The Silent Child Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Kidnapping Mysteries

by Roger Hayden

  Her heart pounded with anticipation as she reached for envelope number one and pulled the seal open. Inside, there were two black and white scanned pictures of varying quality and size. At first, she couldn’t tell what she was looking at, but then it began to sink in.

  The first, larger picture was of her senior class photo from high school. She stood among the crowd, identified by a red circle someone had drawn. Standing next to her was none other than Liz. She stared at the picture, her nervousness rising, and tried to make sense of its meaning.

  The next picture was a simple wallet-size cutout of her yearbook photo, when her hair had been styled into a wave, like many of the girls wore back then. Who was so interested in her high school years and why? Was there a deranged classmate on the loose? Had he murdered Liz? And most concerning of all, was he, or they, coming for her next?

  Victoria didn’t know what to think. The ordeal felt like an elaborate prank. Who was dredging up the past and why? She felt determined to find out, even if it meant playing along. She placed both images back inside the envelope and then set it aside, ready for number two. She opened the second envelope and pulled out a photo of the old house she grew up in when she lived in South Carolina.

  It was just as baffling as the other pictures, but there was more. The next picture was a color photo of her current house, taken from the street. She recoiled at the sight, hands trembling as she flipped to the next and last picture, this one of the very three-story building where she worked.

  Impossible, she thought. Who took these pictures and why?

  It was reasonable to assume that she was dealing with a stalker; someone from her high school class, she suspected. They had found her and were attempting to scare and harass. Feeling she had enough evidence to take to the police, Victoria returned the pictures to the number two envelope. Now, all she had was number three. She took the envelope and noticed that it was thicker than the others, most likely packed with surveillance photos of her or her family.

  If the pictures were meant to scare her, they had failed. In fact, she felt eager to find out who was behind the harassment. She opened the last envelope and pulled out a small stack of ten colored photos that looked as though they had been recently developed.

  She examined the first grainy photo, trying to understand who she was looking at. A man and woman were walking together hand in hand down a sidewalk in a park. They both had sunglasses on. The girl looked young and pretty. And the man? Although it was slightly out of focus, she took a closer look and had the strangest feeling that it was Todd. No, she was mistaken, but her hand was shaking.

  She flipped to the next picture and saw the same couple, this time leaving the second-story of what looked like a hotel room. She stared at the picture as an unsettling stir brewed within. The next photo showed the same couple in a parking lot. The woman was behind the wheel of her car, lifting her chin to kiss the man as he leaned in.

  The next picture showed them walking together again and holding hands outside an apartment complex. Her attempts to find rational explanations, to cling to denials, were failing. The picture after that showed them walking inside. By now, there was no doubt in Victoria’s mind that the man in the photos was Todd. In some of the pictures he wore a hat, jacket, or sunglasses. In others, he wasn’t concealed at all.

  The only question involved the identity for the woman. A crippling realization washed over her, and a queasy sickness gripped her stomach. The blow felt unreal. Her vision began to blur with a surreal dizziness as her trembling hands dropped the photos onto the floor.

  Of everything that could have been causing the recent distance between them, the last thing she had expected was seeing photos of Todd with a mystery woman. Stunned, blindsided, and nearing a state of shock, she tried to comprehend what she had just seen.

  An affair? She thought. It had to be a joke.

  Any minute now, Todd would come home and tell her so. But that wasn’t the case, and she knew it. She thought of his frequent late nights, his disheveled appearance and rumpled clothes whenever he walked through the door. The signs were there, she just hadn’t seen it. She sank back against the couch with the wind knocked out of her. Warm tears fell down her cheeks. She couldn’t think straight. She felt crippled, paralyzed, and all she could do at that point was to wait.

  To Catch a Killer

  Leesburg, South Carolina

  The next morning, Captain Nelson had called all detectives into a meeting room for a mandatory briefing. Detective Dobson had just arrived in the small, crowded room to find most seats full and the captain standing at a podium with Lieutenant Fitzpatrick beside him. He walked to the front and found a seat next to Harris as chatter continued among the detectives, drinking coffee and laughing.

