Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (3 page)

Miriam was just out of earshot but heard the question just fine, choosing not answer. Detective Lou was on the line, not sounding the least bit surprised that she had called him back.

“
What happened? Got locked out?”

Miriam’s voice was bordering on hysterics. She could barely hold it in anymore. “Ana’s gone! Please come back!”

There was a pause on the line followed by a much more serious tone.
“Miriam… What happened?”

“Phillip Anderson. He found me. I don’t know how, but he found me. He… he butchered Freddy and kidnapped Ana.”

“The Snatcher? They got a statewide manhunt issued for the guy. I hardly think—”

“He left me a note and called me. It’s him. He’s driving a white van. Old and rusty.” She could feel the tears beginning to flow. “Please just get over here before I lose my daughter forever…”

“Have you called the police yet?”
Lou asked.

“No. I can’t even think straight right now. We-We just need to find the van.” Her voice trembled.

“Just calm down. Listen to me. Call 9-1-1 so they can issue an AMBER Alert. I’m turning around right now. Stay cool and we’ll figure this thing out. I promise.”

She thanked him and got off the phone. Mrs. Anderson had overheard some of the conversation and asked her again about Freddy. Miriam looked at her neighbor and tried to lie, but her face said it all. “Please. Just go inside your house,” she said. “The police will be here soon.”

Reba looked around and shuffled back across her yard seemingly distraught with all the news.

The 9-1-1 dispatcher picked up on the other end, asking Miriam what her emergency was.

“My husband has been murdered and my daughter kidnapped!” she said with urgency. They needed to deploy the National Guard, she said. She wanted every force at her disposal to help find her daughter while there was still hope. But she had to keep a clear head.

“What’s your address?” the dispatcher asked. Miriam tried giving her information as clearly and calmly as she could—despite the emotions crippling her. The dispatcher informed her that a unit would be sent to her house immediately. He tried to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but with each passing minute Ana began to feel farther and farther away.

She lowered the phone and stared at her house. There were more people she could call—friends on the force. She could use them to her advantage. From the outside, the house now seemed evil and ominous. It was impossible to think that Freddy sat dead inside. Her next move was uncertain. But she did know one thing for sure—she wasn’t going back in the house.

Four squad cars showed up about ten minutes later. Their sirens could be heard from a mile away, and when they arrived, their lights flashed with the sickening urgency Miriam could feel in her heart. She had called Detective O’Leary at the hospital, where he had been taken with a gunshot wound to his leg, the result of a shootout with one of Phillip’s men. The receptionist informed her that the detective was in surgery.

She called her parents, Manuel and Elizabeth, and was met with a misplaced excitement about her name being in the news. Initially, she didn’t have the heart to tell them anything, but she got it out anyway. Horrified, they offered to fly down from Pittsburgh immediately. Miriam advised against it. “This isn’t over yet,” she said. Freddy’s parents would have to know. It would be a hard call to make. They never forgave her for divorcing their son.

A fire truck and ambulance pulled up, soon garnering the curious attention of the entire block. Detective Lou arrived in a hurry. His car flew to the side of the road and skidded across the pavement to a halt. Miriam hurried past a group of officers and dashed toward Lou—the only familiar face in the crowd. He got out of his car, adjusting his tie, when Miriam ran into his arms and cried against his chest.

Taken aback, he patted her head and took the pistol out of her hand. “Remember what I said. You have to remain strong.”

Miriam took a step back and tried to pull herself together, but her body was shaking. She felt an increasing dread, overwhelmed by the presence of so many officers and emergency personnel on the scene—their numbers having grown to more than thirty.

“They’re here to help,” Lou reminded her. “The sooner we get this info out about the white van, the sooner we get him.”

“He got away before. He can do it again,” Miriam said, a deep worry reflected in her eyes.

Several officers approached, ready with questions.

“Good morning, ma’am. Is everything okay?” a boyish deputy asked. His face reminded her of her old partner, Deputy Lang, and he flushed in embarrassment when he seemed to realize what he had asked.

