by Rick Mofina
Prints were evident everywhere.
They appeared first as smudges.
The technician continued. Once she had the prints developed, she took more photographs before lifting them.
After completing her work inside, the technician went outside to repeat the process on the window’s exterior. A colleague had started working outside earlier, and had already taken casts of shoe impressions from the soft earth surfaces directly under and around the window.
Word of the forensic work spread through the center and was soon known by every inmate in the halfway house, putting them on edge. One of them, a bank robber, stood in the hall complaining.
“All this is bull! Why they gotta convict us all over again? Man, this is going mess up my job, mess up my progress.”
“Get back in your room,” a case manager ordered him.
Soon after an update had circulated that the forensic people had finished, everyone heard a bark. Word burned through the center that a K-9 unit had been brought in.
It had detected a scent at the window.
Minutes ticked by, and the sounds of the dog and its handler working their way through the main floor grew more distinct as they reached the second floor. Then the unit hastened up the stairs to the third floor. The jingle of the dog’s collar was unmistakable as the handler uttered soft encouraging commands. Panting and the tap of paws grew louder and nearer until Kalmen T. Gatt and Brandon Kane heard a yip and scratching at their door.
Static-filled radio transmissions crackled, then they heard a rumble akin to distant thunder as if an army had been summoned. The door to their quarters swung open. Armed officers swept in, guns drawn.
“On the floor! Hands behind your head, fingers entwined!”
Tail wagging, snout to the floor, the dog crisscrossed the room before stopping and barking.
With several case managers observing, Onondaga deputies got down on hands and knees, tapping the floor beneath and walls above the baseboard.
33
That afternoon, in the Criminal Investigations Division at police headquarters, Ryan Lane felt like a condemned man being strapped into an electric chair.
The polygraph chair was beige with a high back, wide armrests and a wired footpad, all fixed with hidden “seat activity” sensors. They were connected by a web of cables to the polygraph’s system on the laptop controlled by Carl Kirby, chief polygraphist for the Syracuse police.
Kirby, a bald man with small round glasses, inspected the sensors he’d connected to Ryan’s fingertips and chest. They would measure his blood pressure, heart rate, skin reflex and breathing on the polygraph chart displayed on Kirby’s laptop.
“Are you comfortable, Ryan?”
Comfortable? How could anyone in my shoes be comfortable?
When Ryan, Karen and Tyler arrived at the Public Safety Building, Kirby had separated them for the pretest segment. Starting with Ryan, he’d outlined the process, how the polygraph worked, how he would analyze the results to conclude how Ryan fared.
Ryan was then read his rights and signed a consent form.
Kirby half smiled at him. “Ready to begin?”
“Yes.”
“I’m cognizant of the fact you’re uneasy. Take easy breaths and try to relax.”
“Okay.”
“Is your name Ryan Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Were you born in July?”
“Yes.”
“Do you lie to your wife?”
“What do you mean? Like with little things, or big things?”
“Just answer the question yes or no like we discussed, please. Do you lie to your wife?”
“No.”
“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
“Physically? Verbally?”
“Yes or no, please. Have you ever hurt anyone?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt Maddison?”
“No.”
“Are you a violent person?”
“No.”
“Do you lose your temper easily?”
“No.”
“Before Maddison’s disappearance were you under stress?”
Ryan hesitated and licked his lips. “Yes.”
“Were you upset at the bank when you were rejected for a loan?”
“Yes.”
Kirby eyed the chart flowing on his laptop.
“Did you lose your temper at the bank?”
“Yes.”
“Were you violent?”
Ryan blinked then swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Do you know where Maddison is?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Maddison?”
“No.”
“Do you know who took Maddison?”
“No.”
“Did someone in your family hurt Maddison by accident?”
“No.”
“If someone in your family was involved in Maddison’s disappearance, would you tell police?”
“Yes.”
Kirby’s questions continued for more than an hour. Some were posed differently, but they were still the same and relentless, like powerful claws ripping at his insides. With no sleep, little to eat and feeling emotionally empty, as they neared the end he felt numb.
How did this happen? One day I’m a working man, struggling to keep my business, now my daughter’s missing and I’m treated like a suspect. God, tell me, will I ever see Maddie again?
Suddenly Ryan was pierced with a spear of truth—a flash of one horrible incident—that one terrible time with Maddie that he would never reveal to anyone.
* * *
It’s my fault Maddie’s gone.
Taking stock of the wires connecting him to the lie detector, Tyler felt the new weight of what was happening. He had listened to everything Kirby, the polygraph guy, had told him.
I’ve got to pass this test because it’s my fault she’s missing.
