The Silent Child Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Kidnapping Mysteries

by Roger Hayden

  Knight noticed a growing crowd on the street, watching the house. A man with a ball cap walked by the crowd with a small dog on a leash. He didn't so much as glance toward the house, which Knight found strange. As he watched the man, they soon made eye contact. The man quickly looked away and kept walking.

  “Earth to Charles,” Slater said, waving his hand past Knight's face. “What's the scoop?”

  Knight stopped looking at the dog walker. “Brittany Owens, eleven, reported missing from her bedroom this morning. Window was unlocked, and the screen was found in the grass below. There are also ladder markings in the ground.”

  “You sure she didn't just sneak out?” Slater asked.

  “The thought crossed my mind, but no. Where would a child go in the middle of the night?”

  Slater scratched his chin, thinking. “The skating rink?”

  Knight leaned closer and buttoned his partner's collar, pulling his tie tighter. “Very funny.” He then turned away and moved quickly down the driveway, calling Slater to follow him.

  “Where are you going, hotshot?” Slater asked, pointing back toward the house.

  Knight stopped on the road and signaled to the small crowd gathered behind a recently placed police barrier in the street. “You go talk to them. See what they know. Take notes, names.” He turned to see the dog walker continuing down the sidewalk across the street. “I'll be back.” He and Slater split up and went their separate ways. Knight followed the dog walker, waving his badge at the man to make him stop. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Detective Knight. I'd like to have a word.”

  The man slowed and turned, slightly confused. His small dog pulled against the leash, sniffing grass. It looked like a Yorkshire terrier. The man didn't run, which was good for them both. Knight didn't feel like having a foot pursuit. It would be murder on his knees. The man wore a blue jogging suit and sneakers. He was skinny and looked fit, but there was also a certain aloofness that had drawn Knight’s suspicion.

  “You live around here?” Knight asked.

  The man faced Knight as his dog hopped around. “A few houses down, yes.”

  “Can I have your name, please?” Knight asked.

  The man glanced at him with slight hesitation and spoke. “Dale Schultz.”

  “Are you familiar with the Owens family?” Knight continued.

  “Yeah...” he answered with slight uncertainty. “Haven't spoken to them in a while, but my wife and I did go to their barbecue about a year ago.”

  “They had a break-in last night.”

  Schultz observed the police cars surrounding the house. “Are they okay?”

  “Yes and no,” Knight said. “Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?”

  Schultz stared at the Owens house, seeming puzzled. “Last night?”

  “Yes.” Knight bent over to pat the dog’s head. “Which house is yours, if you don't mind me asking?” he asked.

  “That one there,” Schultz said, pointing past him to the third blue house on the right. He then paused as though something had come to him. The terrier barked at his heels and then scurried down the sidewalk as far as it could go. “I walked Max last night, a little after midnight. I thought it was weird at the time.”

  “What was weird?” Knight asked, stepping closer.

  “Yeah... now that I think of it, there was a car circling the block. Had this rumbling muffler, not the most discreet sound in the world.”

  “You have a more specific time?” Knight asked.

  “Twelve, twelve thirty,” Schultz said. His eyes widened as though more information had just struck him like a brick to the head. “You know what? I saw that same car circle the block at least three times. And it did seem to slow down in front of the Owens house.”

  Knight stood back, concealing his excitement. “Did you catch a license plate?”

  Schultz shook his head. “Nah. Wasn't trying to. Couldn't see inside either, because the windows were tinted. And then, around two thirty last night, I was in bed with the wife, and I heard that same loud muffler pass by our house. Can't say for sure if it was the same car, but it sure sounded like it.”

  Knight couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Do you have a make and a model?”

  Schultz thought to himself again as his terrier yipped for attention. “Just a minute, Max.” He paused. “Looked like a Cadillac out of a mobster movie.”

  “What else?” Knight asked.

  “It had a dark red, glossy paint,” Schultz said with confidence. He then placed his hand onto his forehead. “Looked like a 1980s model.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the car?”

