by Roger Hayden
Knight waited for an answer as realization swept across his face, although the idea wasn’t completely new. Harris tried to elaborate as best she could. “Yes, the appearance of Detective Knight’s involvement could further propel them into making contact. A few trips to the station should get them watching. But what they won’t know is that we’re watching him too.” Knight scratched his chin as Bonnie remained standing in shock. Harris then continued. “Have you received any messages from them over the years?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They must have seen the security cameras I installed.”
“Can you come to the station later today?” she asked.
Knight scoffed as though they were moving much too fast. “Have you even discussed this plan with your superiors?”
Harris shook her head. “No, but I see no issues with a station visit. Right?” She looked at the silent couple, fully expecting Bonnie’s resistance. Instead, she sat back down next to Knight, touching his shoulder. She then said, teasing him, “Honestly, you should get out of the house. You’ve become a shut-in.”
He squeezed his lips, trying not to smile. “You’re fine with this?”.
“Not really,” she said quickly. “But if this crazy plan works, maybe you can start sleeping better at night.” Harris was equally surprised by her support. Bonnie then pointed at her and lowered her voice in an almost threatening way. “If anything happens to Charles, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“Bonnie, please—,” Knight began.
“No, that’s my condition,” she said, shushing him. “And I want them to pay you, too.”
He gave a That’s-My-Bonnie smile and turned to Harris with a nod. “Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you. I won’t take too long.”
Harris stood up and pulled out her card, handing it to him. “With a federal task force behind the plan, we can’t lose.”
Knight laughed as he slowly rose. “That’s what I thought when they sent the FBI. Didn’t matter much though in the end.”
He handed Harris her audio recorder after she grabbed her satchel. They walked toward the foyer together with Bonnie trailing. Harris thanked them for their time and hospitality and tried to read what they might be thinking. She hoped that her visit had made an impression. Most of all, she hoped that Knight would return to the case, even if only for a few days.
Procuring the assistance of a retired detective wasn’t the most conventional method, but it was time for a new approach. She wanted the kidnapping duo to believe that Knight was back on the case. She hoped that his involvement would lead to more letters. More letters provided an opportunity to catch them.
Knight opened the door and stepped aside. “I imagine them holding these girls in an underground lair. Wherever it is, they’ve got money, space, and privacy. That much I know.”
“See?” said Bonnie. “We now have a well-considered picture.” Harris shook his hand and Bonnie’s as she stepped outside. “I’ll be at the station later this afternoon. Feel free to call my cell, though, if you need to get in contact with me right away.”
“Where are you going now?” Knight asked. The directness of his question threw her off-guard.
“Just some legwork on my own,” she said, putting on her sunglasses. “The kidnappers are getting these cars from somewhere. Stealing them is risky. Must be from an old chop shop or junkyard. Going to drive around and see.” She continued down the cement walkway and waved goodbye.
“Good luck,” Knight said, closing the door.
Harris reached her car feeling successful in her efforts. The meeting could have gone a lot worse. Just hours before, Knight had refused to even talk to her. Now, he was considering a role in the investigation. But for her plan to work, everyone at the station had to believe his interest in the case was spontaneous. She stood at the car with the door open, observing her surroundings. There were homes across the street with empty trash cans at the foot of their driveways. A quiet eeriness permeated the neighborhood.
A station wagon soon drove by with a mother at the wheel and two children in the back. From underneath the scant shade of a palm tree in Knight’s yard, Harris looked in all directions. She wondered if the kidnappers were somewhere watching her, too. She wondered how they could be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She was confident, however, that they weren’t going to get away with it again.
18
New Arrival
Down a long stretch of dirt road, past a fence with a weathered wooden gate, sat an old, two-story brick farmhouse. There were bars on the windows and two tall brick chimneys protruding through the black shingled roof. Forest surrounded the house and its spacious grounds. A red barn stood near the house, its tall doors shut. Stacks of hay occupied the ground outside. Far behind the house squatted an old silo that hadn’t been used in decades. A fenced-in pasture was absent livestock or horses. Its grass was tall and bent from the weight of the seed heads. On the other side of the house was an empty stable.
The only animals to be found were a few chickens, pecking in and around their coop. The farm house at 2444 Clark Hill Lane had its share of secrets. Power lines ran from one end of the dirt road to another, though there wasn’t another house for miles around. The rural, secluded location was ideal for anyone who valued privacy.
Fifty yards from the house, near an idyllic brick well in the back, was an incinerator the size of an outhouse, with a long chimney stack at the top. Inside the barn was a blue GMC van with white stripes running along the lower sides to the rear quarter panel. The van was filled with explosives but not quite ready to be launched. That was for later.
The house consisted of eight bedrooms, five rooms upstairs and three below. There was a bathroom on each floor and a vast cellar below. The seventy-year-old, picturesque house had a more sinister history than its rich, antique exterior suggested. Its reclusive occupants only left for business. They never had visitors. They lived with a strict routine each day.
