by Roger Hayden
“Yes, yes. Of course. I apologize. I heard you’re living in Sarasota now?”
Miriam hesitated but answered out of respect for O’Leary. She recalled him as being a good, honest detective. “That’s correct.”
She could sense his own hesitation on the other end. He wasn’t about to offer her a million bucks. He had a motive, and she was curious as to what it was. “Do you think you could give me an hour? Two hours tops?”
“For what?” she asked warily.
“I’m about two hours away now. I could be in your area a little after five. I’d love to catch up, maybe go out for a drink.”
“Detective O’Leary, I don’t know what to say. This is very short notice, and I have plans. Maybe some other time?” She didn’t have plans beyond making dinner for Ana, but she wasn’t up for it nonetheless.
“Listen, Sergeant. I need your help. I’m back in the game, and you’re the only one who can bring the Dawson case across the finish line.”
She felt infuriated by his tone. “I’m no longer a police officer, understand? That’s all behind me now. Good day, Detective…”
“No, no, wait!”
She paused, holding the phone.
“I understand how you feel,” he said. I know what the department did to you. They burned you, and it wasn’t right. But this isn’t about them. Hell, it’s certainly not about me. This is about Jenny Dawson and her family.”
“What are you talking about?” she snapped.
“I’m talking about meeting up. A brief chat and nothing more.”
She looked at her wall clock and then to the computer screen. Employees passed by her window. One of the trucks in the distance roared to life. Another knock at her window, a driver standing there waiting for a dispatch. His name was Brent, a quiet man with a slight paunch and bored composure.
“Think you could help me out?” O’Leary asked.
She handed Brent a clipboard. He turned and walked away, saying nothing. It was the same thing day in and day out. She had pushed all thoughts of her time on the police force so far back into her mind that she had just begun to realize how boring her new life truly was. Maybe O’Leary could use her help.
“Okay,” she said. “One hour. I live at 2047 Weatherford Lane—”
“Oh, I have your address. Thanks,” he said.
Miriam said nothing. She wasn’t surprised that he had already looked it up.
“How’s your place, five thirty? Or we could just meet up somewhere else.”
“My place is fine,” she said. “I have to be there when Ana gets home.”
“Sounds great. Thanks, and I’ll see you then.”
She hung up the phone and stared at her computer screen. She felt overcome with mixed emotions, simmering just below the surface. All she could do in response was sigh.
The Meetup
Miriam left work feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation. She had spent the past year getting her life back together, while O’Leary was dredging everything back up. After losing the Snatcher and failing to protect her partner, her face had been all over the news, and her newfound celebrity was not something she’d wanted.
With no viable suspect in the Jenny Dawson case, the blame for the missing girl and the death of Deputy Lang fell squarely on her. The local media were out for blood. They blamed internal incompetence and poor police work. In turn, the department threw her under the bus. She was investigated, demoted, and taken off patrol. The damage to her career was irreversible. So one day, she’d walked away from it all. She left the force and moved away where no one knew her—or so she’d hoped.
But O’Leary had found her. That was no surprise. She was still in the public record. She hadn’t changed her name. She had left to find a fresh start and was content, so far, with her decision. As she drove home, she began having second thoughts about his unwelcome visit.
Her memory of that day came roaring back to her. Her hands shook on the wheel. Her face felt flushed as sweat formed on her forehead. She was ready to turn around and call the entire meeting off. But as she reached the back road of her neighborhood, she could already see a green Ford Taurus at the end of the driveway. As she got closer, O’Leary came into view, rougher looking than she remembered him, leaning against the hood of the car.
“You’re persistent,” she said under her breath.
She pulled into the driveway next to him as he waved and stepped back a bit. Her curiosity was piqued. For him to make the drive, there had to be something worthwhile at hand. She turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse, and got out of the car.
The sky was overcast following a week of showers—which usually started around the time she got off work. She had been spared that today. O’Leary waited patiently at the hood of his car, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said as Miriam walked around her Tahoe. “I thought I’d just wait here for you.”
“That’s fine,” she said. But it really wasn’t. She had wanted some time to unwind—a few minutes to take off her shoes, sit down, and relax.
“Sure you don’t want to meet up somewhere else? I passed a coffee shop on my way here about two miles away.”
She considered the proposal but didn’t want to drag things out any longer. It was best to get it all out of the way. The sooner the better. “You’re here. Let’s just talk inside.”
“Sounds great,” he said with a smile.
“This won’t take long, will it? I need to start dinner soon for Ana.”
“How is she doing?”
“Fine. She’s starting eighth grade next school year.”
“You look nice.” He said it out of the blue with a sheepish grin.
“Thank you,” she said, blushing slightly. She looked him up and down, taking notice of the scruffy chin and his disheveled hair. “Wish I could say the same for you, but… well.”
O’Leary’s smile dropped. “Thanks a lot! You know, I had a very long night.”
Miriam laughed as she walked ahead along the cobblestone path leading to the front door. She lived in a modest two-bedroom house, surrounded by similar-looking homes that had been around for decades. “Come on in, Detective Sensitive.”
