by Dan Walsh
Scott stood up and began to pace. “But it’s his fault, Gina. You don’t think Timmy came up with this scheme, do you?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“So who else should get the blame, if not Colt?”
“Well,” she said, “for starters, how about you?”
“Me?”
“And me,” she added quickly. “Both of us. We’re equally to blame.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “What are you talking about? How are we to blame? If Colt and Timmy had simply stayed in school this morning, like they were supposed to, none of this would have happened.”
“That’s true. But I’ve been thinking. Why did they feel they had to run away? Why did they feel they couldn’t talk to either one of us about why they’re so unhappy living here?”
She had a point, Scott thought. And not a small one.
“And blaming Colt won’t bring Timmy back,” she said, “or help us find him.”
“You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“You are. I’ve hated what’s going on between us these last ten months. I guess I didn’t realize how miserable it’s been like for Colt and Timmy.” He sat on the edge of an upholstered chair.
“I had no idea they were so unhappy,” Gina said. “I’ve been so busy working, feels like all the time, then I come home, try to keep up with everything around here. I haven’t had time to pay attention to them.”
“You said they were heading to Mike and Rose’s place?”
She nodded. “But I’m sure they didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“I wouldn’t think that,” he said. “Mike and Rose are just fun to be around. Every time they’re in town we’re mostly laughing and enjoying ourselves. Mike’s always cutting jokes at family gatherings. You can always hear Rose’s laugh from any room in the house. That’s the place I’d have picked if I were going to run away.”
“Did I mention they’re on their way here now, Mike and Rose?” Gina stood and walked toward the kitchen, then turned to face him. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No you didn’t, and yes I would,” he said as he followed her.
“How long does it take to get here from Savannah?” she asked.
“I’d say maybe four or five hours.”
“I was just trying to see if I should plan dinner for them.”
“I don’t think so, Gina. I’m pretty sure they’d get something to eat on the way. Speaking of dinner, what time’s it getting to be?” Scott looked at his watch.
“Why, are you going somewhere? Colt and those FBI guys are gonna be here in a little while.”
“I know, but I have to take care of something just up the road on A1A. I should be back before they get here.”
“Scott . . . what could be more important than being here when your son gets home?”
“I’ll be here.”
“No, you won’t. You say you’ll be here. And you may want to be here, but you won’t. Something will come up. It always does.”
Scott walked toward her, as close as he dared. “Gina, that’s not what’s gonna happen this time. I’m involved in this big Technology Expo at work. It’s been in the paper. Have you heard about it, at the Castaway Beach Motel?”
“No, I don’t get much time to read the paper these days.”
“There’s supposed to be a thousand people showing up. All kinds of scientists, executives, and engineers from all over the country. They’re coming here to learn about the space program, and I’m in charge of GE’s part in it.”
“How wonderful for you.” Said in her typical sarcasm. She didn’t even look at him when she said it.
Up until this afternoon, he had been thinking it was a pretty wonderful thing for him. But now, it didn’t matter. He just wanted Timmy back. “You’re wrong, Gina. I care way more about Timmy. But I’ve got a ton of people depending on me, and I’ve got to head over there for just a few minutes, let some key people know what’s going on. Then I’ll be right back, I promise.”
“Can’t you just call? I don’t want to be here by myself when the FBI guys come with Colt.”
“I can’t do it over the phone.” How could he explain this? He thought a moment. “I wish I could explain why, but I just can’t. It’s too complicated. But I won’t get stuck there this time. I’ll be back before Colt gets here. I promise.”
She didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t even turn to look at him, just kept setting up the coffee percolator. Finally, she said, “Guess you better go then.”
21
“The boy won’t come in,” Vic said.
“What do you mean, he won’t come in?”
It was the husband, Scott Harrison. Vic had already committed both their names to memory. The guy looked to be in his early thirties, dark hair, about six feet tall. Strikingly handsome, Vic had to admit. “Nothing to worry about. He’ll be fine for a few minutes in the car. My partner, Nate, is watching him.”
