The dollhouse, p.22
The Dollhouse, page 22
“Did you see the man light the fire, Becca?” Officer Ward asked, moving her Barbie up and down as though she were jumping on a trampoline. The contradiction between the starched dark navy uniform and holstered weapon and the hot pink dress-wearing doll would have been funny in any other situation.
“Yuh-huh.” Becca mimicked the officer’s movements with her own doll and added a spin and stiff-legged summersault.
“What did he look like?”
Becca’s description was the same as the rest: tall, ‘poufy’ dark hair, brown eyes. Wearing an orange coverall. He was, according to the children, old. When questioned about the meaning of ‘old,’ Becca pointed to Officer Ward and said, “Like you.” Officer Ward had just celebrated her 29th birthday.
“What did he say to you?”
“He said fire is pretty.” Becca grabbed Officer Ward’s doll and bounced the two across the coffee table. “But that’s not true. My mom told me fire is bad.”
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know. I went inside.”
“Did you tell Mrs. Hamilton about the fire?”
Becca shook her head no. “He said not to tell.”
“Did you see Mrs. Hamilton when you went inside?”
Becca nodded. “She was runnin’ outside so she didn’t see me.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Mmmmm... I said hello to Grace, and gave Jessie his paci,” Becca stood and threw herself back into the couch with great energy, “and I was gonna go potty but I’m supposed to wait for Mrs. Hamilton before I do that when I have to poop so I waited.”
Officer Ward smiled. “Good girl. When did you see the lady named Jennifer?”
“She opened the door and came in.”
“She didn’t knock?”
Becca shook her head, scooted to the front edge of the couch and hung off, her upper body on the floor while her feet kicked back and forth in the air. She grabbed her dolls and had them wrestle, clearly oblivious to the concerned adults watching her.
“Was she surprised to see you?”
“Nuntun. She said ‘hi’ and she said ‘I’m Grace’s Aunt Jen’fer.’” Becca dropped the dolls and picked up a race car, slid off the sofa and made ‘vroom vroom’ noises as she ran it across the carpet.
“Then what happened?”
“Nothin,” Becca shrugged. “She took Grace’s hand.”
“Did she go straight to Grace?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Grace seem like she wanted to go?”
“She didn’t yell or nothin’.”
“Did the lady say anything to you before she left?”
“She said we were gonna play hidden-n-seek and whoever wonned would get a special s’prise. And I wonned!”
“That’s so great! I love winning!”
“Me too. But I din’t get no s’rprise. That was a lie.” Becca turned a disappointed look toward Mrs. Hamilton. She noticed her father, and squealed, “Daddy!”
“One or two more questions, sweetie, then you can go see your daddy. What did the lady look like?”
Becca made a face, thinking, then shrugged. “Brown hair, tall.”
“How old? As old as the man? As old as me?” Officer Ward couldn’t help smiling.
Becca nodded. “Yes. Lots of makeup. And she smelled good. Pretty.”
“What was she wearing?”
“A red dress with big flowers on it. And high heel shoes. Pointy toe kind like my mom wears when she goes on a date.”
Becca’s parents were divorced. The dad shifted.
“How long was her hair?”
“Real long.” Becca tapped her elbow to indicate length. “Pretty. Fancy like a movie star.”
“That’s great, Becca. You’ve been a wonderful help!” Officer Ward beamed. “Would it be okay if I send a man who draws cartoons to visit? You can help him make a picture of the man who lit the fire, and Grace’s Aunt Jennifer. Would that be okay?”
Becca nodded enthusiastically.
“Let’s go get that special treat, big girl.” Her dad scooped her up, mouthed “I’m sorry” to Marnie. To the detective, he said, “Let me know where and when you need her for the artist. We’ll be there.”
“Is that enough? Can you find her?” Marnie pleaded, studying the detectives’ faces, then Officer Ward, who seemed more accessible to her, either because of her age or because of the way she’d spoken to Becca.
“We don’t yet know what sort of vehicle they were driving, and we have a minimal description of the perpetrators. Getting sketches will help.” Detective John Marlow said, doing his best to sound factual and reassuring at the same time. He failed miserably.
The second detective, a woman, did a little better. “We’ve got an Amber alert started. Officers are asking neighbors if anyone happened to see a vehicle. As soon as we have a few more details, we’ll get that issued.”
“Mrs. Hartling, I’m so sorry, my heart is breaking,” Wanda Hamilton was still an ashen grey color.
“I want to reassure you that it’s okay, Mrs. Hamilton, and that it’s not your fault, but I really can’t. Because it’s not okay and it is your fault,” Marnie said through clenched teeth. “I’m very sorry about that, for both our sakes.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY
December 5, 2006
So sweet. The sleeping child was an angel, her soft blond ringlets against her pale cheek, her long, thick eyelashes inappropriately lush and sensual for a four-year-old. One arm clutched a battered stuffed dog to her. The other lay near her mouth, thumb near her lips but not quite there thanks to the drugs. So pure. So innocent. Not yet capable of cruelty or deception or plotting terrible, terrible things against people she was supposed to love. Maybe he’d got to her in time. Maybe he’d finally found a way to stop the madness.
