by Mark Mueller
“Tell you what,” Ducky offered. “Let’s just make a cursory look anyway. I don’t want to overlook anything.”
“All right,” I said. “But I think it would be better to just get the word out that Charlie’s missing. TV and radio, the Internet, everything. And we should be knocking on doors, too. Maybe someone saw something.”
“What do you think the Amber Alert is for?”
“You know as much as I do that Amber Alerts are a waste of time. Just like how we’re all standing here. I need to find her, Duck.”
Ducky put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me away from the others. “I’m with you, Mac, he assured. “We’ll find her. We’ll find the asshole who took her. Just let us do our jobs, okay?”
“All right,” I grunted. “I’m just stressed out, okay?”
“I know you are.” He turned and gave the four sheriff deputies their instructions, and they split up.
I went back to the Charger and headed to an unpaved parking area along the creek, about three miles from the parking lot. I tried to relax but couldn’t because I very much wanted a drink. I was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be before I relapsed.
What I didn’t understand was why I wanted to drink so much in the past few days. It was like my first year of sobriety all over again. At least then my desire to drink was understandable. But now, I was baffled. Why had it come back with a vengeance this time?
I didn’t want to admit that I already knew the answer: I had crossed paths with Maddy, and I was terrified I was going to screw things up again.
I made a note to call my AA sponsor and attend a meeting later on. In the meantime, I had to stay in control and stay focused. There wasn’t anything I could do for Maddy’s recovery. But at least I could try to find Charlie, which would do wonders for my own.
When I parked at my destination, I opened the Charger’s trunk where I always keep a pair of hiking boots and a pair of sneaks, along with a change of clothes for emergencies.
I hastily replaced my Timberlands with the hiking boots, and set off. I hadn’t been along this part of the Spruce Run Creek in years, but I had a vivid recollection of it because my father used to take my brother and me fishing up here when I was a kid. We used to come up here almost every weekend. And my brother and I used to go exploring up and down both sides of the creek.
That’s how I knew there were no shacks up here. Maybe there was a cabin or two, but I felt certain there were no shacks. And believe me, there’s a difference. The usual cabin was a well-kept living space. Shacks were nothing more than ramshackle temporary shelters that in bad weather folded up like a two-dollar suitcase.
I turned and walked south along a dirt path parallel to the eastern side of the creek. I carried the portable police scanner in my hand and observed both shores as I walked. My cell phone was turned on in my jacket pocket.
It was obvious that few people traveled this stretch of path, because I had to keep my hands up to avoid being poked in the eyes by tree branches and pricker bushes. I was glad to be wearing a jacket with long sleeves.
After about forty-five minutes of walking, I estimated that I had walked about two miles. I decided to turn around because I didn’t want to be too far away from the Charger if anything had developed. As I retreated back, I continued to observe my surroundings, and looked for anything I might have missed during my first pass through.
Finding nothing, I returned to the Charger. I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Even though I knew I wouldn’t find anything along the creek, I’d hoped to see something, anyway. I needed to get this over with.
I needed to find Charlie, now.
Chapter Thirty-Five
A moment later, I got my wish. As I was changing shoes back to my Timberlands, my portable scanner exploded with excited chatter. Roger Beck had discovered something about a mile and a half north of me. I listened to Ducky directing all officers to converge upon Beck’s location.
I put the hiking boots back on, and five minutes later I arrived at Beck’s location. I parked at a gravel turn-about behind Beck’s cruiser, and was out of the Charger almost before it had come to a complete stop.
“What did you see?” I huffed.
“I found something that could pass for a shack about a half mile from here,” Beck replied.
“Did you check it out?”
“No. I thought it would be best if the team investigated it together.”
“Which direction?”
“North.”
“I’ll meet you there.” I turned and started walking.
“Hold on,” Beck said. “Not yet.”
I turned around. “What?”
“You heard me. Wait until the detective gets here.”
I stood close enough in Roger Beck’s personal space that he took a step back.
“My daughter is missing, Beck,” I said. “We’re wasting time. I’m going to that shack or whatever it is, with or without you. Don’t get in my way.” I turned around and started walking.
Beck grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“Listen, you miserable little pissant,” he sneered. “I don’t care who you’re friends with. I told you to stay.”
“Who are you to talk to me that way?” I bristled. “It’s not your kid who’s missing.”
Beck turned around and ignored me until Ducky, Mike Sullivan, Mary Jo Peluce, and Tanya Chen arrived a few moments later.
“Detective,” Beck said to Ducky. “I am stating for the record that Louis McMurphy is a hindrance to this investigation.”
“Is that so?” Ducky answered.
“Yes,” Beck replied. “He should go home and let us do our jobs.”
“Denied. He stays. His daughter is missing and we could use his help.”
“Detective—”
“I said he stays, Mr. Beck. Now tell us which direction is the shack.”
Beck frowned. “I will report this, Detective.”
