by Roger Hayden
Knight approached and placed his hand on her shoulder. “We're working on it. It's going to be okay, Mrs. Owens. We're here to help you and your family.”
The anger on her face soon shifted to sadness as she stared at him with unblinking, unconvinced eyes. “What about the other girl, Sarah Riley? She's been missing for a week.”
Knight glanced at the three police officers behind him and then back at her. “We're getting close.”
She wasted no time lashing out. “I want you to find my daughter. Is that so hard?” She buried her face into her hands again, sobbing uncontrollably.
Knight placed his arms around her and pulled her close. She cried into his jacket, tears soaking into the fabric. He had dealt with several devastated parents and siblings over the years and tried to offer comfort in their most difficult hours. People reacted in different ways, but in the end, the emotional toll was always the same.
“Who else is in the house?” he asked, stepping away.
Carol looked up at him, calmer now, and wiped her face. “My son Kyle's up in his room. He helped me look for Brittany earlier this morning. He found the screen outside her window.”
“Right here,” Kyle called, walking down the stairs in a ball cap, T-shirt, and shorts. He stopped and examined the room, in awe at all the uniformed officers.
“Why do they have to go through my room?” he asked.
“Because they're looking for your sister,” Carol answered, approaching him. She looked frantic and utterly defeated, color drained from her face. Knight could only imagine her anguish, but it was also important to get every detail, regardless of their emotional state.
“My husband should be here soon,” she said, turning back to the window. “We don’t understand this. Do you really think she was kidnapped?”
“We have to treat it as such,” Knight answered.
Deputy Gibbs, a rookie with the department, entered the room from the kitchen with her clipboard in hand. Her uniform was freshly pressed, and her hair was tied back in a bun. “Update,” she began. “They're searching for footprints outside. We found divots in the ground from a ladder.”
Carol gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh no... So, it's true. Someone broke in and stole my little girl.” She stumbled back as Knight caught her just in time.
“There, there,” he said. “Let's sit you down.” He guided her to the nearby couch and sat her down as she wiped her face of tears. She thanked him and then stared ahead, beyond the china hutch and outside the living room windows, where the blinds were fully open.
“How did they know what room she was in?” she asked, dumbfounded.
Knight took her hand for a moment before he asked his next question. He waited for her eye contact and then spoke. “Now, Mrs. Owens, please understand that I have to ask this next question, so we can get this out of the way.” She nodded, and he continued. “Has Brittany ever sneaked out of the house before?”
Carol thought to herself and answered with surprising calm. “No. Never.”
Knight pulled a small digital audio recorder from his pocket. “I'd like to discuss any persons who have been inside your home within the past month: lawn service, electricians, cable repair, door to door salesman, whoever. Names and descriptions would help.” He paused and waited for a response as she stared out the window.
“Yes. We've had some work done over the past few months.”
“Whatever comes to mind,” Knight said.
Standing by the couch, Gibbs scribbled onto her clipboard and then looked up, prompting her. “In some cases, the abductor is a family acquaintance. Sometimes they are family. Whoever broke in knew where to go.”
The room got louder with the return of several police officers from outside. There were mentions of news vans on their way. Knight didn't want to be anywhere near them. He then decided to leave the living room and make his way upstairs. “I think I'll have a look in Brittany's room.”
Carol nodded with a pained expression as he walked away, patting Kyle on the head. He continued up the stairs, passing a police sergeant on the way. From the hallway, he glanced at the first of three rooms to the right. Sunlight beamed from the room onto the hardwood floor below, revealing shadows of movement inside.
Knight entered the room and saw two forensics crime scene investigators inside, dressed in their white jumpsuits, gloves, goggles, and face masks. At first glance, they looked like strangers, but it had to be McIntire and Rodriguez, the only two investigators at the precinct. Knight lingered in the doorway for a moment before calling out to them. “Any luck yet?”
McIntire turned from the window where he was dusting for prints. “We're still looking.”
Rodriguez was kneeling beside the bed, collecting particles with a tweezer.
“Who declared this a crime scene?” Knight asked, growing suspicious. It certainly wasn't him. CSI stared at him blankly as he continued. “We don't even know for sure if this girl was kidnapped.”
McIntire continued brushing for prints. “Your boss begs to differ.”
“Marshall?” Knight said.
“You know it,” McIntire said, laughing. “The captain thinks we have an epidemic on our hands, and he might be right.”
“Meaning that we're looking for the same person,” Rodriguez added.
“Well, thank you very much,” Knight said, pulling out a pair of purple latex gloves from his pocket. He placed them on each hand and then stepped inside the room, snapping pictures with his cell phone. The rainbow wallpaper afforded the room plenty of color. The shelves of stuffed animals and Barbie dolls left no question whose room they were in. A pink dresser sat across the room with a mirror attached to it. The unmade bed was centered, headboard against the wall. A red, circular patterned carpet rested at the foot of the bed.
Knight approached a desk near the window where Brittany's backpack rested below. Mere inches away sat a single sneaker. Whatever the significance, he recalled Sarah Riley's missing shoe was found on the street where she lived after her disappearance. He took a picture of the shoe and then reached under her bed, retrieving two sandals but no matching sneaker.
