by Josi Kilpack
All the news stories Brad had watched about missing teenagers, all the “Have You Seen Her?” posters he barely looked at in the grocery stores flooded through his mind. If he’d only found the IM that day, if he’d only investigated a little further. Jess had stormed off on Wednesday evening and he hadn’t followed up; he hadn’t tried to talk to her. Maybe she’d needed more attention, needed to know she mattered as much as the new baby did. And he hadn’t given it to her. He hadn’t even gone downstairs to tell her good night. He wrapped his arms tighter around Kate, the only other person in the world who knew what this felt like, and felt himself giving in to the horror of it all, too. There was work to be done and calls to be made, but he couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer.
67
Karl Weatherford had fallen asleep, but the ding-dong sound of an e-mail woke him up. He lifted his head from the desk and blinked at the clock. It was three o’clock in the morning. Why was he even here?
After his parents agreed to the website, he and Jamie had spent the next two days finishing it. Though no stranger to this kind of thing, even he was impressed with the comprehensive dual-country marketing plan they had been able to execute in just forty-eight hours. The banner ads were in place, and the e-mail blitzes had begun that morning—well, technically, yesterday morning—Friday. Karl had planted himself in the chair, just sure that within hours of the launch they’d have hundreds of replies, tons of leads. He had realized pretty quickly that his expectations were ridiculous. He’d had one e-mail from someone in New York who said they had been talking to a [email protected] in March. Karl replied, asking for more information, but they hadn’t responded and it wasn’t the information he was looking for anyway.
Then again, what was he looking for? What were the chances that someone who had seen Terrezza would stumble onto one of his marketing tactics? The odds were insurmountable. However, he didn’t dare tell that to his parents after getting their permission, and after all the money they’d put into it. So he stayed in his chair despite the fact that he was beginning to feel like a fool.
He clicked over to the e-mail account and opened the new message. Maybe the New York guy was responding.
——Original Message——
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, May 12, 2:56 AM
Subject: Terrezza
My name is Brad Thompson. My daughter disappeared two days ago with only a note saying she was going to stay with a girl named Terrezza. We don’t know anyone by that name and found a journal where she wrote about someone named Colt and someone named Emily—people she met through mybulletinbored.com. I’ve been surfing online, trying to figure out what’s happened to my daughter, and this website came up on a Google search of the unusual spelling of Terrezza. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. My phone number is 801–555–9436 or you can respond to this e-mail. I’ll be right here. I can’t sleep.
Brad
Karl blinked and read it again. This hadn’t been what he’d been expecting, or even hoped for. He wanted information on how to find the man who had killed his sister, but the ramifications of this man’s e-mail descended quickly. He scrambled for the phone, managing to knock it off its base. It clattered to the floor, and he hurried to pick it up.
“What?” his mom said, sitting up from where she’d fallen asleep on the couch. She’d come out of her room for the first time since the funeral the previous afternoon. She looked older somehow, broken, and he wondered if she, or any of them, would ever recover from this. She stayed as his silent companion. Dad and Jamie had gone to their own beds around midnight.
“Some guy just e-mailed me,” Karl said, looking at the computer screen and punching the number into the phone. “His daughter disappeared a few days ago and left a note with Terrezza’s name. He gave me his number.” He finished dialing and put the phone to his ear, his heart pounding, while at the same time asking himself why he was so anxious.
“Hello?” a man’s voice said into the phone.
“Hi, this is Karl Weatherford. You just sent me an e-mail about a note with my sister’s name on it.”
“Yes, I did,” the man said, his anxiety showing in his voice. “I thought it might be a long shot, and I don’t know if you can help me but—”
“Terrezza left a note, too,” Karl interrupted. “Did you read about that on the website?” The exact wording hadn’t been on the website—it was one of those pieces of information they held back.
He heard the click of a mouse on the other end of the line. “No,” the man said. “I didn’t read very far, I . . . I’m not sure I’m up to considering a connection to your sister’s case.”
Karl nodded to himself, realizing the implication. This man was trying to accept his daughter’s disappearance. Linking her to a girl who was already dead wasn’t good. He could feel his mother watching him and met her eyes. “What exactly did the note say, sir?”
“It says, ‘I need a time-out. I’m at Terrezza’s and I’ll be back in a few days . . . ’”
Karl felt heat rush through his body. Same words. “Sir, the note my sister left almost six months ago was worded exactly like that—except it said she was at Danyelle’s. We don’t know a Danyelle.”
The other end was silent.
“What can you tell me about your daughter’s situation?” Karl continued.
“She met him online,” Mr. Thompson said, almost hesitantly. “Through mybulletinbored.com, and they e-mailed for almost two months. He posed as a girl first, then introduced her to her cousin, but we think it was the same person the whole time.”
