by Dana Donovan
“Why’s that?”
“You know Lilith. The first thing she’ll do is pull me aside, drill into my eyes with that penetrating stare of hers, reach down deep somewhere into my soul and rip the truth out of me.”
“Sheesh, Tony. Are you sure you don’t want to just call?”
I pointed out the side window. “Hang a right here and take me home. This won’t take a minute.”
We got to the house and I asked Carlos to wait for me in the car. I figured if Lilith saw him sitting out there with the motor running, she’d give me less grief and let me get out of there sooner rather than later.
Things had changed a lot since we got married. Not so much because we got married, but because Ursula and Spinelli got married at the same time we did. Or maybe Lilith and I married when they did. Doesn’t matter. The important thing was that when Ursula and Spinelli married, Carlos bought them a house, and now Lilith and I have our house all to ourselves. Consequently, that means she and I are free to have sex whenever we want. Nobody roaming the halls, walking into rooms without knocking. The fact we can run around naked, taking advantage of life’s spontaneous moments, has allowed us to enjoy more of those moments than ever before. This is why I remain so suspicious of Lilith when she presses me to participate in her so-called consummation ritual. After all the spontaneity we engaged in, I would think she would have called it even and let it go at that. But she hasn’t.
I walked in the house and knew immediately something was up. Lilith’s forest sounds CD was playing in the background, crickets chirping, owls hooting, brooks babbling. It’s a real mood setter if you’re getting ready to make love under the stars with a soft campfire crackling nearby. She had those things as well. Her campfire was the fireplace. Split-oak logs snapped and hissed on the fire irons, still too wet for smoke-free flames. Her stars were specs of pin light cast upon the ceiling by a lamp whose shade she covered with a black cloth and peppered with a shotgun blast.
The incense was her usual mix of jasmine and cinnamon, a blend that stirs the mind as well as the hormones. Least that’s been my experience.
I shut the door and called her name.
“Lilith?”
I don’t know how, but she snuck up behind me, covered my eyes with her hands and kissed me on the back of the neck. “Guess who?” she cooed.
“Ursula?”
That earned me a slap on the head. “Guess again.”
“Lilith.” I smiled, turned around, and slipped my arms around her waist. She was naked, except for a silk g-string that evaded my touch as I slid my hands down her cheeks. She laced her fingers around my neck, rocked up on tiptoes and kissed me on the lips. I kissed her back, forgetting all about the words we had earlier that chased me out of the house and sent me to the office.
“You want to?” she said.
I smiled teasingly. “I always want to.”
“Then come. The candles are ready.”
“Candles?” She took me by the hand and led me down the hall. “Oh, now wait a minute,” I said.
We stopped at the bedroom door. I looked in. She had everything ready. Candles. A Chalice. Wine. A falcon’s feather and talon.
“Come on, Tony.” She entered the room, tugging on my arm and stretching it straight. I admit she looked beautiful and inviting, if not just a tad bit desperate, something I don’t see in Lilith often. In all my years, I never would have imaged I’d be standing at the bedroom threshold, stubborn as a mule, while the most beautiful woman in the world tried to drag me in to have sex with her.
“Lilith, I can’t.”
She let go of my hand and planted both of hers on her hips. “What the hell, Tony. Why don’t you want to do this?”
“I do. You know how much I love having sex with you.”
“I don’t mean that. This isn’t just about the sex and you know it. This is about the Consummation ritual. For the life of me I don’t know why you’re fighting this. Is it that you don’t want to be married to me?”
“No! Of course not. I love being married to you.”
“Then why won’t you consummate the marriage? Dominic and Ursula consummated theirs on the first night.”
“Lilith, we’ve consummated dozens of times since the marriage.”
“No. We’ve had sex dozens of times. That doesn’t count unless we perform the ritual.”
“How can it not count? Sex is sex.”
She crossed her arms at her chest and managed an almost convincing pout. “You don’t love me.”
“What? That’s not true. You know I love you.”
“Then why are you so reluctant to do this?”
“I’m not reluctant. It’s just that this case came up. This child abduction thing. A kidnapping. Carlos is waiting for me outside now. I really have to go.” She gave me a look as if she didn’t believe me, and then right on cue, Carlos laid on his horn. “See?”
I saw her eyes go to the window and then back to me again. “All right, Fine. Go.” She uncrossed her arms and reached around her backside to adjust her attire. “I gotta get out of this g-string anyway and put on some sweats. Your dinner’s in the freezer.”
“Oh? What is it?”
She soured her face as she pulled a wedgie from her crack. “I don’t know. Whatever you find. I think we got Pop Tarts.”
Outside, Carlos was drumming his hands on the steering wheel, listening to The Who’s, Won’t Get Fooled Again. He had his eyes closed and the volume up so loud that he didn’t hear me getting back in the car. I waited until the song was over before touching him on the arm. You would have thought I had zapped him with a cattle prod.
“Holy Mother of God!” he cried. He reached over and turned off the radio. “What the hell, Tony!”
“What? All I did was touch you.”
