The Silent Child Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Kidnapping Mysteries

by Roger Hayden

  “And I have the utmost confidence that you and Detective Sterling will be able to find something,” Nelson said. He then walked around his desk and extended his hand toward the rookie as Dobson stood in place near the door, disquieted. “Welcome aboard, Detective Sterling. Be sure to take notes and listen to Detective Dobson. He knows a thing or two about this job.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, shaking his hand. “I won’t let you down.”

  “That’s great to hear. We’re very happy to have you as part of the team.”

  Finding no reason to argue the matter further, Dobson turned and faced the rookie and the captain with his shoulders lowered and an indifferent expression on his face. If he was to have a partner, better that it was a rookie than some know-it-all from another department.

  Nelson walked toward the rookie, singing the praises of the department as Dobson turned to open the door. She stepped outside when the captain’s hand came upon Dobson’s shoulder, stopping him.

  “We’ll only be a minute,” Nelson said to Sterling, leaving Dobson confused.

  “No problem,” she said, smiling.

  Nelson then closed the door and walked around his desk and sat under the shining glow of his arched desk lamp.

  “I’m sorry, was there something else?” Dobson asked.

  Nelson studied Dobson for a moment, then took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Listen, Mike. I don’t mean to put you in an awkward spot, but I really think it’s for the best. You’re old school. She needs some of that.”

  Dobson turned to the door and then back to the captain. “Someone placed an anonymous call to the station this morning reporting the murder.”

  “We’ll check it out,” Nelson said. “In the meantime, you know what I expect. Keep things quiet and find this sicko.”

  Dobson placed the letter back into his coat pocket and adjusted his tie, prepared to leave. “It’s that all, sir?”

  Nelson looked up with a sincere look of understanding. “I’m sorry to pull you away like this. From what I’ve heard, Sterling is sharp. I think you’ll like working with her.”

  Dobson said nothing as he turned and opened the door. Nelson wished him luck and he closed the door, knowing that it would take more than luck to get a handle on this case. He saw the rookie standing at a cubicle, already talking to two police officers who Dobson paid little mind. They seemed to be flirting with her, and Dobson felt defensive, like a father. She turned as he approached and modified her casual demeanor.

  “Ready?” Dobson asked, barely making eye contact.

  “Sure am,” she said, adjusting her shoulder bag and following him.

  He continued through the cubicles with the rookie following. They walked in silence, receiving passing glances from some people, but the rest looked too busy to care. Dobson turned left into his office in the corner, flipping on the light switch as they flickered above, revealing a cluttered office the same way it had looked the day before.

  His desk was covered with files and paperwork. A bookshelf stood near a small couch with a pillow and blanket strewn across it. The office had seen many late nights and could use some straightening up, but he knew that a good detective didn’t spend a lot of his time in the office. He walked to his desk and opened a few drawers, searching for some papers, but not sure where to start. Sterling stood outside the door, patiently waiting.

  “Nice office,” she said.

  “Thanks…” he said, grabbing his favorite tattered mini-notebook. He then closed the drawer and scanned the room, eyes stopping at his brown leather satchel resting on a chair in the corner. “Ah. There it is.”

  “So where to first?” she asked.

  Dobson grabbed his satchel and walked back to his desk, picking up the office phone. “Well. I think we need to see Ms. Wade first.”

  The rookie leaned inside the office with a confused expression. “I’m sorry?”

  Dobson held the receiver to his ear and dialed. “We’re going to visit the coroner. They took her body there about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Okay…” she said, clearly not thrilled with the idea.

  “This is Detective Dobson,” he said into the phone. “Can I speak with the Medical Examiner, please?”

  He waited and exchanged a glance with Sterling, wondering if she had ever seen a dead body before. Sure, she had been a cop, but he’d known cops who had never even fired their weapons their entire career, let alone seen a corpse. It would be her first test of many.

  If she really wanted to be part of the case, he was going to show her exactly what she was getting into. Though he had found the sight of Ms. Wade’s headless corpse deeply unsettling himself, perhaps the rookie wouldn’t bat an eye. Or maybe she’d ask to leave the room. Dobson didn’t know which response would trouble him the most.

  He waited on hold, humming to himself and thinking. Was he right in his assumption that they were looking for a serial killer? There was no evidence to suggest that it was anything but an isolated murder, depraved on its own terms, but with no known pattern. Regardless, the killer was still out there. If he were to strike again, Dobson would hold himself responsible. That was how he operated. It wasn’t enough just to catch them. He wanted to stop them. That’s how he used to approach Homicide, anyway. Standing in his office, waiting to speak to the Medical examiner, he wasn’t even sure about that anymore.

  Killer Among Them

  From behind the wheel of his department-issued Ford Crown Victoria, Dobson raced to the Summerville Medical Examiner’s Office, roughly five miles from the station and a few blocks from the hospital. Sterling sat in the passenger seat, observing the layout of the town. She hadn’t said much since they left the station, which was fine by him. He had a lot on his mind and didn’t feel up for small talk.

