The Abducted Super Boxset: A Small Town Kidnapping Mystery

by Roger Hayden

  With questions stewing in her mind, Miriam parked and stepped out of the car with the engine idling. She looked down across the rough patches of grass and pebble-strewn sand in front of her, with no expectations of finding anything useful. Such a fortunate discovery would be unlikely, but Miriam remained hopeful that she would find something… anything that would help.

  The sun shone brightly down from the blue sky, a faint breeze rustling through nearby trees. Miriam scanned the ground below, noticing lines of black ants crawling in and out of a busy anthill. Her eyes then stopped at a small red bow in the sand. It could have come from anywhere, but Miriam had a hunch that it wasn’t just any bow. She crouched and picked it up, brushing it free of sand. Cautious, she looked around again, clutching the bow, and then got back inside the car, shutting the door.

  There were many locations to investigate, but she didn’t want to be gone too long, plus she still had to buy coffee. She grabbed her notebook and scanned the list of locations she had written down and had planned to visit. The used car lot had piqued her interest. She had noticed several vans toward the back, older models, marked down with clearance prices. It was a start.

  She felt compelled to at least stop by and ask some questions. The air from the vents cooled her face as she sat for a moment, weighing her options. She then shifted the car into drive and left April’s neighborhood with the next destination clearly in mind.

  RC’s Used Car Lot was located downtown, a few miles from the Food Mart. Rows of used cars filled the premises. The gate was open with orange cones set outside, directing incoming vehicles, and a big OPEN sign leaned against the six-foot fence with barbed wire topping the battered chain links.

  The car slowly rocked over the bumpy pavement as she pulled into a small, roped-off parking lot. A single trailer sat on the perimeter, the office probably. Under a large canopy near the first row of cars, she saw a man in an oil-stained blue jumpsuit leaning under the open hood of a station wagon and doing something with the engine. He took no notice of her yet, and as far as she could tell, he was a mechanic. She wanted to speak with the owner and find out if there had been a recent purchase or turn-in of a blue van. Could their suspect have been so careless? Or confident? She certainly hoped so.

  Miriam stepped out of the car as a cloud of dust breezed past her. A glance at her phone indicated that she’d been away from the police station for twenty minutes. She brushed her black hair back and continued toward the office trailer, listening as distant rock music played from the mechanic’s portable radio, resting on the ground in front of the station wagon.

  Beyond the used cars, the lot seemed desolate. Nearing the trailer, Miriam startled at the sight of a large, frothing dog, dark brown with tired yellow eyes, chained inside a pen, water dish at its side. The curious mongrel didn’t jump or bark at Miriam. It only observed her.

  Relieved, she walked up three steps to the trailer, opened the screen door, and entered, knocking her shoes on the floor mat. She felt the refreshing breeze of three oscillating fans positioned in different corners and blowing air.

  There was a counter to her right with a logbook and bell, as though she were checking into a hotel. A big man with side burns and wearing suspenders sat on the other side of the counter and welcomed her as she approached.

  “How can I help you today?” he asked.

  His dirty-blond beard was neatly trimmed, his hair was tucked under a green hat, and his skin was tan as leather. A name patch stitched to his overalls read “Kenny.”

  “Hi,” she began politely. “I was wondering if you could help me out.” She paused, considering showing her badge, but opted to play the part of a prospective buyer instead. “I’m looking for a van. Something to purchase, you know? Would you happen to have anything on site? Maybe a GMC model?”

  Kenny rocked back in his chair, scratching his chin. “Well, gee. I’m sure we have some on site somewhere.” He then leaned forward, stood up, and stuck his hand out. “I’m Kenny, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Julie,” she said. “Julie Andrews.”

  Kenny narrowed his eyes, and Miriam hoped that her smile would seem genuine. “Well, Ms. Andrews. The funniest thing happened not too long ago. Are you sure you’re just looking for a van?”

