The Abducted Super Boxset: A Small Town Kidnapping Mystery

by Roger Hayden

  Miriam didn’t mind. She liked the new Lou. Dating someone on the force was often complicated, as she had seen with many coworkers in the past. His marriage proposal the night before seemed almost like a distant dream, until the ring on her finger brought her back to reality, as did the loud voice of a sweaty, red-faced man peering over the cubicle and calling out to Hayes and Shelton.

  “You guys need to see this. Hurry!”

  Hayes turned around and looked up, phone receiver against his ear. “What happened?”

  “Better get to the break room before the room fills up,” the red-faced man said. He wore a dress shirt and tie, similar to his counterparts, and began tugging at his tie. “The Forester girl,” he continued. “Her parents are back on TV, but this time they’ve got something. A note or something from the kidnapper.”

  Hayes shot out of his chair as Shelton hung his phone up, following suit. Miriam was curious too. What kind of note? Was it really from him? There was only one way to find out, and that would be to hear what the parents had to say.

  Miriam stood and followed Hayes and Shelton as they hurried to a nearby break room, already packed with a small crowd of investigators.

  A flat-screen TV was mounted high in the corner of the room for everyone to see. Natalie Forester’s distraught parents stood before the microphones and an array of flashing cameras, delivering a new message to those watching. This time, however, it wasn’t just their words.

  With his hair disheveled and face pale, tired, and shadowed with stubble, Doug Forester held up a sheet of paper sealed in a Ziploc bag. It bore cut and pasted letters exactly like those in the message left at the scene of the crime.

  “My wife and I received this in our mailbox earlier today, and we believe very strongly that it came from the person or persons who took our daughter.” He paused, turned the letter around, and cleared his throat. “I will now read the message with hopes that we can narrow our search to the person behind it.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Hayes said, shaking his head as he stared up at the TV. “Why wouldn’t he come to us first?”

  “I don’t know,” Shelton said in disbelief.

  Doug Forester continued his statement, reading from the note as the break room crowd listened in silence.

  “This letter, which we received earlier this afternoon, says the following: ‘Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Forester. I just wanted to assure you that your daughter is fine and that no harm has come to her. I can’t guarantee that you’ll see her again, but with Miriam on the case, you might just have a chance.” Forester’s head dropped onto his shaking chest.

  Both Hayes and Shelton turned and looked at Miriam, surprised to hear her name mentioned in the note.

  “So, he’s clearly a fan,” Hayes said.

  “The letter could have come from anyone,” Miriam said, staring forward.

  On TV, Doug Forester lowered the note and looked back at the camera with watery eyes. “We delivered this letter to local law enforcement earlier with the hopes of extracting prints, but I would also like to take this time and plead with our daughter’s kidnapper to return her home and face no ill will from us. As long as she’s okay, we promise not to press any charges.”

  Hayes turned to Shelton, confused. “Did you hear anything about another letter?”

  “No,” Shelton said, shaking his head.

  Hayes thought to himself and then muttered “Vasquez” under his breath. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to find out,” Shelton answered.

  Doug Forester then held up a photo of Natalie for the cameras. “To the kidnapper, I say this. Natalie is the light of our lives. Whatever you want, whatever we can do for you to secure the release of our daughter, I beg you to let us know.” Kim Forester leaned her face into Doug’s shoulder, sobbing as he rubbed her back. “Please. We know you can do the right thing. We’re at your mercy.”

  “A plea to the kidnapper?” Hayes said.

  “I think her parents are willing to try anything at this point,” Shelton said. “Can you blame them?”

  Miriam backed away and stepped out of the room, deep in thought. The kidnapper appeared to be having fun with everyone involved. It was all a game to him, and for now, he appeared to be in complete control. She felt in her heart that there was still hope for the missing girls, but no amount of wishful thinking was going to change the fact that they were dealing with a sick and dangerous man.

