by Roger Hayden
“Hello?” she said in a frantic voice, rising back up. She held the pistol out, crouched down, and moved slowly out of the kitchen, toward the bedrooms. There was breathing on the other end, but nothing else.
“Who is this?” she shouted.
Down the hall, the bathroom door was open. Miriam approached it slowly and looked inside. There were clothes piled on the floor but no sign of Ana. The person on the phone remained silent, but the breathing continued.
Miriam rushed to Ana’s darkened room and saw her school bag on the floor next to her shoes. Ana’s cell phone sat atop her nightstand. She never went anywhere without her phone. Miriam felt a gripping pain in her stomach at the realization of what was happening. Tears welled in her eyes as she kept her phone pressed tightly against her ear.
“Miriam?” a metallic, robotic voice said from the other end of the line.
“What do you want?” she asked, frantic.
The caller laughed. “Did you get my note?”
Miriam left Ana’s room and raced to her own. The bed was made. Nothing appeared to have been touched.
“Where is she? You son of a—” She paused and tried to contain her rage. “Please let her go. We can work this out.”
“What’s done can’t be undone.” The voice was distorted through some kind of voice box. “You know that as well as I.”
She ran down the hall, past the kitchen, and to the front door, yanking the door open as sunlight hit her face. “Where are you?” she asked in a demanding tone.
“You just missed me,” he said.
She circled the front yard, desperately searching for any sign of Anderson within range.
“I saw you get home,” he continued. “Figured it wouldn’t be long before you saw my little surprise.”
Miriam stopped in the middle of her yard. The neighborhood was quiet. The other homes and vehicles on her cul-de-sac were all a blur. Anderson was nowhere in sight.
“Phyllis?” she said.
“Yes?”
Miriam paused, biting her lower lip. “Mr. Anderson, I know it’s you. I don’t see the need to disguise your voice.”
“Call me cautious,” he answered.
The most important thing for Miriam was keeping him on the line. She assured him that she hadn’t called the cops, and that she had no interest in finding him, and that all she wanted was her daughter back. She pleaded with him as she had never done with anyone before. He listened without interruption, and once she finished, he spoke.
“Are you done?”
“Yes. Do we have a deal?” she said, tears streaming down her cheek.
“Deal?” He seemed flummoxed.
“Anything you want. Every penny I have, I don’t care.”
“Save your breath. There’s no deal.”
“Take me, then! I’m the one you want. Leave Ana out of this. She’s only a child!”
An elderly neighbor, Reba Henderson, was looking out from behind her blinds, startled by Miriam’s yelling.
He continued: “And because she’s only a child, that makes her perfect,” he said.
The desire to reach through the phone and rip his eyes out hit Miriam like a rushing current. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you. You hear me? One hair on her head and you’re dead!”
He responded, pleased and amused. “Now this is the Sergeant Castillo I want to hear.” He laughed again.
Miriam simmered with rage. She wiped her tears and continued pacing her lawn in a distraught circle.
“Tell me something, Sergeant Castillo—are you still a cop? I thought you left the force after I shot your partner.”
She ignored his efforts to push her buttons. “Bring Ana back and take me. I’m begging you.”
“You call the police and do what you gotta do. I’ll call back soon with my demands.”
“No, wait—”
He hung up without another word. Miriam kept the phone at her ear, begging him to answer. There was no response. She searched the street again for any sign of him. When she reached the end of her yard, her knees locked as her legs went numb, causing her to fall onto the hard pavement of the road.
Reba Henderson opened her screen door and came plodding outside in a flowery nightgown and flip-flops. “Goodness, Miriam. What happened?” she asked, approaching with a cup of coffee in hand.
With both hands on the ground, Miriam pushed herself up, of still clutching her pistol. Though about half her size, Reba tried her best to help Miriam back on her feet.
Miriam began sobbing uncontrollably. “Ana…” She wiped her eyes again and looked directly into Reba’s eyes. “Did you see anyone here?”
Reba paused, blinking behind the thick lenses of her glasses. “I don’t know. Like who?”
Miriam grabbed Reba’s arm, pulling her closer. “A vehicle. Someone pulling into the driveway or across the street. Anything!”
Reba looked startled and confused. “I’m sorry, Miriam. I didn’t see anything. Only just looked out the window because I heard you out here.”
Miriam knelt down and picked up her cell phone. “It’s Ana,” she said. “She’s missing.”
Reba gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh no!”
Miriam didn’t yet have the heart to tell her about Freddy. A gruesome revelation like that would be too much for someone her age. But it seemed that Reba’s suspicions were already there. She squinted ahead, examining the pickup truck in the driveway as Miriam punched some numbers into her phone. Detective Lou couldn’t have gotten too far, and he was the best person Miriam could think of to call. Time was not on their side.
Another neighbor from across the street now looked as if he were leaving. His blue Toyota Corolla was backing out of the garage and down the driveway. Miriam ran past Reba and toward the other neighbor’s car as it backed onto the street.
“Wait!” she shouted, phone and pistol in hand. The driver, Brice Holland, a middle-aged banker, slammed his brakes and jerked his head to the side in surprise.