  “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  Harris shrugged. “Beats me. A breakthrough in the case?”

  “Yeah. We’ll see,” Dobson said.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” Captain Nelson announced, hands out and wearing his dress-blue uniform with ribbons and rank affixed.

  The chatter ceased as detectives turned to the front of the room where there was a presentation board with several glossy photos tacked to the surface. Many were of the same bearded, disheveled man, others of a run-down mobile home community.

  “Thank you,” Captain Nelson said to the quiet room. “As many of you know, the investigation into Mrs. Bailey’s murder is currently ongoing and we have reached no conclusions at this point. That means we will decline comments to the press until our information is substantive and verifiable.”

  He paused and leaned forward with his arms gripping both sides of the podium. “Having said that, some information has come to light which may help us in narrowing down a suspect. And I will let Lieutenant Fitzpatrick take it from here.” The captain stepped aside, letting the lieutenant take the podium.

  “Thank you, sir,” Fitzpatrick said, glancing at some notes and then looking up to the group. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll just get to the point.”

  He paused and then motioned to the presentation board behind him.

  “Some of you may be familiar with the name Randall Morris. He has a rather extensive criminal record. To put it simply, a rap sheet twenty pages long.” He paused and began reading from his notes again. “Mr. Morris has been charged with theft, drug possession with intent to distribute, public intoxication, harassment, fraudulent statements, identity theft, check fraud, and I could go on.

  “Mr. Morris has been in and out of our county jail more times than I can count. He’s what you would call a career criminal. Mr. Morris’s latest endeavor involved selling stolen frozen meats door to door. We know this because Mrs. Bailey’s own niece, Evelyn Bailey, confirmed that a few days before she left town, Mr. Morris arrived at her aunt’s estate and badgered Mrs. Bailey to purchase his frozen meats, stolen from the back of a truck at the local Food Mart. When turned away, Morris grew visibly angry and spiteful before he was forced to leave.”

  Fitzpatrick backed away from the podium next to the board as he pointed along the row of pictures. “These are his mugshots. Here, we have pictures of the mobile-home community he lives in, way out in the sticks.”

  He then approached the podium confidently, as though making his case in court. “We’ve also learned that Mr. Morris owes thousands in court fees and alimony to his ex-wife and three children, who no longer live in the area. This is a man deeply in debt, who, I have no doubt, enjoyed teaching Mrs. Bailey a lesson for turning him away.”

  Dobson and Harris looked at each other as Fitzpatrick held up some photos of the crime scene, displaying them for everyone to see.

  “I’ve requested a warrant to search Mr. Morris’s property. Once the warrant is approved, Sheriff Hughes will assemble a team to issue the warrant and apprehend Mr. Morris as we conduct our search.”

  Dobson suddenly raised his hand, receiving a reluctant response from Fitzpatrick to call on him.
<
br />   “Detective Dobson… what is it?”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I was wondering if you could clarify the eyewitness accounts about the vehicle.”

  Fitzgerald thought to himself and then answered. “Yes, thank you for reminding me.” He looked to the group and continued. “The Chevy Suburban was seen around the area by witnesses close to the day Mrs. Bailey was murdered. It is also the same vehicle her niece, Evelyn, claims to have seen Mr. Morris driving when he tried to sell them stolen meats.”

  “Can we talk to these witnesses?” Dobson asked, cutting in. “I’d like to verify their statements.”

  The room got quiet as Fitzpatrick fidgeted at the podium, clearly taken off guard by the question. “That’s not important right now.”

  Captain Nelson then approached the podium and leaned in. “Yes, please. Hold your questions until the end.”

  “Yes. Thank you, sir.” Fitzpatrick said, reshuffling his notes. “Coincidentally, that’s all I have. Thank you for your time, and I’ll be expecting all of your support to bring this killer to justice.”

