Now Katie was forty-eight and lived with her husband and her identical triplet daughters on Davis Island in Tampa, a neighborhood that was as safe as any neighborhood can be. Katie thought of how different her life might have been. Before Scott, she’d had only one serious boyfriend, Keith Franklin. She still shivered, remembering the vindictive note he’d sent her from prison when he’d found out that she’d married a white man. And there had been that out-of-the-blue e-mail from him about a month ago. Just the thought of that made her cringe. She’d immediately deleted it, purged it from her system, and blocked the sender. She’d been more annoyed than concerned, but now…Katie, I’ve changed. I need to be with you. I’ll leave my wife. I’ll take care of your daughters. All I think about is you —
“Sharon, can you remember them?” Katie asked, getting back to her family, needing to escape the shadow of Keith Franklin on her life.
“Not much about Dad,” Sharon said. “Even though I was seven when he died. You were only two. But, yes, I remember Anthony and Johnny. They used to tickle us until we cried. They had lots of friends. Johnny was always playing loud music.”
Katie rarely allowed herself to think about her brothers. Now that she was a mother, she couldn’t fathom the bottomless pain her mother must have endured. Losing a child had to be the ultimate in human suffering. Just the thought triggered in her a senseless rush of panic. Not healthy, she knew, as a professional. Her psychiatric training had required a round of psychoanalysis, but that was before she’d become a mother herself, before she’d had any inkling of the intensity of a mother’s love for her kids.
“Sharon, I’m getting scared.” Katie said, again checking the time. “They should be back by now. And where’s Mom? She shouldn’t be out so soon after her hip replacement.”
“She’s probably visiting neighbors. She is supposed to get some exercise. Maybe she walked the girls to the Dairy Queen. You know how Mom spoils the grandchildren. Their every whim —”
“So why aren’t they back?” Katie interrupted.
The sisters had migrated to the living room of Lucy’s house. Sharon with her feet propped up on the ottoman and Katie perched on the edge of the sofa ready to pounce should the front door open. As the baby of the family, Katie had been more indulged than her three sisters, and they were used to her mild displays of histrionics.
“I just wish she’d get the girls back soon. Scott’s flying back to Tampa from New York City tomorrow morning, and the girls and I have such an early flight out of Detroit. Naturally, Scott scheduled little league practice for them. He’s fanatic about their baseball. The only girls in the league, and he makes sure that they’re better than any of the boys — and I mean way better. And, I have to be back to testify in an ugly trial on Monday.”
“What’s up?” Sharon asked.
“Parental sexual child abuse. Dad’s guilty as hell. I’ll do my best to nail him, but the testimony of kids is always fragile. A guy with entitlement wealth. One of those narcissistic sociopaths. Charms the hell out of everybody. Anyway, he messed those kids up pretty bad.”
“My little sister, the child abuse expert. Who would have thought? You do so much good, Katie. Plus, admit it, you like the theatrics. You always did like to be in charge.”
“Give me a break. Growing up with three older sisters, I call it survival.”
“Any way about it, you’ve got the best of all worlds, medicine and law. Or maybe the worst, considering the scum of the earth you put away, but it has to beat labor law. I get to spar with teamsters all day long.”
“It does feel good to get back into the swing of practice,” said Katie, positioning herself at the window. “I took too much time off when the girls were born. Once they started school, I lost my excuse.”
“Seriously, those kids you protect — I know much of it is pro bono.”
Katie got up and resumed her pacing, trying to stop her eyes from blinking the way they always did when she was scared. Sharon was right about the worst of humanity. She dealt with the scum — assaults on kids: physical, sexual, emotional. How could such horrors not make her overprotective of her children? That, and the ever-lingering fear of racial prejudice that her daughters might ultimately face. Racial prejudice comes in so many flavors, how well she knew that.
“We learned so much from Mom,” Katie said. “She worked hard to get our values right.”
“She worked hard for her clients, too. And for us. Imagine what it must have taken to send us all to Saint Mary-of-the-Woods Academy.”
