The Abducted Book 0

by Roger Hayden

  ***

  Silence fell over the kitchen after Ana left. Freddy looked to Miriam. “Spunky for her age, isn’t she?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Miriam said, walking back to the counter. Plates clanked together as she rinsed them, opened the dishwasher, and placed them inside.

  Freddy didn’t seem bothered by Ana’s objections to his watching her. “I’m just glad I get to spend some time with her.”

  Miriam closed the dishwasher and began to wipe the countertops with a sponge. She was thankful for Freddy coming all the way to their house on short notice and agreeing to watch Ana. She couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to it. She wanted to think that he had changed and that he and Ana would have a great time. Part of her, however, remained skeptical.

  “And there’ll be no drinking during the week, correct?” she asked him.

  Freddy pushed his chair back defensively, scraping against the vinyl floor. “Jesus, Miriam. How many fucking times do we have to go over this?”

  “Language, please,” she said.

  “I told you that I’m sober. I have a decent job. Everything is working out now.”

  “I know, Freddy. But we’ve had this conversation many times—”

  “I didn’t come over here to go on about the past. I came here to help with Ana. And you…”

  “I appreciate that,” Miriam said, opening the fridge and placing various containers inside. She closed the fridge door and lifted her head, listening to the muffled pop music playing in Ana’s room. “I should go talk to her,” she said, walking out of the kitchen.

  Suddenly, Freddy’s hand reached out and clasped her wrist, right below her bracelet. She froze in place and looked down, shocked that he would even have the nerve to touch her.

  His eyes were serious, and his face was stricken with concern. “You still haven’t told me where you’re going.”

  She yanked her hand away but remained in place. “I told you. It’s police business.”

  “So you’re doing pro bono work now?”

  “The person who killed my partner just kidnapped another girl. Do you get it now?” Miriam’s gray eyes were wide with anger.

  Freddy nodded, and a hint of sadness crossed his face. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “I don’t want to see you get your hopes up for nothing.”

  “Just focus on Ana,” Miriam said. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

  Freddy said nothing more, but his eyes remained fastened on her. Miriam walked away, but in the living room, she stopped and turned around again, feeling his stare.

  “What?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “That’s none of your business. We’re divorced, understand? As in, not going to happen again.”

  Freddy rose from his chair and walked over to her with slow, confident strides. “All I’m saying is that you should loosen up a little.”

  He took her soft hands in both of his, not taking his eyes away from her thinly sculpted face, her red lips and dark brows. She removed her hands from his and put them at her sides. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, their lips pressed together as he reached down and squeezed her hands.

  He then moved his hand up her back, pressing her closer as she closed her eyes. For a moment, her stress dissipated, replaced by feelings of familiarity and comfort. She didn’t see the harm in going further. Apparently, neither did Freddy.

  Suddenly a car honked in the driveway. She pushed Freddy away and went to the window to look out. O’Leary had arrived. As if it were preplanned, the news coming from the living room television sounded more urgent suddenly.

  “Authorities have placed a high alert around Lee County following the kidnapping of Emily Beckett, who was abducted from a Safeway parking lot today after a brutal assault on her mother. Investigators fear that the young girl’s abduction is just the latest in the long line of child kidnappings that have plagued the area for the past five years. The suspect, known to residents as the Snatcher, is also a suspect in the shooting death of thirty-two-year-old sheriff’s deputy Joseph Lang during a routine traffic stop a year ago.”

  Miriam went to the living room and stood in front of the television. Familiar images of the school parking lot and Lang’s crime scene filled the screen, together with pictures of both victims. Miriam’s heart seized as they showed her partner’s portrait. Her knees felt weak as she leaned against the wall.

  The newscaster continued, “The suspect in both cases has been linked to at least four other child abductions, each within one year of each other. Parents around the community are urged to keep a careful eye on their children, not leaving them anywhere alone. Neighborhoods have also imposed curfews for children twelve and under while the search for the so-called Snatcher continues.”

  Outside, O’Leary tapped the horn again. “My ride is here,” Miriam said, picking up a packed bag sitting near the foyer.

  Freddy folded his arms as though everything was kosher. “Why don’t you invite this detective in and let me meet him?”

  Miriam looked up and sighed. “Freddy. Just stop.”

  Freddy held his hands out defensively with a laugh. “Stop what?”

  “I have to do this. Don’t you understand that? ”

  “Of course I do,” he said defensively.

  Freddy lowered his hand to touch hers. “When we were married, I always worried about you. You don’t understand that, being on the other side, but it never changes. Whether we’re married or not, it never changes.”

  Miriam opened her mouth to speak when suddenly Ana entered the room in her pajamas. “What are you guys going on about?”

  “Nothing,” they said in unison.

  O’Leary’s car idled in the driveway. Miriam’s phone buzzed again. She looked at the screen. “My ride is waiting.”

  She grabbed her purse. Freddy followed and took her bag. “Here, lemme get that.”

  Ana followed her parents out the door.

  “You have everything you need?” Freddy asked.

  Miriam walked outside and stopped, turning toward the two of them. “I should. Thanks.”

  Idling behind Miriam’s car was a gray four-door Ford Crown Victoria. O’Leary was at the wheel and rolled the window down. “Good evening,” he said with a wave.

  Freddy’s two-door black pickup was parked next to Miriam’s. They walked past it as O’Leary unlocked his trunk from the inside. They heard it click open, and Freddy placed Miriam’s bag inside and closed it. He introduced himself to O’Leary as Miriam gave Ana a hug, squeezing her tight.

  “You be good for your father, and I’ll see you in a week.”

  Ana nodded, seeming upset and despondent. “Where are you going? I want to go too.”

  Miriam placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I wish you could, but you can’t. It’s important police work.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to be a policewoman again?”

  She hugged Ana again as Freddy waited patiently, standing nearby. “No, honey. This is just temporary. But I’ll be home soon. Promise to do well in school while I’m gone.”

  “I will.”

  “I know you’ll do great on the spelling bee.” She then kissed Ana on the forehead. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Ana said, eyes down.

  Miriam straightened up, patted Ana on the head, and then turned her attention to Freddy. Static chatter played out on O’Leary’s police radio. Miriam gave Freddy a trusting and appreciative look. “Thank you for doing this. Especially on short notice.”

  Freddy shrugged. “Hey, what are ex-husbands for?” They both smiled.

  Miriam pointed at him. “Don’t let her out of your sight. You hear me?”

  Freddy put his hand over his chest. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Miriam gave him a quick hug and than
ked him again. She said goodbye one last time to Ana and then went around to the other side of O’Leary’s car, with Freddy following behind her. He opened the car door and closed it gently after she was inside. Ana stood next to him, and he put his arm around her shoulder as they walked back toward the house.

  “You ready to do this?” O’Leary asked as Miriam put her seat belt on.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary shifted into reverse. Miriam waved to Ana and Freddy, who had turned to watch as O’Leary backed out of the driveway.

  “See you in a week!” she said.

  “Bye, Mom!”

  The Crown Victoria roared off down the street, leaving Miriam’s house, daughter, and ex-husband in the distance. She still wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing, but whatever it was, it felt like the right thing. If there was any hope of finding the Snatcher before the next girl was taken, she wanted to be a part of it.

 

  Crime Scene

  O’Leary merged onto the highway, headed south toward Palm Dale. Miriam hadn’t gone anywhere near the town since moving away. There were many unanswered questions to discuss between them. Oddly enough, however, the conversation didn’t begin with the case.

  “So you and Freddy?” O’Leary began.

  Miriam turned to him. It was a harmless question, but she still felt imposed upon. “Me and Freddy what?”

  O’Leary shifted in his seat. “Didn’t mean to get personal. I was just curious.”

  “That’s okay,” Miriam said. “He’s going to watch Ana while I’m gone.”

  “That’s good,” O’Leary said, ending it there. “So where do you want to start?” he asked.

  “We need to get an idea of who we’re looking for,” Miriam said. “Any witnesses or descriptions they could put an APB out on?”

  “Nothing yet,” O’Leary said.

  Miriam looked at him cockeyed and in disbelief. “What do you mean, nothing yet? This man punched a mother in the face—”

  O’Leary cut her off. “In broad daylight, I know. I went over this with Lou. And the mother says she was hit by a woman, not a man.”

  “A woman?” Miriam repeated, shocked. Though it would make sense. She, herself, could remember the long blond hair of the driver who’d shot her partner in cold blood. The image was seared into her brain and would never fade. But a woman kidnapping children was nearly unheard of. Certainly in Palm Dale.

  “I’m not buying it either. Doesn’t fit the profile,” O’Leary said.

  “He’s wearing a disguise,” Miriam ventured. “A wig, probably.”

  O’Leary’s eyes went back to the road as Miriam thought to herself. She tugged at the sleeve of her jean jacket and adjusted her ponytail. The white-striped road raced by as they continued on rural I-75, thirty-five miles from Palm Dale and closing in.

  O’Leary pulled on his tie, trying to loosen the collar of his button-down shirt. It felt as though he had been wearing the same standard shirt and suit for the past decade. The thought came to him that he should have been promoted by now. But that was the least of his concerns. They had a girl to find. One to two days max. Any longer than that, and he was certain that she’d become the next cold case in a long line of them.

  He had placed a briefcase containing some of the case files on the passenger-side floor, and Miriam began flipping through them. She pulled out the one marked “criminal profile.” She had her own ideas but looked through the faded manila folder with interest nonetheless.

  The suspect was presumed to be living in the area, or at least within South Florida. He had staked his claim, and he would keep plundering it again and again until he was stopped.

  For their suspect, abducting young girls was an obsession, something he did to appease a sick urge he was unable to suppress. But without recovering a single body, investigators could only presume that sexual assault was central in all the abductions. Whether he killed his victims or locked them in a basement remained to be seen.

  She closed the first file and opened another one, filled with police reports of abductions from Cape Coral, Harlem Heights, Cypress Lake, and McGregor—all cities within the same county. Now Palm Dale had two abductions on its plate.

  “We have to consider that these girls mean everything to him,” O’Leary said. “He shot your partner to keep from getting caught. So he has something to lose. A family maybe, or a job. Those are the lengths he’ll go to. And anyone who can pull the trigger like he did has probably killed before.”

  “A complete psychopath,” Miriam added. “But he’s smart enough to know how to hide it. He’s not greedy.”

