Abduction (42 page)

“Yes.”

“Why?” The
district attorney glanced only briefly at Karen be-fore turning his hard gaze
back on Ted.

“Because
getting rid of the brat served my purposes. The company was catching on to the
money Maryanne and I were stealing, and the police had put together a task
force to investigate the kidnapping of those kids. I had to confuse them.”

Karen sank
down in her seat as Rene wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
He really did
do it! Dear God, he really did.
And all because he’d wanted to confuse the
police and cover his tracks? He’d put her through hell to cover his tracks?

Rage shot through her, hot and reverberant. She
wanted to pound
into him with her fists until he begged for mercy! Until
he knew what it felt like to be betrayed!

“Did you then
kill Maryanne Bubeck, disposing of her body in the river?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I
didn’t need her anymore. She would do anything I asked her, but she started
feeling guilty for helping me get rid of the brat. I had to kill her before she
did something dumb.”

“Like tell the
police.”

“Yes.”

“Did you
conspire to fake your own death, framing your wife, Karen Matthews, for the
alleged murder?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Ted rolled his
eyes. “Because she was a ditz and I was tired of her whining. Thought prison
might toughen her up.” He smirked over at her. “I hated her and just wanted to
make her as miserable as she’d made me.”

“Who was the
man in the grave?”

“Some old
drunk I picked up off the streets. A nobody.”

The district
attorney began to go down the list of missing children, but Karen tuned him
out. Her husband had framed her for murder just to make her miserable. He’d
killed for the pure pleasure of it. Lied to cover his tracks. Destroyed
people’s lives without an ounce of remorse.

Evil.

Rene leaned in
close. “I heard that his attorney tried to get him to plead insanity and he
refused.”

“I can’t
believe it, Rene. He’s just sitting there with that grin on his face like this
is all a big joke.”

“He has no
soul, Karen. Can’t you see that? To him, this is nothing. He’s still thinking
he can walk away from this.”

“How? He’s
getting life in prison. He’s going to
die
in prison.”

“
Who knows—maybe in his sick mind he thinks he can
escape.”

Escape. Karen
swallowed the word. It almost made her sick to her stomach. That a man like him
should ever get the opportunity to walk the streets again was inconceivable.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Zoe Shefford
sitting with the mother of one of the murdered children. Zoe had her arm around
the crying woman, trying to console her. She lifted her eyes, as if sensing Karen
was looking at her, and smiled a sad yet warm smile.

Karen returned
the smile. How was Zoe dealing with this? Her own sister had been one of Ted’s
first victims. She had walked in the path of his chaos all her life. Who could
ever make that right for her? Or for any of the parents?

Quietly Karen
turned and looked up at the judge. Then at Ted.

Someone had to
make this right.

And maybe,
just maybe, she knew how.

epilogue

Monday, June 15

I
’
ve been told many times that all things work for
the good of those
who love God.” Zoe took a deep breath, looked at the
woman standing next to her, and smiled. Then she looked back over the people
gathered in front of her.

“Many of you
today are here with heavy hearts. This memorial has your child’s name on it
along with the names of eighty-four other children who died far too soon. Among
them is my sister, Amy. In spite of what we feel, God has worked something good
out of this terrible tragedy.

“I need to say something that I hope you will take
to heart. Your children aren’t here. This place is merely a testament to the
life and love they experienced on this earth. They are all in heaven now.”

Zoe turned and looked at the white marble monument
that stood nearly six feet tall behind her, topped with an angel looking down
as if reading the names. She wiped tears from her eyes. When she turned, she
noticed that many other people were crying as well.

She smiled at them. “Now for the awesome thing God
has done.”

Zoe turned and
held out her hand. Karen Matthews, looking nervous, took her hand and stepped
up to the podium. Flashbulbs went off in a flurry, and Karen ducked her head.

“You go,
girl,” Zoe whispered as she stepped back.

Karen took a
deep breath and licked her dry lips. “I wish with all my heart that I could
return each of these children back to their families. I wish I had known what
my husband had been doing. I wish I could have done something to stop
all
of the murderers before they took your children from you. But wishes don’t make
anything different. People do.”

She took
another deep breath. “According to the Department of Justice, over half a
million children disappear in this country every year. Over sixty thousand of
them are never found. Six is too many. Sixty thousand is unacceptable.

“Of those sixty
thousand abducted children, over one hundred are taken with the intent to kill.
An overtaxed police force with limited resources is trying to find a needle in
a haystack. We want to change that. And we can.

“Several businesses have joined with me in raising
funds for a foundation that will help parents with missing children. We will
provide resources to help them: detectives who specialize in child abductions;
counseling services; information packets that include police procedures;
Internet resources; and access to other agencies and churches. I don’t want
these children to have died in vain. I want their lives to reach beyond
death—to help keep other children safe.”

She took a
deep breath, infused with a strength she didn’t expect, and spoke for fifteen more
minutes, then calling to the podium Keyes and Denise Shefford and the other
business owners who were donating time and money to the foundation.

While Keyes
Shefford spoke, Karen turned and hugged Zoe.

“Thank you,”
she whispered in Zoe’s ear.

