by Roger Hayden
“I have a responsibility to this missing girl. To all three of them, frankly. Did you ever think that maybe I was brought to Odessa for a reason?”
He responded flippantly after a stunned silence. “Oh, Miriam. Don’t start.”
Detective Hayes noticed her still on the phone and began to walk over. Like a child fearing a scolding, Miriam spoke quickly into the phone, prepared to hang up. “I love you, Lou. I knew I could count on you, and I knew that you weren’t going to let me down. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
Another brief pause, Lou responded. “Okay… I love you too. Please, for the love of God, be careful out there.”
“I will,” she said.
Their mutual concessions were clear. Miriam wasn’t leaving the case and Lou wasn’t leaving the house to go into hiding. The sounds from their home filled her with an aching longing. She wanted nothing more than to be there with him, with her family, but it had to wait. She felt prepared to hunt Trudeau to the ends of the earth.
Beneath the surface, she had no doubt that tragic circumstances were behind his detestable actions, but that was no excuse. Perhaps before his daughter’s death he was a decent man, sent spiraling over the edge. As she said goodbye to Lou, Miriam didn’t want to imagine such a loss. She then handed the phone directly to Hayes as he approached her.
“Here. I’m done.”
“Thank you,” Hayes said. “We’re working on getting the lines bugged throughout the house for when he calls back.”
Miriam looked around, deep in thought as the words came back to her. “Make them pay…”
“What was that?” Hayes said, leaning toward her.
Her eyes stared ahead into nothing, growing dark and afraid. “Them. He’s talking about everyone.”
“Who?”
“The police, the detectives, the families. Me. He wants us all to know what it feels like to lose something.”
“Dr. Trudeau?” Hayes asked.
She reached for the scrapbook and opened it in haste, flipping toward the back with the newspaper clippings. Her finger trailed one of the articles down the middle, stopping at a line which had drawn her attention.
“I think I know where he’s going,” she said with confidence.
Hayes glanced at Miriam with skepticism but asked her to explain her theory, regardless.
“His daughter was taken to an old cabin outside Wolf Creek. That’s fifty miles north of here.”
Miriam watched as Hayes thought to himself. Something seemed to click and his eyes met hers, alive with an idea. “I remember that case. The girl. She was his?”
Miriam nodded. “Dr. Trudeau is Desmond Turner. This is all payback. He’s wanted this all along and has been planning this for years.” She covered her mouth, gasping in shock, with one last gripping realization.
“What is it?” Hayes asked, looking alarmed.
“His daughter, Anabelle. Ana. That’s my daughter’s name.” She pulled on his sleeve in a panic. “I told Lou they need to go somewhere safe. We have to do something.”
Hayes reached for his radio, prepared to send word, when Shelton rushed into the dining room from the hall, holding the satellite phone with excitement.
“Federal agents will be here within the hour. Everyone look alive!”
Hayes and Miriam exchanged similar looks of doubt. The FBI was effective but often worked very slowly. Trudeau had been very active over the past few days and was steadily on the move. In order to catch him, they needed to maintain whatever momentum Miriam had largely brought to the case from the beginning. An air of trepidation permeated the room as the investigators geared up for the arrival of the feds. Miriam returned to Trudeau’s journal, taking a closer look at each page, when Hayes’s hand touched her shoulder.
She looked up, surprised to see an earnest look of gratitude in his face. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done. None of us may have a job when this is over, but I don’t think we could have gotten this far without you.”
“No problem,” Miriam said. “Who needs a job, anyway?”
“Right. Now, we should get in contact with your department in Phoenix and have a car posted outside your house at the very least.”
“I’m on it,” Miriam said, picking up the cordless phone. She hadn’t checked in with the department the entire day. So much had happened over the past few hours, she hardly knew where to start. Her family needed protection. That was a start.
A female police sergeant picked up the phone, and Miriam didn’t waste a breath. “Yes, this is Lieutenant Sandoval. I need to speak with the police chief on duty.”
