Spanky put his shoe back on, stood to cross the room, and leaned over Alex. “I’m puttin’ her in the car. You load up a few things. Food, as much as you can, cause we’re not gonna be stoppin’ to eat.”
“I was gonna go out and get gas, but —”
“I’ll siphon some out of my truck. That’ll get us far enough. And I’ll muddy up your license plate. Now, hurry, if that little bitch gets help, you’re in a pile of shit.”
Spanky knew that kidnapping was a federal crime. And this kidnapping was national news. But how could he betray his own mother? She might be crazy, but she’d always protected him. Didn’t he owe her the same loyalty? And the feel of this little girl in his arms was nothing less than exhilarating.
CHAPTER 44
Heavy Rain Forecast.
— Six o’clock News, Detroit Metropolitan Area, Friday, June 19
Sammie knew that he’d come back after her and she knew that her only chance was to hide from him. If he found her, he and his horrible mother would lock her up. She didn’t want to leave Alex alone, but she figured her only chance to save her sister was to find somebody who would help them. But how in this dark, scary place?
She couldn’t find the road, so she decided she had to move deeper into the wooded area. It was very dark now and she was soaked from the steady rain. Once in a while she’d stop under a big tree, where the rain couldn’t get through the branches, but once the thunder and lightening started, she got even more scared. She knew that in a storm you were supposed to stay away from trees. She couldn’t remember why, but growing up near Tampa, the lightning capital of the world, her science teacher told them that rubber was good. Like when you were in a car, the tires would protect you. Well, there was nothing rubber out here. Only tall, dangerous trees. And the barking she had heard had turned to howling. Probably a whole pack of wild dogs.
Sammie had no choice but to keep going. Now she just wanted to get out of the woods. It was dark enough that she didn’t need the trees to hide her. Unless he came back with a flashlight. She was weighing the risk of lightning and the trees against the man with a flashlight when she saw the shadow of a building. She went back to the edge of the clearing and carefully worked her way forward. She could barely make out the outline of a two-story house. With the aid of a dim light inside the front door, she could see a large porch across the front. But that was the only light on in the house. Again, Sammie wondered if there was something wrong with her eyes. She backed up to get a better look and then she circled the outside of the house. In the back she noticed that she was stepping on smooth mushy ground, and she bent over to touch it. It felt like wet grass, cut just the way her dad liked it. When she straightened back up, she felt a bang against her head.
Her heart plunged. The man must have found her. She reached up to touch her head, holding her breath, waiting to be grabbed. But nothing happened. She stood perfectly still, noticing for the first time that the rain had stopped, and that the moon was starting to show though the clouds. Then she saw a frame in front of her. She still could not trust her eyes and she carefully reached out in front of her. Her hand encountered a smooth, wet pipe. Sammie let her hand explore the pipe, which extended all the way to the ground and up as far as she could reach. She slowly turned all the way around. No one seemed to be there. No breathing, only the barking. She thought it sounded louder now.
When she turned back, Sammie almost gasped in recognition. What she’d been touching was a swing set. She could see the outline now. They must have kids. They had to be good people. Hope poured out as she quickly retraced her steps to the front door. Pounding on it with one fist, she rang the doorbell with her other hand. She pushed and pushed and pounded and pounded with no response from within. Inside, the long narrow window pane beside the door was covered by a sheer panel, but there was a dim light on inside. In desperation, she pounded on the door, trying to open it, but it was locked.
Maybe there was a door in the back. Running around the house, she found one. Locked. Looking around, she saw the patch of grass and the lone swing set. All around it was woods. Except for the dirt driveway. But it would lead to the street. Before she’d been looking for the street, but now that she’d had time to think, she rationalized that that’s where that man would be looking.
Sinking to her knees, Sammie realized that she’d have to hide in the woods in the dark. At least until morning, but she was so afraid of the woods — of wild animals and snakes and devils. She would never admit her fears to anyone — especially not Alex or Jackie — but afraid she was. Especially about devils. Sammie knew that she was naughty and she told lies and was sometimes mean to Jackie and Alex. And now the devils were even more scary because this was all her fault. They wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped if she hadn’t insisted on going to Night at the Museum when they were supposed to go to Star Trek.
