by Jack July
“Sure,” her Aunt said happily. “For what?”
“A funeral.”
There was a short pause. “Oh, absolutely, sure, honey. Be there in 30 minutes.”
Amy walked back into the tiny living room and slowly sat down on the couch. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, even though they pretended to be doing other things. Her side was aching again, although her knee felt a little better. Her stepmom, Carol, was in the recliner, Granny sat in the chair in the corner and her brother Joseph and her Daddy sat on both sides of her. Everyone was quiet until she got settled.
Being uncomfortable in her childhood home was something she couldn’t have imagined, but she was. Politely smiling and commenting on things, she found out not much had changed. Joseph was racing cars, Carol wouldn’t let the doctors tell her if it was a boy or a girl and she felt like a balloon. Granny Patches said it was a boy. Granny’s science, a mental catalogue of handed-down country wisdom, was uncannily accurate, so Amy probably could look forward to another brother. Daddy was now a supervisor in the mines, and Granny Patches had won a blue ribbon for the largest beefsteak tomato, a two-pound monster that also tasted pretty good, at the Jackson County Fair.
After a while, there was a knock on the door and Carla Jo walked in, looking as gorgeous as always. “You ready to go?” she asked.
Leon looked a little confused. “Amy, ah, you just got here.”
“I know, Daddy. I’m sorry. That phone call I got on the plane was about funeral arrangements for Matt. Matt Oliver. The man that, um, well, I was dating.” Eyebrows all around the room went up, so she kept talking. “I have to buy a dress, shoes, everything. I leave early Sunday morning so I can get to West Memphis by 11. But I’ll be back Sunday evening.”
Her Daddy glanced at Carol, who shrugged. “Do you want us to come with you?”
“No, this is something I ah, need to do on my own but thanks. I’ll see y’all later.” Amy gave Daddy the first hug and kiss, then walked around the room passing out more.
Carla Jo walked her out to the driveway and Amy stopped and grinned. “Nice, really nice.” The red Corvette convertible glistened in the bright afternoon sunlight.
“You wanna drive?” Carla Jo asked.
“I can’t remember the last time I drove anything, but, uh, YES. Where are we going?” Amy asked as she slid down into the buttery leather seat.
“Oh, just head to the city, honey. I know a new boutique that just opened. They have some really beautiful things.”
Amy reached for the key, then stopped. “I can’t afford anything like that. I’m just a poor sailor. Don’t they have an outlet shop next to the mall?”
“Honey, I’ve been spoiling you since you were twelve. Do you think that’s going stop now? Besides, I read the letters and emails you wrote me about Matt. I know what love sounds like. The people that know him? They know what he was. When you show up to see him one last time, it’s your duty to him to show up in your finest clothes, the best you can be. Then they will know who he was: a man good enough to earn the love of a woman like you. You owe him that. Now let’s go.”
Amy nodded, fighting off tears. She started the engine, slipped the clutch, then promptly killed the motor.
“Oops,” Amy mumbled, embarrassed. Carla Jo just chuckled and said, “More power, that’s all. Let’s go.”
She took it easy on the rural winding roads for the first few miles, feeling how the car clung to the pavement, taking every curve like it was nothing, becoming one with the best Chevrolet had to offer. “Wow, is this thing fun to drive!” Amy exclaimed.
“Yeah, I thought you would like it. Let her run. She needs the exercise.”
Amy smiled, downshifted and hit the gas. The half-mile stretch from the top of Copperhead Creek Road to the bridge over the creek went by like a blur. The big antilock calipers were pumping as she slowed down for the curve. Then she saw something flash in the mirror. Blue lights. She pulled over and started digging around in her pockets. “Uh oh, I don’t have an ID on me. Must have left it in my uniform.”
“I don’t think it matters,” said Carla Jo with a little chuckle.
