by William Mark
Louis snapped to and punched in a quick command to the keyboard in front of him disengaging the alarm again so Curt could slip out the way he came.
“Okay, done. Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Curt shut the back door of the townhouse, leaving it as if he had never been there; he glanced around the backyard and the overlooking neighbors again, seeing if anything had changed. After searching around the eerie house, absent of anything remotely close to what a home should be, he glanced at the garage. He didn’t want to leave it unchecked. Maybe it held some secrets worth uncovering.
After a few hard twists and scrub sweeps with the pick, the padlock to the garage went limp in his hand as the clasp opened up. He flipped it off the lock and slid inside the garage and pulled the door shut.
“I’m in the detached garage. Can you guys hear me?”
“Yes, I got you,” Louis answered eagerly.
Inside the garage there was a thick layer of dust covering everything. It was a chaotic clutter and collection of useless junk. There were boxes stacked haphazardly with no sense of order, and they appeared unsteady. However, what immediately drew Curt’s attention was the vehicle parked amongst the clutter. At first pass, if the bay door was opened from the alleyway, you wouldn’t see the car, but from the way Curt entered, he saw it right away. Why would anyone have a car and take the bus? At second glance, he noticed the boxes and clutter were clearly placed around the car in an attempt to conceal it within the garage. Curt thought about this for a moment and decided to investigate further as his instincts were kicking in. He pulled the tarp back to reveal the front left fender of the vehicle; it was a dark blue Ford, possibly a Taurus. He squeezed past another pillar of cardboard boxes, some nearly bursting at the corners, and checked out the rear of the car by lying across the trunk and looking from a nearly inverted angle. He pulled up the tarp so he could read the tag.
“Hey, copy this tag.”
“Okay, shoot.” Louis was poised, ready to copy down the tag. He had already made it into the California DMV database once he heard Curt mention a garage and had it pulled up on his screen.
Curt read out the tag as best he could in the dim garage light, thick dust, and from an upside-down position.
“Okay, stand by.”
He climbed off the trunk and completed his full-circle search of the vehicle. He neared the front passenger fender and lifted the corner of the tarp to take a look. The corner light and grill, along with the tire well, had significant crush damage, but the damage was obviously old, as the creases in the metal had started to rust. Curt kneeled down for a closer look, following his instincts farther down the rabbit hole. He examined the damage and even got on his back to look up underneath of the car. He studied the corner of the undercarriage and saw something that piqued his interest. He reached in his coat pocket for his small flashlight and pulled it out. He needed a better look at what he found. He clicked on the small flashlight and aimed its beam making the object clearer. It was human skin. He looked closer still and saw another small piece, complete with a few hair follicles attached to it. He searched the rest of this corner and saw a powdery red substance in the same area, on the axle, lines, hoses, and the frame itself. Curt backed away from under the car and pulled the tarp back even further, getting an overview of what he found. He pulled away the rest of the tarp to see the passenger side window. It was down, and he stepped over to look in the car. The air inside was stale and dusty, but he could still make out the metallic smell of the aluminum cans and rotting beer remnants in the interior.
Curt flipped the tarp back over and moved the boxes to cover up his swipe marks on the dusty garage floor. He went to the door and carefully opened it up, slipping out, back over the fence, and down the alleyway unnoticed.
“Anything back on the tag?” Curt made his way back to the Crown Vic.
“It’s expired by about five years…no liens…no hits in NCIC, and nothing in Carfax.”
Curt half-way expected these results from the search. He had pegged the woman for what she truly was as she walked past his car the day before in the mall parking lot, and the lack of information that came back from Louis’ search would support that theory.
“Beth? Do your thing with the stuff from the car. Start five years ago and work backwards.”
Beth had lost herself in her morning newspaper review of the Chronicle. She snapped to attention at the sound of her name, “Huh? Oh, right, the car. I’m on it.”
***
As she sat in the Mercedes Sprinter, Rachel listened to the team’s search of Francine Bennett’s home. She kept up with the facts as they were relayed to her but still didn’t see the hard connection of how they figured out Charlene was the missing Charlotte. She was convinced that they were on to something but couldn’t see it herself. Not yet.
“So, how were you able to find out this little girl was the missing girl, Charlotte?”
“Hold on, I’ll have to explain later; this is about to go down.” Beth gripped the over-sized steering wheel with her small hands, watching Melinda carefully at the front door.
“So now what?”
“Now comes the fun part,” Louis added.
Curt grunted at the notion, which was audible through the radio, that the upcoming phase of the operation could be considered fun. Maybe from the front seats of the van it was “fun,” but from his point of view, it was anything but “fun.” He would agree that it was the pivotal point in their mission. Louis heard the grumble from Curt and sank slightly in his swivel chair.
“This is the reason why we are here, Rachel. At this point, we return the child to her parents where she belongs. That is all that matters,” Alexis explained.
“So, what? We just call the cops and tell them what we have figured out, and they come and get her?”
