“If there’s internet access, how come you haven’t smuggled out a message?”
Dara bowed her head, letting her long, golden hair flow into her face.
“Because I’m a coward,” Dara admitted. “Reuben sleeps in the computer room. If he ever caught me in there … well, let’s just say I don’t want to pay his price for help.”
“How can I help?”
“I told Ryker that things would run smoother if you were allowed to deliver a personal message to your mother. He agreed. All I want you to do is keep mentioning the word ‘near.’ I never knew where we were, but yesterday, Reuben had the news on and I heard you disappeared from the search for a Pennsylvanian boy. You showed up a few hours after the news program, and they brought you in a car. We’ve got to be somewhere near your home.”
A thrill of excitement charged through Karen until rationality doused it.
“A few hours by car could land us in a lot of places.”
“It’s better than somewhere in the world, most likely still in the United States,” Dara pointed out.
“True.”
“Now listen. We don’t have much time,” Dara said. “I don’t know if I understand everything, but I know that it involves human trafficking. Kids come and go from here all the time, mostly from Eastern Europe or South America or Mexico. It’s easy for kids to die on the way. Ryker lets people place bets on how they die. He sells most of the kids, but he also saves a few for the games. I think Ryker has a secret website for the bets. He also lets people pay to decide how somebody dies if they want.”
“Why would anybody want to do that?”
“Most people don’t,” Dara assured Karen. “They’re in it to win money. Most even think it’s a harmless video game.”
“What?”
“Reuben left the site up once. It looked like an old video game with cheap graphics. The scenarios are described like a role-playing game. The new girl is thrown into the Cell. Who attacks her first? How does the attacker die?”
“The boy who got shot,” Karen whispered, recognizing the scene.
“Do you understand why we need to get out of here?”
“I think so.”
“Good, then let me tell you what Ryker wants you to say to your mother.”
It took them twenty minutes for Karen to memorize the message and let Dara prepare her face for the camera. A bit of powder covered the bruises on her neck. She shuddered at the thought of the boy who had died Saturday morning.
Ryker appeared in front of Karen.
“Are you ready, my dear?”
Karen nodded as her stomach fluttered with dread.
***
Tyler Residence
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
The awful black phone finally buzzed with instructions to connect the phone to the TV.
“It’s time,” Rebecca Tyler called to Agent Baker. Her hands shook as she rushed to obey the instructions.
The FBI man abandoned the file he had been reading and rushed to help her. Between the two of them, they had things ready in a minute. Baker turned on the tracing equipment and recording devices. The bad guys had probably taken precautions against tracing, but Rebecca supposed the agent had to try anyway.
After an agonizing delay, Karen appeared wearing a cheerful summer blouse covered with flowers and a matching skirt. The FBI man had warned Rebecca that Karen would likely be visibly restrained so the kidnapper could emphasize his control. Still, she wasn’t prepared to see her daughter sitting on a wooden chair with her forearms duct taped to the armrests.
Karen held her back erect and her head straight. She stared into the camera calmly. Her dirty blond hair flowed a few inches past her shoulders, which were slanted downward in a relaxed position. In different context and a finer dress, she would have done fine playing the part of a queen.
“Karen would like to deliver a personal message before I deliver your final instructions.” The speaker was the same male voice that had haunted Rebecca’s dreams the last few nights.
Rebecca shuddered at the word final and fought for composure.
Karen smiled gently.
“Hi, Mom. I’m all right, but I miss you, Ellie, and Daddy. You’re near my heart, as I’m sure I’m near to yours. Keep me in your prayers. The nearer you hold me to God, the nearer I’ll be to you.” Tears flowed down her face, but she blinked and sniffled, trying to control her emotions.
