The Silent Child Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Kidnapping Mysteries

by Roger Hayden

  “Wait,” Dobson said, holding his hand up, like a cop would.

  Stretching, Harris brought his arms down and looked at Dobson, impatience in his tired eyes.

  Dobson continued. “Suppose our killer did know Ms. Wade. Suppose he killed her high school friend just as she had feared.”

  “Yeah?” Harris said.

  “So, maybe it wasn’t a thrill kill,” Dobson said, glancing at the empty bottle of bleach in the trash. “It was meticulously planned from the get-go.”

  Harris yawned. “Yeah, Mike. Sure. That’s a good enough theory as anything right now.”

  Dobson walked to the hood of the car and unfolded the letter. There was no doubt in Dobson’s mind that Betsy Wade had been right in some of her fears, and maybe in the connections she had made to her old high school friend.

  Harris stood over his shoulder, crowding in as Dobson read the letter. It wasn’t much of a letter, and didn’t take long. Just three words: See you soon.

  “A killer of few words,” Harris said.

  “It’s a simple message,” Dobson said. “Ominous.”

  Dobson then took out the envelope and examined its sender and recipient address, both typed in the same font as well. The sender address was from Priceless Plastics, a now-defunct plastics manufacturer located on the outskirts of the town’s old industrial sector. It was a strange address to choose, and Dobson pondered the meaning of it, if any.

  “Seems like a dead end,” Harris said, turning away.

  Dobson placed the letter back the envelope. “What do you mean?”

  “It tells us nothing,” Harris said. He then moved closer and squeezed Dobson’s arm with a solemn look in his eyes. “You know what we have to do here, Mike. Quit chasing the wind. Real, hard evidence. That’s all that’s going to help. Take it from me.”

  “Sure thing, Jack,” Dobson said, placing the letter back in his coat pocket.

  “I just don’t want you going to the edges of the earth to find this guy.”

  Dobson narrowed his eyes. “What are you really trying to say?”

  Harris laughed nervously and then patted Dobson on the shoulders. “Come on. You don’t think I’ve noticed this… moping around on your part? What happened wasn’t your fault. I want you to quit blaming yourself.”

  Dobson opened his mouth to speak when suddenly his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He paused, then grabbed his phone as Harris backed away.

  “I’ll catch you later, okay?” Harris said, snapping his fingers.

  Dobson nodded and answered his phone as his old partner slinked away, leaving the crime scene in his hands.

  “This is Dobson,” he said, recognizing the number. It was Kari, a clerk from Homicide. Word of the murder must have traveled through the channels by now.

  “Hey, Mike. Captain wants you to come to the station ASAP.”

  Dobson hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Tracking, Kari. Does he know that I’m in the middle of investigating right now?” Even though he had planned to leave, he wanted to throw his weight around and see if it would work.

  “He’s aware. That’s why he wants to speak to you.”

  “Okay,” Dobson said. “Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

  “Great. Thanks, Mike.”

  He hung up and placed the cell phone back in his right pocket. Harris had already left, Forensics was inside, and the police were still doing a sweep of the outside perimeter. Dobson glanced again at the empty bottle of bleach and then examined the rusty Geo Metro with its handprint on the side passenger’s window. An active crime scene was a lot to contend with, and every moment was crucial. Though confident that they would catch the killer, Dobson had no idea what kind of monster they were dealing with.

  A New Face

  Dobson arrived at the Summerville Police Department just as three police cruisers raced out of the parking lot. The word was out. There was a dangerous killer on the loose, and the all-points bulletin had issued a series of specific directives. Checkpoints had been established and police were alerted to look for anything remotely suspicious throughout town, while law enforcement of neighboring towns were also made aware of the search. It was the nature of Ms. Wade’s death that had officials on edge.

  Despite the quick reaction of the department in the aftermath of a mysterious murder, they faced one glaring issue. There was no description of their suspect, nothing beyond a standard homicide profile provided by Dobson over the radio. Their suspect was most likely a white male in his early to late thirties, most likely alone and inclined to use various disguises, often posing as someone he was not. They were still operating on a very broad description.

  Dobson glanced in his rearview mirror and sighed. The tension in the department was evident before he even stepped inside. He scanned along the rows of tinted windows of the station out front, hesitant. Captain Nelson had summoned Dobson to the station without explanation, which was odd, and odd was never good.

  The grisliness of Betsy Wade’s murder stood in stark contrast to the calm, blue sky above. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Rachel needed to know what was going on. She answered on the third ring with surprise in her tone.

  “Mike?”

  “Hey, honey. I’m just checking in with you to make sure that everything’s all right,” he said, stepping out of the car.

  Rachel answered him, slightly confused. “Yeah, we’re fine. What’s wrong?”

  Dobson glanced at himself in the car window and straightened his tie at the collar. “I don’t want to spook you, but there was a homicide this morning a few miles from our house.”

  “Oh no,” she said, concerned.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I seriously doubt you and Penny are in any danger, but I still want you to be careful. Lock all the doors and windows and don’t go outside unless you have to.”

  “Is that what all those sirens are about?” she asked, sounding worried.

