He drudged up the hillside, dodging the tree monsters along the way. The blistering wind stung his cheeks. He glanced up at the drab gray sky and saw dark clouds whisking by at speeds that seemed to defy nature.
Up the hill he strode, the underbrush crunching with each step. Finally he stopped to rest. He leaned forward to catch his breath with his hands on his thighs, noticing how they had tightened into knots from the climb. As he straightened up he heard the underbrush crackle. The wind swirled around him. Then he heard another crunching sound, this time in front of him.
He looked up. “Sara Ann?”
Adam groaned and rolled over on his left side, draping an arm over Valerie.
It was twelve-fifteen and a phone was ringing somewhere. Adam awoke, his chest pounding with every heartbeat and the buzz of adrenaline chasing the fog from his head. Valerie was lost in her sleep world.
His hand was on the phone by the third ring.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Riley.”
The metallic voice!
“Yes.”
“This time I want to talk to you.”
Adam glanced at Valerie, rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“Did you get the letter?”
“Yes—yes, we did,” Adam said.
“So you know I have your daughter. This isn’t a hoax.”
Adam took a deep breath. “Is she all right?” he exhaled.
“Listen, and I mean listen carefully because I got to hurry. I know these calls are being traced—”
“Is Sara Ann with you?”
The voice laughed—an ugly, grating sound through the distortion. “Sara Ann isn’t just with me, she’s part of me sexually, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Our souls have become one.”
“What? What does that mean?” Adam swallowed hard. “Is she alive?”
“Our souls are now one. Please do what we ask of you.” The voice was talking faster, louder.
“What do you want?” Adam couldn’t keep his voice from rising. “Is Sara Ann all right?”
“What I want is for you to listen to me!” The voice reverberated in Adam’s head.
Then the phone went dead.
Adam snatched his robe and tore down the stairs two at a time.
In the living room Carillo was shouting into his cell phone. “A pay phone. Twelve miles north of the 520 Causeway off U.S. One.” He flashed a thumbs-up at Adam. “Little village called Bellwood. The phone booth’s on Oakland Drive. It’s east off U.S. One. Move!”
Carillo put the phone down and turned. There was a huge smile on his face. “We traced the bastard!”
Four sheriff cars converged on a dimly lit phone booth within minutes of the dispatcher’s call. The deputies leapt from their cars, guns drawn.
17
ADAM STOOD NEXT to Carillo’s equipment table breathing heavily.
“He’s in Bellwood?” Adam shouted.
“That’s where I got the trace.”
“How long before we know something?”
“Deputies are on their way to a phone booth there.”
Adam threw his head back. “God, please let them catch him.”
They were prepared to find the caller, but instead found the receiver off the hook, still swinging in pendulum arcs. The phone booth sat on the edge of an empty parking lot adjacent to a small office building with a blue and white sign out front: Taggert Insurance Agency.
The four deputies holstered their handguns and gathered under the brightest light at the back of the lot. Night offered additional challenges, but the deputies settled quickly on the proper perimeter to set. Roadblocks were to be set up on U.S. One and at the two streets connecting to Oakland Drive.
“He may be on foot!” one of the deputies shouted. He was pointing to a path cut into some thick woods behind where they stood, the entrance barely visible.
Not more than eighty yards from the lot, across the fenced-in woods, was Washburn Road, running north and south. It was nothing more than a dirt byway with abandoned shacks and tall weeds along both sides.
Two deputies stepped over a broken section of the fence where the path began and drew their handguns and flashlights. They bolted down the trail, scanning from side-to-side as they ran, clutching pistols in one hand and the flashlights in the other.
As they flew down the trail, a car’s engine raced ahead of them. They finally reached the side of the road and pointed their flashlights down the narrow byway. Only a cloud of dust could be seen dancing in the two beams of light. It was so thick that the car wasn’t visible, but the roar of its engine could still be heard.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
“Shit!” the other deputy yelled. “We didn’t set up a road block on this one! I’ll call it in.”
Carillo answered his cell phone on the first ring.
“Carillo.”
It was one of the deputies at the scene. “We missed him.”
“What? Goddamn it! No trace of him at all?”
“Only a dust cloud on a dirt road that runs parallel to U.S. One. Had to be him.”
Adam’s glimmer of hope faded instantly. He turned toward the couch and kicked the center cushion, sending it high in the air.
Carillo glanced up in time to watch the cushion topple the end-table lamp. “Didn’t you set up road blocks?” he continued.
“Hey, give me a break. Hell yes, we did, but not on Washburn Road. It’s barely a goddamn road—there’s nothing on it.”
“What about prints on the phone?”
“Probably nothing useful.”
“What the fuck you talking about?”
“We only found prints on the front stainless steel plate and a few keys. The receiver was wiped clean.”
“You think he was wearing gloves?”
“Yup. But we did find something resting on top of the phone.”
“What.”
“An empty syringe. Looks like it’s been used.”
Insulin! How much more does she have? “Shit!”
“What?”
