Web of Fear: A Glenmore Park Mystery

by Mike Omer

  “This is where they waited for the imaginary boyfriend,” Clint said.

  Hannah nodded, looking around with her hands in her pockets. The main path went into the park, snaking between a clump of trees. It wasn’t a thick clump; she could even see the street beyond it.

  How had it looked that night?

  Dark, she decided. Cold. There were small mounds of snow on the ground the night they found Gracie. Now they had mostly melted, and the few that remained were far and between.

  “The van parked on the street,” Clint said. “Probably over there.” He pointed south of the park.

  “Why not there?” Hannah asked, pointing north toward the intersection with Clayton Road. “More parking space over there, in front of the gas station.”

  Clint shook his head. “Checked CCTV feeds from the gas station. They have a security camera aimed directly at those parking spots. There was nothing there.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said, looking at the spot Clint indicated, fixing it in her mind. Then she looked aside and pointed at a tree. “We found Gracie under that tree,” she said.

  “So… the girls are waiting here, and one of the kidnappers, wearing a ski mask, comes up the main path from the park,” Clint said.

  “Right.”

  “The girls run away toward the street, but the second kidnapper rushes them—”

  “After parking the van in front of the gate,” Hannah said.

  “Yeah. He rushes them and they change their direction, running down that way instead,” Clint pointed in the direction of the spot where she’d found Gracie. “There’s no path. The girls split, and both kidnappers chase Abigail.”

  “This wasn’t chance,” Hannah said. “Abigail was the one contacted by the handsome boy. She was the one he was supposed to meet. And they both chased her.”

  “Right.”

  “What if Gracie had escaped? Called for help?”

  “I don’t know if they planned for it,” Hannah said. “But they were pretty fast anyway; it probably wouldn’t have helped. So let’s see—”

  “She told us he was holding something,” Clint said. “Something white. What was it?”

  Hannah looked at where they’d recovered Gracie, easily sixty feet from the gate. And Abigail was an athlete, she might have gotten even further before they caught up with her. But no signs of a struggle had been found at the scene. Abigail must have been knocked out, or at least incapacitated.

  “A rag,” she said. “Some sort of anaesthetic.”

  Clint thought for a moment, then said, “Sounds likely.”

  “So… one kidnapper hiding in the park, intending to knock Abigail out,” Hannah said. “The other one parked nearby in a van, waiting. Abigail gets here with Gracie, he comes over, they run, and both kidnappers chase them, catching Abigail, knocking her out. They carry her back to the van and drive away.” She frowned.

  “What is it?” Clint asked.

  “They planned the rest so professionally: the untraceable lure, the getaway, the ransom note. They completely disappeared. They posted the Instagram pictures from remote locations, using different phones.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re organized, right?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Why the crappy job here? Rushing both girls with nothing but a rag with some anaesthetic? Chasing them in the darkness through the park? What the hell were they thinking?”

  Clint thought about it for a moment. “They expected only Abigail,” he finally said. “It should have been a romantic date. If she’d come alone, he could have crept over without her noticing him. It was dark. He might have planned to lure her somewhere with a text, then grab her.”

  “Makes sense,” Hannah said. “But with two girls—”

  “Sitting across from each other on the double swing,” Clint said.

  “He couldn’t catch them both unaware.”

  “They got away with it, though,” Clint said. “They messed up, but they still have the girl. And we’re still in the dark.”

  His phone rang, and he fumbled with it for a few seconds before answering.

  “Yeah?”

  There was a short pause.

  “We’ll be right there.” He hung up. “That was Mancuso. The forensic psychologist is here. She wants to hear what Gracie told us about the kidnapping.”

  Mancuso and Zoe Bentley were sitting together in the situation room when Hannah and Clint came in.

  “Zoe!” Hannah said, grinning. “How are you?”

