Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (18 page)

“She’s going to be okay,” the doctor said before Miriam could answer.

“Poor kid’s been through a lot,” Lou said, shaking his head. He turned to the door to see the officers standing in the hall through the window blinds. “Miriam, I don’t have a lot of time…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Dr. Bhandari said, inching toward the door with clipboard in hand.

“Yes, of course,” Lou said, making way for him to pass. “I have to get back to Palm Dale, for starters. There’s a lot of paperwork waiting for me.”

Miriam got right to the point. “Did you find him?”

“There was an explosion,” Lou said. “A boat explosion. Right there off the Everglades trail. About a mile and a half from the cabin. We don’t know what happened.”

Miriam remained silent. Her sullen expression said little beyond the emotional distress she was already grappling with.

“We’re about ninety percent sure that it was his boat,” Lou said.

“And his body?” Miriam asked without a second thought.

“He’s dead, Miriam. Of that, we’re fairly certain,” Lou’s eyes glanced downward then back at her with reassurance.

“Not good enough,” she said.

Lou dug his hands into his pockets and shifted back on his heels. “We recovered several from the explosion, and we’re trying to get the remains identified as soon as possible.”

Miriam spun around, angered. “How
did this happen?”

“Boat was rigged with explosives,” Lou said. “By the range of the blast and the field of debris, we’re looking at twenty to thirty pounds of explosives.”

Miriam began pacing again—eyes were closed and head down, as she shook in disbelief.

Lou clapped his hands together. “Our theory is that he had every intention of blowing up that boat, probably to throw us off his tracks. However, we think that he triggered it prematurely and… well, you see how that turned out.”

“How many bodies?” Miriam asked.

“Four. Some of them other boaters. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Miriam came to her chair and plopped down. Lou inched toward the door as though he had said his piece and was anxious to get away. She sank her face into her hands and sighed. “Just tell me that he’s dead…”

“We believe so, yes,” he said flatly.

Miriam looked up with a matter-of-fact smile. “I have to tell you, Lou. Your tone doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Lou looked up defensively. “No one could have survived a blast like that. Not possible. He’s dead, okay?”

Miriam nodded. “If you say so.” She looked back to Ana and then spoke in a softer tone. “I hope that’s the case.”

Lou left as quickly as he had come in and closed the door behind him. The room went quiet again. Miriam wiped a tear from under one eye—from grief or joy, she couldn’t tell. She made her way back to her Ana-watching chair and sat down.

Ana lay in deep slumber, with no change or indication of when she would wake again. As Miriam stared at the faded blue wall ahead of her, she pondered their next step. Both of their lives had dramatically changed, and it was time to start over. If such a thing were possible anymore. No matter the outcome, Miriam felt a sense of dread. There was something she faced along with a fear second only to Ana not waking up: telling her only daughter that her father was dead.

By morning, Miriam awoke in her chair right next to the bed to find Ana awake and dazed. She jumped up and sat next to Ana immediately, carefully brushing back her hair.

“Oh, honey. I’m so glad you’re awake,” she said.

Ana looked around the room with an air of uncertainty.

“How are you feeling?” Miriam asked as a tear streamed down her cheek.

“Okay,” Ana said in a dry voice.

Miriam grabbed a cup of water on a tray next to Ana and handed it to her.

“Drink this,” she said.

Ana reluctantly took the bottle and sipped it.

“Where’s dad?” were the first words out of her mouth.

Miriam’s smile dropped. She paused, thinking of the right words to say. She had hoped that there would be time to build up to the question, but clearly Ana knew otherwise.

“Your father…” Miriam began. “Freddy… Dad. I-I don’t know what to say.” She then hugged Ana tightly, pushing the young girl against her. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. I love you so much. You mean everything to me.”

“Mom…” Ana said, eyes watering. “I had a dream. And in my dream, Dad died.”

Miriam released her and sat against the bed, exhausted but prepared to tell Ana what she needed to know.

“Your dad isn’t with us anymore. I’m sorry.” She clutched Ana again and held her tight with no desire to let go. “I’m so sorry…”

***

Freddy’s memorial service was held not far from the Miami-Dade hospital Miriam had become so well acquainted with. Cuban descendants, his parents Julio and Tessa lived within the Little Havana community in Miami, where Freddy had been born and raised.

