The Child Snatcher

by Aria Johnson

  “It sounds like you want to give up without a fight, and I’m not going to let you do that. I’ll fight for you even if you won’t fight for yourself.”

  Suddenly misty-eyed again, I quickly turned my head and gazed out the window.

  Chapter 25

  When Jeff pulled into my driveway, I was stunned to see a crowd of gawkers standing on the pavement outside my house. I hadn’t expected that. Some of the onlookers were neighbors I’d known for years, and many others I’d never seen before. There was even a news van, for God’s sake.

  What the spectators all had in common was a collective rage that was directed at me. Glaring at me, the mob snarled and murmured scornful sounds.

  I emerged from the car with my head down. I would have preferred disappearing through a hole in the ground, rather than having to face anyone.

  Jeff put his arm around me and led the way. We had to push our way past the angry gawkers who soon heightened the chaos by shouting awful names. “Child Snatcher,” “Baby Thief,” and “Crazy Bitch” were a few choice phrases that were hurled at me.

  The set of keys shook so badly in my hand, Jeff had to take them from me and unlock the front door.

  Inside I collapsed into a chair. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “It’ll pass,” Jeff soothed.

  “But what about you? You didn’t do anything wrong. Won’t being associated with me affect your business image?”

  “I doubt it. Besides, I don’t care.”

  The landline phone began to ring. I glanced at the screen.

  “Who is it?” Jeff asked.

  “The number’s blocked.”

  “Ignore it.”

  “It might be the attorney.”

  “Why would he—”

  “Hello?” I said before Jeff could finish his sentence.

  “I want to know one thing, Claire,” Howard bellowed into the phone. “Why the hell are you still using my last name?”

  “I kept your name for Brandon’s sake—so we’d have the same last name. You know that.”

  “Well, he’s dead now, so move on and start using your own fucking last name. I don’t want to be associated with you in any way, you goddamn lunatic. My phones at the office won’t stop ringing and they’re not business calls. I’m getting harassed by reporters—I even got a call from the fucking Daily Mail in the UK for crying out loud. Between you and Brandon, you’ve both succeeded in sullying my good name. I don’t understand why they didn’t keep you in the nuthouse. Obviously, that’s where you belong.”

  Hearing me gasp and seeing my face go ashen, Jeff took the phone from my hand.

  “Who is it?” he demanded.

  “It’s my ex,” I whispered in a meek voice.

  “Say, Bud . . .I doubt that this is a social call, so if you’re trying to add to Claire’s problems, I suggest you leave her alone and get a life. Otherwise, I’ll be paying you a visit. And we can deal with your gripes, man-to-man.”

  Jeff took the phone from his ear and stared at it. “He hung up. What a punk!” He turned his gaze on me. “Listen, Claire. You’re probably going to get a lot more calls from blocked numbers, and I suggest you ignore them unless you enjoy listening to a bunch of crap.”

  “You’re right. I’ll stop answering it.”

  “In fact, unplug the phone right now.”

  “But what about—”

  “Don’t worry about the attorney being able to contact you. I’m going to go out and get you a new cell phone, and no one gets the number except the attorney and me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Meanwhile, try to relax until I get back.”

  I nodded and Jeff kissed me on the forehead and then whisked out the door.

  Surrounded by familiar things, I wandered from room to room with a vague sense of contentment. It was good to be home, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it with a mob surrounding my house. The buzz of their angry voices carried to the inside and I wasn’t able to shut out the sound until I went upstairs into the bathroom and turned the faucet on, full force.

  As the bathtub filled, I meandered into my bedroom and glimpsed my laptop on the desk. I was tempted to go online and read about Ava’s abduction, but I decided against it. Reading a bunch of lies about myself would not improve my emotional status.

  I accidentally glimpsed my image in a full-length mirror that stood in a corner of my room. I cringed at the sight of me. My face was flushed. My eyes were red-rimmed and watery. I looked like an unbathed street person with oily, stringy hair and disheveled clothing.

  I tore off my clothes with the intention of throwing them in the trash or better yet, burning them. But in the meantime, I stuck them in the clothes hamper, pushing them to the bottom.

  In the bathroom, I sank down into the tub of hot water. But instead of feeling better, I immediately began worrying about Bran. Was he doing all right? The doctor had surely separated him from the placenta by now and had put him on baby formula.

  Despite the stellar performance Ava was giving as she pretended to be a loving mother, I doubted if she’d willingly continue to breastfeed. But at least my little guy was getting good medical care. That was the only upside to this tragic story.

  Oh, Bran. What’s going to happen to you when Ava takes you home and the public has turned their attention to the next salacious story?

  Being immersed in water soothed me. I soaked for so long, my body had shriveled like a prune.

  A sudden pounding on the front door startled me and I rose from the water with a great splash. Donning a white robe and slippers and with a towel tied around my head, I padded down the stairs and cautiously peeked through the curtains. I expected to see Jeff, but to my utter surprise, Veronica was standing on my porch, and she was being jeered by the crowd.