“And his name was Colt?”
“Yes, she had an instant message program she used to contact him,” Mr. Thompson said. “One that was hidden and only linked two computers.”
Karl was stunned and didn’t know what else to say. “Mr. Thompson,” he said, “My sister had that program, too—the e-mail address was [email protected]. They started e-mailing almost eight months ago.” Karl thought of the other e-mail he’d received. “I got an e-mail earlier today. The person said they communicated with a coltinator_47 back in March. They haven’t e-mailed me back with any other information, though.”
The other end of the line was silent for several seconds.
“Mr. Thompson?”
“Jess was e-mailing [email protected]. She didn’t start e-mailing him until April.”
The phone line went silent again, and Karl wondered for a moment if Mr. Thompson had hung up. “Is he . . . ?” Mr. Thompson breathed. “Is he counting?”
68
Do it,” Monique said, handing over her credit card. Karl looked at her with questions in his eyes. The sun was just coming up, casting the room in bright yellow. Monique could see the sparkly dust particles as they floated through the air.
“Mom, it’s so expensive.”
“I don’t care,” she said, pushing the credit card even closer. “If there’s three, there must be others, and people are finding you. I don’t care how much it costs. Buy all the Internet stuff you need to get the word out.” Karl finally took the card. “What else can I do?” she asked.
After the phone call from Mr. Thompson, she’d been unable to sleep. The rage she felt was overwhelming, but she was finally able to see the wisdom behind all this online stuff Karl had wanted to do. Mr. Thompson’s idea that this man was counting grabbed hold of her like a vice grip and wouldn’t let go. This man was a hunter. Someone else’s daughter was facing Terrezza’s fate, and Monique might just be able to help stop him.
Jamie’s voice caused both Monique and Karl to look in her direction. “I have a friend who did an internship at one of the news stations in Wisconsin. She might know some people.”
“Do you think she’d help us?”
“I think she’d try.”
Monique nodded, picturing Terrezza’s face all over the news, not missing, not even abducted—b
ut dead. Because of this man. Because of Colt. “Your father does repair work for the Chronicle’s sports reporter. I wonder if he could help us—make the right contacts, I mean.”
Karl finally spoke up. “I’ve already blitzed a whole bunch of media contacts, but if we could get enough voices behind us and step up the Internet campaign—”
“Let’s do all this,” Monique said. “Let’s do it now.” And then what? she thought. It wouldn’t bring Terrezza back. But quick on the heels of that thought was the reminder that it might bring someone else’s daughter home. Maybe that would bring some peace. Right now, she could use all she could get.
69
Brother and Sister Weatherford,” Reverend Adams said as they exited the chapel Sunday afternoon. He grasped Harrison’s hand and held on tightly. “How are you doing?”
Harrison nodded. “Every day’s a little better than the last.” He turned his head to catch Monique’s eye and she nodded, though better sounded like a really big word.
They hadn’t been to church for years. Every time they talked about going it ended up in an argument about which one to go to. Lutheran, the church Monique was raised in, or Baptist, the church Harrison attended as a child.
The minister nodded, his dark face etched with sincerity. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He’d conducted Terrezza’s services, and Monique had been touched by his kindness enough that she didn’t argue over what church to go to today. She just needed the Lord Jesus in her life right now.
“Thank you,” Monique said. “I expect we might be around more often.”
The reverend’s dark face split into a huge white-toothed grin. “We would sure love for that to be the case. Even through our trials, the Lord does love us, Brother and Sister Weatherford. It would do my soul good to help you find that love in your life again.”
Monique felt tears fill her eyes. Thinking of God’s love now, after so much tragedy, was difficult, and yet she felt it somehow. How could that be?
“Ours, too,” Harrison said. They moved on down the steps, Karl and Jamie trailing behind them. They had been less inclined to come today, since they’d not been raised with religion, but at least they were there. Monique had never seen Karl in a tie before. He looked very handsome.
“That was nice,” Jaime said with a smile as they reached the car.
Monique took her daughter’s hand and smiled, though the tears were still coming. “It was nice, wasn’t it?”
Karl just shrugged, but Harrison put his arm around his son’s shoulder, something Monique was sure hadn’t happened in years. She wiped at her eyes and hoped Terrezza could see that losing her had helped them all find each other a little bit. It was small consolation for the agony of her death, but Monique was grateful that there was some good to come from it—at least a little. She looked toward the heavens and scanned the scattered clouds in the sky. Be with the Thompson girl, she said in her heart. Please help her find her way home.
70
On Monday, the FBI took over the investigation, now that there was enough evidence to suggest a multistate crime had been committed. They set up a command center in the Thompson house, and the media finally got involved full force. The Weatherfords stepped up their advertising even more, blasting the title “Do you know the Coltinator?” along with Terrezza and Jess’s pictures all over the Internet. The phone rang off the hook. That coming Wednesday was Jess’s sixteenth birthday; no one could get it out of their heads.