As she stood among Freddy’s friends and family, peering at a closed casket resting above a hidden open grave, the reality of his unexpected death finally started to sink in. None of it had seemed real. But there was no denying the name on the marble headstone:
Fredrick Ernesto Chapman
.

Dressed in black, despite his parents’ urging her to wear spring colors, Miriam lowered her head as she held Ana’s shoulders, squeezing. Ana matched her mother in mood and style—though she was considerably smaller. A priest delivered a stirring eulogy and last blessings as the somber crowd stood under a large canopy that provided shade and privacy among the hundreds of other tombstones.

Quiet sobbing could be heard throughout the crowd, with one group at the head of the casket and another group at the foot. Miriam was in the first row facing the end. Her own parents were in attendance too, standing next to her and holding back tears. Freddy’s mother cried into her considerably taller husband’s chest.

Feelings of guilt and anguish all began to rush through Miriam once again. There had been plenty of support from her family and Freddy’s in everything she and Ana had been through. But when she looked up into the crowd across from her, comprised entirely of Freddy’s extended family, she couldn’t help but sense judgment from behind their eyes.

She believed that they blamed her.
Why wouldn’t they?
Her involvement in the Snatcher case had led to his death. They had to understand that. She felt sick and paranoid, and she just wanted the service to end. After a prayer and a final tribute for Freddy, they lowered his coffin into the ground. On top rested several bouquets of spring flowers and a rosary. Without a dry eye in the crowd, the service ended as guests slowly dispersed, offering hugs and comfort to one another.

Now everything had come to an end, and all that remained for Miriam were tears and heartache. Ana cried silently as Miriam took her hand and squeezed. As they stood there watching the coffin being lowered on automatic railings, Freddy’s parents approached them and stood next to Miriam, surprising her. Light organ music played over outside speakers, as side conversations, muted and respectful, hummed behind them.

Miriam was too nervous to look at them. Even if they didn’t blame her, part of her blamed herself. Knowing that most of it was in her head didn’t make things any easier. She had no idea what Ana thought or felt. Losing a father at a young age was something she knew nothing about.

She squeezed Ana’s hand just as Tessa, Freddy’s mother, touched Miriam’s shoulder. Startled, Miriam turned to see Tessa looking directly at her, unblinking. There was no blame in her distraught, pleading eyes—just sadness. She pulled Miriam closer and threw her arms around her, crying. Ana joined their circle as did Julio. From across the way, Miriam’s parents came to join in the embrace as other mourners looked in their direction—parents and in-laws sharing their collective sorrow.

Six Months Later

Moving to Arizona had made sense to Miriam. Her Aunt Teresa lived in Phoenix—a lifeline for Miriam’s hasty relocation. She had visited her aunt and uncle in the city with her parents when she was a child. Back then, she didn’t think that she’d ever be moving back there in her thirties, but a lot had happened that she hadn’t ever accounted for.

Miriam moved to the city of Chandler, twenty-five miles outside of Phoenix, in Maricopa County. Her relocation was about a lot of things—starting over being one of them. But it was primarily about safety.

Detective Lou had described it as “going dark”—a strangely common practice for law enforcement personnel embroiled in media coverage. The Snatcher saga had put Miriam’s face at the forefront of the highly publicized case. She’d had little recourse but to get away from it all.

One thing she couldn’t turn her back on, however, was being a cop. She applied for a position at the Maricopa County Police Department and enlisted as a sergeant. Back patrolling the streets, Miriam felt content—much as she had before her fateful encounter with the Snatcher.

Ana was just beginning eighth grade at Bogle Junior High. Before they left Florida, Miriam knew the adjustment wasn’t going to be easy for her daughter. But any objections Ana had were largely kept to herself.

Ana’s recovery was going to take time, and the pain of losing her father was certain to plague her for some time. But with counseling and support, Miriam was convinced Ana could find relative normalcy after the trauma. She had truly believed that it was possible.