  I threw the locks off and yanked the door open. She burst inside and embraced me in a bear hug. “Claire. Oh, my God. How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “What possessed you to abduct that young woman and her child?”

  I disengaged from Veronica’s embrace and looked her in the eyes. “That child is my grandson. He’s Brandon’s child.”

  “What!” Veronica looked shocked.

  “And the mother, that rotten bitch, Ava Stephenson, intended to sell him . . .” I paused. “To a child-selling ring. And Walter Caulfield is involved.”

  Veronica recoiled.

  “I know you believe that Walter is a good guy, but he’s not. He’s the quintessential wolf in sheep’s clothing. I don’t expect you to believe me, but some way, somehow, the truth will eventually come out.”

  “I believe you, Claire,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Really? You believe me?” I was stunned.

  She nodded. “You know that saying, there’s no fool like an old fool. Well, Walter really had me duped.”

  “I need his address, Veronica. To give to the police.”

  “It won’t do you any good,” she said gravely.

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “He skipped town the minute the story about that girl hit the news.” Veronica covered her face with her hands. “And I’m ashamed to say, he absconded with my life’s savings. All the money my hardworking, sweet Freddie left me, as well as my own savings. It’s all gone.”

  “How’d that happen?” I couldn’t keep the outrage out of my voice.

  “He scammed me, Claire. Tricked me into some kind of offshore investing. Claimed I could get a big break in taxes and triple my money.” Veronica let out a sharp cry. “Oh, I’m so ashamed of myself—for being so stupid. Now he’s gone, and so is my retirement fund.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “His house has been cleared out completely. Walter’s in the wind. I’ve seen stories on TV about foolish widows like myself, but they usually get deceived by handsome young studs. Not a seemingly kindly senior citizen who bird watches and volunteers at the city zoo. I’m five years older than Walter,
but that’s not a big age difference.”

  “Being a volunteer was a good cover,” I said grimly.

  “Yeah, Walter was a crafty ol’ son-of-a-gun,” Veronica bitterly admitted.

  Trying to comfort her, I patted her hand. “Did you go to the police?”

  “Not yet. This is a small town and news travels. I don’t want the whole town gossiping about my stupidity before I talk with my children.”

  I nodded in understanding.

  “Enough about me; I came to lend you my support. I knew you couldn’t have done the malicious things they’re saying you did, unless you’d gone completely off your rocker. I can’t tell you how good it is to see that you didn’t go crazy, again. Oh, goodness, I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured her.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. My friend Jeff has a plan.”

  “Who’s Jeff?”

  “Remember the guy we saw rock climbing at the community center? The handsome one with the silver hair?”

  “The Richard Gere look-alike?”

  I nodded and gave a faint smile. “We were secretly dating. We went to Paris when I took that spur-of-the-moment vacation.”

  Veronica hooted in laughter. “You sly ol’ fox. I never suspected a thing!”

  “But when we got back and after everything happened with Brandon, I broke it off. Anyway, he has a plan that might get me less time . . .maybe get me off completely.” I shrugged and smiled sadly. “I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.”

  Chapter 26

  Jeff didn’t return to my house with a new phone until the next day. His face held a bleak expression and I could tell that he had bad news to deliver.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, though I dreaded his answer.

  “I visited Ava at the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “To make a deal with her.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  “You stated that she’d only gone through with the pregnancy to make money, but being under public scrutiny, she couldn’t go through with her plan.”

  “That’s right . . .” I waited for him to continue.

  “I offered her a large sum of money if she’d recant her statement and tell the public why you were so desperate to get your grandson away from her. I told her that she’d probably be charged with making fraudulent statements and for filing a false police report, but she’d most likely spend less than a year in prison or she’d possibly get off on probation. I assured her that the money would be put in safekeeping for her if she granted you custody of your grandson.”

  “What did she say?” I asked anxiously.

  Jeff ran a hand through his hair. “No deal. I was so sure she’d go for it, but she wouldn’t. She said she had a plan of her own that would bring in big bucks. I left my card with her, in case she has a change of heart.”

  Later that day, Jeff accompanied me to the lawyer’s office, and we all agreed that my best bet was an insanity plea.

  • • •

  While I was being maligned and vilified by the press, there was an outpour of sympathy for Ava. Opportunist that she was, she set up a GoFundMe account, and raised over $15,000 in a single day. People from all over the world were contributing and it appeared that Ava would make a much larger profit from online donations than Walter’s organization had offered her. Manufacturers had gotten in on the bandwagon, pledging donations of disposable diapers, baby furniture, baby food, and infant wear.

  After three days, Ava was medically cleared to leave the hospital, but the baby was kept for further observation. A nearby hotel kindly provided Ava with free lodging until her child was released.

  For a girl like Ava who’d spent her childhood being shuffled from one foster home to the next, all the attention she’d been receiving was a cause for celebration.

  And the celebrating got out of hand.

  According to news reports, guests at the hotel had complained repeatedly about the amount of noise emanating from Ava’s room and were leery of the stream of unsavory characters that drifted in and out of her room.