By six o’clock Monday night the FBI had found eight more girls who at one time or another in the last year had exchanged e-mails with Emily, Ashley, Tiffany, or Jenny—every one of whom had introduced the girls to their cousin or brother, Colt.
The missing link, however, was that no one had a physical description of the man. He had sent them pictures that were traced back to a clip-art website. The lack of what he looked like created a double complication. First, they could pass him on the street and not know it. They had no idea how old he was, if he had any distinguishing tattoos—nothing. And second, their fear increased that there may have been girls who had seen him but were never given the chance to tell anyone about it. Jess Thompson had been gone for almost five days. She very likely knew who he was and what he looked like. Would she ever be able to tell anyone about it?
These thoughts were cycling through Karl’s head Monday night when his in-box dinged again. The FBI had taken over the account, but they sent him e-mails now and then to keep him updated and let him know what changes to make to the website in order to reflect the current status. He was grateful they had let him stay on as web master and not brought in one of their own. He quickly toggled over to his e-mail account.
——Original Message——
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, May 15, 11:49 PM
Subject: The Meeting
Mr. Weatherford
I might be the Danyelle you’re looking for. I met this guy, coltinator_26, online over a year ago. We were supposed to meet once at a McDonald’s and this old guy said he was Colt’s uncle, but then he put something in my drink. When I started feeling funny he offered to drive me home. But the same thing had happened to me at a party once, so I knew what was happening. I started screaming and freaking out. He took off. My friend saw one of your ads and thought it might be the same guy—but you can’t tell my mom, k, she’ll never let me go back online if she knew I was meeting people.
Danyelle (but I never use my real name online)
Karl read the message four times, and chills coursed down his spine. She’d seen him. She knew what he looked like. He grabbed his phone and dialed the Thompson’s number in Salt Lake City, wondering if they knew yet. While waiting for the call to go through, he turned toward the doorway and yelled over his shoulder. “We found Danyelle!”
71
Brad and Kate were relieved when Danyelle was found, but they were running out of ideas, and the last six days were catching up to them. Worried about the stress all this might be causing on the baby, Kate went in and met with Dr. Lyon. Everything looked okay, but he insisted she needed her sleep and a proper diet. She agreed and was trying hard to follow his instructions, but it wasn’t easy.
Things had been moving fast. The posters were now up, but the media attention was already dying down, thanks to one of the president’s cabinet members being indicted on criminal charges. The Thompsons were running out of things to keep them busy.
“It’s Tuesday,” Brad nearly screamed into the phone at two in the afternoon. “She’s been gone for six days.”
“I know, Mr. Thompson. We’ve taken all the information from the Weatherford case; we’re analyzing all the e-mails and phone calls you and they have received—we’re doing everything we can.” The frustration in the detective’s voice was almost as thick as Brad’s. The difference was that it wasn’t the detective’s daughter. “We did find a coltinator_45 and a coltinator_50 this afternoon—both girls got suspicious and cut off contact. Their story fits everyone else’s. It looks like he became much more careful after Terrezza. He got smarter and took more time to lay his groundwork.”
“And what’s happened to the others? The ones we didn’t find?” Brad asked. “Did they end up like Terrezza?”
“Mr. Thompson, we’re doing all we can.”
“It’s not enough.”
The detective was quiet for a few seconds. “And yet it’s all we can do.”
Brad took a breath and tried to calm down. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me, again, that I should keep doing what I’m doing and let you guys do your job.”
“And pray, Mr. Thompson.”
“I’ve never stopped,” Brad said. He hung up the phone, walked to the couch, and sat down heavily. A woman in the ward had taken Justin and Chris, and the older kids had agreed to go to school, despite how hard it was to do such normal things. Kate was trying to catch up with the housework while she listened to his side of the c
onversation. Marilyn had invited Joy to stay with her so that Kate and Brad could be alone. However, she’d made sure Kate knew the grandmas were only a phone call away. Kate wiped off her hands and came to sit next to him, placing her hand on his knee. He covered her hand with his own and gave it a squeeze.
He looked at her, intending to thank her out loud for the incredible support she had been, but he was taken aback by the tears falling down her cheeks. She didn’t try to wipe them away. His words stuck in his throat. “What else can we do, Kate?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Where do we go next?”
She shook her head and finally wiped at her eyes. “It’s Jess’s birthday tomorrow,” she said. “How do we get through that?”
Brad let out a breath. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. His oldest child would be sixteen. She was enrolled to take drivers’ ed this summer. She was planning to go into the Laurel class at church. She’d be old enough to date. Or would she?