“Brice, my daughter has been abducted,” Miriam said as he rolled down his window. “Did you see anything earlier? Maybe ten, twenty minutes ago?”
He looked up, dumbfounded. He kept both hands on the steering wheel, the cuffs of his white dress shirt showing a quarter-inch at his wrist. “You call the police yet?”
Miriam’s tone rose in anger. “She was taken right out of the house. Did you see anything?”
“I don’t think so.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Come to think of it… I did see a van drive by earlier when I went to get the paper.”
Miriam felt hopeful. “What did it look like? Did you get a license plate?” Her gray eyes were wild and fiery. Brice flashed a nervous glance, looking at the pistol she was holding. “It was an old Dodge van. Ummm. White. A little rusty.” He held a finger up. “Couldn’t see the driver through the tinted windows, but they circled the street at least twice.”
Concerned, Brice watched her as she walked away from his car with a cell phone pressed against her ear. “Are you calling the police?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, turning to face him. “And thank you!”
Reba stood awkwardly in Miriam’s yard sipping her coffee as Brice drove away. “Where’s your husband?” she asked her flat out. “Thought I saw him with her.”
Miriam was just out of earshot but heard the question just fine, choosing not answer. Detective Lou was on the line, not sounding the least bit surprised that she had called him back.
“What happened? Got locked out?”
Miriam’s voice was bordering on hysterics. She could barely hold it in anymore. “Ana’s gone! Please come back!”
There was a pause on the line followed by a much more serious tone. “Miriam… What happened?”
“Phillip Anderson. He found me. I don’t know how, but he found me. He… he butchered Freddy and kidnapped Ana.”
“The Snatcher? They got a statewide manhunt issued for the guy. I hardly think—”
“He left me a not
e and called me. It’s him. He’s driving a white van. Old and rusty.” She could feel the tears beginning to flow. “Please just get over here before I lose my daughter forever…”
“Have you called the police yet?” Lou asked.
“No. I can’t even think straight right now. We-We just need to find the van.” Her voice trembled.
“Just calm down. Listen to me. Call 9-1-1 so they can issue an AMBER Alert. I’m turning around right now. Stay cool and we’ll figure this thing out. I promise.”
She thanked him and got off the phone. Mrs. Anderson had overheard some of the conversation and asked her again about Freddy. Miriam looked at her neighbor and tried to lie, but her face said it all. “Please. Just go inside your house,” she said. “The police will be here soon.”
Reba looked around and shuffled back across her yard seemingly distraught with all the news.
The 9-1-1 dispatcher picked up on the other end, asking Miriam what her emergency was.
“My husband has been murdered and my daughter kidnapped!” she said with urgency. They needed to deploy the National Guard, she said. She wanted every force at her disposal to help find her daughter while there was still hope. But she had to keep a clear head.
“What’s your address?” the dispatcher asked. Miriam tried giving her information as clearly and calmly as she could—despite the emotions crippling her. The dispatcher informed her that a unit would be sent to her house immediately. He tried to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but with each passing minute Ana began to feel farther and farther away.
She lowered the phone and stared at her house. There were more people she could call—friends on the force. She could use them to her advantage. From the outside, the house now seemed evil and ominous. It was impossible to think that Freddy sat dead inside. Her next move was uncertain. But she did know one thing for sure—she wasn’t going back in the house.
Four squad cars showed up about ten minutes later. Their sirens could be heard from a mile away, and when they arrived, their lights flashed with the sickening urgency Miriam could feel in her heart. She had called Detective O’Leary at the hospital, where he had been taken with a gunshot wound to his leg, the result of a shootout with one of Phillip’s men. The receptionist informed her that the detective was in surgery.
She called her parents, Manuel and Elizabeth, and was met with a misplaced excitement about her name being in the news. Initially, she didn’t have the heart to tell them anything, but she got it out anyway. Horrified, they offered to fly down from Pittsburgh immediately. Miriam advised against it. “This isn’t over yet,” she said. Freddy’s parents would have to know. It would be a hard call to make. They never forgave her for divorcing their son.
A fire truck and ambulance pulled up, soon garnering the curious attention of the entire block. Detective Lou arrived in a hurry. His car flew to the side of the road and skidded across the pavement to a halt. Miriam hurried past a group of officers and dashed toward Lou—the only familiar face in the crowd. He got out of his car, adjusting his tie, when Miriam ran into his arms and cried against his chest.
Taken aback, he patted her head and took the pistol out of her hand. “Remember what I said. You have to remain strong.”
Miriam took a step back and tried to pull herself together, but her body was shaking. She felt an increasing dread, overwhelmed by the presence of so many officers and emergency personnel on the scene—their numbers having grown to more than thirty.
“They’re here to help,” Lou reminded her. “The sooner we get this info out about the white van, the sooner we get him.”
“He got away before. He can do it again,” Miriam said, a deep worry reflected in her eyes.
Several officers approached, ready with questions.
“Good morning, ma’am. Is everything okay?” a boyish deputy asked. His face reminded her of her old partner, Deputy Lang, and he flushed in embarrassment when he seemed to realize what he had asked.