  The detectives stood up to leave as chatter resumed throughout the room. Captain Nelson took the lieutenant aside and spoke quietly as Harris stood up and tossed his empty coffee cup into a nearby wastebasket. The other detectives began filing out, a questioning air floating through the room, though no one had a better theory.

  Dobson stood as Harris yanked at his sleeve. “I did some investigating into Andrea Bailey’s will. Even spoke with her attorney. A guy named Lenny Neumeier.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dobson asked, intrigued.

  Harris led him toward the back of the room as though they were speaking in confidence. “Mr. Neumeier explained that once her niece moved into the house, Mrs. Bailey had made several amendments to her will.”

  “To give the money to her niece?” Dobson asked.

  “No,” Harris said. “To donate her assets to charities. Hundreds of them.”

  Dobson stroked his chin, thinking. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.

  “Detective Dobson,” Fitzpatrick called out, walking toward him.

  “Yeah,” Dobson said, turning around.

  “I want you to accompany me to Mr. Morris’s residence and help conduct the search. I have a feeling that we’re close here.”

  “Well, Detective Harris and I were just headed to probate to investigate financial transactions within the Bailey estate.”

  Fitzpatrick scratched at the stubble on his face and nodded. “That can wait. Captain Nelson is fully on-board with this raid. It’s about time we got this scumbag off the street for good. Don’t you say?”

  Dobson glanced at Harris, who then looked away, wanting nothing to do with an argument.

  “Sure,” Dobson said. “Let me know once that warrant’s been signed off.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room with Harris.

  “You’re all in now?” Harris asked as they continued down the hall.

  “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Dobson said with a shrug. He stopped at his office and opened the door, turning to face Harris. “I want to get in contact with that attorney before I leave though. Email me his contact info, if you can.”

  Harris pulled out a piece of gum from his coat pocket and put it in his mouth. “You got it.”

  They parted ways, saying little else. Dobson walked inside his office and took off his coat jacket. The wall clock ticked just past 9:30 a.m. It was a Thursday; one day closer to the weekend. He sat at his desk and opened his email, finding one in the list of messages from none other than the law offices of Lenny Neumeier.

  Detective Dobson,

  I spoke with Detective Harris earlier in regard to Mrs. Bailey’s estate. He informed me that you are one of the lead detectives on the case. Rest assured, I will keep your department updated on the eventual proceedings. I have not taken any action thus far, as her will and testament bequeaths assets of ten million dollars to various charitable organizations. Feel free to call my offices when you have a moment.

  Best Regards, Lenny L. Neumeier, Attorney at Law.

  Dobson reached for his phone to call the number listed below when his line suddenly rang from extension 228. He knew exactly who it was. “Dobson,” he said, hitting the speaker button.

  “You ready?” Fitzpatrick asked. “I just got word back from the judge. We’re good to go.”

  Dobson hung his head and sighed under his breath. “Are we now?” he asked with suspicion.

  “I thought you’d be more excited, Detective.”

  “I am,” he said, hanging up.

  There was no doubt that Randall Morris was a shady character. However, something just didn’t add up. Dobson closed his email and rubbed his forehead, unable to clear his head. The beige walls of his small office felt as though they were closing in. He got up, grabbed his coat, and quickly left the office to join the raid before he could change his mind.

  He emerged into the busy hallway leading outside the building where he could see Fitzpatrick already waiting for him and several police officers standing around wearing flak vests over their uniforms.

  “You have one of those for me?” Dobson asked.

  “Relax. I’ve got two in my car,” Fitzpatrick said, pointing toward the exit. “Let’s go.

  Dobson followed the group down the hall and outside, where several police cruisers sat parked under the bright morning sun. Their destination was on the outskirts of town among rural tight-knit communities, where authority was often looked upon with a suspicious eye.