Carillo’s eyes darted in Adam’s direction. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “Let me know if anything else turns up.”
“What happened?” Adam shouted, as he marched toward Carillo who was sitting at the equipment table.
“They missed him.”
“How?”
“Look, it’s one thing to trace a call, quite another to catch who made it. Especially this one.”
“Why?”
Carillo stroked his mustache reflectively. “This guy knows what he’s doing.”
Adam stared down at Carillo. “I heard something about road blocks. Did they have any set up?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t they caught him?”
“Because he was parked on a dirt road that no one uses. They didn’t think of it in time.”
“Jesus Christ!”
Carillo leaned forward in his chair. “We’ll get him.”
“You’d better hope and pray it’s in time.”
18
ADAM SHOT UP in bed. Was that the phone? He checked the time. It was five-thirty. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep for less than an hour. His temples throbbed. Another ring didn’t come. It had to be a dream.
The hot, steamy shower was invigorating. He dressed and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. Cup in hand, he opened the front door quietly and stepped out into the darkness. Hurricane Alberto had made a sharp turn north, no longer threatening the East Coast. But weather reports showed the outer bands drenching most of central Florida by late in the week.
Adam walked to the main road to get his newspaper. Not one star was visible on the black backdrop of sky, and the early-morning air was sultry and still. From deep within the bushes along the south side of the driveway, a lone bullfrog croaked.
On his way back to the house Adam stopped in front of the mailbox. He stood staring at it for several moments then tu
rned in the direction of the main road. He dropped his head. Why did I ask her to get the mail?
As he continued up the driveway the bullfrog stopped croaking. He tried to settle on the right time to tell Valerie and Dawn about the second phone call.
In the house Adam poured himself another cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, not sure what to do with himself.
“How about a cup of that coffee?” Carillo asked.
Adam wheeled around at the sound, sending coffee flying out of his cup. “God, you scared the shit out of me.” His chest burned from the hot java.
“Sorry. Let me clean up the mess.”
“No, that’s all right. You pour yourself a cup and I’ll clean up.”
“Hope you didn’t get burned.”
“I’m all right.”
Adam dabbed the coffee puddles off the tile floor and then went upstairs to change. He returned to find Carillo at the kitchen table reading his newspaper.
Carillo glanced over the top of the paper. “I hope you don’t mind. I want to see if the Mets won last night.”
“No, go ahead, Detective.”
“Call me Peter, okay?”
Adam sat at the table opposite Carillo. Elbows planted with his chin resting on his hands. Only his eyes looked up. “Sure. And call me Adam.”
Carillo folded and creased the newspaper back like new and slowly laid it on the table. Adam sat staring at his coffee.
“Better drink that stuff before it gets cold,” Carillo suggested.
Adam didn’t look up. “Yeah, I know.”
Carillo sipped his coffee then shifted in his chair. “I know this is a nightmare, but you can’t give up hope. Agent Goldman’s coming today. This is a big break for us.”
Adam shook his head in silence.
19
FALL HAD FINALLY ARRIVED, and the Mississippi afternoon air was cool and crisp. The last school bell had just sounded, and David Sikes was ready to go home. But today, something was going to delay him. Something that would make him famous, at least at Jefferson Elementary. It all happened on the playground, south of the school building.
“Don’t call me that,” David said. His face burned with anger.
“Why not? You are chubby. You’re the fattest person in sixth grade. In fact, you’re the fattest person I ever seen.”
“The Bible says I should turn the other cheek,” David said, rubbing the side of his jaw where the first blow had landed.
Barnes stared at David for a moment, then held his stomach with both hands as he bent forward, laughing uncontrollably.
By now seven kids had formed a circle around the two. Four were Barnes’s followers. David tried to swallow but couldn’t.
Barnes looked around at the crowd. “Can you believe this asshole?” He turned and sneered, staring into David’s eyes. “You kill me, Sikes. You’re not only fat, you’re a total dipshit. Turn the other cheek. Go ahead, I’ll just hit you again.”
Suddenly Barnes’s right fist seemed to come out of nowhere and crashed into the left side of David’s face. Pain exploded in his head, and all he could see were flashes of light against blackness. He fell, still unable to see, but felt Barnes trounce on his chest, his knees pinning David’s arms.
The first thing David saw when his vision cleared was Barnes’s right fist, high in the sky, ready to strike again. “Okay, shithead, turn your other cheek again. This one’s for tryin’ to run over me with your bike.”
At that moment David decided once was enough for turning the other cheek. Flat on his back, he drew both knees up and heaved his body to the left. Barnes flew off and landed on his back, a stunned look on his face. David immediately pounced on his chest, and now it was David’s knees pinning Barnes’s arms to the ground. Barnes squirmed under the weight but couldn’t twist loose.
“You fat asshole, let me up,” Barnes demanded.
David said nothing. He was stunned as well, staring into the eyes of his nemesis, now lying helpless beneath him.
“I said let me up, asshole.”