O’Leary shook his head and waited as Miriam tried the doorknob. It was locked even though Ana was supposed to be home. She pulled the keys from her purse just as thunder faintly boomed in the distant sky.
“Storm’s been following me all the way from Palm Dale,” O’Leary said.
She turned back, opening the door. “Well, if it’s anything like what we had yesterday, you don’t want to stay here too long.”
“I think I get the hint,” he said, following her inside.
Past the foyer, the house was stuffy and old looking but clean. Miriam hung her purse and keys on some nearby hooks and led O’Leary to the kitchen, where she opened a window and turned on some lights.
“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the kitchen table. She noticed a note from Ana sitting on the red tablecloth.
Mom, @ Jessica’s house working on our geography project. Will be home by 8. XOXO - Ana
“Cute,” she said to herself, note in hand.
“What’s that?” O’Leary said, indicating the note and walking over.
She turned around, startled. “Oh… nothing.” She held up the note with a smile. “Kids… The only time Ana doesn’t text me is when she’s afraid I’ll say no.”
“So she left a note?” O’Leary said.
“You know it.”
“Very clever,” he said, pulling out one of the three chairs at the small, circular table.
“How’s your son? Nathan, right?” she asked, walking to the sink.
“He’s fine,” O’Leary answered. “Living with his mother now.”
Miriam turned and leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry. I forgot…”
O’Leary waved a hand to reassure her that everything was OK. “No, no. It’s for the best, really.”
&nb
sp; “I must say, I can understand where your ex is coming from. I wasn’t going to let Freddy have Ana.”
O’Leary stared ahead blankly, nodding.
“Can I get you a drink? Water? Soda?” she asked, opening the fridge.
“Water is fine,” he said.
She got a glass from the wood-stained cupboard and poured some water into it from a jug inside the fridge. As she walked over, O’Leary’s eyes wandered to examine the kitchen. It was quaint and clean—opposite from his man cave back home. She stopped and set his glass down on the table.
“Thank you,” he said, holding up the glass. She nodded, smiling ruefully.
“So what can I help you with?” she asked abruptly. “Better yet, what brings you all the way out here that couldn’t be said on the phone?”
O’Leary thought to himself, searching for the right words. “Sergeant Castillo, I just want to—”
Miriam stopped him. “I left the force a year ago. I’m a civilian now.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. It’s weird calling you anything else.”
“That’s okay. But I’ve moved on.”
He took a long sip of water as the overhead clock ticked. Once the glass hit the table, he began. “First, I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Thunder rumbled outside, louder than before. “Not a problem.” She laughed a little to herself. “How about you just spit it out?”
“Fair enough,” he said. His hands went flat on the table as he interlaced his fingers. “Look, I get it. I get why you did what you did. And I didn’t come here to lecture you about any of it. Your superiors left you high and dry. You were a sacrificial lamb, and everyone knows it. But you’re a good cop, Castillo. You still have it in you. One of the worst things to come out of that terrible day, along with Jenny’s disappearance and Lang’s death, was you leaving the force as a result.”
Miriam stared ahead for a moment, not making eye contact. She then looked at him with serious eyes. “I appreciate your understanding, but we’re still not any closer to what you’re doing here.”
“I need your help,” O’Leary stated flatly. “And before you say no, let me explain that I’m not here to make you a cop again. I’m asking for a favor, nothing more and nothing less.”
“What kind of favor?” Miriam asked, pointing her beer at him.
“Help me find out what happened to Jenny Dawson.”
For what seemed a long time, there was only silence. Miriam tensed up and froze. She then turned around and looked outside the kitchen window, not saying anything.
O'Leary continued. “Jenny is officially a cold case now.”
“That’s because she’s dead,” Miriam said, looking down.
“We don’t know that for sure. I’ve seen abduction cases where the victim is found ten, twenty years later sometimes.” His voice rose with passion.
Unmoved by O’Leary’s conviction, Miriam turned around and approached him, leaning against the chair at the head of the table. “Deputy Lang died that day. Jenny Dawson died probably not long after. And a piece of me died with them as well.” Her eyes were glossy and pained with anguish. “You want to know why? Because I could have saved them both, and I didn’t! I can sit here and blame the department for railroading me, but the truth is, they were right. It was my fault.”
“That’s ridiculous,” O’Leary protested. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. You know what you sound like? You sound like a battered housewife making excuses for her husband.”
Miriam released her grip on the chair. “Again, I appreciate your support. I always have. But the truth is the truth. Nothing can change that.”
“You’re the only person I know who has encountered the Snatcher.”
“So what?” Miriam said.
“And that means something. Like you, I’m ready to walk away. But being a detective is all I know. It’s my life.” He leaned in closer, a look filled with shame replacing his schoolboy smile. “I haven’t solved a single case this year. And with this Dawson thing looming over my head, I don’t think I ever will.”
Miriam backed away and went back to the counter. “I wouldn’t be any good to you. Even if I wanted to help…”
“I don’t believe that,” O’Leary said.
