by Jake Parent
“Do you know his name?”
She had to think for a minute, and then remembered.
“Rick Atkins.”
The cop wrote it down and closed the notebook. He stood, pulling his heavy belt over his gut.
“Well, I guess I’ll go see if he’s home.”
He said something into the radio on his shoulder as he walked out.
Cristina was alone. Not just in the living room, but in her heart. In the world. She felt empty inside. A sense of loss deeper than anything she’d ever experienced.
If something bad happened to her sweet, beautiful daughter, she didn’t think she could live.
Her eyes drifted toward the hallway closet as she began to cry.
62
The weathered detective who showed up a few minutes later was serious. His face stern, almost angry. The front door was cracked open and he walked into the house like he’d been there before.
Cristina was still in tears.
“Hello, Ms. Rodriguez,” he said. “I’m Tony Myers, a detective with the PPPD. Can I get you something? Water maybe?”
She couldn’t answer, still fighting to regain her composure.
He went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and some tissues. Cristina blew her nose and wiped the corners of her eyes.
The detective sat patiently across from her.
After a few moments, Cristina calmed herself enough to take a few sips.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He looked at her, a deep sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t be. You don’t need to be sorry for anything. We’re going to find your daughter, OK?”
“OK. I just feel so helpless.”
“You’re doing great, Ms. Rodriguez. Do you feel up to having a little conversation with me?”
“Yes,” she said, drawing on the inner-strength she’d inherited from her grandmother. “I’m OK. I’ll do whatever you need. I want to do something. And, please, call me Cristina.”
“OK, Cristina.” He took out a pen and a small notebook. “And I’m Tony. Now, the patrol officer who was here gave me the basic details on the phone a few minutes ago, but I’d like to go over it all one more time with you, if that’s OK.”
Clenching the wad of tissues in her hand, she again described everything she knew, which felt to her like hardly anything at all. But at least she managed to make it through without breaking into tears.
At one point, the street cop returned and said neither of the neighbors appeared to be home. He leaned toward the detective and whispered something into his ear.
Detective Tony nodded before telling him to call in a forensics team.
“I want the whole area swept. Fine-tooth comb. We’re not going through the same bullshit again. And if the Chief or anyone else pushes back, have them call me directly. I’ll threaten to resign if I have to. But we’re not going to play any political games.”
The uniformed officer shrugged as if he didn’t really care much about all that, then went back outside to talk on the radio.
Cristina told the detective that her friends and boyfriend were already in the woods searching.
On cue, they heard the sliding glass door swoosh open.
“Cristina, come help,” Casey said from the kitchen.
She and Detective Tony looked at each other before hurrying down the hallway, where they encountered the surprising sight of Jack. One of his arms was slumped over Casey’s shoulder, the other over Dan’s. His face and hair were crusted with dried blood. When he tried to look at Cristina, his eyes wobbled inside their sockets.
“What happened?” Tony asked.
Casey spoke while they carried Jack into the living room and set him onto the couch.
“We were about to turn back when we heard him moaning for help. He looks pretty bad, but I think he’ll be OK. I’m not sure if he fell, or if someone did this to him. He hasn’t really said anything.” Casey got on his knees, eyelevel with the older man. “Are you OK, Jack? Can you tell us what happened? I think he hit his head.”
Tony yelled outside for the street cop to call an ambulance.
Jack blinked his eyes distantly. His voice was grave and weak.
“I saw them,” he said.
“Saw who, Jack?” Cristina asked frantically. “Anise? Anthony?”
He weakly nodded and said, “I saw her on the trail with a man I hadn’t seen before . . . he was holding her under his arm. She didn’t seem happy about it. I tried to stop him, Cristina. But he hit me over the head with something hard and I went down.” He held a hand to his skull and winced. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get her back for you.”
She knelt down and wiped his face with a wet towel. In addition to the coppery smell of blood, Jack stank like someone who’d been exerting himself heavily.
Fear, she thought. That’s what fear smells like.
She said, “It’s going to be OK, Jack. We’re going to get her back.”
“The search team is already being deployed,” Tony said from behind. “Don’t worry, we know what to do.” And then, almost to himself, “I’ve spent a lot of time in these woods.”
63
The world seemed to be both standing still and moving at a million miles a minute.
By noon, there were more than fifty law enforcement officials on the scene. About a dozen of them were combing the house and the surrounding property. The others had disappeared into the woods. Some with dogs. At least two helicopters were in the air. Every so often one zoomed overhead, although Cristina doubted they could see anything through the thick tree canopy.
Tío Alberto and Casey tried to console Cristina. Even Aba sat next to her on the couch, patting her back. Nothing any of them said or did made her feel any better. All she could do was stare at the clock, watching the minutes tick by, while her emotions oscillated between sadness and rage.