“You can let a guy know you’re there first. Man!”
“All right. Get over it. I don’t need you getting on my case now.”
He settled down some, dropped the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. “Lilith giving you a hard time?”
“Yes.”
“Why, `cause you don’t want to have sex with her?”
“Don’t start, Carlos.”
He shifted into drive and started down the road. “I’m just saying. A girl needs to feel loved. Needs the tender moment, if you know what I mean.”
“Carlos.”
“Take me and Julie for instance.”
“Lauri.”
“Huh?”
“You said Julie. Your girlfriend’s name is Lauri.”
“Yeah, I know. Is that what I said?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Must have been one of them Freudian slips. You know her sister’s name is Julie.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. She’s younger though. And prettier.”
“Is she?”
“Yeah. Oh, and sexy. Let me tell you. La chica es muy caliente.”
“Carlos.”
“The other day she bent over to pick up a––”
“Carlos!”
“What?”
“You’re talking about your girlfriend’s sister.”
“Yeah. I ain’t saying nothing bad about her. It’s all good.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“All right. Sure.”
We drove on, both of us unable to get our minds off the previous subject. I started thinking about Dominic, and as if reading my mind, Carlos said, “I talked to Dominic while you were in there with Lilith.”
“Oh?”
“He wants us to meet him in the media room when we get back.”
“Sounds like he has something for us.”
“He always has something for us. The kid’s got game. Doesn’t he?”
“That he does.”
“Hey, you know he’s trying to think of a good name for the baby. He said he’d take suggestions.”
“Isn’t that something he should keep between him and Ursula?”
“No. Ursula is cool with it. Said in her day the husband always picked the baby’s name.”
“We’re not in Ursula’s day.”
“I know. I suggested Guinevere.”
“From the King Arthur legend. Nice. But what if it’s a boy?”
“What if what’s a boy?”
“Ursula’s baby. What if she has a boy instead of a girl?”
“Man, do you not listen to anyone but yourself. What’s it like up there with just your own voice rolling around your head like wind through a mailbox?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Were you or were you not sitting at the table with us at the Olive Garden, the five of us; you, me, Ursula, Dominic and Lilith, when Lilith told us that the first born to a witch is always a girl?”
“Last week?”
“Yes.”
“I was there, but I don’t remember Lilith saying any such thing.”
“Well she did.”
“I must have gotten up to go to the bathroom.”
“No. You were sitting right there, buttering your bread sticks and dipping them into your bowl of marinara sauce. You remember now?”
“No, and I think I’ve had enough of this conversation, as well. Why don’t you turn the radio back on?”
He did, and for the next twelve minutes we listened to commercial-free classic rock at such absurdly high decibels, I thought my ears would bleed. It was the best thing I’d heard all day.
Carlos and I met up with Spinelli in the media room at the Justice Center. He looked tired, and I guessed he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately, what, with keeping Ursula company at nights when she couldn’t sleep, and then staying up all day at work. I offered to finish his shift for him so he could go home and sleep, but he wouldn’t have it.
“Besides,” he said. “Ursula’s been feeling better and doesn’t really need me now.”
“Good,” I told him, “because we really could use you here.”
After catching Dominic up on what we learned at the Brewbaker’s, we had him catch us up on what he’d done so far.
“I got Kelly’s pic-scrip-n-stats uploaded in the NCIC computers and––”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa.” I held my hand up to stop him. “Wait a second. What did you say you uploaded on the NCIC?”
“Her pic-scrip-n-stats.”
“What is that, like alien talk?”
Carlos said, “Picture, description and statistics.”
Dominic pointed at him and nodded. “Yeah.”
I shook my head. “Continue.”
“Like I said, I got her pic-scrip-n-stats uploaded in the NCIC computer. I also furnished that same information to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.” he checked his watch. “About fifteen minutes ago the first Amber Alert went out over all the local radio and TV stations from here to Boston. In another ten minutes, electronic highway signs light up with Kelly’s name all along the I-95 and I-94 corridors, as well as on Routes 1, 114, 128, and 129. By the six o’clock news, everyone along the entire Eastern seaboard will have been exposed to Kelly’s name and face.”
“Nice,” I said. “Good work. Now let’s hope someone out there actually pays attention to those alerts.”
“All we can do is try,” Carlos remarked.
Dominic said, “I’ve been looking at that picture of Kelly. She’s really a cute kid. Isn’t she?”
“She is,” I said.
He shook his head. “Why would anyone want to do this to such an innocent little girl?”
“Money,” said Carlos. It came out sounding cruel. I don’t know why I thought that. I just did.
“Yeah but…” I could hear Dominic’s voice begin to crack. “She’s just a kid.” His attention began to drift.
“Dominic?” I touched his arm. “Dominic?”
He finally looked at me. “Yeah?”
“You all right?”
His answer came slowly. “Um…yeah, I’m okay.”
“Can we continue?”
He took a deep breath and then focused his attention and ours to a flip chart he had prepared in the corner. On the top of the page, he wrote the words:
ANATOMY OF A KIDNAPPING.
