by Lisa Harris
“Did she ever talk about a boy named Sean Logan?”
“Sean . . .” Loretta shrugged. “Don’t remember the names. I tease her sometimes. She seems to like a different boy every week. She’s such a sweet girl. A little sad and lonely. I don’t understand young people today. They talk all day on their phones but still seem lonely. It wasn’t like that when I was her age. I had my first job when I was fourteen, washing dishes for the pizza place in town. But Kyle was right. I don’t know how to take care of myself, let alone a teenager.”
Nikki leaned forward. “And is there anything else you know that might help?”
“No . . .” Loretta’s hands shook as she moved them to her lap. “I don’t care what happens to me, but please . . . please find my girl.”
Back at the visitor center, Nikki grabbed a Coke from the vending machine. She took a sip, hoping the early afternoon sunshine would improve her mood. Loretta clearly believed Bridget had been afraid. Sometimes an abduction was simply a window of opportunity, but abductors often stalked their victims before they took them—like the Angel Abductor. The victim might not know their abductor personally, but it wasn’t uncommon to discover there had been contact prior to the crime. And if Loretta was right, Bridget had this connection with her abductor as well.
A couple with three energetic kids in tow strolled past her as she headed back inside. The man held Bridget’s flyer, turned and said something to the woman, then crumpled up the paper and dropped it into the trash. Nikki drew in a breath of fresh air and let it help calm the adrenaline still pumping through her. Maybe they hadn’t seen Bridget, but someone had to have seen something.
She headed back toward the command post vehicle. Manpower was essential if they were going to find Bridget. The local police department had assigned one of their officers to be the liaison between local police and the volunteers who had come forward. This would guarantee not only that their help was effective, but that any evidence encountered was safeguarded. Each volunteer was signed in, then assigned a specific task, including fielding calls. Most of them, though, were spending the day passing out flyers with Bridget’s photo and talking to hikers who were emerging from or entering the trailheads.
Inside the vehicle, Nikki walked over to where Gwen was working, leaned over, and braced her arms against the table where Gwen was still going through Bridget’s phone. “Please tell me you’ve come up with something we can use.”
Gwen slipped a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “From what you told me on the phone, Loretta was telling the truth. There were dozens of emails between her and Bridget, as well as some text messages.”
“And . . . ?”
“Two weeks ago, she wrote ‘Hey Mom, there’s this old, creepy guy I’ve seen twice now, following me. Not sure what’s up with that.’ Three days later she says, ‘I shouldn’t have worried you. I’m sure it’s nothing. Never watching another horror movie!’”
“And her mom’s response?” Nikki asked.
“‘I’m supposed to worry. I’m your mother.’” Gwen pushed her chair away from the table and leaned back. “She never mentioned it again. I’m assuming because she didn’t want her mother to worry.”
“Any description?”
“Nothing that helps.”
Kyle knocked on the door of the vehicle, holding a stack of flyers, then handed them to Nikki. “I had a bunch more flyers made up. I’m heading out now to make an appeal to the public.”
“Kyle, wait,” Nikki said, stepping outside. “I just returned from speaking to your mother. I know your relationship is strained, but she’d like to see you.”
He glanced at his watch. “Maybe later. I’m getting ready to meet a reporter for an interview they’ve promised to broadcast.”
She wanted to tell him how important it was, but that wasn’t her place. Tragedy tended to either bring people together or rip them apart. She’d seen it firsthand with her own family. The only thing that had saved them was the support of family and friends, and prayers. She could only pray that he and Loretta someday found healing, because she had a feeling nothing she could say or do was going to change his mind right now.
Tyler stepped out of the truck, a printout in his hand. “I’m not finished, but I went ahead and printed out my initial observations. I don’t think any of it’s going to be new, though.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. This will help.” She took the list he’d made and read through it quickly before turning to watch Kyle disappear across the parking lot. “Loretta never should have come. She’s going to go to jail for what she did this morning, and all she wanted to do was find her daughter. I know what that feels like.”
“Yes, but you didn’t bring a gun inside a public place, hold a bunch of hostages, and shoot an officer,” Tyler said. “Just like you, she’s made choices along the way.”
“I just hope she can get some help.” Nikki folded her arms across her chest. “Was your grandmother’s name really Loretta, or were you just trying to connect with her?”
“Loretta Caroline Hall Grant.” Tyler smiled. “She was my father’s mother. Married when she was fourteen, had twelve children over the next decade and a half. Eight of them lived.”
“Wow. She must have had a hard life with all that loss.”
“She did, but you wouldn’t have known it from talking to her. She never grew past five feet, but she had more fire than anyone I know. She died when I was nine, but I remember her so clearly. She smelled like roses and made the best peach cobbler in the county.”
“You must take after her.”
“Smelling like roses?” Tyler nudged her with his shoulder.
“No. I was talking about the fire part.” Nikki laughed, but her expression quickly sobered. “I know that wasn’t easy in there for you today, but you did good.”