Sheriff Carter was her Daddy’s and Uncle Jack’s best friend. The three of them had done everything together since childhood. Amy herself had gone hunting with him more times than she could count. Looking in the rear view mirror, she watched his 6’7”, 300-pound frame climb out of the car. He wasn’t happy. “Oh, great,” she said as he stomped up to the car.
“Dammit, Carla Jo,” he yelled. “Jack told me to start writing you tickets if you didn’t slow your ass down.”
Amy opened the door and climbed out with her best smile. “Hi, Sheriff Teddy Bear.”
“AMY! Oh my goodness, it is so good to see you!” He started to give her a big hug.
She had to stop him. “Easy, I got some bad ribs,” she said as she took a step back. Then she smiled, stepped foreword and gently gave him a warm hug.
Sheriff Carter cupped her face in his huge hands. “Look at you, all grown up. You are so beautiful. We were so worried about you.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“You’re a grown woman now, honey. Why don’t you just start calling me Gene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Kitty and Franklin would be mighty pleased to see you, too. Maybe I’ll bring them by tomorrow.” When she nodded, he said, “See you later then.”
After one more gentle hug, he started to walk away, then he stopped and turned around. “Hey, don’t let your Aunt teach you any bad habits. Slow your butt down.”
Amy nodded sheepishly, “Yes, sir.” As she got back in, careful of her knee in the low-slung car she shook her head, “Thanks a lot Aunt Carla Jo, I’m back less than a day and I’m already getting in trouble.”
Carla Jo just giggled.
CHAPTER 5
November 4th 2:00 P.M.
The van hit a huge pothole. “MADRE CHINGADA” Carlos shouted.
“Lo siento,” Jorge replied, slowing down a little.
Kristy Ann Wilson’s head bounced off the floor of the van. She sat up cautiously and looked around. Nearby there was a skinny, bearded man with tattoos and a gold-tooth smile. The inside of the van was littered with old blankets and garbage. It stank of body odor, cigarette smoke and stale beer. Kristy pushed the filthy blanket that had covered her away.
“Hola, Kristy,” the skinny man said. “My name is Carlos.” He knew her name because he’d seen it written on the tag inside of her jacket.
Kristy was still woozy and her head hurt. She was hungry and sick at the same time. She felt the tears well into her eyes. “I want my Mommy.”
Carlos looked at her sadly. “Oh, I know, I know. I need to tell you some things. You listen to me, okay?”
Kristy nodded.
“You have a brother?” Carlos guessed.
“Yes,” Kristy said in a tiny voice.
Carlos moved over to sit down next to her and gently took her hand. “Sometimes mommies and daddies can’t take care of all their children, so they send one away.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mommy, she had trouble taking care of you, so she is sending you to someone who can do better.”
“No!” Kristy screamed. She started kicking her legs. “My mommy and daddy love me!” She started to cry.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry,” Carlos murmured. “You are right, they do love you. That’s why they sent you with us. We are taking you to a very special place, a beautiful castle with horses to ride and other children to play with. When you are there, they will come see you and explain it all. Trust me, it will be okay. I promise. Are you hungry?” He pulled a McDonald’s Happy Meal and orange drink from the front seat. “I hope you like chicken nuggets.”
Kristy stared at the box and the drink. She knew he was lying. She thought about what she and her daddy ha
d talked about. If they were ever separated for any reason, he said, “Stay calm and stay put. I will find you.”
Kristy stopped whimpering and looked at Carlos. She opened the box and saw the toy, a little doll from the new Disney movie. After unwrapping it, she showed it to Carlos, who smiled appreciatively. Then she put it in her coat pocket. She sipped the orange drink, but it tasted funny. Before she could finish her meal she became groggy again and fell asleep.
“How long before we get to the border?” Carlos asked in Spanish.
“About two hours,” replied Jorge.
November 19th 1:00 P.M.