As she waited, the house bustled with activity that would go on into the night, continuing what seemed like the longest shift of Miriam’s career. She had only been in Odessa for two days, but it felt like much more. Home had never felt so far away.
***
Sixteen Years Before:
Desmond Turner was behind the wheel of his gray ’95 Toyota Camry, driving through Texas on a four-day cross-country travel toward New Mexico to visit his in-laws. He had never taken such a lengthy road trip before, but had so far enjoyed the time with his wife, Patricia, and his daughter, Anabelle. There was cause for celebration. Desmond had recently finished his first four years of medical school, earning a residency in-training at the Hartford Hospital in Connecticut. He had one week before taking the position and had decided to take a vacation to spend some much-needed time with his family.
The vast landscape of rolling green pastures and power lines raced past their windows for miles. Desmond had visited Odessa briefly as a child and had always wanted to return. They had planned to stay there for the evening and rest after ten hours on the road through Tennessee, Arkansas, and Texas. Patricia’s head bobbed as she drifted to sleep, only to shudder awake with a look of guilt visible through her large sunglasses. Anabelle slept soundly in the back, her head on a pillow propped atop the middle console.
“I’m sorry,” Patricia said.
“What?” Desmond said, surprised.
“I told you that I don’t like sleeping while you’re driving,” she said, brushing long bangs of blonde hair from her forehead. “It doesn’t seem right.” She was a sophisticated woman who was always dressed nicely, no matter the occasion. She played with the pearls around her neck, looking out the window at their rural surroundings, so different from home.
“Where are we now?”
“About twenty miles outside Odessa,” Desmond said. “And I told you that it’s perfectly fine for you to sleep.” He held up an energy drink from a cup holder. “This is all I need.”
Patricia stretched her arms in a cat-like motion, her attention on a herd of cows grazing in the distance. “I just don’t think it’s fair.”
“Me either,” Desmond said with a laugh, taking her hand in his. “But this is fun, don’t you think?”
She smiled and brought his hand to her cheek. “I suppose it is. But Odessa? Do we really need to stop here?”
Desmond laughed. “Oh, come on now. It’s the perfect place to wind down in. I’ve got a room booked at the Sand Spur Inn.”
“The Sand Spur Inn?” she said, cockeyed. “Where are you taking us?”
He couldn’t help but smile. Patricia had that effect on him. They had been married for eight years, engaged early into their twenties, and he never thought it was too early to declare that there was no other woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Anabelle lifted her head from the back seat, dazed and groggy. Her strawberry-blonde pigtails hung on each side of her face as she looked around their surroundings with the same sense of interest as her mother. She stretched her jean-covered legs and pulled down the sleeves of her floral, long-sleeved shirt.
Desmond noticed her yawning and eyed her in his rear-view mirror. “You okay back there?”
Patricia turned around and reached back, touching Anabelle’s knee. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi,” Anabelle said, rubbing her eyes. “Where are w
e?”
“The middle of nowhere,” Patricia responded with a laugh.
“Oh, you’re just too rich,” Desmond said. “We’re still in Texas.”
“Oh…” Anabelle said. She then began to perk up a little more with her attention shifting to an approaching semi-truck on the opposite side of their endless two-lane road ahead. “Can we stop somewhere soon? I’m hungry.”
Patricia turned around and reached back for a small cooler on the floor. “There’s snacks in here, honey.”
“We’ll be stopping soon,” Desmond said as they passed a traffic sign citing “Odessa 19 miles.”
The semi-truck roared past them, shaking the windows of the car. Desmond reached for the knob on the car stereo and turned up the classic rock station with a satisfied look on his face. “Love this song,” he said.
Patricia dug through her purse and pulled out a pack of Tic-Tacs, shaking one into her palm and offering Desmond another.
“Thanks,” he said as she shook one out into his hand.