  O’Leary nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. He’s got impeccable restraint. But he’s never going to stop.” He paused and looked at Miriam. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered with a sigh. “I’ve spent so long blocking him from my mind, it’s hard to get back into this.” She turned to look out the window, thinking, as miles of darkened cow fields passed by. “Maybe I jumped into this too early.”

  “Nonsense,” O’Leary said. “It’ll all come back to you soon. I know you have it in you.”

  “I appreciate the confidence, but we don’t have the time for things to start coming back to me. I need to get it together fast.” She went to the files on her lap as the police radio crackled with updates on the child abduction case.

  “Amber Alert issued approximately one hour ago. Suspect is described by the victim’s mother as a large female, at least two hundred and thirty pounds, with a beehive hairdo and bright polka-dot dress.”

  Miriam and O’Leary looked at each other with skepticism.

  “Seriously?” Miriam said.

  “Stranger things have happened,” O’Leary said.

  They passed flatlands of never-ending rivers and marshes—and a sign reading twenty-four miles to Palm Dale—a town Miriam had vowed never to return to. Now they were looking for an obese woman from the 1950s. It didn’t make any sense, but then again it made perfect sense—in line with Miriam’s belief that their suspect wore disguises.

  “What better way to gain the trust of young girls if you’re dressed up as a woman?” she said.

  O’Leary nodded. “What, like a cross-dresser?”

  “Whatever you want to call it. Our suspect is a man. That’s what you need to tell your guys. He’s good at what he does and feels empowered with each new victim.”

  O’Leary cleared his throat. “Off topic, I wanted to let you know that you will be compensated for this as an outside adviser, in case you were wondering.”

  “With or without pay, my intentions are the same,” Miriam said.

  “But you’ll take the money, though, right?”

  “I’m not stupid,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary laughed. “Of course you’re not.”

  They passed fields of orange groves leading into the town. Miriam took a deep breath as the speed limit fell, the buildings were set closer together, and they came into town. It looked the same as Miriam remembered it. The historic downtown area had its shops, bars, and restaurants—quaint and old fashioned with brick buildings, old signs, and narrow roads with cars parked on the side of the street.

  O’Leary pushed a button, rolled down both passenger and driver windows, and leaned his arm out as the cool air flowed inside the car. Beyond the business district, residential neighborhoods had grown by the dozens over the years. Initially a retirement community, Palm Dale had grown into suburban sprawl with modestly priced housing for families that had come from all over. There were schools, a library, lakes, parks, and hiking trails. That was the Palm Dale most people in the area knew. But to venture beyond the suburbs was a different world all together among the wilderness and wide-ranging marshes.

  It was late in the evening when they pulled into the Safeway lot. An entire row of spaces had been cordoned off. There were police cars everywhere, their lights still flashing. A news van was
parked off to the side. A female reporter stood in front of the Safeway with the bright lights of the camera on her face as she spoke into her microphone.

  O’Leary parked near a line of police tape and turned off the ignition. Miriam looked at the police officers standing around—twenty or so of them—trying to see if she recognized anyone. She felt immediately out of place.

  “Let’s do this,” O’Leary said, opening his door.

  She turned to face him. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just observe. See if you can put some fresh eyes on this scene. Where was he parked? How did he get Emily into his vehicle without notice?”

  “What could I possibly find that the twenty officers on site haven’t already?” she asked.

  O’Leary offered a smile of confidence. “Plenty. Just stick with me.”

  He got out of the car, giving Miriam an encouraging smile, and watched as she pushed open her door, hesitating for a moment before stepping out. They approached the scene unnoticed by the other investigators and officers, who were deep within their own work. The area cordoned off had been cleared, with the exception of Karen Beckett’s blue Nissan Sentra. O’Leary approached one of the investigators there, an older man named Hayes who wore a suit almost identical to O’Leary’s.

  He introduced Miriam as his consultant. Hayes didn’t seem to bat an eye or even recognize her, for which she was relieved. Detective Hayes led them to the car, where another investigator was taking pictures, his camera flashing in bursts that came in quick succession.

  “Knocked her out right here,” Hayes said, pointing at the pavement next to the car. A helicopter flew by in the distance with its spotlight on. Miriam scanned the area. There were at least a dozen other media vans parked along the front of the Safeway store with their antennas raised high in the air. She could feel it in her bones. They were going to have a field day with this one. The Lee County Police Department had not only failed to catch the Snatcher the first time. He had struck again, and they were no closer to figuring anything out than they had been a year ago.

  “I don’t get it,” O’Leary said to Hayes, frustrated. “Not a single witness? How is that possible?

  “So far nothing. But we’re still interviewing a slew of people who were around here when it happened,” Hayes said.

  Recognizing her own words in O’Leary’s bafflement, Miriam split from the group, making her way around the scene. Apparently, search teams had already been deployed throughout the surrounding area, intending to search up to a ten-mile radius. Mandatory checkpoints had been put into place. It seemed impossible that anyone could get away so easily without drawing notice—especially given the suspect’s appearance.

  Dressed down and looking out of place in her jean jacket and pants, Miriam approached the cart-return slot across from the Nissan and examined the line of carts haphazardly pushed into it. A thought occurred to her as she walked back to where O’Leary was asking question after question of another investigator.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Has anyone looked at those carts yet?”

  O’Leary stopped as he and Hayes switched their focus to the cart return.

  “I mean, if Mrs. Beckett was just leaving the grocery store, I doubt she had time to return her cart before being assaulted.”

  “Well?” O’Leary said, looking at Hayes.

  Hayes stuttered. “Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

  “So why not dust all the carts for prints?” she continued. “It looks like our suspect took the time to return it for her.”

  “But why would she take the risk?” Hayes asked. He seemed to be in the camp that believed the suspect was female.

  Miriam took the question. “Because by now whoever we’re dealing with is getting bored, playing games with us. Whenever an offender gets away with his crimes, a part of him yearns to get caught. A part of him desires the closure in it.”

  O’Leary watched her, impressed, as Hayes nodded, considering her theory.

  Miriam, fully in detective mode now, seemed to reconsider what she had said or how she had said it and backpedaled to a more modest view. “It’s just a theory. I’m thinking textbook criminal here.”

  “We should start dusting those carts, don’t you think?” O’Leary asked Hayes.

  “Yes. Right away,” Hayes said. He walked over to the group of officers and called out to them, pointing at the cart return. “Fellas, let’s go ahead and dust these for prints. Who’s got a print kit?”

  The officers got in gear and approached the cart return. One of them carried a small black bag with him. He unzipped the bag and began brushing each cart carefully with a pair of latex gloves on.

  O’Leary turned to Miriam. “I was going to mention the cart thing too.’

  “Oh, were you?” she said with a laugh.

  “Seriously, though. Good work.” He looked up into the sky, satisfied. “I think this time it’s going to be different. I think we can catch him in time. They’re checking Mrs. Beckett for any DNA left on her from the assault. That plus fingerprints on the cart will help us narrow down the list.”

  “But will we do it in time, Detective? That’s the question.”

  They looked around, observing the active crime scene. It was strange to think that somewhere, not too far away, the Snatcher might be holding his latest victim.

  “You think he wants to be caught?” O’Leary asked.

  “I have my suspicions,” Miriam said.

  He turned away and walked off toward his car, beckoning her. “Here, let’s go down to the station. There’s some stuff I want to show you and get your take on.”

  She followed behind him as a helicopter flew directly overhead, lower than before. She had heard that the FBI was on its way. Could they make any difference? Could she? They got into O’Leary’s car and left the crime scene behind. Every minute mattered. Every hour brought them closer to losing Emily. This time would be different. If not, Miriam wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

  Portrait of a Suspect

  Across from the fire station, the Lee County Police Department was in view—one long brick building of multiple departments and sections. The front parking lot was full of police cruisers and unmarked vehicles. The visitor and employee parking lot to the side of the building was reaching full capacity as well. It seemed as though every officer was on call, even from neighboring counties.

  O’Leary found a spot at the far end of the employee lot, close to a chain-link fence. Near the side entrance of the building, Miriam saw a group of five men in suits huddled together at and smoking next to an outdoor ashtray. As with the officers at the crime scene, none of them stood out. Their faces were a blur. O’Leary turned off the ignition and again noticed Miriam’s nervous hesitation, the same initial reluctance she had shown at the first crime scene.

  “It’s going to be okay. The last thing on anyone’s mind around here is giving you the stink eye. Besides, everyone on the force respects you. They know what happened.”

  Miriam shook her head. “I walked away. Police have a thing about that. They never forget.”

  O’Leary opened his door and shrugged. “You had no choice. Everyone knows that.”

  Miriam opened her door slowly. Cigarette smoke drifted past from the group of white-shirt-and-tie smokers. It looked as though they were planning to burn the midnight oil. She still didn’t know exactly why O’Leary was so keen on having her around. She didn’t understand his motivations any more than she understood her own for agreeing to go along with it. She chalked it up to desperation on both their parts.

  “Where to now?” she asked as they headed toward the building.

  “We’re going to look at some case files and find a link.”

  Miriam reached out and tugged on his arm in protest until he stopped walking. They both did. The group of smokers stopped and looked over at them. “Detective O’Leary, do you really think now is the time to be going over paperwork? We’ve got a little girl out there s
cared out of her mind. We need to be out there looking for her. Taking action.”

  O’Leary placed his hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “I understand that, but we already have the whole damn force on it. They’re probably running around in circles. We need to take the little time we have and get it right.”

  “So we go door to door, check every house in town,” Miriam said. “How hard could it be?”

  O’Leary cleared his throat. “Look, Miriam. In my line of work, I have three main things to go on—knowledge, experience, and instinct.” After counting on his fingers, he looked at her as though the matter was settled. “And I’ve never been as determined to get it right as I am now.”

  “Me too,” she added.

  “So are you with me?” he asked, signaling to the building.

  “As long as you agree to one thing,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “That when we catch this guy, you let me put a bullet between his eyes.”

  He said nothing as they walked down the sidewalk, past the smokers, and toward the employees’ side entrance to the building. O’Leary swiped his key card near a sensor. He pulled the door open as it unlocked and held it open for Miriam. She rewarded him with a nod.

  A slightly overweight clerk in full police uniform looked up from his desk as they entered.

  O’Leary showed him his ID badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck. He then pointed to Miriam. “Need a visitor badge for Ms. Castillo here, please.”

