by Mark M Bello
“What to do, what to do . . . oh God . . . how did this happen? On my way . . . will be there in ten . . . Shit! Wait . . . Tasia . . . Where is Tasia? Is s-she okay?”
“She’s fine, Sarah. I-I’m holding her. I won’t let her out of my sight until you get here,” Dalia cries.
Sarah shoots out into traffic and speeds up Woodward Avenue. Angry drivers lay on their horns.
“The police have been called, Sarah. They’re coming! I hear the sirens!” Dalia is hysterical. “It was naptime! When the kids woke up, Aisha was gone!
“Where is she? How could she just . . . disappear?” Sarah was near hysteria.
“We don’t know. The aides were all here. Maybe they turned their backs for a minute or two. Who knows? I’m so . . . so . . . s- sorry! The police will . . . find her!” Dalia sobs.
Sarah steps on the gas.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There are multiple police vehicles at the Fisher Building lining Grand Boulevard, Second Avenue and Lothrop, bubble gum flashing. Sarah double-parks her car and tries to run into the building, She’s stopped by a police officer standing at the door.
“Whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going? This is a crime scene.”
“My daughter is missing—get the hell out of my way,” Sarah bellows, completely ignoring the uniform.
“S-sorry ma’am . . . come with me . . . right this way.”
“I know the damned way!” Sarah shrieks.
They run through the lobby to KidCare where Dalia is standing, holding Tasia and talking with a dark-skinned African American man in a business suit. Dalia sees Sarah approach and immediately breaks into tears.
“Oh, Sarah . . . Sarah . . . I’m so sorry . . . this is terrible . . . I’m so sorry!” Dalia screeches.
“Nothing like this has ever happened here before. I can’t believe this. “You will find her, won’t you?”
Dalia pleads with the man in the suit. Her head bobs back and forth from Sarah to the man and back again.
“Shut the hell up, Dalia. Where is Aisha? Where is my daughter, damn you!”
“Are you the mother?” The man inquires.
“Of course, I’m the mother. Who the hell are you?”
Sarah grabs Tasia out of Dalia’s arms and holds on for dear life.
Where is my Aisha? We have to find her! Dalia, where are the police, for God’s sake?”
“Sarah,” Dalia manages, motioning to the man in the suit.
“This is Detective Ellington. He is the police.”
“Ma’am...”
Ellington holds up a cell phone picture of Aisha.
“Is this a current picture of your daughter?”
“Yes . . . Yes! Where is she?” Sarah howls.
“We were notified shortly after the incident, Ma’am. We’ve set up roadblocks in every direction, put out an Amber Alert and an APB. We’ve started a door-by-door sweep of the area. If she’s nearby, we’ll find her.”
“Of course she’s nearby! How long has she been gone?”
Dalia buries her head in her hands.
“Are you okay to answer some questions, ma’am? The more information we have, the easier it will be to find her.”
Ellington turns to Dalia.
“Are there video cameras in these hallways, especially near the entrance to your daycare center?”
“Not sure,” Dalia mumbles.
“Not to worry. My officers are talking to building security right now. He turns back to Sarah.
“Ma’am? Can you think of anybody who would take your daughter? Any reason why anyone would want to? Wealthy? Famous? Anyone pissed off at you? Family member? Ex-boyfriend? Ex-husband? Child’s father in the picture?”
Sarah opens her mouth to speak, but can’t talk. She bursts into tears.
Ellington ignores this and continues.
“A kidnapping, if that’s what this is, happens for a lot of reasons. Money is one reason—revenge is another.
“I’ve got no frigging money, damn it!” I’m sure as hell not wealthy.” I’m a widow-just started working again . . . Marcus was killed . . . revenge? Who the hell would do something like this? Can’t think . . . family member . . . revenge?”
“I’m sorry for your loss. What happened to your husband?”
The two lock eyes.
“Shot and killed for no damn reason by a Cedar Ridge cop.”
