Abduction!

by Peg Kehret

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Good. You wouldn’t believe how many parents don’t have a recent picture of their kids. One woman gave me a snapshot taken at her daughter’s third birthday party; the girl was ten years old when she disappeared.”

  Bonnie said, “Mom’s always taking pictures of us, for our scrapbooks and to send to our grandparents.”

  “We’ll put Matt’s picture on the TV news and give it to the papers. Pictures work. People see a photo of a cute kid like this, and they pay attention. They look for him.”

  “I always thought the police waited twenty-four hours to declare a person missing,” Mr. Quinn said.

  “An adult, yes. Adults often leave home voluntarily without telling anyone. In a case like this, with a child, the faster we move, the better. We don’t use the Amber Alert often, but I think it’s justified today.”

  “What can we do to help?” Bonnie asked.

  “First tell me what Matt was wearing.”

  Mrs. Sholter said, “Jeans, a blue Mariners T-shirt, and white shoes—the kind with heels that light up when you walk.”

  “As soon as I call this in, I’d like to bring a police dog to your home and let him sniff Matt’s clothes—maybe the pajamas he slept in last night.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Sholter said. She gave the address.

  Bonnie could tell Mom was struggling to keep her emotions under control. Her voice sounded tight, and she kept fingering the strap on her shoulder bag.

  “Do you want to ride with me?” the officer asked. “Or would you like me to follow you?”

  “I’ll drive; you can follow me,” Mrs. Sholter said. “I’ll need to have my car.”

  “Is there anything more any of us can do?” Mr. Quinn asked.

  “Please stay here,” the officer said. “Another officer will be here shortly, to question everyone and to get a description of the man who claimed to be with UPS.”

  Mrs. Williams said, “I know exactly what he looked like. He had curly black hair and a mustache and there was a tattoo of a flower on one arm—a rose, I think. I’d recognize him, or his picture.”

  “Why would anyone take Matt?” Bonnie asked.

  “Because he happened to be there,” Officer Calvin said. “A crime of opportunity.”

  Bonnie and her mother rode home without talking. The police car followed. Usually Mrs. Sholter parked in the garage, but this time she pulled up in front of the house. Officer Calvin parked behind her. She opened the front door and motioned for the police officer to come inside as a second squad car parked behind the first one.

  “The Amber Alert has gone out,” Officer Calvin said. Then he introduced Detective Morrison.

  “I have a canine partner,” Detective Morrison said. “I’d like to bring him in, and let him smell clothing Matt wore recently.”

  “You’d better shut Pookie in the kitchen,” Mrs. Sholter told Bonnie. “He’s still asleep, but he might smell another dog and get in the way.”

  “Pookie’s your dog?” Officer Calvin said.

  “Not much of a watchdog, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Sholter said.

  “He’s old,” Bonnie explained. “He doesn’t see or hear very well, but he’s a great dog.”

  Detective Morrison went out to get her K-9 dog.

  Bonnie headed for Pookie’s basket in the kitchen. When it was empty, she looked under the dining-room table and in her bedroom. She checked all of Pookie’s favorite napping spots, then checked the backyard. She whistled and called.

  Bonnie rushed back into the living room. “Mom!” she said. “Pookie’s gone!”

  Pookie’s gone?” Mrs. Sholter repeated, as if she couldn’t possibly have heard correctly.

  “I looked in his bed,” Bonnie said, “and under the table where he likes to sleep, and then I looked in the backyard. He isn’t here.”

  “Could he have gotten out of the yard accidentally?” Officer Calvin asked. “Is there a gate that might have been left open?”

  “There is a gate,” Mrs. Sholter said, “but we only use it when we put the trash can in the alley for the trash collector.”

  “The gate’s closed,” Bonnie said. “I checked.”

  “Might someone have let him out on purpose? A neighbor, perhaps? Does Pookie bark a lot?”

  Bonnie could follow Officer Calvin’s thoughts. “Pookie hardly ever barks anymore,” she said. “If someone came in the yard, he probably wouldn’t even notice.”

