Helen greeted Albert.
“I’m fine,” Albert said. “And yes, I remember Helen. You came in here before with Ginny. Bought sunscreen both times. Can I help you with anything today?”
“What a memory you have,” Helen said. “Do you know that much about all your customers?”
“I know my customers,” Albert said. All they have to do is come in here once, and I’ve got them up here.” He tapped his temple. “And I’ve known Ginny for many years. We’re old friends.” He smiled her way. “She used to work for me here at the shop.”
“And I enjoyed every minute of it, Albert. But, today I’m looking for a new sunhat,” Ginny said. “One of those that’s supposed to screen out all the harmful sun’s rays. You know, the kind in the cancer society advertisements. It has to be pretty, too.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I happen to have some right over here,” Albert said. He walked over to the hat display. He pulled a couple hats off the display which he thought she would like and showed them to her. He held the ones she wanted to try on and replaced on the rack the ones she turned away.
“I told her she has plenty of hats,” Helen said. “But she insisted on coming in here today and getting a new one.” She clucked at her friend.
“Yes, this is what I want,” Ginny said, pulling a brown cloth one off the rack. She looked about the store with a puzzled look and said, “Where’s Lissa. She’s such a dear girl. Isn’t this her time to work?”
Albert fumbled with some items and shook his head.
“What?” Ginny said, putting the hat back down. “Is something wrong?”
“Lissa didn’t come in to work today,” Albert said. “And that’s not at all like her. I tried calling her phone about an hour after her shift started but got no response.”
“Oh dear,” Ginny said. “You’re right to be upset. She’s a very responsible girl and is always here when she should be. I hope she’s okay. We saw her just last night, didn’t we Helen?” She looked at her friend for confirmation. “At the beach. She looked lovely.”
“Yes, we did. She was on her way to meet a boyfriend. Craig Bergen. I think that’s the name she told us. She stopped and talked to us for a few minutes. Ginny’s right. She looked lovely. She was wearing the prettiest white outfit. Looked absolutely adorable.”
“Craig Bergen. That’s the name of the young man who came to the store here yesterday,” Albert said. “Lissa told me all about him. She said she was meeting him at the beach last night. I have a bad feeling about this. I hope nothing has happened to her.”
“Don’t you think you should call someone?” Ginny asked. “The police or her parents again?”
“I’d call the police, but I don’t think they’d do anything so soon,” Albert said. “They usually wait a day or so because of runaways who go missing and then return. I’ll try telephoning her family again, and if I don’t get an answer, I’ll drive over to her house. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Good idea,” Ginny said. “Do you want me to drive over to her house for you? I have the time, and I’d be happy to do that since you’re working. I’m concerned about her.”
“I’ll go with you,” Helen said. “Then, we’ll call you, Albert, and let you know what we found out. And if she’s at home sick or something, we’ll have her telephone you to put your mind at ease. Okay? Either way, we’ll get back to you.”
“Okay,” Albert said. “Let me get her file and I’ll give you her address and phone number.”
He retrieved a folder with Lissa’s job application.
“She’s only been working here a short time, but I feel as if I’ve known her a lot longer than that,” Albert said, examining her application. He put an address and two phone numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to Ginny. “That’s her address and phone number, and there’s my cell phone number. Call me as soon as you know anything. Okay? Oh, and here’s her parents’ names.” He took the paper back from her and wrote the names down.
Ginny looked at the address, 75 Blue Chameleon Circle, Palm Bay, and immediately recognized the area as a familiar one. “That’s on the West side of I-95. Near where the fancy subdivision and new stores are,” she said to Helen. “We’ve been through that section of town plenty of times.”
“I’ll call you as soon as we find something out,” Ginny said to Albert.
The drive across the causeway and then south on Route One seemed to take longer than usual. Ginny turned right onto Malabar Road, following it under the I-95 overpass and continued until turning south onto Emerson Road.
“Now watch for house number 75,” Ginny said as they slowly cruised along Blue Chameleon Circle. “Tell me when you see it.”
Ginny kept her eyes on the road and managed the speed as slow as she could in case she needed to brake.
Helen gawked about, trying to see the house numbers.
“We’re getting close,” Helen said as they hit a straight stretch. “The odd numbers are on the right side. Sixty-nine, 71, 73, empty lot, 77.”
“Wait a minute,” Ginny said, stopping the car and backing up. “There’s 73, then a vacant lot, then 77. There is no 75. It must be a mistake.” She looked at the empty quarter acre. “Albert must have written the wrong number down.” She backed up the car and stopped in front of the tangle of weeds where Lissa’s home should have been. “Call him, Helen. He was upset and probably just wrote it down wrong.”
Helen called Albert’s cell phone.
Albert checked his records and told Helen that 75 Blue Chameleon Circle was the address Lissa wrote on her job application. He asked her to recite the address back to him to be sure she heard him.
“Are you suggesting I can’t read or see the numbers right?” Helen asked, reminding him that she may be older but was not senile. “We’re both wearing our glasses.”
“No, no. I was just checking,” Albert replied.
