by Rebecca Rane
“Maybe.”
“How about this? What was your mother’s name? Do you, as Ethan, remember?”
“Margie.”
“And what else do you remember that makes you think you’re Ethan?”
“I remember I was in a purple car. And that it was my third time on that ride that day.”
Kendra wondered if these details would help.
“Anything else?”
“I know my name was Ethan.”
“But not now?”
“I’m Josh now, but it was Ethan. I was Ethan. I am Ethan.”
Kendra looked into the young man’s eyes. He was telling the truth. She believed that. Or what he thought was the truth.
Now it was up to Kendra to decide whether to help him prove it.
Chapter 4
“Get the heck out of here!” Shoop said as she listened to the interview.
“I know, right?” Kendra replied.
“Is this for real? This is like Anastasia Romanoff walking into the office.”
Shoop wasn’t off by much.
“If Madelyn McCann was the most famous unsolved missing child case, internationally, Ethan Peltz was certainly that for our neck of the woods,” Kendra said. “He just didn’t have J. K. Rowling tweeting about his disappearance.”
“So, is this our season?” Shoop asked.
Kendra wasn’t sure. “It would flip things. We’d be starting with the answer, allegedly, to the cold case—here’s this missing kid—instead of trying to find the missing kid.”
“But what if he’s lying?” Shoop pointed out.
“Yeah, very possible. Though I didn’t get that sense.”
“He said the news prompted it,” Shoop said, and she went to the television in the corner of their office and flipped it on. The noon report from their old television station was live from the Hickory Ridge Apartments, in Lucky, where little Brylon Coleman had been missing, going on two days now.
The two watched as their former co-worker, Connor Stinson, delivered a live update for Channel 19.
“Deputies have continued the search this morning. They are concerned about the pond on the property but have also widened their net,” Stinson said as images of Brylon Coleman’s sweet face filled the screen. They were the little boy’s kindergarten school pictures. Brylon had a wide smile and wore a Captain America t-shirt in the photo.
“I hadn’t been paying too much attention to this, I’m ashamed to say,” Shoop admitted. Kendra had seen some of the coverage but hadn’t focused on it. News of the day wasn’t their job. Their job was to focus on the stories that the news had long since abandoned. That police had tried but couldn’t crack. Cold, not hot, that was their business. That was their mission.
It was easy to be sucked into the lead story. They couldn’t afford to.
“Josh—or Ethan, whatever we’re calling him—this story was what brought it up in his head,” Kendra said.
“What’s the first step? What do you want to do with this?” Shoop asked.
“We need to get him a DNA test, and while that’s processing, I investigate the old story. You keep wading through other season three ideas, this—”
“—Season three? Did I hear you say season three?” interrupted Arturo Cabrera, General Manager of WPLE and their boss, as he entered their offices. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, and appeared to be ready to turn up the heat for them to commit to the next season. A month of letting them work at their own pace had gotten them no closer to an idea.
“Yes, but I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Kendra said. “This is a preliminary thing.”
“My hopes up? What? Do you have a lead on Jimmy Hoffa?” Art joked.
“No, but almost as good,” Shoop said before Kendra could stop her. “How about Ethan Peltz?”
“What?” Art’s jaw dropped open.
Kendra shot Shoop a look that conveyed a sarcastic, thanks a lot.
“A kid, a young man, came in here and said he’s Ethan Peltz,” Kendra reluctantly explained. She didn’t have one shred of proof that this was real or that this could be enough for a new season of their podcast.
“That’s brilliant, that’s a brilliant season! I need to get this to the promotions department. Do you have him on tape?” Art asked. As Kendra had feared, he was nearly salivating at the idea of Ethan Peltz for season three. Her boss had hitched the station’s star to the idea that they had a blockbuster season three before she’d even done a Google search.
“She does!” Shoop had clearly not picked up on the shut up vibe Kendra had laid down. Kendra was worried that she was the only one tapping the brakes on the idea.
“Great!” Art slapped Kendra on the shoulder.
“Wait, look, we don’t know if this is a thing,” Kendra said, trying to slow the train.
“Kendra, it’s been a month,” Art said, his tone serious and his eyes issuing a warning. “I haven’t crowded you in that time, and I’ve been happy to see the downloads increasing on season two. But we need season three, and we need it soon.”
“You’re pinning a lot on our little podcast.” Before she even finished, Kendra knew what Art was about to say.
“Yep, but you two can handle it. We’ve seen that twice now with the I-80 Jane Doe and Sister David,” Art replied, listing their successes as if on cue. They were two for two.
“That’s why we need time to check this out.” Kendra looked at Shoop, who shrugged in apology for jumping the gun with Art.
“I know it’s not normal, the way J.D. Atwell funds this thing, wanting weekly episodes as they’re produced, but the thing is, the amount of money he contributes earns him whatever he wants,” Art said.
J.D. Atwell was a pharmaceutical billionaire investing in downtown Port Lawrence and in their local public broadcasting operation. Atwell was paying for positive P.R. by funding their podcast. It helped him earn goodwill as he developed the downtown Port Lawrence riverfront.
