The Abducted: Odessa

by Roger Hayden

  The Hunt

  Miriam raced through downtown to the auto parts store three blocks ahead. She had managed to pass every intersection with ease, just as each traffic light turned yellow. Now with each clue, the messages seemed to direct her closer to some kind of answer, or so she hoped.

  She was certain that whomever had composed the messages had no intention of being caught. No one would willingly give themselves up in such a manner. The man was most likely leading her into a trap. There seemed no other plausible reason for the letters in the first place, but she wasn’t going to allow him to get the better of her.“Whatever you find here, take it to the station,” she said to herself.

  She hadn’t felt the thrill of a pursuit in a long time. Her desk job with the Family Investigation Unit had protected her from field work. As her heart raced with anticipation, she realized that she had missed the thrill of pursuit for some time.

  For the first time in the past year, she felt alive and unafraid—an emotion more refreshing than any counseling session could ever provide. She was going to catch the man behind the letters. With only a few days left in Odessa, it was all that mattered.

  Miriam slowed at an intersection as Johnson’s Auto Parts came into view. The small building was on her left, in a sandy lot with the mountains silhouetted in the background. She turned at the green traffic arrow and pulled into the front of the store, where a few cars were parked.

  The Crown Victoria idled as she took a moment to think. The man could be close by. He could even be waiting inside the store for her, but such a scenario seemed hard to believe. She sent Hayes a text message, promising that she wouldn’t be much longer. It was mostly true. She just didn’t mention her last stop before doing so. Her phone then vibrated with Hayes’s speedy reply:

  Get back here already.

  Angry, just as she expected. She knew that she was pushing it but didn’t want give up yet. She was getting somewhere. The car pinged as she opened the door and stepped outside, carefully looking all around her for anyone watching.

  She grabbed the flyer, stuck it in her pocket, and as she shut the car door. She approached the store onto a sidewalk, leading to the front door. A bell sounded from above the door as she walked in, eager to investigate. The store had a few customers strolling the aisles, and no one looked her way. There was a clerk at the front counter, a teenager searching through the tail light rack, and a father and son walking down the oil aisle.

  Rather than immediately talking to the clerk, Miriam circled the aisles to make sure that she was safe. She then went down an aisle of car parts, stopping at a hanging three-ring binder with a book inside as thick as a phone book. An idea came to her in line with what she had strategized in the car. She opened the book and scanned the muffler section, where various numbers corresponded with vehicle models.

  She came across 811VKQ, the same alphanumeric digits written on the back of the flyer, and then located a muffler for a Datsun 510, the very classic model she had envisioned. The connection was clear. All she needed now was an address.

  Was the kidnapper willing to give himself up so easily? There had to be a catch. Miriam made note of the muffler type, scrawling the item number into her pocket notepad. She approached the front counter and took a deep breath.

  The skinny clerk looked up from his magazine as Miriam approached with her best smile.“How can I help you today?” he asked.

  Miriam handed him the torn piece of paper with the item number on it. “I’d like to see if you have this muffler in stock. It’s for my husband’s Datsun.”“I’m sure we do. It’s a popular model. Let me just take a quick look in our system and I’ll let you know.” He typed quickly on the keyboard of the outdated computer on the counter as Miriam patiently waited. She could see the green digits of the computer monitor reflect onto his glasses. He nodded with a smile and told her that they had the part in stock.“How much is it?” she asked.“Forty-nine ninety-nine,” he responded. “Would you like me to get it?”

  Miriam hesitated a moment, thinking. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I only came here to check to see if you had one in stock. Does your store deliver?”“Yes, ma’am. We do.”“Can you look to see if my address is in your system?” she asked.“Sure,” the clerk said while trying to mask his slight confusion. “What’s your phone number?”