Alfred was so proud of the Jeep’s secrets. A drugged body, adult or not, fit quite nicely. Alfred had tested it multiple times; to date, they’d hidden four children and two full-grown women in the hidey-hole. Little Grace would be number 7. Lucky number 7?
Once Grace was tucked safely away, Alfred locked the panel and replaced the boxes of books. The hidey-hole was concealed from above by more heavy boxes. Anyone glancing in one of the windows of the Jeep would see lots and lots and lots of boxes, lots and lots of books, and think Alfred was a bookworm, possibly a book collector or dealer, and they would be right; he was certainly a collector. If someone looked closely, they might assume he was a psychologist with a specialty in the criminal mind. He wasn’t. At least not professionally.
Pleased with his quick work, Alfred slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He was more than pleased; he was delighted. He had a very good feeling about this. Grace was going to be The One. This time his efforts would pay off. This time he would have the outcome he wanted, he needed, he deserved.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
December 5, 2006
He’d taken his time getting down here, but now Alfred was in a hurry to get back to Wyoming and have all the Dolls settle into their new lives. Gas, Dr. Pepper, Funions, chocolate cupcakes, and he’d hit the road. That would keep him going for the 19-hour drive. Maybe with enough sugar and caffeine in his system, he could do the whole thing in one shot.
Two police cars were parked at the first gas station he approached. Alfred grinned and swung in, taking up an end spot, easy getaway. He shoved the nozzle into the tank and hit ‘start’, then went into the convenience store.
In the restroom, he carefully washed his hands and inspected his face. He looked tired, and his skin was a bit red, probably because he’d been so rough removing his disguise in the Jeep. Still, he’d done an efficient job, considering he’d only had the vanity mirror to guide him.
The convenience store was busy. One officer stood at the cash register, talking to the clerk. Two more were filling up their caffeine jugs, deep in conversation. Alfred took his time selecting items, enjoying the amped-up energy he knew he was responsible for. Eventually, he smiled and nodded a hello at the pair of officers, and made his way to the cash register. The single uniform was still talking to the clerk, a cute young brunette. Not Alfred’s type, but it was obvious the cop was showing off for her.
“Could I get some extra napkins, please,” Alfred said as she rang each item. “I’m traveling.”
The clerk nodded and returned her attention to the uniform. “She’s only four? That’s terrible! Do they have any idea who it was that took her?”
The uniform, probably not the head of his class at the police academy, grunted. “A couple—man and woman, both dark-haired, Caucasian, in their thirties. One of the daycare kids is working with a sketch artist so we have something to include in the Amber alert. That should go out any minute now.”
“What’s going on?” Alfred asked, frowning.
“A four-year-old girl was abducted from her daycare.” The clerk was the chatty one, but clearly, she’d got her details from the cops. He must want into her pants.
A woman in line behind Alfred said, “Horrifying. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if my little girl was taken right from the place I paid to keep her safe.”
“The parents must be frantic.” Alfred shook his head. “At least it sounds like there are witnesses. Someone should be able to identify this couple, right?”
“If I was that girl’s mother I’d already have papers drawn up, suing that daycare owner for every dime she owns,” the woman agreed in a thick drawl. She stepped up to the counter when another clerk became available. “That’s why I raised my children with an au pair. I wasn’t about to leave them in some questionable situation where anything could happen.” She clicked a long nail on the counter.
Another man slapped his hand down on the counter, rattling the beef jerky and a display of lighters. “What’s wrong with people that they even think to do something sick like that? What do you need a four-year-old for? Grow up, be a man, pick on someone your own size!”
Alfred felt flush but chewed hard on his temper. “People are a puzzle.” He paid for his items. “What amazes me is the brazenness of the whole thing. To just swoop in and steal her from under the watchful eye of her guardian. I understand they used some sort of ruse—yes, see, the reporter is talking about it... a fire, I believe...” He pointed to the television above their heads.
The officer shrugged, and his girlfriend the clerk handed Alfred his change. “The witnesses are all young kids, under ten. Only one saw the woman, the one who actually did the grab. I’d never tell the parents this, but the odds aren’t good.”
“I wish you luck, officer,” Alfred shook his head. “This world has become such a scary place.”
And then he fought to keep himself from skipping as he left the store.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
December 5, 2006
The rest of the world was quiet, but there was no rest for Marnie tonight. Hank, somehow, was sound asleep next to her on the couch, and that surprised her a bit although really, nothing should surprise her anymore with him.
When the police had taken him to the kitchen to interview him, he’d been a jittery mess. Marnie assumed they were asking him the same questions they’d asked her. When did you last see Grace? What was she wearing? Is everything normal at home? Any new stress? How’s work? Anything new there? How are things with you and your spouse? How’s your financial situation? They’d spent hours searching the Hartling home, their cars, and of course the daycare, with more focus on the daycare since that had been where Grace went missing.
