The Silent Child Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Kidnapping Mysteries

by Roger Hayden

  Dobson’s stomach turned in knots. He couldn’t believe what the attorney was saying. Part of him remained skeptical, no matter how much he wanted to incriminate Evelyn Bailey.

  “So, she must have been looking for that recording,” he said. “Or hired someone to find it, tearing apart every inch of her aunt’s mansion in the process.”

  “That’s the most likely scenario,” Neumeier said. “At this point, Mrs. Bailey’s fortune is to be distributed as stated in her will. If my suspicions are right, eventually it will all go to Evelyn. Every penny.”

  “But we can stop that,” Dobson said. “All we have to prove is that the charities are fraudulent.”

  “I’m afraid I can say no more. I’ve told you what I know and ask that you not reach out to me again. This is all I can do.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Dobson said.

  “Many things. Evelyn Bailey was a handful before. Now she’s a multimillionaire, and I don’t want to get in her way. Do what you wish with the information I’ve given you. Good day, Detective.”

  The call was disconnected before Dobson could say another word. He felt angered and vindicated at the same time. He slowed as the line of semi-trucks ended and a maintenance garage came into view. There was a large maintenance garage, with a van parked in the middle one. Dobson stopped next to a light post as soon as the Mercedes came back into view, pulling inside the garage.

  It was an odd place for anyone to travel to, let alone someone of Evelyn Bailey’s stature. The only thing left for Dobson to do was to wait. He shut off the engine and opened his glove compartment, pulling out a pair of binoculars. An air of mystery surrounded the shipping yard, making it exactly the kind of enigma he was looking for.

  The Mercedes parked just as a large, bearded man with a shaved head stepped out of the van. He wore a leather jacket and blue jeans, sunglasses concealing his eyes. After swinging the driver’s side door shut, he approached the Mercedes just as Evelyn’s driver rushed to her door and opened it. Dobson raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched with great interest at the meeting taking place. Evelyn stepped outside, long legs extending from her black skirt, and stood at chest-height to the bearded man who towered over her.

  Dobson lowered the binoculars and grabbed his cell phone, quick to snap some pictures of the scene while zooming the camera to capture the license plate of the van. He then brought the binoculars back up and watched as the discussion intensified between Evelyn and the man. She held her arms out with her mouth moving fast as the man took a step back and pointed at her, only to receive further admonishing, Evelyn shaking her fist at him. As he switched between taking pictures and his binoculars, Dobson thought this wasn’t going to end well.

  And in one moment, he seemed to have gotten the break he had been looking for. The bearded man leaned against the wall of the garage and dangled a toothpick in his mouth as Evelyn continued talking and jabbing her finger in the air. Her driver stood on the other side of the car with his back to them, paying no attention. On second glance, it appeared that he was acting as a look-out. No attention came Dobson’s way. From a distance, he remained invisible.

  The bearded man listened and shook his head nonchalantly as Evelyn talked wildly. She then spun around and went back to her car, opening the door herself to the surprise of her driver. He awkwardly returned to the driver’s seat and started the engine as the bearded man flicked his toothpick over the Mercedes and returned to his van. Their secret meeting appeared to have ended. Dobson lowered his binoculars and watched as both the Mercedes and the van backed out and left the garage. Tempted to follow, Dobson instead waited. There was something far more interesting in the garage.

  A long narrow road on the other side of the shipping yard guided him to an open entrance which led him straight to the vacant garage amidst a bedrock path. Evelyn Bailey and her counterpart in the van were long gone. He wondered what other travels she had planned that day. Lenny Neumeier’s accusations presented an entirely different picture of Mrs. Bailey’s dedicated niece; a picture he had long suspected.

  As he parked outside the garage, Dobson called the station to request a search for license plate: RU2VX. Soon enough, he’d have all the details needed to identify the driver of the van. He thought it strange when he realized that clearing Randall Morris was his least important motivating factor. All he really wanted to do was prove Lieutenant Fitzpatrick wrong. It was not something to be proud of.

  Dobson rushed to the garage, keeping watch of the area as he moved stealthily around in the eerie silence. He searched the oil-stained floor of the garage, hunched down and searched intently. The toothpick was no coincidence. He only hoped that he could find it. There were screws and nuts and other debris on the ground as well as cigarette butts.

  He scanned the ground frantically, then approached an air compressor sitting against the wall. He dropped to his knees and looked under it. His hand moved lightly across the dusty surface, intent on retrieving a tiny stick that seemed to find him as opposed to the other way around. If it wasn’t the same toothpick the man had flicked from his mouth moments earlier, it bore a striking resemblance. But then, didn’t they all?

  “That’s it. Come to poppa,” he said, rising.

  He cupped the toothpick carefully and walked back to his car, where the door was still open. It seemed moist, but maybe that was wishful thinking. His presence seemed to go unnoticed as he stepped inside and shut the door, placing the toothpick in a small Ziploc bag, with only one destination in mind.