  Miriam felt her pockets and gave a look of panic. “Darn it. It would be my husband’s number probably. I don’t remember. If I had my cell phone on me…”“Okay, what’s your husband’s name?” the clerk asked, clearly trying to get things moving along as another customer approached and stood behind Miriam.“Walter Browning,” Miriam said, her voice lowered. She looked behind her only to find the teenager standing there and scrolling on his cell phone.

  The clerk typed quickly and leaned closer to the screen as though he had found something. Miriam grew ecstatic upon seeing a faint address reflected in his glasses. “I have… 2051 Alamo Drive. Is that correct?”“Sure is,” Miriam said.

  The clerk tapped on the desk and looked at Miriam for direction. “So, would you like us to ship the part, or did you want to go ahead and pick it up today.”“I’m sorry,” Miriam said, appearing flustered. “Walter wanted me to check on muffler prices, but he didn’t say whether he wanted me to get it. I guess that’s why he always comes here instead.”“That’s quite all right,” the clerk said, with a look of relief that their business was coming to an end clear on his face. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”“That’s all. Thanks, and sorry for the confusion.”“No problem at all.”

  Miriam turned and let the teenager step up with his purchase. She scanned the store on her way out, half expecting her suspect to jump out at her at any moment. Did he plan on her figuring out the address, or were the digits provided meant to further confuse her? Either way, she felt like she had the pieces she needed to close in on her mysterious pen pal and end the entire ordeal.

  She looked out the store windows for any new vehicles nearby or someone watching her from a distance. Traffic cruised along past the store at a steady rate, with no one seeming to watch the store. She felt safe enough to walk outside, even though he could be near.

  What would he think when she drove to the address? Would she find anything at the house of Walter Browning? A thought suddenly occurred to her that her suspect, whoever he was, could very well be pushing her in the direction of an innocent man.

  It was at times like this that Miriam felt she could use some guidance from the detectives, her supervisor, or even Lou, but she felt alone and without options. She had gotten too far to simply turn back, feeling both trepidation and excitement at what she would find. “Just go to the address first, and call for back up from there,” she said to herself while exiting the store.

  The car engine hummed as Miriam backed out of her parking spot, keeping a careful eye on her surroundings. If she got even the slightest hint that she was being followed, she would return to the station, but as she pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road, no other vehicle appeared in her rearview mirror.

  Her phone GPS indicated the address as being a mile and a half from the auto parts store. Arrival in 3 minutes. The thought gave her jitters. Someone was waiting for her. The notes had stopped. Nothing had been left on her windshield and before leaving the auto parts store, she had checked under the car for tracking devices.

  She took a left at her first three-way stop as directed by the GPS, driving in silence and deep in thought. The turn brought her into a residential neighborhood with several small and identical two-story town homes packed along the street. The driveways were barely big enough to fit one car, though Miriam had only one vehicle in mind.

  Another glance in the rearview mirror showed no one following her, though she could feel his presence. He had to be watching her from somewhere, awaiting her arrival. There were hundreds of possible scenarios before her, and she couldn’t decide on which one was the most likely. Her journey, it seemed, was being fueled by curio
sity alone.

  No, that wasn’t true. She had a mission.

  One right turn ahead, and she had less than a mile to go. Her heart raced as she envisioned the house: small, probably, and indistinctive, like many of the carbon copy homes on the block. She had believed that their suspect lived on the outskirts, isolated from others, and was surprised to consider that he was operating in plain view of a busy neighborhood.

  His name repeated in her mind: Walter Browning. Food Mart employee. It all made sense. Of course, however, he could very well turn out to be the wrong man, causing Miriam to end up back at the drawing board.

  Such a notion ended when she turned onto Alamo Drive and saw a four-door red classic Datsun parked in the narrow driveway leading to a single-car garage with a closed door. The numbers on the house near the front door matched those she had been given at the auto parts store: 2051.

