Missing Daughter

by Rick Mofina

  Less than a minute later DirtyUncleLoveFace666 posted.

  You mean this one? Posted with a link to Maddison’s photo and missing person poster.

  Oh my, RammerJammer911 posted. Would so love to meet her.

  She’d be such a fun date, 1MillionSweetDreams4U posted.

  So yummy. Wouldn’t you love to have her locked up in your basement, to have and to hold as your slave forever? DungeonLord0000 said.

  You’re killing me!!! I just bet someone out there has her, Grosso posted. You can’t keep that fresh piece of heaven to yourself. Anyone know if there’s a chance to share!!!

  Several moments of silence passed, then DungeonLord0000 posted.

  Can’t say yes, can’t say no.

  Oh, you’re teasing now, Grosso posted. You know who’s got her?

  Another moment passed, then DungeonLord0000 posted. Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy? Ha ha.

  That was it.

  A few more players posted before the discussion ended with Grosso wondering if any of them really knew anything about Maddison.

  Or if it was just fantasy.

  30

  Ryan scanned the sweeping view of metropolitan Syracuse, his gut clenched with desperation, as if he could pinpoint Maddie’s location from the lawyer’s office in the downtown skyscraper.

  Cole had arranged for an emergency appointment with his attorney, Stewart Venter, to prepare Ryan, Karen and Tyler for their polygraph examinations.

  “It’s your right to refuse to be polygraphed,” Venter, a seasoned criminal defense lawyer had said. “But it’s better for you to cooperate and remove any doubt that you’re involved in your daughter’s disappearance.”

  With the Lane family seated across from his desk, Venter outlined the process. The Lanes would be given their Miranda rights. The results of the exam would be kept confidential and never be allowed in court.

  “But your responses could be used to guide the investigation,” Venter said. “There are three possible results. You’re either untruthful, truthful or the results are inconclusive.”

  Then Venter looked at each of them.

  “You must be aware that the detectives in this case will develop the questions, and I guarantee that some will be extremely brutal and uncompromising.”

  Venter let a long moment pass, allowing the Lanes to absorb the full weight of what he was telling them.

  * * *

  Hearing Venter’s warning pulled Ryan back to that day in the rain...

  ...how I treated Maddie...the things I said to her...the awful thing I did to her... I begged her not to tell...and she didn’t tell anyone...no one knows...no one must ever know... Oh God, Maddie, I’m so sorry...

  Ryan rubbed his chin, his fingers trembling, maybe from stress, the lack of sleep, maybe from his crushing guilt over his failings.

  Will I be able to endure this? Will I be able to hold it all together?

  * * *

  With Ryan lost in his thoughts, Karen turned to Tyler who had become withdrawn.

  She reached for her son’s hand, attempting to squeeze it, but he pulled it back.

  “I’m okay, leave me alone.”

  His rejection stung, catapulting her back to her arguments with Maddie and what Maddie had said to her.

  Why are you ruining my life? I hate you! I hate you so much!

  And again Karen felt the stab of Maddie’s texts, those last words she’d written before she’d vanished.

  I hate her for ruining my life. She’s such a bitch.

  The anguish pulled Karen’s broken heart down, blurring through the years of her life to when she was young and took her little sister, Cassie, swimming at the Monarda River. She was supposed to watch over Cassie, but Karen was crazy about a boy and intent on playing a game with him, and it had ultimately led to Cassie’s death.

  Karen shut her eyes and took a breath.

  Please, God, don’t let this happen again.

  * * *

  Venter cleared his throat.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  They had no questions.

  “Okay, I think that does it then,” Venter said.

  As he walked the Lanes to the elevator, he offered his encouragement and support. Venter never considered the possibility of their guilt, or their innocence, in their daughter’s case. He was not representing them in any criminal proceedings. But as he watched the elevator doors close, he doubted that they were braced for what was coming.

  31

  A sense of gravity emanated from the Ruby Green Community Hall.

  The building was named after a beloved champion of civil rights, and over time had been used for fund-raisers, local meetings and elections. Now, a billboard-sized photo of Maddison Lane stood above the entrance.

  The photo was courtesy of a local print shop, and had served to transform the tired brick gathering place into the official search headquarters.

  The growing effort to find Maddison had been ongoing through the night without pause. Syracuse police, Cole’s private investigators and neighborhood officials were coordinating tips, updating map grids and reports arising from the ever-widening search that involved monitoring social media, physically circulating flyers, door-knocking, combing through fields, empty lots, parks, schoolyards, alleys and commercial and industrial sites.

  When Zubik and Asher entered the hall to interview Maddison’s friends, it was active. Volunteers at fold-out tables were registering and directing other volunteers. The detectives went to the table with coffee and food just as a tower of pizza boxes approached them.

  The man behind it, Bennie, was donating another delivery of pizzas to the search effort. After setting the boxes down, he recognized the detectives.

