And Then There Was One (29 page)

“Did you see any trace of the Monroe girls?” Streeter asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“Not them, that’s for sure. But all kinds of girl stuff. Dolls, you know. And a Kmart bag with girlie sheets and pillow cases. Like Disney characters stuff. No crime in that, but my wife —”

“Did you hear anything suspicious?”

“Not that I can be sure, but I told my wife I heard some scratching sounds like I was afraid the basement was full of mice and it wouldn’t be a good place for anybody to sleep.”

“So I set up two beds in the basement,” Mr. Talbott said. “So what? And the old lady calls in the feds. I hadda good laugh with my buddies over a few beers. I’m guessing you guys had a few chuckles too, but I’ll be dammed. When I saw that face in the newspaper, I said first thing, ‘It’s her, the lady with the beds in the basement.’ Said her name was Maggie Wise. I figured you’d ask about her car. A maroonish-brown Ford Escort. Ninety-four or ninety-five. License plate number ended in forty-eight. Year I was born.”

“You didn’t call the FBI?”

“Decided to report it to that Plummer security guy at the mall. He seemed real sincere about finding those girls when I saw him on television that first day.”

“I told him to call the FBI,” Mrs. Talbott said, “but he said that he’d rather deal with the mall. Can’t blame him after what happened to me. Nobody did a darn thing. And those poor little girls. Oh, and what about the reward?”

Streeter didn’t have time to defend the agency or get into the reward. He needed to get to Parker Road.

Streeter’s radio buzzed. “We got the name for that address, sir. Spansky. Margaret Spansky owns the property. We’ll have a vehicle check real soon.”

“Not Wise?” She’d identified herself to the Talbotts as Wise. “Confirm the Gladsky composite sketch with the neighbors. Clear the proximate neighborhood. No tip-offs until SWAT’s in place. And send somebody over to secure the Talbotts until this plays out.”

Streeter felt his heart exploding. Five days, and now a big lead. Stay calm, he warned himself. Those girls could be anywhere by now.

At nine thirty p.m. the drive from Fenton to Holly was fifteen minutes. Streeter proceeded to the Holly address. Once there, he and his agents would stand back and wait for SWAT to take over the house.
That’s what SWAT was trained to do and do it well. But Streeter would be first on the scene once they had the suspects contained and, most important, those two little girls safe and sound. Streeter couldn’t help thinking how proud his own daughters would be knowing that he’d found Alex and Sammie Monroe.

Amid constant radio chatter, Streeter directed his driver to pass by the suspect’s address in their unmarked car. Slowly, but not so slow as to attract attention.

“I can’t make out anything through those trees,” he muttered. “No light. Nothing.”

Agent Camry called in the status. “SWAT’s fifty minutes from attack. They’ll surround on foot. They have vehicular backup and emergency medical. Helicopter coverage. The works.”

“I just did a drive-by on the rutted dirt road. I couldn’t see shit.”

Streeter took a call from SWAT communication. “We’re approaching the perimeter. Starting the roadblocks. We’ve been waiting for this call for five days, sir. We’re ready to rock and roll.”

Streeter wished he could call the Monroe parents. But of course he’d have to wait. What if the girls weren’t there? What if all this was a wild-goose chase?

“We got a hit on the car,” a female voice blurted through the radio. “Brown Escort, Michigan license plate number ending in fortyeight. Registered to a Margaret Spansky, Parker Road, Holly. So she owns the car and the property. Driver’s license picture matches the police sketch. Looks like the real deal.”

Streeter checked the clock — 10:45 p.m. His driver had pulled off the road against a clump of leafy bushes within the perimeter they had blocked off, but out of sight of the target address. “Fifteen minutes till takedown,” he mumbled. “God, let this go down on the side of the angels.”

From his spot off the road, Streeter could feel, more than see, the SWAT team creep up to the house on Parker Road. His window rolled down, he heard the occasional engine, but not a human voice. Nor did he hear the helicopter yet, nor would he until the exact moment of impact.

Which happened at precisely the appointed moment. As soon as the targeted area came alive with floodlights, Streeter instructed his
driver to position the car behind the emergency vehicles that were creeping into place. Although against protocol, he got out of the car and stood behind it, listening to the shout of “FBI” as the team in flack jackets surrounded the house, forced their way through the door, and poured inside.

Streeter listened so intently at first that he didn’t hear the crackle of his radio inside the vehicle. His driver handed him the receiver.

“Sir, we’re inside. Nobody’s here. But they were, not long ago. You’re clear to come in. Sorry, sir.”

“Shit,” Streeter’s heart plummeted as he trudged up the muddy driveway. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Traverse City National Writers Series to Host Master Crime Novelist Elmore Leonard.
— Traverse City Record-Eagle,
June 2009

“Ma, will you quit yappin’. The kid’s not gonna suffocate.”

“You gotta stop for gas pretty soon. I’ll just check her out then.”

