Capturing Angels

by V. C. Andrews

  I stared at the door. People walked past me, some gazing oddly at me because I was just standing there staring at the entrance. A stout older woman, not watching where she was going, knocked into me. She started to apologize and then, maybe because of something she saw in my face, just walked away. Even people coming out almost paused when they looked at me. I must have appeared quite terrified. Why did I come here? I asked myself, and I had started to turn away when I heard someone say, “Mrs. Clark?”

  I turned to see Lieutenant Abraham coming toward me on my left. He was carrying a bag filled with a purchase he had made at a men’s clothing store. I stared at him so long that he paused and said, “Lieutenant Abraham. Sam Abraham.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry. Of course, I know who you are. I was just . . . shocked to hear anyone say my name.”

  He nodded, holding his smile. “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head. He lost his smile and stepped closer. Then he looked from me to the department-store entrance and back to me.

  “Why are you standing here like this? Were you in the store? Did you just come out?”

  “No. I wanted to go in, but I just reached this point and couldn’t go any farther,” I said. “This is the first time I’ve returned to this mall. I was hoping . . . I don‘t know what I was hoping.”

  “Oh.” He thought a moment. “How about we get a cup of coffee?” He nodded at the café three stores down on our right. “Maybe if you just sit for a while.”

  I started to say no and then looked at him. Did he have something to tell me? Was the FBI trying to get hold of me that very moment? I shuddered, struggling to speak.

  “They haven’t found her or found any clues or—”

  “No, nothing I know about. I’ve kept myself informed on the case,” he said. “C’mon.” He put his arm on mine. “Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

  I nodded and let him lead me to the café. We took a table in the far right corner and both ordered lattes.

  He pointed to his bag. “I desperately needed some new shirts. When it comes to buying things for myself, I’m the world’s best procrastinator.”

  “I can’t imagine when I would even think of something new for myself,” I said.

  He nodded. “I wish I could have remained full-time on your daughter’s disappearance, but once the FBI took over, I had trouble defending more time.”

  “They have been a great disappointment,” I said. “When you hear it’s the FBI, you think of super detectives or something.”

  “Well, they’re pretty good most of the time. They do a lot. I know local police are supposed to resent them coming in and taking control, as if we were inexperienced or incompetent, but they do bring a great deal to the table.” He leaned toward me. “Don’t tell any L.A. cop I said that.”

  I smiled. Seeing him there was somewhat shocking, but it didn’t bring the sort of dread I could have associating anything or anyone with that dreadful day.

  “I understand what you’re saying, but they’re still a disappointment to me.”

  “To themselves as much as to you, I’m sure. They don’t like drawing a complete zero.”

  “I doubt their disappointment could be as much as mine,” I said, sipping some coffee. “Nothing came of that Santa Claus thing?”

  “I’ve gone over and over that.” He drank some of his coffee and looked at me like someone who had something else to say.

  “What?”

  “It’s a wild theory. It presupposes so much.”

  “What?”

  “Santa is quite a distraction for any little boy or girl your daughter’s age. Kids are comfortable around Santa. I mean, we hope every parent warns her children about strangers these days, but you don’t hear of anyone warning them against Santa.”

  “So?”

  He hesitated and then leaned toward me again. I felt as if I were falling into his eyes.

  “So, what if even though this guy didn’t take your daughter’s hand and lead her away, he was responsible for it? I mean deliberately so. What if he was meant to appear and then someone else told your daughter that Santa wanted to speak to her or Santa was leading her back to you? It’s a hard thing for a kid to turn down.”

  “Sort of a decoy?”

  “Yes, exactly,” he said. “He took her mind off you and whoever was able to get her to go along. It’s crazy to even think of it, I know. Some might call it fantasy police work.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too premeditated,” he said. “It presupposes that someone expected that there would be an opportunity. That is, if it was indeed your Mary they were after and no one else. Of course, they might have just been waiting for an opportunity with any child who fit the bill.”

  “I see,” I said with some disappointment dripping from my lips.

  He shrugged. “That’s how you get sometimes when you’re in my line of work and run up against walls and more walls. You start to envision what a more intelligent thief or killer or—”

  “Kidnapper?”

  “Or kidnapper might come up with. I’m afraid it would lead us nowhere.”

  I stared at him for a moment. The memory of the softness in his eyes, his compassion, and what I felt was extra-special care when he had first come to see about Mary at the mall began to return.

  “Did you try the idea out on your friend at the FBI, Agent Joseph?”

  “I mentioned it. I can’t blame him for putting it on some back burner or in some file.”

  “Suppose you had charge of the investigation, though. What would you have done with the idea?”