Petrified, Sammie righted herself and crept around the side of the house, heading back to the scary woods. At least it had stopped raining and there was no more lightning to worry about. But then she noticed something. Lined up against the house were three large trashcans. With the half-moon now exposed, she could tell that they were dark green. She peeked inside each one. The first two were crammed full of those white plastic trash bags. But the last one was not full. On the bottom was smelly garbage that was not wrapped in plastic bags.
Sammie stood there, hugging herself. Her shorts and her shirt were still drenched, and it was getting colder. Checking to make sure that the cuts on her arms had stopped bleeding, she made her decision. She lifted the cover of that last can again. “Ick. Disgusting,” she said aloud, changing her mind, replacing the lid, turning again for the woods.
As she reached the edge of the trees, she heard something move in the bushes. Something big. Something very scary. She froze. Wild animals?
Quietly, she tiptoed back to the garbage cans. If only she could get inside one and hide. She didn’t care how smelly they were. Maybe it would be warmer inside. And if the lightning started again, she’d be safe in rubber. But how could she get inside? If she tipped the can over, she could crawl in, but then an animal could get inside, too, in the middle of the night.
For the first time since she escaped, Sammie started to cry. She slumped down against the house. Why couldn’t these people be home? She’d tell them to call the police and get Alex out of that house. Then her hand touched something cold and metal. A stepladder she realized, just like Mom used to get up into the top shelves where she stored the flower vases. She pulled it out just when a very loud sound that sounded like the howl of a wolf made her shake all over.
Sammie knew what she had to do. In one quick movement she jerked the ladder up. She had no trouble setting it up beside the partly empty trash can. Then she grabbed the green plastic cover placing it over her head as she scrambled up the ladder. Holding her breath, she jumped inside the smelly, squishy can. With the lid still held over her head, she dropped it loosely over the top to give herself enough air. The stench of rotting meat and vegetables filled her nostrils and she immediately vomited all over her legs and shoes. But it was dark inside, too dark to see the fat white maggots crawling all over her as she sank into her own vomit and the putrid garbage.
CHAPTER 45
Detroit Tigers Defeat the Milwaukee Brewers 10–4; Yankees over Marlins 5–1.
— Sports Nightly News, Friday, June 19
Late in the day, Scott left the FBI field office exhausted from nonstop brainstorming for any possible Yankee connection to the ransom note. After poring over hundreds of names, he was more disillusioned than ever. He’d always been well liked, he’d advanced many careers, and in cases where he’d had to make tough decisions, he’d made them with compassion and fairness. At least that’s what he’d always thought. At the end of five grueling hours, they’d identified fifteen individuals with whom he’d had some degree of dissention and who had some connection to the Detroit area: two Detroit Tigers players, four women who’d had administrative po
sitions with the Yankee organization, and a mix of players from the minor and major leagues.
The exercise had uncovered no serious confrontations; all were employment terminations, four based on use of illegal drugs, two based on breaches of moral conduct, the others either poor performance or unfortunate redundancies. Of the fifteen, Scott could not imagine any of these individuals capable of kidnapping. But Streeter had seemed encouraged, saying that by noon tomorrow, all would be thoroughly investigated.
Back at the hospital, the first thing he noticed when he walked into Jackie’s room was a hopeful smile on Katie’s face. As he sunk into the chair next to her, he immediately reached for Jackie’s hand. This time he was sure, he’d felt the slightest pressure of a squeeze.
He had intended to call Streeter back and propose that he add one more person to the list, a blond, curly haired guy, Cliff Hunter. The guy whose face had kept popping up, but whose name he had not been able to remember until now.
“Please, Spanky, look a little longer. We must find Jessica. I need them both.”
Spanky carried Alex over his shoulder as if she were a toddler. “We ain’t got time to waste,” he said as he leaned over to unlock the trunk.