“Instinct kicked in.”
“Still . . . Thank you.” She stared down at an oil spot next to her. “I know I put you in a difficult situation.”
“You didn’t have a lot of options.”
“No, I didn’t.” The seriousness of the situation enveloped her, bringing with it a degree of vulnerability. “But you did well in there, though I’m not surprised. We make a good team.”
“Yes, we do.” He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “And you did well in there because you understand what she was going through.”
“Still, I can’t help but think she just needs someone to believe in her. A second chance with her daughter . . . and her son. And now it might be too late.” Nikki glanced across the landscaped yard. Kyle had gone down to the police station after their interview had ended. Now he had to worry about both his sister and his mother. “Do you think he will be able to give her what she needs?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of hurt and rejection in their relationship that isn’t going to be easy to overcome.”
“Nikki?” Gwen stepped out of the truck. “We just got a call from someone you’re going to want to speak with. His name is Brandon Knight, and he’s been staying in a cabin about a mile away from where Bridget vanished. Says he saw her leave this morning with a man driving a silver Ford Focus.”
10
Nikki felt a seed of hope begin to sprout. For the first time in seven hours, they finally had a possible eyewitness. The bottom line was that they could analyze every crime scene—what happened and what the motives were, and ask all the right questions. But in the end, witnesses were their best way to identify suspects.
Nikki headed back to the truck behind Gwen. “Is he still on the line?”
“He was calling from his car on his cell and is on his way here right now,” she said.
“Here?” Nikki stopped short of the door. “Wartburg’s two hours away from here. Didn’t he talk with the local police?”
“He called and gave the dispatcher the information he had. Says he must have been taking a shower when the police stopped by the first time when canvassing the area.”
“Still, why come all
the way here?” While an enthusiastic witness was always welcome, this seemed like more than simply the act of a Good Samaritan.
“Said he already had an interview in Gatlinburg scheduled for this afternoon,” Gwen said, “so when he saw the update on the news, he decided to come straight here. I’ll go make sure the conference room in the truck is set up.”
Nikki turned back to Tyler.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, answering her unasked question. “I’m still going through the files you asked me to look at.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a smile, thankful he was here. Hopeful they were about to take a leap closer to finding Bridget. “Let me know if anything pops up you think might fit with this case.”
A moment later, she stepped into the eight-by-eight conference room in the back of the truck that boasted a table and five chairs. It wasn’t an interrogation room, but maybe the informal setting would work in their favor.
“Brandon Knight?” Nikki asked, as Jack and another man walked into the room a few minutes later.
“That’s me.” Knight smiled at her.
Nikki shook his hand, then sat down across from him, next to Jack. “I appreciate your taking the time to come in and talk with us. I understand you drove all the way from Wartburg. That’s a pretty far drive.”
Knight leaned back and fiddled with the bottom of his leather bomber jacket. “I told the other officer that I’m a writer and have been staying out there for the past few days.”
“And how did you find out about the abduction?” Nikki asked.
“I’m a bit of a news junkie. I was watching this morning and saw that a girl had gone missing. When I saw her photo, I realized I’d met her last night.”
Nikki handed him a picture of Bridget. “And is this the girl you saw get into the car?”
“Yeah . . . she’s the girl on the news. Bridget, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you have a job interview here in town?” Nikki asked, curious as to who would show up at an interview in jeans and a bomber jacket.
“A job interview? No.” Knight chuckled. “I had an interview scheduled—for the book I’m working on—for later this afternoon in Pigeon Forge. It wasn’t much farther to come all the way into Gatlinburg.”
“You’re quite the Good Samaritan,” Nikki said, still not completely buying the man’s story. “What kind of writer are you?”
“Murder mysteries.” He rested his hands in his lap. “I needed some time away to meet a deadline. My parents own the cabin where I’ve been staying, and I usually end up coming here two or three times a year.”
Nikki pulled out her phone and quickly typed a message to Gwen.
Mystery author? Check out.
She looked back at him. “You said you saw Bridget leave this morning?”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Early. Around five. Five fifteen at the latest.”
“And you’d seen her once before.”
“Yes, I met the girls and her brother . . . Kyle, I think his name was, just briefly when they first arrived. I’d been out walking my dog, and they were unloading their car.”
“Last night?” Jack asked.
“Yeah.”
“How long have you been staying in the area?”
“Got here last Wednesday and plan on staying through the rest of this week.”
“And this morning?” Nikki asked.
“I woke up early, somewhere around three thirty or four. My mind was spinning. I’d been dreaming, actually, about a twist to my plot. I woke up and wrote it down, then couldn’t go back to sleep. At about five I decided to get outside and take a walk.”
“And you walked past the house where they were staying?” Nikki asked.
“Yeah. There’s a trail that runs through the area. Leads from my parents’ house past theirs, toward the park.”
“And this morning? What exactly did you observe?” Nikki asked.
“There was a car in the driveway when the girl came out of the house.”