“That’s enough, thank you, Karen,” said the man pleasantly. “Mrs. Tyler, I understand you and your husband cannot afford my ransom demands, so I’m going to help you. In fact, I don’t want your money. You move one dime into the account and you’ll never see Karen again.” The man’s head appeared in the camera’s view. Most of his face was obscured by two black bandanas. He glared at them before abruptly shifting back to cheerful. “I’m sending you a web address. It will explain in more detail, but your job will be to generate publicity. You need to call the news stations and get them to run a story on Karen. Bring your other daughter along for the emotional bonus. Oh, and one more thing. The FBI might want to shut down the website, but I promise you, Mrs. Tyler, it is in your best interests to keep that site running.”
The screen went black then a blue web address faded in: www.savekarentyler.com. The call ended and the screen turned black again. Rebecca fixed dazed eyes upon Agent Baker who already had his laptop open and was typing furiously at the keyboard. He whistled low and fumbled for his cell phone.
“What is it?” Rebecca tried to understand the agent’s reaction.
Baker held out a hand for patience and spoke into his phone.
“Ann, it’s me. I need Jonathan Parker’s phone number. I’ll call the local cyber guys too, but I think this is something he can help with. I’ll explain later.” He plucked a pen from his pocket and scribbled a number on his left hand. “Thanks, Ann. You too, goodbye.”
Unable to stand the wait, Rebecca repositioned herself so she could see Agent Baker’s laptop. She gasped. The simple website had a large timer counting down steadily from seven days. It had a little over four days left. The website also featured a positive counter that stood depressingly at zero under the headline: Funds collected to ransom Karen Tyler. The “Donate Now” button led to a simple form for PayPal and credit card information. A note below the credit card box promised that those who donated could leave messages on the forum supporting the Tyler family.
Suffocating fear swept over Rebecca as she stood in her family room watching the counter tick off the seconds of her daughter’s life.
Chapter 11:
Teddy Bear Challenge
Edinboro Police Station
Edinboro, Pennsylvania
The main conference room of the Edinboro police department rumbled with an argument. The battle lines fell along predictable corridors. Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, the token reporter, Agent Baker, and Chief Finney—via satellite phone from some unknown fishing hole—pulled hard for the press conference to raise funds to rescue Karen Tyler. Ann and Patrick Duncan, Detective Donald Wickerman, and Special Agent in Charge Taggert—who threw in her absentee opinion through Agent Baker—said following the perpetrator’s script would be disastrous. Ellie had been removed from the room almost as soon as the Tyler family had arrived. She waited outside the office with the desk sergeant.
“We have to do something!” Mr. Tyler’s clenched fists pounded the conference table, and he stood abruptly.
Ann imagined that the mugs and framed photos lining the shelves around the room trembled. Her eyes flitted over to the corner by the TV where a collection of tiny, painted figures depicted cops chasing robbers.
“We’re done asking for permission!” Mr. Tyler shouted. “Miss Galen’s approval is good enough for us. We’ll run the story from our home if necessary.”
“Calm down, Mr. Tyler,” said Chief Edward Finney.
Needing to focus on something, Ann let her gaze run over the pictures mounted on the walls. She paused to study Chief Finney’s por
trait. It seemed appropriate since the man was speaking. He had graying brown hair swept left from an observer’s point of view. His bushy brown eyebrows, set wide apart on his face, complimented the broad mustache that spread evenly over a friendly smile.
“Everybody—cops, feddies, reporters, and the public—wants Karen to come home safely,” Finney went on. His voice sounded a lot younger than his picture. “My people won’t rest until this is resolved. If I have to come back and whip ’em into shape myself, I will.”
“Thank you, Chief,” said Mrs. Tyler.
“Sure doesn’t sound like it,” grumbled Mr. Tyler, sinking back into his seat.
“Please. We need this conference,” Mrs. Tyler begged. “All he wants is money. We’d give him everything for Karen’s life.”
Lina Galen looked up from her notes and added her opinion.
“These are tough times. People crave stories like this. It’s something they can rally behind and make a difference. I’m confident we can raise the ransom in no time.”
