by Peter Cry
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stevens,” he shook his hand. “Agent Alfred Hope.”
The handsome chubby man with a reddish bald head rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and unbuttoned the collar. He went around the coffee table and sat down.
“I hope you didn’t bring us bad news, and my wife isn’t crying because of you,” he said quietly so his wife would not hear.
“No, everything... everything is fine,” Alfred hesitated. “I mean, it’s not fine, but in terms of bad news it’s... I have not brought you bad news. Which is the same as good news... I came to talk to you.”
“We’ve already talked to your colleagues many times.”
“Yes, I know,” the FBI agent began to explain everything again, as if justifying himself.
“He's a newcomer,” Mrs. Stevens interrupted, setting tea in front of her husband. “As far as I understood it, Agent Hope decided to take up the case fresh. Right before you came, he promised me that he would find the kidnapper and our Emmy.” She turned to her husband and hugged him.
“Needlessly,” John said in disbelief. “Well, at least someone’s promised us something.”
“In my view in a case like this, the criminal could not avoid making some small mistake,” Alfred explained. “That mistake, which no one has yet spotted, is what I want to discover. My more experienced colleagues have a blurred vision, they do everything according to the established schemes and they trust facts more than their own intuition. I, on the contrary, rely on it and on my personal contact with people – the relatives of the victims, children themselves, and the suspects.”
“Children?” John asked, trying to figure out what Agent Hope meant. “Your specialization is children, not abductions or murders?”
“Not really,” he clarified. “My specialization is pedophiles. And I find them through children.”
“So, you think a pedophile kidnapped Emmy and the other children?” Mrs. Stevens wedged into the conversation.
“I hate to say so, but I’m pretty sure of it.”
John and his wife looked at each other intensely.
“But I beg you,” Alfred continued. “Don’t make hasty conclusions and don’t dwell on the worst. It’s just a guess. It’s based on my experience.”
“As you say, agent,” John nodded. “If my wife believes in your promises, then I’ll trust you too.”
John looked at the woman next to him, not just as his wife, but as at the person with whom he had gone through hunger, war, or a terrible disease that was supposed to kill both of them. He looked at her in the same way he used to look at his now-deceased mother, who worked at two jobs, doing everything so her son would have the possibility to go to college. He looked at her as someone so dear, it was not possible to deceive or betray.
“I have confidence in him,” she said quietly, looking into her husband’s eyes.
“You heard everything yourself,” John addressed the guest.
Alfred nodded his head and smiled.
“Now let me ask you a few questions about Emmy and the events related to the day of the abduction. Even if these questions seem strange to you, please answer them with complete seriousness.”
“Go ahead,” Mrs. Stevens responded for both.
Agent Hope took the smartphone out of his pocket, switched on the voice recorder, and placed it on the coffee table before the couple.
“Before Emmy’s abduction, did she have bad dreams, maybe even obsessive nightmares?”
“Well, that’s a strange question,” John thought.
After scratching his head, he exchanged confused glances with his wife.
“Not sure. I think she slept calmly.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Stevens nodded, echoing her husband.
“Was the atmosphere in the class where Emmy studied, shortly before the abduction, normal? Did you happen to notice any tension among the children?”
“Children often bicker,” Emmy's mom replied thoughtfully. “No, there was nothing to make me anxious.”
“Were there any teachers, or other staff who knew Emmy and who left the school, let's say” – Alfred thought for a moment – “six months or so before the abduction?”
“It's hard to recall right now,” Mrs. Stevens continued to answer for the two of them. “There were two or three people like that. I know for sure about Mr. Eastwood, a drawing teacher, and Mrs. Wood, who taught English.”
“Fine,” Alfred continued.” What about Emmy's sex education? Did you talk to her about that, or maybe she found stuff out in the classroom?”
“I talked to her about sex, explaining everything about the birds, and the bees. Girls are somehow easier to talk to about that. However, I did not go into much detail.”
“Did Emmy ever lie to you? Not childish lies, but about serious matters?”
“No,” John retorted. “My daughter never lied to me.”
Alfred slowly looked at his wife sitting next to him.
“I agree with my husband.”
“How do you dream about your daughter? In what place do you meet her? What is she wearing?”
“I don’t dream about my daughter.” John was upset.
Stroking his neck, his wife turned her thoughtful gaze upwards. It was clear she was trying to remember something important that might help the young agent.
“There is a particular dream I have more often than others...”
“As detailed as possible, please.”
Mrs. Stevens sighed heavily, withdrawing into herself. Slowly, she began to speak.
“It’s the two of us, summer. John is not around. We mess around in the kitchen. Emmy sits at a table and plays games on my tablet. She often coughs for some reason. I offer her water, but she refuses. Then I put some sweet corn on the table for her. I ask her to eat, but she refuses again. I had that dream three times.”
“How was she dressed? Maybe there were bruises on her body, or something wrong with her hair? Any characteristic detail you remembered?”
“No, everything was blurred, as in dreams. She was dressed in her favorite dress, white with red straps on her shoulders.
“Oh yes!” Mrs. Stevens perked up. “Those straps constantly fell from her shoulders. Such a sweet little girl, still without teeth…” She smiled sadly.
