by Roger Hayden
The doorbell glowed from the stucco wall near the frame. Harris paused at the door and took a deep breath. She was there for a reason. Though years had passed, Charles Knight had knowledge of the case. Perhaps she could unearth something in him, a memory that had remained long dormant. She pressed her finger against the doorbell as it rang from inside. She waited and heard nothing.
At least a minute passed before a grunting voice neared the door. He opened it halfway, revealing a roundish-face, glasses, and white hair. His eyes were large and inquisitive, and there were bits of stubble on his tan cheeks. Harris presented her badge and introduced herself. She recalled seeing Knight’s picture. He was obviously younger then and his hair had been a lot shorter. The shaggy-haired man before her, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, appeared to be the epitome of contented retirement. He extended his hand while leaning against the foyer wall in slight discomfort. She noticed he had knee braces as well.
“Pleased to meet you, Detective Knight,” she said as they shook.
He offered her a tired smile. “Call me Charles.” He then stepped aside and invited her in.
Harris thanked him and entered the foyer with her satchel of case notes over her shoulder. Knight led her through the tiled foyer and into an adjacent living room on the left. He then walked across the carpeted room and opened the front window blinds, allowing sunlight to enter. There was a large sofa against the wall, with end tables on both sides. A coffee table was cluttered with files and papers. Harris noticed a stack of folders and notepads on a nearby recliner and an open box of files on the floor.
Knight moved the mess on the recliner and offered her a seat. Harris approached and turned toward the dining room where she could see outside, beyond a sliding glass door. A woman was on her knees in the backyard, wearing a sun hat and gloves, tending a garden. Knight sat on the couch and closed his laptop, resting it on the coffee table. “Pardon the mess.”
Harris set her satchel down and took a seat. “No problem at all. Are you working on something special?”
Knight responded with a smirk and nervous laugh as he looked away. “No. No. Just a project of mine. Always wanted to write a novel.”
Impressed, Harris nodded. “That’s wonderful. How long have you been working on it?”
Knight took an old newspaper from a nearby stack and tossed it aside. “Far too long.”
“Mind if I ask what it’s about?” she asked.
Knight shook his head as he leaned closer, fingers interlaced. “Let’s talk about your case. Time is valuable, especially where missing persons are concerned.”
Harris had no problem with getting to the point. She opened her satchel and pulled out the bagged letter with its burnt edges. Across the room and against the wall stood a quaint entertainment center. Harris leaned forward and carefully placed the note on the coffee table, right under Knight’s eyes.
“This note was left in the mailbox at the Parker residence. I’m assuming the ‘Charley’ being referred to is you. After all, I know you had a history with this person, and no one knows this case better than you.”
Knight stared down at the letter, hardly breathing. His eyes stayed fixed on the words, but he didn’t touch it. Harris heard a dog bark from outside. She glanced toward the backyard where Knight’s wife tossed a tennis ball to a golden retriever. The dog was excited and full of energy, and the woman looked like she was having fun. She didn’t seem aware of Harris’s presence, but probably was. Knight slowly leaned back against the sofa pillow with his arms at his side, his face slack. “The kidnapping case…” he began as he swallowed. “It went cold. The girls… they haven’t been seen since.”
“And now he’s got another one,” Harris added.
“No thanks to me,” Knight said in a deflated tone. She could tell that even thinking about the case was difficult for him. Five years had passed since Sarah Riley, Brittany Owens, and Jenny Martin’s disappearances. Since that time, theirs had been considered one of the highest profile unsolved cases in Florida. Harris clasped her hands together and leaned forward, prepared to motivate Knight and return him to reality; a reality in which the missing girls weren’t his fault.
“Charles, in five years there hasn’t been a single detective who has been able to crack this case. What does that tell you? Heck, you even had the FBI involved. Closure doesn’t always happen. You know that better than anyone.”
Knight stared down in thought and then squeezed the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes. “Yes. I know this.” He then tossed his hand down with a sigh and turned his head in her direction. “What do you want, Detective Harris?” He leaned forward in discomfort as both hands went to one of his knees. “I’m sorry for not offering you anything. It hurts to walk sometimes. But you’re welcome to a soda or whatever you can find in the fridge.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She then pulled a hand-held digital audio recorder from her satchel and set it on the table. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
He glanced at the recorder as a smile spread across his face. “No. That’s fine. The sight of one of those things takes me back. I still use mine to dictate notes and stuff.”
Harris pressed Record and after first stating the time and place and her name and Charley’s, she began. first stating the background. “The person or persons we’re looking for blew up a 1989 Cadillac all those years ago. Do you believe they were trying to kill you?”
Knight brought a hand to his forehead with a troubled expression. “I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “It was about this stupid game. They paid my old partner off for information. They knew where I lived. It always seemed like they were watching, which is funny because we’re supposed to be the ones watching. Detectives, that is.” He paused for a moment as though he was rambling. “I’ve played that day over again in my mind since it happened. Slater and Daniels were both in on it, I thought, but denied their involvement… or any details, for that matter.
