by Wanda Dyson
Abduction
Wanda L. Dyson
abduction
Wanda L. Dyson
© 2003 by Wanda L. Dyson
ISBN 1-58660-812-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Mariah Press, Winston Salem, NC 27105
Printed in the United States of America.
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dedication
This book is dedicated to Danielle van Dam, Samantha Runnion, and to all the children—treasured on earth, adored in heaven—you are not forgotten, though you are greatly missed.
prologue
1983
The day he chose to kill her, a warm breeze and bright skies seemed to promise that summer was going to show up on schedule. It was the kind of day kids love. Wish for. Dream of. The kind of day when anything seemed possible and fantasies were ripe for the making. Big, fat, fluffy clouds begged for someone to come and discover the rabbits and the horses and the castles. Parks waited for someone to notice how pleasant it would be to stroll across the lush green grass or stretch out under the branches of a shady oak. Play-grounds anticipated skipping feet, and toys grew anxious for curious hands.
It was the kind of day when little girls giggled and little boys tried not to notice how silly they were when they did.
A perfect day for murder.
He watched them from the top of the bleachers as they skipped out of the gray brick school building with a group of other ten-year-old girls. They wore matching sandals and pink shorts and T-shirts and carried identical yellow and pink book bags. The two girls began walking across the softball field in the direction of their home, talking, giggling, oblivious to anyone who might be watching.
But he was watching.
He had been watching the twins for some time. He knew everything about them—had made it his business to know. They were ten, with identical curly blond hair, smoky green eyes, and bright smiles full of teeth and gums. One tended to be outgoing, making big gestures and laughing boisterously loud. But it was the other one who caught his attention. The shy one. While her sister was looking to be the center of attention, not so Amy. Sweet, quiet little Amy.
They lived on Grafton Street with their mother. Their father had left two months earlier. The mother now worked part-time at Raffe’s Department Store in the children’s department and wouldn’t be home for another hour.
Once home, the girls would go in and stay there until their mother arrived home to make dinner. They had been instructed in all the right things to do—lock the doors, don’t open the door to strangers, and if anything happens, call the police.
They didn’t know he’d already cut the phone line. The older one would try to call for help but would be at a loss as to what to do. No one had told her about a backup plan in case the phone lines were down—which he greatly appreciated. By the time the mother arrived home, he’d have an hour’s head start.
And Amy would be his.
Forever.
Slowly he descended the bleachers, his sneakers making no sound, keeping one eye on the girls. Not that he needed to at this point. He knew from watching them every day exactly which way they went home. And exactly where they crossed the street at Blocker. And exactly where he planned to be when they went past the alley.
Amy.
Sweet little Amy. With the shy smile and the wary looks. He knew she sensed him. He could read it in her eyes. The way she was always looking around for him but never seeing him. It was a game he enjoyed. Watching her grow wary. . .nervous. . .fearful. She knew he was coming for her.
It only made the game more fun.
She would be so frightened. Too frightened to speak. . .to scream. . .to try to run. Oh, yes, she would be an excellent player in the game. She would be so afraid of the pain. So afraid of dying.
So afraid of him.
Anticipation mounted, growing restless deep within him. It was time. All the planning and the watching had led to this day.
This moment.
And now. . .it was time to start the game.
chapter 1
Twenty years later
Ted? Mr. O’Connell wanted to see you as soon as you got back from lunch.” The receptionist, a young woman in her early twenties, handed him three phone messages and then turned her attention back to the ringing phones. “King, Marlow, and Winters. How may I help you?”
“Thanks,” Ted murmured as he strolled down the hallway back to the accounting department. Winding his way through the maze of gray cubicles, he nodded to the few faithful souls who had returned early from lunch or had skipped going out to eat altogether. He used to be one of them—foolish enough to think that his talent and intelligence were actually going to be appreciated. It hadn’t taken him long to figure it out; production was all that mattered to keep your job; being connected was all you needed to advance.
He pushed through a pair of glass doors and strolled through another maze of cubicles until he reached his own. It was the standard size—small—but tucked along the outside wall, which meant that he at least had a window. As one of four senior accountants, he had a coveted view of the park. But the goal was that corner office that boasted three times the square footage, a view of the park and the lake, and a bonus package that made the accompanying salary irrelevant. Of course, unless you were related to someone on the board, or at least a college buddy, you didn’t have a chance.
Ignoring the light flashing on his phone, he tossed the messages down on his desk, straightened his tie, and headed for the office of the controller.