“I see,” Agent Hope scratched his head. “Well, that’s what I wanted to ask. I understand that you may have heard some of these questions from my colleagues, but it was important for me to see your reaction.”
“I hope the answers can help you to find our daughter and that bastard,” Jonathan said coldly. “And that you will give the parents the opportunity to tear that scum to shreds.”
“I’ve promised.”
“Yes, you have” Mrs. Stevens agreed.
“I’ll be honest with you. I came to you not so much to ask questions, but for another other reason,” Alfred said shyly.
“And what’s that?”
“I want to see Emmy’s room, if it’s still preserved.”
“No,” John shook his head. “After the mess your colleagues made, we do not let anyone inside. They took everything you need, and you have photos of the interior.”
“Listen,” the agent addressed the couple with understanding. “I am not a techie. To obtain strong analytical skills, I will have to spend more than a dozen years with the agency. My strength is to feel how a person, one who can hurt a child, may think, so I can predict their actions. By modulating the situation, finding myself at the scene of the crime or at the home of a victim, I seem to feel what the criminal did before they committed the crime, or after. Of course, you may not believe me, but so far my intuition has never let me down.”
“Predict the actions that happened two years ago!? Don't you think you're a little late?” Mrs. Stevens asked, looking at her guest as if he were an idiot.
“In such cases, it’s never too late.”
John looked at his wife. She sighed heavily and nodded.
“Consider that you have carte bl
anche, Agent Hope,” John said, standing up.
He pulled out a jangling bunch of keys from the back pocket of his khaki-colored pants.
Walking up to the second floor John opened a white door, all covered with multi-colored stickers on which the characters of children's cartoons were depicted.
“Do you need some privacy?” Mr. Stephens asked.
“If it's possible.”
“Do your magic, and we’ll wait downstairs.”
Jonathan and his wife left him.
Gathering all his strength, Alfred entered Emmy's room and closed the door behind him. After taking a few steps he raised the pink curtain with his fingers and looked out from the window.
A barely audible laugh came into that quiet room from the street – noisy children were playing somewhere. Sitting on a small wooden bed with a pink-golden headboard, Agent Hope began to study the interior of the room. Emmy’s room was tiny. Nevertheless, it had everything that should be in the room of a modern eight-year-old girl. A desk where she did her homework, a chest of toys so full that it could not be closed, a raspberry-colored cupboard with silver mirror stars pasted on the doors, and a nice soft bed with a multi-colored blanket. Photographs in which a happy Emmy was laughing in the company of her girlfriends covered the walls. The abundance of pink was probably overdone, but it seemed sweet and sad to Alfred. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and, bending his knees, lay on the bed where Emmy slept. The pillow and the blanket smelled freshly washed, and everything in the room was super clean. Concentrating, the young man retreated into himself, letting the environment lead to momentary flashbacks.
In his thoughts was the image of a little girl who slept in this room. Sitting on the oval rainbow carpet, she played with her dolls combing their hair. She acted up when her parents forced her to study, and fell asleep sweetly, listening to tender lullabies.
Alfred tried his best to feel, to understand, what it meant to lust after such a child, to want her small hand to touch an erect penis. He imagined a childish face full of exhausting pleasure from sex. He could not make any of his fantasies come alive. Instead of being able to visualize pleasure, he only experienced a great spiritual pain. The only thing he saw was the crying, frightened Emmy Stevens, crying out “Mommy!”
Alfred opened his eyes. Rising, he sat on the edge of the bed. No, he wasn’t and would never be one of those who furtively dream of a child's nakedness and the pleasure it can provide. He understood that the child was still suffering or was already dead. The monster who had committed the crime was walking free and, perhaps, was planning a new, no less terrible kidnapping.
He went to the closet. Opening it, he began to examine the personal belongings of the little girl.
“What’s taking him so long?” Mrs. Stevens exclaimed, sitting in the kitchen at the empty black table, twisting her glass with two fingers.
Her husband sat opposite her. He nodded his head.
“Shall I hurry him up?”
Mrs. Stevens looked at her watch.
“Let's give him another five minutes.”
Finally, the door on the first floor opened. John and his wife hurried into the hallway. Alfred came down the stairs.
“Thank you for allowing me to examine the room.”
“I don’t know what you did there,” Mrs. Stevens commented. “You worked some kind of magic, meditated, hoped to find a hidden diary? Can you tell us?”
Alfred shrugged. He wanted to bullshit them and lie that he had experienced a supernatural revelation which would lead him to the girl. To the parents he must have seemed like a character from a series, where the hero had superpowers that helped to catch criminals.
“Sorry, nothing more to tell you at this stage. After I talk with all the parents, maybe I’ll find a clue which will help solve the case. The only thing I can guarantee is that I will work every day to bring Emmy back and find the criminal.”
“We’ll appreciate that,” John said sincerely.
Agent Hope thanked the parents again and left. After taking a few paces outside, he suddenly stopped and after a few seconds went back.
John Stevens heard knocking on the door. “Might have forgotten something,” he muttered.
Jessica opened the front door.