Zoe knelt and
carefully placed flowers next to the growing garden of color. She’d brought
yellow roses. They stood out like sunshine among mostly red and orange blossoms
left by other visitors.

“Hey, Amy.
Sorry it took so long. But you’re home now. I mean, not really, but you know
what I mean. I just want you to know that I still miss you.”

Slowly Zoe
stood up and turned to walk back to her car. She saw him standing there and
felt the aggravation surge again. “Detective,” she acknowledged in a cool
voice. She stepped around him, pushing the keyless entry remote in her hand.
Her car chirped as the door lock popped up.

She hadn’t
seen or heard from him since his brief hospital visit. That stung a little bit.
Maybe more than a little bit.

“You have
every reason to be miffed at me,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“Do I?” She
yanked open her car door.

“You were
right.”

“Was I?”

“I’ve been
bitter and angry and taking it out on everyone instead of dealing with the
reason.”

Curious, Zoe
turned and looked over her shoulder at him, noticing for the first time the
dark circles under his eyes and the tight lines of tension around his mouth.
She almost felt sorry for him. “And?”

“And I owe you
an apology.”

“Accepted.”
She slid into the car and reached for the door.

JJ stepped forward,
blocking her effort. He leaned down, one hand braced on the roof of her car.
“That day we first met, you brought up Macy and my dad.”

“Yes?”

“My dad was
the officer on the scene. Did you know that he was in on the investigation?”

Zoe stared out the windshield, trying to ignore
the pain in his voice and her own need to make it better for him. She wasn’t
his savior. He’d have to find his own way, just like everyone else. “I knew.”

“I blamed him.
They never caught the guy who did it. I blamed my dad for that.”

“I know.”

“Zoe, I need
some time to work through all this.”

“You don’t
need my permission, JJ.”

He lifted his
head, stared at the sky, and exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking for your
permission. I’m trying to apologize here.”

“You
apologized and I accepted. Done deal. What do you want from me, JJ?”

“I want to see
you again.”

Zoe shoved her
key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared. “We fight like cats and
dogs, JJ. Why in heaven’s name would you want to see me?”

He moved in a
little closer, and a hint of smile danced at the corners of his mouth.
“Because
we fight like cats and dogs. Because you don’t take any garbage from me and
you’re not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. Because you have the most
wonderful smile and you intrigue the daylights out of me.”

“JJ, find your
answers. Find peace with it all. And when you do,
if
you do, you have my
number. That’s all I can say right now.”

“You’re not
going to make this easy for me, are you?”

Zoe couldn’t
help smiling. “Not on your life, Detective.”

A
Word from the Author

N
othing is more
heart-wrenching to a mother than suddenly realizing a child is missing. For
three hours one day, I experienced just a touch of what these parents go
through. In my case, the state police search and rescue team found my
seven-year-old autistic daughter safe and sound a little more than a mile from
my home. But for many parents, the ending isn’t a happy one.

While writing this novel, the
ten-year-old daughter of a friend asked me what I was writing about. I told her
I was writing about children being kidnapped. She said, “Oh,” nonchalantly and
proceeded to tell me that a friend of hers had been kidnapped. She then went on
to tell me in graphic detail about her friend’s abduction, torture, and murder.
After researching many such cases, the details didn’t strike me nearly as much
as her calm acceptance of the event. To her, it was part of life. Such things
were to be expected.

And that broke my heart.

Our
children are being raised in a society in which such events are commonplace.
They are losing friends and siblings to drive-by shootings, abductions, and
worse, with little more than a shrug of their tiny shoulders. Innocence is lost
and their senses barraged by violence. We have the power to change that. It begins
with prayer. And for some of you, it means getting involved. I hope you will
feel led to do something, even if it’s just writing a check to help some
one
else bring a child home safe and sound.

For more information on how you can
help bring our children home, please contact any of the following
organizations:

Klass Kids Foundation:
www.KlaasKids.org; (415) 331-6867

National Center for Missing and
Exploited Children:

            www.missingkids.org;
1-800-The-Lost

Amber Alert Foundation:
www.AmberAlertNow.org

Safe Kids International:
www.SafeKidsInternational.com

Child Find: 1-800-I-Am-Lost

acknowledgments

W
ith
love to all those wonderful people that the Lord placed
in my life to help make this book possible: Marlene Bagnull,
Christi Horowitz, Tracie Peterson, Karen King,
Joanie Barrineau, Gary Mascelli, and all the prayer warriors who kept me
undergirded.

Gratitude and thanks to Mike Nappa,
Shannon Hill, Tracie Peterson, and the people at Barbour.

Special thanks to the people at the
U.S. Department of Justice, the KlaasKids Foundation, and the National Center
for Missing and Exploited Children for their research assistance.

And to law enforcement officers
across this nation who work so
hard to bring
our children home—and especially the Maryland State
Police for bringing
my little girl back to me safe and sound.

About
the Author

W
anda
L. Dyson is the author of five critically-acclaimed suspense novels, as well as
a non-fiction book that was featured on Oprah. She resides in North Carolina with
her daughter and German Shepherd, Maya.  

For
more information on Wanda and her books, visit her website at
www.WandaDyson.com