The guy checked to ensure Tyler’s feet rested properly on the footpad. “Okay, that should do it,” Kirby said. “Ready?”
Tyler nodded.
“Is your name Tyler Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirteen years old?’
“Yes.”
“Do you have a brother?”
“No.”
“Do you have a sister?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever hit your sister?”
“Yes.”
Kirby made a note while keeping his eyes on his laptop.
“Did you hurt your sister the night she disappeared?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt her by accident?”
“No.”
“Do you ever get mad at your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hate your sister?”
“No.”
“Do you collect knives?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever think about stabbing a person with one of your knives?”
Tyler thought. He did think about stabbing the creep who was in Maddie’s room, so: “Yes,” he said.
“Did you kill your sister?”
“No!” Tyler shook his head.
“Did you convince her to sneak out her window the night she disappeared?”
“No.”
“Did one of your friends or someone you know take your sister?”
“No.”
“Do you know where your sister is?”
“No.”
“Do you know who took your sister?”
“No.”
“Did you hear voices in her room the night she disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Disregarding Maddie, do you know who the other voice belon
gs to?”
“No.”
“Was Maddie being abused sexually or physically in your home?”
“No.”
“Did one of your parents hurt Maddie then make it look liked she was abducted?”
“No.”
“Did your mom, or your dad, or you, hurt your sister by accident?”
“No.”
The polygraph guy kept asking Tyler questions like that for close to an hour before he said they were nearly done with only a few more to go.
“Are you protecting anyone who may have been involved in your sister’s disappearance?”
“No.”
“Are you happy your sister’s gone?”
Tyler’s chin crumpled. “No.”
“Do you want her to return?”
“Yes.” He started to cry. “More than anything.”
* * *
“Please, take a breath and try to relax.”
Karen was sobbing softly and trembling as Kirby connected the sensors to her fingers. She was not in an ideal state for a polygraph exam, but she told him that she wanted to go through with it.
“Would you like some water before we start, Karen?”
“No, thank you.”
She blinked back her tears and readied herself as Kirby settled into his chair, studied his laptop and began the examination.
“Is your name Karen Lane?”
“Yes.”
“Are you employed as a cashier?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a mother of two children?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever lied to your husband?”
Karen didn’t respond, and Kirby repeated the question.
“Have you ever lied to your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Was there tension in your home before your daughter went missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did you argue with your daughter before she went missing?”
“Yes.”
“Were you angry when you argued with her?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever hurt your daughter?”
“No.”
Kirby paused as he watched the chart on his screen.
“Did you hurt your daughter by accident and cover it up by staging her disappearance?”
“No!”
“Do you know if your daughter is dead?”
“God, no!” Karen turned to Kirby. “No!”
“Do you know who took your daughter?”
“No.”
“Do you know where your daughter is?”
“No.” Her voice weakened.
Somehow Karen found the strength to keep herself together as Kirby grilled her for nearly ninety minutes. Some of his questions took her into the darkest corners of her life, leaving her raw and exposed. When it was over, Kirby disconnected the sensors and told Karen she could leave and join Ryan and Tyler.
But she didn’t move.
It was as if she’d been ravaged as if all emotion, all feeling, had emptied out of her and she’d been cast into a bottomless black chasm. She was plunging, swallowed by darkness lit only by her sins and images of Cassie, then Cassie’s casket being lowered into the grave; then her mother’s casket being lowered into the ground and now Maddie was gone with Kirby’s question hammering against her heart.
“Do you know if your daughter is dead?”
Karen never felt Kirby’s hands, or those of the people he’d summoned to help her as she struggled against them in the polygraph chair and screamed for her child.
34
Still reeling from their polygraphs, the Lanes walked out of police headquarters.
Ryan searched for Chuck Field, who was going to drive them back to Cole’s house. He didn’t see Chuck. Instead, he’d spotted a young woman waiting outside the entrance. She saw Ryan and approached them.
“Excuse me, are you the Lanes, Maddison’s family?”
She was in her early twenties, sunglasses perched atop her head. A nose ring pierced her right nostril. She wore a lot of makeup, and her eyes gleamed with a mix of anxiety and successful hunting.
Ryan nodded.
“I’m Daisy Miller, reporter for Just Breaking Now, online news.” She held up an ID tag, then quickly held out her phone toward Ryan and Karen. “Will you be going to Buffalo to make the positive identification?”
Puzzled, Ryan and Karen looked at each other, then at Miller.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Our sources confirm that a girl’s body was found in a wooded area in Buffalo and that they’re confident it’s your daughter. What’re your thoughts at this time?”