  “This is wrong,” he suddenly said, sitting back. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Suggesting wild ideas to a woman who is obviously desperate. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I had no business doing it.”

  “Why did you do it, then?”

  He started to shake his head.

  “No, tell me.”

  “It was quite a surprise seeing you here just now. I haven’t forgotten you. I mean, your pain and your suffering.”

  “Do you always take such a personal interest in the victims of crimes you investigate?” I asked.

  I locked my eyes on his.

  “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to sound so aggressive. I do appreciate it.”

  He nodded, sipped some more coffee, and looked away. I found myself studying him. He wasn’t as handsome as John. Few men were, but there was something more attractive about the lines in his face, something manlier about him. He looked tough, hard, competitive, but he could soften and be tender, too, I thought.

  He turned back to me, and we just looked at each other, neither knowing what else to say.

  Then he smiled. “How are things otherwise?”

  “Well, my girlfriends treat me as if I’m a time bomb. My parents can’t visit or call without crying. I’m practically shriveling up at home, and then, to top it off, my mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly recently.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry.”

  “Yes. I don’t know how to say this without it sounding unfeeling, but it was only a short period when I wasn’t thinking about Mary, and I was glad when it was over, the wake, the funeral, the burial and period of mourning, so I could get back to agonizing over Mary’s abduction. I didn’t dislike my mother-in-law, but John returned to work rather quickly, so I felt I had permission to put the sadness involving his mother to bed.”

  “How’s his father?”

  “He’s started playing golf and is so into it that I’m not sure he even knows his wife died.” I paused. “That was a mean thing to say. I shouldn’t have.”

  Sam Abraham smiled. “I remember when you told me your father was addicted to golf.”

  “John
says there are a lot of widows with husbands who fell deeper in love with golf. My mother might agree.”

  Sam Abraham nodded. “So, things are okay with you and your husband? I’m sorry,” he added immediately. “That’s out of order.”

  “I’m sure you know from experience what often happens when a couple suffers a similar tragedy. They often take it out on each other. Right?”

  He nodded.

  “John wanted me to go into therapy again. He even located a new therapist, a female who supposedly specializes in my problem and was recommended by our doctor, so that I could get new medication.”

  “You never did?”

  “No. Maybe I should have, but it just seemed like . . .”

  “Like what?” he asked. I could see that he was genuinely interested and not asking questions just to pass the time and get this unexpected meeting ended.

  “Like accepting. Do you understand? Can you understand? I want to keep on suffering. It keeps hope alive for me. Drugs, therapists, friends with good intentions, vacations, anything that would mitigate that, seem too much like giving up on Mary.”

  “I never heard it put that way, but I do understand. In a funny way, I admire your courage or, rather, your willingness to continue in full-blown suffering and pain.”

  “Well, you’re the first to do that,” I said, sipping my coffee.

  “It’s also quite understandable for someone to want to go the other way. Don’t misunderstand me.”

  “Right.” There was another one of those pregnant pauses between us, both of us struggling to find something else meaningful to say or ask. I nodded at the bag containing his purchases.

  “I guess you’re still a bachelor, shopping for yourself.”

  “Yes, I’m almost hopeless when it comes to romance and marriage.”

  “That devotion to your work?”

  “You remember.” He smiled appreciatively. “Yes.”

  “My husband has a more traditional devotion, to his church, his God.”

  “His God? Not your God, too?”

  “We’re not getting the same messages from the Bible these days.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “As I said, John thinks I need therapy. Sitting here with you and telling you these things feels like therapy. I don’t mind it, either.”

  “Hey. Sometimes all you need in this world is a good listener, a sincere listener, not necessarily a professional.”

  “Yes,” I said. We stared at each other a moment, and I finished my coffee.

  “Do you want to try again?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Going into that store? I’ll walk in there with you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you should,” he said. “I think you need to do that.” He reached out and touched my hand. “I’ll be right beside you.”

  I thought for a moment and then nodded. He paid for our coffees, and we both rose.

  “Don’t forget your bag,” I told him. He looked as if he was going to do just that.

  “Thanks.”

  He took my arm, and we started out of the café. I knew I was moving, but from my neck down, my body seemed to grow numb. It seemed to disappear. I slowed down, nearly stopping completely.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just a department store.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll see.”

  I nodded but leaned heavily on him. He sensed it and put his arm around my waist. I imagined that to other people, it might have looked as if he was carrying me into the store.

  He reached out to open the door and looked at me.

  Without any prodding, he said, “I’m sure your daughter is still alive.”

  7

  Lifeline

  The store wasn’t as busy as it would be during a holiday period, but there was enough going on to give me the feeling that I’d had back in November. The same saleslady was behind the jewelry counter. I didn’t see the same floor manager or either of the two security guards. For a few moments, I just stood there fighting to regain my composure.