It was Tuesday afternoon, and Crystal Parker was going to learn about her new home, most importantly that there was no escape. She awakened from a deep slumber and found herself lying on a single mattress, on the floor in a darkened room. There were four walls and no windows.
The room itself was empty save for a LED lamp in the corner that offered faint illumination. Crystal saw light under the slit of a closed door across from her bed. She pushed herself up as the plastic mattress cover peeled away from her sweaty skin. Using the wall for balance, she rose to her feet and stepped slowly toward the door on her wobbly legs. She turned the small brass handle and found the door to be locked.
She pressed against the surface and felt only the thick, impenetrable wood. She backed toward the mattress, picking up the LED lantern along the way. She guided it along the bare walls and came to what looked like a metal window shutter. There was one beside her and one on the wall in front of her. She saw electrical outlets lost amid the flower-patterned wallpaper.
Her footsteps creaked along the hardwood floor. She stopped in the middle of the room and examined the white popcorn ceiling above. One thing was certain: she was trapped against her will with no way out. She opened her mouth to scream, but stopped, hearing footsteps approaching the door. Running to her mattress, Crystal went to her knees and huddled in the corner, gripping the lantern like a shield. The door unlocked, sending a wave of terror through her stomach, and then opened a crack, allowing a moody gray light to enter the room. Crystal closed her eyes, terrified. The footsteps resumed with the full opening of the door. A soothing woman’s voice said, “Shhh. It’s all right.”
Crystal opened her eyes, shrank back, and saw the silhouette of a woman approach her. She was wearing a long dress and her hair was tied up in an old-fashioned bun resembling a motorcycle helmet. Her glasses glared in the light as she moved swiftly toward the bed, as though she was lighter than air.
“Come now, child. Don’t be afraid,” she said in a soft, Southern-sounding tone. “I�
�m Belma. Your new mother.”
Crystal hugged the wall, wincing as tears flowed from her eyes.
Belma knelt on the mattress beside her and held her hand inches from the girl’s hair. “It’s time for the confusion to end and your new life to begin. You’ve been bestowed a wonderful honor. You’ve been chosen in the service of our family.” She stroked Crystal’s hair without warning, and Crystal began screaming and screaming, the sound amplified as it bounced off the walls of the empty room. The LED light went flying across the room. Belma backed away and gasped, holding her chest. “Goodness, my dear. You should calm yourself.”
But Crystal remained in the corner, wrapped in a ball and crying. She repeated the few words she could muster as Belma watched her, concerned. “I wanna go home… I wanna go home… I wanna go home.”
“This is your home,” Belma said, as though it were fact.
Her poised calmness did little in containing Crystal’s hysterics. The young girl was far from home, trapped in an empty room of a stranger’s house.
“I can see that this is going to take a while,” Belma continued. She then slowly rose from the bed and walked across the room to retrieve the lantern. “You don’t want to damage your light source, sweetie. Without this, it’ll be pitch black in here.”
She set the lantern next to the bed and then stood over Crystal with her arms crossed. “I can bring you some food shortly. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Crystal removed her hands from her face and looked up, pleading to go home. “I-I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.” She became overwhelmed with sobs as Belma simply watched, shaking her head.
“You need to understand that your new life is a blessing and not a curse,” she began. “You have a purpose now; something and someone to serve. And you’re still so young.” Belma paused as it was clear Crystal wasn’t hearing a thing over the sound of her own cries.
The door was still open behind her, and with it the opportunity to escape, but Crystal was paralyzed with fear and Belma seemed to confidently know that. “Perhaps I’ll come back with some food and we can talk then.” She waited as Crystal lowered her head against her knees, unable to stop crying. For a moment, Belma seemed to look at her with pity.
“Crystal, listen to me. Do you remember how you got here?” She waited for an answer, but Crystal only shook her head. “You inhaled a hearty dose of chloroform, and you probably have a headache.”
Crystal nodded, shuddering as she took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll take care of you.” Belma turned around and walked toward the door, heels clicking against the floor. Once outside, she halted and turned her head back toward Crystal. “Your new father would like to meet you later as well. He’s working hard on a project right now, but he always tries to make time for his children.”
Crystal looked up in anguish. “Let me go!”
For a moment, Belma stared back, not saying a word. “I understand that you’re upset, but this isn’t helping. Good girls listen. Good girls don’t scream and cry.” Her eyes suddenly narrowed with contempt. “That’s what bad girls do. And we have no use for bad girls here. Understand?”
Crystal slumped over into the mattress, muffling her cries and too distraught for any normal conversation. Belma seemed to understand this as she closed and locked the door behind her. Left alone in the dark, Crystal crawled off the mattress and fell to the floor with uncontrollable sobs.
The footsteps echoed from the outside hall, growing distant. Crystal perked up then, hearing the faint sound of a man’s voice. A conversation between Belma and the man began, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying. All she could do was lie there in anticipation of the unknown.