O’Connell was as wide as he was tall, with oversized tortoise-rim glasses framing his round face and bald head. Most company employees made the mistake of thinking that either his girth, his ridiculous glasses, or his constant blinking and fidgeting was an in-dication that he wasn’t all that bright. Ted knew better. O’Connell was no idiot. But when it came to numbers, Ted could run circles around the man. Ted’s brilliant mind still couldn’t trump the fact that O’Connell had a brother on the board. O’Connell surrounded himself with men like Ted to make himself look good.
O’Connell was sitting at his desk staring intently at an open file as Ted rapped gently on the open door. O’Connell looked up, blinked, and waved Ted in.
“Shut the door and have a seat, Ted.”
Ted eased the door shut. “You wanted to see me?” He crossed the room, keeping his eyes on O’Connell as he sank in the leather chair in front of the desk. “Anything wrong?”
“Yes.” O’Connell closed the file and leaned back, his chair groaning in protest. “How well do you know Maryanne Bubeck?”
Ted shrugged as he relaxed in his chair. “Not well. She’s been with us about two years, keeps to herself, seems to do her work with minimum fuss.”
“Know anything about her personal life?”
“Not really. I don’t think she’s married, but I don’t know if she ever has been or not. Can’t say I know much more than that.”
O’Connell pushed his glasses back up his nose and blinked rapidly a few times as he sighed. “Have you noticed her acting strange lately?”
“Strange?” Ted shook his head again. “Can’t say that I have, but her desk is way in the back, so I don’t see her
that much. Has she done something?”
“We’re not sure.” O’Connell blinked again as he began tapping his forefinger mindlessly on the arm of his chair. “I don’t want to accuse someone without absolute proof.”
“Accuse someone of what?”
“Embezzlement.”
It was Ted’s turn to blink as his mouth dropped. “You’re kidding! Bubeck is embezzling from us?”
“We’re not sure. Security has already cleared you. That’s why I wanted to see you.”
Ted jerked back. “Cleared me?”
“Until we eliminate suspects, everyone has to be cleared. I hope you understand our position.”
“It’s just strange to be hearing that I might have been a suspect in something like this.”
“This person’s been using everyone’s access and passwords, but one of the times the system was accessed using your password, you were in Chicago at a conference.”
“So how much money has been taken?”
“None. What our suspect doesn’t realize is that we have a safeguard on the system. Any time someone tries to transfer funds without using a special access code, it alerts security. Right now our suspect thinks he’s moved about a hundred and twenty-five thousand, but he hasn’t. The Feds have already been called in.”
“The Feds?” Ted blew out a heavy breath. “This is big stuff.”
“This is a major crime.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m no longer a suspect.” Ted’s laugh lacked any real amusement. It stung to think that he’d been a suspect in the first place. The years he’d put in. . .the long hours.
“I’m sorry, Ted. It couldn’t be helped. Anyway, security has narrowed this down to Miss Bubeck. I’d like you to keep an eye on her and let me know if you notice anything suspicious.”
Nodding, Ted rose to his feet. “I’ll watch her. Is there anyone else who might be a suspect?”
O’Connell shrugged. “They don’t tell me everything they’re thinking. For now, they say they’re watching Bubeck, so we watch Bubeck.”
“Gotcha.”
Ted walked slowly back to his desk, his thoughts swimming with money transfers and federal agents. He glanced toward Maryanne Bubeck’s desk, but she wasn’t there. Probably not back from lunch. He sank down in his chair, scooted up to his desk, and stared at the phone messages still waiting to be handled.
Why was he being asked to watch Bubeck? Sure, he was the senior accountant in the department, but rarely did that earn him the right to be privy to the inner workings of the department. Did they think he was involved? Were they just setting him up? Were they monitoring his every move? Watching whom he talked to? Listening in on his phone calls?
Convinced he was being watched, Ted stood up, slipped off his coat, hung it up, rolled up his sleeves, and sat back down at his desk. He picked up the phone and returned the first message. Might as well let them see just how boring his day really was.
By five, Ted had a splitting headache. He tossed the budget reports he was working on into his briefcase and drove home. He needed a handful of aspirin and some peace and quiet, but the idea of peace and quiet was shattered the minute he opened his front door and stepped in.
Jessica was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Ted tossed his coat over the back of a sofa chair, pulled his tie loose, and started working on the top button of his shirt as he entered the kitchen. His wife had her head buried in the freezer.
Karen was a petite woman with large, round eyes that hinted of brown, gold, and green. Since having the baby, she was carrying about twenty extra pounds that stubbornly refused to melt away, so she’d taken to wearing baggy clothes that hid her figure. He noted with distaste that she was wearing the same black shorts as the day before. Of course, quite a few things had started to slide since Jessica had been born. The house wasn’t quite so spotless, meals ran late most of the time, clothes kept piling up in the laundry room for several days before being washed.