Barnes’s four buddies took a step forward. They were directly in front of David. Before they could take another step, David’s right hand grabbed Barnes’s throat, squeezing with as much force as he could muster. He looked up at the four, silent and pointing at them with his left hand.
Barnes’s face was now cherry-red. He gasped for air but still managed to croak, “Your mother’s a whore, you asshole.”
David released the grip he had on Barnes’s throat.
The four boys must have seen the look of rage on David’s face because they each took a step backward. Barnes wheezed and coughed. David continued pointing toward the four boys, but now he looked down at his prey. Suddenly he dug his thumb into Barnes’s left eye.
Barnes shrieked, and blood immediately gushed from his eye. David looked up. Four of the boys screamed and ran off. Only three of Barnes’s gang remained, but they were slowly stepping back. All of them wore looks of disbelief. David glared at them momentarily before leaning forward and applying more pressure. Suddenly Barnes’s eye popped from its socket, hanging from a bloody piece of something that looked like string. The rest of the boys turned and ran.
That night at home, David’s mother received a phone call from the police station, and shortly after that David received a lashing with the brown leather belt. Kyle Barnes’s eye was placed back in its socket with a full recovery expected. David was placed on one year of juvenile probation.
David often sat in his room and thought about what he had done. It made him smile.
20
ADAM PULLED OPEN the front door. Detectives Averly and Wilkerson stepped into the foyer followed by three men Adam didn’t recognize. Averly’s face was an even deeper red than before. He’s definitely a drinker, Adam thought.
“Mr. Riley,” Averly said. “This is FBI Special Agent—”
Averly stopped, and all eyes followed his as a short baldheaded man walked into the foyer.
“Ah, let me start by introducing Detective Peter Carillo,” Averly said, motioning Carillo to his side and continuing with the introductions. “This is FBI Special Agent Douglas Goldman, Special Agent Sidney Harrington, and Agent Eddie Neilson. And you both know Detective Wilkerson.”
The men shook hands.
“Mr. Neilson heads the Brevard County FBI office,” Averly continued. “Special Agent Harrington is the supervisor at the FBI branch in Orlando.” Averly paused and, with a faint grunt, unbuttoned his tightly drawn sport coat. “And Special Agent Goldman’s with the FBI Investigative Support Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”
Adam felt his attention drawn to Special Agent Goldman, who seemed to dominate the group in the foyer. Goldman was larger than Averly and had thinning brown hair slicked back on a round head with a wide, square jaw. His tan suit appeared to be tailor-made and was accented by a solid-gold necktie.
“Let’s get going,” Goldman growled. “I’ve got a lot to cover.”
They all moved into the living room and tried to find seats, except Goldman who stood in the center of the room like a preacher ready to evangelize to the masses.
“I want to start by asking Dawn what her thoughts are.”
Adam’s jaw dropped as he reached for Dawn’s hand. She seemed shocked, staring at Goldman.
“That’s okay, Dawn,” Goldman said, with a quick, fractional smile. “Take your time, collect your thoughts. Tell me what comes to mind when you think about what’s happened to your sister. Tell me what you think about the person that’s abducted Sara Ann.”
Dawn finally spoke. She flicked her long, light-brown hair off both shoulders and leaned forward. “Well—uh—I really didn’t know what was going on when my father first told me that my sister was missing. I was sort of in shock. Then later I got scared, after the first time the man called our house.”
“Why were you scared?” Goldman asked.
“I mean I got scared for my sister, not for me. Like something bad was going to happen to her. Bu
t then I remembered my mother telling me the man said she would be returned to us, so I figured he was going to take care of her.”
“Do you still think he’s taking care of her?” Goldman asked.
Dawn wiggled around on the couch and then folded her arms over her chest like she was chilled. “I—I’m not sure, especially after what he said the second phone call.”
“What was that?”
“My father told me he—uh—he said that—Sara Ann was part of him physically and spiritually.”
“Jesus Christ, I heard Goldman’s methods were a little different, but this is unbelievable,” Carillo whispered to Averly.
Adam looked up at Averly and Carillo standing together near where he sat on the couch.
“Shh,” Averly breathed.
“What do you think that means, Dawn?” Goldman asked.
Valerie jumped up from beside Adam. “Enough! Stop this right now!”
“Mrs. Riley, if we are going to get Sara Ann back, I need as much information as I can get.”
“By badgering my daughter? What good is that?”
“My wife’s right,” Adam objected. “This is pointless.”
“It’s not. It helps me piece together a puzzle. Every bit of information is important.”
Adam finally pulled on Valerie’s arm, signaling her to sit beside him.
“I don’t want Dawn put through an interrogation,” Valerie snapped.
Goldman turned to Dawn once again. “So what do you think Sara Ann being part of him physically and spiritually means?”
“I think it means she’s—”
“What?” Goldman probed.
Dawn’s blue-green eyes filled with tears. “I—I don’t know,” she sobbed.
“Stop!” Valerie shouted as she bounced off the couch.
21
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