  “If he did, he’d wag his tail and hope to get petted,” Mrs. Sholter said.

  Detective Morrison returned with a German shepherd. “This is Spike,” she said.

  “The family dog is missing,” Officer Calvin said.

  Bonnie saw the two police officers exchange a glance, the significant kind of look adults give each other when they know something the kids don’t know.

  Fear had flickered at the edge of Bonnie’s mind all morning, but it had been a dull fear, without a name. As she looked at Pookie’s empty bed, a sharp, specific fear wrapped around her. Matt was missing, and so was Pookie. What if they never came home? She might never see her brother or her dog again. The tears Bonnie had successfully held back at school now spilled out.

  “Do you think Pookie’s disappearance is connected to Matt’s?” Mrs. Sholter asked the police.

  “It might be,” Detective Morrison said.

  “Let’s make sure the dog isn’t here,” Officer Calvin said.

  A thorough search of the house and yard turned up no Pookie, nor did it yield any sign the house had been broken into.

  Bonnie and her mom called Pookie, both in the alley and up and down the sidewalk in the front of the house, in case he had somehow been let out. Pookie did not come.

  “Let’s have Spike smell those pajamas,” Detective Morrison said. “Then I’ll take him over to the school.”

  Bonnie led everyone upstairs to Matt’s bedroom. “He keeps his pajamas under his pillow,” she said.

  “Don’t touch them,” Detective Morrison cautioned. She lifted the pillow. Matt’s pajamas were scrunched into a ball, as usual.

  When Mrs. Sholter saw them, she started to cry.

  Detective Morrison led Spike toward the bed and pointed.

  The dog sniffed the pajamas.

  “Matt,” said Detective Morrison. “Find Matt.” She put Matt’s pajamas in a bag and took them with her. She and Spike returned to their car and drove away.

  “Does anyone else have a house key?” Officer Calvin asked Mrs. Sholter.

  “Bonnie has one.”

  Bonnie held up the chain she wore around her neck; the key dangled from the chain.

  “We also have one hidden outside. We put it there after I accidentally locked myself out.”

  “Let’s see if it’s still there,” Officer Calvin said. “I hope you don’t keep it under the doormat. Thieves look there first.”

  Bonnie and her mom went out the kitchen door, followed by the police officer. Bonnie counted five fence boards from the corner, then picked up a small rock from the base of the fence. The extra key was taped to the bottom of the rock.

  “It’s here,” she said.

  “Who else has a key?” Officer Calvin asked. “Your husband?”

  “I’m single.”

  “Ex-husband?”

  Mrs. Sholter leaned against the fence as if her legs were too weak to hold her up. “My first husband, Bonnie’s father, was a firefighter who died when a burning roof collapsed on him. I married again two years later, but the marriage was a disaster and I filed for divorce after only three months. Seven months later, Matt was born.”

  “What is Matt’s father’s name?”

  “Denny Thurman.”

  “Is this where you lived with him?”

  “No. I bought this house two years ago.”

  “Has there been a recent disagreement about Matt’s custody or visitation rights or support payments?”

  “Denny has no visiting rights,” Mrs. Sholter said, “and I di
dn’t ask him to pay child support. He wouldn’t admit the baby was his; as soon as he found out I was pregnant, he vanished, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Then you don’t think he might have taken Matt?”

  “No. He doesn’t like kids; that was one of our problems.”

  “I didn’t like him, either,” Bonnie said. “I was glad when he left.”

  Officer Calvin nodded as if to say I DON’T BLAME YOU.

  “We all make mistakes,” Mrs. Sholter said. “Marrying Denny Thurman was the biggest mistake of my life. The only happy result was Matt.”

  “We’ll check him out. A high number of abducted children are taken by the noncustodial parent.”

  “Not this time,” Mrs. Sholter said. “He doesn’t even know if I had a boy or a girl.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “The last I knew, he was living in Reno, but that was six years ago. He always moved often, to get out of paying his gambling debts.”

  “Would Matt recognize him, maybe from a picture?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of anyone at all who would want to take Matt? Is there someone Matt would know, someone he’d go with willingly?”

