THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  “That’s for sure,” Dr. Hixson said. “But whatever happens, I want you in charge, Jerry. If I have any say in the matter.”

  “So do I,” his wife echoed.

  Peacock shifted in his chair and shrugged. “Thank you both. And yes, you should have some say in the matter, but to be blunt, you don’t. Neither do I. Anyway . . . well, we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. Now, about that message.”

  “Yes, what does that tell us, Jerry?” Dr. Hixson asked.

  The lieutenant pulled a small spiral notebook out of his pocket and began to flip through his handwritten notes. “Well, let’s see,” he began. “About your first question, ‘who are these people?’ We don’t know who they are, or even if it is a ‘they.’ It could be one person. But I doubt it, because, in her unscripted remarks, Cassie referred to ‘them,’ too. I believe them when they say they’re not a political or religious group. As for ‘why your daughter?’ That’s the tough question, Gordon. If it were a rape or a murder, we’d say she was just a ‘target of opportunity,’ running alongside the road. But that’s not the case. They had followed her movements. They knew her routine. They wanted Cassie, and we need to find out why.”

  Celeste spoke up. “Why do you say that it doesn’t look like a political or religious thing? Those cult people are so crazy, it would be just like them.” She fidgeted on the couch, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket, as she often did when she was nervous or deep in thought.

  “They made her read a script,” Peacock replied. “That’s not unusual, in terrorist situations. But they let Cassie go off-script for a minute, and use her own words. Terrorists never do that. And they sounded intelligent. Educated. They weren’t ranting and raving. No political talk at all. The only demand was the ransom. They talked about Cassie, and the money. Terrorists don’t ask for money or anything else. They just kill people, and then make their speeches afterwards. This has all the marks of an ordinary kidnapping for ransom, in my opinion.” He shook his head. “But it’s been done very carefully.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Celeste conceded. “Those terrorists always scream, or sound like they’re preaching.” She turned to Dr. Hixson. “Y’know, maybe I’m ignorant, but what’s a . . . Dun and Bradshaw?”

  “Celeste, you’re not ignorant,” Dr. Hixson said. “Dun and Bradstreet is a company that collects financial and credit information. They were saying that they knew all my financial business. Dun and Bradstreet probably has your dad’s, too, come to think of it. It’s a huge operation.”

  Peacock nodded, then looked at Celeste. “Where does your father work, if I may ask?”

  “He owns the Reeves Funeral Home, Lieutenant, over in Highland Park.”

  “Oh, really? I know the place,” Peacock replied. “He’s handled some of our retired officers. I didn’t connect the names.”

  “It’s a pretty common name, sir,” she said politely.

  “Be thankful, Celeste. Imagine a boy growing up with a name like Peacock.” They shared a smile.

  A deep, angry growl rose from Daisy’s throat, interrupting the conversation. Suddenly, the dog was trembling with energy, the fur on her back bristling. She left her place at Mrs. Hixson’s feet and lunged for the front door, snarling and barking.

  Instead of the doorbell, there was a loud knock. The lieutenant was on his feet immediately, reaching up and unsnapping his shoulder holster. “Gordon,” he said, “take care of Daisy. I’ll get the door.”

  CHAPTER SIX: The FBI Takes Over

  The lieutenant looked through the peephole. Ah, he thought, now it gets interesting. He opened the door to the man and woman standing on the porch. “Hi there. Lieutenant Jerry Peacock, Yorkville Police. Can I help you?”

  Dr. Hixson had joined him in the entryway. “Daisy! Hit!” he snapped. Hearing the word, the dog backed away from the door a few feet. She sat down, her fur still bristling, a low growl rumbling from her throat.

  A tall man in a dark blue business suit, his hair brown and close-cropped, held up a badge: FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION, DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE. “Special Agent Donald Burgess. This is Special Agent Shannon Maclean.” He inclined his head to his associate. A young woman with a smallish but athletic frame, she looked to be in her twenties, and wore a dark blue suit over a frilly but conservative blouse. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut in a short bob. A carrying case for a laptop hung over her shoulder. “This is the Hixson residence, I believe?”

  “Yes it is,” Peacock answered, stepping aside.

  “I’m Gordon Hixson,” Cassie’s father said, approaching the door. “Please come in.” Daisy bared her fangs, eyes fixed on the two strangers.

  “Is that animal secure, Dr. Hixson?” Burgess asked, standing completely still, looking down at the huge German Shepherd.

  “Yes, she is. Daisy, fetch!” The dog finally relaxed, and licked his hand. The leader of her pack had told her that things were okay for the moment.

  Stepping into the house, Maclean smiled. “Interesting commands, Dr. Hixson. Either she’s been to obedience school, or you’re a natural trainer.”

  “Obedience school,” Cassie’s father replied. “If an intruder ever got in the house, he wouldn’t know what to say to stop her. But I suppose you train your service dogs the same way. . . . Please come meet my wife Barbara. Come on, Lieutenant Peacock.”