Below that were pie charts and statistics he had gathered for presentation.
“There are generally six phases to a typical kidnapping, albeit every kidnapping holds its special blend of circumstances.” Carlos and I nodded as though we knew that. “In any case, those six phases are Abduction, Captivity, Proof of Life, Negotiation, Ransom Drop and then finally, Release.
“I think it’s safe to say we’ve experienced the Abduction and now have to assume we’re in the Captivity stage. I say assume because in a small percentage of cases, the victim sometimes escapes her captors and makes her own way to freedom. Unfortunately, that usually only happens within the first hour or so after the initial abduction. That’s when the kidnapper is most vulnerable to making mistakes. His adrenaline is surging. He’s nervous, often acting hastily in dealing with a victim who may not behave the way he expects. Once he gets his victim to his hideout or holding area however, he then has time to stop and think. He reassesses his plan, reevaluates his objectives and regains control over the situation. At that point, we’re in his ball park playing his game.”
“Then it’s his game to lose,” I said, “because we’re likely looking at an abduction that’s eight or nine hours old.”
“In that case we can only hope we’re in the Captivity phase.”
He flipped the page on his oversized note pad. “To understand the Captivity phase, we need to know who our kidnapper or kidnappers are.”
Carlos said, “If we knew that, we’d be well on our way to solving the case.”
“True.” Spinelli pointed to the next illustration on the page: a pie chart divided into three unequal slices. “Identifying the Suspects,” he said. “In virtually all kidnappings, we can identify the suspect as one of three types: family member, acquaintance or stranger. Now, we know occasionally kidnappers work in teams or groups, and sometimes in a mob capacity, as with the 1976 Iran Hostage Crises, but ultimately they all still fall into one of those three.” He pointed to the largest slice of pie on the chart. “By far, the greatest number of abductions is generally perpetrated by a family member at the rate of seventy-seven abductions to one by non-family.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s powerful.”
“Yes it is. Therefore, it’s no wonder best practices have us looking at family members first. We start our investigation there and move outward to friends, acquaintances, peripheral contacts, sex offenders and finally strangers.”
“So we need to look harder at Lionel and Amanda Brewbaker.”
“Not just them. Everyone in the immediate circle. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, in-laws, stepfamily. Anyone who’s had access to the child.”
Carlos said, “As far as we know, Kelly has no siblings.”
“But she probably has close relatives, aunts, uncles and what have you.”
“Put that on the list then,” I said. I turned to Carlos. “See, this is why I wanted to call the FBI. They have the man power to investigate all these avenues.”
“I know, Tony.” Carlos shook his finger at me the way I often do to him. I must say, I didn’t much like it. “But I’m telling you. I know Lionel Brewbaker. He’s stubborn and pig-headed. He thinks he can reason with whoever kidnapped his daughter. If we weren’t doing this his way, we’d be doing it no way at all.”
I answered simply with a frustrated sigh. “Dominic, continue. Please.”
“Even though a family member is responsible for the crime the majority of the time, we may not have to look far to find our man, or woman as the case may be.”
“How’s that?”
“Because typically the perpetrator is female, and more times than not, it’s the mother.”
“I knew it!” said Carlos. “See?” he pointed at me again. “I told you she was a skank.”
“Carlos.”
“I’m telling you, Tony, when we were upstairs looking through Kelly’s stuff; she didn’t so much as lift a finger to help me. She just stood in the doorway to the bedroom, smoking her cigarette and watching me do all the work.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“It doesn’t not prove anything.”
“That’s poor grammar, Carlos.”
“Yeah? Well she’s a poor mother. I say we bring her in and polygraph her ass.”
Dominic said, “We need to bring them both in. At the very least then to get written statements.”
I agreed, suggesting we should call them after our meeting and see if they would come in voluntarily, adding, “They’ll probably want to consult with their respective lawyers before submitting to polygraphs.”
“Then we’ll have to remind them that the sooner we can rule them out as suspects, the sooner we can focus on other potentials.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to,” Carlos remarked. “She did it. I’ll just bet.”
“Don’t bet the farm,” said Dominic. “Before we break out the pitchforks and machetes, let me add that even though the mother is responsible for the lion’s share of child abductions, in such cases ransom is seldom involved. Usually it’s a matter of last resort for the mother. Typically, the child is at the center of a custody battle where the mother’s at a financial disadvantage. Fearing losing the child to the father, she absconds with the kid and goes into hiding.”
“We know that didn’t happen,” said Carlos. “We saw the mother.”
“Yes,” I said. “And there is a ransom demand, although we still don’t know how much it is yet.”
Dominic cautioned, “That still doesn’t clear her. You said the mother showed up at the house eight hours late to pick Kelly up?”
“Yes.”
“Then she had plenty of time to have gone to the house as scheduled, pick Kelly up and take her to wherever she’s being held now.”
“What about the ransom demand?”
“What of it? You said Mr. and Mrs. Brewbaker are in the middle of divorce proceedings.”