  She then pulled a notebook from her bag, set it on her lap, and began writing as the police radio chatter filled the silence in the car. Dobson didn’t pry. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road, changing lanes and dodging traffic on the way through the downtown business district. He stopped at an intersection as the light turned red. Sterling looked up and then resumed her writing. Dobson glanced at her and then back at the road.

  “So, do you still live in Columbia?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  She stopped writing. “No, I moved out here about two weeks ago. Just settling in.”

  “How long ago did you get contacted about the transfer?” he asked.

  “It happened pretty fast,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude on your investigation.”

  “That’s not it,” he said, waving her off. “It’s just… of all the days.”

  Things went quiet again as she resumed writing in her notebook. He didn’t see a wedding ring and hadn’t heard any mention of family. For the moment, he didn’t want to get personal. She had to be at least Penny’s age. He’d be surprised if she was older than thirty, and now she was his supposed new partner.

  What a joke, he thought.

  “So, you live in town now?” he asked.

  She turned to him with a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah. I rented a studio apartment across the street from a Big Lots. Living the dream.”

  “Not bad,” he said.

  “Even with the sudden transfer, I couldn’t pass it up, working Homicide.” She paused and spoke in a calmer, reserved tone. “Guess you could say that it’s always been a dream of mine.”

  Dobson nodded, unsure of what to say. Perhaps he had felt that way too at her age.

  “You know, I have some theories about our suspect,” she said with a quick scratch at the top of the head with the eraser end of her pencil.

  “Is that so?” he said, clearing his throat, far from impressed.

  “But I’d like to hear your theories first,” she said, turning to him as sunlight flicked into the car from between buildings.

  Dobson hesitated, adjusting his sunglasses and then rolling down his window a crack.

  “You smoke?” he asked out o
f nowhere.

  “Um… no,” she said, unsure of the right answer.

  “Good,” he said. “Neither do I. I used to, but quit about five years ago.”

  “Wow. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He paused and then spoked almost as if in confidence. “Because if you did, I’d sure as hell ask to bum one right now.”

  She laughed and he smiled a little, slowing at a four-way stop.

  It was ten after eleven. The day was moving at a rapid pace that Dobson hoped he could keep up with. Maybe when he was younger. They passed the Summerville Regional Hospital on their right and continued three blocks down the road to the medical examiner’s office on the left, a two-story brick building with rectangular mirrored-glass windows and a small parking lot that was nearly full. Dobson hadn’t been there in a month and was enjoying the break, but not for long, he knew.

  He pulled into a spot in the corner of the cracked pavement parking lot near two green metal dumpsters. The building was surrounded by vine-covered chain-link fence with other nameless buildings in the distance, identical in their commonplace design. Thin, transparent clouds streaked across the light-blue sky above, as if predicting a calm, pleasant day. Dobson radioed the officers back at the crime scene and let them know that he would be arriving within the hour. He was unsure if they cared or not, but he wanted to make it clear that he was still in charge of the investigation.

  He stepped out of the car and stretched as Sterling walked closer to the building and took a picture of it with her cell phone. She turned and noticed his questioning glance.

  “I like to take pictures of buildings. It’s an interesting structure.”

  Dobson shrugged and closed the car door, locking it with the press of a button on his keychain. “Modern work of art.”

  Sterling playfully scoffed. “It’s got to be at least fifty years old.”

  “Probably more,” he said, walking past her.

  She slipped her phone into her shoulder bag and caught up with Dobson, her hair blowing in the slight breeze. “How long have you been a detective? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Too long,” he said, glancing at a gated-off loading dock on the side of the building. It was the spot where the paramedics delivered bodies for examination, to be followed later by a scheduled pick-up by funeral service personnel. With any luck, Ms. Wade’s autopsy was underway.

  It all depended on how busy the examiner’s office was. Dobson hoped not too busy; he wanted answers. Details of how she was killed would clear some questions about who they were dealing with. Without her head, however, determining such facts would be problematic.

  He walked along a concrete path toward the entrance, passing an empty gazebo off to the side. The tinted glass door ahead had hours posted under the lettering for “District Seven Medical Examiner’s Office.” Its business office hours were from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., but its death calls and autopsies were listed as twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

  Before they entered, Sterling asked him who they were going to talk to.

  “Dr. Galligan,” he answered, stopping at the door. “The Chief Medical Examiner. He’s expecting us.”

  Sterling paused for a moment, looking around. Dobson could tell that she had something on her mind.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Sterling shook her head. “When was the victim brought here?”

  “About an hour ago. Why?” he asked back, growing impatient.

  “Most autopsies take up to two hours. Are you sure we’re not jumping the gun?”

  Dobson stood for a moment with his hand on the door. Fifteen years in law enforcement and he was being questioned by a rookie.

  Feeling the tension, Sterling backtracked. “You’re the expert. I assume you have good reason”

  Dobson continued to stare, not sure what to make of her.

  “Just wanted to give the coroner enough time,” she said with a shrug.