  Ever cautious, Miriam coasted past the house and parked across the street. She noticed that the two windows in front had their blinds drawn. There was no sneaking a glance inside, but she was confident that the occupant was home. He had called in sick, after all. Was this her mastermind? The man behind the letters? Were two girls being held against their will behind the brown, wood clapboard siding of the house? There was only one way to find out.

  Her phone suddenly vibrated. It was Detective Hayes. He must have tired of sending her text messages and receiving only vague responses in return. She answered, prepared to hear his frustration.“What’s your ETA?” he asked, omitting a greeting.

  Miriam hesitated for a moment and did the best she could. “I’m on my way back now. But I saw something, and I’m going to check it out.”“What thing? What are you talking about?”“When we were at Maddy’s Diner last night, a Datsun crept past the parking lot like it was watching us.”“Okay?” he said after stunned pause. “So what?”“There’s this house that I’ve got a gut feeling about. I’m just going to circle around and get a license plate, then I’ll be back at the station in no time. I’ve got the coffee.”“Where are you at?” he asked directly.“I’m on Alamo Drive.”“We need you back at the station. We’ve got a major operation to plan.”“Ten minutes is all I ask,” she said. “The address is 2051 Alamo Drive.”

  He sighed and then spoke like a stern father. “You have my car. Not just my car, but the department’s car. We need your help with this. Please hurry back.” “I will,” she said. “I’m sorry to keep everyone waiting.”

  There were other voices coming through in the background, and Hayes sounded distracted. “I have to get things started. We’ll be waiting,” he said, hanging up.

  Miriam understood his frustration and felt torn between returning to the station or pursuing the address further. However, there was only one clear answer. She turned off the engine and stuck her phone in her pocket. The pistol she hadn’t fired in six months rested against her hip in its holster. She had her badge, her notes, and her wits. It was time to ask Walter Browning some questions. There were houses along both sides of the streets, but no one was outside. The sun was shining bright and everything was quiet—peaceful even.

  A six-foot wooden privacy fence surrounded Browning’s backyard. The front consisted of patches of dirt and overgrown weeds. She scoped the area out before getting out of the car. No one had followed her as far as she knew. It appeared that, for the moment, she was safe.

  Miriam exited the car swiftly and walked straight toward Browning’s driveway. If Walter was indeed waiting for her, she would be ready, but she was also prepared for it all to be hoax. Birds chirped from above as a quiet breeze caused the trees in between the houses to sway slightly. In a neighborhood where most of the yards were beds of stone, she heard a lawn mower in the distance. She walked up his driveway with a sharp eye, seeing that the front windows had their curtains drawn. A cement path led to a patio screen with a front door that appeared to be opened a crack. He was home after all!

  There were a few plastic lawn chairs on the small porch next to a potted cactus. As she neared the door, she heard something faint and indistinctive coming from inside. The television was on, but there was something else—a muffled, drawn out sound. She stopped inches from the door and listened. Part of her wanted to storm inside and drag Walter Browning out for questioning. Instead, she opened the patio screen and knocked against the door, waiting with her hand near her pistol. There was no answer, so she knocked again. A strange feeling came over her as though something wasn’t right. Had she been lured into a trap? If so, she’d never forgive herself.

  Stay focused, she said to herself. She slowly pushed the door open and looked inside the darkened house. She could see a small foyer with a living room around the corner and light from the television flashing. Her attention then went past the living room and toward what looked like a kitchen where the muffled noise persisted. She tried to block out the background television noise and focus on what sounded like a person calling for help.“Mr. Browning?” she called out, but again no one answered.

  She slipped inside as daylight shone into the gloomy interior of the small house. The door creaked with a coming breeze and Miriam crept toward the living room, where the edge of a recliner came into view.

  “Natalie?” she whispered. “April?”

