The Vanished

by Tim Kizer

  David was about to ask Vincent what Roger Kemper’s cirrhosis had to do with Annie’s abduction when it dawned on him: the investigator suspected that Roger had kidnapped Annie to take her liver.

  “Do you think he kidnapped Annie for her liver?” David asked.

  “Yes. The interesting thing is that the liver can regenerate itself, so you only need to transplant a piece of it. It means that Annie might still be alive.”

  “What about Roger’s parents? Wouldn’t it be easier for him to get his father or mother to donate him a piece of liver than to kidnap Annie?”

  “His biological father’s dead, and his mother and stepfather have an incompatible blood type. By the way, Roger’s blood type is B-negative, which is very rare. Only two percent of the population have it.”

  David knew that B-negative was a rare blood type because Annie’s blood was B-negative.

  “And your daughter’s blood type is B-negative, too,” Vincent said.

  “Does he have siblings?”

  “No.”

  Was Roger going to take a piece or the whole liver?

  It didn’t matter anyway: Roger wouldn’t let Annie live because she could turn him in to the police.

  “Roger’s the kidnapper, I’m sure of it,” Vincent said. “I called his job today. They said he’s on vacation and will be back in two weeks. I believe he left Fort Worth to have the transplant done.”

  Since Roger was forcing Annie to donate her liver to him, he wouldn’t be able to have the surgery performed in an American hospital. He would have to either find a back-alley surgeon (which was a highly risky option) or go to a third-world country, where corruption was widespread and hospital administrators were willing to bend the rules for a price.

  If Roger had elected to have the transplant done in a foreign country, he had most likely gone to Mexico: it was close and had a fair number of surgeons capable of doing the job. He would have had no trouble taking Annie to Mexico in a car because U.S. customs agents didn’t check the passports of people leaving the country.

  Now the question was: Is Annie still alive?

  “Do you know when he left Forth Worth?” David asked.

  “His neighbor said she hadn’t seen him since last Thursday.”

  “Do you think he found someone in America to do the surgery?”

  “I have no idea. If I were him, I’d do it in Mexico.”

  They might have cut out Annie’s liver in Texas and then transported it to Mexico. How long could the liver be stored outside the body before being transplanted?

  “Do you really think Annie’s still alive?” David asked.

  “There’s a good chance that she is.”

  Vincent might have said it just to make him feel better. Roger had no incentive to let Annie go after the surgery.

  “Do you think Roger’s still in Mexico?”

  “Average hospital stay after liver transplant is ten to fourteen days. If Roger had the surgery last Thursday, he should stay in Mexico until at least this Sunday.”

  Because it took more than a weekend to recover from a liver transplant, Roger’s surgery couldn’t have occurred before last Thursday.

  “Can you find him?”

  “You mean, can I find him before he comes back to the States? No, I can’t. I just don’t have the resources to do it. You have to ask the police.”

  If it was already too late, if Annie was dead, would he be able to bring Roger Kemper to justice? David believed he would. A DNA test would prove that Roger’s new liver had come from Annie, which should be enough to get him convicted of Annie’s murder.

  “The police aren’t going to help,” David said.

  “You have to try. There’s no other way to find Roger quickly.”

  There was another way. Paul Sibert, Pima County Attorney, his former boss and good friend. Paul could ask the chief of the Tucson Police Department to start a manhunt for Roger Kemper. The Tucson police could check Roger’s latest credit card transactions, triangulate the location of his cellphone, monitor his emails, and wiretap his and his parents’ phones.

  There was a lot they could do.

  David hoped Paul had friends at the FBI who would be willing to assist.

  “Listen, David. We don’t have to find him in Mexico, or wherever he is now. We’ll talk to him when he comes back. We’ll make him tell us where he left Annie.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Vincent.”

  He hung up and then dialed Paul Sibert’s number.

  “Hi, Paul, this is David Miller,” he said when Paul answered the phone. “Sorry I’m calling so late.”