“It sets a dangerous precedent.” Ann knew they had lost the battle, but she had to try and talk sense into these people.
“It’s stupid,” Detective Wickerman announced. “Criminals don’t play by rules, even if they make up the rules. This guy is as likely to take the money and run as he is to return Karen. If she’s seen his face, the chances of a successful exchange drop even lower.”
“Do you have children, detective?” asked Mrs. Tyler.
“Yes, ma’am, a son,” Wickerman answered.
“In our position, wouldn’t you grasp at any chance to save him?” Mrs. Tyler pressed.
Wickerman’s expression softened.
“Yes, ma’am, I would, but that doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”
“He won’t stop with Karen,” warned Patrick.
“Would he go after Ellie?” Mrs. Tyler’s voice rose with panic.
“I’m not saying that,” Patrick assured the distraught mother. “I mean, if this works, other children will disappear and websites like this will pop up like weeds.”
“Don’t you have ways of tracking the money?” asked Mr. Tyler. “Can’t you use that to catch this guy and throw him in prison forever?”
“We will use what resources we have to track the kidnapper as quickly as possible,” Agent Baker promised. “But I agree that this could get much worse before it gets better.”
“What choice do we have?” demanded Mrs. Tyler. “We cannot hope to raise such a sum on our own. He won’t even let us donate. Ellie needs her sister back, and we need our daughter. Please, help us. I don’t want to explain to Ellie why Karen isn’t coming home.”
Resistance crumbled in the face of such a desperate plea. The Tyler family left with Lina Galen and Agent Baker to record the special for the evening news. Ann, Patrick, and Detective Wickerman stayed in the conference room to brainstorm angles of investigation.
“We need a new plan of attack. I don’t like waiting for him to make the next move,” said Ann, summarizing their situation.
“We have people watching the website, dissecting the phones given to the Tylers, and analyzing the video communications, but it’s going to take time to get answers from those angles,” Patrick reported. “The Tylers didn’t detect any hidden meaning in Karen’s personal message, but I noticed she mentioned the word ‘near’ quite a few times.”
“The time between Karen’s disappearance and first contact from the kidnappers was only a few hours,” Ann mused. “That likely means she’s being held somewhere in that range. We have people looking through satellite images for likely hiding spots, but there are too many wooded areas to make that method effective. What did you find on your end?”
“I interviewed Karen’s friends, former teachers, acquaintances, and extended family members, but it’s got the markings of a stranger kidnapping,” said Wickerman. “What’s next?”
“We’ll have to assign people to sort through the tips that come in after the special tonight.” Ann jotted a note to herself to handle that task.
“This guy did everything but outright challenge us,” said Patrick. “He wants us to track him down, but I’m not sure why.”
“It could just be the thrill of taunting law enforcement,” Wickerman pointed out.
“Maybe, but it seems more personal,” Patrick insisted.
“I know you’ve been over the Green case more times than you care to recall, detective,” said Ann, “but perhaps you should take another look at it with the facts from the Tyler case in the back of your mind. In fact, study the Dawson case too. Maybe by switching we’ll gain new insights on these matters.”
“I could probably use the refresher course anyway,” commented Wickerman. “It was really Finney’s case. I think it was the last major case he worked on. We don’t get many big cases around here.”
A knock on the door halted the conversation.
“It’s open,” called Wickerman.
Officer Porter stuck his head inside.
“Sorry to interrupt, but a large package arrived for you, Donny. There’s no return address. Stanley just noticed it sitting by the front door.”
Ann exchanged a worried glance with Patrick and Wickerman. They collectively leapt from their seats and bolted from the conference room, nearly knocking Porter off his feet.
“It’s from the kidnapper.” Patrick knelt to study the simple inscription.
To Detective Donald Wickerman, Ed. PD.
Time Sensitive. Open Immediately.
Ann agreed with Patrick but said nothing.