She signaled to her house and walked toward the driveway, feeling a crushing weight pulling her down. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back inside. Lou flashed his badge and told another officer to put an APB out on the white van. He followed Miriam and asked her the make.
“Dodge,” she commented. “At least that’s what my neighbor said.”
Halfway up the driveway, her cell phone rang. She looked at the screen, half-expecting it to be her parents again, only this time it displayed “Unavailable.”
She answered the phone asking, “Where are you?”
Lou and the officers looked at her inquiringly.
“Looks like you’ve got company?” a distorted voice said.
One female officer was busy reeling yellow police tape from her mailbox to a post on the other side of her yard. Suspicious eyes were everywhere, looking out from neighboring homes, and from the faces in her own windows. Then something occurred to Miriam. She turned away from her house and started walking back into the street. The officers stopped working and watched as Lou chased after her.
Miriam said, “Where are you? Tell me!”
Phillip laughed. “I assure you, I’ve long left the area.”
“I want to talk to Ana,” Miriam said, wiping her eyes.
Lou approached, she raised a finger, signaling for him to wait. When he saw the look on her face, he leaned in closer.
“Is that him?” he whispered.
Miriam nodded. “Are you still there?” she asked into the phone.
“Seems like you’re tied up at the minute. I’ll call back later,” he answered.
“You have to let me talk to my daughter.”
An impatient sigh was his answer. Lou grabbed the phone out of Miriam’s hand. She spun around, upset. “What are you doing?”
Lou held his index finger to his mouth, dug out a portable recording device from his pocket, and connected it to her phone with a cable through the headphone port.
Miriam got the hint. He was trying to record the call. She took her phone back, as Lou held onto his recording device.
“Please,” she continued into the phone.
“Very well,” he responded with surprising cooperation. “These are my demands. You show me that I can work with you, I’ll be more than happy to let you talk to Ana.”
“Okay,” Miriam said, after a brief pause.
“The Lee County Police Department have unjustly arrested my parents. My father and mother have no place in jail and no place in an interrogation room as they had nothing to do with the family’s criminal activities. See to it that they are freed and I’ll let you talk to Ana.”
Miriam looked at Lou. He signaled at her to keep it going. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You have twelve hours,” he said, hanging up.
Crime Scene
Police and investigators alike amassed in and around Miriam’s house, sealing the area off as local news vans arrived outside. She sat on her living room sofa with Lou, surrounded by investigators, as the authorities searched her home, which had quickly become unrecognizable, as in a bad dream. All she wanted to do was to wake up.
Her kitchen—where the murder had taken place—had been segregated by caution tape. Small yellow placards littered the floor, marking evidence to be photographed and gathered. A thick puddle of blood remained drying on the kitchen floor. Freddy’s body was placed in a body bag on top of a wheeled gurney.
“Where are you taking him?” she asked the paramedics.
They turned to her with uneasiness. There were so many people in the house, it was hard to tell who was who.
“To the coroner, ma’am,” said a thin-haired paramedic, who wore a gray shirt with the words “EMT” stamped on the back.
“No. That’s not right,” Miriam said. “I have to call his parents. They need to have the final say-so here.”
“Those decisions normally go to the spouse,” his young female partner said, pulling out some paperwork. “Which is why we need you to sign thes
e.”
Miriam held her hand up. “We’re separated,” she said, catching a few questioning glances aimed in her direction.
Her black shoulder-length hair was frazzled. Her fair-skinned face had turned red and puffy and was caked with dried tears. She had been asked the same questions for the past twenty minutes and felt as though she was getting nowhere in explaining the situation.
One detective with a protruding gut, bald head, and thin mustache leaned against the couch examining his notepad. He introduced himself as Detective Turner, and his line of questioning, was all business. “So you got home at approximately ten this morning. Found your husband deceased and your daughter missing.” He pointed to the kitchen table across the way, where the note had been placed in a Ziploc evidence bag. “And the perpetrator left you a note and then called your cell phone.”
“That’s correct,” Miriam said, distracted by a female paramedic approaching her. Acting as a surrogate bodyguard, Lou stood up and blocked the slightly confused young paramedic. Lou was a tall man with sideburns, a mustache, and an authoritative manner. “Here, I’ll take those. Just transport the deceased, and we’ll follow up later.”
The paramedic nodded and handed him the papers. Other detectives were busy taking pictures of every square inch of the kitchen. One particular crime scene investigator was busy dusting the counter for prints. A news crew tried to enter the house and was blocked by an officer at the door. One pushy male reporter put up a fight but was pushed away, prompting the officer to shut the door and close the living room draperies.
Detective Turner continued questioning, pen in hand, his expression and tone incredulous and assertive. “So how did this person get your cell phone number? How did they know that you wouldn’t be home?”
“I don’t know,” Miriam said. She could feel her emotions getting the best of her.
“You don’t find that the least bit suspicious?” Turner asked.
“What do you mean?” Miriam asked, glaring at him.
Turner shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked at two other detectives who were standing close by, quiet and attentive. He then looked back at Miriam. “Whole thing smells kinda fishy.”