  “Hello, Dave, how are you doing?”

  “I’ve never asked you for a favor, and I wouldn’t call you if I weren’t desperate.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m looking for a man named Roger Kemper. I believe he’s in Mexico right now.” David paused. “This man kidnapped my daughter.”

  “What? Jesus Christ! When did it happen?”

  “Eleven days ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Dave, this is terrible. Oh my God.”

  “I need you to help me find Kemper. You don’t have to arrest him, I just want to know his location. Can you do it for me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll text you his driver’s license number and cellphone number.”

  “Okay. I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Do you know anyone at the FBI?”

  “Yes, I know a couple of people at their Phoenix office. I’ll ask them to help.”

  “Thank you, Paul. Goodbye.”

  David put his cell on the desk and began to pace the room, his heart beating fast.

  Annie was alive. His sixth sense was telling him that she was alive.

  She was in Mexico, locked up in a dungeon, chained to a bed.

  Terrified.

  A horrible thought burned his mind like acid: Roger Kemper might kill Annie before heading back to the States.

  Chapter 9

  1

  David didn’t tell Carol about Roger Kemper. He spent the rest of the night praying that Paul would succeed in locating Kemper and that they would find Annie alive.

  Wednesday morning, for the first time since Annie’s disappearance, David went to the fitness room to get some exercise, hoping it would help clear his mind. About fifteen minutes after he started the workout, his cellphone rang. It was Paul Sibert. David tapped the Answer button and held the phone to his ear. “Hello, Paul.”

  “Hi, David,” Paul said. “I have some information for you on Roger Kemper. Last Friday he used his credit card at the Suites Dioh hotel in Monterrey, Mexico. There’s been no activity on any of his cards since this transaction.”

  “Did you try to triangulate his phone?”

  “Yes. We pinged his phone but got no response. He last used it last Friday. I believe there’s a good chance this guy’s still at the Suites Dioh hotel.”

  “Can you spell the name of the hotel?”

  “Suites D-i-o-h. And one more thing. Kemper withdrew two thousand dollars from his bank account last Thursday.”

  “Thank you, Paul. Please let me know if you find out anything new.”

  “No problem. You hang in there, Dave.”

  After he ended the call, David went on the Internet and searched for the address of the Suites Dioh hotel. Then he examined the online map of the area around the hotel and found that Suites Dioh was just one block from Hospital San Jose Tec de Monterrey. David didn’t think it was a coincidence. Roger Kemper had picked Suites Dioh because he was going to have a surgery at Hospital San Jose Tec de Monterrey.

  Did San Jose Tec do liver transplants?

  According to a website called World Medical Tourism, the answer was yes. David had butterflies in his stomach when he saw that San Jose Tec had organ transplant and liver disease departments. He learned that San Jose Tec was considered one of the most prestigious private and academic hospitals in Latin America. The hospital’s first liver trans
plant was performed in 1999.

  David leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

  Had his luck finally turned around? Had he really tracked Roger Kemper down?

  He called Vincent and asked where he was.

  “I’m at the office,” the investigator said.

  “I found Roger Kemper. He’s in Monterrey.”

  “Do you mean Monterrey, Mexico?”

  “Yes. Can you go there today?”

  “Yes. What’s the address?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. I’m going with you. I’ll be in your office in thirty minutes.”

  He had to go to Mexico with Vincent. Not because he doubted that the investigator would do everything humanly possible to get Kemper, but because he couldn’t be a spectator when his daughter’s life was at stake. There was a little problem, however: one of the conditions of his bail was that he couldn’t leave the United States (he had surrendered his passport before being released). He would be able to enter Mexico without showing a passport, but he would need one to return to the States. He didn’t know anyone who could get him a fake passport, but he hoped Vincent did.

  If he was unable to obtain fake papers, he would cross the border in the trunk of Vincent’s car.

  David called a cab, then found Carol and told her that he was leaving town for a few days.