“Y-you’re Sarah Hayes?” Ellington stammers.
“I am.”
“Excuse me.”
Ellington turns and addresses a group of uniforms standing close by. He is angry and animated, barking orders in all directions. When he finishes, the cops take off in different directions, and Ellington turns back to Sarah and Dalia.
“Sarah. I am quite familiar with Cedar Ridge . . . A terrible tragedy. You filed a civil rights case, right?”
“What the hell’s the difference?”
“Has anyone threatened you in any way since you filed?”
The lawsuit! The damn lawsuit!
“Aisha was taken by a Cedar Ridge cop! The phone call! The white guy! Called me the N-word for suing the police and causing the death of a cop. Drop the case, he demanded . . . threatened my kids . . . the cops would never help anyone who is suing a cop . . . Where’s Zack? He promised he’d take care of this . . . he’d protect my kids . . . Where the hell is Zack? Sarah screams.
“Zack, who? Blake?”
“He promised me that Micah Love was watching my kids.”
“Focus, Mrs. Hayes. Let’s go back to the call. Was there only one call or more?”
“The phone would ring and ring after the first one, but I wouldn’t answer. He finally stopped.”
“When was the last time?”
“A few months ago, maybe. They put in a tap. Maybe he knew.”
“Who tapped your phones?”
“You guys did. I live in Detroit. Nearby. That’s why I chose this place for daycare. I’ll never forget. A cop named Collins came to the house. Not a nice guy.”
“I think I know who ‘Collins’ is. Why do you say he’s not a nice guy?”
“Because he treated me like shit for suing a cop. He got into it with Zack.”
“Your attorney was there when you spoke with Collins?”
“Yes, and his investigator, Micah Love. They promised to protect us.”
“I’ve butted head with Love. He’s not my favorite person, but he’s a terrific P I. It’s hard to prevent a crime you don’t know will happen. I’ll reach out to Collins. Anything else come to mind?”
“The caller was a white guy. I’d know his voice if I heard it again. He warned me the cops wouldn’t care. He sure was right. No one cares. I should’ve listened. I should’ve dropped the case. I lost my husband, now I’ve lost my daughter. What good is a lawsuit? Won’t bring my family back.”
“I care, Mrs. Hayes. And Aisha is missing, not gone. We’ll find her. Trust me.”
“Trust a cop? That’s a laugh. You cops have made a mess of my life. How am I supposed to trust a cop?”
“You have no choice. I’ll do everything in my power to find her and bring her home to you.”
“You’re damn sure right about one thing, Detective. I have no choice. Find her! Find my baby!”
Chapter Thirty
It is pitch black when Aisha Hayes awakens. She hears a humming sound in the darkness.
Where am I? Where’s my Mama?!
“Where’s my Mama? “I want my mama!”
Aisha cries aloud in the dark.
Where’s Miss Dalia? Is Tasia okay? Is she here too?
Aisha lies face down on a cold tile floor. Her face is numb. There are no blankets, pillows, or mattress. She tries to turn onto her back and push herself up, but she’s tired, dizzy, her legs hurt, and she’s terrified. She feels, even hears, her heart thumping in her chest.
Are my eyes open?
She blinks several times and tries to focus.
Where am I?
She’s disoriented. She struggles to her feet and reaches her hands out into the darkness. She feels only bare walls, no shelves, no furniture, and no bed. She locates a door and tries the handle— locked.
So small—is it a closet? What happened? I’m asleep at KidCare . . . a hand covers my nose and mouth. I can’t breathe!
Aisha is dressed in black spandex active pants and a pink ‘I’m a Princess’ sweatshirt, the same clothes she was wearing at KidCare.
As cobwebs clear, she remembers. She trembles as she recalls a large white man who scoops her up and covers her mouth and nose. It’s hard to breathe . . . she passes out . . .
I remember . . .
She screams in horror at the memory, pees her pants, and hugs herself in a corner.
“Hello?” She screams.