  “I couldn't see a thing through the windows,” he answered.

  A Cadillac circling a quiet neighborhood in the middle of the night could be a lead, or it could mean absolutely nothing. Knight reached into his pocket and then handed Schultz his card, thanking him. “If there's anything else that comes to mind, you let me know. The Owens family is counting on you.”

  “Sure will.” Schultz took the card and turned away, resuming his walk.

  Knight returned to the street scene, where he found Slater talking to a woman in workout clothes. She brushed her hair back with concern as Slater handed her his card. “Keep your windows and doors locked, and if you see anything, feel free to call me.”

  “Is it true a girl was kidnapped?” an elderly woman asked, approaching them, and despite the heat, wearing a jacket closed all the way up to her neck.

  “Brittany Owens, right?” a concerned mother asked.

  “Ladies, please,” Knight began with his hands up. “We're investigating the matter now and will let you know everything as soon as we can.” He paused to catch his breath, aware of their piercing, inquisitive eyes. “If there's anything you can tell us that might be helpful, please let me know.”

  A curly-haired woman in baggy T-shirt and sweatpants stepped forward, livid. “Another girl kidnapped? Are you going to find her?”

  Knight nodded in understanding and kept his voice calm and authoritative. “We're doing our best, ma'am. That is why we need the community to report on anything suspicious.”

  Murmurs followed among the small group. Knight backed into the Owens's driveway, keeping the women at a careful distance as they followed, almost up to the crime tape. Suddenly everyone froze as a speeding car emerged from up the street. Its engine blared as it got closer. It barreled down the road, flashing past homes and trees. with no sign of slowing down. Knight waved his arms at the women to move out of the road and onto the sidewalk.

  They gradually dispersed as the car swerved closer, slamming its brakes to a halt in front of the Owens house. A man hopped out of the car and charged toward the house with his tie fluttering in the wind. Such clear panic meant that Brittany's father, Paul Owens, had arrived. Knight and Slater followed him up the driveway but failed to get his attention as he rushed inside.

  Slater stopped near the Camry, hesitant to follow. “The father, I'm assuming.”

  “Yep,” Knight said. “Did you get any useful info?”

  Slater nodded as he glanced onto his notepad, squinting. “One woman mentioned seeing a car circling the neighborhood late last night. A Cadillac.”

  Knight spun around to face him, eyes wide. “What color?”

  Slater studied the scribbles that comprised words. “I believe she said gray.” He then looked up at Knight, satisfied. “Yes, gray.”

  “I heard red,” Knight said. “We'll get an all-points out for a 1980s Cadillac, and then we can narrow it down from there.”

  They continued toward the house just as the father rushed inside. His voice roared from the living room, demanding to speak to his wife. Knight heard the other officers try to calm him down.

  Knight walked through the foyer, entering the living room and raising his voice with an announcement. “I need everyone to clear out except forensics and investigators.” The room quieted down as he continued. “Go out there and find a 1980s Cadill
ac. The color is in dispute right now, but any Cadillac will do.” Low chatter followed as police officers began to shuffle outside of the house. Paul Owens stood in the living room, hugging his son. Knight approached and introduced himself with a handshake.

  “We're going to do everything we can to find your daughter.”

  Paul turned to him with his arms around his son. “She's really gone? Who took her, and why?”

  “We're trying to find that out,” Knight said.

  “Where's my wife?” he said, releasing Kyle.

  Knight glanced over Paul's shoulder and saw Carol still on the back patio with Deputy Gibbs. “She's talking to an officer right now. We need any information you can—”

  Paul stepped away the moment he noticed his wife and rushed to the porch. Knight remained in the living room, intent on giving the couple a moment. Once on the patio, he rushed to embrace Carol, lifting her from her chair and leaving Sergeant Gibbs to sit awkwardly to the side. After a few tearful minutes together, they all returned to the living room. Kyle sat back on the couch, flipping through the television channels. Knight took the remote and turned the set off. Paul said to both Knight and Slater, “She couldn't have gone far,” sounding as though he was sure of it. The parents drifted back outside again.