  Preventative Measures

  Clearwater, Maine

  Victoria left work early, in the throes of an emotional breakdown. It was a calm, peaceful afternoon, and as she drove through her coastal town of nearby ports, rocky hills, and sprawling forest, she felt an increasing urge to get away from it all. Clearwater, Maine was her home; a beautiful town she had cherished since moving here with Todd before they were married. Brooke had been born there around the same time Victoria had just begun her career as a project analyst. There were so many memories associated with Clearwater that Victoria couldn’t possibly categorize them all. Their lives were there. But now, everything felt different.

  She slowed at an intersection, surrounded by quaint shops, diners, and old buildings that made up the mile-long downtown business district. LTD Technologies, her employer, was in the industrial sector a few miles away among warehouses, manufacturers, and government contractors. It was a Friday and she wouldn’t have to drive back that way until Monday. Her weekend, however, was in shambles. She and Todd were supposed to go shopping for Brooke’s birthday. They had planned to relax together in preparation for a busy work week ahead. Now, everything had changed in the worst way imaginable. She hadn’t cried in hours. Not since the phone call.

  She was four blocks from the police station, trying to get her story together. She had a stalker who was determined to harass her daily. Her high school friend had been murdered. There was even the recent murder of a local woman, Susan Shields. She couldn’t say whether anything was connected, but simply planned to tell the police what she knew and let them piece it together.

  Waiting at the light, she scrolled her cell phone for her mother’s number and called it, listening as the line rang, hoping her mother would pick up.

  “Vicky?” Nancy’s surprised voice said as she answered.

  “Hi, Mom,” Victoria said. “How are you? How’s Dad?” the words tumbling out.

  The light turned green and she waited as a Ford Bronco ahead of her took its time to realize it.

  “We’re fine. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay? You sound…”

  “Did you get my voicemail from two days ago?” Vicky said.

  A brief pause followed as her mother answered. “I’m sorry. Yes, I did. I forgot to call you. Your father and I just got back from Palm Springs.”

  “How was that?” Victoria asked.

  “Oh, we had a lovely time as always. We sure miss you and Todd and Bro
oke. Maybe you guys can come next time.”

  “We’ll certainly try,” she said, feeling a tinge of sadness as she tried to hold back her welling tears. She drove past a newspaper and magazine stand, with the police station parking lot in the distance. “Listen, Mom. I need to talk to you about something important.”

  “Oh?” Nancy said, sounding distracted. “Hold on a second. Your father says hi.”

  She heard her father’s voice mumbling in the background, bringing a temporary smile to her face. “Tell him I said hi too. I miss you guys.”

  “You have to visit,” Nancy protested. “How long has it been? Last Christmas?”

  Her parents lived in Leesburg, South Carolina, the town she had been born and raised in. After high school, she couldn’t wait to get out and find another place to live. Anywhere. Not much longer after that, she had met Todd. They met at a rock concert while they were both attending the University of South Carolina. She had never felt so comfortable with someone before. They hit it off the moment he offered to hold her beer while she used the restroom in between bands. A relationship began almost immediately, more seamless than anything Victoria had ever before experienced.

  “We will,” she said, holding back tears. “Right now, I need your help.”

  “What is it, dear?” her mother asked.

  Victoria searched for the words and then realized that she wasn’t sure exactly where to start. Her voice cracked as she wiped a stubborn tear that fell down her cheek. “Todd and I are going through a difficult time right now. Maybe it’s best that Brooke and I visit you and Dad for a little bit. I mean, Brooke has school, so maybe next weekend.”

  “What about this weekend?” Nancy asked with concern in her tone.

  Victoria slowed and shifted into a right-turn lane, which led her into the moderately-sized parking lot for the Clearwater Police Department. “It’s too soon,” she said. “I have too much going on.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened with Todd? You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I know, Mom,” she said, wiping at another tear. “There’s been a lot of craziness. I think someone is stalking me. They’ve sent gifts to our house. Flowers at my work. They called my work today, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “You need to go to the police,” her mother said emphatically.

  Victoria parked and looked up at the sign above the double doors leading into the station. “I know. I’m here right now.”

  “So, what happened with Todd?” Nancy asked.

  Victoria’s hands dropped from the steering wheel and into her lap as her voice wavered. “We’re not doing too well.”

  Nancy persisted. “What is it?”

  Victoria struggled with the words. She felt shame and embarrassment to even acknowledge the truth. “Mom, am I not good enough?”

  “Vicky, what are you talking about? Of course you’re good enough,” Nancy said, worried.

  Victoria shook her head and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dashboard to conceal her red, tear-soaked eyes before entering the police station. “I don’t think so. Todd cheated on me with another woman. He had an affair, and I just found out the other day. I kicked him out of the house and haven’t seen him since.”

  A brief silence followed Nancy’s quiet gasp. “I… I can’t believe it,” she said at last. “I’m so sorry, dear. What can we do to help?”

  “Should I leave him?” she asked. “If I don’t, he’ll just think that he can do this again, and I don’t even know if I could ever trust him anymore.”

  “Forgiveness is a long road,” Nancy said. “I think you need to take some time and think about it. You still love each other, right?”

  Victoria thought to herself, glancing at two police cars as they pulled into parking spaces next to her. “I don’t know.”