  Zoe stood up, smiling, and shook Hannah’s hand. Her dark hair was short, accentuating her long delicate neck. She took a step back, looking at Hannah with her piercing stare.

  Hannah found Zoe’s eyes to be a bit disconcerting. They reminded her of a predator’s eyes, following its prey, anticipating its every move.

  “How are you doing, Detective Shor?” Zoe asked.

  “Fine! Not bad at all,” Hannah said, trying to maintain eye contact with Zoe’s piercing, relentless orbs. “Are you assigned to the Lisman kidnapping case?”

  Zoe shook her head. “Sorry, I’m afraid not,” she said. “I’m working full time on a serial killer case in Texas. Truth be told, kidnapping is far from my expertise, but Agent Mancuso asked me to take a look at your case.”

  They all sat down. Zoe opened a small folder that was placed in front of her on the table.

  “This kidnapping isn’t standard,” Zoe said. “This ransom letter… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like it.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said. “So what can you tell us about the assholes who kidnapped her?”

  “Well… I’ve figured out some key notes, but I’d be happy if you could tell me about the kidnapping. Did you talk to the kid who witnessed the entire thing this morning?”

  “Yes. Gracie Durham,” Hannah said. “And we’ve gone back to the crime scene to understand her testimony better.”

  “Good,” Zoe nodded. “What did you find?”

  Clint brought Zoe and Mancuso up to speed, with Zoe asking a few questions and Hannah interjecting to add some details. When they finished, Zoe drummed with her fingers on the table, thinking.

  “So they seemed to have planned this thoroughly,” she said after a long pause, “but didn’t function well when things didn’t align to their plans.”

  Hannah nodded. “Yeah. We think they didn’t expect two girls in the playground, only one.”

  “Right! And they had no backup plan. It shouldn’t have been surprising that Abigail would show up with a friend. And even if they lacked the ability to guess that would happen, they should have had a backup plan if things went haywire.”

  “So… this indicates they’re stupid?” Clint asked.

  Zoe shook her head. “No. They’re very organized, so I’d say the person who planned this probably has a very orderly mind. It's likely he's in an administrative position. But the lack of planning for unseen occurrences indicates that he’s used to being micro-managed. He might have a very demanding supervisor that gives him bite-sized tasks. If the two kidnappers had discussed the plan beforehand, they would have easily thought of the possibility that Abigail would show up with a friend. This shows the planner’s partner is probably used to taking orders and doesn’t question them.”

  “So we have a low ranking administrator and a foot soldier,” Clint said.

  “Do you think they would have stayed in Glenmore Park?” Mancuso asked.

  Zoe shrugged. “No idea. Where's the van?”

  “We can’t be sure. There’s no evidence that it left Glenmore Park during the night of the kidnapping, and we have agents stationed at both exists to the highway, monitoring the traffic,” Mancuso said. “There are some back roads, but we’re working under an assumption that this van never left the city. We think they may have switched cars. So we’re looking for it in Glenmore Park.”

  Zoe bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “This planner wouldn’t have just left this van parked some
where. That’s too disorganized. He would have had a plan for it.”

  “It could be parked in the garage of a private home,” Clint suggested. “They could be Glenmore Park residents.”

  “Sounds reasonable. As for the note…” Zoe frowned. “There’s something sadistic about the delivery. Sadistic and extravagant. The person who sent it thinks he can’t get caught, that his plan is infallible.”

  “Even though they already saw that unexpected things might happen,” Hannah said.

  “Right. So we’re talking about high self-confidence. Also, I’ve gone through the chat logs with this so-called Noel several times. Whoever wrote this knew how to talk to a twelve-year-old. There are instances where I noticed a small slip-up, the use of a slightly old-fashioned slang word, or missing a basic texting abbreviation, but overall it was pretty natural. I’m guessing the planner is in his twenties. This would also align well with the self-confidence.”

  “I’ve known old people to be self-confident,” Clint said.