She was mad at the entire world, including Casey, who she yelled at more than once to get the hell out of her face and go find Anise. But she could tell he was afraid to leave her side. After the third such outburst, Tío Alberto suggested he and Casey go get some food for everyone. It was going to be a long day and they needed their energy.
Around 1 PM, a white Channel 7 News van made its way up the driveway and parked in front of the house. The cop who’d taken Cristina’s statement earlier blocked them from coming into the yard.
Aba stumbled her cancer-weakened body out onto the front step. She raised an arthritic fist into the air and yelled at the news crew to “get the fuck off the property” or she was going to “kick the living shit out of every last one of them.”
Regardless of the warning, the male reporter went live from close enough that Cristina could hear him through the window. He gave a short, vague report about the search for a “yet unnamed girl.” But without much else to add, he spent most of his airtime rehashing the case from four years earlier.
The crew tried to hang around after the broadcast, but finally ended up leaving when the cop threatened to arrest them for trespassing.
Holding a takeout bag from In-N-Out, Casey walked in the door and told Cristina that the van was still parked at the bottom of the driveway.
“They stood in front of the car and yelled questions at us when we drove in. It was kind of crazy. I wanted to get out and smash that damn camera.”
Cristina didn’t touch her burger.
Officer Washburn called around 3 PM and said they’d located the cab driver who picked up Anthony from his building. Not much had come from it. Anthony had been dropped off near his office, but the cabbie drove away before he could see where his passenger went from there.
At 4 PM, Pleasure Point’s Chief of Police, Walt Blunderberg, called to say they were going to hold a press conference at the main station for the 6 o’clock news. They wanted Cristina there so she could make a plea for Anise’s return. The broadcast would also include the girl’s picture, which he assured her was already being distributed to every law enforcement agency in the state, includin
g the FBI, who were monitoring the situation but had not yet been brought in as part of the investigation.
He then updated her on the status of the PPPD search, adding little to what she already knew. The police were systematically covering the mountain trails in all directions, but there were several points in which Anthony could have conceivably gotten off the trail and into a vehicle.
“There are a lot of small little towns and communities as you get deeper into the woods, Ms. Rodriguez. All pretty secluded, and most of the people out there stick to themselves. On the plus side, everyone knows everyone, so there’s a good chance an unknown vehicle or person would draw attention. But, Ms. Rodriguez, I won’t lie to you. Your ex-husband had a good head start. It’s possible he could have found an exit point.”
If that was indeed the case, he added, their best bet was going to be roadblocks, which had been established all over the county.
“We’ll find your daughter, Ms. Rodriguez.”
Cristina was quickly getting sick of hearing people tell her that.
At 5:30 PM, an unmarked Crown Victoria arrived to take Cristina from her house to the police station. Casey sat next to her in the backseat, holding her hand and telling her everything was going to be OK.
On the phone, Detective Tony said that since Anthony was probably doing this to hurt her, it would be a good idea for Cristina to show as much strength as possible.
“It might take the wind out of his sails,” he said. “Right now, he’s probably tired and confused. Looking for a reason to give up.”
Cristina didn’t say anything, but she knew Anthony wouldn’t quit until he had what he wanted. And what he wanted was to punish her.
Still, she went along with what the police were doing, including reluctantly agreeing to read a prepared statement. She practiced it on the way to the station, finishing her third pass as they arrived.
At least five different news vans were parked near the steps leading up to the main entrance. Long poles topped with satellite dishes extended from their roofs, ready for live broadcast. Reporters stood in front of the building, going over lines, fixing their hair, and vying with one another for the best camera angles.
Unnoticed in the chaos, the Crown Victoria entered through a secure parking lot.
Inside, bright neon lights glowed over rows of cubicles. Cristina and Casey were shown to Detective Tony’s desk by a pleasant but hurried secretary.
A few minutes later, Tony arrived carrying a paper cup of coffee, looking preoccupied, but calm and in control.
“OK, you ready to do this?” he asked, tidying the mess of papers on his desk as they talked.
“Yes,” Cristina said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “I only have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“In the statement, there’s this section about Anise’s kidnapping being part of a domestic dispute between Anthony and me.” She pointed to the line in the text. “Do I have to say that? I mean, the way the statement is worded makes it sound like we’re still married or something. Like we had some argument and he decided to drive off with our daughter. That’s obviously not right. Anthony’s a criminal, Tony. A psychopath. There’s a reason he’s not even allowed near Anise. Or me.”
Tony took the piece of paper from her and read it as if he’d never seen it before, shaking his head at parts.
“These guys are unbelievable,” he said as he picked up a red pen and crossed the section out. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”
He looked around for a second, seeming almost paranoid.
He said, “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to have this conversation, but it looks inevitable.”
“What is?” she asked.
“You have to understand something, Cristina, and I’m going to be frank with you, because I don’t want any of this to distract from the serious work we have left to do in order to find your daughter. And we are going to find her.” He scratched his chin. “But the fact of the matter is, the longer the search for Anise goes on, the more attention the case is going to get. Already, I’ve been told that the national news organizations have reporters on their way here.”