The phone rang and Katie ran to grab it.
“Scott?” Katie breathed a sigh that bordered on relief. She and Scott had one of those mutually supportive relationships where just the sound of each other’s voice brought comfort.
“Scott, the girls are still out with Mom and Danielle,” Katie rushed to say, twisting the phone cord. “We have such an early flight in the morning —”
“Katie —”
Katie failed to breathe as Scott told her that the police were looking for Sammie and Alex at the mall. That Lucy, Danielle, and Jackie were there. That everything would be okay. That he was on his way from New York City to Detroit. That he’d chartered a plane. That the police would be there soon to —
When Katie did take a breath, it came out as a gasp, followed by a muffled scream as she dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor. In an instant, Sharon was at her side, but by then Katie was on her knees, scrambling for the phone, moaning, “No, no, no.”
Sharon grabbed the phone first. “Scott? What is it? What did you tell her?”
Sharon listened as she stood, then whispered, “Danielle?”
Katie, on her feet now, tried to grab the phone.
“Thank God,” Sharon breathed deeply. Then she said, “Yes, Scott, I’ll stay with Katie. What should we do? Go to the mall? Wait here? Oh, pray to God that this is all a mistake. I mean, what do you mean, missing? Couldn’t they be lost in the mall? Maybe in one of those arcades? An ice cream shop? Something safe, innocent?”
“My flight is getting ready to take off,” Scott said. “A police car will take you and Katie to the mall.”
Sharon stepped back, shaking her head from side to side as she handed the phone to her sister.
“Scott, what should I do?” Katie’s voice trembled as did her whole body.
The doorbell rang, followed by pounding, and Sharon opened the door.
Katie turned to find a fresh-faced police officer standing at the door, hat in hand. “The police are here, Scott. Please hurry.” She grabbed her purse and rushed out of the door into the waiting squad car.
CHAPTER 3
Yankees Sweep Mets: 15–0.
— Evening Sports, Sunday, June 14
It was nine thirty when Scott sprinted into the conference room at the Hills Mall, headed for Katie, and pulled her into his arms. Except for the movie complex and three restaurants, the shops in the mall were closed. By then every nook and cranny had been searched by both human and canine species. The girls had been missing for six hours and maybe as long as eight and a half. Hundreds of shoppers and clerks had been interviewed. Pictures of the Monroe girls were being circulated. The parking lots and the surrounding commercial areas were being canvassed. The media had gotten wind of the story and the mall was under the siege of camcorders, bright lights, reporters on alert. Nothing had gone out on the six o’clock news, but if the girls were not located within the next half hour, Early News at Ten would lead with the story.
Clarence Plummer, director of mall security, had hit the panic button early, and as it turned out, appropriately so. Local police, Oakland County sheriffs, and Michigan state police were now crawling all over one another. They were waiting on the FBI. Scott Monroe, still wearing a Yankee jersey with navy pin stripes on white, had to bully his way through clusters of them to get to his wife, athleticism and brute force serving him well despite his police escort. He’d been met by the state police at the airport and briefed en route to the Hills Ma
ll. The whereabouts of two of his daughters was simply unknown.
“Scott, they still haven’t found them!” Scott felt Katie’s body shudder as he held her in a crushing embrace.
“I’m sorry it took me so long.” Scott’s naturally loud voice seemed to boom. “I needed to be here with you.” Scott ran his hand over Katie’s hair, something he did whenever he was upset and needed her near him.
“Where could they be?” Katie said through tears. “I just keep asking myself. Over and over, where could they be? They’d never go off with a stranger. After all we’ve taught them? But then how? Did someone force them? Just take them? The head security man found a lady who thinks she saw them near the fountain by the movie theater, but she got distracted by her own kids and didn’t see where they went. She didn’t see them leave the mall. Other than that one lady, the police haven’t been able to find any witnesses, so maybe they’re okay.”