After ending the conversation, Albert muttered aloud to no one in particular, “I should have gone myself.”
Ginny scrutinized the large undeveloped piece of land. It was overgrown with wild ferns, palms, shrubs, and invasive pepper trees. The tangled vegetation was enough that a person would be hard pressed to get through it without crawling. It was obvious that a home had never occupied that weedy space.
“Let’s stop at one of the houses next to the lot and find out if anyone has ever heard of this young girl or her family,” Helen said. “We have the names of her parents written here. We’ll see if these people know them.” She peered closely at the list through her trifocals.
No one had heard of a Lissa Powell or her parents. Nor did they ever see on their street, anyone matching Lissa’s description.
Ginny phoned Albert, who gave them another piece of news. He had contacted City Hall and was informed that there was no other street in the city with the name Blue Chameleon Circle, so they were in the right neighborhood.
“When you report this to the police,” Ginny said, “If they think I can be of any help, send them to my home.” I know exactly what to tell them.
Ginny made another phone call to tell someone she was finished with her part of the Play and was going home.
As soon as he finished talking with Ginny and Helen, Albert changed his mind about waiting to report Lissa missing. He called the police department. He gave them Lissa’s full name and explained to them the concern he and the others had about her disappearance. He included the information of her perfect work record, where she was going last evening, and how he got no answer at her home phone number. He also recounted Ginny and Helen’s experience when trying to locate Lissa’s house. His report included his observations that Lissa was a good girl, not the type to run off somewhere like some other teenagers with whom they dealt.
Officer Lopez telephoned Albert an hour after his call to the station and promised to look into his concerns. She arrived at the surf shop shortly thereafter.
“This is a copy of her job application,” Albert said, handing the
policewoman some papers. “I also have a recent picture of Lissa taken here at the shop. She asked me to take the photograph shortly after she started to work here. Said she wanted to send it to some friends. She gave me a copy, and I kept it with her file.”
Lopez observed the color photo of the teenager. In it, Lissa was looking down and to the left, and the print was out of focus a little bit.
“Pretty girl from what I can see. Red hair,” Lopez said. “Is this the best picture of her that you have? It’s not a very good one.”
“Yes, I know it’s not too good, but it’s all I have. Our store cameras have somehow been erased so we can’t use them. As I told you, she was a responsible girl and very nice. Respectful. You know what I mean?”
The officer shook her head yes. She was touched by the employer’s concern for his salesgirl.
“How tall would you say she is?” Lopez asked.
“About five feet seven inches tall. And even though she went to the beach every morning, she was white-skinned. Just had a little tan. Not much.”
“And you say you tried locating her home and telephoning her family,” Lopez said.
“Yes. I’ve been trying her phone number all afternoon. And a couple of my customers drove to her address to make sure she was all right since we couldn’t get her on the phone. When they went to her street address, all that was there was a vacant lot and none of the neighbors recognized the name as someone who lived in their neighborhood. And they claimed not to have ever seen anyone on their street matching Lissa’s description.”
“What was her state of mind yesterday when she was here working? Was she upset? Did she mention a fight with her parents or a boyfriend? Any problems at school? Did she do drugs?” The policewoman wrote as she spoke. “I have to ask these questions.”
“She was fine. She worked her shift,” Albert said. “She was excellent with the customers and made a lot of sales yesterday, as usual. She wasn’t upset. Quite the contrary. She was her usual happy self. She was excited. I had just given her a raise. And she was happy because she was supposed to meet a boyfriend at the beach at 8:30 last night. Ginny Anderson, the lady that went looking for Lissa, lives near the beach. She said she saw Lissa all dressed up last evening, walking on the boardwalk, going to meet the boy. His name is Bergen, by the way. Craig Bergen. Lissa told me all about him yesterday.”
He paused. “I don’t think Lissa did drugs, Officer. She just didn’t strike me as that kind of a person. Frankly, she wasn’t like any of the other teenagers I have had working here in the past. She was more mature.”
“I’ve got the information down and will make some inquiries to see if we can locate her. It’s too soon to put out a missing person on her, but with your description of what has happened and the kind of employee you say she was, I’m uncomfortable about waiting too long on this. Can I take this photo with me?” she asked, holding it up.
“Sure. Her social security number, parents’ names, everything I have on her is on your copy of the job application,” Albert said. “Take that, too, if it will help. Oh, yeah. Ginny Anderson and her friends’ addresses are listed on this note card. They told me to tell you to stop by to talk to them if you think it would help find Lissa. Mrs. Anderson said she was going to ask some of the neighbors to help her walk the beach to look for the girl. They have a Neighborhood Watch Group they’re involved with who are going to help them.”
“That’s good. The watch group has been trained not to touch anything they find, so they’ll know what to do. What do you know about this boyfriend she was meeting? Craig Bergen?” Lopez asked.
“Not much,” Albert said. “Just what Lissa told me.” He repeated everything she had said about Bergen.