  “What do you mean?” Miriam asked, confused.

  Without answering her, Kenny walked to a back office and swung open another screen door overlooking the lot. He cupped his mouth and shouted to the mechanic until the man looked up, wrench in hand.

  “Hey, come on in here for a minute!” Kenny continued.

  The man stretched his back and walked toward the trailer in a leisurely stride. He was short and skinny and wore an American flag bandana. He took a sip from a can of soda clutched in his hand. Miriam waited patiently as he climbed up the stairs and walked inside, sweat beads on his face.

  “Yeah, what is it, Kenny?” he asked.

  Kenny led him to the counter, where Miriam stood with her arms crossed and resting on its glossy surface.

  “This here is Mrs. Andrews. Now, why don’t you tell her what you told me?”

  The young man did a double take at Miriam and seemed genuinely astonished to see her. “Well…” he began. “About two hours ago, a boy came up here on his moped and delivered a letter. Said it was for a woman. Gave me fifty bucks to give it to her when she came in.”

  “And?” Kenny said, impatient.

  The young man thought to himself for a moment and then spoke enthusiastically as though it had just come to him. “Oh yeah. He told me that the woman was going to ask about a van and that her name is Miriam.”

  “You know this woman?” Kenny asked her.

  Miriam seized up, stunned at what they were telling her. She leaned over the counter, inches from the young man’s sweaty, oil-streaked face. “This boy. Who was he? Do you know him?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Never seen him before.”

  “Where’s the letter, Jared?” Kenny said.

  “Damn, man. I gave it to you.”

  Kenny searched the cluttered desk, brushing aside magazines and paperwork, until his eyes lit up with excitement. “Ah! I think that’s it. Just two hours and already buried under all this stuff.”

  From the papers, he pulled a sealed bag with an envelope in it. Miriam stared at it, barely able to contain herself. “I’m… I know Miriam,” she said. “Let me see the letter.”

  Kenny pulled the bag back defensively. “How do we know that?”

  Miriam remained calm, telling him with a smile, “It’s an old friend of ours. We lost our phones the other night, and, well, I don’t want to get into all of it, but he knew that Miriam or I would be coming here.”

  “Really?” Kenny said with an arched brow. “How much is it worth to you?”

  Miriam threw her pocketbook against the counter and opened it. She searched inside and pulled out a twenty. “That’s all I have. Now please, let me have the letter.”

  Kenny took the money and looked at it closely, holding it up between both hands before folding it and sliding it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Miriam thanked the men and wished them a good day, walking out of the trailer without looking back. She tried not to add any more fingerprints to the bag.

  “Can you sign the ledger, please,” Kenny called out.

  She turned, rushed back inside, and flashed her badge at the men, surprising them. “I’m Lieutenant Sandoval with the Phoenix PD, investigating a missing child’s case. I’ll be back to get statements from you gentlemen soon.”

  She turned around and left, leaving both men in a state of confusion. Descending the stairs, she walked into the sandy parking lot, wasting no time. In the background, she heard Kenny yelling, “We didn’t do nothing wrong!”

  Hands busy, she tore open the sealed bag and pulled out the envelope. She stopped and looked around the lot, wondering if whoever had left the letter was watching her.

  Who was she dealing with? What was his game? She opened th
e neatly trifolded single sheet of white paper, upon which the words were typed this time instead of being cut from a magazine. A copycat? The change made her suspicious, but the tone was entirely the same.

  Hello, Miriam. If you’re reading this now, you’ve proved to be the fine detective I know you to be. Rest assured, I am a very careful man. You will not find the van at the salvage yard. I paid at least five different strangers to pass this letter between themselves, so I wouldn’t waste your time trying to track that down either. Here is what I’m offering you. I will help you find Natalie Forester, but you’ve got to do your part. Your mission, if you should accept, is to drive to the Food Mart parking lot and wait for further instructions. No police. Only you. At this point, what do you have to lose?