Alexis smiled. Louis turned his attention purposefully towards his screen to avoid answering Rachel, and Beth smirked at the naive statement from the new girl. The radio remained silent to the question as well.
“Okay, so what am I missing?”
“Rachel? I recruited you because I thought you wanted to make a difference.”
“I do, but I’m not really understanding what’s going on.”
“Rachel, you worked in the social work field and know how bureaucratic protocol can hinder the progress of justice. Well, let me ask you this—and answer honestly.”
“Okay.”
“Would you be willing to do the right thing, something you felt deep down in your heart was the right thing to do, no matter what?”
She thought briefly, trying to find the motivation behind the question, “Yes, it’s a principle I’ve lived by.”
“What if in doing the right thing you committed some substantial criminal and constitutional law violations for the right reason?”
Rachel was puzzled and looked around the van. She studied Louis, the computers, and thought about the beginning of the story of Charlotte. It clicked. The operation wasn’t sanctioned by any government authority. To get the results they desired, at the pace they wanted, they had to skirt some laws to protect the children and get them back to their parents.
“So…you steal them back?”
“Essentially,” Alexis agreed. She studied the reaction of her new recruit, hoping she wasn’t turned off by the less than legal methods to which she was being exposed, but she felt strongly about the mission of the team and why she founded it—to make a real difference—and she hoped Rachel was willing to get on board.
“So, no wonder I’ve never seen anything on the news about some vigilante group rescuing a missing child years later!” She stared at the floor of the van lost in thought. She visualized the idea of skirting the system she knew very well in order to do the right thing, as Alexis put it, and making a real difference.
“How many kids have you been able to, you know…save?”
“Over the last five years, since I started this project, we’ve b
een able to save nearly 100 children, Charlotte will make number 99.”
Rachel was astonished at the number of children the team had been able to save, not only was she impressed at the total number, but how many they’d saved without the first blip on the news media’s radar. She found this ironic seeing that Alexis Vanderhill is a notable journalist and the daughter of a media mogul. A sensational story such as this would be a dream story for any journalist. So why the anonymity, she wondered. But then it made sense to her; the illegal methods the team utilized would create more of a problem with the legality of the rescue if they involved the police. But this posed a more perplexing question.
“So, if you don’t call the cops and ‘steal’ the kid back, does that mean the offender gets away with it?”
Curt heard the valid question, and a small crack of a smile broke on his perpetually stoic face. Louis snickered, Alexis smiled, and Beth chuckled from the front seat.
“Not exactly,” Beth answered with an enigmatic tone.
Rachel didn’t understand what was funny and got a little irritated at being kept in the dark. She searched around the van and among its occupants for an answer but didn’t get one.
“It’s time; let’s move,” Curt ordered over the radio.
Alexis saw that Rachel was still in need of an answer and settled her with, “Just wait…you are about to find out.”
Beth sprang to life and hopped into the driver’s seat of the van. Alexis swung her captain’s chair around to face the front and locked it in place. Louis scooted his chair up to his station and pulled a lever in the floor, also locking his chair in place. Rachel felt a twinge of panic wash over her as she watched everyone else within the van prepare for something she was completely unaware of. Alexis glanced over her shoulder, saw the panic, and told her to grab ahold of something. Rachel pushed herself back on the leather bench seat and searched for seat belts but didn’t see one available. She braced herself by tensing her arms out to the side for stabilization.
She felt the van jerk into gear, but it didn’t move right away. Suddenly, the side door of the van slid open and a thin black woman, late 30s or early 40s, with short hair appeared. She hastily removed a large overcoat and wool blanket from around her body, dropped it on the floor of the van, set down an iPad, and removed a clipboard and briefcase from next to the bench seat. She stood up and took a breath. Alexis smiled at her expectantly. Rachel surmised this must be Melinda, one of the voices over the radio.
“You forgot these Mel,” Louis called out to Melinda, extending his arm with a pair of glasses for her to take.
“Oh, thanks.” She took the glasses and slid them on her face to resurrect the businesswoman look from earlier.
“Good luck!” Alexis added.
Melinda slid the door shut and took off, walking down the sidewalk of the cross street toward the brownstone. Beth put the van in gear and slowly pulled out onto the street. She stopped at Ms. Bennett’s street, made the turn, and parked short. It was in a direct line of sight to the front door.
As the van parked, Rachel took the opportunity to take the front passenger seat of the van to watch the operation unfold. After a moment, Melinda came into view and strolled down the side-walk, clipboard and briefcase in hand, and approached the bottom of the front stairs. She paused, glanced back at the van, and then spoke in a hushed tone.
“Curt, I’m at the front door.”
“Okay, I’m in position.”
Rachel could hear Louis in the back of the van, typing on his keyboard. Then a strange voice came over a different radio somewhere behind Louis. She looked back at the workstation and saw the green glow of a radio screen next to the panel where she’d seen him hit the switch for the van radio. She listened to the voice speak and quickly recognized that it was a dispatcher coming from a police scanner. She figured it was so they could keep tabs on the police and would be warned if they drew any unwanted attention for this operation.