  The clerk nodded, took Miriam’s license, and ran her information. As they waited, Miriam looked down the carpeted hall, flanked with offices on both sides. The building itself was old, and some of the wood paneling on the walls looked straight out of the 1970s.

  Nicotine stains were still noticeable in areas near the ceiling, reminders of a time when smoking indoors was permitted, ages ago. They had remodeled and added onto the building, but its fifty-year-old character still showed in places. The hall smelled of coffee. Plain-clothed and uniformed officers crossed from room to room, lost in their own work. It was the busiest she had ever seen the place. Only one other time came to mind: last year, following the Dawson abduction.

  The clerk processed a visitor’s badge and handed it to Miriam. They continued down the hall to the Criminal Investigation Department, where his desk sat in the corner, with paperwork piled high behind his nameplate. There were people everywhere, men and women in suits mostly, on their phones, gathering in small groups talking, and some typing wildly on their computers. O’Leary didn’t know who half of the people were.

  One look at his desk, and he turned away, turning to Miriam. “Let’s find someplace else where we can do this. Somewhere quiet.”

  She nodded, and they walked along desks and stopped at a corner cubicle where a tall, mustached detective was at his computer typing with one hand and holding a turkey club sandwich in the other. His sleeves were rolled up. His eyes darted across the screen as he typed.

  O’Leary leaned in and slapped the man on the shoulder. “Looks like the circus is in town. All these people coming to see your mustache?” O’Leary said, smiling.

  Lou looked up, startled but then amused. “Very funny, Dwight. They’re here to see the Incredible Dateless Wonder, which is perfect now that you’re in town.”

  O’Leary tried to get him in a headlock, but Lou backed away in his old-fashioned rolling chair. Miriam stood quietly to the side, amused. O’Leary looked back and signaled to her. “You remember Sergeant Castillo.”

  Lou gave her a friendly nod and extended his hand. “Yes, of course. Welcome back, Sergeant.”

  Miriam shook his hand. “Just Miriam’s fine.”

  “Very well,” Lou said. His attention went to O’Leary as his tone and expression turned serious. “It’s a madhouse here. They brought in two departments from two different counties. This latest kidnapping doesn’t reflect well on us, for sure.”

  “I don’t understand,” O’Leary said. “This guy has never struck in the same town twice. Why now?”

  Lou shrugged and took a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he has nowhere else to go.”

  “Or maybe he’s getting lazy,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary leaned close to Lou. “We’re trying to keep a low profile here with her. Think you can help us?”

  Lou seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I need some place where me and her can talk in private and go over some files together. Specifically the Gowdy files.”

  Lou raised both brows. “Careful, Dwight. You don’t want to go barking up the wrong tree. Guy tried to sue us before, and he’ll do it again.”

  “I just need somewhere away from all this commotion,” O’Leary said.

  Lou stood up from his squeaking swivel chair and stretched. He looked around. “You can take the B room. I think it should be open.”

  “Great,” O’Leary said. “Thanks.” He looked at Miriam and signaled toward the exit. “This way.” They left without drawing too much attention to themselves. O’Leary led her down another hall to a small interview room. There was a table in the middle and a chair on each side—the walls barren except for a clock with a big face and Roman numerals hanging in the middle.

  “No one should bother us in here,” he said, holding the door open for her. Miriam eyed the room suspiciously.

  “If you’re so sure that this Gowdy you mention is your man, why haven’t you arrested him?” she asked.

  “Because I could be wrong. And if I am, that means we’ll never find Emily in time.”

  Miriam pulled a chair out from the table and sat. O’Leary promised to be back quickly with the files and left the room, locking the door behind him. She looked around the small, lifeless room, trying not to feel like a prisoner herself. She pulled out her cell phone and sent Freddy a text message asking how Ana was doing. He sent a message back saying that she had gone to bed. She replied, asking him what he was doing.

  “Just watching TV,” the message said.

  She thanked him again and said goodbye. When he replied with “good night,” she said, “Yeah right.” She scrolled through the news on her phone, looking for any mentions of the kidnapping, when the door unlocked and O’Leary walked in. He was balancing a box filled to the brim with files and pushed the door shut. Miriam couldn’t believe it. This was what they were going to be doing?

  He dropped the box on the table with a thud and rolled his sleeves up. He began pulling files out of the box and setting them on the table—and appearing out of breath.

  “Don’t let that box beat you up,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary looked up. “You’ll be saying the same about both of us here soon.” He pointed to the first file, which he had placed on the desk in front of Miriam. “This is Jenny Dawson’s cold case file. We need to look through it piece by piece.”

  Overwhelmed, Miriam placed her head in her hands. She still wasn’t entirely convinced that going through files was going to help them find Emily. “How much are you paying me again?”

  O’Leary offered a nervous laugh. “We can do this. Just focus.”

  “We could be here for days. Why don’t you start by telling me about this suspect of yours? This Gowdy fellow,” she said.

  He searched inside the box and pulled out another file, equally thick and secured within a large mailing envelope. He tossed the file on the table in front of Miriam, covering up Jenny’s file.

  “His name is Ray Gowdy, and he’s the closest thing to a suspect that I have.”

  She looked down. “Gowdy File” was written in black permanent marker on the envelope. Miriam untied the thin string over the seal and pulled the file out. It was packed with reports, statements, photos, and other documents, all providing a glimpse into one of Palm Dale’s most notorious residents.

  He was a man with a record that began with small, petty crimes he committed as a young adult. By thirty-seven, he had been to prison m
ultiple times for battery and assault—among other offenses. His mug shots showed a progression from his earliest years to his latest—from a shaggy-haired, smooth-faced youth to a man with a beard, graying hair, and some noticeable scars on his face.

  Things began to come back to Miriam. She remembered Gowdy. He was always thought of around the station as the go-to suspect for any crime in the area. But she never saw him do anything. For the past five years, his record had been clean.

  O’Leary provided her further insight as she flipped through his arrest record. Gowdy had come to Palm Dale from Birmingham, Alabama, in his teens with his mother. He befriended the Anderson boys in high school, especially the second eldest, Phillip. The Andersons belonged to a family that owned the lucrative auto salvage and recycling plant located off the last interstate exit out of town.

  From the beginning, Gowdy showed early warning signs: fights, suspensions, and eventual expulsion for bringing a knife to school. The years after high school weren’t much better. He and Phillip looted homes and businesses. They sold weed. They got into bar fights. Miriam didn’t want to believe that some people were just “bad,” as she had encountered all kinds during her time on the force. Gowdy, however, fit the description of a bad seed. The question was, what was he still doing on the street?

  A year after his latest stint in prison following grand theft conviction, Ray seemed to be getting his life together. He worked at the Anderson yard and had stayed out of trouble for years. He even bought a house, got married, and had two children. While the report stated the bafflement of authorities, Miriam got chills down her spine. A family man. He fit the bill perfectly.

  The Andersons, it appeared, had welcomed Ray into their family after his own mother had passed away from a brain tumor, and they’d been close ever since. All seemed at peace. Then, however, suspicious things began happening around Palm Dale. People went missing—drug dealers and prostitutes mainly.

  The Andersons consisted of Boone and Judith Anderson—a couple in their sixties—and their five adult sons. The entire family was suspected of criminal activities that stretched from drugs to gambling to racketeering—but the investigation had dragged on for years, and no evidence came to light.

  Their eldest son, Dustin, was killed in a head-on collision under mysterious circumstances. The 1964 Dodge Charger that had T-boned him and sent him flying through the windshield of his Cavalier had been abandoned in the middle of the road. No sign of any driver. No blood. Nothing.

  Two years after Dustin’s death, investigators got an anonymous tip about Ray Gowdy: that he had bragged about killing Dustin so that Phil—Dustin’s younger brother—could take over the family business. Gowdy was brought in for questioning. He lawyered up with enough money to get him out. The investigation went cold. No one knew where he was getting the money from. He traveled frequently. The authorities knew he was bad, but no one could prove anything.

  Enter Rachel, a sixteen-year-old local runaway who Gowdy offered a ride to. She accused him of attempted assault. Gowdy was arrested and his house searched. Investigators found video stakeout footage of schools throughout the area. Gowdy’s lawyers argued that their client is trying to expose would-be predators. As the case went to court, Rachel changed her story and gave a completely different description of the man who assaulted her. The case was dropped.

  Around the same time, Phillip Anderson took over the salvage yard, and another teenage girl was assaulted at a keg party deep in the woods. She was too intoxicated to provide a description of her assailant. Worse yet, she couldn’t remember the incident too well. The kind of “off the grid” parties the Anderson clan was known to partake in.

  The police, however, were certain Gowdy was their man. He was arrested after his DNA was found on the girl’s torn shirt. Open-and-shut case. But when it went to court, Gowdy’s lawyers were able to prove that the DNA evidence had been tampered with. So determined were they to make their case against him that unnamed officers used Gowdy’s DNA from a vial of blood that had been in evidence and planted it.

  This came to light after an anonymous whistleblower contacted Gowdy’s lawyers and revealed the possibility of evidence tampering. The case was dropped, but Gowdy wasn’t done. He sued the county in a civil suit, and a judge soon ruled in his favor, awarding him five hundred thousand dollars. Gowdy had everything. He was vindicated. He was wealthy. To some, Gowdy was a hero. To others he was a criminal. To Miriam, however, he was a mystery.

  After he won his settlement, things were quiet for a while. But in May 2009, Alaina Hutchinson disappeared outside her elementary school in Cape Coral, fifty miles from Palm Dale. Dayana Corbin disappeared one year later, walking home in the Harlem Heights district, close to town. Julie Ross and Taylor Ackerman soon followed. In each case, they vanished. Their bodies were never found.

  Miriam closed Gowdy’s file, feeling overwhelmed but more informed than she had been. “I don’t know, Detective,” she said, pushing the file away. “Like you, all my instincts point to him. Either he’s a serial predator, or he’s the closest thing this town has to one.”

  “In a case this important, the worst thing an investigator can get is tunnel vision on one suspect,” O’Leary said, sipping a cup of coffee he had gotten earlier. “But I find myself being drawn closer to him just as the department is pulling away. Trust me, they don’t want to touch him.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Miriam said. “If he’s the one, he’s the one. I say we go after him.”

  O’Leary raised his hand to caution her. “It’s not that easy. They’re drawing up the warrants right now to search his home and the salvage lot but taking their time. There’s many on the force who think he did it and just as many who think that he didn’t. He’s been nothing but a pain in our ass since day one.”