Her face registers the horror she’s feeling.
“Mama? I want my mama!”
She continues to sob. She’s hungry, thirsty and . . . terrified.
“Quit your yapping, kid,” comes a voice from outside the room.
Aisha is strangely comforted by the fact that she is not alone.
Six-year-olds aren’t supposed to be alone!
“I’m here Mama . . . Mama? Where’s Mama? I want Mama.”
She recoils in horror.
“You are someplace where no one can see you, no one can hear you, and no one will find you. What happens to you is up to your mother.”
“Who are you? Why am I here?”
“Your mama did a bad thing, and I’m punishing her.”
“Mommies don’t do bad things. I’m hungry. I wet my pants.”
A cold chill runs down her spine.
This man is mean! He took me away.
Aisha remembers the ‘stranger danger’ talk with Mama.
Is this the guy?
The door opens. A ray of light blasts through the opening and momentarily blinds her. The mean man grabs her with one arm and sits her back down on the cold floor. Drops of water splash against her face. She screams bloody murder. A plate with a sandwich and a glass of water are placed on the floor. She tries to focus, but all she sees are two huge legs. She looks up to see a face, but the door slams. She is plunged into darkness once again.
Chapter Thirty-One
Detective Billy Ellington hears a slight knock on his open door and sets down a file. Captain Wanda Ellis is standing at the door with an attractive white woman.
She’s vaguely familiar . . .
“Detective Billy Ellington, meet Michelle Delany from WWJ News Radio 950. You may remember her from her reporting on that Vandenberg kidnapping case we worked with the FBI.”
Billy stands and offers his hand to Delany. He’s an imposing, well-dressed man in his late thirties.
“Detective Ellington, it’s nice to see you again,” Delany flirts.
He’s very nice looking, well built. Wonder if he works out. When I have more time . . .
“Nice to see you, too, Michelle.”
Ellington shrugs and ignores her playfulness. He’s focused on one thing only: Sarah Hayes and her missing daughter.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m wondering if I can ask you some questions about the Gilbert case. It is beginning to look like a cold case. The parents are prominent members of our community. They’re looking for us to run a story about their missing teenager.
I know you’ve pegged this is as a runaway situation, but have you ruled out foul play? Could it be a kidnapping? Has the FBI been notified?”
“I’m a little busy right now, Michelle. I’ve got this new case, tons of calls to return, leads to follow up, and I am late for an interview with a potential witness.”
“The child abduction in Detroit?”
“That’s the one, Michelle.”
“We can talk about that one at some point, Detective, but I’ve got a few questions about this other matter. Please? A moment of your time?” She purrs.
“About the Gilbert case?”
“Yes.”
“Why, the Gilbert case? Because a nice white girl from the suburbs goes missing and the public feels terrible? How about a six-year-old girl goes missing from a daycare center in broad daylight, right under the noses of three caregivers? How does that float your boat? She’s black and from the big city. That’s a deal-breaker, right?”
He glares at her. She stands her ground.
“Come on, Detective. Give me a minute, would you? I don’t choose assignments. I follow orders.”
“This young girl is the daughter of Sarah Hayes, who is suing the city of Cedar Ridge for the cop-on-black shooting. It should be big news. Zack Blake’s involved. What’s the deal, Delany, Black Lives Matter, but not to the media? Even the fact that she’s Zack Blake’s client doesn’t float your boat? How’s this? If we can’t talk about both cases, then get the hell out of my face.”
“Those are your words, not mine, Detective. I’m happy to talk to my producer about this new case and that poor child. It’s a great story, considering the lawsuit and the Blake angle, but that’s not my assignment today. Fair enough?”
“No! God damn it!” Ellington explodes. “It is not even close to fair enough. A teenaged white girl goes missing and the whole world stops. The media frenzy begins in earnest, and everyone drops everything they’re doing to assist with the investigation.