“Do you think it’s a bomb?” wondered Wickerman, thinking out loud. He tried to insert some lightness into his tone, but it came out flat and serious.
“It’s too light to be a bomb,” said Officer Porter, following them outside. “Stanley picked it up and shook it already.” He rolled his eyes. “That lady’s lucky to be alive. She lacks the common sense God gave squirrels.”
“You should all go back inside in case it’s something poisonous,” suggested Wickerman.
“Not his style,” said Patrick with more confidence than Ann felt.
“Your funeral.” Wickerman pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took out a penknife to deal with the packing tape. Once he cut through the tape, he carefully opened the flaps and removed some sealed packets of air used for shipping. Beneath the packing material, he found a large teddy bear dressed in a policeman’s uniform.
Ann felt her heart rate increase even before Detective Wickerman removed the tiny police jacket and turned the bear over. The bear’s hat fell into the box, landing upside down on more packets of air. The place where the bear should have been sewn together in the back had been slit open. In addition to normal stuffing, the bear contained a thick packet of pictures. Wickerman’s expression grew grimmer as he flipped through the photos. A large portion of the pictures featured a plain, slightly plump woman with dark brown hair and a pleasant countenance. Some showed a tiny house from several angles. The largest portion by far focused on a boy about eight or nine years old. By this time, Wickerman’s jaw was clenched so hard Ann expected his teeth to start cracking like fireworks.
“Your wife and son, I presume,” said Patrick.
A curt nod confirmed it.
“I guess that makes the challenge official then,” Patrick noted wearily.
Wickerman looked ready to rip the teddy bear’s head off. A chime from within the bear prompted Wickerman to reach deep inside and pull out a black cell phone containing one new text message: 3 days 2 decide who survives. Drop case = Josh lives. The small screen split into a tiny image of Karen Tyler and Wickerman’s son. The screen then changed to another view of Wickerman’s house. They stared as the image rhythmically rose and fell.
Wickerman dropped the phone and the bear and dashed to his car.
That image is live!
Chapter 12:
Odd Jobs
Edinboro Police Station to Wickerman Residence
Edin
boro to Albion, Pennsylvania
“You or me?” Ann Duncan asked her husband as they watched Detective Wickerman’s car scream out of the lot with flashing lights.
“You.” Patrick tossed her the car keys. “I’ll question the officers here about the package.”
Catching the keys, Ann turned to Officer Ralph Porter.
“I need Wickerman’s address right now.”
“We usually don’t—”
“Make an exception,” Patrick barked.
“You’ve got an armed, angry cop on his way to confront somebody who’s been spying on his house,” Ann said, leveling a frosty gaze at Porter. “How well do you think that’s going to go over?”
Porter reluctantly gave Ann the address. He pulled out his wallet, checked the emergency contact cards, found the right one, and rattled off the Albion address.
Hoping the locals wouldn’t stop her for speeding, Ann liberally applied the gas pedal as she followed the GPS directions to Wickerman’s house. Less than twenty minutes later, she arrived on the right street in time to watch Wickerman draw his gun and approach a dented tan Toyota Corolla from the passenger side. Ann parked behind Wickerman’s car, checked to see that the road was clear, and hopped out.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!” Wickerman ordered the driver. He waited, tense as a threatened rattler. “Now, slowly unlock the car and get out.” His voice held a tad less panic but a lot more ill-will.
“Detective,” Ann called softly.
“Stay out of this.” Wickerman didn’t bother looking at her. “Get out of the car now!”
The locks clicked and the driver’s door slowly swung open. Detective Wickerman moved to a better position to keep a clear line of sight on the driver.
“You’re making a mistake,” said the short man, keeping his hands raised and moving slowly as instructed. He wore dress slacks and a polo shirt. “I’m a private investigator.”
“Place your hands on the door frame,” Wickerman instructed.
The Keres Case (Heartfelt Cases Book 4) Page 9