  Miriam pounded the table and held up a picture of his last mug shot. “Six feet, two hundred thirty pounds. Bring him in, damn it, and put him in a lineup. Have Mrs. Beckett pick him out.”

  “Miriam, it’s not that easy,” he began.

  “Why not?” she asked in a stark, demanding tone.

  O’Leary pushed the many files on the table aside and leaned in closer. “Because he has money. Because he’s connected. Because he could bring down this whole department if he wanted to. Same way it is everywhere.”

  Miriam winced. “Spare me your cynicism. If we do this right, his money and connections won’t matter.”

  “And that’s why I need your help,” O’Leary blurted out impatiently. The room went quiet as she tried to consider what he had just said.

  “To do what, exactly?” she asked, brows raised.

  O’Leary sighed. “To take the fall if this goes south.” He sheepishly looked at the table then back to her. “I figured you did it before, you could do it again.”

  Miriam felt confused. Angry. Violated in a way. Her hands dropped as she stared at him with blank, exhausted eyes. “You’re setting me up, just in case.”

  He looked down at the floor then lifted his head and stared right at her. “Yeah.”

  “What an S.O.B. you are.”

  “Yeah.”

  And then she laughed. “Okay,” she said, shaking her head at him. “Whatever your screwed-up motivations are, I don’t care. I’m in. I just want to find this girl.”

  Her response surprised O’Leary. He was expecting her to leap across the floor and attack him. “That’s all I want too. That’s why we’re going to have a little fun with Gowdy. I want him to meet you.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

  O’Leary started to spin out his plan, something he’d been thinking about for a while, it seemed, but also something he seemed to be conjuring on the spot. “If this man did shoot Deputy Lang in cold blood, if he took all those girls, one look at you and his eyes will tell me everything we need to know. He knows you from the news. He remembers you. That I’m sure of.”

  Miriam flashed a look of skepticism. She
wasn’t buying it.

  “The truth is in the eyes, Miriam. Not even the most hardened psychopath can get around that. That’s what I’m waiting for. Then I’ll know.”

  Miriam waited for more details, but O’Leary said nothing else. She held her arms out. “That’s your master plan? Look into his eyes?”

  “It’s a start.”

  Miriam dropped her head, burnt out beyond words. Her hair hung down in her face. O’Leary waited patiently with his hands interlaced, hoping she would see it his way.

  She looked up and shrugged. “Okay. You’re the boss. We do it your way.”

  O’Leary leaned back, satisfied, as his chair creaked. “Thank you. If I know this man, it’s that he feels invincible.”

  “Which is why we need to either take him down or move on to someone else,” Miriam added.

  She looked down and thumbed through some more photos of Gowdy with the Andersons, laughing it up like one of the family. Her attention focused on Phil, in the middle of one particular group photo—tall with a beard, wide smile, and dirty-blond hair. He seemed to tower over the entire family. He was also a very large man. Gowdy looked smaller in comparison. Who was really in charge of that family? She couldn’t tell.

  “You wanna grab a bite to eat to clear your head a little?” O’Leary asked. “My treat.”

  It was the best idea she had heard all day. She pulled her phone out and saw that it was five after eleven. O’Leary packed the files back up in the box, and they left the room, only to find the precinct still noisy and chaotic.

  They carried the heavy boxes to the far corner of the parking lot where his car was parked.

  “Feels good to get some air,” Miriam said.

  “You said it.”

  They loaded up and drove off to a diner around the block where most of the officers went after a long day. The Snatcher had his next victim, but if they played their cards right, they might be able to save Emily before she turned into a cold case like the others.

  Day Two

  O’Leary picked her up the next morning at her hotel, which was a few blocks from the police station. The plan was simple enough: revisit the crime scene where Deputy Lang had been shot and then swing by the salvage yard for a friendly chat. Nothing serious. The last thing O’Leary wanted to do was give Gowdy the impression that they were closing in on him. They wanted him calm, careless even. Then they’d drop the hammer.

  Miriam, however, had another theory, developed overnight.

  “What if it was one of the other brothers? Heck, what if the whole family is in on it?”

  “Careful now,” he said. “We don’t want to go chasing unicorns. I admit, the entire family is suspect, but I wouldn’t put any involvement on anyone except maybe Phillip and Gowdy himself. Not yet, anyway.”

  Miriam tapped the side of the passenger door with her cell phone, thinking. It was early, and the sun was just rising beyond a pine forest on her side. She had already sent a text back home, checking in, though she figured it was still too early for Freddy to respond.

  “What about the DNA and fingerprints?” she asked. An obvious question, but one she hadn’t asked before. “That should seal the deal right there.”

  O’Leary shook his head. “I checked earlier. No DNA recovered on Mrs. Beckett. The fingerprints taken from the carts don’t match Gowdy, or any of the Anderson boys for that matter.”

  Miriam sighed. “How could that be? How could someone be so careful as to not make a single mistake? There has to be something we’re not seeing. Something that will tie all of this together.”

  O’Leary laughed ironically. “I’ve been saying that to myself for the entire year.”

  The outskirts of Palm Dale brought them to a narrow two-lane road, cracked, with tall weeds on both sides. They had the windows down, but even with the sun not fully risen, the wind felt hot. There were no discernible signs or marks in the road, but Miriam knew they were close. She could feel it. They were almost to the place where her partner had been killed. A few miles beyond was a long dirt road that led to Anderson’s Auto Salvage. O’Leary was paying close attention to the GPS screen attached to his dashboard.

  “We’re about half a mile away.”

  Miriam stared ahead, saying nothing.

  “What exactly do we expect to find out here?” she asked as though the question had just entered her mind.

  “Simple,” O’Leary answered with his eyes on his dashboard GPS screen. “We’re starting at the beginning.”

  He slowed the car as they approached the spot—the very same barren shoulder where Miriam and her partner had stopped the infamous blue station wagon. The vehicle was later impounded for weeks, and an exhaustive search was conducted for fingerprints, hair samples, and other evidence.

  The only fingerprints they found belonged to Betsy Cole and her husband. Two hairs had been recovered. One of them belonged to Jennifer Dawson—definitively proving that she had been abducted by the same individual who shot Deputy Lang. Another hair had been found. But it wasn’t real hair at all. It was synthetic fiber, probably from a wig.

  O’Leary went over these details as he pulled the car to the side and parked.

  “So we have reason to believe that our suspect was in fact wearing a wig. Obviously to conceal his identity.”

  His door squeaked as he swung it open. It was eerily quiet outside, aside from the crickets, and there wasn’t a single car on the road. Miriam followed and stepped outside, onto the patchy grass of a small hill that traveled downward into a long, shallow trench that ran far into the distance along the road. A chain-link fence separated the roadside from the area beyond it. It never surprised Miriam how much of the seemingly vacant land surrounding them was actually private property.

  “So, according to your report, you and Deputy Lang were headed toward Anderson’s Auto to respond to a call about stolen copper?” O’Leary asked as he walked ahead.

  “That’s right,” Miriam said, following him.

  He stopped at a distinctly recognizable part of the road, pictured in so many police photos, and stood on a faded white line. Chunks of asphalt were missing on both sides of the pavement. Grass, weeds, and sand-spur patches hung over the surface. “You stopped the blue station wagon here, noting a broken taillight. Ran the plates, everything checked out, and Deputy Lang went to talk to the driver. Sound about right?”

  Miriam felt a sickness that she hadn’t encountered in some time. She nodded, looking away. O’Leary seemed to get more into the moment, now observing the ground with great intensity. He took a couple of hurried steps forward then stopped and spun around.

  “About here, Deputy Lang was shot. One .44 magnum casing was recovered in the middle of the road. Records did not yield any potential suspects for that particular weapon.” O’Leary stopped and looked up to find Marian staring into the forest alongside them.

  “Miriam, are you okay?”

  She looked over to him, snapping out of her daze. The wind blew a long strand of hair from her ponytail, sending it falling across her tan forehead. “Yes, I can remember clearly,” she said, walking over to him. “I heard the gunshot and jumped out of the car to engage the suspect. I fired three shots, shattered the back window. Tailed him in the patrol car at about a hundred and twenty. Found the Buick abandoned. No kid, no suspect.”

  “No one vanishes,” O’Leary said. “There has to be an explanation. For two weeks straight, search teams patrolled the area in a ten-mile radius and came up short. The question is, where did he go?”

  O’Leary signaled ahead and pointed to a sign far up the road. Miriam squinted to read it, its words clear as the morning: Anderson’s Auto Salvage and Recycling.

  A large semi-truck then came into view with smoke billowing from its exhaust pipes. They stood there on the side of the road watching as it roared past them, leaving a strong gust of wind in its wake and blowing their jackets open.

  Miriam suddenly walked off, as though she were unde
r some kind of external control. O’Leary followed, trying to keep up with her fast pace.

  “What is it? What do you see?” he asked.

  Miriam stopped and turned to him. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking, and it’s something I’ve been thinking for a long time: He was taking the girl somewhere out here, not expecting to encounter any police.” She raised her arms. “And what is out here?” She bit her lip and looked into the distance.

  “Swamps. Cow pastures. Acres of land,” O’Leary said.

  “Everything and more,” she answered. “The perfect hideout.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve searched this area far and wide,” O’Leary said. “There’s no trace of him.”

  “Because he’s smart,” Miriam said. “Let’s go to the place where I found the Buick.”

  They had begun walking back to the Crown Victoria when Miriam held her hand out. “Mind if I drive?”

  “Not at all,” O’Leary said, digging into his pocket. He handed her the keys and walked to the passenger side. Miriam got in and fired up the car, peeling out. Taken by surprise, O’Leary flew back against his seat, struggling to put on his seat belt.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Without answering, she pressed on the gas. Inside, she felt as if she were getting into the right state of mind. Images of the Buick flashed in her mind. She searched her memory for clues—anything from the time just before she found the car. Her hands clutched the wheel as she pushed the car past one hundred miles per hour.

  “Miriam, can you slow down please?” O’Leary asked, gripping the passenger-side handle.

  “We’re almost there,” she said, staring ahead. The car vibrated and motored loudly as exhaust surged out the back, leaving a thick black trail. She inched past the one hundred fifteen mark, feeling as though she were getting a second chance to do things differently.