Tatiana’s plane landed in Cape Girardeau. There was a car waiting for her. She drove to Kristy’s house and pulled into the driveway. Remnants of activity were scattered around the yard: yellow crime-scene tape that had not yet been removed, tire tracks crossing crushed grass and mud, yellow ribbons tied around trees and bushes, a dingy, rain-soaked memorial of candles, stuffed animals, posters with kind wishes, and dead or dying flowers mounded near the gate. Neighbors wanted to gather up those items and save them, but no one knew the time frame for that. What’s the right thing to do? There was no established etiquette.
There was little activity now. No child was found, the news cycle had ended, and there were only an occasional update on her disappearance. A government sedan was in the driveway, no doubt FBI waiting for a ransom call that would never come. They too would be packing up and leaving soon. Tatiana loved her job, but she had always hated dealing with crimes involving children. The emotions didn’t click with her and she didn’t empathize well. She felt awkward, and usually at some point said the wrong thing. She walked up to the porch, took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. A man in a suit answered.
“FBI?” queried Tatiana.
“She’s not taking to reporters, sorry,” the agent said brusquely.
T held up her ID, then slipped it back into her coat pocket. She stuck out her hand. “Officer Aziz.”
“Agent Fields,” he replied, shaking her hand with bemusement. “Since when do spooks get involved with child abduction?”
“We don’t. I was in the neighborhood. Can I talk to her parents?”
Agent Fields shook his head. “Dad’s not here. Mrs. Wilson is not talking to anyone else. She’s still pretty distraught.”
“Tell her the CIA wants to help.”
He thought for a moment, shrugged and said, “Fine. I’ll give it a shot.”
T watched through the screen door as the agent spoke to the mother. The woman had bags under her eyes that could carry groceries. She looked back at T and nodded, which T took as an invitation. They all sat down in the kitchen. T looked at Agent Fields and asked, “Do you think I could talk to her alone?”
Agent Fields began to grumble when T smiled and mouthed the word, “Please.”
As professional as he was, he couldn’t say no to a pretty girl. Besides, what could she do that hadn’t already been done?
“Would you like some coffee?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“That would be kind,” said T.
Connie poured her a cup and sat down across from her.
“Mrs. Wilson…”
The woman interrupted. “Please, call me Connie. You’re really with the CIA?”
Tatiana nodded. “Please just call me Tatiana. I don’t want or need to rehash what I’m sure continues to be a hellish experience. I, ah, want you to know that your daughter’s case has reached the halls of power in D.C. We will be putting resources on this case that have never been expended for a single child’s abduction. Can I ask you some questions about Kristy and her behavior?”
Connie looked up curiously. “Sure. What do you need to know?”
“How do you think she would behave if she were being held somewhere?”
“You think she’s alive?” Connie nearly spilled her coffee before composing herself. Absently, she took a sip with shaking hands.
Tatiana held out a hand of warning. “I don’t know yet. I promise, I will find out. What I need from you is a thoughtful and honest critique of your daughter’s behavior.”
“Follow me,” said Connie. They walked through the house until they came to Kristy’s room. Connie opened the door reverently. “My baby is all girl,” she said. Everything was pink and pretty. Drawings and paintings adorned the walls, and books were stacked on the nightstand. Something on the bed shifted; a little pug dog who looked at them morosely and wagged its tail once. Connie shook her head and hugged the dog. “Frenchy hasn’t gone far from her bed since she disappeared.”
Tatiana nodded. “What are her favorite things?”
“Well, Frenchy, obviously. They used to play in the backyard for hours.” Connie sniffed and wiped at her eyes with a shaky laugh. “Sorry. She loved - loves books, the Disney channel.” She picked up a ratty old stuffed cat. “And Mr. Giggles.”
“Is she smart?”
“Yeah, and that’s not just her mom bragging. That’s her school placement tests. She’s at least two or three grades ahead in most subjects.”
“Is she emotionally strong?”
“She’s a good kid. She cries for other people’s hardships. She’s very empathetic. When it comes to her? She’s fairly strong, but she is jealous of Randall, her little brother. I think she liked being an only child.”
“Would she be strong in captivity?”
