by Rider, Tanya
“What did she say?” the officer asked. “Was there any kind of fight? Did she say anything that might make you think she was leaving you?”
“No,” Tom said, his heart sinking. “All she asked was, ‘What are you doing?’ I said, ‘sleeping’ and she hung up. It was quite normal for her to just check in to hear my voice.”
“So she just hung up?” the officer asked.
“We’ve been married for a long time,” Tom said, “and she’s been mad at me at least half of it. We fight. We’re married.”
“So, you’re sure she didn’t just leave you? Like she’d had enough, kind of thing?”
Tom knew that Tanya wouldn’t leave him—at least not before giving him a reason. But where was she? He couldn’t imagine where she was or what she was doing, and all these questions about her leaving got to him. “But, if she’d left,” he reasoned, “she would have taken some—if not all—of the money! She didn’t take anything except her Nordstrom Visa.”
“So when was the last time you know where she was?”
Tom told him that the last he could track was that she’d left her job at Fred Meyer in Bellevue at nine in the morning. “If she was using her card since then,” he added, “I can’t check that and that’s why I need to get a case started so you can check.”
“Which card? Her Nordstrom card?” the officer asked.
“Yes,” Tom said. “That’s the only card she has with her and, like I said, I’m not on it so they won’t tell me anything.”
“Wait here,” the office said. “I’ll check a few things out and be right back.”
Tom waited, talking with Tanya’s boss, who thought it was not in Tanya’s nature to do this. “I’ve only known her a short time,” he said. “But she seems to be very dependable.”
Tom asked the manager if they’d noticed anyone who stood out, who seemed strange, but the manager said that they keep a close eye out for that kind of thing and saw no signs of it.
“Thanks,” Tom said. “Please, if you hear from her, please call me.”
The officer came back into the room, looking at his notes. “We’ve found video footage of Tanya getting into her car at the end of her shift and driving out toward the highway,” he said. “My sergeant has informed me that our involvement has to end. You have to contact King County Police to follow up since our jurisdiction ended when she left work. Since we have evidence that she left our jurisdiction of her own volition, we have to hand you off to King County.”
“So, you’re telling me I have to call 911 again once I get back into Maple Valley?” Tom asked, incredulous. He felt helpless and frustrated. “Can I ask why I have to wait?”
“Because with cell phones, 911 calls connect you to the office based on the tower your call goes through, and not based on your phone number,” the officer explained. “This way, you get the right department to assist you.”
Tom headed for the door—and for Maple Valley.
Finally, again, my eyes close and I drift off into peaceful unconsciousness. But, soon, my phone rings. It snaps me back to my agony of excruciating pain. Where is my phone? Tom! Are you calling me, Tom? I want to answer but I can’t reach the phone. I feel a wave of dizziness and I panic. I flail with my hand to grab the steering wheel. Finally, the dizziness calms.
When he got home, he called 911 again, connecting this time with the King County Police Dispatch and Communications Center.
“My wife is missing,” he said. “And the Bellevue police said I need to file a missing person report with you.”
The operator didn’t sound very concerned. “Have you checked the hospitals and jails?” he asked. To Tom, the operator seemed cold, as if he was reading a script. Tom didn’t want to answer as his anger was rising.
“Yes, of course, I checked the hospitals,” he finally spat out. “And the State Patrol. Those were the first calls I made! I haven’t checked the jails but, if my wife was in jail, she would’ve called me for bail money. My wife’s not in jail. She’s never been in trouble. The only contact she’s had with the police is being stopped for speeding!”
Tom’s helplessness was making his hostility rise. He had to work to hold it back as he spoke with the operator and it took more patience than he knew he had.
“You can’t file a report until you have checked all the jails,” the operator insisted. “So, I need you to do that and then call back.” With that, the operator hung up.