  Randall Morris didn’t live far from the wilderness surrounding the Bailey estate, and he could easily have driven through the open gate to the house, kicked the back door in, and murdered Mrs. Bailey just as Fitzpatrick suspected, though Dobson couldn’t shake the doubts from his mind. It all seemed too perfect a scenario. Or maybe Fitzpatrick was sharper than Dobson had given him credit for.

  He stepped into the passenger’s side of the department-issued SUV and sat on the hot vinyl seat as Fitzpatrick turned the key in the ignition and blasted the air conditioning.

  “I do appreciate you coming along, Detective,” Fitzpatrick said, closing his door and adjusting the rearview mirror. He then looked at Dobson from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “I can tell you’re a little hesitant about this. I understand. You want to consider all the options. I get it.”

  He paused, watching as the three police cruisers backed out of their parking spaces and drove ahead. Fitzpatrick backed out, then followed as the police radio hanging below the dashboard crackled with chatter. There was a shotgun locked into place next to Dobson, barrel up, and two vests in the back seat, just as the lieutenant had promised.

  Their vehicle shook after hitting a pothole outside the parking lot, then they turned onto Anderson Street, the main road through town, and continued to follow the three cruisers ahead.

  “I have to say,” Fitzpatrick began. “Solving this case could be a real boost for the department. Think of all the press we’ll get.”

  Dobson turned away from the window as they passed several old brick buildings. “Sure.” He then leaned back in his seat as Fitzpatrick pushed the gas, following the line of police cars along the tow-lane road.

  Dobson reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, glancing at the screen. It was just past ten in the morning, and he had no idea of how the so-called raid was going to turn out, but couldn’t help anticipating the outcome. He wasn’t optimistic.

  “I found a toothpick at the top of Mrs. Bailey’s staircase,” he said as they took a quick left turn at a busy intersection.

  “A toothpick?” Fitzpatrick said, giving him a strange look.

  “I gave it to Forensics to run some tests. So far, they’ve got nothing.”

  “Must have been nothing then,” Fitzpatrick said, veering to the right as their convoy reached a stop sign.

  “I guess we’ll see,” Dobson said as they proceeded quickly down a long, narrow road with
forest on both sides. He stared ahead, closing the matter.

  Fitzpatrick gripped the wheel with both hands as they ascended a sharp curve where the pavement soon turned into a bumpy dirt road. “If everything goes right, we’ll be heroes, you and I. Think about it.”

  Dobson chuckled to himself while glancing at his phone. Rachel had sent him a text message reminding him to pick up some milk and trash bags on his way home at the end of the day.

  Before he could respond, however, the convoy suddenly slowed because of the increasingly uneven dirt road. Pine trees and thick foliage consumed both sides, with wire fencing and tall grass pastures farther ahead.

  The SUV rocked along the bumpy ruts and followed the other vehicles into a mobile home park with six or seven residences arranged in one large circle. They pulled to the side of the road at the end of the circle where a single trailer looked out from behind some thick bushes, half-concealing a rusty, dark-gray Suburban.

  “Looks like our boy’s home,” Fitzpatrick said, leaning over the wheel. He reached for the radio microphone and held it to his mouth, addressing the officers. “Keep an eye on the place, and wait for my lead.” He then looked at Dobson. “Are you ready?”

  “What’s the plan, exactly? Are you going to arrest him? If so, on what charge?”

  Fitzpatrick shook his head. “We just want to search his premises. If he cooperates, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Dobson turned to look at the trailer and caught a glimpse of a man peeking from behind the curtains inside. Their presence was not a secret. He opened his door, following Fitzpatrick, and stepped outside. No one looked to be around, and the eerie silence hinted at possible danger.

  He opened the back door and grabbed a vest, only to see Fitzpatrick already striding down the line of cruisers, standing at the hood of the lead vehicle and talking with the other police officers, who resembled a SWAT team with their vests, helmets, and rifles. He slipped the vest over his shoulders, a snug fit, and checked his pistol, ensuring that it was loaded.