  “It sure is,” Dobson said, walking toward the station, phone against his ear.

  “What happened? Who was murdered?” Rachel asked. He could hear her shuffling around on the other end with the television remote.

  “I can’t go into details right now. There’s a lot we don’t know. I just want you and Penny to stay safe.”

  “Oh, look!” she said with excitement. “There’s a woman reporter on TV in front of the house right now.” Her voice suddenly dropped to a more serious tone. “Woman murdered? Oh no… that’s terrible.”

  Dobson nodded. “Yeah, her name was Betsy Wade. Don’t say anything to anyone else right now. Not even Penny. Just promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

  “You worry too much, Mike,” she said.

  He refrained from revealing details about how Betsy Wade was murdered.

  “It’s just a precaution,” he said.

  “I know. We’ll be careful. I promise. Now, hurry up and find this guy.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said jokingly. “I’ll talk to you later. Okay?”

  “Okay. Love you. Have a good day.”

  He hung up the phone and glanced at his reflection in one of the car mirrors that he passed. He was wearing the same pair of Aviator sunglasses he had for the past five years. He’d call them his lucky pair, but he hadn’t had much luck with cases lately. Not much luck with anything at all.

  He continued walking through the parking lot and up the cement trail leading to a front double-door entrance. A large sign above read “Summerville Police Department” in large black letters. The doors opened and two uniformed police officers walked out, passing Dobson with a nod along the way.

  He entered the lobby of the department where two female clerks sat at an information desk behind glass. There were some civilians sitting on leather chairs, waiting for appointments as the news played on the television off in the corner. Dobson walked past the front desk, down the long, tiled hallway, past the elevators, and toward another entrance where he swiped his card, unlocking the door.<
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  He walked past a busy bay of cubicles, with people talking on their phones and typing on their computers. He wasn’t sure how many of them had heard about the murder already. So far, things just looked like business as usual. Dobson approached Captain Nelson’s office and thought of what Sergeant Cruz had told him about Betsy Wade’s murdered high school friend. The killer, she believed, was coming for her. What had made her so certain? There was something there, but Dobson first needed to research her background, find out what high school she had attended, and track down more about this friend. He had the letter that had been sent to Betsy in his coat pocket, prepared to show it to the captain.

  They could test the stamp on the envelope for DNA. But would their killer have been so careless? Dobson wanted to return to the crime scene. He hadn’t even been officially assigned as lead detective yet, but he knew how those things went. Harris had called him to the scene for a reason: Dobson had a reputation for always saying yes.

  The captain’s door was closed, his name etched in the center of the frosted glass: Captain Aaron F. Nelson. The vertical blinds to the office were shut. Dobson politely knocked and saw a figure move from behind the glass.

  “Come on in,” Nelson said, voice booming.

  Dobson opened the door and found himself surprised to see a young blonde woman sitting by the captain’s desk, wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt with an ID hanging from a lanyard around her neck.

  “Have a seat,” Captain Nelson said from behind his desk.

  Dobson walked slowly to the other vinyl chair next to the woman, keeping his attention on the captain.

  “You wanted to speak with me, sir?” he said.

  He glanced at the woman and could see her looking at him with large, brownish eyes. She was petite, with a thin nose and high cheekbones, looking about half their age. She couldn’t have been older than his daughter, Penny.

  “Detective Dobson, I’d like you to meet Angela Sterling, our newest probationary detective on the force,” Nelson said as he flashed a wide smile that brightened his leathery, wrinkled face.

  Captain Nelson was tall, with short gray hair that was always slicked back. He also always wore the same pair of circular-framed glasses and had a low and booming voice that could control a room when needed.

  The woman smiled at Dobson and extended her manicured hand. “Good morning, Detective. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Confused, he shook her hand and feigned a smile, not wanting to appear rude. There was a litany of other things on his mind beyond meeting whoever the woman was.

  “My pleasure,” he said, releasing her hand.

  He then turned to the captain, hoping to address the matter at hand. “Sir, I’m sure that you’re aware of the situation this morning.”

  Nelson nodded with a noticeably grim expression. “I’m aware and was hoping you could brief us further.”

  Us? he wondered, but put the question aside. “The police are in active pursuit of the suspect,” he began. “Forensics is at the scene. We’ve got a K-9 officer patrolling the perimeter.”

  Nelson held his hands out across his desk as though the answer was obvious. “Have her next of kin been contacted yet? I’m already hearing reports of a murder on the news. Thank God they haven’t released her name yet, but we need to get on it.”

  “Did she have a significant other?” the woman asked.

  Dobson tried quickly to cover up the irritation on his face toward Angela Sterling and her question. He then looked at the captain and answered. “She was a single divorcee.”

  “Well then,” Nelson said. “I think we know who to talk to first.”

  Dobson leaned closer to the desk. “Sir. Who are you assigning as lead investigator of this case? Because if it’s me, I need to return pronto.”

  Nelson brought a hand to his chin, thinking. Dobson, however, didn’t have the patience that morning for general formalities. A woman had been murdered and decapitated, and entertaining the captain was the last thing on his mind.