“Could you see the driver’s face?”
“Not clearly. Because of where the trail is, I wasn’t that close. She came out of the house. He was waiting for her in his car.”
“What kind of car?”
“A silver Ford Forcus. At least . . . I don’t know . . . ten years old. I didn’t get a license plate number, because I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but I do know they were Tennessee plates.”
Bingo. The same car found deserted with Bridget’s hat.
“You’re good with details, Mr. Knight,” Nikki said.
“I’m a writer. I enjoy observing people. Imagining what they’re doing. Where they’re going.”
“Did she look scared?” Nikki asked.
“I couldn’t see her face, but I do know she didn’t get right into the car. She stood there for a few minutes, talking to him.”
“Like she was trying to decide if she was going to get in the car or not?” Nikki asked, verbalizing her own thoughts.
“Maybe, but honestly I have no idea what they were talking about. I was too far away for that.”
“What was she wearing?”
“It was dark, but it looked like a track suit and some kind of . . . beanie.”
Her phone beeped and Nikki glanced at the message.
Seems legit. No priors.
Keep checking. Nikki responded to Gwen, then looked up from her phone. “Did anything else seem odd?”
“Just that it was early. After they drove away, I didn’t think anything about it—at least, not until I watched the news this morning. To be honest, I was focused on my story line and wasn’t paying too much attention. There weren’t any signs that anything was wrong that I saw, and trust me, I would have picked it up if there had been.”
“Meaning?” Nikki asked.
Knight laughed. “I’m a mystery writer. I see villains around every corner. And I know it sounds crazy, but every person I see is a potential story. Every suspicious action possible runs through my mind. Hazards of the trade.”
“And with Bridget?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. At the time it seemed more like an old friend picking her up.”
“So the bottom line is that she didn’t look as if she was being taken against her will.”
“No. Not at all.”
Nikki frowned, surprised at his answer, while she tried to connect the dots. As far as they knew, Bridget had been expecting Sean to pick her up. The boy she’d fallen in love with. They knew now that there really was no Sean Logan, but Bridget presumably hadn’t known this. So why would she have willingly gotten into the car with someone else? Had she known the man she’d left the cabin with?
“What about the driver? Can you tell me anything else about him?”
“Like I said I never got a close look at him, though he did switch on the overhead light briefly at one point. I think he was handing her something. My guess would be late forties, early fifties, Caucasian. I think he was wearing some kind of hat. I don’t think I can give you much more than that.”
“So he wasn’t Bridget’s age.”
“Definitely not.”
Then why had Bridget willingly gotten in the car with him? It didn’t make sense. “Okay. I’d like you to work with the sketch artist to see if you can come up with a composite of our suspect.”
“It’ll be pretty basic, but I can try.”
Whatever they came up with would be better than nothing. They’d put out a BOLO with the sketch and hope someone would recognize him. But once again—from what Knight had told them so far—the description was more than likely going to be too vague.
“You think he’s involved?” Jack asked while Gwen set up Knight with a sketch artist at the precinct in town.
“I don’t know. You have to admit there’s something strange about his story. He drove two hours to give us a description.”
“He did have an interview, Nikki. Gwen checked it out. Maybe h
e’s just trying to be a hero. Get his name in the paper. You know, mystery writer solves case for police. I’d assume that would be great publicity.”
Nikki laughed, but only to cover her growing frustration. “You’re right. I just wanted answers so badly. Instead Knight claims she just got in the car with him. Why would she do that? Tell me, why would she get in a car with a man three times her age when she was expecting Sean Logan?”
An hour later, Nikki stuck the finished sketch of the man Knight saw onto the crime board next to the original composite police had come up with of the Angel Abductor. Generic enough it could be him. Or a hundred other men within a ten-mile radius.
She took a sip of the fresh cup of coffee she’d just poured while the others worked quietly at the workstations. She’d probably already ingested enough caffeine and sugar to keep her awake another twenty-four hours.
Why’d you get in that car with him, Bridget? And where are you now?
So many questions, and they were still no closer to finding her.
“Gwen, we need this sketch sent out to every law enforcement agency across the state.”
“Already done.” Gwen stepped up beside Nikki, hands on her hips. “I know that look on your face.”
Nikki ignored the comment. Because that look conveyed that she was sick and tired of going in circles and still not having a substantial lead. “Can you see any similarities between the two sketches?”
“It’s hard to tell. Same build, age is about right, but it’s been a long time. Build and height are similar, but he could have had plastic surgery, his hair dyed, lost or gained weight . . .”
She was right. Ten years was a long time. They needed more.
“I don’t want to keep grasping at straws that keep us running in the wrong direction, but there’s clearly a connection between the cases. The stalking, the Polaroid . . .”
“How much of this information was given out to the public?” Gwen asked.
“Young girls. Blond. Buried them in shallow graves. The police left out the specifics of the Polaroid at the time, though I suppose it’s not impossible to think it’s public knowledge after all these years.”