"They both died that day. I should have been more prepared. I thought I had them, but they turned out to just be pawns.” He began massaging his forehead as his words trailed off. “The kidnapper was running the show. I have no idea who put that car there, but they were long gone by the time I showed up. I believe it was meant for Slater. They wanted to get rid of loose ends. Instead, I watched my partner shoot himself and almost got blown up myself.”
Harris nodded while remaining as attentive as could be. “I’ve read the written statement you gave many times. It’s very detailed and descriptive. Feels almost like I was there.”
He smiled, appearing flattered. “Maybe this novelist thing will work out after all.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said. “You had described finding a note on your partner with detailed instructions that led to the Oldsmobile. But you didn’t know at the time what you were looking for. You described hearing a ticking timer just moments before the car exploded.”
“Yeah. That’s right,” Knight said with a shrug.
“That car was rigged to explode either way. They used a different tactic this time,” she said. “The Oldsmobile Cutlass was a trap from the get-go. It detonated upon opening the trunk.” She paused as a wave of anguish swept over her. “I’m sorry. The emotions are still raw.”
Knight seemed to study her with understanding. “Don’t push yourself too far. At the end of the day, it’s just a job.” He then patted one of his bad knees. “And no job is worth everything.”
“I need to stay active in this investigation,” she said. “If I were to just sit on the sidelines, I’d lose it. The more active, the better. I feel like I’m doing something about it.”
Knight pointed to his TV across the room. “From what I heard on the news, a federal task force is being assigned. Your only choice might be to work with them.” He glanced down at the audio recorder on the table and back at Harris. “You didn’t come here just to ask me about my statement, did you?”
Harris thought to herself for a moment
and then answered. “No, I didn’t. I was just hoping that maybe you could…”
“Could what?” he said, increasingly irritated.
She gripped the sides of the recliner, her voice raised. “Help me figure this thing out.” They studied each other in silence as she attempted to gather her thoughts. Charley shook his head. She then spoke calmly. “We’re pursuing two suspects. They’re working together. That might explain how they’re able to pull off some of these more elaborate stunts. And right now, we’re looking for a blue van with white stripes running along the sides.”
Knight suddenly shifted to one side of the couch and stretched his leg out. “You think I just dropped the case after I retired? I asked myself the same questions for years. I followed leads, I did research, I talked to people, and I played detective for some time, even as a civilian. I’ll tell you what I found out: the culprits had vanished. The girls had all disappeared without a trace. The case remains unsolved to this day, and there is nothing I can do about it.” He stared at her with an upsetting intensity. “I failed those girls. Me, and no one else. If I find the bastards who did this, I’ll kill ‘em on the spot, no question.”
“We’re going to find them this time,” Harris said with certainty. “We have to.”
Knight glanced at his watch, a big thing with Roman numerals, and then back at her. “Ten minutes is almost up. Anything else you want to ask while we’re on the clock?”
“Yes,” she said, rising from the recliner. “Can you help me solve this case?”
He stared at her with an amused smile on his face. “You’re actually serious.” He then sat up, swinging a leg back down. “You seem like a smart and eager professional. No harm in asking, but I’m afraid I’m busy with my novel.”
Harris noticed some typed pages resting on the table, double-spaced. At the top of the page, she saw a chapter heading. “The Kidnapper’s Demise…” she said, reading.
Knight lunged forward, eyes scowling, as he grabbed the stack of pages and pulled them away. “That’s enough. Good day, Ms. Harris.”
But she wasn’t going anywhere. Not then. She remained standing and folded her arms on her chest, almost daring him to cross that uncrossable line. All the while, she knew that angering Knight wasn’t going to bring him to her side. She had to display a certain tact to get what she wanted. She pointed to the typed papers. “You can’t get the case out of your mind, can you?” she asked. “I know I can’t.”
Knight fidgeted with a stack of magazines, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s just material for a novel. Nothing more, nothing less. Use what you know, right?”
Leaning closer, Harris took the letter back and held it up. “The kidnappers, they’re calling you out, Charles.”
“So?” Knight said, unfazed. “I’m sure the task force will do their job. Have a little faith.”
“Lieutenant Detective Felder was murdered yesterday,” Harris began, “and I’m not going to rest until we find the monsters who did it. I’m offering you a chance to finish this thing. We can go through the proper channels and figure it out together. Please, Charles. I need your help.”
Without looking at her again, he suddenly pushed himself to his feet, struggling to stand. Harris went to him with a hand on his shoulder as he waved her off. “I’m fine. Thank you.” He limped past her toward a side hallway. “I have to take some medication. I trust you know what to do with yourself.”
She watched as he walked past her, using the walls for balance. Their brief sit-down had had its share of contention, but she wasn’t quite ready to give up. She even thought Knight was exaggerating his physical ailments to further drive her away. He sighed and groaned theatrically all the way down the hallway. A bedroom door closed as Harris stood alone.
In the quiet that followed, she paced the living room, glancing among the scattered mess of papers and boxes everywhere, not wanting to pry but doing it anyway. She approached the bookcase, observing the framed family pictures standing on a shelf. In the photos were a younger Knight, his wife, and a little girl.