  Zoe shrugged. “Usually not to the point of stupidity. Sending a ransom note like this is dumb. It’s risky. Again, I’m not sure but I think this person is no more than thirty. They’re ignoring our attempts at communication, right?”

  Mancuso nodded. “We’ve sent them several private messages and tried to comment on the actual posts. They’ve ignored it all.”

  “This is interesting. I initially thought he used Instagram to show off, to get his fifteen minutes of glory. But if that were the case, he’d be inclined to rub it in, to let us know how smart he is. Since he didn’t do that, I think this isn’t about him at all. This is about Abigail’s parents. Whoever sent this wanted to hurt her parents, and he wanted to do so publicly.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real asshole,” Hannah said.

  “An asshole leaves a nasty comment on your Facebook page, or talks about you behind your back. He doesn’t kidnap your child and gloat about it,” Zoe said. “This person hates one or both of Abigail’s parents. You’re looking for someone who knows them.”

  “Are you sure?” Hannah asked.

  “Well, it’s hard to be sure in my profession,” Zoe said. “But yeah, I’d say I’m pretty sure once you find this person, it’ll be someone who knows the parents, and has reason to hate them.”

  Hannah and Clint exchanged looks. “In that case,” Hannah said. “We need to talk to Naamit and Ron again.”

  Hannah could almost feel the emotional torrents that washed over Naamit and Ron’s house as she and Clint parked outside.

  “Are you okay?” Clint asked, looking at her with concern.

  “Yeah,” Hannah said, and sighed. “I just… every time I walk in there without their daughter, I can feel the disappointment and the fear in them. Especially in Naamit.”

  “Do you know them well?”

  “I’ve met Naamit several times at my mom’s house. She and her husband sometimes come to family occasions.” She clenched her hands. “I don’t really know her well, but she’s a very nice woman, and I’ve heard her talk about her daughter. She’s always so proud of her. And protective. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.”

  Clint laid a hand on her shoulder. “And you shouldn’t try,” he said. “Your mom’s job is to help her friend cope. It’s your job to get Abigail home. You can’t do it while trying to empathize with Naamit.”

  “You’re right,” Hannah said, drawing strength from his touch. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  They got out of the car. Hannah, feeling fragile, let Clint lead the way. It was her tiredness, she thought. Tonight she’d have to sleep, even if her mind insisted she shouldn’t go to bed before Abigail was found. Clint knocked on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened.

  Hannah started in surprise. Her mother stood in the doorway. It was jarring to see her mother’s face while she was on the job. Her mom’s green eyes, identical to Hannah’s, shone in the light of the setting sun, full of sorrow. Her graying hair tumbled to her shoulders, immaculate as always. Hannah took a moment to handle the collision of worlds in her mind.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said. “We’re here to talk to Ron and Naamit.”

  “Sure, sweetie,” her mother said, her voice soft and sad. “Come in.”

  She led them inside, taking them to the living room. Ron and Naamit sat there, with a woman Hannah didn’t recognize.

  “Hannah, this is Debra,” her mother said. “Debra works with Naamit.”

  Debra stood up and shook Hannah’s hand. She was quite tall, her coal-black hair pulled back in a braid. She would have been beautiful if not for the pockmarks on her skin, perhaps the remnants of a severe case of teenage acne. Her brown eyes were wide, her mouth twisted in worry. “Hello, Hannah.”

  “Hannah is my daughter,” her mother said. “The detective.” They exchanged a meaningful glance. Hannah realized they must have been talking about her earlier.

  They sat down, and her mother went to the kitchen to prepare coffee.

  “Any progress?” Naamit asked, her voice weak. She looked as if she was fading away: paler, thinner, black pouches under her eyes. Ron held her hand, caressing it. Hannah felt for him. He clearly didn’t know what to do.

  “We have a better description of the vehicle they used,” Hannah said “And we’re looking for it. We’re certain they didn’t leave town with it.”