Tom was furious, but he used the energy to do what he needed to do. He ran upstairs and got on the Internet, to search for phone numbers for the jails. On the websites, he found out that he could conduct a prisoner search online. He checked all the jails’ records for any record of “Tanya Rider.” Over and over, from every jail, the result was the same: “NO RECORD FOUND.”
Trying for the second time to report Tanya’s disappearance to the King County Police, Tom punched the numbers 911 in his phone again. As it rang on the other end, he yelled at his handset, “Why won’t you just do your job and file a report so we can start searching for my wife?” All he wanted was for them to start looking for Tanya! As the stress tore at his sanity, he felt himself losing control. He felt his old self coming back—the angry man he used to be, before Tanya. He didn’t want to be that guy again but why, he wondered, were they were making such a simple task so damned difficult?
The operator answered. “911 what are you reporting?”
“I called earlier,” Tom said, sucking in a measure of calmness and patience. “My wife is missing. I called all the hospitals, the jails, the morgue, the State Patrol. No one has any information on her. She is missing.
“Okay, have you called her friends and family?”
What the hell? Tom thought. Every damned time I call, they come up with something else for me to do! Would it kill them to tell me all of this the first time I call? But he didn’t say it. He kept it in, sucked in yet another breath and gathered his patience. “She doesn’t really have any friends,” he said. “And she doesn’t talk to her family.”
“I can’t file a report until you check with her family,” said the operator. “She’s an adult, and she can go where she wants.”
“So you’re telling me that because she’s an adult she has the right to die?”
“Call back after you check with her family,” the operator instructed. “Goodbye,” he added, before the line went dead.
My phone rings again. It stops. It rings. It stops. I want to answer. Oh, God, I want to answer! Come and help me! Come and find me and free me from this hell! I cry, but no tears come.
I want this nightmare to end, just end—quickly end. I think about my mortality. How long will I have to wait until death claims me? When will I finally die and be spared from this hell?
Tom called Tanya’s family and found out that, just as he had suspected, they hadn’t spoken in a long time. Again, he punched the numbers into the phone.
“911, what are you reporting?”
“My wife is missing and I’ve called all the jails, hospitals, friends and family,” Tom said. “And no one has seen her. She hasn’t touched our accounts.”
“Okay, let me ask you a few questions. Does she suffer from any mental disorders?”
“No,” Tom answered. “She was diagnosed with depression but she’s treating it.”
“What type of medication does she take?”
“She treats it with her diet and staying away from non-organic foods.”
“Then she doesn’t meet our criteria for a search.”
What? Tom was shocked. Tanya was missing, had been for two days, and she didn’t meet their criteria? He felt panicky as his adrenaline rose. “So, what you are telling me is, unless she’s dead you don’t care?”
“She’s an adult and she can go when and where she wants,” the operator said bluntly and without emotion. “And she doesn’t have to tell you or anyone.”
What? Tom screamed inside. He felt the darker side of his own nature launch a full scale assault. H
is insides seethed. Trying to control his temper, he clenched his teeth with unhealthy force. Think before speaking, he told himself, mustering all of his willpower. Do not lose it now, he thought, or you could lose her for good.
“So,” Tom said, “what you’re saying is that, unless she’s dead, you don’t care?”
“With no evidence of foul play, I can’t start an investigation,” said the operator, coolly.
“What criteria?” Tom demanded. “She’s missing! This isn’t like her! She never misses work and if she was going to leave, she would‘ve taken some money—if not all of it!” As he finished speaking, his internal voice screamed, What in the hell do they pay you for, you moron? But reason prevailed and he swallowed hard, leaving his feelings unsaid.
“She doesn’t meet the criteria for a search,” the operator told him simply.
The operator’s rigidity and lack of concern at once emotionally drained and enraged Tom. He couldn’t take it. “How are you going to feel if she dies tomorrow and you could have helped?” Tom blurted out, struggling to push some calm into his voice. “How is that going to fit your criteria?”