Connie put down Mr. Giggles. She was clearly trying not to think what might be happening to her little girl. “I’d like to think so. She knows we would do all we could to find her. Her daddy always talked about these things with her. He was a little paranoid, I think. You know how fathers are about little girls.”
No, I really don’t, thought T. “Where was she going when she disappeared?’
“To her friend’s house. She walked there every day. You go out the front door, take a right on the sidewalk to the T in the road. From there you take a left. Sarah’s house is at the end of the block.” Connie’s face crumpled. “I sent her there that day.”
Tatiana shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Okay. Um, thank you, Connie. You won’t hear from me again, but others will contact you. Do not tell anyone I was here. It could jeopardize the search for your daughter.”
Connie nodded. Tatiana headed for the door, but Connie grabbed her arm and said, “Can you find her?”
Tatiana looked into the eyes of a desperate mother. This woman would do anything to bring her baby back. She swallowed. “If she is alive, I will send her home to you.”
Connie grabbed T in a hug, and T responded stiffly. Connie eased up when she felt the guns and holsters under her jacket.
T walked to the end of the street, scanning everything, every house, yard and sewer drain, looking for something, anything. She took a left at the stop sign, walked another 100 feet and stopped. It happened right here, she thought to herself. It was the right place: woods on both sides, a house way off in the distance but not too close, and nobody around. It was quiet as a graveyard. She suddenly knew this was not planned. A little girl alone, walking in a secluded area, was the perfect target of opportunity. And who would be in such a place to take advantage of the opportunity? It was a cul-de-sac, and there were few houses.
T was one of the best. She didn’t look at things from law enforcement or the victims’ point of view; she saw crimes clearly from the predators’ eyes. Kidnapping was an art. The snatch-and-grab, sometimes in the middle of a city in broad daylight, was one of her specialties.
Returning to her car, she decided to take a drive around the neighborhood. There were at least five new houses in different stages of construction. She stopped to talk to one of the crews. They were all Latinos. “Hola,” T said with a smile, walking up the gravel drive. She inspected each of the six workers, looking for anything unusual. They all stopped and smiled at her, then each other. Finally a man go
t out of a truck and barked “Back to work!” in Spanish.
T spoke in Spanish. “I’m Maria. I’m a reporter looking into the disappearance of the little girl over on the next block. Your name is...?”
“None of your business. Please leave,” the foreman scowled.
“Okay, I don’t need your name, but did you or your men see anything?”
“No. Please leave,” he said again, trying to usher her back to her car.
“Look, señor, I grew up in a little village outside of La Paz. We always knew when a stranger was around. We were trained as children to protect ourselves, to watch over each other and watch everything that goes on around us. I know you were, too. If you saw anything – a different vehicle, a new face, anything – you could really help the little girl.”
He stopped and put his hands on his hips, thought for a moment. Then he averted his gaze down and to the left and said quietly, “No. Please go.”
T tried to hand him a business card that had only her phone number. He held his hands up, backing away. Fine, she thought. She made sure he saw her stick it in the grill of the truck.
One last-ditch effort, she decided. He was wearing a simple wedding band. “Hola, señor, I see you are married,” she shouted. “Do you have children? A little girl?”
He stared at her for just a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
Back at the car, she scribbled some notes on her pad so she would remember the tattoos on his hands and the end of another climbing up his neck from under his shirt. They were illegals, of course, and illegals didn’t get involved, no way, no how.
T knew he had lied to her but she had noticed something else just as important. His last words, his body language and that last gaze he had fixed on her when she mentioned he might have a daughter – they all included a hint of shame.
CHAPTER 6
November 18th 4:00 PM
Amy went up the interstate on-ramp, blending into traffic before she got in the left hand lane and set the cruise control on eighty. It was thirty minutes to the city but they would make it in about twenty. Amy and her aunt had made small talk throughout most of the trip. Carla Jo had all but raised her after Mama died. If she could trust anyone, it was her aunt.