“Spanky. No. You can’t put Jennifer in the trunk.”
Marge had followed Spanky out. She was beside herself. How could they leave Jessica here? Hadn’t God meant her to have both her twins back?
“She can’t breathe in there, and we have to find Jessica first.”
“Get that food, like I told you. Hurry the fuck up. We gotta get outta here quick.”
“No,” Marge pulled at Spanky’s arm as he laid Jennifer in the moldy trunk. “She can’t breathe back there.”
“Yes, she can, Ma. Don’t be stupid. There’s plenty of room back here for her and for the supplies you’re supposed to be packin’.”
It pissed Spanky off when Ma called those girls the names of the dead babies. Ma was crazy. But crazy enough to believe that the brownskinned Monroe sisters were her dead twin babies?
As he filled Ma’s tank from his own truck, Spanky thought of how lucky he was. He could fix any vehicle. He was strong and tough. Didn’t take crap from no one. And goddamn it, he was smart. Didn’t matter that he got mostly Fs before he dropped out of school when he was seventeen. Street-smart trumped book-smart every time. How else could he be skimmin’ off the top. Not enough that his asshole boss would notice. But enough to keep him and his ma “comfortably,” as they say.
And now the pleasant prospect of his own little girl. In his mind he’d been calling her “Precious”. Spanky interrupted the siphoning just long enough to pat his wallet where the key was tucked away. He wasn’t dumb enough to put his cash in the bank. And now — beyond his wildest imagination — ransom for the kid. But only after he had a foolproof plan. Yes, he’d have Precious and the money. As for Ma, he’d take care of her, too.
But they had to get a move on. Any minute now the runaway bitch might bring down the heat.
“Ma,” he yelled, “get the fuck in the car.”
“I’m making sandwiches,” she called from within.
“Just stuff the shit in a plastic bag and let’s get out here.”
Marge came to the door, arms full of plastic bags. “Oh, oh, it’s raining,” she said, dumping the bags in a heap by the door. “I’ll get an umbrella.”
Spanky stomped toward the door and picked up the heap of crap. “What you got in there?”
Marge held the umbrella out to him and she turned back inside.
“Just get in the fucking car.” Spanky followed her to the kitchen. What was she doing? Making tea sandwiches? Grabbing a green garbage bag, he swept the bread, the slices of meat and cheese, the bottle of mayo inside. He opened the cupboards and stuffed two more bags with the contents of the refrigerator and the pantry. Then he bolted for the front door. No use locking it. The cops would be swarming soon. No two ways about it.
“What the fuck —” Spanky looked down at Marge trudging up the basement steps arms full of pillows and bedding with a teddy bear about to fall out of the load.
He set down his bags and grabbed the shit out of her arms. “Ma, just get in that front seat.” Going around to the trunk, he shoved a Sleeping Beauty comforter, a pillow, and a fucking teddy bear in with the kid.
“That’s Sammie’s teddy,” the kid whimpered. “Mine is brown. The gray one is hers.”
Spanky shook his head. “Sorry, Precious.” Then he slammed the trunk shut.
One more trip to retrieve the bags of food, which he threw into the backseat, and he started up the Escort’s engine.
“Know what, Ma? I was gonna take you lookin’ for a new car this weekend.” He laughed over the sputtering of the engine. “Was kiddin’ about a Porsche.” As he backed down the long drive, he reached over to lightly punch Marge’s shoulder. “But know what? A Porsche it’s going to be.”
“I forgot to lock the door,” Marge responded.
Shit, she hadn’t even been listening.
In the Detroit field office, Streeter was on his feet shouting orders. “All available agents to the thirteen hundred block of Parker Road, Holly. People, this may be it!”
His driver had the car ready to roll when Streeter hopped in, clutching his radio. When Clarence Plummer called about that guy who’d dropped by the mall, the FBI team had readily located the report that had come in three days ago, the delivery of twin beds to a specific address. They had the name and address of the woman who had called in and the report of the local police officer who had checked out the address of the delivery. No one had been at home at the residence, and a neighbor told the police officers that the woman who lived there had left for work like she did every day. End of story.