“There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry you came out here for nothing.” She opened the fridge door and started taking some food out, setting it on the counter.
“You were a damn fine police officer. Four decorated years in the Air Force. High marks from your superiors. Police academy test scores that are some of the highest on record. You’re highly skilled, Castillo. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to see it go to waste.”
“Is that what you think I’ve done?” she asked with her back to him. “Let my skills go to waste?”
“Frankly, yes.”
A silence came over them again. The clock seemed to tick louder than before. O’Leary finished his water and set the glass down, searching for the words that could turn the conversation in his favor. “It’s not an indictment, it’s just an observation.”
Miriam turned around and clasped her hands over her thighs. “Well, it’s time for me to get dinner started. Good seeing you, Detective.”
O’Leary grimaced with a knowing nod. He pulled a card from his coat pocket and put it on the table as he stood up. “All I’m asking is that you consider it. My number’s on my card.”
“Again, I’m sorry.”
O’Leary gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. Just think about it. It’s all I ask.”
Miriam turned to the counter and began taking out plates from the cupboard. O’Leary stood awkwardly for a moment.
“Thanks for speaking with me,” he said.
“No problem,” Miriam said in a polite tone.
He left the kitchen, not pushing the issue any longer. Miriam kept her back turned and waited for the sound of the front door closing. The door shut. His engine started from outside and then revved as he backed out and drove away.
She went to the pantry and reached for a box of Hamburger Helper, set it on the counter, and took a frying pan from the cabinet. As she took a package of beef out of the freezer, her movements slowed.
She turned from the counter and went back to the table, where O’Leary’s card still rested. Next to his card was Ana’s note. She held it up and reread it, going over every word. The microwave was beeping. She set the note down and grabbed O’Leary’s card. “Criminal Investigative Division, Lee County PD,” it said. She put the card in her pocket and went back to the counter, where the task of making dinner awaited.
Lady in the Big Dress
At first glance, the kidnappings seemed random, but O’Leary formulated a discernible pattern. The unsolved abductions—five total—happened exactly one year apart from each other. This concerned him. If the pattern was correct, the Snatcher was going to strike again very soon.
Lee County had already been placed on high alert following the anniversary of Jenny Dawson’s disappearance, but there was only so much law enforcement could do. The vigilance of parents was needed as well. The pattern of disappearances was largely happening in small towns within the county, and there was little doubt the Snatcher would strike again. But where?
At around the same time O’Leary drove up I-75 toward Sarasota to meet up with Miriam, ten-year-old Emily Beckett was at the Palm Dale Safeway store shopping for groceries with her mother, Karen, not realizing that they were being watched closely by someone they did not know.
In the soup aisle, Karen was pulling some cans off the shelves when Emily told her that she needed to use the restroom.
“We’ll be over in that direction soon enough,” Karen said, exhausted from a long day of running errands.
Emily, fresh out of school for the day, wore a floral-pattern top, jean shorts, and sneakers. Her mother, dressed in a beige hem-sleeve top and blue jeans, pushed the cart down the aisle as Emily swung her blonde pigtails back in the other direction. “But I
gotta go now.”
Karen glanced at her through her thin, rectangular glasses. “That’s enough. No whining or I’ll put your fruit snacks back on the shelf.”
“Oh, come on!” Emily protested.
As they bickered, Karen noticed what looked like a large woman at the end of the aisle watching them. The person was wearing sunglasses—black as night—and was hunched over her cart, staring at bags of flour. She looked out of place: red-and-white polka-dot dress, blond beehive, and way too much make-up. Karen paid her little mind and moved on.
“Can we hurry up, then?” Emily asked.
Karen turned back to her momentarily. “Yes. Just hold your horses.”
They pushed on toward the produce section, leaving the mystery person behind. Elevator music played overhead as customers sifted through produce. A high school stock boy stocked heads of lettuce. An elderly woman broke apart some bananas and put one on the seat of her cart. Karen approached a display of potatoes and grabbed a five-pound bag. She pointed to a restroom sign ahead near the meat section.
“There. Go use the restroom. I’ll be right over here,” she said.
Emily walked off toward the women’s restroom as Karen pushed ahead into the meat section and began looking at packaged ground beef. Behind her, she heard a cart moving with a squeaky wheel and turned to catch a glimpse of the same strange beehive person going down another aisle.
Karen looked back at the rows of ground beef for dinner. A pound would probably do the trick. She looked over at the restrooms, growing impatient.
Moments passed and Karen was ready to move on. She pushed back toward the restroom, ready to go inside and tell Emily to get in gear, when suddenly the door opened and her daughter came out, wringing her hands.
“Let’s go, slowpoke,” Karen said.
“Wasn’t that long. Sheesh,” Emily said.
They were headed toward the checkout area in the front when Karen caught yet another glimpse of the beehive person entering one of the aisles ahead. She shrugged it off, but she couldn’t shake an uncomfortable feeling in her gut.
They got to the front of the store, but Emily stopped and turned in a slight panic. “Oh no, we forgot to go down the cereal aisle!” Her braces glistened in the bright supermarket lights overhead.