She signaled to her house and walked toward the driveway, feeling a crushing weight pulling her down. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back inside. Lou flashed his badge and told another officer to put an APB out on the white van. He followed Miriam and asked her the make.

“Dodge,” she commented. “At least that’s what my neighbor said.”

Halfway up the driveway, her cell phone rang. She looked at the screen, half-expecting it to be her parents again, only this time it displayed “Unavailable.”

She answered the phone asking, “Where are you?”

Lou and the officers looked at her inquiringly.

“Looks like you’ve got company?”
a distorted voice said.

One female officer was busy reeling yellow police tape from her mailbox to a post on the other side of her yard. Suspicious eyes were everywhere, looking out from neighboring homes, and from the faces in her own windows. Then something occurred to Miriam. She turned away from her house and started walking back into the street. The officers stopped working and watched as Lou chased after her.

Miriam said, “Where are you? Tell me!”

Phillip laughed.
“I assure you, I’ve long left the area.”

“I want to talk to Ana,” Miriam said, wiping her eyes.

Lou approached, she raised a finger, signaling for him to wait. When he saw the look on her face, he leaned in closer.

“Is that him?” he whispered.

Miriam nodded. “Are you still there?” she asked into the phone.

“Seems like you’re tied up at the minute. I’ll call back later,”
he answered.

“You have to let me talk to my daughter.”

An impatient sigh was his answer. Lou grabbed the phone out of Miriam’s hand. She spun around, upset. “What are you doing?”

Lou held his index finger to his mouth, dug out a portable recording device from his pocket, and connected it to her phone with a cable through the headphone port.

Miriam got the hint. He was trying to record the call. She took her phone back, as Lou held onto his recording device.

“Please,” she continued into the phone.

“Very well,”
he responded with surprising cooperation.
“These are my demands. You show me that I can work with you, I’ll be more than happy to let you talk to Ana.”

“Okay,” Miriam said, after a brief pause.

“The Lee County Police Department have unjustly arrested my parents. My father and mother have no place in jail and no place in an interrogation room as they had nothing to do with the family’s criminal activities. See to it that they are freed and I’ll let you talk to Ana.”

Miriam looked at Lou. He signaled at her to keep it going. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have twelve hours,”
he said, hanging up.

Crime Scene

Police and investigators alike amassed in and around Miriam’s house, sealing the area off as local news vans arrived outside. She sat on her living room sofa with Lou, surrounded by investigators, as the authorities searched her home, which had quickly become unrecognizable, as in a bad dream. All she wanted to do was to wake up.

Her kitchen—where the murder had taken place—had been segregated by caution tape. Small yellow placards littered the floor, marking evidence to be photographed and gathered. A thick puddle of blood remained drying on the kitchen floor. Freddy’s body was placed in a body bag on top of a wheeled gurney.

“Where are you taking him?” she asked the paramedics.

They turned to her with uneasiness. There were so many people in the house, it was hard to tell who was who.

“To the coroner, ma’am,” said a thin-haired paramedic, who wore a gray shirt with the words “EMT” stamped on the back.

“No. That’s not right,” Miriam said. “I have to call his parents. They need to have the final say-so here.”

“Those decisions normally go to the spouse,” his young female partner said, pulling out some paperwork. “Which is why we need you to sign these.”

Miriam held her hand up. “We’re separated,” she said, catching a few questioning glances aimed in her direction.

Her black shoulder-length hair was frazzled. Her fair-skinned face had turned red and puffy and was caked with dried tears. She had been asked the same questions for the past twenty minutes and felt as though she was getting nowhere in explaining the situation.

One detective with a protruding gut, bald head, and thin mustache leaned against the couch examining his notepad. He introduced himself as Detective Turner, and his line of questioning, was all business. “So you got home at approximately ten this morning. Found your husband deceased and your daughter missing.” He pointed to the kitchen table across the way, where the note had been placed in a Ziploc evidence bag. “And the perpetrator left you a note and then called your cell phone.”