  “He’d know lots of people—neighbors or friends or people from church—but he would not leave school with any of them unless I had told him it was okay.”

  Bonnie said, “If the same person took Pookie, how did they get in? Matt doesn’t have a house key, and the one under the rock is still there.”

  “I think he took Pookie first,” Officer Calvin said. “He might have used the dog to get Matt to go with him.”

  “Then it WASN’T a crime of opportunity,” Mrs. Sholter said. “Matt didn’t happen along at the wrong time by accident. If whoever took Matt came here first and got Pookie, then that person set a trap specifically for Matt.”

  “It’s one possibility,” Officer Calvin said.

  Who would do that? Bonnie wondered. She couldn’t think of a single person who would commit such a crime.

  “We’ll check the house for fingerprints,” Officer Calvin said, “and call the animal shelters.”

  “Pookie is microchipped,” Bonnie said. “If he gets scanned, the scanner will show our number.”

  Officer Calvin called the police station and gave Pookie’s description. “Please call the humane society, PAWS, animal control, and the other shelters,” he said. “Have them notify us immediately if anyone brings in such a dog.”

  Bonnie didn’t expect that to happen, though. Dogs brought to shelters by someone other than their owners are usually strays. Pookie had not wandered away accidentally; he had been stolen.

  This, Bonnie thought, is worse than any bad dream I ever had.

  She hugged herself, trying not to shiver.

  Matt stared out the car window, fighting nausea. He always got carsick easily, and now his stomach rumbled from the chocolate he’d eaten. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

  He knew he should stay alert. He should try to figure out where he was, so when he got a chance to call home, he could tell his mother how to find him.

  Matt intended to call as soon as possible. This man couldn’t watch him every second. When Denny fell asleep or went to the bathroom, Matt would sneak to the telephone and call Mom.

  He knew Denny had driven across the Evergreen Point Floating Bridge, but Matt hadn’t recognized anything else. He didn’t go to Seattle very often; he knew only major landmarks such as the Space Needle and Safeco Field.

  He pressed his forehead against the cool window glass and kept his eyes shut until the car stopped.

  They were at the end of a driveway next to a small office building. Denny opened the trunk and lifted out a cardboard box. Matt watched him stomp the box flat, then carry it to a Dumpster at the end of the driveway.

  Denny got back in the car and drove off. This time Matt looked out the window, but he still didn’t recognize anything. Soon Denny drove into a large apartment complex. The car slowed, going over a series of speed bumps. Rows of buildings, each with adjoining carports, lined the driveway. The road turned several times, but the buildings they passed all looked the same.

  The car clock said 4:48. Tears puddled in Matt’s eyes. Mom got off work at 4:30; she got home at 4:45.

  I should be home now, Matt thought as he rubbed his itchy arms. I should be playing with Pookie or eating an apple. I should be telling Mom about the movie we saw at school today or throwing my ball at the garage.

  Sometimes the three of them took Pookie for a walk before dinner or went out together to buy groceries or run errands. Whatever Mom and Bonnie were doing, Matt wished he were doing it with them.

  The car stopped in one of the carports. “Hop out,” Denny said. “We’re home.”

  Matt followed the man up a flight of stairs and watched as he unlocked an apartment door. Inside, he saw dozens of new computer games and toys. A scooter leaned against the wall next to the door, and stuffed animals covered one end of the couch. A stack of unopened board games towered on an end table. Matt recognized Clue and Candyland. The living room looked like a toy store.

  Matt looked around for a telephone but didn’t see one.

  “Want to watch a movie?” Denny asked.

  “No. I want to call my mom.” Matt expected Denny to refuse. He had decided Denny was lying; Mom didn’t know where Matt was. He figured he’d have to call when Denny didn’t know.

  “Okay,” Denny said.

  “I can call her?”

  “Sure. She probably wants to talk to you, too, and I need to let her know you got here safely. What’s the number? Save me looking it up in my book.”

  Surprised, Matt gave the phone number. Maybe Denny hadn’t lied. If he had, he’d never let Matt talk to his mom.