Kendra’s mother was pro-Atwell. She believed his pharmaceutical company could be the linchpin for the future of Port Lawrence. But some people didn’t like the billionaire out-of-towner. To keep the local politicians happy, he was throwing a lot of money around, from public television to contributions to local civic organizations. Atwell was doing a full-court press in Port Lawrence, and WPLE was part of his game plan.
“I know it is a lot of money,” Kendra conceded.
“Enough to feed that designer handbag addiction of yours,” Art pointed out.
“To be fair, she gets ‘em secondhand,” Shoop added, trying to smooth things out.
“Beside the point,” Art said, and looked at the small but mighty podcast team. “I haven’t told anyone this, but we lost Buckeye Oil as an underwriter for the coming year.”
Buckeye Oil was a public broadcasting staple. They were Art’s bread and butter.
“What does that mean?” Kendra asked.
“It means a lot is riding on Atwell funding you, and I have to find donations to take up the slack where Buckeye Oil left off.”
Kendra sympathized with Art. It was up to him to keep the lights on. She didn’t envy his job. Getting people to part with money to fund public broadcasting was getting harder and harder every year.
She decided to budge, just a little.
“We can start digging right away, but the DNA test, we need that in process too.”
“I’ve got some cash left from last season. WPLE will pay for it. You get a podcast season rolling, I’ll get the DNA test rolling,” Art replied, making them a deal.
“But what if—”
“—Get cracking,” Art instructed, “I’m headed to promotions.” With that, he left Shoop and Kendra in their office.
“It could be a total bust,” Kendra pointed out.
“Yeah? Well… what do you need from me first?” Shoop asked.
“I’ll start pulling the public info immediately. I need to find Ethan’s mom. And I need to figure out how to tell her who just walked into
our office.”
“Regardless, you can’t let that salad go to waste. It’s perfection,” Shoop said, narrowing her eyes at Kendra.
Kendra grabbed the Styrofoam container, and Shoop handed her a plastic fork. “I’ll start looking at the coverage of the disappearance while I eat. Thanks for making the run.”
“No problem.”
They dug into their lunches as they dug into the research on Ethan Peltz.
Chapter 5
Kendra had pulled up video clips, newspaper stories—anything she could find on the disappearance of Ethan Peltz.
It was over fifteen years ago. And it had dominated the news, locally at first, and then it had caught fire regionally, and even nationally, for a time.
Ethan Peltz’s mother was the story. Her pain was the focus. And since she was a woman, she was also the recipient of everyone’s judgment and opinion.
Kendra watched the clips.
Margie Peltz’s face was beautiful but strained. Between her wide-set blue eyes, a deep wrinkle embedded itself. Kendra noticed that it had appeared long before a woman of her age at the time would typically have such a furrow. What were once probably laugh lines had deepened and drawn down as each day passed without her son.
Margie could be described as trim or fit in a family photo that they’d distributed. It showed a loving mother, a doting husband, and an impish toddler son.
Did the boy in the photo look like Josh Wagy? Kendra tried not to judge that yet.
But as the search dragged on, Margie Pelt’s grim face disintegrated into gauntness.
Kendra read everything she could find online.
Kendra would need to recount this part of the story in the podcast. It was critical to making people care again about a crime that they’d long since become bored by or forgotten. She needed to take them back to that day at the park.
Kendra hit play on one of the original news clips. Margie Peltz walked toward five or six reporters. It was early. Only local news crews gathered to spread the word of this first plea. That number would soon double.
The Peltzs were staying at the Dunes Resort for a long weekend. The Dunes Resort was on Lake Erie and provided swimming and beachfront to complement the rollercoasters and rides of Sand Point Amusement Park.
They’d looked away, only for a moment.
Margie held a stuffed animal, her son’s favorite. She wore a lightweight zip hoodie. Her husband had a hand on her shoulder. Margie looked at him and then at a pad of paper.
She lifted her head and stared at the cameras in front of her.
“Please, whoever took Ethan, I beg you, be sure to keep a light on at night for him. Ethan won’t sleep well without it. Ethan is afraid of the dark. Or maybe put on Nicktoons. Ethan likes all the shows on Nicktoons. Ethan loves mac and cheese, and if you could—" Her voice broke.
It had been her job to make him a real boy with feelings. Not a thing.
Had the authorities told her that was the right way to play it? Kendra imagined the scenario. It was one her own parents had also been through.
Ethan’s father, Doug Peltz, took over for his ex-wife. Kendra had learned they were already separated by the time of the abduction. But at this moment, the two parents were together. Bonded in anguish over their missing child. A weekend to try to put a family back together had wrenched into pieces that could not be repaired.
“Please bring Ethan back. Please leave him safe. We just want him back.” Doug Peltz’s voice didn’t break, as Margie’s had. Instead, Kendra watched his jaw clench as he struggled to contain a rage that had no place to land.
The Erie County Sheriff then stepped forward.
“Crimestoppers has created a significant reward for information in this case—”
The statement was interrupted by a reporter shouting a question. Kendra couldn’t make out what the reporter had asked.