“Unless there’s evidence of foul play or she’s a minor or on medication for a mental disorder, she doesn’t meet the criteria for a missing person,” the operator said, sounding a little irritated. “She’s an adult. She can go where she pleases and we do not have to look for her.”
“Arghhh, this can’t be happening!” Tom said, as his rage boiled up and over. “What the hell do we have the police for—if not for this? Aren’t you supposed to ‘protect and serve’? Why the hell is that written on all your fucking cars?” The longer the conversation continued, the more he struggled with himself. This isn’t right, he thought. This just isn’t right!
Tom needed someone to listen so he looked online for news contacts and called the news tip line at Channel 13. The Q13 tip line reporter told Tom that, without a case number, they couldn’t run the story. Tom explained that Tanya did not meet the police department’s criteria, so the police refused to open a case. The reporter offered to check about the criteria with the Sheriff’s office and see what he could do. He said he’d call back.
Maybe I have missed a solution. Can I figure out a way to escape this captivity? If there is a way, I will find it! I will not be a victim!
Is this even real? Is my mind failing me?
God, I do not think I can do this. Please save me, God. Please protect me. I am not strong enough without you. I want so desperately to get out. Please, Lord, guard my mind, heart and body from the evil snares of the devil. God, I give you all that I am for you to fulfill your will. You always said ask and you shall receive. Lord, I’m asking—no, I’m begging—please help me. I need you. I cannot do this. I believe you can, God. Please do so, according to your will.
Tom called 911 again.
“911 what are you reporting?” said an operator who didn’t sound familiar.
“My wife has been missing for three days now,” Tom said. “I’ve called the jails, hospitals, family, State Patrol and the morgues. I’ve checked all of our accounts. She hasn’t accessed any money. The only thing I can’t check is her Nordstrom Visa because I’m not on that account, so they won’t tell me anything. All her bankcards are at home. She has two checks that aren’t cashed on the railing upstairs and…”
“Can I have her name and date of birth?”
“Tanya, that’s T-A-N-Y-A, Rider, that’s R-I-D-E-R.” He told the operator Tanya’s birthdate.
“And what was she wearing the last time you saw her?”
“Black slacks and a white blouse,” Tom said. “I found a tape of her leaving work the day she disappeared. She was leaving from her overnight shift at Fred Meyers.”
“Can you tell me what she was driving?”
“A blue Honda Element. Brand new, 2007, with a paper plate in the window.”
“Can you tell me anything that can distinguish it from any other car of its kind?”
“Silver running boards and all the upgrades available.”
During the interview, the operator gave Tom a case number, 07-284-580, and explained that they would list her and that the listing would go out countywide, statewide and countrywide, so that, if Tanya was found and an agency ran her name—anywhere in the country—they would learn that she was missing.
After they concluded the call, the operator called back, asking for the vehicle identification number (VIN) from Tanya’s car. Tom found the number and gave it to the operator, but they had a little mix-up understanding the letters among the digits over the telephone. Finally, the operator found the car’s record.
“I got it,” the operator said. “2007 Honda. Anyway, I found it. That’s great. Okay.”
“It’d be better if you found her,” Tom said.
“It really would,” said the operator. “I think we’re gonna go ahead and send an officer out to talk to you about this.”
Thank God, Tom thought. He felt as if he’d finally reached an operator with a heart.
I think God hears my prayers with tears of His own, as I hear a single sound in the brush. A plop. Then, a second later, I hear another. Then another and another and another. In a moment, I feel it—blessed water, sprinkling and then raining down on my tomb. But it doesn’t reach me. I reach out my hand toward the broken windshield but can’t get my hand out far enough. Some precious drops of moisture splash into the interior of the car and I wipe them with my fingers, raising a smear of moisture to my lips.
When the King County Police officer arrived, Tom met him in the driveway.
“Are you Mr. Rider?” the officer asked.
“Yes, I am,” Tom said. “My wife’s missing.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“When she left for work, she called me to see what I was doing,” Tom explained. “That’s the last I heard from her.”