  Suddenly she let up on the gas. The speedometer dropped as the car slowed, much to O’Leary’s relief. She then jerked to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. O’Leary flew forward but caught himself against the dashboard. Smoke from the tires drifted inside the car along with the smell of burnt oil.

  O’Leary coughed. “I hope you enjoyed that little joyride.”

  “Calm down, Grandpa,” she said, shutting off the engine and handing him the keys.

  She got out of the car and walked along the side of the road and down the grassy slope that led into the woods. O’Leary, looking disheveled and upset, followed a few steps behind her. She stopped where the forest was separated from the slope by the six-foot fence. No Trespassing signs hung from the fence at intervals for miles. None of that had been there before.

  “This is new,” she said, pushing against the fence.

  “They recently put it up,” O’Leary said, trudging down the slope from behind.

  She gripped the fence with both hands, peeking through, but it was hard to see anything beyond the thick brush. She then let go, turned around, and went back to the road.

  “What is it?” O’Leary asked, following her. “Do you have something?”

  She was looking at the other side of the road, where yet another fence separated it from the vast wilderness beyond. “Not yet,” she said. She stepped forward and stopped directly in the middle of the road, unconcerned about traffic. But there wasn’t any; this was a remote, desolate place. O’Leary seemed to follow her every move, observing the surroundings, just as she was doing.

  “So many private property signs. Who owns this area?” she asked him.

  “I want to say a land developing company. Their name escapes me.”

  “And when did they purchase all this land? And for what reason?” she continued.

  O’Leary stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around. “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “I just think it’s interesting that this is the very area our suspect fled into. I thought about it after you told me that Gowdy had invested in land development.”

  She went to the other side of the road and looked beyond the fence there, beyond the woods. “With the money Gowdy has, we’re looking at some kind of underground lair. I guarantee it.”

  “Yeah. But this area’s been searched within a ten-mile radius, I told you that. They looked for weeks.”

  “I believe you,” Miriam responded. She looked down at a glimmering soda can, flattened against the road. Within the grass ahead, there were cigarette butts, beer bottles, and plastic bags, barely visible—the same litter seen on any open road, and trapped by the fencing. Several thoughts came to Miriam all at once. She felt as though their suspect was very near. Maybe that was the genius of his escape.

  “Everyone leaves something behind,” she said to herself.

  “What’s that?” O’Leary asked.

  “I don’t know,” she responded. “Shall we pay the salvage yard a visit?”

  O’Leary nodded in agreement. “Sure thing. But just let me do most of the talking.”

  She gave him a mock salute. “You’re the boss, Detective.”

  O’Leary held out his hand for his keys. Miriam smiled and tossed them in the air. He snatched them as they approached the car, getting in. The car roared to life, and he drove off, ready to get answers.

  The sign for the salvage yard was in view. They took a right down a long, bumpy dirt road that went on for at least half a mile. Palmetto bushes and pine trees pressed in from both sides. An eerie feeling came over Miriam, as though they were in some malevolent place and trespassing too—going where they weren’t wanted.

  Closing In

  Anderson’s Auto Salvage & Recycling was an old family-run business that operated on the outskirts of Palm Dale. The business covered thirty acres of junk vehicles—mostly stripped but some intact for resale. Cars were often pillaged of their parts and crushed into flat blocks of metal. They also paid for scrap metal and junk of any value. Their main business was in recycling, since they operated the area’s main refuse plant for reusable material, allowing them to claim credit as a beneficial green company.

  From the outset, business was good, and it had remained that way for over thirty years. The business was owned and operated by the Andersons, who presented themselves as a tight-knit all-American family. Outsiders were rarely seen within or welcomed within their inner circle. And for that reason alone, O’Leary knew that they would immediately be looked at with suspicion as they drove through the front gate and entered the dirt parking lot.

  Several cars and trucks were parked near the front office trailer that had a big Open sign in the window. Heavy-duty equipment, from crushers to forklifts to dump trucks to graders, were firing off in the distance—the entire lot a cacophony of hammering engines and metallic thunder, with a thin cloud of dust and exhaust drifting throughout the premises. There were a few pickup trucks of all types idling at a booth past the front office, waiting their turn to drop off scrap metal raided from some dump or another.

  As O’Leary pulled in, he recognized three of the Anderson boys—Greg, Walter, and Jake—at the scrap booth, assisting trucks with their hauls and keeping the line moving. They were big men, tan, bearded, no-nonsense types with cigarettes dangling out of their mouths and tattoos on their arms. They wore lace-up boots and backward mesh hats.

  Boone, their father, owned the auto salvage yard with his wife, Judith. Their sons all worked there and had families of their own. They were an all-American family, according to Boone, but O’Leary believed they hid a dark secret. Rumors had long persisted about the family, but now he was ready to put fact to them.

  Still in the parking lot, Miriam listened attentively as O’Leary explained more about them. They received suspicious stares wherever they went, he told her, and, always alert, the Anderson family knew an unmarked car when they saw one.

  “Phil bought the business a while ago. Boone and Judith still work there to help out. And if you remember, the eldest son, Dustin, was killed in a car crash with his wife and two daughters.
”

  “Sounds pretty clear to me,” Miriam said. “One of the sons did it. Phillip, probably,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary shook his head. “Alibis, all of them. All of them but Gowdy, but he’s not quite family.”

  “When did this happen?” Miriam asked.

  O’Leary lifted his chin and thought to himself as machines chugged in the background. “About two years ago.” He turned off the ignition as they just sat there observing.

  Miriam looked around nervously. Men stared at them as they walked by, coming and going from the main building, their faces smudged with dirt and oil. “What’s the plan here?”

  “Just follow my lead,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll do most of the talking.”

  “Is Gowdy here do you think?” Miriam asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” O’Leary said, stepping out into the dust-bowl parking lot.

  The sun was out in full force, revealing a blue sky with thin clouds drifting like trails of silk. There were people everywhere throughout the yard. It was hard to tell who was who—though most employees shared the same gruff demeanor and outfits: blue, pin-striped short-sleeved shirts with patches sewn over the chest.

  Miriam and O’Leary walked with purposeful strides toward the front-office trailer, which had an odd, homey look. It was outfitted with antiques, set out all along the front porch—everything from an old vending machine and jukebox to a vintage gas pump and wagon wheel. There was no denying a hint of charm to the place. It seemed a world of its own—a place far removed from the hustle of the downtown business district.

  Here, the work was real: oil-covered hands. Black-streaked faces. Cuts, bruises. Cigarette smoke and empty Gatorade bottles tossed aside in every conceivable location. Miriam and O’Leary stood out like two tourists in a foreign land, which was their intention. O’Leary wanted their presence known.

  They walked up the steps, and O’Leary opened the screen door and held it open for Miriam, who walked in first. Once inside, she stood in a carpeted lobby area next to a bookcase with antique model cars displayed on every shelf. A front counter divided the room. Two men in flannel shirts and billed hats were leaning on the counter, waiting their turn, as a woman, sixtyish, worked the cash register. Behind the counter on a desk were three black-and-white security-camera monitors displaying different grainy images of the vast salvage yard.

  O’Leary came in, closed the screen door. The two men at the counter turned around, their wrinkled faces indifferent. They looked Miriam up and down and then turned around as the woman at the counter handed them a receipt.

  “Y’all have a good day, now,” she said. She was short and frumpy, with gray curly hair, and thick glasses dangling from a cord around her neck. The two men tipped their hats and excused themselves as they passed.

  The woman at the counter looked up and eyed O’Leary and Miriam with suspicion.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, mouth hanging open, waiting for a response.

  Miriam was about to step forward when O’Leary cut in front of her. “Yes, Mrs. Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary.” He stopped and turned to Miriam, introducing her. “And this is my partner, Sergeant Castillo.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and walked out of the room without saying a word. O’Leary looked at Miriam and shrugged. They could hear the floorboards of the trailer creaking as Mrs. Anderson approached someone on the other side of the wall, a few feet away, and spoke loudly, as if to someone hard of hearing.

  “You got visitors, hun.”

  “What’s that?” a gruff voice said.

  “Visitors. The poh-lease.”

  They heard the man groan as he stood. His knees seemed to crack with the strain. His heavy footsteps clomped into the front office from the adjacent room. He was big, at least six feet, dressed in overalls that seemed to cradle his bowling-ball gut. He had a thin gray beard along his chin and jaw line. His bushy eyebrows arched downward as he made eye contact with the two visitors.

  “Can I… help ya?” he asked, approaching the counter. He adjusted his camouflaged hat and folded his arms, displaying neither contempt nor courtesy.

  “Yes, Mr. Anderson. I’m Detective O’Leary. We’ve met a few times. I’m sure you remember.”

  Mr. Anderson nodded. “Yeah, I remember ya, O’Leary. What do you want this time?” His eyes shifted, studying Miriam.

  “I was hoping to have a word or two with Mr. Gowdy.”

  Anderson took his hat off and scratched his head, looking around. “He’s not here yet.”

  Miriam and O’Leary exchanged glances.

  “He’s not?” O’Leary said.

  “Nope. He don’t come around as much. Busy with land deals and all. I’ll tell ya, if you guys would get off his back for a bit, you’d see what a go-getter he’s become.”

  “I’m sure of it,” O’Leary said with a hint of sarcasm.

  Anderson examined Miriam, raising his finger. “Hey, I know you. I remember seein’ you on the news all that time ago.”

  She didn’t like where the conversation was going and felt a tight constriction in her stomach. O’Leary stepped in to take the reins. “We’re not here on official business. We just came to talk.”

  Anderson’s eyes narrowed in the same way his wife’s had moments ago. “’Bout what?”

  O’Leary drew closer and placed his hands on the counter. “Just some loose ends to tie up. You know when to expect him?”

  “Nope.” Anderson adjusted his tinted glasses, looking as if he considered the matter closed.

  “We can wait,” O’Leary said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Anderson shook his head. “Why don’t you leave the man alone? He ain’t perfect, I know that, but you police done him wrong. Accusing him of kidnapping and murder like that.” Anderson huffed as his face turned red with anger. “Just shameful.” He pointed an accusatory finger at them both. “You ruined his reputation. Practically destroyed his life.”

  O’Leary said nothing as Anderson started breathing heavily through his nose, almost like a horse snorting. “You know his wife left, right? After you and the damn news accused him of being a child-diddling cop killer. You have any idea what that does to a man? To destroy him like that! I told him to sue the shit out of you bastards again, but he said no. He was just gonna let it go. Y’all should be kissing his feet!”