“That’s a good thing,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
He paused, considering his words carefully.
“Let’s just say that the mayor and his friends at the Development Association will be eager to keep things as clean and quiet as possible. More than anything, it looks like they’re already particularly interested in limiting speculation regarding a connection between your case and the last investigation.”
“I just want my little girl back,” Cristina said. “I don’t give a shit about any of your politics.”
Detective Tony looked a little hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his.
He nodded.
“Don’t be. You have every right to be pissed. If it makes you feel any better, I am too. As an investigator, the last thing I want is for anyone to restrict the flow of information. All I’m interested in is the truth.”
A woman walked up to them wearing a pantsuit and holding a clipboard.
“We’re ready for you guys,” she said, smiling way too much given the gravity of what was happening.
They walked down a long hallway while Pantsuit cheerfully explained how the press conference would work. First the Mayor would speak. Then the Chief, who would provide the public with an update on the investigation, as well as information on how the community might help. Last but not least, Cristina would read her statement. After that, the Mayor and the Chief would field questions from reporters.
Pantsuit asked if Cristina needed anything clarified.
“No,” she said without emotion. “Everything is quite clear.”
When they exited the building, Cristina was assaulted by the clicks of cameras and the sound of questions being shouted. So many people were there now, it was hard to understand what any individual was saying. Worse still, the sun was low in the sky and shining directly onto the steps, preventing her from seeing clearly into the crowd.
A tall, balding man in a blue suit limply shook her hand. He offered an empty smile but said nothing. She assumed he was the Mayor, but she’d never seen him before in her life. Chief Blunderberg also shook her hand, albeit more firmly. Dressed in full regalia, he looked official. He offered his condolences and again assured her they would find Anise.
Both men were a foot taller than Cristina. She felt dwarfed.
The scene overwhelmed her senses, to the point she could barely hear what the Mayor said. From what she did manage to process, his words seemed to follow the basic format Detective Tony had predicted. Three times, he called Anise’s disappearance an “abduction grown from a domestic dispute.”
By the time Chief Blunderberg took the mic, her head had cleared enough to follow a little more closely. He too used the same “abduction grown from a domestic dispute” line, and then also made several assurances that there was absolutely no wider threat to the community. Eventually the Chief did describe what Anise looked like, and asked anyone with information to call the PPPD.
Cristina saw clearly now that this whole performance was as much about making themselves and Pleasure Point look good as it was about the search for Anise.
When it was her turn to speak, Cristina stood at the podium and considered the paper with the statement. As much as she appreciated everyone’s efforts, she wasn’t going to play their games. Without another thought, she crumpled the sheet of office stationery in her hand.
She glanced toward the edge of the steps and saw Pantsuit looking somewhat mortified. Tony stood next to her, smiling.
“OK,” Cristina began. “I’ll make this quick, because what I really want to be doing is looking for my daughter. Her name is Anise and she’s the most precious thing in the world to me. Her father took her. He’s a fucking psycho. And if I find him, I’m going to cut his fucking balls off. Since I don’t want to go to prison,
I hope all of you out there will help the police find him before that happens. Even though he deserves it. And, again, thanks for all your help.”
Reporters shouted questions and cameras clicked. But Cristina quickly turned and walked past the Mayor and his tough-on-crime scowl, past the Chief and his overgrown mustache, and past Pantsuit, who Cristina guessed was about five seconds away from having a heart attack.
Following her through the doors of the station was Detective Tony, covering a laugh with his hands.
“That was amazing,” he said when they were safely back inside. “I’ve been wanting to say something like that for twenty years. I think you’re my new hero.”
Cristina moved her lips in the motion of a smile, but her eyes showed only sadness and frustrated anger. Tony asked if she wanted to get out of there and get back to her house, before the shit really started flying.
She nodded her head, but said first there was a phone call she needed to make.
64
Special Agent Jim Canfield answered on the first ring.
“Nice speech, Cristina,” he said.
“You were watching?”
“You bet. Watching closely, in fact. I see the Mayor and old Chief Blunderberg are up to their same public relations mission.”
“Yah, I guess so.” She honestly didn’t have any available energy for vendettas or grudges or territory disputes or anything else. So she simply asked, “Do you have a way to help? I haven’t heard any useful updates from the cops, and I’m starting to think that’s because they don’t have a clue about what’s going on.”
Canfield didn’t respond at first, sounding like he might be going into another room.
Finally, he said, “Cristina, I want to assist you. I really do.” A pause. The same careful consideration of words as their last phone call. “But until I get the go-ahead, my hands are tied. I want to ask you something, though.”
“What?” she asked, more than a bit disappointed.
“Are you sure it was your ex?”
The question caught her off-guard.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”