  There was no response, but the sound continued from past the living room and toward the kitchen. It sounded like someone crying. Upon closer inspection, it sounded like someone was yelling for help. Miriam’s pace quickened when she suddenly halted upon the sight of a man sitting in his recliner with the back of his head toward her, not moving. She went for her pistol, gripping the handle and waiting. Whoever was sitting in the living room in front of the flashing television hadn’t noticed her yet. He could be sleeping, and Miriam wanted to keep it that way until she found the source of the noise.

  She continued past the kitchen and turned to see two rooms, one with its door closed with several locked deadbolts and one open. She peered inside the open room and saw a nightstand with a digital alarm clock and an empty beer can on it. Next to the bed was an open closet displaying several men’s shirts on hangers. There was also a computer table. She then moved toward the closed door and listened against its surface. Her heart raced upon hearing the cries of a girl inside. “Let me out of here!”

  Miriam’s hand immediately went for the doorknob, but it was locked. It even had a keyhole, which was odd for a bedroom door. She began unlocking the deadbolts when she suddenly heard movement coming from the living room. She backed away from the door and moved swiftly past the kitchen again and at the edge of the living room entrance.

  The raucous daytime talk show cheering suddenly cut out and everything went silent expect for the sobbing that continued from the room. She heard the man groan as he stood, causing the recliner to squeak. She peaked around the corner and saw him standing in the dark room, scratching his head and yawning. He was tall, skinny man with stubble on his acne-scarred cheeks. His bathrobe was open, exposing bandages wrapped around his waist and over his white undershirt. For a moment, he just stood there in a daze as though he had awoken from a deep sleep. He then looked around in confusion at the sound of his front door creaking. Miriam’s breathing intensified as she drew her pistol and waited. To fail at her mission was to fail not only the two captive girls but her own family as well. Lou would be enraged to find out she had taken things so far. Her entire career could end in a second with one false move.

  On a table next to the man were bandages, bottles of antiseptic, and a pair of scissors. Most frightening of all, however, was a .45 Magnum sitting out in the open within an arm’s reach of the man. He turned around and faced the blank television, stretching, and Miriam saw her chance.

  She rushed into the room, pistol aimed, and went immediately into arrest mode. “Freeze!” she shouted.

  Terrified, the man spun around with shocked ferocity. “What the fuck!” His face was stunned beyond words. Miriam kept her aim steady as her index finger caressed the trigger.“Who the fuc
k are you?” he shouted even louder.“Hands up!” she said.

  She could see his legs tremble as his hands went slowly into the air. His face was a mass of confusion and disbelief.“Walter Browning?” she asked.“What are you doing in my house?”“Are you Walter Browning?” she repeated in an authoritative tone.

  He shrugged as though her question didn’t make any sense. She then had the slight feeling that something was off. Someone had led her to this destination, and the last person who looked responsible stood four feet from her.“Yes,” he responded. “What the hell do you want?”“I’m with the Ector County Police Department, and you’re under arrest. Where are the girls?”

  Walter appeared gawky and nervous, with youthful bangs hanging to the right side of his face. She glanced at the bandages wrapped around his waist as he grabbed a nearby pair of scissors.

  “Drop it!” she shouted.

  They fell to the ground in an instant as his arms wavered.

  “Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

  Rather than nervously complying, Walter stayed frozen. The house was cluttered with old furniture, and a dank staleness was in the air on account of most of the windows being closed.“Don’t make me ask again!”She noticed fear in his eyes, which led her to believe that she had come to the right place. He repeatedly glanced over her shoulder, staring at the door behind her with great concern. For a moment, it looked as if he might be signaling to someone. Miriam turned in an instant and saw no one there. When her attention went back to him, Walter jumped to the side in a fury and grabbed the Magnum, swinging his arm in her direction.“No!” she shouted.On instinct, she fired two rounds into his chest at the same time he took the shot. Gunfire exploded in deafening blasts on both sides. His shot grazed her ear and sent her tumbling back just as his body collapsed with a heavy thud, two gaping holes in his chest and blood gushing onto the floor. His gun lay on the ground, still in his hand.