  Odessa

  They reached the Texas town of Odessa by dusk. There was a hominess to it, as there was to any small town: quaint corner stores, pubs with names like Cactus Jack’s, and even an old train station. In contrast with the old were modern retail stores and a few fast food and restaurant chains. Odessa appeared to be a strange fusion of the past and the present.

  The roads were nicely paved throughout the town, though on the periphery, there were several dirt roads, leading to the greater desert that surrounded the seemingly isolated town. They drove past the Food Mart, where crime tape still surrounded a small section of the parking lot. Miriam could envision the mysterious blue van parked among the cars of shoppers coming in and out of the store, which was operational again.

  Hayes was at the wheel again of the silver Crown Victoria, equipped with a GPS display screen on the dashboard, police radio, and all sorts of bells and whistles Miriam hadn’t seen since her days as a detective. She realized then what she had missed about it—the thrill of the hunt, the testing of one’s skills, and the drive to not stop until the case was closed.

  Shelton sat quietly in the back seat, as usual, and the news continued over the radio of the Forester parents’ address to the public. Reporters were already referring to the culprit as “the Chancellor of Doom,” which Miriam imagined him reveling in.

  She was eager to dive into the case and utilize every lead they had, which wasn’t much. Hayes, however, insisted that she check into the Sand Spur Inn before nightfall. It seemed as if the case so far was nothing but a series of false starts and insignificant leads, yet Miriam remained hopeful. She had four days to make a difference, and longer, she supposed, if absolutely necessary. She had never been one to quit.

  Hayes turned into the Sand Spur Inn’s parking lot with a suggestion. “After you get checked in, I know a place nearby where we can get the best chicken-fried steak in town.”

  “Sounds good,” Miriam said.

  The inn had a strange but interesting red barn design with neon letters buzzing from the arch of its roof. Several small pine trees were planted around the modestly sized parking lot, and there was even a shaded front deck with a line of rocking chairs on display. It was certainly different from anywhere else Miriam had stayed.

  Hayes pulled to the front and popped his trunk. “Give the lieutenant a hand, would you, buddy?” he said to Shelton, who was already at the door. He then glanced at Miriam with a smile. “Your reservations have already been made, and the tab’s on the department. All you need to do is check-in.”

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling slightly guilty even though the arrangement made perfect sense.

  She stepped out of the car as Detective Shelton pulled her wheeled luggage past her and onto the wooden ramp leading to the front deck. There were a few people outside, older folks mainly, sitting on rocking chairs and observing Miriam with a seemingly keen awareness that she was an outsider. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

  She followed Shelton through the vintage wood double doors and into a lobby, decorated in log-cabin style, with deer heads and bear skins adorning the upper part of the walls.

  A chandelier the size of a boulder hung high from the overhead rafters. The front desk was attended by a well-groomed older man in a bow tie and long-sleeved white dress shirt, talking on the phone. Shelton reached the desk and waited patiently as the man signaled that he would be just one minute.

  Miriam looked around the vast lobby, where the echo of families walking down the halls with their luggage could be hea
rd. To her left, she saw a crowded restaurant that smelled of steak and peanuts. To her right was a bar just as dark and full of patrons.

  “How can I help you?” the man at the counter asked with a gentlemanly Southern drawl.

  His desk stood high in a way that allowed him to nearly hover over them. Miriam stepped forward to speak, but Shelton was already on it.

  “Reservation for Sandoval,” he said.

  The man typed quickly, eyes on his monitor. “All right… I have a Miriam Sandoval. Check in today and check out Friday.”

  Miriam stepped forward and set her purse down on the counter. “That’s correct.” She glanced at the man’s nametag. It simply said Rudy. He leaned down and emerged with two key cards, handing them to Miriam. “Your room is three eighteen. Welcome, and it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  She took her key cards as he then pointed down the hall. “Just take the elevator to your left. Anything else we can help you with, Ms. Sandoval?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Shelton followed along, pulling her small suitcase. They reached the elevator, and she pressed the button, turning to Shelton. “I’ll take it from here, thanks.”