“But I want to see him,” his mother said.
“Well, he doesn’t want to see you at the moment. Neither of you. He’s afraid you hate him, said he can’t bear to look at you right now, wouldn’t know what to say. He feels totally to blame for what happened to his little brother. That’s the best I could put together through all his crying. He’s settled down a bit now, but I’m sure it’ll start right up if either of you go out there. Might be better to leave him be for a little while, let him settle down. Might be a good idea too, if we could talk a little without him here.”
“All right,” Scott said, “we’ll do it your way.” He backed up and opened the door the rest of the way to let Vic in.
It was already getting dark outside. Vic turned and tipped his hat to Nate before going in the house. The lamplight in the living room revealed a cozy place, nothing fancy. Basic furniture but clean and tidy. With a closer look, the lighting also revealed how puffy the eyes of both parents were, especially Gina, the mom. He noticed a box of tissues on the coffee table and a brown paper bag filled with tissues lying next to it on the floor.
“What took you so long?” Scott said. “From what you told Gina on the phone, we thought you guys would be here a half hour ago.”
“It’s almost seven o’clock,” Gina said. “We were worried sick. I thought, now I’ve lost both my boys.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m very sorry, ma’am, Mr. Harrison. Couldn’t be helped. Ran into a major traffic jam up near Flagler, near where I-95 ends.”
“But you’re the FBI,” Scott said. “Couldn’t you just turn on your siren, make everyone move out of the way? I’d think a kidnapped little boy should rate something like that, don’t you?”
Vic took off his fedora, tried to remember these folks had had the worst day imaginable. “I certainly would have turned on our siren, sir, if it would’ve done any good. The problem was, we were backed up on the new highway overpass, up in the air, blocked in by cars on every side. As soon as we got through that mess, we did turn on our siren and beat a path here as quick as we could.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “We’re both just so upset. Please come in and have a seat.”
Vic looked at his watch. They still had a few minutes to talk before the president came on TV. He didn’t want to miss that. They’d have to watch it here.
Better get right to it. Scott Harrison sat next to his wife on the couch. Vic didn’t know if they were pretending, but they didn’t seem to be at odds with each other. He took a seat on a tan, squarish chair. “I’m guessing there’ve been no developments on your end,” he said.
“No, nothing,” Scott said. “Would you be expecting anything?”
“Not exactly,” Vic said. “More like hoping.”
“Hoping for what?” Gina said.
“Well, Mrs. Harrison . . .”
“Please, call me Gina.”
“And call me Scott.”
“Okay, I’m Special Agent Victor Hammond, and my p
artner outside is Nate Winters. But you can call me Vic. I’d be hoping you might have gotten a phone call with a set of demands.”
“You mean like a ransom amount?” Scott said.
Vic nodded. “At least then we’d know what we’re dealing with. But to be honest, we weren’t really expecting it.”
“Why not?” Gina said. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of call either. But why weren’t you?”
“The evidence points to a crime of opportunity, not a planned event. It’s not as if the perpetrator was tracking your boys, looking for the right moment to nab him. He wasn’t even on the same bus. He would have no way of knowing your boys were stopping there at that time. It was all just a terrible coincidence. We think he saw Timmy there by himself in that booth, saw the comic books, and decided right then to snatch him. We learned he’d purchased a stack of comic books at that same time from the little general store connected to the diner, and somehow lured Timmy outside. Probably promised him he could have those and a bunch more, if he’d only come out to the bus to get them.”
Both parents’ faces fell at the sound of this.
Vic didn’t want to go on, but he knew he had to. They had to come to grips with what they were facing, or at least could be facing in the days ahead.
“But how did he get Timmy to ride away with him on the bus?” Scott asked. “I can see the first part, Timmy getting tricked to follow him out to the bus. He really loves comic books. But how could this man, this stranger, get him to stay put and ride off with him like that?”