  “So they’re still in Glenmore Park?” Naamit asked.

  “That’s one of our leading theories,” Hannah said, skirting around the truth. “We met with a forensic psychologist today. She thinks that whoever kidnapped Abigail is someone who knows you or Ron.”

  “Knows us?” Naamit blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “She thinks one of the kidnapper’s main motivations is hurting you,” Hannah said.

  “That’s terrible!” Debra said, her voice shocked.

  “Can you think of anyone who has a reason to hate either of you?” Hannah asked.

  “No, of course not,” Ron said. “We’re not the kind of people who make enemies. We don’t get into confrontations. All of our acquaintances are good people. I just can’t—”

  “We want to make sure no stone is left unturned,” Clint said. “I’m sure your friends are good people, but try to think of any argument you might have had, any disagreement.”

  Ron shook his head slowly.

  “What about that man you fired?” Naamit asked abruptly. “What was his name? Hal!”

  “That was three years ago,” Ron said, frowning. “And he wasn’t a bad man, he would never have—”

  “What’s his full name?” Hannah asked.

  “Hal Moore,” Ron said. “There were layoffs at the factory. I was in charge of six men, and my boss said I had to fire one, so I fired Hal. But it was a long time ago.”

  “We have to make sure,” Hannah explained again. “Anyone else? Could be someone in your family, perhaps someone from long ago, could even be someone you went to school with, someone you dated…” Hannah felt Naamit tense up, and turned to look at her. “Anyone you've dumped? Anyone who had a crush on you…?”

  Naamit shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You might think it isn’t important,” Clint said, “but you’d be amazed at the strange things people do over seemingly small matters.”

  Silence filled the room. Hannah’s mother walked in with two mugs in her hands. “Agent Ward, I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee—”

  “Thank you, but we have to get going,” Clint said, standing up.

  Though she wanted the coffee, Hannah stood up as well. She’d buy coffee at the nearby Starbucks.

  “If you think of anyone else, please let us know,” Hannah said. She looked at Naamit as she said it. She wondered if it had only been her imagination. It almost seemed as if the woman was hiding something.

  They left the house, walking to Clint’s car, when a voice called after them.

  Debra followed, her high heels tapping on the paved path. “Please wait
.” She caught up and cleared her throat. “Naamit is a good person,” she said. “Too good. She can’t see what’s in front of her eyes.”

  “What can’t she see?” Hannah asked.

  “We work in a small HR company,” Debra said. “Five of us. Naamit started working there after all of us, four years ago.”

  Hannah nodded, waiting.

  “Our manager quit a year ago, and the owner decided to promote Naamit,” Debra said. “She earned it. She’s a brilliant woman and incredibly dedicated. And she’s a great manager.”

  “But someone doesn’t agree,” Hannah said.

  Debra nodded. “Melanie Pool thinks she should have been promoted. She undermines Naamit every chance she gets. She’s hated her ever since the promotion.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said. “We’ll check it out.”

  “Naamit is my best friend,” Debra said, her eyes tearing up. “I… miscarried two years ago, and she was there for me. She was there for me when my bastard husband left me. I can’t stand watching her suffer like this.”

  “We’ll do what we can to get her daughter back safely,” Hannah said softly.

  “Thank you,” Debra sniffled. “I… I should probably go inside. Your mother says you’re an amazing detective. I know you’ll get Abigail back.”

  She turned around and walked inside.

  “Okay,” Clint said. “We have two names. Melanie Pool and Hal Moore. Who should we check first?”

  “Neither sounds very promising,” Hannah muttered. A thought flitted in the back of her mind. A new lead.

  “Well, we should still check them out,” Clint said. “Zoe said that—”

  “Hang on,” Hannah said. “Earlier… We talked about the van. And Zoe said she didn’t think they’d just abandon the van. That it’s too disorganized, right?”

  “Yeah, and I said that maybe it’s parked in their garage.”