  “You are,” Nelson finally said. “But what have I been saying since day one?”

  Dobson leaned back in his chair with his arms at his sides and choked out the answer: “We all work as a team.”

  Nelson smiled, satisfied. “That’s correct. Homicide is a twenty-four seven job. Though every detective needs time to rest and spend time with their loved ones, the victims’ families don’t have that luxury. That’s why we need to pass the baton from one detective to the next, one shift and to the next seamlessly.”

  Dobson glanced at the clock again, hesitating as the captain continued. “You can’t solve this case alone. And don’t tell me otherwise.”

  Dobson looked baffled and then offered a calm retort. “I’ve never made that assertion, sir.”

  “You don’t have to make it. I’ve see it in your actions. You’ve been behaving as an individual, a loner, and today that’s going to stop.”

  Dobson gave a nervous laugh. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ms. Sterling will be assigned as your partner during her probationary phase,” Nelson said.

  Dobson glanced at Sterling and then back at Nelson. “I’m sorry?” The title seemed self-explanatory, but what did it mean, in a practical sense to the case and to him?

  Nelson leaned back in his chair with his long hands folded. “She’s currently pursuing a degree in criminal justice.”

  Dobson shrugged. “That’s nice,” he said, as though complimenting a child on a drawing.

  Sterling looked down nervously.

  “I’ve since read her journal article about improvements in criminal profiling, and I must say, I found it very impressive,” Nelson continued.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  Dobson shifted in his seat, ready to storm out of the captain’s office, but then remembered that he had few friends on the force, or so it seemed. And it wouldn’t be prudent to isolate himself further. Not with retirement within his grasp.

  “And she has a brief but impressive history in law enforcement,” the captain continued. “I must say, I’ve reviewed her application to our department and was quite taken. She’s just the fresh face we need.” Turning to Sterling, he said, “I’d like you to work with Detective Sterling as lead investigator on this case.”

  Dobson thought nothing more of the rookie than a distraction. Instead of focusing on the homicide at hand, he instead suddenly felt like a chaperone.

  “Sir, there’s a very dangerous killer on the loose, and the community is looking at us for answers, especially once the details of her death get out there.”

  Nelson continued, unwavering. “Decapitated, I heard. And the local news will most certainly know that by the end of the day. That’s why I need the two of you to take this case head on. Work together. Bring your perspectives to finding this son of a bitch before he does it again.”

  Dobson struggled to gather his thoughts as the rookie sat quietly in her chair. “Is this her first day?”

  Nelson laughed. “Not necessarily. She recently transferred from Columbia PD. She was a beat cop for what, five years?”

  “Five and half, sir,” she said.

  “Yesterday was spent in processing. Today, she’s all yours,” Nelson said.

  The room went silent as Dobson balled his fist, noticeably agitated and shifting in his seat. He could hear the ticking of the wall clock hanging above a display of plaques. Captain Nelson had a nice, spacious office with hardwood floors that was minimally furnished with a bookcase of legal books and regulations. On the top bookshelf were a few framed family photos with his two young daughters and his pretty wife.

  Near the shelf on the wall were framed newspaper articles with him in the picture, receiving various community awards and certificates. He was good at promoting the image of a hard-working professional department, and to some greater extent, himself. But none of that mattered now. All it felt like was that he was stepping on Dobson’s toes
.

  Dobson rose from his chair as the rookie nervously looked from him to the captain. “Tell you what, sir. Why don’t you come to the crime scene and see for yourself what we’re dealing with?” He had stepped on some toes himself now—sensitive, powerful toes.

  The captain’s face went flush as he spoke in a calm but forceful manner. “I have a department to run, Detective. And I answer to the Chief of Police, not to my subordinates.” He then placed his hands on the desk and stood, pushing the chair back on its wheels. “Now, this is what I want from both of you. You will investigate this murder and find a suspect within the next forty-eight hours. I’m at my wits’ end with open cases and considering an internal overhaul if it keeps up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Dobson asked, pointing at the woman.

  “This? Her transfer was sudden, and I apologize, but I want Detective Sterling to work with you. There’s no one better to show her the ropes.”

  Dobson refused to be swayed by praise. Unconvinced, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the Ziploc bag with the mysterious envelope and letter inside and placed it on the captain’s table.

  “This letter was mailed to Ms. Wade, who received it yesterday. Inside, there’s a message that says, See you soon. Nothing more, nothing less. Ms. Wade contacted the police about this letter, and when they went to her house, she claimed that someone was out to get her. Her life was in danger and we did nothing. This could be very problematic.”

  Nelson studied the bagged envelope. “What else?” he simply said.

  “She was afraid because some high school friend of hers was recently killed. She told the officers that she was next. Maybe there’s a connection, maybe there’s not.” He then backed away from the chair and began pacing the room.

  “Or maybe there are more letters,” Sterling said, speaking up for the first time in a long while.

  Dobson ignored her and kept pacing. “If there is a link between Ms. Wade and this high school friend, I’m afraid that it won’t end there.” He stopped and then turned toward the captain, realizing that he had been thinking out loud. “This is a complex case.”