Missing Daughter

by Rick Mofina

  After Zubik and Asher had arrived and served the surprised property owner with the search warrant, Zubik surveyed the area.

  “Back in the day, I’d come out to this way with my old man to buy milk and cheese directly from a farmer who lived around here,” Zubik said.

  “And now it’s a crime scene,” Asher said.

  Everything moved fast after the warrant. Syracuse police had cordoned off the section to be searched. Guided by the tipster’s video, Blane Pierce, who led the forensic unit, had his team concentrate on the small grove near the property’s edge.

  The air hammered as the Onondaga County helicopter thudded overhead, taking aerial photographs. A cadaver dog had been brought in, and they unloaded ground-penetrating radar equipment from its trailer and moved it into place.

  “With all this activity,” Asher said as they tugged on coveralls, “how long do you think before word of our search gets out?”

  “Not long.”

  Zubik watched the officer with the radar cart. The device looked like a lawn mower, and could detect where the earth had been disturbed beneath the surface by emitting electromagnetic energy into the ground. If it detected an object, it sent signals back to the surface where they could be read. Zubik was familiar with the model. It could penetrate some thirty feet.

  The operator slowly crisscrossed a patch near the grove that approximated the area seen in the four-year-old video. Back and forth, back and forth, for nearly twenty minutes before he stopped, raised one arm and pointed to the ground with the other.

  “He’s got something,” Pierce called to Asher and Zubik.

  The operator inserted a series of small yellow flags into the ground outlining the target area. Two officers in coveralls headed toward it carrying shovels. Careful to use the same path into the scene, Zubik and Asher followed, stopping to observe from the edge of the flagged area.

  As the first shovel bit into the earth, Asher turned to Zubik.

  “After all these years, Stan, is this where it ends?”

  79

  “Oh, come on, pal, you know you can tell me.”

  Justin Rice smiled as he tried to massage information from one of his sources downtown. Phone pressed to his ear, Rice sat in his ten-year-old Toyota Corolla, knowing he had to get the smashed left taillight fixed. He looked at the blank screen on his tablet. He also knew that last week’s fire at the east side bar was arson, but just needed confirmation for his story.

  “Maybe tomorrow, Justin. Check with me tomorrow.”

  The source ended the call. Rice cursed and looked through his windshield at the boarded-up ruins of the bar. He knew the owner had torched the place to pay off a gambling debt that was tied to something bigger. Rice would not give up on the story, just like he wouldn’t give up on being a reporter, despite being downsized in New Jersey.

  He’d come back home to live in his mom’s basement while struggling to sell stories as a freelancer and stringer for big national news organizations. Problem was that while the rent and meals were pretty much free in Syracuse, the stories, the kind he needed to get his name on the front pages in New York, were scarce.

  In the seven months since he’d been back, Rice was zealous, reconnecting with every source he’d ever known while connecting with a lot of new ones. “Justin will never burn you,” that was the credo he lived by. He’d out-hustled a lot of the locals and had sold a few pieces to the Washington Post, the New York Times, USA TODAY and a few others. But it wasn’t enough, and he was getting worried. He went online and checked his bank account again. His buyout package was almost gone.

  Rice tapped his pen to his chin, thought again about moving to Los Angeles and staying with a friend, when his phone rang.

  The number was blocked.

  “Rice,” he said.

  “Hey there, muckraker.”

  Rice recognized the voice of one of his best sources, a guy plugged into the courts, law enforcement, all things crime-wise.

  “Hey, how you doing?” Rice said.

  “Great. Listen, Riceman, you should get your butt out to Willowind at the edge of town. Got one helluva story for you out there, and so far ain’t nobody else knows a thing about it—all hush-hush.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Within minutes of being tipped, Rice was pushing his Corolla past the speed limit on his way to the scene. He was relieved when he saw an array of police and emergency vehicles, confirming that something was happening. At the same time, a court source gave him a summary over the phone of a search warrant for the property and warrants concerning dental records—“all related to the case of Maddison Lane.”

  After getting the standard “cannot confirm or deny” line from investigators at the scene, Rice, from a distance, took photos of police probing a site in the ground, then returned to his car, consulted his notes, sent off an email and began writing.

  A moment later his phone rang.

  “Justin, this is Lee Durrant, National Desk, New York Times. What is it you have there?”

  Working to keep calm, Rice could not hide the nervous excitement in his voice as he relayed all he knew. It concerned the case of Maddison Lane, the Syracuse girl who drew national attention when she vanished at age twelve four years ago, but recently returned. Rice said new information had surfaced and detectives were working on a fresh lead that the teen found in Florida was not Maddison Lane; that the real Maddison Lane may have been killed, buried in a rural grave, and her abduction staged to cover it up, her parents inviting an impostor into their home.

  “Wow,” Durrant said. “Okay, we need to confirm everything. And it’s all yours so far?”

  “Yes, so far.”

  “I’m going to put some of our people on it to help you. Keep at it. I want you to keep me posted. Good work, Justin, and thanks for calling the Times.”