  “Come home,” Nancy said. “We can get you booked on a flight tonight. Brooke too.”

  Victoria turned and looked at her purse on the passenger seat, the edges of the chain letter sticking out. Next to her purse was the small box she had received with the chocolates and high school pictures. She didn’t bring the ones of Todd and the woman. “I’ll think about it. I’m at the police station now. I have to go.”

  “Call me back as soon as you can. Okay?”

  “I will. Bye, Mom.”

  “I love you,” Nancy said.

  “Love you too,” Victoria said, hanging up. She dabbed at her eyes with some Kleenex, took a deep breath, and stepped out of her car with her sunglasses on, reaching for the evidence she hoped the police would know what to do with.

  Once inside the lobby, Victoria went to the information desk, attended by a uniformed corporal behind a sheet of Plexiglas. The name tag pinned to the left chest of his uniform said Harrison.

  “I would like speak to someone about harassment I’ve been receiving from an unknown person,” she said urgently.

  Harrison looked up at her from jotting in his notebook. He took pause at the small gift box on the counter and the sunglasses covering her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. We can get you in touch with one of our officers very shortly.” He looked to some empty desks behind him and then to a closed door which led into the station. He grabbed a clipboard and slid it under the Plexiglas. “Just fill out this form and someone will be with you shortly.”

  “Can I talk to a detective?” she asked, leaning closer. “It’s about the Susan Shields murder. I think this could be connected.”

  The corporal’s eyes widened. “Susan Shields?”

  “Yes, I believe you’re still investigating that, correct? Her body was pulled from the river, strangled.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Please have a seat and someone will be with you shortly.”

  Victoria took the clipboard and walked slowly to a row of vinyl chairs against the wall, sitting in the middle. She placed her purse and the box on the seat next to her and glanced at the form attached to the clipboard. It asked her name, address, and phone number followed by the reason for her visit. She circled “to report a crime” without paying attention to the other options. From there, she waited.

  She glanced at clock on the wall. It was almost 2:00 p.m. She had planned to pick up Brooke from school in an hour and hoped that it wouldn’t take too long at the police station. She just wanted the harassment to stop. With each minute that ticked by, she grew more impatient. She took her sunglasses off as two officers entered the lobby from the back and exited the station with blaring hand-held radios clipped to their shoulders. For a moment, Victoria thought they were there to see her. She regretted not calling ahead.

  After a good ten minutes, a bald man stepped through the lobby wearing a button-down, collared shirt and red tie. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had on a pair of gray slacks and black dress shoes. He was tall with a slight paunch and he had a bushy gray mustache. This must be him, she thought.

  “Mrs. Owens?” he said, approaching her.

  Victoria stood with half a smile. “Yes.”

  He extended his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Detective Weaver, nice to meet you.”

  She shook his hand, feeling safer already. He had a radio attached to his belt on one side of his waist and a holstered pistol at the other. A quick glance at the ID card hanging from his neck on a lanyard showed that he was, in fact, a county detective.

  “Corporal Harrison told me that you have some information about the Susan Shields case.”

  Victoria nodded. “Not so much information,” she said. “More of a hunch.”

  The detective smiled, exposing light coffee and nicotine stains on his teeth. “We deal with plenty of that here. Let’s have a word around back.”

  “Okay,” she said, following him to the door past the front desk. They walked through and he led her to a windowless room with a table and few chairs surrounding it. There was a refrigerator in the corner next to a counter, where a coffee maker rested amidst scattered condiments.

  Detective Weaver motioned to one of the chairs, signa
ling her to sit down, as he went to the refrigerator and opened the door. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  “Just water, if you have any,” she said, sitting in a plastic chair on one side of the table, where she rested her purse and the gift box.

  Weaver emerged with a bottled water and Coke. “Think I should follow your lead, but it’s soda time for me.” He handed her the water and opened his can with a pop. Formalities out of the way, Weaver closed the door to the room and sat across from her. He then set an audio recorder on the table.

  “I have to inform you that the conversation between us will be recorded.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  He stated the time, date, place, the names of those present. “So, Mrs. Owens. What can you tell me about the Susan Shields murder?”

  Victoria felt immediately on the spot and unsure of what to say. She began by taking the letter from her purse and sliding it over to the detective. “I received this in the mail two days ago. It reads like an invitation to my high school reunion, but it’s actually nothing more than a chain letter.” She paused and opened the gift box as Weaver held the letter, studying it.

  “The woman who sent it to me is Elizabeth, a friend from high school. She was murdered two weeks ago in her home in Connecticut.”

  Weaver’s attention remained on the letter, eyes scrolling every line.

  “The next day, someone sent flowers to my work. It wasn’t my husband, but it happened the day after I got this letter. I thought it was weird but didn’t get nervous until I found this box on my doorstep with these pictures a few days later.” She then passed him the cutout images of her high school class. Weaver set the letter to the side and examined the pictures.

  “Today someone called me at work and spoke in this weird, hissing voice. A man, I think, his voice disguised. He said that I would see them soon or something like that. I wrote down the phone number and everything, but when I called it right back, it was already disconnected.”