  “Does it have to do with Annie?” Carol asked.

  “Yes. I’ll explain everything when I come back.”

  2

  After he told Vincent about the Suites Dioh hotel and Hospital San Jose Tec de Monterrey, David said that he was going to Monterrey with the investigator.

  “Okay, you can come with me,” Vincent said.

  “Do you know anyone who could arrange a fake passport for me?”

  “Why do you need a fake passport?”

  “I’m on bail, and I’m not allowed to leave the country.”

  “When were you arrested?”

  “Monday.”

  “You do realize that if you get caught, they’ll revoke your bail?”

  “Yes. But I don’t think I’ll get caught.”

  A small smile appeared on Vincent’s face. “You know, for a former prosecutor, you have a surprisingly strong inclination to break the law.”

  “It’s a victimless crime, isn’t it? So, can you help me get a fake passport?”

  “Yeah, I know a guy.”

  Vincent opened his desk drawer and took out a camera. “Let’s get you a fake driver’s license. My guy can make a high-quality driver’s license in thirty minutes.”

  He snapped a picture of David’s face and emailed it to his forger friend. After he put the camera back in the drawer, Vincent called a guy named Oscar. Speaking in Spanish, he told Oscar that he needed two pistols and promised to pay eighteen hundred dollars for both of them. He said that he would meet Oscar in Monterrey tonight.

  “Who is it?” David asked when Vincent terminated the call.

  “A friend of mine. He lives in Mexico.”

  “Does he sell guns?”

  “Yes, among other things. We could try and smuggle the guns, but why take a risk if it doesn’t cost much to avoid it?”

  David agreed with him on that.

  “You have a very interesting set of connections.”

  “You know what they say: it’s better to have and not need than to need and not have. You speak Spanish?”

  “A little.”

  “I think we’re going to need these.” Vincent opened the bottom desk drawer and produced three pairs of handcuffs. Then he pulled a duffel bag from the storage cabinet and placed the handcuffs in it.

  “Do you have your phone with you?” Vincent asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Take out the battery.”

  “Why?”

  “In case the cops are tracking your phone.”

  David removed the battery from his cell and slipped it into his pants pocket. “How long does it take your friend to make a passport?”

  “Two days.”

  3

  From Vincent’s office they went to the investigator’s forger friend, who lived in North Dallas, to pick up David’s fake driver’s license. The license was in the name of James Parsons and had a Fort Worth address.

  “Don’t throw it away when we’re done with Kemper,” Vincent advised. “You might need it again.”

  Their next stop was a Home Depot store six miles from Vincent’s friend’s place. When Vincent turned off the engine, David wondered why they had come here. Vincent told him to wait in the car and went into the store. David soon grew impatient and began to check his watch every five seconds, fighting the urge to find Vincent and ask him to hurry up. The investigator returned after about ten minutes, carrying a Home Depot bag. He opened the trunk door, put the bag in the trunk, and then got behind the wheel.

  “What did you buy?” David asked.

  “Rope.”

  Vincent was right: this was the kind of undertaking that might require a rope. To tie Roger Kemper up, for example.

  Vincent transferred the handcuffs from the duffel bag to the glove compartment and started the car.

  “I have a suggestion,” David said. “It’s a nine-hour drive. Let me drive the first half.”

  Vincent considered for a moment, then said, “It’s a good idea.”

  They switched places.

  “By the way, how did you know I used to be a prosecutor?” David asked when they pulled out into the street.

  “I ran a background check on you. I run background checks on all my clients.”

  Shortly after they got onto Interstate 35E, Vincent asked what David had been arrested for.

  “Remember I said that the police think I killed Annie? The DA’s office decided to bring charges.”

  “Have you been arraigned?”

  “I waived arraignment.”

  Arraignment was a procedure in which the defendant was read the charges against him and then entered his plea. It was a formality, and many defendants waived it.

  “Well, there are a lot of dumb police detectives. Do you know how I know that?”