“He was here yesterday talking to her. Bought some things, too. Paid cash. As I said, our in-store surveillance tape would have helped, because Lissa would have been on that tape, too, but it’s no good now. I can give you our copy of the outside corner surveillance tape if you want. There’s a good shot of Bergen on that from when he left the store.”
Lopez thanked him and viewed the tape Albert had. It was not a good image but would have to suffice.
“I hadn’t noticed it at the time, but it looks as if he was avoiding being taped,” Albert said. “He had those sunglasses on most of the time, too, which makes it difficult to get a good view of his face. I don’t like the way this is shaping up, Officer. I’m concerned about Lissa.”
“This whole situation is a concern to me, too. And that Bergen guy looks very familiar. Like I’ve seen him before. ”
Lopez finished interviewing Albert and promised to get back to him if she learned anything. The officer did not feel too worried about the young girl, knowing most of these missing kids ended up being runaways. She reminded Albert of that. Still, her gut reaction about Lissa Powell was one of some alarm.
“I have to say again that I just don’t think her being a runaway is the case here,” Albert replied. “It just doesn’t add up. Someone ought to go talk to that Bergen guy. See what he has to say.”
“Do you know where he lives?” Lopez asked.
“Ginny says he lives at The Banana Motel on A1A. She’s seen him around at the beach, surfing and hanging out.”
“The Banana Motel is an odd place for an 18-year-old and his family to live, don’t you think? That motel caters mostly to tourists, and the rooms aren’t very spacious or even outfitted to house a family.”
Albert walked the policewoman to the door and thanked her for looking into this so quickly. “Please call me or come back to the store anytime if you think it would help,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Officer Lopez got into her police car and checked in with her supervisor. She put some data into the computer and was surprised when Lissa’s social security number came up invalid. It was a fake ID. She called her supervisor again, gave him the boyfriend’s name and address to check on in their database, and asked for backup to go to The Banana Motel to find Craig Bergen. She also requested an officer go to the beach area to join the Neighborhood Watch Group already there . . . just in case.
CHAPTER SIX
At The Banana Motel...
With the heavy traffic flow, it took Officer Lopez longer than usual to get to The Banana Motel. True to its name, it was a bright yellow three-story place of business with a banana-shaped neon sign out front advertising vacancies. She guessed it must have been built in the fifties, given the boxy structure and dated style. Multi-storied, modern complexes flanked the motel, accentuating its age.
Her backup, Officers Darrell Tucker and Clark Edwards arrived together within a few minutes. They parked their police car at the front of the motel and got out, walked over to Lopez’s car and rapped on the window.
Lopez briefed the men on everything she had so far on Lissa’s disappearance and her gut feeling of the importance of moving quickly to find Bergen.
The police entered the motel at the front of the building.
“Hi, officers. What can I do for you today?” the desk clerk asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Routine check, Mr. Patel,” Lopez said, reading the clerk’s name-tag. “Do you have a Mr. Craig Bergen staying here?”
“Yes, we do. Please call me John.” He smiled. “Bergen has been here for at least three weeks. Let me check to make sure.” The clerk tapped some buttons on the computer and read from the screen.
“Yes. He came in three weeks ago. Pays weekly. Stays in room 24.” He looked blankly at the officers. “Is something wrong? Is he in trouble?”
“Is he alone or are his parents with him?” Lopez asked.
“Parents?” the clerk said. “No. He lives here by himself. Quiet. No trouble. Spends most of the day with his surfboard at the beach. What’s this about? Is he in some sort of trouble?”
“We have some routine questions to ask him. Please show us where his room is,” Lopez said.
“Sure,” John said. “Follow me.” He pulled a key from a board on the back w
all and yelled to someone in the back room. “Al. Can you watch the front desk for a few minutes? I have some officers here who want to talk to one of our customers.”
Al came out from behind the curtained doorway and gave the police a worried once-over. He looked at John and nervously tapped his chubby fingers together in front of him.
“Is something wrong?” Al asked in a thick accent. “Has something happened? Is it about those missing bleach bottle things?” He kept tapping his fingers. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He rubbed his hands across an expanse of stomach.
“No, it’s not the missing bleach. Not that I know of,” John said. “The officers just want to talk with Craig Bergen, room 24. Watch the desk. I’ll be right back.”
Al nodded his head but retained his worried expression. He wrung his hands, then tapped his fingers together. He looked back and forth from John to the officers and mumbled about the bleach. He frowned when he saw the two marked cars parked out front. He wanted the police cars moved to the back, away from where potential customers could see them.
John took the lead and motioned for the police to follow him.
“Very hot again today,” John said. “Good beach day.” He looked up at the beautiful blue Florida sky with its puffy white clouds. “No rain coming again.”
“Yes, very hot,” Lopez said. “But we need the rain.”
Room 24 was at the back of the three-story block building, near an alcove where outside stairs went up to the next level. There was a white plastic lawn chair to the left of the door to Bergen’s room. It was at least another 400 feet to the beach behind them. A path meandered through an open area, through some low vegetation, then, obscured, down to the shore.
The officers remained alert, looking about while the clerk knocked on the door and loudly called out Bergen’s name.
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