“Knock yourself out. We have work to do. Now tell us where is the damn shack.”
“About a half mile north. West side of the creek.”
“Thank you.” Ducky eyeballed each of us while he spoke. “Okay, once we’re in sight of the structure, I’ll give the signal to approach. Any questions?”
No one answered.
“All right. Let’s cook this turkey.”
We walked to the creek and followed the path north. Each of us was careful to watch our steps, and we tried not to make any noise. No one talked until we arrived at our destination.
“All right, this is what we’re going to do,” Ducky said as we formed a semi-circle around him. “I want Peluce, Sullivan and Beck to swing around to the far side of the structure and spread out. Chen and Mac, you’re with me. We’ll spread out along the near side. Once you’re in position, wait for my signal.”
Everyone split up and surrounded a structure that wasn’t much more than an odd shaped, four-sided shed. It was about fifteen feet by ten feet and constructed like a haphazard log cabin. Whoever built it was either in a terrific hurry or a dumbass, who didn’t know their ass from their elbow.
Once everyone was in position, Ducky signaled with his hands to everyone for a slow approach to the shack. As we converged, I noticed that each officer, including Ducky, had drawn their firearm. As a precaution I drew my pistol, too, but when Ducky saw me do so, he directed me to re-holster. I wasn’t sure why he wanted me to put the pistol away, but I did so without comment. Maybe it was because I wasn’t deputized and Ducky was just following departmental procedure. Or maybe it was because he wanted to keep me safe. Either way, I didn’t like it. I felt as though I was a sitting duck.
No pun intended.
Soon, each deputy was within five yards of the shack, all with firearms drawn.
“This is the sheriff’s department!” Ducky called out. “You are surrounded!”
I half expected Ducky to yell ‘come out with your hands up’ but he didn’t. I would have burst ou
t laughing if he had.
“Sheriff’s department!” Ducky bellowed again. “Open the door!”
No sound from the shack. Ducky motioned for everyone to close in. He and Chen stood on either side of the shack’s makeshift door. Sullivan, Peluce and Beck stood in front. Ducky nodded and Sullivan kicked the door open, and then in the same motion all five sheriff’s officers rushed forward.
“All clear,” Ducky called out a moment later.
I tried to look inside the shack but my view was blocked.
Ducky came out of the shack and looked at me. “Nothing.”
“What?” I yelped.
“It’s empty.”
“Nothing? No one was in there?”
“No, Mac. Nothing.”
“Damn it.” I walked away, frustrated.
“Mac,” Ducky said.
I didn’t answer.
“Mac!”
I turned around. “What?”
“We’ll find her.”
“I knew this would be a total waste of time.”
“I know how you feel.”
“Do you?”
“It’s tough, Mac, I know. But not every lead pans out. I’ve told you that before.”
I scoffed. “I’ve got to go.”
“Mac, the best thing you can do right now is to go home and get some rest.”
“How in the world am I supposed to rest? I can’t, not now. Not until we find her.”
“Mac—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Ducky, but don’t bother. I’m in way too deep now. I have to find her. I owe it to Maddy.”
We walked back to the gravel turn-about where we had parked our cars. Once we were there, Ducky dismissed the four sheriff’s deputies. He then turned back to me.
“I’m sorry, Mac.”
“It’s okay, Duck. It’s not your fault.”
“We’ll find her.”
“It’s been over twenty-four hours.”
“I know, but we won’t give up.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “What do we do now?”
“We keep looking. The Amber Alert is still in effect and has been activated in New York and Pennsylvania, too. Everyone’s searching.”
“Maybe we can get other county residents involved.”
“The sheriff is already organizing it.”
“Good. So what can I do to help?”
“Listen to me, Mac.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You need to go home and rest.”
I was dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Mac, you’re stressed out and you need to sleep. You won’t do her any good if you don’t sleep.”
I shook my head. “I’m too wired to sleep. I’ve got to keep going. I made a promise.”
“That’s admirable, but you need to let us do our jobs. Go home and get some sleep. I’m serious.”
Ducky’s cell phone rang and he looked at the caller ID.
“Hold on, I need to take this.” He turned and answered the phone.
* * * *
I went to the Charger, grabbed my Timberlands from the trunk and carried them to the driver’s side door. I sat down on the seat and changed out of the hiking boots. After I put the hiking boots back in the trunk, I called Beth Henry at the Bugler. She didn’t answer. I called her cell, which, once again, went straight to voicemail. I left her a fractious message to call me as soon as possible.
Ducky returned to me after his call had ended.
“Mac, when you got that FedEx envelope at your office, Beth Henry had already opened it, right?”
“No,” I said. “The envelope was sealed. Beth had just put it on my desk. I opened it myself.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“There was a partial thumb print on the index card inside that matched Beth Henry’s.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. Her thumb print was on the card.”
I was outraged. “That’s it. Beth is so fired.”
“I need to talk to her again.”
“You and me both.”
“She’s still at the Bugler?”