  She quickly re-folded up the letter and looked around some again, noticing Kenny and the mechanic watching her from a window in the trailer. They looked away when their eyes met hers and moved back from the window. Miriam was at a true impasse. She couldn’t decide if she should immediately call the detectives or pursue her mysterious letter writer on her own. She knew he could be luring her into a trap, but the desire to find out what waited for her at the Food Mart took precedence. She was going to do it.

  Miriam’s absence from the police station had resulted in a few missed calls from Detective Hayes. She, however, was too focused on the mission at hand to worry about it. She sent him a vague text message assuring him that she’d return to the police station soon.

  His reply said, Please hurry. We’re hoping to have this sting operation set up soon.

  She didn’t like to keep them waiting or in the dark, for that matter. It wasn’t right, but the note was a breakthrough. Someone was playing games, and she was going to find out who it was. There was no time to spare. She sat at a red light in an intersection, gauging her options. The detectives needed to know about the letter, but its writer warned her to arrive at the Food Mart alone. Was it worth the risk?

  The light turned green, and Miriam raced ahead with the Food Mart parking lot in view and the letter still vivid in her mind. It was clear that the man had taken an unhealthy interest in her. As a result, she felt an overwhelming sense of uncertainty. The main advantage her adversary had was that he knew who she was, whereas she had no idea. She hoped that would change soon enough.

  Miriam careened over the curved road leading to the parking lot, driving too fast, and with one objective in mind: park and wait. Being a sitting duck, however, wasn’t the most appealing option. She would have to be mindful of her surroundings and be ready to call for backup.

  The man had so far been careful in his approach, but his eagerness was beginning to show. With Shelton’s plan, there was a reasonable chance that they could draw him out into the open under the watchful surveillance of the police, but what if the plan failed? If they couldn’t draw him out, they’d be back at square one, with their chances of rescuing the girls growing slimmer by the hour. Miriam considered all of this as she pulled into the Food Mart.

  The business was open, and the crime-scene tape that had cordoned the area was gone. In its place were cars filling the row as though nothing had happened. Miriam passed hurried-looking shoppers, pushing carts along past her and then appearing in her rearview mirror.

  Did the man randomly pick Natalie, or was she a part of the plan all along?

  She circled the building and passed a loading dock and several stacks of milk crates. She didn’t see anyone around but kept in mind that she could be being watched. One could never be too careful. There were two county dumpsters, full to the brim, enclosed in a chain-link fence. Miriam thought of parking behind them and then surveying the area on foot. She felt close, closer than she had since arriving in Odessa, but she continued to acknowledge that she was playing the kidnapper’s game and that he was currently making the rules.

  Would he really divulge the whereabouts of Natalie, or was that just a ploy? And why no mention of April? Miriam was worried. She was already deviating from what the detectives had planned, and they were no doubt growing curious concerning her whereabouts back at the station. Maybe even growing upset. She could send Hayes a text and let them know what was going on, but would they stay in place, or blow the entire mission? She wondered what Lou would tell her, and then the answer became all too clear. He’d insist that she get away from the Food Mart immediately. Calling him wasn’t an option. Miriam had to trust her instincts. She slowly passed the dumpsters, and her tires crunched the pavement below.

  Nothing wrong with a little reconnaissance, she thought, circling around to the front of the building as the lane narrowed.

  The Crown Victoria coasted around the other side of the building, circling back to the parking lot. Miriam brought the visor down to block the sunlight as its bright rays struck the windshield. She slowed and stopped at the side of the building as a few cars passed, driving slowly through a crosswalk. She waited and considered where she could go to get a good view of the entire lot. Once clear, she drove ahead and down an aisle, parking near the cart return. Her hand hovered over the ignition key, and she slowly turned it, shutting the engine off.

  “I’m here, you son of a bitch,” she said under her breath.