“When was that?”
“The nineteenth, around ten PM,” Tom said. “She was going to work. She asked what I was doing. I said sleeping and she hung up.”
“And you didn’t do anything that made her angry and maybe cause her to want to leave you?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “We’ve been together for a long time and she gets mad at me, but she didn’t say anything to make me think she was mad.”
“How long have you been together?” the officer asked.
“Sixteen years this February,” said Tom. “We’ve been married for about ten years this October third and we’re building a house and buying this one. If she was going to leave, she would have taken the money. She hasn’t touched it, so I know something’s wrong.”
“Do you know what she was wearing when she left?”
“Black slacks and a white blouse,” Tom reported. “The Bellevue Police and I found video of her getting into her car, so they said I had to file in King County because that’s where we live.”
“You say she got in her car? What makes you think something happened?”
“Because she never got home and didn’t go to work. That’s not like her. Something happened between there and home.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“Blue Honda Element, 2007. She was on tape at nine AM, getting in it and driving away from the Bellevue Fred Meyers.”
“And that was on the twentieth?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “That’s why Bellevue said it was no longer in their jurisdiction and I would have to file a report here.”
“I think we have what we need for now,” the officer said. “I’ll write this up and get you a card.”
“Do you want to search the house?” Tom offered. “Anything you need, you don’t need to waste time with a warrant. You have my permission. My life’s an open book. I have nothing to hide. And I don’t want you wasting resources looking at me when you could be looking for her.”
“Okay, if you’ll wait here I’ll take a look around and come back out.”
Tom waited in the driveway whil
e the officer searched the house.
“Those are her checks on the railing?”
“Yes, and that’s her bankcard on the counter,” Tom said. “All she has with her is her Nordstrom Visa and I can’t check it because I’m not on it. But, if you guys could check it, then we’ll know if, well, if someone stole it or not.”
“Well,” the officer said, “I can’t make those decisions. I’ll turn this over to the sergeant and he’ll make the call on whether it goes to a detective.”
“So you mean you might not investigate, after all this?” Tom asked. “What do I have to do?”
“It is out of my hands,” the officer sighed. “I just take the report.”
“Well, you do what you have to and I’ll do what I need to,” Tom said. At least he had a case number so he could get the story out there. He thought that, maybe, some attention would force the police to do their job.
Tom called Channel 13 News, which had called the Sheriff’s office about the missing persons case criteria. Can it be that that phone call tipped the scales and made them open the case?
Through the darkness again and again, my phone rings and stops, rings and stops. I want to answer it but it is somewhere over there. I can’t reach it, can’t even find it. My mind is foggy. If only I could reach the phone! If only I could reach the phone. If only! But I cannot. I am trapped here, stuck here, abandoned here. What if no one comes to save me? What if they never find me? How long can I survive, anyway? I have been without water for… I don’t even know how long. I have been unconscious a lot. I think I have gone through two nights, but I am not sure.
Saturday night, Tom didn’t know what to do with himself. He just sat at home, waiting. Tanya, he thought, where are you? When it got dark, he walked out of his house and down the driveway, to the street. he moseyed down their street and stood into the night, waiting, until morning came.
I am hungry. I had been so healthy that, maybe, my body doesn’t have a lot of fat stores. I worry, but I hope that my healthy diet has given me the strength to endure this. Still, I think about food. I want food as much as I want water. My hunger and thirst add to the agony of the searing pain from my broken body. Then, my worry grows. Other things start to happen with my body, things I don’t understand. My heart seems fluttery, with an irregular heartbeat. Why is my heart pounding like this? It’s not like I’m exercising or anything. It’s not like I had coffee with my breakfast. Oh, breakfast. I want food. But I feel dizzy and a little nauseous. Oh, my stomach feels so icky. How can I feel nausea when I haven’t eaten anything? I am worried. I don’t understand it.