“Please, excuse me,” the agent smiled awkwardly. “I completely forgot. I usually ask this question first when it’s suspected the motive is linked with pedophilia. It completely flew out of my head. On the walls in the living room, and in Emmy’s room, I saw a lot of pictures in the same style. They are all black-and-white. And they look like they had been taken by a professional. Did you have a studio photographer photograph your daughter?”
Mrs. Stevens stepped out on the porch in her socks and leaned her back against the doorpost.
“No, those photos were taken at the casting.”
“What casting?”
“When did we go there?” she looked at John. “Four years ago, I guess?”
“Let me try to recall,” her husband rummaged through his memory. “No, three years ago. Yes, for sure, it was a year before the abduction, maybe a bit more. My friend called me and said that a bigwig from L.A., an agent, was coming to the city. Allegedly, he was casting for a large project. He didn’t say which one, but the announcement said that it required beautiful girls and boys from 6 to 12 years old. It turned out that this was all a scam.”
“A scam?” Alfred became interested.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stevens guiltily. “I roped John into that adventure. Emmy always stood out from the rest of the children because of her sweet look and beauty. What mother doesn’t dream of her daughter becoming a star.” After a short pause, she smiled sadly. “I remember that after we went there, I was 100% sure that they would call us. I was on telephone duty for hours.”
Alfred glanced at his watch.
“Sorry, I have to go. Could you be as precise as possible, please?”
“Yes, excuse me.” Mrs. Stevens understood. “He was not a producer from Hollywood, but merely the employee of an acting agency. He was simply providing data used by producers of films and commercials.”
“When we were at the casting,” John interrupted his wife, “the photographer took some good photos. Later we bought some from that phoney.”
“Do you still have his contacts?”
“Yes, they’re somewhere. I'll find them for you.”
John rushed upstairs.
“Do you think this event might somehow be connected with the abduction of our Emmy?” Mrs. Stevens asked hopefully.
“No, ma'am, but as a newcomer, I’ll dig where no one has dug before. I’ll take the contacts of the teachers you’ve mentioned. I’ll talk to all of them, and to the person who did the casting. Every detail is precious, even one that seems insignificant.”
Jonathan came downstairs. Before approaching the door, he ducked into the living room.
“Well, have you found it?” his wife shouted.
Jonathan appeared at the door with an annoyed look.
“I’m sorry,” he hopelessly gestured. “I could not find the piece of paper on which I wrote down the number. But I will certainly look more carefully. I hope we didn’t throw it away.”
“Well then” – Alfred shook hands with Emmy’s parents once again – “you have my number. Please call, if you remember anything important at any time, day or night.”
Mrs. Stevens looked at agent Hope, the first federal agent who seemed sincere and empathic to her. His eyes genuinely reflected everything he said – his promises, and each, albeit rare, word of sympathy. For the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope that she would see her daughter's sweet face again.
***
“Everything seems calm and peaceful,” Alfred thought, swaying in his chair, looking at his colleagues and glancing at the doors. The second working Monday seemed quite usual and unhurried. Nothing could dampen his spirit, even rumbles of thunder outside and rain.
Suddenly, the office doors flew
open.
“Agent Hope, into my office, now!” an infuriated Rita commanded.
“Wow,” Agent Polaski, who was sitting next to Alfred, could hardly help from grinning. Distracted from work, he closed his laptop, moved away from his desk, and crossed his legs.
“Your second working week, and such emotions. I like you more and more, Alf. We’ll pal up with you.”
Unwillingly getting up, the cop from Seattle buttoned the collar of his shirt and tightened his tie.
“For you, it’s Agent Hope,” he snorted contemptuously, and rushed to his boss’s office.
Surprised by the situation, his colleagues followed the young man’s eyes, full of compassion, knowing from personal experience the tough conversation that he would have to endure.
“What am I supposed to do with you?” Rita asked in a raised voice as her subordinate entered.
She was visibly angry. Leaning over the table, she rested her hands on the brown tabletop, sullenly looking at Alfred with her dark eyes.
“May I sit down?” hiding his fear and nervousness, Agent Hope asked.
“No, you may not! Why the hell did you go to the victim’s family?” Rita almost yelled.
“As I told you, I needed to talk with the parents of the missing children.”
“But I told you during our first conversation that I don’t give you permission to do that, didn’t I?”
“I must solve this case somehow,” Alfred kept chipping away at her stony heart.
“Not only you, Hope! All of us must!”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
Rita clenched her fists. Gritting her teeth, she took several deep breaths. Taking control of her emotions, she slowly sat back into her chair.
“I am not so disturbed by the fact that you spoke with the parents. What angers me is that you’ve disobeyed me, violating a direct and clear order... You’ve deceived me.”
Alfred, went up to her desk, pulled up a chair and sat down.
“And what was I supposed to do, delve into the old trash that has not led anyone anywhere?”
“No, Agent Hope, you must work with the team, listen to your more experienced colleagues, coordinate your actions with them.”
Rita looked disdainfully at him. “I was told that during all the time you’ve been working here, you haven’t even tried to establish contact with your colleagues. Do you think you are better than them?”