They’d left an officer with them in the apartment. Marnie had no idea what his name was.
A command center was set up somewhere, either at the daycare or the police station. They were assigned their investigator, a gruff man named David Rasmussen. He explained there was a team on their side, all focused on bringing Grace home quickly and safely. Their media specialist was working with local TV and radio to get the word out. By Texas standards, Austin wasn’t a large town. A group of volunteers had been coordinated to walk the neighborhood around the daycare. Family members weren’t allowed to participate, which was fine with Marnie. She knew they weren’t going to find the mystery woman who had abducted her daughter by walking the streets. Police were going door-to-door with printed pictures of Grace.
Since it was nearly 3 am she assumed the officers had put the searches on hold for the night and would resume first thing in the morning. When the lead investigator told her there were no reports of a child matching Grace’s description at any of the local hospitals, she was both relieved and frustrated. Would it be better to find her child injured but alive?
Maybe.
She was too tired. She didn’t know what was right.
Yes, she did. What was right was for her daughter to be asleep in her bedroom. The only thing in the kitchen should be dirty dishes and unfolded laundry, not a nameless police officer.
They were “lucky” to have an FBI field office right here in Austin. Yay, us. Because Grace was considered “extremely endangered” they’d been called in immediately. A poster had been created and distributed to law enforcement agencies, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, even truck stops.
Marnie didn’t want to think too hard about that. Or that Mexico wasn’t very far away.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang. The officer appeared in the doorway, motioned for her to answer. Hank didn’t budge. Asshole.
“Hello?” Her hand was shaking as she cradled the phone to her ear.
“Marnie? Marnie Hartling?” A man’s voice asked. He didn’t sound threatening. He sounded calm. Her first thought was, he’s probably not calling to ask for a ransom. Her second thought was, he’s probably a reporter. Hang up. But she didn’t.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to call so late but I had a feeling you’d be awake. My name is Peter Baden. I was told about your situation by a friend at the FBI.” He paused a moment, then continued. “He knows that I have a unique understanding of these situations. My daughter was taken more than a year ago.”
Marnie now realized why his name was familiar. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. Olivia, right?” And then she realized Olivia, who still isn’t home. Taken more than a year ago. And that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. She sobbed.
“Marnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m calling to offer my support. Whatever I can do. This is an insane situation no one should ever have to go through. There will be many people trying to help, especially the police and the FBI, but you’re going to need a few things they can’t do. Or at least a boost to increase the effectiveness of what they can do.”
Marnie ordered herself to stop crying and sucked in a deep breath. “They’re—they seem to be trying very hard, but it feels—useless. Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
“I know that feeling. Believe me, they’re doing everything they can possibly do. They care, a lot, and they’re trained to manage these situations. They want nothing more than to bring your baby home to you.” His voice was soothing and Marnie let it envelop her. Hank gurgled in his sleep and she wondered why this stranger was more concerned about their daughter than her husband was. For a brief but hot moment, she wondered if Hank had something to do with Grace’s abduction. Then she reminded herself he was the laziest son of a bitch on the planet. Not a chance.
“Thank you. Not to be cruel, but assuming they did everything they could for you, why isn’t Olivia home?”
Peter was silent a moment. “It’s not for lack of trying, I promise. As hard as it is, I have complete confidence in these folks. I know I’ll see Olivia again. But in the meantime, to get through the waiting, I spend my energy trying to help others if I can—it’s a karma thing. Now, do you have what you need? Someone you can lean on?”
Marnie again looked at her sleeping husband. “I have family.”
“That’s not always the same. They’re going through their own version of hell and may not be able to offer the support you, specifically, need. Is there someone you can confide in, cry to, yell at?”
Marnie shook her head. Then realized he couldn’t see her. Stiff upper lip, kid. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’d like to put you in touch with a friend of mine. She’s a therapist and specializes in helping parents cope while their kids are—away. It’s free. May I do that? Would it be all right if I ask her to call? Or, you could call her?”
Marnie shrugged. Damn it. Again, he couldn’t see her. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll have her call first thing in the morning. She can suggest some coping mechanisms. You’ll need them. Be open to her ideas if you can. Now, another question. There’s going to be a lot of media interest in this case. Unfortunately, it sounds a bit salacious from what I’m hearing on the news—toddler abducted from a daycare in broad daylight. I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own, but it never hurts to have a team at your back. I have another friend who specializes in press relations. She can help you find the right words to tell your story, make it a little easier to deal with the press folks, help sort the helpers from the users. Would you be okay if I put her in touch?”
“Peter, we don’t have a lot of money. I appreciate the kind offer but we’ll have to muddle through on our own—” Marnie felt a little defensive. If she recalled correctly, this guy was loaded. If he wanted to he could hire a private jet and fly around the world a few times, with his pocket change.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear. All of it is free. There’s no cost for any of these people. I created a Foundation after Olivia was taken to help other parents and the Foundation will cover all expenses. I realize not everyone is fortunate enough to have my resources, but I can’t imagine being held back in the search by money.”