“Babe, where is Jackie?” For the first time Scott glanced around the room. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, I mean, no. Mom took her to the restroom. Scott, she blames herself. She and Sammie got into an argument about which movie they wanted to see. So Danielle let them split up. Danielle and Jackie. Sammie and Alex.”
“What about Danielle?” Scott asked in a near whisper.
“She’s distraught, blaming herself. Everybody’s blaming themselves, including me, for going off to that lunch. Letting this happen.”
Scott tipped Katie’s chin up so he could look into her eyes. “Katie, promise me, no blames. We can’t blame anybody, including ourselves. Hell, I ought to have come with you to Detroit.” With a handkerchief, he wiped fresh tears off her cheek.
“Dr. Monroe. Mr. Monroe, I’m glad you got here so soon.” A man with an authoritative voice appeared at the door.
Still holding Katie close, Scott turned.
“Special Agent Streeter, Tony Streeter, FBI.” A man of Scott’s height and build and age stuck out his hand. Streeter wore the predictable dark navy suit, a starched white shirt with a maroon striped tie, and smartly polished shoes. The ramrod straight stride, no nonsense crew cut hair, and a steel glint in his blue eyes projected an aura of competence that Scott found reassuring.
Scott reached to shake Streeter’s hand.
“Sorry to meet under these circumstances, sir,” his tone urgent, but polite. “I’m the agent charged with finding your children. Let me be up front. We suspect they’ve been kidnapped.”
Scott felt Katie sag at his side. He tightened his hold, waiting for Streeter to continue, wanting to hear more, but aching to see Jackie. To see for himself that she was okay.
“Time is of the utmost importance. We need to go over every possible angle with you. We have Dr. Monroe’s statement.” A deferential nod to Katie. “But I want to review everything with both of you.”
“I understand, Agent Streeter,” Scott said, but my wife and I need a few moments with our daughter.
“Understood,” said Streeter. “But quickly, please.”
The mall manager had secured a secluded conference room for Lucy, Danielle, and Jackie. He’d sent in sandwiches wrapped in plastic, a variety of chips, and soft drinks. As Scott and Katie stepped inside, they all rose, one by one, and exchanged silent hugs. All except Danielle, who hung back. When Scott went to her, the sobs she tried to muffle poured out, “Uncle Scott, I’m so sorry. If only I hadn’t left them.”
“None of that, Danielle.” Scott gathered her in his arms. “No blame, promise me?”
Danielle nodded, but didn’t stop crying. Then Scott felt a tug on the pocket of his pants.
“Dad, you have to find Alex and Sam. Mom’s really scared and so am I.”
Scott bent down to pick up Jackie as if she were a toddler. She looked so fragile in her butterfly outfit, trimmed in blue. So alone without her sisters. His girls were always together. Had never spent a night without each other. Although he and Katie kept promising to let each of them, independently, spend a night with a friend, so far they hadn’t. Much to Jackie’s chagrin, she, ever the agitator for more independence.
“Everything will be okay, Jackie,” Scott promised, praying that he was right. “I am so glad to see you, honey. I was worried about you, too.”
“When Danielle and I came out of the movie, they never showed up. The policemen and a nice policelady asked me questions, and I told them the truth. Even though I had to say some things about Sammie — like how she’s naughty a lot.”
“Jackie, you were so helpful,” Katie said, leaning heavily into Scott as he held Jackie in his arms.
“Honey, the FBI have to talk to Mom and me,” said Scott, “so you can go home with Grandma. Okay?”
“Scott,” Katie said, turning her face to his, “I think that Jackie should stay with us. For now, until we know more.”
“I know everything about Sammie and Alex,” Jackie said. “I want to stay here, with you.”
“Tell you what,” Scott said, setting Jackie down. “If the police have a question, they can call you at Grandma’s.”
“Okay,” Jackie said, “but you and Mom just gotta find them. They must be so scared. Especially Alex.”
“You say your prayers,” Scott said, kissing Jackie on the top of her head as Lucy stepped forward to take her hand.
Katie took Jackie’s other hand, gently tugging the child toward her. “She wants to stay with us, and I think it’s best.”