“A beautiful six-year-old black kid goes missing and what? Is she just one more missing kid from the hood? What’s the big deal? Have I missed anything?”
“I’ll talk to my boss and get back to you on that one.”
Delany continues her cajoles, but Ellington’s rants and raves about racial injustice in news reporting finally sends her out the door.
I’m wasting my damn time.
Captain Ellis watches her leave and calls Billy into her office. She’s heard every word uttered between Billy and Delaney.
“Play nice, would you please, Billy? We need the press to help us in these situations. You can’t treat her like that. She didn’t choose one story over the other. She’s doing her damn job. You know this. Besides, Gilbert is an important case, too, right?”
Ellington knows his boss is right, but he is beyond frustrated with the double standard.
“News services want to cover stories that involve white people with a lot of money. Who cares about a little six-year-old from the hood? We both know that when a child disappears, the more media coverage the child gets, the more and better tips we get. The better chance we have to solve the case.
“When a little black kid disappears and the media ignores it, so does the public. I know you know this. Not only that, but how much media coverage a case gets has a direct relationship to how much manpower the brass assigns to solving that case. It also impacts whether or not the feds get involved. I know you know this, too, dammit!”
“What you say may be true, Billy, but our department needs the media, and I still need you to play nice.”
“Gilbert is a cold case, probably a runaway! Hayes is a hot case. The media should be reporting the hell out of the Hayes case! They damn sure thought the lawsuit was big news. They reported the hell out of that. Why isn’t WWJ interested in reporting on both cases, Cap? Why?”
“I don’t know, Billy. I don’t dictate these things.”
“I know, but it’s not only Delany and WWJ. Why does Detroit PD want me to discuss Gilbert and not Hayes? Hayes is piping hot. It’s a developing situation. It’s the priority right now. Delany is only following orders, but she had to get clearance. How does this make any sense coming from our top brass?”
“Don’t play the race card with me, Billy Ellington! You’re crossing the line!”
“Since when is child abduction a racial issue? Both of these kids are innocent for Christ’s sake!”
“This is not about race, Billy. It is about taking advantage of what is offered and when it is offered, regardless of why.”
“We both know exactly what this is about, don’t we Cap?”
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“So, let me see if I understand. You want me to get all high and mighty, play the angry black woman and tell media to fuck off. And this will get us exactly what? Two dead kids! Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, and you damn well know that! But what I do want is a fair and equal distribution of media and manpower based on circumstances, not race. I want to talk to Michelle Delany when she wants to talk about and report on both cases.
“I’ve got no problem with the press helping us, Captain. But this Hayes case is an immediate pressure cooker. There’s a strong motive here. We have a chance to solve this case here and now. The first twenty-four to forty-eight hours are vital. How is this not the priority right now, even if the victim is black?”
“That’s disgustingly cynical, Billy. Every child abduction case is important to us. We allocate manpower based on the circumstances and needs of the case at the moment.”
“I know that Cap, but I stand by my previous statement. I want permission to talk to Delany. She will report on both cases or not at all.”
“I can’t do that, Billy.”
“May I assume that Chief Balfour is on board with this bullshit?”
“That’s above your pay grade, Detective. Now, make a deal with Delany, or I’ll do it myself. Lobby her on the other case at the same time, knock yourself out, but grant her an interview on Gilbert. Is that understood?”
“Loud and clear, boss. After all, we can’t let a little thing like institutional racism get in our way, now, can we?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following day, Billy Ellington sits in Sarah Hayes’ living room. He’s concerned. She’s distraught.
“Any leads, Detective?”
“Nothing yet, Sarah. We’re getting tons of tips. Do you have another picture of Aisha?”
“Yes, I do. Hang on a second.”
Sarah rises and walks into the back of the house. She returns holding a small photograph; a beautiful picture of a smiling, happy six-year-old girl.
“Man-o-man, Sarah. She sure is a beautiful child. She looks like her mother.”
Ellington glances back and forth from Sarah to the photo and back to Sarah.