  Suddenly, Mrs. Anderson stepped into the room. “Boone! Stop all that yellin’. You know you got a heart condition.” She ran to his side, placing an arm around him. “Now come take a seat in the other room.” She led him out of the front office as O’Leary and Miriam waited.

  “I don’t see how this helps our case,” Miriam said.

  “Trust me on this,” he answered.

  “We’re getting nowhere fast,” Miriam replied.

  O’Leary shot her a blank look, lost in his own thoughts. Miriam felt irritated, trying to see where his head was. If there was some kind of conspiracy involving Anderson Auto Salvage and the kidnappings, it was far too fragmented for her to put anything together.

  O’Leary leaned closer over the counter, examining the security monitors, and Miriam decided to look too. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared on the display. A forklift operator was picking up a stack of flattened cars to be transported. The line of scrap turn-ins was moving without a hitch. There was no activity on the third screen—just a line of junk cars—and no sign of Gowdy. O’Leary looked up just as Mrs. Anderson stomped into the room, her face creased with wrinkles upon wrinkles.

  “Haven’t you done enough damage ’round here, Detective?” she snapped. “My husband and I are fixin’ to retire, and we don’t need no more of your harassment. Got it?”

  “Mrs. Anderson…” O’Leary began.

  “No. Ray ain’t here, so get on now. Leave!”

  O’Leary looked at Miriam and then nodded to Mrs. Anderson. “Very well,” he said, placing his card on the table. “Here’s my car
d. We’ll be in touch.”

  She crossed her arms, nothing but disdain on her face. O’Leary motioned Miriam toward the door. She nodded at Mrs. Anderson and wished her a good day. They exited the trailer, not waiting for a response. Once outside, Miriam looked around, seeing employees and customers alike glancing at them and then looking away.

  Miriam bit her tongue until they both got into the car. Once O’Leary cranked the ignition, her ponytail whipped around as she turned to him.

  “What was that about?”

  O’Leary’s eyes widened with confusion. “What?”

  “You sure have an interesting approach to your investigations. Why don’t you just let the whole town know?”

  O’Leary paused, trying to choose his words wisely. “Everything is going exactly to plan,” he said calmly. The police radio buzzed with chatter. Nothing significant.

  “Oh really?” she said in disbelief. “Nice plan. They know we’re watching them.”

  “Exactly,” O’Leary said. “And that’s what I want. Why do you think I left my card? Gowdy is on edge. He’s going to make a mistake, I know it.” He put the car in reverse and backed out.

  All eyes watched them as the car coasted out of the yard, leaving a cloud of thin dust in its wake. Mrs. Anderson watched them from the window, offering a cold, unfriendly stare. The Crown Victoria jetted off past the gate and down the dirt road leading back onto the deserted double-lane state road. Miriam felt her nervous chills fade away the farther they got from Anderson’s Salvage.

  “We need to wrap this thing up and find Emily,” Miriam said.

  O’Leary nodded, gripping the wheel. “Trust me. We’re going in the right direction. I can feel it.”

  He grabbed her hand unexpectedly. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.

  “Detective!” she said. His hand was oddly cold.

  “You feel that?” he asked, accelerating faster. “We’re on the right path.”

  He loosened his grip, and she jerked her hand away, dumbfounded.

  “I think you’re losing it,” she said, stroking her hand.

  O’Leary took a deep breath and pointed ahead. “Look.”

  She turned to see a vintage ’65 Dodge Charger up the road in the opposite lane, heading toward them. O’Leary knew the car all too well.

  Both vehicles slowed, and Miriam could see a silver-haired, stocky man. Their eyes locked as though they were moving in slow motion. As they passed each other, Gowdy’s expression was at first one of curiosity, changing quickly to one of deep suspicion as Miriam eyed him closely. For a split second she saw something in his face that indicated O’Leary might be on to something.

  Dark World

  “Turn around,” Miriam said as he passed.

  O’Leary looked at her, surprised. “Huh?”

  “We need to follow him. He’s planning to run.”

  “Miriam, we have to play this thing out carefully. Stake out the salvage yard and see where he goes.”

  She slammed her fist on the dashboard, startling him. “We’re not going to have that chance. You want to talk about instinct? That’s what my gut’s telling me.”

  O’Leary slowed down, struggling with the decision. “This isn’t part of the plan.”

  “Just do it. Please,” she said.

  For Miriam, it was time to make a move. She refused to let him slip through her fingers again. O’Leary braked the car to a stop, pulling over, and asked her what she saw that made her so sure.

  “I caught a glimpse of his face,” she answered. “He looked guilty.”

  “That’s not exactly a bombshell, Miriam.”

  “It’s something. You want to talk about the eyes not lying? His eyes told me everything we need to know.”

  O’Leary wasn’t entirely convinced, but he trusted her judgment. He had, after all, brought her along for a reason.

  He reversed, did a three-point turn, and headed back in the opposite direction until he had Gowdy’s vintage Dodge Charger in sight.

  “I hope you’re right about this,” he said with noticeable frustration.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  He gunned it forward and turned on the flashing police lights directly above the windshield. They were closing in on Gowdy’s car fast. Miriam imagined his surprise when he looked in his rearview mirror and saw them rushing toward him like a shark at its prey. She hoped he was nervous and scared to death.

  “Don’t let him get away,” Miriam said, clutching the armrest of her door. “He might try to make a run for it.”

  O’Leary sped up, and within seconds he was inches from Gowdy’s bumper. The engine hummed and snarled. Gowdy’s brake lights flashed as he pulled over to the side. A cloud of dust trailed him as he slowed down onto the shoulder, coming to a halt. O’Leary stayed on him and stopped, his lights still flashing. Now that they had him, O’Leary seemed more open to Miriam’s idea.

  “Might as well talk to him now and see how he reacts.” He began typing into his Toughbook laptop on the center console, running the plates.

  Miriam examined Gowdy as he remained quiet in the driver’s seat, watching them through his rearview mirror. For a moment, everything seemed oddly familiar to Miriam. She was re-living it on the very same road with the man she felt responsible within her grasp.

  “License plate checks out,” O’Leary said. “Raymond Earl Gowdy. Five thirty-one Woodshire Lane.” He paused while scrolling down the screen. Multiple priors but no warrants currently out on him.” He looked up with a careful eye still on the car. Gowdy was waiting. O’Leary then looked at Miriam. “What next?”

  She grabbed her purse off the floor and pulled out a 9mm Beretta.

  O’Leary’s eyes widened. He extended his arm, blocking her from getting out. “Whoa! What are you doing?”

  She held the pistol down with both hands. “Nothing. I’m not taking any chances this time, that’s all. Call him out of his car and let’s talk to him.”

  “Again, I think we’re going too fast here.”

  “Too fast? A girl is missing! And based off the evidence you’ve shown me, he’s the most viable suspect we have. Like you said, I’ve taken the fall before. If I’m wrong, I’ll do it again.”

  O’Leary felt for his pistol in the side holster at his waist. He looked in his mirror. No one was behind them. No cars were coming in either direction. The air was still and quiet. For all they knew, Gowdy was calling his crew at that very moment. O’Leary opened his door and stepped out, leaning behind the open window pane. He pulled his gun and aimed it at Gowdy’s car. Miriam followed suit and took cover.

  “Raymond Gowdy, step out of your car!” O’Leary shouted. There was no movement within the Dodge. Gowdy just sat there. “Get out of your car with your hands up!”

  His driver’s-side door slowly opened. Gowdy stuck his head out and turned to them, confused and irritated. “The hell’s this all about?”

  “Let’s see those hands!” O’Leary shouted.

  Gowdy was startled, apparently not expecting a run-in with the law. He looked genuinely surprised, though Miriam wasn’t buying it.

  Gowdy stuck his big, tattoo-covered arms outside the car and then stepped out. His hair was short, recently trimmed, and his beard had been shaved off completely. He wore a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit with an auto salvage patch over the chest.

  “That’s it,” O’Leary said. “Nice and slow.”

  He faced them with his arms halfway up and a face that was hard to read—blank and indifferent, as though he had been through this routine many times before, which he had. O’Leary then told him to walk toward them and get against the back of his car. Miriam kept a careful eye on his car, trying to see if there were any other passengers.

  Gowdy leaned forward onto the trunk of his Dodge with his palms flat on its surface. O’Leary made his move and strode over to him with his pistol aimed.

  “Not another move,” he said.

  Miriam remained at her car d
oor, taking O’Leary’s back. Gowdy was in her sights. Her finger inched toward the trigger, but she fought the urge. Shooting Gowdy would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t get them any closer to finding Emily. She moved closer to them while staying locked on Gowdy as O’Leary searched his pockets and patted him down. He pulled a wallet, cell phone, and car keys out and placed them on the trunk.

  “Okay, now turn around.”

  Gowdy lowered his arms and looked at O’Leary with an assured cockiness. “What’s this all about?”

  “You know damn well what this is about, Gowdy,” O’Leary said, lowering his pistol.

  Miriam kept a careful distance in case Gowdy tried anything. O’Leary pointed to her and then looked at Gowdy. “You remember Sergeant Castillo, don’t you?”

  Gowdy looked at her and froze. O’Leary studied his face. Gowdy’s left eye twitched in his brief, catatonic state, then his eyes narrowed as he nervously looked away. He knew who she was. For that split second, he looked as guilty as any man ever could.

  “Yeah, you know her,” O’Leary said.

  Gowdy turned to him, angered. “What are you talkin’ about? I don’t know her at all.”

  Miriam moved on him, raised her pistol, and pressed it against his head.

  O’Leary freaked. “Miriam, no!”

  “Where is she?” Miriam said, seething. “Tell me or so help me God, I’ll—”

  “This is not the way!” O’Leary shouted.

  She flinched and backed off, lowering her gun and taking a few steps away.

  Gowdy looked at her, both astonished and afraid. “What’s this crazy bitch’s problem?”

  O’Leary cut him off. “That’s enough. We want to talk.”

  “’Bout what?” he said, leaning against his trunk.

  “About what you know.”

  Gowdy narrowed his eyes at O’Leary and shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re close,” O’Leary said, holding two fingers together. “We’re this close to shutting down the entire operation. Whatever you’re up to, we’re going to find out. So why don’t you do us and yourself a favor and come out with it?”