“I’m not sure, Scott. It’s hard to know a thing like that. Most likely, he threatened him somehow. We don’t know that, but it’s one of the things these guys do, take advantage of the kids’ fears. All Timmy would have to do is scream bloody murder, and the bus driver would instantly stop and all the passengers nearby would’ve turned around and confronted this guy. But that’s not what usually happens. Usually the kids get terrified and just clam up and cooperate. I’m guessing you never rehearsed something like this with him?”
Scott shook his head no, looked down toward the floor.
“We never even thought about doing something like that,” Gina said, reaching for another tissue.
Vic wasn’t trying to make them feel guilty. Things like this hardly ever happened. It wasn’t something you’d ever expect as a parent. “Well, let me fill you in on what’s happening so far. Another agent and a sketch artist are working with the guy who sold the comic books to the kidnapper, and the waitress at the diner. Both of them got a good look at the man. We’ve already notified the Daytona Beach police that we’ve got jurisdiction on the case now. They’ve wired your son’s photo to our Orlando office.” Or at least they should have by now, Vic thought.
“So you don’t need me to find you another one?” Gina said.
“Not right now. We plan to get Timmy’s picture and a sketch of the kidnapper wired to every police department and sheriff’s office in Florida as soon as possible. We already sent out an APB on this, asking for any squad cars who can to drive by any of the bus depots, keep on the lookout for a man in his late thirties with a gray hat and a dark coat, escorting a little boy wearing a light blue jacket, dungarees, and black sneakers.”
At that, Gina just lost it. Maybe Vic had gone too far. He thought it might comfort them to hear that the APB included an accurate description of what Timmy was wearing, but all it did was conjure up a picture in a mother’s mind of a scared and lost little boy.
Vic waited a few moments to let Scott comfort his wife. He was again struck by the level of affection they were showing each other. For a moment, he’d forgotten that this whole thing had begun because the two of them couldn’t get along and had made life at home so miserable that the boys felt the need to run away.
Finally, Gina composed herself.
Vic looked at his watch and said, “Might be a good time for someone to go out to Colt. The state he’s in, I can see him wanting to sit out there all night unless one of you can make something happen. Which of you two is in better shape to talk to him?”
“I don’t think either one of us is,” Scott said. “But I’ll go.”
Vic stood and opened the front door for Scott. “Please,” he whispered, “be as gentle as you can. See your wife over there? I’d say Colt’s in even worse shape than she is.”
Scott nodded as he walked past. Vic got the strongest urge that more needed to be said, so he followed Scott out. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Gina. Scott made a beeline for their car and his son. “Scott, hold up a sec. Mr. Harrison.”
Scott stopped and turned.
Vic walked up and quietly said, “I need to say one more thing, man-to-man. I wouldn’t say something like this in front of your wife, but . . .”
“What is it?”
Vic almost looked at Colt in the backseat but caught himself. “We all hope this situation turns out well, and Nate and I will do everything in our power to see that it does, but . . . you just never know with a thing like this. What you say right now . . . well, it just really matters. If we get a happy ending here, then . . . all will be forgotten, maybe in a matter of months. This situation ends badly, what you say in the next few minutes may haunt Colt to his grave. So, be careful.”
Scott took a deep breath as he looked over at Colt. “Thanks, Agent Hammond. I think I needed to hear that.”
22
She’d already missed her bus ride home, so there wasn’t any need to be rushing around.
Mamie sat at the little dinette table in a corner of the Harrison kitchen, where she normally took her meals, poking at the meatloaf and mashed potatoes she’d made for the Harrisons. That was before she knew Mr. Harrison wasn’t coming home for dinner. Some big thing going on down at the bank, he’d said. Called five minutes before he normally arrived home, leaving poor Mrs. Harrison all by herself to worry ’bout her grandbabies.