  “Hey, I saw you on the news,” he said. “You’re the cops on the case.”

  “That’s right,” Asher said.

  “I saw Maddie when I delivered to her house,” Bennie said. “She’s such a good kid. This is so rough. You guys have to find her, okay?”

  “We’re doing all we can, and we’re going to talk to you, too.”

  “For sure. My name’s Bennie, Bennie Price, and I want to help.”

  “All right, thanks, Bennie.” Asher turned as she and Zubik met Detective Doug Brentskov, who was fixing a coffee.

  “Hi, guys. We’ve got it all set up. Grab a coffee and follow me this way.”

  Brentskov led them to the hall’s administrative section. They came to four offices, a waiting area with bench seats and several small desks and folding tables.

  “The ident people are moving in their fingerprint equipment,” Brentskov said. “Stevens and I will log all personal data. While you talk to the kids, we’ll keep the parents back here in these rooms well out of earshot.”

  Procedurally Zubik and Asher would’ve requested the parents of Maddison’s friends bring their daughters and sons downtown for interviews. But they saw advantages to using the hall. It was closer to the scene, closer to where the friends lived and less intimidating, making it conducive to better results.

  Amanda Morber, aged twelve, was first.

  She entered the office alone, took her seat in the chair across from Zubik and Asher and rotated her phone in her hands as Asher spoke.

  “Thanks for coming here to help us find Maddie. No one’s in trouble, but we want you to understand it’s important that you answer our questions as best as you can. Don’t lie or hold anything back because even the smallest thing could help. And whatever you tell us will be kept confidential. You might already know that your parents have agreed for you to give us your phone when we’re done talking so we can clone it, and that they can pick it up later today downtown. Are you ready, Amanda?”

  She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Will you find Maddie?”

  “We’re doi
ng everything we can to find her,” Zubik said. “Now, would you say you’re one of Maddison’s closest friends?”

  “Yes, we’ve known each other since second grade.”

  “Did you text Maddison last night?”

  “Yes. A little.”

  “What about?”

  “Clothes mostly, shoes I had seen at the mall.”

  “Did you ever text about boys with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who specifically?”

  “We both thought Caleb Langford and Noah Trell were cute.”

  “Does Maddison have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Has Maddison ever gone on a date or secretly met a boy?”

  “No, I would say no.”

  “Did Maddison ever talk about being unhappy at home?”

  “Well, I know she argued a lot with her mother about not being allowed to date boys and got mad about it sometimes.”

  For the next twenty-five minutes, they asked Amanda questions. When they were done, she gave them her phone.

  Nicole Webb, aged thirteen, was next. She’d already given her phone to Brentskov and gripped the sides of her chair as Asher outlined the interview.

  “This is so scary.” Nicole’s voice wavered. “I’ve been texting her and texting her.”

  “Did Maddison ever talk about being abused at home, sexually, physically or mentally?”

  “God, no. I think she’s happy at home.”

  “What about with teachers, coaches or anyone older?”

  “No.”

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “No, but she’s a bit flirty, and she’s so pretty and everything.”

  “Did you see her flirt with anyone in particular?”

  “Logan. Logan Bostick. I know she thought he was kinda hot.”

  “Did she ever go out with Logan or meet him somewhere?”

  Nicole shook her head. “No, she would’ve told me.”

  “Do you know if Maddison ever sneaked out of the house late at night?”

  “No, she would’ve told me.”

  Following their session with Nicole, they continued with Brooke Carson, aged thirteen. After sitting down and hearing Asher’s explanation, Brooke covered her face with her hands. Her fingernails had glitter polish.

  “I can’t believe what’s happening to Maddie.”

  “Brooke, do you know if she has a boyfriend?”

  “No, but she told me she wanted one.”

  “Did she tell you who she liked?”

  “I know she thought some guys were hot. Caleb and Logan.”

  “Did she tell you secrets?”

  Brooke hesitated. “I know how bad she wanted to start dating, and she told me how she had these big fights with her mom about it. It was hard for Maddie.”

  “Hard for her? What do you mean?”

  “Well—” Brooke looked at Zubik, then Asher, unease in her eyes. “It’s sort of embarrassing.”

  “It’s okay,” Asher said. “This is not the time to hold back.”

  “Well, because some girls our age do date and Maddie already had her period and wore a bra and thought she was a woman, you know?”

  “Yes, we understand,” Asher said.

  “Brooke,” Zubik said, “do you know if Maddie went online to pornographic sites, or places she shouldn’t without her parents knowing?”

  Brooke thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think she did anything like that.”

  Their interview with Brooke lasted just over half an hour before the detectives went to the next girl, Lily Wong, aged twelve, who knew Maddison from her gymnastics class.

  “This is a nightmare. Some kids are saying Maddie’s dead,” Lily said.