  He led the agents into the living room. “Barbara, these are the folks from the FBI. Agent Burgess, Agent Maclean, this is my wife, Barbara.” She forced a smile and nodded at the newcomers. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

  “Please have a seat,” Dr. Hixson said, gesturing to an antique loveseat as Peacock resumed his place in the armchair. “We were just having a cup of tea. Could I get you some coffee, or . . .”

  “No thank you, we’re fine,” replied Burgess, motioning for the younger agent to sit, then joining her. He glanced at Celeste. “And this is . . .?”

  “Oh, excuse me,” Dr. Hixson replied. “Agent Burgess, Agent Maclean, this is Celeste Reeves. She’s Cassandra’s closest friend, and she belongs here. Is that a problem?”

  “No, sir, not a problem,” replied Burgess. “We’re here to help, and we don’t want to disrupt your routine at all. Is that your motorcycle outside, Miss Reeves?”

  “Yessir,” the girl said. “I ride her everywhere.”

  “Okay, Celeste,” Maclean added, giving her a serious look. “You understand that this is a very important meeting. Nothing that’s said here can be repeated, at least for the time being.”

  “Of course not,” Celeste said, a touch of frost in her voice. Do I look like an idiot? Do I have a megaphone in my hand? Her naturally soft features hardened a bit. Celeste had flawless manners, but she didn’t appreciate being patronized. She moved an inch closer to Mrs. Hixson.

  Agent Maclean nodded. “I’m glad you understand, Celeste. . . . Do they call you ‘Celie?”

  “Not since I was three years old,” the girl answered. “Celeste is fine.” Celie! Does she think I just stepped off the plantation?

  “We’ve just been talking with Lieutenant Peacock about Cassie’s situation,” Dr. Hixson said, taking control of the conversation. “He’s been placed in charge of the investigation.”

  Burgess shifted a bit and forced a professional smile. “That’s very good, Gordon, and I’m sure the lieutenant’s a fine officer. But now that this is a federal matter, we’ll be handling things. That’s the standard procedure.”

  Peacock studied a picture hanging on the wall. That didn’t take long, he thought.

  Dr. Hixson was a professional man himself, but at the moment his patience was limited. “May I ask how you learned of this situation? Was it the Amber Alert?”

  “No, Gordon, it wasn’t. We’ve seen the ransom demand. Have you seen it?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Peacock’s people made a DVD of the message and we’ve just watched it. But the phone was in police custody. How did you happen to see the message?”

  Burgess tur
ned to Peacock, ignoring the question. “We’ll need that telephone, and the DVD itself, Lieutenant.”

  WHAT? Celeste protested inwardly. Dr. Hixson’s daughter is gone, and this guy just blows off his question? Are these people made of ice?

  The detective pulled the envelope containing the DVD from under his jacket and handed it to him. “There you go,” he said. “We have other copies. The telephone has been booked into evidence, and our own tech people are examining it right now. You can pick it up at the station any time tomorrow. And the Hixsons will expect it to be returned. It belongs to Cassandra.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation, Lieutenant,” Burgess said. “If you’d have one of your men bring it to our office in the Federal Building, that would be more convenient.”

  This is a lot of crap! Celeste thought. She knew a turf battle when she saw one. Cassie’s being held prisoner by God knows what kind of monsters, and they’re fussing about the details?

  “Actually, Agent Burgess, it’s not a matter of convenience,” Peacock replied. “We’re investigating a kidnapping. We intend to cooperate, but this girl’s life is too important to waste time with an argument over jurisdiction. We need to get her back.” I’ll let the mayor handle this, the detective thought. Everybody knows he’s planning a run for U.S. Senate next year. He knows the feds.

  Agent Burgess sized the policeman up, looking him in the eyes, thinking. “Very well, Lieutenant. One of our people will be at the station at noon. Agent Maclean?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “I’ll pick it up myself.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Peacock said. He turned to the Hixsons. “Now, Barbara, Gordon, I’m going to get back to work. I’m sure these agents will have plenty of questions for you. Call me any time.” He stood up, picked up his jacket, and patted Daisy’s head.

  “Thank you so much, Jerry,” Mrs. Hixson said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” Celeste added.

  “My pleasure, Celeste. Good night, all.” He opened the front door and walked out into the darkness.

  “This is a difficult time for you, Gordon,” Burgess said, after a moment of silence. “I understand. But we all want to get your daughter back.”

  “Yes, that’s the priority,” Dr. Hixson said. “Not who gets the credit. Now, what can you tell us about this situation so far? What do you know? And why did you avoid my question about the video?”

  I hope this man’s not going to be a pain in the neck, Burgess thought. “Gordon, I can’t discuss all of the Bureau’s methods with you. I’m sure you understand that. You’ve read all the stories about electronic surveillance. We don’t listen to your phone calls. But when a threat pops up in the metadata that the agencies collect, it gets flagged. That’s how we knew. Fair enough?”

  Yeah, right, Celeste thought. You listened to Dr. King’s phone calls before you ever heard of “metadata.” Give me a break! And why does he keep calling him “Gordon?” Are they old football buddies or something?

  Dr. Hixson paused, then nodded, although he had his doubts. “Fair enough. So, what can you tell us about our daughter’s kidnapping?”