In more recent pictures, the girl looked to be almost Harris’s age. She stopped to look at a picture of Knight at a ceremony being awarded a citation. He looked proud and distinguished, at the peak of his career. She smiled at the picture and then spun around as the sliding glass door opened behind her. Knight’s wife walked inside the dining room and glanced at Harris with less than welcoming eyes. The woman removed her sun hat and placed it on the chair with her gardening gloves. Her brunette hair was tied into a ponytail, and her eyes were a glossy blue. After closing the door, she stood frozen in jean overalls. Harris introduced herself with a smile. Knight’s wife, however, couldn’t have been more suspicious.
“What are you doing here?” she said, approaching the living room. “Didn’t you call earlier?”
“Yes, that was me,” Harris said. “Charles, I mean, Detective Knight, agreed to meet.”
The woman shook her head, staring into the distance. “That’s not a good idea. I think you should be on your way.”
Harris politely extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Bonnie,” she said with a limp shake. “Now please be on your way.”
Feeling the tides against her, Harris grabbed her satchel from next to the recliner. “Mrs. Knight, your husband could be an asset to this investigation. Another girl has been kidnapped. Our lieutenant was murdered in a car bomb—”
“I don’t care!” Bonnie shouted, cutting her hands across the air. “You’re the detective, you figure it out!”
Harris stepped back, prepared to leave. “I’m sorry to have upset you.”
“It’s not Charles’s responsibility anymore,” Bonnie continued, still angered. “He’s been obsessing about that case since retirement. Blames himself for those missing girls. It nearly destroyed him.” She then paused to catch her breath as Knight emerged from the hallway, leaning against the wall. Sensing his presence, Bonnie spun around with watering eyes.
“It’s okay, Bonnie,” he said in a calming voice. “Detective Harris is our guest, and we need to treat her as such.” He then glanced past her toward Harris. “Would you like anything to drink now?”
Harris nodded, feeling dryness in her throat and a small sense of hope.
“Water okay?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Harris said.
Knight then asked his wife if she would bring them some water. Harris believed it was a way to get Bonnie briefly out of the room. Bonnie’s suspicious eyes remained on Harris until she turned and finally left. Once alone, Knight signaled to the recliner and then sat on the couch. Harris seated herself once again, sensing a change of heart in the formerly stubborn and crusty detective. He then produced a plastic bag of his own, revealing several letters inside.
“I kept each one,” he began. “After I retired, I considered moving, but part of me wanted him to come back here. I wanted to be ready when he did.” He slid the letters toward her and then leaned back against the sofa. “I spent many restless nights armed and pacing this house, waiting for him to return. I invested in outside security cameras all around the house. The years passed, and I got sick of waiting. They never came back. They never sent another letter. No more kidnapped children. They just stopped. But I always knew they’d start it again. You don’t pull something like this and just retire. You try it again and again, until one day you get caught.”
He stopped talking when Bonnie entered the room with two glasses of water, placing them atop coasters scattered on the coffee table. Harris thanked her as Bonnie sat with an air of dissatisfaction no matter what pleasantries were sent her way. “What is it you two are talking about? The letter writer again?” She turned to Harris. “You want my advice? Put a cop on every block. Increase the reward to a million per missing child. Hell, get America’s Most Wanted on the case.”
Knight urged her to slow down. “Bonnie, that’s enough. We’re having a conversation here.”
She lo
oked at him, initially to object, but soon acquiesced. “Fine, Charles. But I’m not going anywhere. I’d like to hear what Detective Harris has to say.”
Harris looked up and noticed both their eyes intent on her, waiting. She quickly pulled a file from her satchel and opened it, reading one of Knight’s old reports back to him. “Your profile back then stated that our culprit was a local who was independently wealthy and had the ability to blend in. Caucasian male in his late thirties to early forties. He utilizes disguises and never stays in one place too long. He also has a knowledgeable background in explosives.” She paused and looked up from the folder. “Former military perhaps?”
Bonnie turned to Knight. “Did that ever occur to you?”
“Of course,” Knight said with a shrug. “I’ve looked into the military and law enforcement background before and didn’t have much luck.”
Looking from her husband to Harris, Bonnie continued. “I apologize if I came off as rude before.”
Harris waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.”
But Bonnie wasn’t done. “I do have a question for you, and I’d like an honest answer.”
“What is it?” Harris asked.
Bonnie placed her hand on Knight’s knee and hesitated, as though she wanted to choose her words carefully. “What do you want with Charles? What do you think he can offer this case? And don’t tell me that it’s his expertise.”
Harris thought to herself. If it was honesty they wanted, she would offer the best possible explanation. “No one has a better insight into this case. And no one is more adept at bringing the kidnappers out of the shadows.” Nobody challenged her remarks, and she hoped that she had said the right thing. “I don’t think the girls are dead,” she continued. Knight then leaned forward and she asked him, “What do you think?”
“I-I’ve always hoped they were still alive,” Knight said. “But they’d be sixteen by now. How could anyone keep them captive for so long?”
Bonnie suddenly stood up, perturbed, and sprang close to Harris. “Hold on now. Back up. When you said Charles could bring the kidnappers out of the shadows, did you just suggest that you want to use Charles as bait?”