  When she neglected to visit the baby at the hospital for days in a row, hospital staff, unable to reach her by phone, alerted hotel management and asked them to check on her.

  What they discovered was a practically comatose Ava, sprawled out, half-naked on the bed. And there was a host of unidentified men and women in various stages of undress, passed out on the floor and slumped in chairs.

  There was also a plethora of alcohol, but the police were alerted when the hotel staff discovered a large quantity of drugs. The police seized a half-pound of methamphetamine, a pound of marijuana, and a half-pound of cocaine.

  The group of partiers was taken to the hospital and from there they were carted off to jail. They all pointed the finger at Ava, claiming she had bought the drugs with her GoFundMe windfall and had plans to distribute them.

  Seemingly overnight, Ava went from courageous survivor and mother-of-the-year to a reviled criminal being dubbed, “Monster Mom.”

  Donations that were intended to help give her child a good start in life had been used to fund wild sex parties and to pay for large quantities of drugs.

  The public was outraged.

  A hotshot female attorney took Ava’s case pro bono. In the hope of garnering sympathy for Ava, the attorney held a press conference and vividly described the abuse that Ava suffered at the hands of numerous foster parents during her tough childhood.

  Shockingly, Ava did have a smidgeon of humanity in her. She told the authorities that she’d lied on me and that she wanted to drop all the charges.

  Taking advantage of our sudden turn of good fortune, my lawyer claimed that the knock upside my head should have been treated before I was questioned and that while suffering a concussion, I had agreed to a crime I’d never committed. My attorney spun a convincing tale. According to him, Ava had gone into labor while we were on our way to the mountains for a short vacation. Neither of us had expected her to go into labor at seven months.

  He further claimed that I had taken her to the cabin instead of the hospital because Ava had insisted on a home birth from the very beginning of her pregnancy.

  Ava corroborated my attorney’s claims.

  In the aftermath of being exonerated, neighbors, wearing sheepish expressions, stopped by with offerings of fruit baskets, casseroles, cakes, and pies.

  But nothing made me happier than the day Ava called Jeff from prison wanting to accept the deal he’d previously offered. Crafty girl that she was, she spoke in code in case the call was being monitored.

  Although I was staunchly opposed to treating children as a commodity, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Ava was a horrible mother and would find a way to make money off Bran one way or another if she was ever given the opportunity.

  She was sentenced to eight years in prison, and would probably be out in five or less with good behavior. The way the foster care system worked, when she was released, she’d be eligible to get Bran back if she completed parenting classes and could accommodate him with suitable housing.

  With the foster care system overloaded with cases, it wasn’t likely that anyone would monitor Ava for very long.

  She was a damaged woman and I didn’t believe that any amount of therapy or rehabilitation would ever change who she was. Even if she decided against selling Bran to the highest bidder and chose to raise him herself, I doubted he’d ever be safe with her.

  And so, I made a secret, verbal agreement to set aside a certain amount of money that would be available to Ava when she was released. She, in turn, would not challenge my petition to adopt Bran.

  As a family member, it was relatively easy for me to be awarded temporary custody of my grandson. With Ava’s cooperation, a legal adoption was in the works, but it would take up to a year to be finalized.

  Meanwhile, having little Bran in my life made me the happiest woman in
the world.

  Jeff and I were closer than ever and very much in love. We both agreed that marriage was an outdated institution and neither of us required a piece of paper as proof of our commitment to each other.

  After being swindled out of her entire retirement savings, Veronica notified the FBI and discovered that Walter Caulfield aka Lester Pennington had been on their radar for many years for a number of crimes including money laundering, bribery, and embezzlement. There was nothing that linked him to any black market baby rings, but that wasn’t surprising since the majority of child traffickers operated clandestinely.

  It wasn’t easy for Veronica to rebuild. She continued working at the zoo and she earned extra income employed as a part-time nanny for Bran.

  With a small fortune in the bank, I could afford to stay home and be a full-time mom to Bran. During the winter months, we spent a great deal of time indoors and I always looked forward to date night with Jeff. Jeff was my hero. My modern-day knight in shining armor.

  Although the neighbors that had known me for years seemed satisfied that I was innocent, mistrust lingered among the people who only knew me in passing. I was still very much the source of gossip in Middletown. At the supermarket, movie theater, or local swap meet, I often caught glimpses of people whispering about me behind their hands.

  Occasionally when pushing Bran in his stroller, I’d hear murmurings: “Is that the child she stole from its mother?” I can’t say that the cruelty of others didn’t hurt because it did.

  Jeff suggested we relocate. Somewhere far away—where I wasn’t known. He was also concerned that Bran would be affected by the gossip when he got older, but that was something we’d have to deal with at a later time.

  I couldn’t leave Middletown until after the adoption was finalized, and so I conditioned myself to ignore the whispers and gossip. I was so grateful to have a good man who loved me and a beautiful grandson who was the center of my universe.

  I couldn’t bear to think about what would have become of me had it not been for Jeff sticking by my side throughout one of the worst ordeals of my life.