  “You used to be one?”

  Vincent smiled. “I see you read my bio on our website.”

  “Yes, I read it.”

  “The moral of the story is: do not take a lie detector test. There’s no upside to it and a lot of downside.”

  It appeared Vincent didn’t know about the knife and his hypnosis session with Dr. Weil.

  “I wish someone had told me that two weeks ago.”

  “It’s not easy to come up with a credible suspect, and once they find one, they have a hard time letting go of him. I’m sure you know that as well as I do.”

  David nodded.

  “Did you talk to Detective Barton?”

  “No. Should I talk to him?”

  “He’s going to say I killed Annie.”

  “I figured as much.”

  When they left San Antonio behind, Vincent took over the driver’s seat. They stopped at the Flying J gas station in Cotulla to fill the tank and buy something to eat. David had a grilled chicken sandwich, and Vincent two cheeseburgers.

  They reached the Mexican border at half past six. As they approached Laredo, Vincent instructed David not to use his debit or credit cards while in Mexico. David already knew that he should not use his cards. At the U.S. border station they were waved through without inspection. They crossed the bridge into Mexico, entered the “Nothing to Declare” lane, and got a green light at the checkpoint, which meant that their car had not been selected for inspection by Mexican customs agents. Since their destination was outside the Free Zone, they had to get tourist cards, officially known as Multiple Migratory forms. They chose to comply with the law to avoid hassle later. David bribed the immigration agent to issue a tourist card to him without seeing his passport or birth certificate. The agent didn’t notice that David’s driver’s license was fake.

  After they acquired the t
ourist cards, they stopped at a Banjercito office to obtain a temporary import permit for Vincent’s Suburban, which Vincent was required to have because he was taking his vehicle out of the Free Zone. When they passed through the second customs checkpoint sixteen miles south of the border, they used the “Nothing to Declare” lane again and received a green light at the gate.

  Vincent drove about twenty miles per hour over the speed limit to keep up with the traffic flow. David had heard that a lot of people in Mexico drove drunk and/or with their headlights off at night, so he asked Vincent to slow down when it got dark.

  “Sure thing, boss.” Vincent smiled. “What do you call a Mexican who had his car stolen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Carlos.” Vincent uttered a short laugh. David laughed, too.

  As he stared out the window at the shrub-covered plains that stretched as far as the eye could see, he remembered the trip to Cabo San Lucas his family had made when he was thirteen, which was one of the highlights of his childhood. They had gone there in his mother’s Crown Victoria station wagon, a big comfortable car with an immense amount of storage space. The long journeys to and from Cabo were adventures in and of themselves.

  He closed his eyes and pictured Annie lying on a dirty bed in a dark room, one leg chained to a bedpost, her shirt stained with blood. He pictured the stitched incision on her abdomen through which a piece of her liver had been removed.

  He had to punish the surgeon who had cut out that piece of liver. He had to punish the people who were holding Annie now and the people who had helped kidnap her. He had to punish all of Roger Kemper’s accomplices, every last one of them.

  What kind of torture would he use to make Kemper talk?

  He could beat Kemper up, shock him with a stun gun, pour scalding water on him, burn him with a hot iron.

  What would he do to Kemper if it turned out that Annie was dead?

  He would kill him. He was not going to turn Kemper in to the police.

  During the last hour of their drive to Monterrey, David was dozing off every ten minutes. He had a dream about Annie during one of those naps. In it, he went into the Suites Dioh hotel, dashed to the elevator, pushed the button, and then, after realizing that the elevator was out of order, ran up the stairs to the floor where Kemper’s room was. He somehow opened the door to Kemper’s room and saw Annie lying on the bed closest to the window. She wore a red daisy-print dress, her eyes were closed. He grabbed Annie by the shoulders and began to shake her hard. Then she woke. Before he could say a word to his daughter, David was pulled out of the dream by the blaring horn of a semi-truck in the oncoming lane.