  He pulled the suitcase closer as she took the handle. “We’ll be outside,” he said.

  With a ping, the elevator opened. Miriam moved aside to let out a couple that had several bags. By the time she stepped inside the elevator, Shelton had disappeared. The doors closed, and the silvery elevator brought her to the third floor, where spiral-patterned green carpet covered a long hall in both directions. A sign on the wall indicated that her room was to the right.

  She walked down the empty, quiet hall, almost feeling as though she was the only person on the floor. She stopped at three eighteen, third door to her right, and slipped her key card into the slot above the handle. A tiny light flickered green, and she walked inside. It was a simple enough room with a full-sized bed, pine desk, white-painted dresser, and small flat-screen television. There were pictures on the wall with painted canyons and desert. The heavy red drapes were closed, and she walked past the bathroom, pulling her suitcase along, then took a few steps back and closed the entry door, feeling a certain sense of relief. She was alone at last, if only for a couple of minutes. She sighed, then headed back downstairs again.

  Miriam breezed through the lobby and went out the front doors to where Hayes’s idling Crown Victoria was waiting. Miriam got in and apologized for the wait.

  “Not a problem,” Hayes responded. “Sitting in cars is part of what we do.”

  They drove out of the parking lot as the vast orange sky began to darken, shrouded in cloud. Miriam looked out the window as they passed old buildings and mom-and-pop corner stores. The sign for Maddy’s Diner blazed in the distance.

  There was an old man sitting on the bench with a newspaper in his lap, staring straight ahead at nothing. Miriam could see his startling wide eyes, unblinking and trance-like. It unsettled her. The kidnapper could be anyone, even him. Their suspect was out there, that much she was sure of. Not several towns over, but there in Odessa, watching everything unfold with glee. That was her theory, and the only thing that made sense.

  With the evening rush in full swing, Maddy’s Diner was crowded. Hayes found a parking spot in the back, and they got out, stomachs growling with the aroma of fried beef in the air. Beyond the windows, Miriam could see the patrons at their tables and booths and girls in knee-high dresses taking orders and bringing out food.

  Hayes held the door open, and Miriam entered the lobby. Each table inside had parlor lights with red-stained glass shades, giving the diner a uniquely vintage look. A few heads turned in their direction. The busy kitchen could be seen from a nearby counter, where fresh plates of food were set out under heat lights with the ring of a bell, just as in an old-fashioned diner, which this was.

  Detective Shelton pointed to a booth in the corner, and they walked past a table of beer-drinking truck drivers in flannel shirts and net hats. Miriam preferred the anonymity of the corner, where she could do the watching as opposed to being watched. A ponytailed server named Samantha approached their table with bright red lipstick and a perky smile. They ordered coffee and three country-fried steaks after Hayes’s glowing recommendation.

  “I’ll have those orders right out,” Samantha said, walking away, notepad in hand.

  For a moment, they were lost in their own thoughts. Hayes placed a thick file folder on the table and opened it. Shelton scrolled through his cell phone. And Miriam scanned the restaurant, ever mindful of being noticed. She noticed a few patrons reading local newspapers displaying the pictures of April and Natalie on the front page. There was an undeniable nervousness in the air, and Miriam took further note of the absence of children in the restaurant, or around town for that matter.

  Hayes pulled a map from his file and unfolded it over the table. “We have to start somewhere,” he began, pointing at the map, which had several points already marked with Xs or circles. “April Johnson was last seen approximately two blocks from her house, where we can assume that she was abducted.” He then moved his finger directly across the map, stopping at another red circle. “Here is where Natalie Forester was taken, right from the parking lot of this Food Mart.”

  Miriam could see that even when adjusting for distance on the map, the two locations were fairly near one another. This didn’t prove anything just yet, but it did establish a preference for a particular part of town.

  “Any updates on the blue van?” Miriam asked.