  Miriam circled back around and stood close by, waiting.

  “I ain’t got nothing to tell,” Gowdy said. “I’m on my way to work. Is that a crime now?”

  O’Leary smirked. “A guy with all your money still works. That’s pretty commendable.”

  Gowdy shot him an angry glare. “A man needs to work. Builds character.”

  “And we know all about your character, Mr. Gowdy.” O’Leary said.

  “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Gowdy snapped.

  O’Leary continued. “If we were to search the salvage yard, we wouldn’t find anything illegal out there, would we?”

  “Like what?” Gowdy asked.

  “I don’t know. Guns. Drugs…”

  “Children,” Miriam added.

  Gowdy looked at them, shocked, as his face went flush. “Of course not. Have you lost your mind? Get your heads out of your asses and listen to me! We run a legitimate business!”

  “Cut the crap,” O’Leary said. “We know all about you and that family. You’ve got your hands in some pretty shady stuff.”

  Gowdy gave O’Leary a long stare then crossed his arms and tilted his head back. “If you know so much, you’d arrest somebody. You’d also know how crooked this whole county is and how they tried to ruin my life. I wasn’t afraid to take ’em to court back then, and I’m not afraid to do it now.”

  “I’m aware of the history between you and the county PD. But I’m also aware of a lot of other things too.”

  Gowdy rocked his head back and chuckled bitterly. “Hell. If you were so close to taking me down, I’d be in handcuffs right now.”

  “Don’t press your luck. I can make that happen real soon,” O’Leary said, pointing to his chest.

  Miriam stepped forward. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to ask.

  “Did you kidnap those children?”

  Gowdy stopped and looked at her, stunned, as the color drained out of his large, round face.

  “Did you”—she stopped, looking down—“shoot my partner?”

  “I’m not answering anything this crazy bitch has to say,” Gowdy said flippantly. “I don’t have to say a thing to either of you. I know my rights. In fact, I think I’ll just get my lawyer on the phone now and see what he has to say about all of this. County’s got deep pockets, and it looks like it’s time to cash in again.”

  O’Leary’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. “It’s headquarters,” he said to Miriam. He pointed to Gowdy. “Watch him.”

  “I will,” Miriam replied.

  “Detective O’Leary,” he answered, holding the phone to his ear. He turned and walked away from them. “Yeah. Yep. No, we’re off Pine Road, out in the boondocks. Anderson country.”

  Miriam stood with her eyes locked on Gowdy, an arm’s length away.

  “Y’all got nothin’ on me,” Gowdy said, shaking his head.

  “Shut up,” Miriam told him.

  “I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but diddling kids. That’s about the lowest thing yet.” He spit between his teeth and looked away.

  Miriam examined his body language. He appeared nervous and avoided eye contact, looking beyond her toward the empty interstate.

  “You remember me, don’t you?” she said.

  He turned and looked her up and down. “Yeah, I remember you.”

  Her stomach burned. “I knew it.”

  He spit again. “You’re that cop who got her partner shot. You could have got that child-snatching pervert, but you fucked up.”

  An urge to shoot him rushed through her. She raised her pistol. Gowdy held his hands up defensively. “Wait, now! Don’t go doing nothing stupid. I’m not judging you. That’s just what the news said. Don’t shoot the messenger!”

  Her face went stone cold. She gripped her side with one hand. A panic attack was in the works, but she did her best to stay calm.

  A bullet was the only thing that could stop his poisonous words. She’d be doing the world a favor. Who would shed tears for such a monster? But then she thought of Emily and Jenny again, and her anger subsided.

  “Just tell me where she is,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s all. Tell me, and I won’t shoot you.”

  “You lost your mind? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” he shouted.

  O’Leary was deep in his conversation, walking back and forth in the road. “What do you mean you got a match?” he asked loudly. “A DNA match?”

  His words caught Miriam’s attention. She lowered her pistol and walked over to him. “What? What did they say?”

  Holding the phone tight against his ear, O’Leary looked over to her and held one index finger up for her to wait. A semi-truck appeared in the distance, heading toward them. Miriam turned back to Gowdy. He remained standing at the trunk of his car, arms folded. The semi grew louder the closer it got. O’Leary got out of the road and leaned against the side of his car, continuing his questioning.

  “The fingerprints? What about them?” he asked, trying to talk over the approaching truck.

  Miriam turned back to O’Leary, hoping to catch what was being said.

  “We got a match?” he said. “Who? Who is it?”

  Miriam turned back to Gowdy just as he grabbed his nearby car keys and pushed a button to unlock the trunk.

  “Hey!” she shouted.

  The semi-truck veered into the left lane as it passed by. Its engine rattled as it flew past them, sounding like a locomotive. A gust of wind blew Miriam’s hair into her face, obstructing her vision for just an instant. She aimed her pistol at Gowdy just as he pulled an Uzi from his trunk.

  “Get down!” she shouted to O’Leary, firing two shots.

  Gowdy leapt to the passenger side of the Crown Victoria and sprayed the air with bullets, sh
attering its windows.

  O’Leary looked up in panic and hit the ground. Miriam fired back, blowing out the front left tire. She jumped to the driver’s side of Gowdy’s car for cover just as bullets came in her direction.

  She looked over to O’Leary. He was lying on his back, bleeding from his leg. His pistol and phone lay in the road within his arm’s reach but seeming yards away.

  “I’m hit! Take cover!” he shouted to her. His leg twitched and oozed with blood from below his knee. Shards of glass were all around him. Her eyes darted back to the car, where Gowdy had taken cover.

  “Just stay down!” she said to O’Leary.

  She couldn’t see Gowdy, but she knew he might strike at any moment. Crouched down, she inched toward the rear of his vehicle and looked under both cars to see where he was. Suddenly another hail of bullets rang out. She lowered herself to the gravelly pavement, hands on her pistol, and fired a few more shots toward the car. A gust of wind from another semi-truck blew past, apparently unaware of their predicament.

  Miriam looked again under their car for signs of Gowdy, but his feet and legs weren’t showing. Must be hoisting himself up somehow, she thought, or possibly inside O’Leary’s car. O’Leary cried out in pain and tried to push himself up. His leg had taken some damage and was bleeding profusely.

  “Son of a bitch!” he shouted. “Where is he?” He reached for his cell phone and managed to grab it by the tips of his fingers and make a call. “Shots fired! I’m hit. Need backup!”

  Like a nightmare repeating itself, Gowdy was nowhere to be seen. Miriam got up just in time to see him running off, down alongside the fence that separated the road from the endless forest. Miriam sprinted ahead and fell on her knees at O’Leary’s side. She grabbed the phone from his hand.

  “Hello? This is Sergeant Castillo. Is anyone there?”

  She glimpsed Gowdy just as he jumped the fence and ran into the woods.

  “Who got hit?” the voice asked. It sounded like Lou.

  “Lou?” she said, too distraught to notice her own injuries: the torn pants, the cuts on her knees and elbows.

  “Yeah. What the hell happened?”

  “We’re out here by the Anderson property and need immediate backup. Gowdy fired at us. Dwight’s hit in the leg.”

  O’Leary’s hand reached out toward her, bloodied from his leg, trying to take the phone.

  “We’re on our way,” Lou said.

  “Wait,” O’Leary said, coughing. His face had gone pale and was drenched with sweat. “Tell him to bring the warrant. Time to turn that place upside down!”

  Miriam held the phone up as O’Leary spoke. She then put it to her ear. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Lou said. “We’re on our way.”

  Miriam looked up. Gowdy was gone, but there was something she had to find out first. “Whose fingerprints did you find?”

  “Fingerprints?” Lou asked, obviously rattled by everything going on.

  “Yes!” Miriam shouted.

  “Phil,” Lou said. “We got a match on Phil Anderson.”

  His words were surreal. She was confused. It wasn’t the name she expected or wanted to hear. But the more she thought about it, the more it all made perfect sense. She placed the phone back in O’Leary’s hand and brushed his hair back, trying to comfort him, hoping he wouldn’t go into shock. His blood was everywhere now. She took off her jean jacket and wrapped it around his leg, propping it up with a block of wood nearby.

  “I have to go,” she told O’Leary, trying to put on a strong and reassuring face. “You’ll be okay. Help is coming, but I can’t let him get away.”

  “Don’t… go,” O’Leary said, shaking.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Miriam repeated. “They’re on their way, and they’re going to take care of you.” He reached for her as she stood up. Any further delay, and she was sure Gowdy would disappear. She held O’Leary’s hand and squeezed it as tears welled in her eyes.

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  With that, she took off, determined to catch Gowdy, dead or alive. She ran to the fence and climbed over it, falling to the other side. Everything seemed like a repeat from before. The mosquitos. The palmetto bushes. The weeds and thick brush hampering her view. Her mind raced as her heart beat rapidly. She was tense and shaky. She might never make it out alive, but she pressed on.

  Pistol in hand, she pushed aside branches while trying to hear anything beyond the crackling of leaves and sticks under her own feet that would alert her to Gowdy’s presence. She continued on, wrestling with the fingerprint revelation. What did it mean? What was Gowdy’s part? She was determined to find out.

  She came to a clearing, sweaty and out of breath, with adrenaline pumping through her veins. A figure ran by in the distance. It was Gowdy. There was no mistaking it. He limped along as though he had twisted an ankle. She bolted forward, closing in.

  He was close—about one hundred feet ahead. Miriam took a knee, raised the pistol, and steadied her breathing. She took the first shot and missed. Gowdy dropped to the ground. He rolled to the side, taking cover behind a tree. She kept her aim tight and waited. Then Gowdy, maybe feeling trapped and too eager, fled from the tree and tried to make a run for it. “Gotcha,” she said.

  With one eye open, she locked on her target and gently squeezed the trigger. The gun blasted. A shell was ejected to the side. Gowdy collapsed immediately. She ran forward, staying low. Her insides were filled with elation and fury, and just then, she heard sirens blaring in the distance.

  She stopped inches from Gowdy as he writhed on the ground, reaching for his Uzi. He was hit behind his right thigh and desperately struggled to crawl away, digging into the ground and clawing at the dirt like a madman. As his fingertips inched toward the Uzi, she fired another shot into the ground near him. A clump of dirt flew up into his face, and Gowdy froze. Miriam walked over to him and kicked the Uzi away. He ended his attempt to escape and fell back on his stomach, wailing in pain.