“We've got smudges on and around the window,” McIntire said. “The intruder wore gloves.”
Rodriguez scanned the floor with a square magnifying glass. “There's fiber from a nylon rope here, I believe.”
Knight stood up, knees cracking, and looked around the room. There were no noticeable footprints on the floor from an outside intruder. He approached the window and looked outside. A TV news van was parked a safe distance from the house with a camera crew setting up beside it. When it came to kidnappings, the news media often played a crucial role. Despite their pushiness, there was no one better to get the word out. “You guys want to be on TV?” he asked.
McIntire and Rodriguez shrugged, too into their work to care. Knight stepped away from the window and glanced at Brittany's desk. She had some trophies on display along with a few small framed pictures, including what looked like a recent school photo. He grabbed it and turned to leave. “Going back downstairs. Let me know what you come up with.”
“Her window was unlocked,” McIntire added.
Knight stopped and turned around. “I'm sure she didn't count on someone using a ladder to get up here, nor did her parents.”
“Strange that the intruder knew which room to go to,” Rodriguez said, huddled on the floor with his magnifying glass.
Knight looked at the framed photo in his hands of Brittany Owens smiling perfectly into the camera, blue eyes and straight blonde hair down to her shoulder. “They could have been looking for a way in. Maybe got spooked when they found the girl and took her.” He paused and then offered another scenario. “Or maybe they knew exactly what they were looking for.”
Rodriguez dropped fabric samples into a plastic bag with his tweezers. “I'd ask the mother if they regularly locked their doors and windows.”
McIntire stepped back from the window, brush in hand. “I'll tell you wha
t, no one is sneaking into my house at night. I pay good money for my security system.”
“We're proud of you, Mack,” said Knight, slipping the framed picture into his coat. He turned upon hearing footsteps. Carol Owens stood outside the room with her arms crossed. Both McIntire and Rodriguez resumed their work without a word, leaving Knight to do the talking. He hoped that she hadn't heard them.
“Can I talk with you for a moment, Detective?” she asked.
Knight hurried over. “Yes. Of course.” He stepped outside and was surprised to see Gibbs standing nearby.
“Deputy Gibbs. Can we help you?”
Carol glanced at her and then back at Knight. “I wanted to talk with both of you, actually. Ms. Gibbs was the first one here after I called.” She paused and smiled glowingly at the young deputy. “She's been great.”
Knight held his tongue and nodded in understanding. “Of course.” He then looked downstairs where the police occupied the space. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” he asked Carol.
Carol looked past him down the hall and then turned to look downstairs. “The back porch. No one will bother us there.”
“Great,” Knight said. He then looked at Gibbs. “Mind tagging along?”
“Not at all,” she eagerly stated.
“And turn your radio down, please,” he said, pointing to the transmitter on her belt. “I can't hear myself think.”
Gibbs turned down the volume as Knight walked past her with Carol at his side. As they made their way downstairs, Knight looked around for his partner. Slater was nowhere to be found. He had been showing up late for a few weeks now, and going through a divorce, among other personal issues. Knight had been covering for him, but he couldn't do it much longer.
Knight glanced into the living room and caught a glimpse of the news on TV. A female reporter stood on the street not far from the house he was in. A news banner occupied the bottom of the screen in big, white letters that said, “Second Missing Girl Prompts New Fears in Community.”
He followed Carol into the dining room and toward the back patio as police took pictures of every inch of the house. He was sure that no matter how careful their intruder had been, evidence had still been left behind. There had to be a hair sample, a skin flake, clothing residue, footprints...something.
Carol opened the sliding glass door, leading into the screened-in patio, and walked outside. Birds chirped in the quiet air of the backyard, peaceful and undisturbed. It was a beautiful day outside despite the circumstances. Carol wiped her face with her handkerchief, still sniffling, though she had calmed herself from the initial shock. Knight hoped to get some clear answers from her as she paced beside the patio, muttering to herself. They approached a small, circular table in the center of the porch and pulled chairs out. Carol sat with a distraught expression, chewing on her nails.
“Just relax,” Knight said. “Your daughter is out there, and she needs us.”
Carol's eyes seemed to glaze in acknowledgment as she sighed in exhaustion. Knight then looked at Gibbs, who had just shut the sliding glass door, and asked her to get Carol a glass of water. Knight then placed a hand on Carol's trembling shoulder, speaking calmly. “We're going to get to the bottom of this, I promise. Before I get to my questions, what did you want to talk about?”
The sliding glass door opened, and Gibbs entered with a glass of water. She came to the table and set the glass down as Carol thanked her. She then took the glass and drank it down nearly to the bottom. Knight was aware of the subtle effects of shock. Dehydration was the first thing.
For a moment, everything was quiet. Beyond the screened-in patio was a stone walkway, several lawn sculptures, and a sizable shed all surrounded by a wooden privacy fence. They could see the roofs of other homes but little else over the fence. Knight took notice of the well-maintained, thick Saint Augustine grass.