  Slater paced the living room and then walked upstairs. Knight glanced toward the parents, still holding onto each other. A hand suddenly tapped on his shoulder. Knight turned around to see Sergeant Morales standing behind him. “The captain wants you back at the station when you have a moment.”

  He then handed Knight a handheld radio. “They want an update as well.”

  Knight turned the knob to the crackle and static of their frequency. He then led Morales toward the foyer, speaking in confidence. “I'll leave here shortly. Just want a word with the parents.” He left Morales's side and headed for the back patio without another word. He opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside. Paul turned from his seat to address Knight. And he wasn't happy.

  “Why are you not out there finding my daughter?”

  Knight calmly approached the table, sticking to his questions. “Do either of you know someone who drives a 1980s Cadillac?”

  Paul and Carol looked at each other, confused. “I have no idea,” Paul answered first.

  Knight sat at the table next to Gibbs. “What do we have so far in names of contractors who have been to the house?”

  Gibbs referred to her notepad. “Mrs. Owens listed Evergreen Lawn Care, Zapper Pest Control, Massey Real Estate, and Evans Brothers Painting Service so far.” She turned to Carol. “Is that right?”

  “That's all I can remember” she said, exhausted.

  “What are you trying to determine here?” Paul asked, skeptical.

  “They think it's someone who's been here before,” Carol answered.

  Knight clarified. “This appears to be a premeditated crime.” He then offered a caveat. “Someone familiar with your house and your daughter is the most likely scenario.”

  Their silence indicated an understanding, but they didn’t have anything else to offer.

  “Keep talking to them,” Knight told Gibbs. “I'll be back shortly.”

  Knight then excused himself and returned inside. Slater was in the living room, staring at the TV, back on again, where the kidnapping was being reported. Word was getting out.

  “Let's go see what the captain wants,” he told Slater.

  “Where is he?” Slater asked, focused on the TV.

  “At the station.”

  Slater scoffed as Knight walked outside toward his car. It was going to be a long day. Two girls were missing, and they had no evidence of a connection. They had a car description, vague as it was, but a start. Now they needed to find out who was driving it.

  4

  Outsider

  The mood inside the station was tense. Knight and Slater passed through the lobby and headed for their offices, ignoring the wall-mounted TVs with the local news playing in unison. Their offices inside the Investigations Department were relatively quiet. They had a modest team overall amid a county precinct. Captain Marshall's office was down at the end of a row of cubicles. His door was closed, and its frosted windows gave no indication if he was inside. But Knight knew better. He rarely left the office.

  Slater hung his coat over the chair of his cluttered desk and attempted to fix his bed-pressed hair with a small brush. Knight placed his coat over his own chair in the opposite corner and noticed his partner's nervousness.

  “Don't worry, he just wants an update.”

  “I feel like he has it in for me lately,” Slater said, adjusting his tie.

  Knight laughed. “You're sounding a bit paranoid these days, Simon.”

  The captain's door suddenly swung open as a lieutenant stepped out and hurried away from the office, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Tell Knight and Slater to get their asses in here!” the unseen captain shouted from inside.

  The lieutenant passed them with a brief nod and kept going. Knight glanced at his partner with a smile. “Time to face the music.”

  Slater jammed a piece of gum into his mouth and ran his hands through his hair one last time. Knight was long past caring what supervisors thought of him. He had never received a negative evaluation and prided himself on an impressive record that involved no sucking up. And he wasn't about to start now. Slater, however, was on thin ice as of late.

  “Hurry up!” Marshall shouted as though they hadn't heard him the first time.

  Knight walked inside the carpeted office as Slater followed, closing the door behind him. They stood quiet as the captain loomed over paperwork on his desk, pen in hand. He was a few years younger and was steadily moving up in the ranks, nearing his promotion to major. Normally, he'd offer them a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. That morning, however, was an exception.

