mental notes were interrupted by the closing of the news report. “In a bizarre twist, the tip Boca Raton detectives received was not for the Texas abduction case at all,” the reporter stated as she looked into the camera. “The tip was believed to be in regards to the disappearance of another missing girl, Ashley Wooten, who was taken from outside her home in Boca Raton yesterday afternoon.” Louis’s pulse quickened, his face became flush. “All of the officers involved in the raid were under the assumption that she was the little girl being held captive here, and were very surprised to find out that it was actually a different girl. Neither department was aware of the missing Texas girl until after she was located. As for Ashley, police are still very much in the dark as to her whereabouts and who may have taken her.”
The screen cut to an older man with gray hair and a gray mustache, dressed in a white shirt and red striped tie, and a subtitle under his picture read “Sgt. Chris Phillips, Boca Raton Police Department.”
“At this point we have no real leads on Ashley’s whereabouts or her kidnapper. We are asking for the public to help us. If you know anything that may help, please call. Even if you think it’s nothing at all, call and let us know. This little girl was doing nothing but getting the mail from the front of her home in the middle of the day when she was taken from her family. We know someone saw something. Please, folks, do the right thing and call in.” A phone number flashed across
the screen during Sergeant Phillips’ impassioned plea. A still picture of Ashley covered the screen, replacing the image of Sergeant Phillips.
Louis, who had been leaning forward in the recliner during the news story, leaned back and propped the recliner’s footrest upward. A look of satisfaction crossed his face.
CHAPTER 9
Evening was fast approaching and Jim had no desire to call it a day and go home to his family. Jill had expected as much, and she was fine with it. It very rarely happened, but her husband would occasionally involve himself so deeply in a case that he lost all sense of time. Everything around him became irrelevant except his assigned task, which in this case was finding Ashley.
Jim and Dan had been checking on the Wooten family background for a few hours. Everything seemed normal enough. Both came from good families they remained close to. Tom’s brother, Mark, had had his troubles in the past with alcohol and drugs. He had been arrested once for driving drunk, but by all accounts had straightened out his life and now had a family of his own. Lisa had one older sister, Amanda, who lived close by and with whom she was very close, despite the vast difference in their ages. Lisa’s sister had two children: a daughter who was in her mid-twenties and lived in North Carolina, and a son, Kurt, who worked for Tom. Tom had hired Kurt as a favor to Amanda seven years ago when he graduated high school. Kurt left his uncle’s employ only once since that time, for his freshman semester of college. He returned, however, after learning he had failed out, and he never left home again. He was smart, despite his short lived college career, and he worked hard for Tom.