“That’s correct,” Miriam said, distracted by a female paramedic approaching her. Acting as a surrogate bodyguard, Lou stood up and blocked the slightly confused young paramedic. Lou was a tall man with sideburns, a mustache, and an authoritative manner. “Here, I’ll take those. Just transport the deceased, and we’ll follow up later.”

The paramedic nodded and handed him the papers. Other detectives were busy taking pictures of every square inch of the kitchen. One particular crime scene investigator was busy dusting the counter for prints. A news crew tried to enter the house and was blocked by an officer at the door. One pushy male reporter put up a fight but was pushed away, prompting the officer to shut the door and close the living room draperies.

Detective Turner continued questioning, pen in hand, his expression and tone incredulous and assertive. “So how did this person get your cell phone number? How did they know that you wouldn’t be home?”

“I don’t know,” Miriam said. She could feel her emotions getting the best of her.

“You don’t find that the least bit suspicious?” Turner asked.

“What do you mean?” Miriam asked, glaring at him.

Turner shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked at two other detectives who were standing close by, quiet and attentive. He then looked back at Miriam. “Whole thing smells kinda fishy.”

Miriam jumped up. Turner shifted back on his heels, surprised. “This is ridiculous!” she shouted. All heads turned to her. The room went quiet. “I told you who it is. It’s Phillip Anderson. He’s driving a rusty white Dodge van with tinted windows and he has my daughter!”

“We have an APB on the vehicle you described,” Turner began. “In order for us to find your daughter, I have to ask questions.”

Miriam looked around at the blurry faces watching her. “I told you his demands. I told you what he wants. Now find him!”

The detectives stared at her, taken aback and not happy. Lou opened his mouth to speak as Miriam stormed off down the hall to the bathroom. She slammed the door, and all eyes went on Lou.

“Give her a moment, guys,” Lou said. “She’s been through hell and back.”

Miriam gripped the sink and stared at her flushed face in the mirror. She had dark eyebrows, full lips, and straight black hair covering one side of her face—nice features, though right now she felt like a wreck. Talking resumed outside the bathroom. The Sarasota PD was setting up camp, but her daughter was still gone. She felt ready to take her car and search for Anderson herself.

“Why not?” she said out loud. “You’ve been down this road before.”

She felt painfully alone, as her mind raced with options. An emotional blow struck—Freddy’s death, making her double over and clutch the rim of the skin. Was it her fault? She gripped the sink tighter and leaned down as her hair hung in her face. Her neck remained bent as she quietly sobbed. Had she never called him over and asked him to watch Ana, he’d still be alive. Had she never gone back to the case to begin with, none of it would have happened. Freddy would be still be alive, and Ana would be safely at school.

What was she going to tell his parents? She needed solace, but there was none to be found. By meddling in the Anderson family’s business, she had failed Freddy and Ana. The thought crushed her. She wondered, just as Detective Turned did, how Anderson had gotten her number and address. None of it made sense. But she couldn’t quit. Not when Ana needed her.

She turned the faucet on and washed her face. The warm water was soothing. She ran soap over her hands and held them under the water, slowly rubbing them together. Afterward, she grabbed a towel and dried her hands and face. It seemed amazing that she could do even these ordinary things. She took Ana’s brush and ran it through her hair. Her eyes met the mirror again. There would be no more doubt. No more blaming herself. No more fear. And once she found Anderson, she was going to kill him. There was no other way.

She left the bathroom to find Lou playing the captured cell phone recording to a circle of detectives, all quietly listening.

“
See to it,”
said the voice, referring to his parents,
“that they are freed and brought to an undisclosed location, and I’ll let you talk to Ana.” T
he voice was distorted, ominous sounding.

Lou stopped the recording. “I tried to get a trace, but came up empty-handed.”

“I don’t get it,” Detective Turner said, interjecting. “The guy leaves a note in his own handwriting, but doesn’t leave fingerprints. Calls her up but doesn’t leave a number. Tells her who he is but uses a voice box.”