  Shelton shook his head. “No. Nothing yet.”

  Hayes hovered a hand over the map, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. “This guy could be anywhere right now. All we can do, though, is start local and branch out from there.”

  Shelton then offered his take. “He could easily have had the van seized or disposed of.”

  Miriam leaned forward and pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a used car lot right here. We passed it earlier. Maybe he purchased the van there.”

  “Or traded it in the minute the AMBER alert was issued,” Shelton added.

  “Exactly,” Miriam said.

  “We can look into that, for sure,” Hayes said.

  “What about surveillance?” Miriam asked. “There have to be a few cameras around town, right?”

  Hayes shook his head dismissively. “I’ve checked with commercial and public surveillance authorities. Of the few installed on businesses or traffic stops, only about two or three work.” His index finger glided along the map to a few marks he had made. “There’s a camera at the intersection of Doyle Road, here, and Dixie Boulevard, here. But that’s it.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Shelton said. “If this guy’s cruising around town, I’m pretty sure he drove through those intersections.”

  Detective Hayes crossed his arms and leaned back into the vinyl padding of their booth, thinking. Miriam took a deep breath, feeling pressured to come up with something.

  “Phillip Anderson had multiple personalities,” she began, “from a little boy to a middle-aged Southern belle to an embodiment of his worst tendencies. He would use these personalities to his benefit to deceive and manipulate others, especially children. Our suspect is smart enough to not get caught but not disciplined enough to stay out of the spotlight. He wants the attention.”

  Miriam paused, taking a moment as emotions came rushing back to her. The past remained vivid and inescapable. “There are clear similarities between Anderson and our current suspect. The age of the victims, for instance. The motives for the kidnappings may be a little different. Anderson was collecting children to hold as prisoners through some sick need to be accepted by girls who supposedly ‘rejected’ him as a child. We need to establish the motives of our suspect and hope that helps us figure out if he’s going to strike again.”

  “And why he asked for you,” Shelton added.

  Miriam glanced out the window as Samantha returned to their table with coffee.

  “I’ll be ba
ck shortly with your food,” she said, walking off.

  It was darker outside now, and the streetlights had come on, brightening certain areas of the parking lot, though Hayes’s car was parked in the shadows. Miriam watched as silhouetted figures walked past the diner on the sidewalk, cars passing them with their headlights on.

  She could have sworn that one of the vehicles, a two-door red classic Datsun, slowed down directly in front of the diner and stared into their window, the driver a darkened shadow. Why did she take notice of the vehicle’s make and model? The other cars that slowed down had pulled in, but the Datsun didn’t. Instead, its tires squealed, and its engine roared as it sped off down the street in a haze of exhaust and burnt rubber. The spectacle was enough to get the attention of Hayes and Shelton, who paused in their conversation to look.

  “What was what?” Hayes asked.

  Shelton turned back to Miriam and leaned close with his hands conjoined. “Do you think we’re being followed?”

  Miriam shook her head in a daze of thought. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly a whack came across the nearby glass, startling them. Miriam jumped and saw both detectives reach for the pistols at their sides, which were concealed by their coats. Inches from the glass stood an old man, the same old man she had seen on the sidewalk bench, newspaper in his lap and head nodding.

  His thin, ruined face seemed to contort upon eye contact. His glazed, silvery eyes leered at Miriam with apparent disdain. For a moment, he just stood there, layers of dirty clothes and all, while rocking slightly to the side and clutching a newspaper.

  Hayes hit the glass with the side of his fist. “Take a hike, buddy. Okay?”

  The man slowly turned away with a grunt and walked off, swaying along the way. He disappeared into the shadows, but not before releasing the newspaper into the air, breeze carrying it past the windows.

  Miriam couldn’t understand why he chose to stare at her, but something inside urged her to get up and chase after him, demanding to know who he was. Before she could put the plan into action, Samantha appeared with three plates of country-fried steak.