  “Well, now,” Burgess said, pulling out a small leather notebook. Agent Maclean opened her laptop. “There’s not a lot of information yet, but we’ve ruled out a few things. It doesn’t seem to be related to terrorism or religion, that much seems clear.” He paused, flipping through his notes.

  Celeste couldn’t contain herself. “Yes sir, we’ve already figured that part out, with Lieutenant Peacock.” She was having a hard time warming up to these people.

  “I see,” Agent Maclean murmured, turning her full attention to the girl. “Tell me, Celeste, how do you know Cassandra? We know that she’s home schooled, so you couldn’t be classmates.”

  Mrs. Hixson spoke up. “In a way, Agent Maclean, they are classmates. Celeste is home schooled, too. The various home school groups in Yorkville have a lot of common activities, like athletics, drama, field trips . . . some home school students even play on athletic teams at the public schools. Celeste’s mother is very active in the National Black Home Educators group. There are Jewish homeschool groups. I’m involved in the York County Christian Homeschoolers. There are all kinds of home school groups and co-ops, and they do a lot of things together. Cassie and Celeste even help each other with their lessons. They’ll both be graduating six months from now. And of course, home schooled students didn’t lose any time with the COVID pandemic: when the schools closed down, they went right ahead with their regular schedules.”

  “Frankly, Barbara, I didn’t know home schooling was that well organized,” Burgess said, seeking to defuse the touchy situation. “I suppose there are a lot of misconceptions about it.”

  “Yes, there are,” Mrs. Hixson continued. “A lot of stereotypes. Like, people think we’re all religious fanatics living in log cabins in the woods. It’s not quite like that. Cassie and Celeste were both in the top tenth percentile on their SAT and ACT scores, and Cassie’s already been pre-accepted at Vanderbilt, William & Mary, and of course, here at the University. What about you, Celeste?”

  “Well . . . I’m blessed. I’ve been pre-accepted at Vanderbilt, too, and Spelman, but I’m also thinking about a little Bible institute down in Florida.” She suddenly felt embarrassed, as though she were bragging. “Cassie’s thinking about that one, too. It looks good, and we’d like to go to the same school, if we can.”

  “That’s very impressive,” Burgess replied, although he was secretly puzzled. Vanderbilt, Spelman, William & Mary . . . and “a little Bible institute?” Why is that even a choice?

  “Yes, we’re proud of our girls,” Dr. Hixson said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “And their mothers. But we can talk about this after Cassie comes home. Agent Burgess, do you have any ideas about where Cassie might be? Geographically, I mean?”

  “I wish I did,” Burgess answered. “Her telephone, with the message, was found here in Yorkville. So, at the very least, her kidnappers have an accomplice, or accomplices, here. But, you see, this is one reason we needed to get that phone from the local police. The Bureau can trace every place that phone has been since the day it left the factory.”

  “That’s right!” Mrs. Hixson exclaimed, gripping her husband’s arm. “Remember when we bought that phone, Gordon? The salesman told us about the location and tracking features! Sometimes Cassie even uses it for navigation, like driving directions.”

  “Well, GPS trackers have been standard issue in every cell phone made in the past twenty years or so,” Burgess nodded. “But the Bureau has other methods, as well. Once our tech people get the phone, we might be able to trace its movements right up to the time it was dumped outside the police station.”

  “That would be great,” Dr. Hixson agreed.

  “Excuse me,” Celeste interjected. “I sure do hope you’re right, and I know about the GPS thing. But why would the kidnappers, or their helpers, just hand it over to the police? Wouldn’t they know it could be traced that way?”

  “Maybe not, Celeste,” Burgess replied. “Criminals aren’t terribly bright, or they wouldn’t be criminals. I suppose they could have disabled the tracker in some way, but that’s really far-fetched. I don’t think we’re dealing with electronics experts here.”

  The room was silent for a long minute. Then Dr. Hixson looked at the man. “Tell me, Agent Burgess. You’ve seen a lot of ransom demands. We just saw Cassie’s, in the last hour. Why did she say that she wasn’t allowed to describe her food?”

  Burgess frowned. “Unless they’re holding her in a Chinese restaurant or something, that part has us stumped. She says that she’s being well fed, and she looks healthy. And that wasn’t part of the script. That was part of her ‘personal’ remarks at the end, so I believe it. But I can’t explain it yet.”

  Celeste stared at the agent. “You can’t?” She turned to Agent Maclean. “Can you?” The woman shook her head.

  “Well, come
on!” the girl exclaimed. “That was just about the only part I did understand.”

  Agent Maclean raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? Then please enlighten us.”

  Celeste glared at her. “I’m not trying to act smart, Agent. This is way too important. But it’s obvious. I don’t know how many FBI people you have in town, but I know you can use local police and sheriff’s deputies and such. Cooperation. Right?”

  “Well,” answered Maclean, “we prefer not to, but yes, if necessary. . . .”

  “So, what would be the easiest way for a kidnapper to feed Cassie, I mean real food? It’s simple. One of ‘em goes to Taco Bell or Ultraburger and just brings the stuff back. But if Cassie said, ‘I’m eating food from Wendy’s and Pizza Hut,’ you’d have men at every carryout place in town, wouldn’t you?”