  80

  Karen scanned the frozen ham, not noticing that the laser light hadn’t read the bar code.

  “Excuse me,” the customer, a man with white hair and glasses, said. “I’d love a free ham, but it would be dishonest of me not to point out that you didn’t charge me for it.”

  Karen was poised to bag the ham. She stopped, checked the display scroll on her register’s monitor. The ham wasn’t there. She entered the price manually. “Sorry, thank you.” She gave him a distracted smile.

  She’d been dwelling on Maddie for most of her shift. Karen had felt that Maddie had recovered from the dentist yesterday and insisted she go to school today. Still, Karen was anxious. When she’d texted Maddie asking how she was doing, all she got back were one-word answers.

  “Fine.” Or, “Good.”

  As Karen passed the man his receipt and coupons, her phone vibrated in her pocket with a call. No customers were in her line so she took it, even though the store frowned upon personal calls.

  “Is this Karen Lane, the mother of Maddison Lane?”

  The number was blocked. Not recognizing the voice, Karen thought it might be the school.

  “Yes, this is Karen Lane, Maddie’s mother.”

  “Hi, Karen, this is Sue Landers with the New York Times. I’m calling for your reaction to the latest development in your daughter’s case.”

  “Development? What development?”

  Landers summarized what the Times knew, and Karen’s knees weakened. She gripped the counter to steady herself.

  “Mrs. Lane? What are your thoughts on this development?”

  Clenching her eyes shut, Karen swallowed hard and barely voiced the words. “This can’t be—It just—I have no comment.”

  She hung up, then called Maddie but got her voice mail. Fingers shaking, she texted her. Come home now! Don’t talk to anyone! She then texted Tyler. Find your sister and bring her home now, do not talk to anyone!

  Karen closed her till, rushed to the admin office.
<
br />   “Bill, I have to go. Something’s come up with Maddie.”

  “Karen, what is it? Can we do anything to help?”

  Covering her face with her hands, she shook her head. Hurrying to her car, she tried to reach Ryan, but her call went to his voice mail.

  She texted him. Come home now!

  Climbing behind the wheel, Karen’s entire body shook.

  She fought her tears, her knuckles whitening as she drove home.

  * * *

  Ryan was on a job on the twentieth floor of a new office building, smoothing the outer edges of a joint to make the seams of the drywall sheets invisible, when he glanced at his phone, realizing he had accidentally switched it off during his coffee break. When he turned it on, it rang in his hand. Weird coincidence, he thought, and answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Ryan Lane?”

  “Yes.”

  “John Reeger, New York Times. We’re seeking your response to...”

  Reeger outlined the information he had. Stunned, thinking hard and fast, Ryan tightened his hold on his phone.

  “None of this is true. I’ve got nothing else to say.”

  Confused, Ryan hung up, cursed, looked at his phone in disbelief. Without checking his texts or voice messages, he called Karen. She didn’t answer. He texted. Don’t speak to the press if they call. Meet me at home now.

  Ryan hollered to Chuck that a family emergency had arisen and he had to leave.

  On his way down the building’s elevator, his mind raced.

  An impostor? Willowind? A grave? What is this? It can’t be true.

  He couldn’t think clearly. His thoughts shifted when he checked his voice mail and text from Karen, then he got a new text from her.

  The New York Times just called me. I told them nothing. Meet you at home now!

  On the ground, phone to his ear, Ryan trotted to his truck as the line clicked through to his brother’s number. Heart racing, he told him about the calls from the Times.

  “What the hell’s going on, Cole? Do you know anything about this?”

  “No. Let me see what I can find out. I’m on my way to your house. I’ll call Jill and Dalton.”

  * * *

  “Maddie! Maddie!”

  Karen was the first to arrive home and rushed through the house looking for her. Maddie wasn’t in her room.

  Okay, Karen thought, maybe she was early and Maddie was on her way home with Tyler. Why didn’t I go to the school and get her? Karen wasn’t thinking straight; she had to take a breath and clear her mind. But it was futile. What that reporter had told her was a monstrous lie.

  It had to be.

  Karen heard the door as Ryan arrived.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Is she home yet?”

  “No.” Karen was on her phone. “I’m calling and texting the kids again.”

  “I called Cole.” Ryan ran his hands through his hair and searched the house. “What did the guy from the Times tell you?”

  “There’s no answer from her.”

  “Karen? What did the reporter tell you?”

  “It was a woman. She said they’ve learned that police think Maddie is an impostor, and they’re digging for something near Willowind.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what the guy told me, too. I told him it wasn’t true. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

  At that moment, they saw Cole pull into their driveway. He was talking on his phone as he approached then entered their house, finishing a call.

  “Cole, what is it? What the hell’s happening?” Ryan asked.

  “All right, this what I’ve got so far.” Cole rubbed his chin hard. “They’ve received some sort of new information. They executed several warrants, one to search a property out near Willowind and another for Maddie’s dental records, suggesting the girl we found is not Maddie.”

  “Oh my God! That’s—I took her to the dentist yesterday—but—” Karen lowered herself to the sofa, her hand covering her mouth. “This has to be some sort of horrible mistake!”