Ryan went ashen; Karen’s knees buckled. He and Tyler caught her before she collapsed as Chuck Field arrived and rushed to help them.
“What? Buffalo? What?” Ryan stammered while helping Karen. “We don’t know anything about a body.”
“I’m sorry to break it to you,” Miller said. “It’s happening now in Buffalo.”
Karen moaned and began sobbing.
“We have nothing to say,” Ryan said. “Leave us alone.”
With Chuck’s help Ryan and Tyler got Karen back inside the building.
Feeling everything inside him crack wide open, Ryan raced up to the Criminal Investigations Division on the third floor, stormed through it until he found Asher and Zubik at their desks. Asher was on the phone.
“Why didn’t you tell us you found Maddie in Buffalo?” Ryan shouted.
Taken by surprise Zubik stood, holding up his open palms.
“Detective Asher is just confirming information,” Zubik said. “How did you learn about Buffalo?”
“There’s a reporter downstairs. She told us and Karen’s destroyed. Goddammit, Zubik!”
“Hold on, have a seat. We just got the call, too. That reporter might have good sources but, Ryan, we need to confirm whether or not it’s Maddison. Hold on.”
His chest heaving, tears blurring his eyes, Ryan paced while Asher was on the phone. He rejected a bottle of water from Zubik as other investigators in the division came near, ready to subdue him if necessary.
Asher finished her call.
“All right.” She exhaled. “The body found in Buffalo is not Maddison. It’s a fourteen-year-old girl from Buffalo who apparently was hit by a train while walking on the tracks.”
Zubik and the others watched Ryan absorb the news in silence. With each passing second the tension decreased. He ran his hands through his hair and shut his eyes.
“You should be with Karen. We’ll go downstairs with you to tell her,” Zubik said.
Ryan swallowed hard and nodded.
* * *
The silence in Chuck Field’s Chevy Equinox was crushing. He found a classical music station and turned the sound low as they drove.
After Zubik and Asher had confirmed to the Lanes that the reporter’s information was wrong, that the body found in Buffalo was not Maddison, they offered a small consolation. The Lanes would be able to return to their home the next day.
Now, as they rolled across the city to Cole’s house, Karen gazed out the window, submerged in her pain.
Will I ever see Maddie again? Will I ever hold her again and tell her I’m sorry? Was she taken by a predator and killed? Is she lying in a ditch somewhere?
As they passed through a section of the city that was near the Monarda River, Karen found herself thinking of Cassie, of how she died. The agony of that time began swirling around her.
Not now. Please God, don’t let me think of that now.
Karen then thought of the polygraph, how it had taken her into the corners of her heart where she’d hid
den her deepest fears and darkest secrets.
She cried quietly.
* * *
As Chuck drove, the strains of a haunting piece by Mozart floated from the speakers.
Ryan’s pulse continued hammering.
...like my wipers that day I got into my truck to search for Maddie in the rain...that awful day... I was enraged... I lost it that day...
As they passed the area that led to the Monarda River, Ryan glanced at Karen, lost in her anguish. Then he thought about what he’d learned about the statistics concerning abducted children. How most were killed within hours of being taken; how their encounter with that reporter had driven home the cold hard reality that Maddie was likely dead.
No, don’t think like that. You’re depleted because you’ve had no sleep and because of the polygraph.
The polygraph.
Will it bring us closer to the truth?
Closer to them finding out what I did to Maddie?
35
With each tap on the floor and walls, the deputies drove a new spike of fear into Kalmen Gatt’s heart.
His face betrayed nothing.
But all the spit in his mouth had evaporated as he watched the deputies working with the dog along the baseboard near his roommate’s side.
Kane flicked a look of trepidation to Gatt.
Gatt ignored him.
The dog, pumped with enthusiasm, crouched to sniff under Kane’s bed, yelping and pawing near the wall’s duplex electrical outlet. The deputies shoved Kane’s bed aside. A screwdriver was produced, and the outlet’s plastic plate removed.
A deputy drew his face within inches of the outlet, and used a penlight to probe the small space until an object was discovered. Gloved fingers were inserted into the gap, and after a few seconds of careful movement, the deputy delicately extracted clear plastic bags holding various items. Cash rolled into a tight cylinder, a cell phone, vials of pills, and small baggies of foiled items and powder were obvious.
The deputy set the discovery atop Kane’s bedside table.
Another deputy was talking quietly on his phone. All eyes had shifted to Kane.
“We’ve just been told that your prints were found inside and outside the auxiliary supply room window, Kane,” a deputy said. “I’ll bet that phone’s a burner, and you’ve been slipping out to deal. What else you been up to, Brandon? You’re still incarcerated. You have no rights here.”