Lucy released her granddaughter’s hand with a sad shake of her head. Scott knew his mother-in-law well. She did not approve, but she was not going to interfere.
On his way to Detroit, alone in the cabin of the chartered plane, Scott had racked his brain. Why would two of his daughters go off on their own? They were sensible nine year olds. He and Katie had always kidded about Sam’s wild streak, but compared to other girls her age, Sam was well behaved and trustworthy. And Alex? Alex personified the obedient and loving child. He and Katie sometimes worried that she was too compliant.
Scott could not even contemplate a life without their three daughters. He and Katie had both been thirty-eight years old and married thirteen years before their daughters were born. He, a professional baseball player, a catcher for the Yankees, until a catastrophic collision at home plate and two cracked vertebrae in his neck ended his career. He’d been twenty-nine years old and devastated. He’d dedicated his whole life to baseball. But in the end, that fanaticism and his popularity with the players landed him a job with the Yankees as manager of spring training operations at George M. Steinbrenner, formerly Legends Field, in Tampa. Over the years, his popularity had not waned as he’d become a sports media personality. When baseball commentary was required, Scott Monroe was the favorite go-to expert. The reason he was in the Bronx today was to moderate the ESPN pregame show for the much touted subway series between the Yankees and the Mets.
But much more important than baseball to Scott had always been Katie. He’d met her during her medical school surgical rotation when she’d diagnosed his hernia. She’d just ended a long-term relationship, and after their first date, a Detroit Tigers baseball game, he’d known that she was the woman for him. Neither had a problem with the concept of an interracial marriage, and they married a year later. Now, Katie was a forensic pediatric psychiatrist in Tampa. They lived on Davis Island in Tampa and, to their eternally incredulous delight, were parents of nine-year-old triplets. Even more incredulous, the triplets were identical. Identical triplets, conceived without the aid of fertility treatments; the chances of that, an astounding one in two hundred million pregnancies.
Wherever they went, the girls attracted attention. “Are they triplets?” “Are they identical?” “Do multiples run in the family?” “Did you have fertility treatments?” and on and on until Katie and Scott would just laugh and say, “Yes, yes, no, no.”
Neither Scott nor Katie minded these questions, but they’d always been wary that their daughters attracted attention in another sense, too. Scott, of European descent
was six foot two, muscular, with light, freckled skin, hazel eyes, crew cut brown hair, and a brilliant toothy smile. Katie, an African American, was trim at five foot five, with shoulder-length black hair, creamy dark brown skin, brown eyes, and a gleaming smile. They realized that they were a handsome, but unusual, couple and they’d adopted a nonplussed attitude as they accepted as inevitable the omniscient stares and double takes when they were out and about with their three identical little girls whose skin tones exactly blended Scott and Katie’s. But as complacent as Katie was about attracting attention, she was adamant about not letting the girls out of her sight. She’d seen enough atrocities to convince her that evil can lurk beneath a thin veneer of assumed innocence.
Agent Streeter was waiting for the Monroe parents in a small office off the mall manager’s suite. Head bowed, he massaged his temples, trying to dispel the irrational. Two nine-year-old girls were missing. How would he react if they were his? How could he comfort Marianne? Or were the missing girls’ parents somehow involved? Too many times things were not as they seemed. Too many times with missing children the parents had been implicated. He tried to recollect details of the Madeleine McCann case, the four-year-old British girl who had gone missing while vacationing in Portugal several years ago. Her parents had been considered suspects, of that he was quite sure. He even recalled the Portuguese term, they’d had arguido status.
A knock at the door and Streeter jumped up, smoothing his wiry crew cut, straightening the maroon striped tie, not bothering to button the suit jacket. He was facing two choices. Step up his fitness program or move up to size forty. He acknowledged the Monroes politely, noting that Scott still had that athletic build, lean and buff, the look he used to have back when Streeter and Marianne were still together. Back before a steady diet of junk food.
And Then There Was One Page 2