“No. I just tried calling her there, but she didn’t pick up.”
“What’s her cell number?”
I gave it to him. “She’s not answering.”
“Crap.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I’m going to go back to the Bugler.”
“What are you going to do there?”
“I don’t know, I’ll decide that when I get there.”
“Go home, Mac. Get some sleep.”
“I can’t, I’m too jumpy. I’ve got to let off steam.”
“All right, bro, do what you have to do. But when you see Beth Henry, tell her I want to talk to her. Better yet, if you see her, keep her there and call me, okay?”
“Will do. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good. And keep your scanner on, too.”
“Got it.” I turned and got into the Charger. I rolled down the window.
“Ducky?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you’re doing your best. Thank you.”
He smirked.
“What?” I asked.
“You know, this whole thing rates about a nine-point-seven on my weird crap-o-meter.”
I smirked. “Thanks, Duck. I needed that.”
“Anytime, bro.” He turned and went to his cruiser.
I rolled up the window and motorvated.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Fifteen minutes later I was at the Bugler’s office. The lights were off and the front door was locked. I wasn’t surprised. I was still irked that Beth would pull such a stunt with the FedEx envelope. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Why would she do such a thing? I treated her with complete respect. Granted, the Bugler was breaking even, but I couldn’t afford to give her a raise. Truth be told, I couldn’t give myself a raise, either. It was simple economics: bills had to be paid.
But even so, she shouldn’t have acted the way she did. If she wanted more money, there was nothing to stop her from going to the Ocean County Press or the Essex Daily News. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she decided to jump ship. But disappearing from her responsibilities and mouthing off to me was inexcusable. And telling me she had found the FedEx envelope under the front door when all along her thumb print was on the index card inside was mind-blowing. Why would she implicate herself in some bogus plan to distract me from finding Charlie?
No matter what her motivation was, she was no longer an employee of the Spruce Run Bugler as far as I was concerned. And I was going to make certain everyone was aware of what she had done. Everyone. From this point forward, Beth Henry was a pariah in the news media. I would see to it.
I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. I checked my email, but found no messages. I wasn’t surprised. I had been gone for only a couple of hours. I then opened up a new Word document and started writing. I documented everything that had happened over the past two days. I wanted Charlie’s disappearance and Maddy’s injuries to be made public. I wanted everyone in the county, no, everyone in New Jersey to know what had happened. My plan was not just to publish the story in the next edition of the Bugler but also in the online edition. Then, I was going to issue a news alert to all media outlets in New Jersey, New York City and Philadelphia. I didn’t care about writing an “exclusive” story. I needed to make sure the word got out that Charlie was somewhere out there and needed to be found.
Amber Alerts be damned.
I spent the next three and a half hours writing as fast and as accurate as I could. Unlike the police when they made statements to the public, I held back nothing. I explained everything in a clear and concise manner.
When I was done, it was just short of Cinderella time, and I had written almost four thousand words. Good thing I was done because I was starting to make typing mistakes.
I proofread what I had written as fast as I could and posted the story on
the Bugler website. I then attached it to a news alert directed at the Associated Press, the New Jersey Broadcaster’s Association and to all New York City and Philadelphia media outlets.
I rubbed my eyes. I could barely keep my eyes open, and wasn’t sure if I could drive home without running into a ditch. So, I leaned back on my chair and closed them. Perhaps forty winks would be enough to get me home without wrapping the Charger around a tree.
Within a couple of minutes, I was asleep. As I slept, I had a very unusual dream. In it, I was at the Phillipsburg Movieplex, watching a film all by myself. No one else was in the movie theater with me. The movie was a documentary about Gertie Machine and the tragedy surrounding her family. Everything about the tragedy was chronicled, from Gertie’s father abandoning the family, to the physical and mental abuse the Machine women suffered at the hands of Deke Snyder, and the ultimate outcome when Gertie killed him at his cabin. The dream was so vivid that it felt as if I had been an eyewitness. It would have made a terrific novel had the tragedy not happened. Sometimes truth was stranger than fiction.
* * * *
I opened my eyes and looked at the digital clock in the lower right-hand corner of my computer screen. It was four-thirty in the morning. I rubbed my eyes, and because of the dream, for a moment I was sure that I had just been at Deke Snyder’s cabin beside Spruce Run Creek.
I ached all over and knew right away that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, because my mind was already racing.
I immediately wished I hadn’t fallen asleep. Time was everything and I had to keep moving. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t find Charlie, and Maddy might not recover from the trauma she had experienced. Physically, I knew she would. The human body was resilient. But it was Maddy’s mental state that had me worried. Charlie was her world. And if Charlie wasn’t found, Maddy might not come back to mine.
I went over to the ancient Mr. Coffee machine and did my best to resituate it. Although I wasn’t a coffee drinker, I was thirsty, and none of the convenience stores in the area were open at four-thirty in the morning. I needed my caffeine and was grouchy without it.