Detective Harris drove through the gates of Kenny’s Auto Salvage and parked across from a large office trailer in a dirt lot among other cars. Beyond the trailer was an ocean of junk cars and scrap that extended for acres. She stepped out of her car, swiping away at the dust in the air. The rattling blare of a nearby crushing machine drowned out all other sounds. A man drove a forklift that carried a stack of crushed vehicles. Four other men organized scrap piles in a nearby parking lot. The sun beamed from a cloudless sky.
She didn’t envy the men as they worked outside during the summer. Industrial fans blew hot air that was at least better than nothing. No one noticed Harris as she continued toward the trailer with its Open sign hanging from the door. She walked under an American flag, flapping from its perched angle, and climbed the three steps to the door, opening it with one turn of the handle.
She stepped inside where the air was cool. There was a counter to the right with an open logbook and a bell. A bearded man sat on the other side, typing on an old computer. His back was to her, though his head turned slightly upon her approach. He wore a netted camouflaged hat and had on a pair of big blue overalls. A horizontal window gave her a view of the yard and its endless rows of junk cars. Harris took her sunglasses off and leaned against the counter. A glance at the logbook showed a running page of scribbled names.
The man spun around in his chair and rose to welcome her with a bright smile. “Can I help you?”
Harris showed her badge and introduced herself. His relaxed demeanor changed in an instant as he halted a few inches from the counter and straightened his back. “I just had some general questions about a case I’m working on. Could I speak to the manager?”
The man nodded. He had thick black hair stuffed into his cap and a tan face reddened from the sun. “Kenny’s out back somewhere. That’s my dad.” He then extended his hand. “I’m Jason.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jason,” Harris said, noticing that his friendly eyes had a hard time looking away. She broke eye contact, glancing at a swordfish mounted on a wall plaque. “It looks pretty busy here today, so I don’t want to take up more of his time.”
Jason waved her off with a smile. “Oh, Kenny will make all the time in the world to talk with a pretty woman like you.” Harris thanked him, slightly smiling as he stepped away. “I’ll be back.”
Just as he reached the door, Harris turned back and called out to him. “Real quick, Jason, before you go. Do you often make sales for vehicles here or is it just parts?”
Jason stopped near an open doorway behind the counter, thinking to himself. “Well… let’s see. We’ve had cars purchased right off the lot, sure. Mostly for scrap.”
Harris nodded. “How about for regular use?”
He thought some more and then opened a nearby filing cabinet. “I know there’s a transaction book around somewhere.” He began pulling out files and placed them on the desk. If she could get the information from Kenny’s son, then she didn’t have to see Kenny. But the boss might be privy to the type of under-the-table deals she knew existed, the kind that might be helpful to her.
The yard was located on the end of a dirt road near a milk processing plant and an antique warehouse located just outside the industrial area. She knew of the drug problem in the area, mainly involving pharmaceuticals. So far, however, Jason had seemed very cooperative. He continued digging through the filing cabinet until she told him not to worry about it.
“Just a few words with your father, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Jason stepped away from the cabinet and knocked against the door frame. “Sure. Yeah. Let me go get him.”
Harris thanked him as he left the room. She looked around, tapping the counter as an air conditioner unit hummed on the wall beside her. There was only a slim possibility that any of the vehicles in question had come from Kenny’s Auto Salvage. It was, after all, a recycling plant and not a dealership. She hoped to find a connection somewhere between a seller and a buyer, especially for the van. Her attention shifted to a small stack of Auto Trader magazines on the counter. She took one and began leafing through it as a door swung open inside the other room.
She heard footsteps and two men speaking. Jason soon returned and smiled at her. An older man walked in with long hair just past his ea
rs and a thick mustache. He wore a blue-and-white striped mechanic’s shirt with the name Kenny stitched over the chest. His gut protruded from the middle of his shirt, and he stood with a slight hunch. He removed a pair of tan aviator glasses and set them on the desk. “You’re police?” he asked with implied suspicion.
“Detective Vanessa Harris. Nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “I’m the lead investigator on a missing person’s case,” she began. “I’d appreciate a moment of your time.”
Kenny nodded with narrowed eyes and his mouth halfway open. “Hell, my son Jason knows more about how this place runs than I do these days. Since my wife’s passing, I’ve been sort of in and out as you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with sincerity.
“Let’s just help her the best we can, Pop,” Jason said, leaning on the other side of the counter.
Kenny reluctantly approached as he lit a pipe from his pocket and puffed away. “Sure. I’m all about supporting local law enforcement.”
Harris went right to the point and placed three pictures on the counter. The first one was of a red Cadillac as close to the model Knight had described as possible. The second picture was of the Oldsmobile Cutlass before it exploded. The last photo was of a blue van, matching the description given to them by Louise, the elderly woman from the parking lot.
Their eyes scanned the pictures, seemingly clueless about their significance as she pointed to the photos, one after the other. “All three of these vehicles belonged to the individual or individuals responsible for the kidnapping of three local girls five years ago. You may remember the case.”
Kenny squinted and then looked up, nodding. “Yeah. Girl got kidnapped the other day. It’s the same person?”
“We’re pretty sure of it,” Harris said.