For that matter, Mamie had a mind to lay into Mister Scott next time they talked, leaving his poor mother in the dark all day ’bout his missing boys. Mamie had raised him better than that. After she prayed on it, she felt the Lord nudging her to give him some leeway, seeing how worried he must’ve been himself. Those boys were usually well behaved, least they were whenever they came visiting around here. She guessed Mister Scott and Miss Gina weren’t used to them running off like that.
But still, at some point during the day, someone should have called, let Mrs. Harrison know her grandbabies were okay now. So she could stop worrying, her stomach could settle down, and she could eat this fine meal Mamie had worked hard all afternoon to make.
Of course, not like it would go to waste. Meatloaf seemed to improve with age. For a few days anyhow. She’d wrap it up good in tinfoil for sandwiches over the next few days. But that wasn’t the point.
Mamie slid her chair back quietly and stood. She tiptoed across the kitchen floor and pushed open the door to the dining room a few inches. At the end of the long mahogany table, all dressed for dinner, sat poor Mrs. Harrison. She had her fork in her dainty little hands, resting on the edge of her china plate, a small chunk of meatloaf balancing on the edge. Mamie stood there a few seconds watching, quiet as a mouse.
Mrs. Harrison didn’t move. Just stared out the dining room window. Couldn’t be seeing anything but her own reflection, since it was almost dark outside. The poor thing. No one to talk to, no one to share her fears with. Here was Mamie, not thirty feet away, walking that same road as her. She cared every bit as much about Colt and Timmy, since she’d raised their daddy like he was her own. But poor Mrs. Harrison would never think of stepping outside that high-and-proper wall she lived behind to let someone like Mamie in.
Did she even let God in to help? Mamie wondered. She knew Mrs. Harrison went to church every Wednesday and Sunday. Knew the Harrisons prayed a proper prayer before every meal. But somehow she could never imagine Mrs. Harrison talking to Jesus heart-to-heart, like she did. Like she had already done several times today. Only way she kne
w to keep her peace of mind at a time like this.
But Mamie also knew the value of talking heart-to-heart with good friends. She had plenty of ’em in her neighborhood and at church. God meant for friends to help carry heavy burdens. Didn’t mean for any of us to carry them all by ourselves.
Like poor Mrs. Harrison over there at that table. She’d seen the kind of friends she had in her life. Mostly uppity types. Noses high in the air. Dressed all fancy and proper, even for a cup of tea or a game of cards. Not the kind of friends Mamie’d want anything to do with. Made her nervous just being around ’em. Judging each other over every little thing they said or did, talking bad ’bout each other behind their backs.
Seemed like the kind of people to weigh you down further, not lift you up.
Mamie eased the door back into place, stepped away from it, leaned up against the counter. She had to do something to ease Mrs. Harrison’s troubled mind. Several times today, Mamie had a thought she should just call over there to Mister Scott’s house herself, see what was going on.
But she knew she never would. Such a thing just wasn’t done.
Then she got an idea. Probably wouldn’t work, but she had to do something. She walked over to the icebox and pulled out the pitcher of iced tea. She gave it a good stir, grabbed a fresh drinking glass, then walked out to the dining room. When she got close enough so she wouldn’t be shouting, she said, “You been out here a good while, ma’am. How ’bout I refresh your tea?”
At first, she didn’t reply. Then she noticed Mamie standing there. “I’m sorry, did you say something, Mamie Lee?”
“Your iced tea, ma’am. All the ice has melted. Want me to pour you some more?”
Mrs. Harrison looked at her glass. “Thank you, Mamie. That would be nice.”
She said it with a kind tone, but Mamie could hear the sadness in her voice. She was definitely worried something awful about them boys. At least there was that; Mamie could always count on Mrs. Harrison treating her nice when she was fretting ’bout something. Mamie set the glass down and poured her tea. Then she picked up the old glass. Normally, at this point she’d just head back into the kitchen. But she decided to say what she thought to say. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything more from Mister Scott?”