Gibbs took a seat across from Knight and waited patiently as Carol rubbed her forehead and then looked up at them to speak. She glanced down, with a troubled expression. “I... I can't remember what I wanted to talk about. There's so much going on. I feel so overwhelmed right now.”
“It's okay,” Knight said in a calm tone. “It'll come to you. Would you mind if I asked you a few things then?”
Carol nodded as she gripped her handkerchief. “Sure. Ask away. I hope I don't sound redundant. I already told Deputy Gibbs everything I know.”
Knight glanced at Gibbs's clipboard, resting on the table in front of her. He then leaned forward and placed one hand over Carol's, trying his best to calm her. “It's okay. You're going through something very traumatic. But time is of the essence. Let's start with this morning.” He pulled out a small digital recorder from his coat pocket and set it on the table. Pressing record, he continued “You told Deputy Gibbs that you woke up around six. You were in the kitchen a little after seven to fix breakfast for the kids.”
Carol nodded along but struggled for words. Knight waved at Gibbs, pointing to her clipboard. She pushed it over to him, and he quickly began reading through it while continuing with the interview. “You said that your husband left for work at or around 4:00 am. We can assume that he didn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary at that time, putting the time of your daughter's abduction approximately around two to four in the morning.”
Carol nodded again. “I was reading in bed until midnight.”
Knight leaned back in his chair, thinking to himself. “Carol, I'd like to first identify any person who has been to your house in the past month. Anyone outside of the family.”
She looked up with a troubled expression. “Someone who would break into my daughter's bedroom and take her? You think I would know anyone capable of that?”
Knight stuck to the point. “Not at all. But we have to sort everyone out.”
Carol rubbed her forehead. “I wouldn't even know where to start.”
“Who does your lawn?” he asked, pointing into the grass in the backyard.
Carol thought to herself. “Evergreen... Lawn Care, I think.”
The name sounded familiar. “That's a good start,” Knight said as his cell phone suddenly vibrated. He pulled it out of his left pocket, flipping the top open to a message: Out front. Where you at?
Slater had finally arrived. Knight typed a quick reply and told him that he'd meet him in a moment. Knight stood up as Carol looked up at him, confused. “I'll be right back,” he said, leaving his recorder running. “Anything that comes to mind, please tell Deputy Gibbs here.” He then touched Carol's arm with a sympathetic look. “We're here for you, okay?”
Carol nodded, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Knight walked away and returned inside the house, where not much had changed. Cops were everywhere. He was pretty sure that they were investigating a kidnapping, but the answers weren't clear yet. Brittany Owens was out there, and he had to find her before it was too late.
3
Witness
Carol's son Kyle sat on the living room couch with a police radio in his hand that one of the officers was showing him. Brittany's father hadn't arrived from work. Carol had mentioned that he was roughly an hour away. Knight continued outside, where the hot sun was unrelenting. Slater stood in the driveway under the shade of a stately oak tree. His burgundy Oldsmobile Cutlass was parked on the road behind Knight's Challenger. There were now two TV news crews on the scene, inching their operation closer to the house and in the process of interviewing a police officer.
On closer look, Knight recognized the officer as Staff Sergeant Morales, composed looking, with jet black hair and a tall, thin frame. Knight approached Slater, glancing over his shoulder with suspicion. “He's already giving a statement?”
Slater turned his head back and shrugged. “Guess he can't help himself.”
Knight reached into his pocket and pulled out Brittany's picture. “We need to release this ASAP.” He returned the picture to his coat pocket and then observed his partner's disheveled appearance.
Slater's
collar was loose. His tie hung low. Part of his shirt wasn't tucked in. There was thick stubble on his round face, and his short hair stuck out in all directions.
“You look bad. What happened?” But Knight knew the answer. It was the same old story. After his wife kicked him out of their house, Slater moved into a studio apartment where he spent most of his time drinking. His wife was fighting for custody of their two children, who were well into their teens, and she was also expecting some hefty alimony.
Knight worried about seeing his partner and friend of ten years in such a state. Slater wasn't far from retirement himself. If he didn't get his act together, he'd lose everything, including his pension. Babysitting him, however, was no easy feat.
Slater looked up at Knight with tired, puffy eyes. “I'm fine. Just had a little trouble getting up this morning.”
Knight grabbed his arm and leaned closer. “This is no joke. Another girl is missing.”
“I know that,” he said, yanking his arm away. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to get it together and do your job,” Knight seethed. “Look the part. We're senior detectives for Christ's sake, and you look like you slept in your car.”
Slater glanced down with a hint of shame. “I got it. Loud and clear.” He then looked up with what Knight hoped was sincerity. “I'll do better, okay? I promise.”
“We're a team here,” Knight said. “We're supposed to look out for each other, but we can't lose sight of our responsibilities.”
Slater backed against the side of Carol's Toyota Camry, seemingly disoriented. “I got it, I got it.”
“Don't fucking yes me,” Knight seethed.
Slater laughed until he saw the seriousness on his partner's face. “Go ahead and fill me in. What's the latest?”