Anabelle searched through the cooler and held up a soggy sandwich bag with her nose wrinkled and eyes squinting. “Ew. The ice is melting.”
Patricia turned back with a look of surprise. “Oh no! Our food reserve has been tainted.”
Desmond glanced back as well, smiling. “We’ve got a code red here!”
Anabelle dropped the sandwich bag back into the plastic cooler and shut it. “It’s not funny. We could starve out here.”
“Oh, stop it,” Desmond said. “We’ll be in Odessa soon, and we’ll stop for a nice lunch. What do you say?”
Anabelle raised her arms, excited. “Yay! Can I get a cheeseburger?”
“Of course you can,” Desmond said.
Patricia then leaned against his shoulder with affection and wrapped her arm around one of his. “Your father has worked very hard to be a doctor. I think we can splurge on cheeseburgers for all of us.”
“No more mooching off your mother,” he said with a laugh.
Patricia playfully slapped his shoulder in response. “Don’t say that. You’re no mooch.”
They continued their journey, nearing Odessa under the welcoming autumn sky, with a sense of togetherness that they hadn’t felt in some time. Desmond knew the road trip was just what they needed. It was a time, he believed, that they wouldn’t forget.
***
Desmond walked along the dirt road, passing a line of police cars, frantic and restless. Patricia was nearby in hysterics as several officers tried to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. She had tried to push past them, only to be held back with their insistence that it wasn’t safe for her or her husband to venture into the forest where their daughter was being held by an armed and dangerous man.
It was hard for Desmond to see what was going on beyond the endless pine trees and brush in his path. He couldn’t see the cabin in question nor the team of police dispatched to apprehend the man who had taken his daughter. He walked around the last police car in line, its light silently flashing, and watched for the opportunity to make a run for it.
Of the ten huddled police officers in his sight, no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. Patricia was leaning against the rear of one of the police cars, sobbing with her head down. It broke his heart to see her so distraught. He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there and wait any longer.
“Excuse me, Mr. Turner. You need to stay back here,” said Sergeant Calhoun, a tall, Hispanic cop who appeared from out of nowhere.
Desmond whipped around and froze, inching his way back to the nearest police car. “I’m just trying to see what’s going on.”
Sergeant Calhoun raised both hands as if to push him back as the hand mic clipped on his shoulder crackled with police chatter. “The safest place for you and your wife is back here. We’ve got a team surrounding the cabin now.”
Desmond pointed into the woods with a defiant gesture. “My daughter’s out there. She needs us. I can’t stand here and do nothing!”
“Please, sir,” Calhoun said, cautiously approaching him. “Let us do our job. Any outside interference is going to hinder that.”
Desmond looked around in terror. His face was pale and sweaty. His lapis eyes were lost in a sea of panic. “I heard that this man… this Malone is threatening to kill my daughter. Would you be so inclined to hold back if it was your daughter?”
Calhoun looked at Desmond sympathetically but was unwavering in his stance. “I would trust the Ector County PD to handle the situation. They’ve surrounded the cabin and we’ve got a negotiator talking to Mr. Malone as we speak.”
Dissatisfied, Desmond turned away and walked back down the line of police cars, approaching his wife and taking her into his arms. She trembled and cried against his chest as she watched several of the officers on the scene take positions around their vehicles and listen to the latest updates on their radios. He saw something in their faces, an uncertainty that filled his heart with dread.
“What are we going to do, Desmond?” Patricia asked as he stroked her head. “Our Anabelle. How could this have happened?”
Desmond had thought the same question. Hours before, they had stopped at a mall in Odessa to grab a bite to eat. Anabelle inexplicably disappeared without a trace, vanishing without a word of warning.
The police were called to the scene, and it didn’t take them long to discover that she had been taken by a convict named Willie Malone. Their search for Malone yielded a tip, which brought them to an old cabin in the woods, far on the outskirts of Odessa, where a rescue would take place. That’s what they said, a rescue. And as relieved as he was that they had zeroed in on the man, he couldn’t help but worry about the safety of his daughter. He wouldn’t rest easy until she was back in their arms.