Sheriff Howard Meriwether ignored the shouting scrum of reporters and continued:
“At approximately three in the afternoon, Ethan Peltz and his mother Margie were in line for the Dune Buggy Bash ride at Sand Point Amusement Park. Ethan went on the ride, and his mother stood at the gate. As the ride progressed, she witnessed his car pass several times. At the end of the ride, she waited at the exit gate, and Ethan did not emerge. After calling for him and searching on her own, the park staff was informed. After that produced no result, a 911 call was placed. Deputies arrived on scene quickly and commenced the formal search.”
The reporters shouted again.
“How long did it take her to call for help?”
This time, the question was easy to hear. Sheriff Meriwether looked at the reporter with disdain and again ignored the interruption. The reporters had no shame about the accusation against the mother. The implication was that she had waited too long.
“At this time,” Sheriff Meriwether resumed, “we’re fanning the search out. Law enforcement officers from the entire region are walking the park and surrounding areas. We also have a significant number of community volunteers helping to be sure that every inch of the county is searched.”
The Sheriff announced a ten-thousand-dollar reward, the Crimestoppers number, and a plea again for any information available.
At the end, he answered reporter questions.
“Do you believe the boy is still alive?”
The question had to be asked, but the microphones caught the gut-wrenching intake of breath that it produced in Margie Peltz.
Kendra looked at the mom, not the sheriff, as he answered.
“This is a rescue operation,” said the Sheriff. For the cameras, the media, the public, at this early point, the authorities clearly believed the boy was alive.
Kendra paused the video.
Margie Peltz’s skin looked stretched over her bones like it wouldn’t take much to break her apart into a million screaming pieces.
Kendra wondered how she was today.
How had she held together? And what would she say when presented with a man who claimed to be her little lost boy?
Chapter 6
Kendra watched several more news stories. The coverage was intense in the beginning.
Dozens of well-meaning volunteers joined the search. Margie Peltz begged. The reward increased to $25,000.
In this beginning stage, authorities answered questions posed to them. But as days turned into weeks, the questions got repetitive, and then fewer and farther between. It is difficult to keep the news and the public interested in a story that never changes.
Or worse, one that just dangles there, with no end in sight.
Shoop popped into Kendra’s office.
“How far down the rabbit hole are we, Alice? You’ve been at this for three hours.”
Kendra hadn’t realized the time. She never did when her teeth started to sink into a story.
“I’m not even sure if this is our season,” Kendra said. “Even though Art wants it to be.”
“Oh, it is our season,” Shoop said. “I heard Art telling promotions to get scripts together to send to Burbank.” Kendra buried her face in her hands.
WPLE had hired an announcer that sounded a lot like the “In a world…” movie trailer voice to add gravitas to the audio for their promotions. The idea was that the deep voice projected authority and commanded attention.
Kendra thought it was an idea that should go the way of the dinosaurs. But Art insisted the voice of Will Tarner was the voice of WPLE.
But this tidbit of information drove home the point. Art had decided this was their third season. Period.
“Okay. Did you print out a picture?” Kendra asked.
Their custom, in their brief tenure at WPLE, was to put the victim’s picture up on the wall of the main office. It helped remind them that they were doing this for the victim, the victim’s family, and, if possible, to get justice. It was important to both of them to do no harm to the families but to give hope where it had been lost.
“I did,” Shoop replied and lifted then
waved the picture in her left hand. With her other, she grabbed the dry erase board eraser.
Kendra’s eyes scanned all the twists and turns and questions they’d come up with as they worked on finding Sister David’s murder. Every name, every timeline, and every bit of evidence was up there, scrawled in both their handwriting at various times.
Kendra got out her phone and took several pictures. It was tough to part with facts that they’d had to internalize. If they really needed something, they could look it up, Kendra knew. It was time. They had to move on if they were going to help Josh Wagy prove he was Ethan Peltz.
“Do it.”
Shoop nodded. Kendra took a deep breath and watched as Shoop swiped away all the scribbling, questions, episode titles, and random brainstorms that marked their work on season two.
The board ran from wall to wall. It was the only new item of office décor that Kendra had insisted on when the two of them moved into the suite at WPLE. The main area was dominated by the board. A round conference-style table sat in the center of the room, while an L-shaped corner desk was Shoop’s domain.
Kendra’s office off the main room contained her workspace. She had a desk, a window, and a couch along the wall. She’d yet to sleep there, on that couch, but seeing as they were now more under the gun than ever, she just might have to as they tracked down season three. She made a mental note to bring a change of clothes and just keep it here. It couldn’t hurt.
Shoop wrote, in large script, at the top of the board, near the center:
The Disappearance of Ethan Peltz
The board's right side would be a list of episodes and the elements they’d need to create at least six different shows, of thirty minutes or more in length.
Art preferred them longer. The longer the episode, the more opportunities for underwriting audio. She could hear his voice in her head.
Shoop numbered one through six and then looked at Kendra again.
“Six? Eight? What are we thinking?”
“I have no idea. Let’s go with six,” Kendra said, and Shoop numbered the board.