  Miriam said nothing as she stood over him and pointed the gun at the back of his head. Gowdy grunted and then rolled to his side, holding one arm out in a helpless plea. His previous cockiness was gone, and only fear and desperation remained.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” she said. “Why?”

  Gowdy looked up at her and tried to speak, spittle flying from his mouth. “Kn-Knew what? That he’s royally fucked in the head? That he takes young girls and locks them up?” He cried out in pain after moving his leg.

  “Spare me your tears,” Miriam said. “Just tell me where Emily is.”

  Gowdy bowed his head, murmuring in exhaustion.

  Miriam fired the gun, hitting the ground right by his head. He fell onto his back, terrified. She crouched down and put the hot barrel against his forehead. “Here we are again, only this time, I’m not going to hesitate.” She looked him in the eyes. “Tell me!”

  Gowdy opened his mouth and cried out. “He’s got a bunker out here! I take them food and supplies. He keeps them locked up.”

  “The girls?” Miriam asked in wonderment. “They’re still alive?”

  Gowdy paused, not wanting to answer the question. She couldn’t kill him now, and he knew it. Not with her being so close to the truth. Instead, she pressed the pistol against his other leg and fired. The blast was deafening. Gowdy fell back, screaming at the top of his lungs, a high-pitched, piercing squeal.

  “You crazy bitch!” The open wound on the back of his thigh pulsated with blood as the fresh hole in his other leg started to bleed—slowly at first, then with a steady flow of dark red.

  She pressed the gun back against his forehead while he cradled both legs in agonizing pain.

  “I have one bullet left, and I’m not going to waste it trying to scare you. The next one goes in your head.”

  “Two of them are still alive!” he shouted. “The others… well, they got sick of playing with him after a while, and he…”

&n
bsp; “He what?” she said in a venomous tone.

  “He had me get rid of them.” Seeing her finger on the trigger, he raised both hands defensively. “I’ll take you to them. Just don’t shoot me!”

  “Where’s the bunker?” she asked.

  He hesitated. She brought the pistol back and smacked him across the face. He cried out as a chunk of skin opened on his cheek, pouring blood.

  “You’re standing on it!” he said.

  She stopped and slowly stood up, looking around.

  “Twenty feet underground…” he continued. She backed away as he cried to himself—one sad, helpless sack. She went to her knees and started digging, tossing dirt and debris frantically out of the way. The sirens in the distance got louder and louder.

  After frenzied digging, she felt a metal surface. She brushed the sand away and found a huge latch. It was an entrance—that much she was sure of.

  “See…” Gowdy said with bloodshot, tearing eyes. “I told you. There it is. The girl’s underground. I think she’s okay. I-I was gonna check on her today.”

  Miriam said nothing but kept her eyes locked on his. She walked over to him slowly. Her words were calm and measured. “So he shot my partner? He shot Deputy Lang, leaving his wife without a husband and his children without a father.”

  Gowdy’s eyes darted in all directions, panicking. “He didn’t mean to. The cop just got in his way.”

  “And again, you helped him.”

  “I had to!” Gowdy shouted out. “After all he’s done for me, I owe him. I was nothin’ before I met him. No one wanted me. He took me in. His family took me in, and they made me one of their own! Do you understand that? You understand what it’s like to be unwanted and unloved?”

  Miriam raised her pistol, aimed squarely for his head. He covered his face with his hands, shaking and crying out. “Do you understand what it’s like to be a terrified young girl?”

  “Please… I’m sorry,” Gowdy said. “Don’t shoot me!”

  She hesitated. Gowdy clenched his eyes shut, blubbering and crying. For a moment, she just stood there with her pistol aimed. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Her last bullet wasn’t for Gowdy. It was for Phil Anderson—the man responsible for it all. She lowered the pistol as his eyes slowly opened. His hands shook as he continued to shield his face. She looked down and noticed a ring of keys on his belt.

  “Are those for the bunker?”

  Confused and shaken, he lowered his hands. And looked down. “Yeah…” he sputtered. His legs twitched as he winced with every move.

  “Toss ’em here,” Miriam said, holding a hand out.

  Without a second thought, Gowdy reached down, unhooked the key ring from his belt, and tossed the keys inches from her shoes. She picked them up and walked toward him. His hands went back to his face as he pleaded with her not to shoot him. She ignored his cries and picked up the Uzi that was just out of his reach. She put her pistol in her pants pocket and took the clip out of the Uzi.

  She shook her head and looked at Gowdy, displaying the empty magazine. “Not a lot of good this is going to do you.”

  She swung her arm back and threw the magazine into the bushes while holding onto the Uzi. Gowdy looked at her, stricken with fear. He had no idea what she had planned next. She studied his pale, frightened face and then gave him an answer.

  “You better hope those girls are still alive.”

  “I’m sure of it!” he cried.

  She said nothing else and kneeled down next to the trapdoor, pulling it up by the handle. The door was heavy, nearly impossible to budge. She clenched her teeth and pulled again with all her might. Nothing mattered more. She pulled until the heavy door began to lift. She screamed out and used every last ounce of energy to get it open. Halfway there, she pushed it open on its hinges, and it slammed open onto the ground, exposing an underground tunnel leading straight down.

  “Down there,” Gowdy said, in a strained, exhausted voice. “That’s where they are.”

  She saw a ladder and began climbing down into the darkness. Her eyes took a while to adjust the farther down she went until finally she reached the bottom, where a door, set into a heavy frame, blocked the way. There was just enough light coming in from outside to let her see what she was doing.

  The thick metal door was locked, but she managed to fumble through the keys, trying each one, sometimes too hurriedly and having to try again. By the fifth key, the door unlocked with an almost magical-sounding click, and then she felt the door handle turning in her hand. She swung the door open and called out, her voice faltering and high pitched.

  “Hello? Is anyone in here?”

  She nearly tripped on a small battery-operated LED light that illuminated the long hallway, with its catacomb-like rooms arrayed off to the sides. She grabbed the lamp and walked down the hall.

  Each room was the size of a broom closet, with chains mounted to the wall and a small mattress on the ground. There were board games and toys everywhere. One of the rooms even had a tea set and table. The sight made her sick to her stomach.

  “I’m here to help you. My name is Miriam. You can come out now. The bad men have gone away.” She came to the last room on the left and saw a young girl crouched in a ball in the corner of the room, sniffling.

  Miriam stepped closer, inches from the girl. “It’s all right, honey. Don’t worry.”

  The girl looked up, beyond her matted hair, and backed farther into the corner, screaming.

  Miriam set the lamp on the ground. “It’s okay. My name is Miriam, and I’m going to get you out of here.”

  The girl looked up again, a little less afraid when she got a better look at Miriam.

  “I want my mommy…” she said, crying.

  “What’s your name, dear?” Miriam asked.

  “Emily,” she answered and wiped her eyes.

  Miriam swooped down and picked her up. Emily buried her face in Miriam’s chest and cried, her thin body shaking. She was wearing an old nightgown at least three sizes too big. Her feet were bare, and she was trembling. Miriam stroked her head repeatedly, trying to calm her as they made their way back toward the ladder, but first, there were other rooms to look into.

  “We’re going home, Emily,” she whispered. We’re going home.”

  With Emily in her arms, Miriam began searching the rooms on the other side. They had obviously been occupied at one time but now were empty, and she felt a sense of overwhelming defeat. One more room, and there in the corner, she saw another girl lying on a mattress. She was dressed in tattered pajamas and would not look up when Miriam called out. Her tangled hair went all the way down her back, beyond her waist. She made no movements. One arm was chained to the wall.

  Miriam set Emily down carefully on the ground, placing the lamp next to her. “Just give me one minute, honey. We’re about to leave. Just wait here.”

  Emily curled into a ball as Miriam crept into the small chamber, where she hoped and prayed that whoever was lying on the bed was still breathing. She lightly touched the girl’s back and could feel it rising and dropping. She looked to the young girl’s wrists. They were covered in cuts and bruises from metal clamps. Miriam dug furiously through her pockets for the keys. Pulling them out, she tried each one on the padlock that connected the chain to the clamp. Emily began crying again, causing Miriam to hurry and fumble.

  By the third key, she heard a click and opened the padlock. She removed the wrist clamp, tossing the chain aside, and gently helped the girl up. She could hear faint breathing. The girl’s face was dirty. Her skin looked ghost pale. Her long hair was a knotted tangle.

  The girl groaned. Miriam spoke softly, bringing her lips close to the girl’s ear. “My name is Miriam, and we’re getting you out of here.” She could feel the girl’s rib cage. She was sickly thin and malnourished. “Can you hear me?” Miriam continued.

  “Mm-hmm,” the girl moaned.

  “What’s your name?” Miriam asked.


  The girl paused, and faint breath came from her dry, blistered lips. “Jenny…”

  An overwhelming relief swept over Miriam, almost sending her onto the ground in tears. She couldn’t believe it. Finding both girls, nothing short of a miracle.

  She picked Jenny up, cradling her long, skinny body in her arms. “We’re going home, Jenny. Hang on.”

  She faced a dilemma: two girls and one set of arms. But Jenny’s condition was ten times worse than Emily’s.

  “Emily, can you stand and walk, honey?” she asked.

  Emily nodded between sobs.

  “Strong, brave girl,” she told her. Miriam took her hand and helped her up. She then picked up the lamp and walked to the exit with Jenny in her arms and Emily at her side.

  Miriam climbed the ladder, slowly and carefully, with Jenny in one arm, balanced on her hip, and hanging onto the lamp and the ladder with the other. Emily, now the strong girl Miriam had told her she was, gathered the strength to climb by herself. Miriam was behind her, helping her along. By the time they made it to the surface, Miriam had to shield Jenny’s eyes from the blinding light of the sun. They had all made it above ground. Miriam took a knee and set Jenny down, exhausted, her muscles shaking from the strain. She explained to both girls that they only had a little more to go.

  She stood up and noticed Gowdy watching them, cradling his legs in pain. “You’re-you’re not gonna leave me out here are you?” he asked. The color was completely gone from his face.

  “No,” Miriam said. “I’m going to tell them exactly where they can find you.”

  Gowdy’s head fell back to the ground. In his moment of delirium, he wasn’t sure what would be worse: facing the consequences and losing his pose as an innocent man persecuted by the system or simply dying. Either way, Miriam left him there to ponder his fate.