  “First off,” Dobson began, his index finger pointed. “We’re speaking with the doctor. Not the coroner. There’s a difference. I’m doing my best to piece together what I know, so we need to be patient. Got it?” He felt much better getting it all off his chest. Perhaps he had taken too much of his frustrations on her, but the point was made, nonetheless.

  “I understand, Detective,” she said.

  Dobson pulled the door open, waving her in.

  “Thanks,” she said, walking past him.

  Dobson then entered the building’s tiled lobby. A long, L-shaped desk sat in the corner with two women seated behind it, one of them on the phone. He approached the desk, glancing at the hall behind them next to a wall of filing cabinets labeled alphabetically. The other woman, a curly-haired redhead he remembered as Wynona, was preoccupied with a stack of manila folders, peeling the label from one.

  “Good morning, Detective,” she said, adjusting the bridge of her glasses. “It’s been a while.”

  “It sure has,” he said, and placed both hands on the desk. “Can’t say I’m glad to be back. How are you, Wynona?”

  “Just fine,” she said with a glance behind him to where Sterling stood, hands folded and observing the room with curiosity.

  “Oh, this is Detective Sterling,” Dobson began. “Probationary Detective, that is…”

  Sterling stepped forward and extended her hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Wynona.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” the woman said. Her counterpart was still tied up on the phone but offered a quick wave.

  “I’ll page the doctor and let him know that you’re here,” Wynona said as she reached for the phone receiver. She pressed a red button on the phone and waited.

  “Yes, Doctor. Are you ready for Detective Dobson?” She paused, nodding. “Okay, great. I’ll let him know.” She hung up the phone and then looked up at them with a smile. “He’s in the back. First floor, one thirteen. One of the last doors on your left.”

  “Thank you,” Dobson said, walking past the other woman, whose name he couldn’t remember, and around a partition that led to the bright, empty hallway. Sterling followed closely as they passed a series of numbered doors on both sides.

  “So, you haven’t been here in a while?” she asked.

  “Two months,” he said, spotting their room, five doors down and past an empty wheeled gurney. The hall smelled of strong disinfectant, which was usually the case. “Elderly woman was pushed down the stairs and murdered. Pretty sad.”

  “I was hoping that you could share some of your theories about Ms. Wade’s murder,” Sterling began. “We haven’t been able to finish our conversation from before.”

  Dobson nodded as they reached room one thirteen. There was a red button outside the door. He turned to Sterling, prepared to ring the doctor and go into the room where the body awaited. “Well,” he began in a frank tone. “A person or persons murdered her last night and cut off her head.”

  He stared into Sterling’s eyes, looking for a response, but she remained unfazed. He continued. “It could be a deranged stalker or even a more deranged serial killer. You’ve heard about the letter. It’s only a matter of time before we track down who sent it.”

  “You believe that this letter is involved?” she asked.

  He paused, finger inches from the buzzer. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

  “Not at all, Detective,” she said. “I just wondered if the letter might be a distraction. Something to keep our attention elsewhere.”

  Dobson thought to himself. “We won’t know until we search her house for prior correspondence. But all of that’s beside the point right now.” He was about to push the button but then paused again. “And please. Just stand back and observe. I have some very specific questions for the medical examiner.”

  “Not a problem,” she said.

  Dobson pushed the button and heard a ringing from inside. A moment later, the door automatically unlocked to the muffled sound of Dr. Galligan calling for them to enter. Dob
son opened the door and they walked inside to a stronger, more potent smell of disinfectant. The sterile room had white tiled floor reflecting light from the fluorescent bulbs above. Steel cabinets and countertops lined the back wall next to two long, wheeled tables in each corner, empty.

  From the center of the room, Dr. Galligan looked up from a white countertop where several shiny surgical tools were laid out in a row. He was wearing a dark blue medical gown that went down to his feet, a hair cover, and a transparent face shield mounted on his head. Behind him was a steel examiner’s table, where a covered body lay under the light of a retractable lamp.

  “Perfect timing,” Dr. Galligan said. “I was just finishing up.”

  “Great,” Dobson said, approaching him. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  He could still smell the body as decay began to settle in. There was nothing worse than the smell of death. And there was nothing else like it.

  “The fun never stops here,” Galligan said, picking up a clipboard with his gloved hands. He then paused, noticing Sterling in the background. “Who’s this?”

  Dobson turned and then looked back to Dr. Galligan. “Probationary Detective Angela Sterling. She just joined Homicide.”

  “Ah,” Galligan said, looking back at the notes on his clipboard. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Are you married?” Galligan asked as he set his clipboard onto the white countertop.

  Dobson looked at him, surprised by the doctor’s forthrightness, though Galligan wasn’t a person who held back.

  Sterling hesitated but offered an answer anyway. “No, I’m not.”

  “Boyfriend?” Galligan asked almost immediately.

  “Dr. Galligan, please,” Dobson said. “Let’s keep personal business personal.”

  Galligan stopped and faced both detectives. “I don’t mean to pry. Just curious.”

  “I’m single,” Sterling said, stepping forward and seemingly unbothered by the line of questioning.