  “Another missing girl,” he began, voice deep and his eyes still down on his paperwork. “And here I am wondering why the Sarah Riley case is still open.” His patchy, graying hair showed signs of baldness. He pushed in his square-frame glasses that were almost too big for his face. He had large, inquisitive eyes that never let up in their skepticism.

  He looked up at them in near amusement, clicking his pen. A thin black tie ran from his collar, down his shirt, and ended precisely at the top of his brass belt. “I expect results from you two for a reason. Your experience in the field is second to none.”

  “We appreciate the vote of confidence, sir,” Slater chimed in.

  “That's enough from you,” Marshall said, raising his voice. He then looked down at his notes and continued. “We can assume that this Owens girl has been kidnapped. We can, and we will. The stakes are too high not to.” He paused with a long sigh as the air conditioner hummed and cool air flowed from the ceiling vents. “I'd expected a breakthrough by now with Sarah Riley, but reviewing your logs for the past week shows that you two haven't done squat.”

  Knight put one hand up. “Sir, if I may—”

  “No, you may not,” the captain said, cutting him off. “Just listen.” He leaned back in his chair, moving his mouse. “Knight, you were M.I.A. last week. Several days, actually.”

  “I told you that I had medical appointments,” Knight said. He had told Marshall of his appointments weeks in advance, and here the captain was throwing it in his face. “They're mandatory. You know that.”

  Sensing Knight was correct, Marshall then shifted his ire to Slater, who had wisely kept his mouth shut for the most part. “We barely see you around here anymore. Are you on an extended vacation?”

  Slater spoke with clear resentment. “Despite some minor personal issues, I've been doing my job just fine, thank you.”

  “Two months, Detective!” the captain shouted, leaning forward with two fingers displayed. “That's how long I've been hearing this excuse. Your partner here has stuck up for you enough times, and I've let things go for long enough. Get your shit together
or stop wasting our time.” He paused for a moment and studied them, hand on his chin. Knight glanced at the large oak bookcase behind him. Its many shelves were filled with books, certificates, and photos. The wall next to it was adorned with plaques. Captain Marshall was never one to hide his achievements in law enforcement.

  “This goes for the both of you, and don't forget it,” he continued. “You're not going to float your way to retirement. I won't allow it. And if I must reprimand you both, that's what I'll do. Are we clear?”

  Knight and Slater glanced at each other and then back to the captain in understanding. As unfair as their ass-chewing sounded, there was no denying there was a certain level of truth to it.

  “Clear, sir,” Knight said.

  “Good,” the captain said, clasping his hands. “What do you have so far for me?”

  Unprepared, Knight dug into his coat pocket for his notepad. As he flipped through the mess of pages, he recalled that most of his notes had been recorded and not written down. But he still knew what the captain needed to hear. “We've got two witnesses who corroborated seeing a 1980s Cadillac circling the neighborhood late last night. There's a dispute on the color, and no license plate was reported, but we put out an APB.”

  The captain nodded with a blank expression, far from impressed. “No license plate? Wonderful.”

  Slater stepped forward. “We've narrowed the abduction down to between two and four in the morning.”

  Knight then said, “I've talked with the girl's parents. We're compiling a list of individuals who frequented the house the past month, from electricians to roofers to lawn maintenance.”

  Sipping from his coffee mug, Marshall turned to his computer screen and began typing. “Sometimes, gentlemen, the answers are right in front of us. I've taken some initiative with this case, including what information we're releasing to the media. And just because I'm behind a desk, don't assume I'm not engaged.” He set his coffee mug down and pressed a button on his office phone. “Cheryl, please send her in.”

  “Yes sir,” Cheryl's voice said over the speaker. He hung up and left Knight and Slater to wonder. As he resumed typing, he attempted to elaborate, though his eyes didn't leave the screen. “I've reached out for some outside help, gentlemen. Not that I don't have full confidence in your abilities.”