“Ted! I didn’t hear you come in.” She pulled a small plastic teething ring from the freezer, slipped it into Jessica’s mouth, and sighed as the screaming stopped. “I’ll be glad when she stops teething.” Karen reached up and kissed Ted lightly on the lips. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour.”
Ted leaned down and rubbed noses with his baby daughter. “And how is my precious today? Suffering, huh? I can relate, sweetheart.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sank in it. “Did you call the dealership about the car?”
Karen paled as she turned in his direction, dropping her eyes. “I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“You forgot? It’s the only thing I asked you to take care of today.”
“I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“Get me some aspirin. I have a raging headache.”
Karen set her knife down. “They’re in the bathroom.”
As she started out of the kitchen, Jessica dropped her teething ring and began to whimper. Karen stopped, turned, and reached for the ring.
Ted glared at her. “Is it too much to ask that you get the aspirin before my head explodes?”
Karen yanked her hand back, dropping the teething ring. “I’m. . .I just thought. . .her screaming. . .your headache.” She whirled and ran out of the room, returning quickly to hand him the bottle of aspirin. He poured two into his hand while she rushed over and grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and held it out to him.
As he tossed the aspirin into his mouth, Karen picked up the teething ring and gave it back to Jessica, who clamped down on it. “Bad day at work?” Karen sidled back over to the counter and picked up her knife.
“Tense.” Ted set down the glass and stood to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower. What time is your dad supposed to be here?”
Karen glanced up at the clock as she tossed the salad. “You’ve got about half an hour.”
“Plenty of time.” He turned at the doorway. “And, Karen, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just have a lot on my mind.”
Karen smiled up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No, it’s my fault. I should have made a note to myself or something. I’ll make sure I do it tomorrow. Go take your shower. It’ll help you feel better.”
What would help him feel better was if his wife had bothered to dress, clean the house, and maybe even make a simple phone call between soap operas and afternoon talk shows. Karen had always been a little flighty, but ever since the birth of the baby, she seemed constantly overwhelmed by the simplest things. Frankly, Ted wondered if she was starting to lose her grip on reality.
*
Thirty-five minutes later, Karen wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and then opened the front door. “Hi, Daddy.” Smiling, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
Walter Timms accepted the kiss as if it were his due and strode through the door, shoulders squared, with a stiff bearing that hinted of the military. His gray hair was trimmed in a severe crew cut that only seemed to emphasize his heavy jowls and thick neck. Tonight he wore neatly pressed dark slacks and a white shirt, no tie, and a gray sports coat. As always, his black shoes were spit-shined and gleaming as he marched toward the kitchen. She trotted behind, nearly running into him when he stepped into the kitchen and stopped. She scooted around him and headed for the stove.
“Ted will be out in a minute,” she told him as she opened the oven and checked the roasting chicken. It was golden brown and the little plastic timer had popped. Grabbing the potholders, she reached in and pulled it out, the warm fragrance nearly making her sigh. “He had a rough day at work.”
“Men usually do,” her father said sharply, all the while inspecting the food and the table and then finally resting those piercing eyes on his granddaughter. “Isn’t it a little late for that child to still be awake?”
Karen set the roasting pan on the stove, tossed the potholders on the counter, and rushed forward, lifting little Jessica from her chair. “I was just waiting for you before I put her down. I thought you might want
to see her.”
“It’s important to keep kids on a strict schedule. You should know that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”
Karen passed Ted in the hall. He had changed into neatly pressed jeans and a short-sleeved V-necked pullover. He filled the hall with the scent of English Leather and Irish Spring soap. “Daddy’s in the kitchen.”
“Did you offer him a drink yet?”
She shook her head, trying to swallow back the feeling of being overwhelmed. “Not yet. I have to get Jess down.”
“You should have done that already, Karen. Never mind. I’ll get him something. Just don’t take too long. I’m really hungry and I’m sure your father is, too.”
“I won’t be long.” Karen slipped into the nursery, fighting back tears. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get organized. She couldn’t remember the simplest things. She was forever disappointing people, letting them down. You can’t count on Karen. How many times had she heard that over the years? And how true it was.
“Okay, my precious. Time for bed.” Karen tucked Jess under the quilt, taking the time to run a finger down the baby’s cheek. Jess smiled up at her, gurgling, kicking her feet in delight. “You’re the only one who seems happy with everything I do. You love me, don’t you, baby?”
Jess kicked her feet again, pumping her little fists in the air. Karen took that as an unqualified yes. “I love you, too, precious baby.”
When she returned to the kitchen, Ted and her father were sitting at the table, tall glasses of iced tea in hand, deep in conversation. Neither man seemed to notice that she had returned as she picked up the potatoes and carried them to the table.
“Do you remember the woman we hired when Bud Griese retired a year or so back?”