Desmond turned to face an officer he hadn’t seen before, a man with a clean-shaved head and Oakley sunglasses, walking by as if distracted. “What’s going on?” Desmond asked, grabbing for his arm.
The officer stopped, annoyed, his ear tilted close to his shoulder mic. “They’re talking with Mr. Malone right now.”
Desmond and Patricia looked at each other, worried. Desmond released her and confronted the officer with great concern and what might have sounded like criticism. “Excuse me, but this almost sounds like a hostage situation to me. I mean, shouldn’t we get a SWAT team in there? The FBI? I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with any of this.”
The officer nodded, maintaining his stern, professional demeanor. “Not to worry, sir. We’ve got the situation under control.”
The officer walked away and joined others who were close to the wood line, guns drawn and slightly crouched, prepared to go in. Desmond looked up at the sound of a helicopter in the distance, though he saw nothing beyond the tips of the trees surrounding them.
“I feel so helpless,” Patricia said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “This is torture.”
Hands on her shoulders, Desmond looked around and saw that all the police were preoccupied. Even the paramedics on the scene were busy talking on their radios. He spoke close to Patricia’s ear. “I’ve going to check it out. Maybe I can talk to this man and plead with him to release our daughter.”
She looked up with anxious, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears and her running mascara. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Damn it, Patricia. I have to do something.”
She said nothing else as he pulled her forward and squeezed her tight. “I’ll be back with her. Don’t worry,” he said, kissing her forehead. He backed away and looked down both sides of the dirt road. The police were edging closer to the wood line with their backs to them both. He moved swiftly past Patricia and into the woods, crouched low and seeking his own path. The risky endeavor was preferable to standing idly by and waiting for his daughter to be rescued.
He pushed branches aside and stayed low, feeling the sunlight beaming down the openings between trees. There was no trail, only the guide of distant voices.
He could easily be shot if he wasn’t careful. As sweat dripped down from his forehead, he prayed and bargained with God, pleading for his daughter. Everything could still turn out fine.
He reached a small clearing and saw several uniformed officers in the distance, hunched low with their guns drawn. Beyond their position, he could see a small run-down cabin, barely visible from where he stood. He took cover behind an old elm tree, leaves brown and blanketing the dirt around him.
The police were shouting to one another as though they were engaged in a training drill. Everything seemed surreal. Desmond took a deep breath and hurried ahead, trying to reach one of the squatting officers when he heard shouts from the cabin. It was Malone.
“I’ll kill her. Don’t think I won’t! Now, pull back! Y’all makin’ me nervous!”
Desmond dropped to his knee, inches from the nearest officer, squinting ahead. The officer turned around, revealing the anxious eyes of Sergeant Calhoun.
“Mr. Turner? What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”
“Let me talk to him,” Desmond said. “I can convince him to let Anabelle go.”
“We’re working on it, sir. Now please, get to safety.”
Gunshots blasted through the air at the tail end of Calhoun’s plea. Desmond flew to the ground on his stomach as the shots echoed in the distance. Malone shouted that they’d never take him alive. Desmond rose just in time to see a kneeling cop to his far right, dressed in riot gear, fire a round of tear gas into the cabin. With a plunk, the round crashed through the side cabin window, exploding into a blanket of smoke.
“No!” Desmond shouted. “What are you doing?” He rose and charged the tear gas cop, only to be tackled by Sergeant Calhoun and held to the ground.
“Sir. Stay down!”
More shots rang out from the cabin as Malone fired wildly into the air. But the police were already converging upon the cabin on all sides. Calhoun’s knee dug into his back as Desmond kicked and twisted his body to no avail. “She’s my daughter!” he cried. “She’s my daughter!”