  Tyler arrived home alone, concern blossoming on his face as read the alarm in his parents and uncle’s expressions.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Tyler, where’s Maddie? I told you to bring her home!” Karen asked.

  “I asked around. No one saw her at school. I figured she was taking another day off.”

  “She didn’t come home?” Karen rushed back to Maddie’s room, examining it now with deeper apprehension. Her big backpack was gone. Many of her clothes, shirts, underwear, brushes, makeup and toiletries were gone, haunting Karen, knotting her stomach. For it pulled her back to that awful morning four years ago when Maddie vanished.

  “Oh God, no.” Karen nearly collapsed on the bed as the others joined her in the room. “She’s gone!”

  “I found this pinned to my pillow.” Tyler held up the Hope bracelet he’d given his sister with a small note that said only: I’m so sorry, Tyler.

  “I don’t understand.” Ryan looked at everyone, helpless.

  No one spoke. The silence was broken when the doorbell sounded at the same time a phone vibrated with a message.

  “That’s mine,” Tyler said, and raised his phone to check. His jaw dropped. “It’s from Maddie. She sent me something.”

  81

  Digging at the site near Willowind was slow and meticulous.

  The investigators were mindful of removing layers of earth inch by inch. The excavated soil was placed carefully on the surface to be sifted and screened later for evidence.

  They’d gone down four inches.

  Nothing.

  Then eight inches.

  Nothing.

  They’d gone down a foot when a tiny curl of tan-colored material broke the surface.

  “Hold it,” said Blane Pierce, the forensic team leader.

  At this stage more photographs and measurements were taken as the excavation proceeded, akin to an archaeological dig. Smaller tools and brushes were used until the entire object was revealed: A canvas tarp, rolled into a small bundle of around two feet in thickness and close to five feet in length.

  Adolescent size. Maddison Lane’s size.

  Asher turned to Zubik as the forensic team continued measuring and photographing. The detectives were beginning to get anxious, glancing back to the crime scene tape in the distance where other detectives had stopped someone. Somehow, some reporter, tipped to their break in the case, had arrived on the scene asking questions. If the press knew, it wouldn’t be long before the Lanes found out, too.

  After several long minutes, Blane Pierce gave the okay to remove the tarp and its contents from the hole.

  82

  “It’s a video.” Tyler stared at his phone.

  “A video?” Karen went to him. “What does it say? Where is she?”

  “It’s slow to load. Hang on.”

  Cole answered the door. Jill and Dalton had arrived and joined them. As Cole updated them, Jill put her arm around Karen.

  “It’s loading, it’s loading,” Tyler said.

  “Ty, come out to the living room,” Ryan said. “Play it on the big TV.”

  Ryan switched on the set, and Tyler refreshed the video after the app on his phone connected to the television. Within seconds Maddie’s head and shoulders filled the fifty-inch wall-mounted screen. Karen stepped closer to it, half reaching to touch Maddie who wiped at her tears before her voice filled the room.

  “Okay, this is so hard.” She blinked rapidly, staring at the ceiling. “Um, I don’t know how to start. The truth. I’ll start with the truth.”

  Maddie looked into the camera.

  “Ryan, Karen, I am not your daughter.”

  Karen gasped.

  “Tyler, I am not your sister. This is
the truth. I swear to God, I don’t know what happened to the real Maddie, or where she is, but I am not her. Okay, that’s the truth. Who I really am doesn’t matter. You, everyone, have been so good to me—that’s why this is so hard. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused, but I cannot go through with this anymore. I have to leave. Please forgive me. Don’t try to find me.”

  Karen stepped back, sunk to the sofa, her eyes locked on the TV. Jill went to her.

  Ryan stood frozen in disbelief.

  Tyler shook his head, struggling to make sense.

  As Cole dragged his hands over his face, he felt Dalton’s eyes drilling into him.

  83

  At the site, two forensic investigators, suited head to toe, carefully hefted the rolled canvas from the ground.

  They placed it down gently on a plastic sheet. Gloved hands delicately unfolded the soiled tarp, revealing the decomposing carcass of a large dog.

  “A dog,” Asher said.

  It appeared to be a German shepherd. The sight of it angered Zubik.

  “Why would Ryan Lane do this? How does it fit?” he said. “Why keep this from us? What was he up to, Fran?”

  She shook her head while gazing at the remains. “That poor animal.”

  Photographs and measurements were taken.

  In keeping with procedure, investigators resumed excavating the grave, digging down another foot. Then they used a metal detector and the mobile component of the ground-penetrating radar equipment to ensure nothing else had been buried under the remains. Nothing else was found.

  “It’s all clear,” Pierce said.

  “Thanks, Blane.” Zubik made notes, reached for his phone to inform his lieutenant and captain, but turned to Asher before calling. “This whole case now smacks of something staged with a cover-up. We need to bring in Ryan, Karen and the girl posing as Maddison Lane.”

  At that moment, Asher received a text from the detective in the unmarked car watching the Lane residence.