  She grabbed her cell phone and sent Detective Hayes a quick text. Sorry I’m taking so long. At the Food Mart now and picking up coffee.

  Within a moment, her phone buzzed back with a new message. Hayes urged her to hurry up so they could get started. She answered, telling him that she would, and then stuck her phone in her pocket while feeling the pistol holstered at her side. Was her deception tantamount to lying? She was going to the Food Mart just like she’d said she would. If she found a clue along the way, what would be the harm?

  For the time being, Miriam sat and waited, carefully observing the parking lot. She was facing toward the entrance of the store, a few parking aisles ahead. She looked at every nearby car to see if anyone was sitting inside and watching just as she was. She half expected to see the man sitting at the wheel of some recently purchased beater, and then making direct eye contact. Despite her hopes, she didn’t see anyone. All the vehicles were empty. She repeatedly glanced at her rearview mirror, ever cautious of a stranger’s approach.

  There seemed to be no one around beyond typical shoppers, but Miriam waited. She pulled the letter from the envelope once again and read his words carefully. She had been instructed to wait for further instructions like something out of a Mission Impossible episode, or a treasure hunt, or a wild goose chase. The note’s details were sketchy at best.

  How exactly was she supposed to communicate with him? How would she know if he was there and vice versa? Perhaps the whole thing was one sick charade to keep wasting her time and waiting for answers that would never come. Despite these questions, Miriam sat there, watching. Ten minutes passed, and she saw nothing beyond shoppers coming and going. Another text came from Hayes, asking her status, and she wasn’t sure what to say. His persistence was wearing on her and making her feel guilty.

  Leaving soon, she sent back, leaving it at that, but knowing he must be suspicious by now. It was the best she could do given the circumstances. Feeling as though nothing would be accomplished sitting in the car, Miriam opened the door and stepped out, prepared to enter the store. She stayed low and scanned the parking lot, sunglasses concealing her eyes. A police siren sounded in the distance, gaining her attention, then soon fading away. There seemed nothing left for her to do but to go inside and buy some coffee. The letter had spoken of clues, but so far there were none.

  Miriam walked toward the store, looking over her shoulder and all around her, just as a large SUV pulled into the parking aisle she was crossing. A man was at the wheel, with a woman in the passenger seat and some children in the back. She moved quickly past the vehicle and approached the store at a steady pace, her right hand lowered at the side of the windbreaker she was wearing to conceal her firearm.

  She passed a woman placing paper bags of groceries in her trunk. T
he site of Natalie’s disappearance was only a few spaces away, and Miriam did a quick circle to cover the area, trying not to look too obvious. In the spot where Natalie’s mother’s car had been parked was a fancy jet black Chevy Impala, with other cars parked on either side. Miriam scanned the ground for a letter or anything of interest but saw nothing. She knelt on the ground next to the sports car as though she had dropped something and looked underneath, seeing a fresh oil stain.

  Her letter writer was playing games. There was nothing of importance, no further instructions or notes. Wherever the man was, he was probably laughing at her. Rising from the pavement, Miriam shielded her frustration and continued her walk toward the Food Mart entrance. She nodded and smiled at a passing couple and then entered through the automatic doors as cool air blew into her face.

  She walked toward the front of the checkout lines and stopped. Three of the six cash registers were open. It was still early, and there weren’t too many customers just yet. Three women worked the registers as a younger dark-haired girl shifted between the three, bagging groceries.

  At the customer service desk to her right, Miriam watched as a well-groomed man behind the counter, wearing a tie and vest, assisted an elderly woman with a money order. It seemed like business as usual at the Food Mart. No one approached her with another letter or seemed to even take notice of her overall.

  She continued across the clean, white-tiled floors, past the registers and bargain bins and toward the shopping aisles, searching the signs for the coffee aisle. She turned down the third aisle as light pop music played from the speakers overhead. She searched the shelves for Folgers and found a thirty-ounce can of classic roast, which she believed would suffice.