Rachel felt her heart rate accelerate in anticipation from the building excitement. It was a feeling that had been hard to come by in her world. Melinda knocked on the front door of the brownstone, sending the operation past the point of no return. The porch light flicked on, and Ms. Bennett, dressed in a dingy bathrobe, answered the door.
“Hi, my name is Brenda Martin, and I’m with Windsor Security. We bid for government contracts, and one of your neighbors has applied with us. So, I’m doing a background check to make sure there are no issues or concerns. I do apologize for the late hour, but do you have a moment?”
“Um, sure, but I don’t really know any of my neighbors. I really stay to myself.” Ms. Bennett was skeptical at the legitimacy of the late caller.
“That’s okay. It’ll only take a minute.”
Curt listened via the ear buds as Melinda worked her magic at the front door. He quickly picked the backdoor lock again and slipped inside careful not to draw any attention. He could hear the muffled voice of Francine Bennett talking with Melinda through the half-opened front door. He moved his thin frame quietly through the kitchen and passed within twenty feet of Ms. Bennett and up the stairs toward Charlotte’s room. He calmed his breathing and moved quickly, hearing Melinda struggle to keep the woman’s attention.
“Have you known your neighbor to have any late night parties or use any illicit drugs?”
“No, like I said, I don’t really know my neighbors, and it’s getting late. I need to go.”
“Just a few more minutes, ma’am; I promise.”
Curt stopped at the girl’s door. Once he opened the door, there would be a chain reaction that could not be stopped. But the reason he found himself outside of an eleven year old girl’s bedroom was to try and right another wrong in this world.
Charlene Bennett was not asleep as her mother had thought. She had snuck over to her desk and started to write in her secret journal, something that made her feel better inside and kept the loneliness at bay. It kept her connected to the life she once had but for some reason was hard to remember. She had pulled it from the secret hiding place and started to write about a dream she had about her real mother and father. It was about her favorite park that they had taken her to when she was younger. The “shady park,” as they affectionately called it because the entire park was covered in shade from large redwoods. It was a favorite memory she visited when not around her new mother. She began to write in the journal and noticed something odd in the back cover. The book didn’t close right, like something was stuffed between the pages. She flipped the journal open to the back and there it was, staring back at her. She had never seen it before, but she instantly recognized the smiling faces of her real mother and father, and her smiling too from a seat between them. It was a snapshot taken years ago for the church directory, and somehow it was put inside of her secret journal. She pulled the small photograph from the journal and examined it as if it were a mystical object with great and mysterious powers.
She was so enthralled with the photograph that she failed to notice the strange man standing just behind her watching with soft and sad eyes. He stood still while she carefully studied the picture. He moved just an inch closer and mesmerized himself with the young girl staring at the picture he had placed in her secret journal earlier that morning. The slight movement caught her attention out of her peripheral vision, and she instantly gasped in fright and leapt from her chair, cowering on her bed. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably.
“Charlotte?” Curt stuck his hand out in the friendliest and calming gesture he could manage. “I’m here to help you.” His tone was soothing and seemed to ease the frightened girl.
She calmed down and her body stopped trembling. She heard her birth name, and it struck something deep inside. She read the endearing eyes of the strange man in the trench coat and felt he was sincere about helping. She could see the sadness in his eyes too.
“Charlotte, my name is Curt, and I put that picture in there for you to find. Do you know where I got it from?”
She shook her head no.
“Your mother and father gave it to me. I’m here to take you back to them and away from this place.”
Charlotte grew quickly confused and hesitant. She withdrew back further on her bed.
“It’s true.”
“But they’re dead. My new mom told me so. She said that bad men came and killed them and they might be after me too, so I had to go with her. She showed me pictures in the newspaper that they’re dead. She said I had to change my name for protection.”
“No, Charlotte, they aren’t dead. There are no bad men that killed them. The woman lied to you. I am here because I want to take you away from here, but we have to go now.” Curt tuned into the conversation between Ms. Bennett and Melinda.
“Listen, I’ve answered your questions lady. I’m sorry; I can’t help you any further.”
As Ms. Bennett was closing the door, Melinda blurted out, “Listen, I’m willing to pay money for any dirt that can be substantiated. I mean, do you want criminals working on your government contracts? I know I don’t.”
Ms. Bennett stopped at the mention of money and kept the door cracked so that just her face was visible. Melinda smiled that the stall tactic worked but for how long she didn’t know.
Curt stepped toward the girl and extended his hand. She held her arms tightly crossed around her body, still uncertain.
“Listen, we need to go, and we need to go now. I need you to trust me.”
“No, my parents are dead! You could be one of the bad men trying to take me away. You need to go!”
Curt couldn’t blame the poor girl for not trusting him at first, but he was about to force the issue. He couldn’t stand to bear her being in that desolate and loveless house living with a sociopathic woman and away from her loving parents another moment. He stepped closer to the bed and grabbed the girl’s arm. She yanked with everything she could and screamed at him to stop.