Now, Streeter and Camry headed directly to the address of the informant, after requesting SWAT team readiness at the Parker Road address.
The Talbotts were waiting for them on their front porch in the Detroit suburb of Fenton. Empty-nesters who’d held a yard sale after deciding to convert their son’s bedroom into a room for a computer and a treadmill. The missus couldn’t contain a heavy dose of smug as she confirmed that when she’d heard of the missing Monroe girls she’d become suspicious of a woman who’d purchased twin beds that day, the day after the girls had gone missing. Because the woman was clueless as to how to get the beds to her house, let alone reassemble them, she’d suggested that her husband deliver them in his truck and set them up for an extra twenty dollars. The deal was made. Eighty dollars. Paid in cash.
“Something about that woman made me suspicious,” Mrs. Talbott said. “When I found out she had them put up in her basement, I told my husband that I was going to call the FBI. That was Monday, five days ago already.”
“Did you see any trace of the Monroe girls?” Streeter asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“Not them, that’s for sure. But all kinds of girl stuff. Dolls, you know. And a Kmart bag with girlie sheets and pillow cases. Like Disney characters stuff. No crime in that, but my wife —”
“Did you hear anything suspicious?”
“Not that I can be sure, but I told my wife I heard some scratching sounds like I was afraid the basement was full of mice and it wouldn’t be a good place for anybody to sleep.”
“So I set up two beds in the basement,” Mr. Talbott said. “So what? And the old lady calls in the feds. I hadda good laugh with my buddies over a few beers. I’m guessing you guys had a few chuckles too, but I’ll be dammed. When I saw that face in the newspaper, I said first thing, ‘It’s her, the lady with the beds in the basement.’ Said her name was Maggie Wise. I figured you’d ask about her car. A maroonish-brown Ford Escort. Ninety-four or ninety-five. License plate number ended in forty-eight. Year I was born.”
“You didn’t call the FBI?”
“Decided to report it to that Plummer security guy at the mall. He seemed real sincere about finding those girls when I saw him on television that first day.”
“I told him to call the FBI,” Mrs. Talbott said, “but he said that he’d rather deal with the mall. Can’t blame him after what happened to me. Nobody did a darn thing. And those poor little girls. Oh, and what about the reward?”
Streeter didn’t have time to defend the agency or get into the reward. He needed to get to Parker Road.
Streeter’s radio buzzed. “We got the name for that address, sir. Spansky. Margaret Spansky owns the property. We’ll have a vehicle check real soon.”
“Not Wise?” She’d identified herself to the Talbotts as Wise. “Confirm the Gladsky composite sketch with the neighbors. Clear the proximate neighborhood. No tip-offs until SWAT’s in place. And send somebody over to secure the Talbotts until this plays out.”
Streeter felt his heart exploding. Five days, and now a big lead. Stay calm, he warned himself. Those girls could be anywhere by now.
At nine thirty p.m. the drive from Fenton to Holly was fifteen minutes. Streeter proceeded to the Holly address. Once there, he and his agents would stand back and wait for SWAT to take over the house. That’s what SWAT was trained to do and do it well. But Streeter would be first on the scene once they had the suspects contained and, most important, those two little girls safe and sound. Streeter couldn’t help thinking how proud his own daughters would be knowing that he’d found Alex and Sammie Monroe.
Amid constant radio chatter, Streeter directed his driver to pass by the suspect’s address in their unmarked car. Slowly, but not so slow as to attract attention.
“I can’t make out anything through those trees,” he muttered. “No light. Nothing.”
Agent Camry called in the status. “SWAT’s fifty minutes from attack. They’ll surround on foot. They have vehicular backup and emergency medical. Helicopter coverage. The works.”
“I just did a drive-by on the rutted dirt road. I couldn’t see shit.”
And Then There Was One Page 22