  Denny took a cell phone out of his pants pocket and punched all the numbers except the last one. Instead of seven, he hit “off.” He held the phone to his ear, turning his head so Matt could see his face as he talked.

  “Hello,” he said. “Is Anita there?”

  He paused, as if listening. Then he said, “What? Who is this?” He looked shocked. “What happened?” he asked. “When?”

  After a few seconds, he said, “Oh, no!”

  Matt pulled on his earlobe. Denny was hearing bad news.

  “That’s terrible!” Denny said.

  “Is that Bonnie?” Matt asked. “I want to talk to her.” He reached for the phone, but the man shook his head and motioned for Matt to be quiet.

  “This is Denny Thurman,” the man said, “Matt’s father. I picked up Matt at school today because Anita wanted him to stay with me for a while. I called to let Matt talk to her.” He paused again. “Anita planned to send some of Matt’s clothes to me, and his allergy pills. Can you mail them?” He gave an address. “Thank you,” he said. “Yes, I’ll tell Matt.”

  Denny put the phone back in his pocket, then turned to Matt.

  “Your next-door neighbor answered the phone,” Denny said.

  “Mrs. Watson?”

  “Right. Mrs. Watson.”

  “Why did she answer our phone? Where’s Mom?”

  “I have some sad news,” Denny said. “Your mother and your sister died in a car wreck this afternoon.”

  Horror crept up the back of Matt’s neck. “Mom’s dead?” he whispered. “Bonnie, too?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Matt sat down, his mind whirling like the Spinner ride at the county fair. Was Denny telling him the truth, or was this another trick, like when he said Pookie was hurt?

  “What happened?” Matt asked.

  “A little while ago, they headed for the grocery store,” Denny said. “Someone ran a stoplight and hit their car.”

  Disbelief wedged in Matt’s throat like dry cracker crumbs. His voice cracked as he forced out the words, “Did anyone call nine-one-one? Did the ambulance come?”

  “An ambulance came and the police came, but they were too late. They did CPR, but
your mom and Bonnie were already gone. Dead at the scene. The other driver died, too.”

  Matt felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of him. Head bent, he hugged himself and rocked gently. I’ll never see Mom again, he thought. Or Bonnie. Mom will never again tuck me in at night or call me to get up in the morning. He took quick, shallow breaths, trying to wrap his mind around the unbelievable.

  I’m a genius, Denny thought. What a flat-out brilliant idea! The kid had bought the story hook, line, and sinker. The one problem Denny had worried about—that Matt would call home when Denny wasn’t watching—was solved.

  Matt said, “Did Mrs. Watson call Grandma and Grandpa?” They’ll come to get me, he thought, and take me to Arizona to live with them.

  “Mrs. Watson hasn’t been able to reach your grandparents.”

  “They’re on a trip.”

  “Right. Mrs. Watson said she thought they were traveling.”

  Grandma and Grandpa often traveled in their RV. They liked to visit new places and learn about the local history. Mom had told him they were leaving, but Matt couldn’t remember where they were headed this time.

  “They have a phone in the RV,” Matt said. “I don’t know the number, but it’s probably in Mom’s directory.”

  “Your neighbor is trying to find it.”

  It’s all true, Matt thought. The accident really happened. Why else would Mrs. Watson be at his house, trying to call Grandma and Grandpa?

  “Mrs. Watson says she’ll send your things as soon as she can.”

  Matt nodded, too shocked to care about his clothes or his allergy pills or even his blankie.

  “It’s a good thing you came with me today,” Denny said, “or you’d be dead, too.”

  Matt shuddered. He wanted to cry, but his tears had dried up into a hard, little ball deep inside his head.

  Matt had memorized his phone number long ago. Mom had drilled it into him when he was only three. “If you are ever in trouble,” she said, “call home, even if it’s the middle of the night.” Matt knew how to place a collect call, in case he was out of the local area and had no money.

  None of that knowledge would help him now. He had no one to call. Why dial his own number if Mom and Bonnie would never be there again?