  “We have nothing to prove Maddison’s been hurt,” Asher said.

  “Some parents are afraid that what’s happened to her could happen to another kid.”

  “Lily, do you know if Maddison ever used drugs or alcohol?”

  “I saw her sip a beer at a party once. That’s all I know.”

  They continued with Lily for some twenty minutes before Gabriela Rios, aged twelve, sat in the chair and sobbed through much of her interview.

  “You’ve got to find Maddie! Please! I’m praying you find her.”

  “Do you know if she has problems at school?”

  Gabriela shook her head. “She’s smart.”

  “Does she have problems with other kids, teachers, anyone at school?”

  “No, Maddie gets along with everyone. Everyone likes her.”

  After they concluded with Lily, Zubik and Asher moved on to the boys on their list, starting with Caleb Langford, aged thirteen, who struck them as quiet and reserved.

  “Caleb, have you ever used a burner phone?” Zubik asked.

  “No. Why would I want to, aren’t those for drug dealers and gangsters?”

  “Do you like Maddison?”

  “Yes, I guess.”

  “In what way do you like her?”

  “As a friend.”

  “Just as a friend? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “You talk to her at school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Text her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you text about?”

  “Not much, just school stuff.”

  “Don’t lie now.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  They continued questioning Caleb until they concluded, took his phone and started interviewing Logan Bostick, aged twelve, who struck them as extremely nervous. He kept rubbing the palms of his hands on his knees.

  “Logan, have you ever texted Maddison with self-destructing messages to keep them secret?”

  “No.”

  “You know if you mislead us we’ll find out when we check your phone.”

  “No. I don’t use that kind of messaging. I mean I tried it but, no, I don’t use it with my friends.”

  “Have you ever gone to Maddison’s house?”

  “No. I didn’t know where she lives until now. It’s on the news.”

  They continued pressing Logan until it was time for their last interview, Noah Trell, aged thirteen, who kept running his fingers through his hair.

  “Do you have a crush on Maddison?”

  Noah didn’t answer.

  “Well, Noah?”

  “I like her a lot, I guess.”

  “Do you know, or think, she has a crush on you?”

  He shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He licked his lips.

  “Some kids told me she might’ve had a crush on me.”

  “You ever meet up with her alone at a mall or someplace secret without anyone knowing?”

  “No. I met her with a group of friends at the mall. She was with some friends, I was with some friends, and we all just met.”

  “Ever ask her to be your girlfriend?”

  “No. I heard she wasn’t allowed to date until she was older, which seemed dumb.”

  “Why’s that dumb?”

  “Because she’s old enough and she wanted to.”

  “Ever suggest she meet you someplace without telling anyone?”

  “No, I never did, but—” he looked off at nothing “—I wanted to ask her if she would go out with me but I never did.”

  They questioned Noah for another twenty minutes before concluding the interviews. Alone in the office, Zubik and Asher compared notes on what Maddison’s friends had told them. They were underscoring several points, deciding on who would be reinterviewed and who they still needed to talk to, when Brooke Carson returned to the room and stood before them.

  She was crying.


  “What is it, Brooke?” Asher asked.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Asher got up, closed the door and helped her to the chair.

  “Go ahead.” Zubik got up, came around, crossed his arms and leaned on the desk.

  “You said this was all confidential, right? No one will know what I tell you.”

  “That’s right,” Asher said.

  Brooke squeezed her hands into fists, and she stared at her feet.

  “She made me swear I’d never tell anyone.”

  “Who made you swear?”

  “Maddie.”

  “She made you swear you’d never tell about what?” Asher said. “This is important, Brooke.”

  “She told me something was happening in her life.”

  “What was happening?” Asher asked.

  Brooke shrugged.

  “Well, did she elaborate?” Asher asked.

  “No, no.” Brooke shook her head. “It was like she let it slip, like she wanted me to know but then she didn’t.”

  “Did she tell you anything more?”

  “No.” Brooke broke into sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

  She covered her face with her hands. Asher moved to comfort her, passing her a tissue, helping Brooke gain a measure of composure.

  “It’s just that when she told me—” Brooke blinked back her tears “—when she told me, she looked a little scared.”

  32

  At the halfway house, an Onondaga County evidence technician carefully poured about two teaspoons of silver fingerprint powder onto a clean piece of paper.

  She then selected a camel-hair brush from her kit and drew it across the powder. Using arching strokes, she gently applied the brush to the targeted surfaces to locate prints in the auxiliary supply room.

  This was one step in a meticulous process.

  She’d already photographed and measured the window, and inspected it for traces of hair and fiber evidence. Now, as part of the procedure to collect fingerprint evidence, she began brushing powder on the supply boxes that had been stacked in front of the window, working her way to the wall surrounding the window, the frame, the sill, the levers, the hinges and the glass.