  Sam Abraham sensed it. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” I said, and he stepped back.

  I stood there thinking for a few moments. Now that I was long past the hysteria of the moment, it all seemed clearer. I experienced a gradual focusing that helped me better understand what actually had happened. The women’s jewelry counter was directly across from the entrance. A mere dozen steps would take me there, and I had been moving very quickly. I had been in one of those Let’s get it over with states of mind. My purchase was more like fulfilling an obligation. I had a gift list to fulfill, but except for the gifts I bought Mary, John, and Margaret Sullivan, everything else was more like a chore.

  My clearer vision of the store itself was accompanied by a clearer memory of what had transpired. I nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  “What?” Sam Abraham asked.

  “I was thinking this before, but now I’m positive. I let go of her hand as soon as we came up the escalator,” I told him. “She was pulling to get free. Mary liked to feel more grown up and independent. I realize exactly when I let go now.”

  “I see. So, it’s possible that someone or something distracted her from there to the entrance of the department store.”

  “And I didn’t realize it until I was already at the counter and finally looked down to see what she was doing.”

  “Makes more sense. What was confusing to all of us was how quickly someone snatched her outside the entrance. According to what you’re saying now, there was more time for the abductors to act.”

  “And the reason people here didn’t see her with me?”

  “Exactly. Let’s go back out there,” he said, and led me out to the escalators.

  I didn’t know what he expected to find, but he studied the area with an intensity that caused my heart to beat quickly again. For the first time, I felt as if Mary’s abduction really was being investigated. He turned and looked at the corridors of the mall and then at the escalators again. I saw him nod in agreement with his own thoughts.

  “What?” I asked.

  He held up his hand for my patience and turned around to look back down the escalator.

  “Well, what if our Santa came along just at this place in the mall? It’s possible he came up the escalator right before you and Mary did and stood just off to the side to wait for the two of you to appear.”

  “You mean, you think he was waiting for us in the parking garage below?”

  “Something like that, yes. So, he comes up first. Some people see him, but that’s why not many see him and certainly why no one in any store remembers him.”

  “But whoever he was, he would have to know I was coming here, right? This would have to be a well-planned-out abduction.”

  “Maybe. As I said in the café, maybe he wasn’t out to get Mary per se. Maybe he was out to get any little girl, or I should say he and whoever was working with him. It could be that she just happened unfortunately to be the little girl of choice at this particular moment, a girl who presented them with the opportunity.”

  “So, she was the victim of a random kidnapping?”

  “Not random, exactly. This mall, places like this, are where people like that hunt for prey. There are more things distracting parents and many things distracting children. It’s a matter of where the best opportunities are.”

  “People who sell children in Mexico?”

  “No one ignored that possibility, and I don’t want to ignore it now, of course, but remember that your daughter’s photo and information went to border crossings and even to law enforcement in Mexico, for what that’s worth.”

  “I see. So, if that happened, you’re not optimisti
c that we’d get her back.” I shook off the pessimism and returned to what he was saying. “Santa spots us, sees Mary. Then what?”

  “Well, as you said, you come up and turn toward the department store. He steps away from a storefront nearby and approaches the moment you let go of Mary. She’s fascinated with the sight of him, so she lingers behind, and as you said, you didn’t notice that she was not beside you until you were in the store. He reaches out for her hand or . . . no,” he said, shaking his head and letting the air out of his conjecture. “That’s not enough. There has to be something more,” he added as if he was a producer listening to a writer pitch him a story.

  “What are you thinking? What more?”

  “I’m thinking she has to go down the escalator after him. If he takes her hand and pulls her or scoops her up, she would probably cry out, and you would hear.”

  “Go after him on her own?” I shook my head, sinking back into disappointment with his theory. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave me, and I would have realized all that. I wasn’t on any medication,” I said.

  He nodded. “I know. You’re right. That leaves a hole here, but boy, if it happened that way, no one would recall seeing a little girl with Santa Claus and . . .”

  I looked down the escalator toward the parking-lot entrances. “And she’d be down there and swept away very quickly while I was entering the store and going to the counter.”

  He looked at me. “Yes, exactly. That’s why it seemed as if she had literally disappeared. A lot of time was wasted while the security guards ran around the department store and then later, when they and the mall security were searching the mall. The parking-lot staff is all at the exit gates and informed about Mary, but by the time our Santa approaches the gates, he’s out of the costume. That’s why no one at the gates recalls a Santa Claus, but that’s also why there has to be at least two involved. He couldn’t drive and keep her subdued.”