Miriam guided a county-issued Dodge Charger down Boston Street, lined with tall palm trees and green bushy Sonoran palms. Her surroundings were eerily reminiscent of Palm Dale on a hot summer day. Though in the distance, beyond the buildings and skyscrapers, a line of mountains encompassed the city like a protective barrier, faintly concealed by thin, transparent clouds.

Over the past few months, she had become familiar with the beat and what to look for—drugs, gang activity, and public intoxication, among other things. Phoenix, only a few cities over, was currently considered the kidnapping capital of the U.S., primarily due to Mexican drug cartels’ activity spreading across the border.

She was now a detective with the Chandler Police Department, out for a stroll with her partner, Detective Keely. Miriam’s main job was to investigate homicides, not protect the borders, but she found herself deeply concerned about the reported number of kidnappings in the area.

“They cartels are spilling over into here because the Mexican government has failed to contain them,” Detective Keely said while watching the streets from the passenger seat through the lenses of his sleek Oakley sunglasses.

Keely was in his early forties and married with children. His record was squeaky clean as his boyish face and trim crew cut. In the month Miriam had been partnered with him, she couldn’t recall him even cussing.

“When was the last kidnapping?” Miriam asked.

Keely pressed his lips together as he thought back. “Hmm. About two years ago?”

“Cartels related?” she asked.

He reached for the Big Gulp resting in a drink holder on and took a sip. “Nah, nothing from them in a while. Last case we had was an infant abduction.”

Miriam’s mouth dropped.

“Suspect was a female. In her thirties. She stole a newborn from the hospital, right out of the maternity ward.” He slowed as they hit a red light at a busy intersection downtown.

“Did they catch the woman and get the baby back?” Miriam asked.

“Sure did,” Keely said. “Lady didn’t get far, baby went back with its mother, everyone was happy.”

The light turned green and Miriam took a left as she sighed with relief. “It’s nice to hear a story with a happy ending.”

Keely’s eyes shot to the right lane along the busy downtown street. A skinny, shirtless vagrant was walking in the middle of the lane wearing flip-flops and blue jeans, his skin bronze from the sun. He had his head tilted far back, shouting into the sky like a wild animal. Miriam slowed down instinctively and pulled from the left lane toward the curb on their right. It wasn’t exactly there area of expertise, but Keely was game.

Dressed in slacks, a button-down long-sleeved shirt, and a red tie, with a gun and badge at his belt, he opened his door and placed one shoe on the curb. He stopped and turned to Miriam as chatter buzzed over the police radio.

“Sometimes you just have to remind them to stick to the sidewalks, you know?” he said.

“Need my help?” she asked, talking over the shouting going on near the hood of their car. The bearded man pivoted to the side and glared at them. He looked wild and manic, as though the sun itself had driven him mad.

“I got this,” Keely said, taking a bottle of water from the car. She watched as he approached the man with caution. They exchanged some words as he handed the vagrant a fresh bottle of water and beckoned him to get out of the road and into the shade of a nearby shop. The man waved his arms around, rambling. Miriam looked on in amusement.

A few times, she had wondered if she had made the right decision moving out here—moving Ana out here. But after six months in Chandler, she was beginning to feel at home. Crime existed everywhere, and it was her job to deal with it.

The vagrant calmed down and took the water. Keely kept a careful distance, his hands on his hips, as their street dweller got off the road and onto the sidewalk as asked. Keely turned to Miriam and gave her a thumbs-up with a smile. She smiled back and ran a hand through her ponytail. Crisis averted.

It was a little past noon and Miriam could already feel her stomach growl. She had a sandwich in the back, in her zipped lunch tote. They’d probably head back and check in at the station first. Keely walked to the car, opened the door, and got back in, wiping the thin layer of sweat from his forehead. There was no cooler place to be than inside the patrol car, where Miriam had the air conditioning blasting.

“How about that, Sergeant Sandoval?” he asked her, brushing his hands together. “No lip this time.”

Miriam had dropped the Castillo—Freddy’s surname—as a part of her relocation and resumed using her maiden name. She hoped it would make it harder for people from the media to find her. But she knew how persistent those people could be. Her anonymous life was, for the most part, working out.