“Sure,” Spanky said, just to shut her up. Like he was gonna let her open that trunk under the lights of a gas station. She was right that he’d have to stop for gas. Stations were few and far between on the back roads he was taking. There’d have to be one near Bay City. From there he’d drive north and west, avoiding I-75. If he drove nonstop, he’d pull into the cottage around eleven thirty. Maybe later, ’cause he had to keep the speed down to legal.

“I hear something,” Marge tugged at his sleeve. If only she’d pay as much attention to the shit she was in. Instead she worries herself to death about Precious back there.

“The kid’s just banging around. Means she’s doing fine.”

If the woman would just shut the fuck up. Give him quiet to think. This four-hour drive was nothing compared to his Detroit-Miami-Detroit run, but then he had peace and quiet.

Spanky had lots to figure out. Like how would he get the money? How much to demand? There was already a one hundred grand reward. So he’d ask for more. Maybe double. Not too much or they’d put more effort into stopping him. Scott Monroe must have socked away a load when he was catching in the majors. And everybody knew that psychiatrists charged hundreds of dollars an hour. He calculated mentally. What would they have in the bank? Then he just laughed out loud. It was the aunt that put the reward money
on the table and that woman was loaded. She had her own plane. That had to cost her more than he was going to ask to get her niece back. Go with two hundred grand, he decided. He’d give it more thought when Ma calmed down, but for now that seemed a good number.

“Spanky, are you listening to me?”

“What?” he asked, distracted by his mental arithmetic, and reminding himself to look for a place to gas up.

“I mean it, Spanky, I gotta go. Real bad. I got this bladder condition, you know.”

He did know because he’d seen boxes of those adult diapers.

“Gotta hold it, Ma, ’til the next station.”

“I can’t,” she squealed. Seeing her squirm, he wondered if she had a diaper on now. Maybe not. What if she went in the car and he had to smell piss all the way?

“Okay,” he said, spying a clearing ahead. He braked and pulled off the road.

“I need to go in a proper ladies’ room.”

Spanky couldn’t help a chuckle at the horrified look on her face.

“Just get out and go,” he said. “I’ll close my eyes. And nobody’s comin’ down the road.”

Facing her, he dramatically squeezed his eyes shut until he heard the car door open. Maybe he’d hop out and take a piss, too. That’d be safer than going in a men’s room. Spanky swung his big frame out of the car as Marge had finished urinating. He’d just unzipped his fly when he saw her heading toward the trunk.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said. “She waits till we get there.”

“What if she has to go now?”

“Guess she’ll have to pee her panties. Maybe you should have put one of your diapers on her? Now get back in the car while I take a leak.”

“Spanky, that’s not very nice,” she said. “How do you know about that?”

“We don’t have any secrets between us, do we, Ma? Oh shit,” Spanky said, banging his fist on the fender. “Fucking shit.” For a moment he stood beside the car, not getting in. “Secrets” and “panties” had triggered something.

“Spanky, is something the matter?” Marge hesitated before opening the passenger door.

Yes, something is the fucking matter. We are in the middle of a kidnapping scam, number one. Number two, I left something behind in my truck. Stuff I’d been savin’ for a while, my collection; twenty of them now.

He knew that his mother knew about his stash. When he was home, he stored his trophies in a chest under his bed, and he could tell whenever someone peeked inside. But Ma had never said a word about it. So was it really a secret? Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to collect panties anymore. He’d buy those day-of-the-week pastel ones for his little Precious and he would wash them out by hand in the sink. He could feel the touch of the fabric in his hands. It made him want to jerk off right then. But he’d have to wait until Ma went to sleep. Then he’d slip into bed beside Precious.

“Everything’s cool, Ma,” he said. “Just hafta figure out what we’re gonna do next.”

Spanky prided himself on two skills. There wasn’t a vehicle that he couldn’t fix. And once he looked at a map, there wasn’t a road that he couldn’t follow. In his mind he had the itinerary memorized up until they had to take a series of private dirt roads. He’d need Ma to navigate those. He hadn’t been to the log cabin on Elk Lake since he’d been an eight-year-old kid, twenty-five years ago.

Alex fell asleep in the trunk of Maggie’s car. Luckily, she wasn’t afraid of the dark, like Sammie. She even used to practice walking around in the dark, pretending she was blind. She’d been crying for a long time, her eyes burned, and it felt good to close them. Before she drifted off to sleep, she arranged the stuff surrounding her in the trunk. She put everything with sharp edges in the back and she piled the softer bundles in front of them. She took the Sleeping Beauty bedspread and curled up inside, propping her head on the pillow and hugging Sammie’s teddy. Now she was glad she had Sammie’s. The gray teddy made her feel like Sammie was not that far away. And Sammie would get the police, and soon she and Sammie would be back with Mom and Dad. But what about Jackie? Had she already died of some terrible disease?

Alex woke up when she felt the car stop. It was totally dark and
for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Then she heard voices outside and remembered. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could tell it was Maggie and that man. She held Sammie’s teddy very close to her chest, and tried to think of what Sammie would do. Sammie would fight, that’s what she’d do.

Alex crawled out of her cocoon and felt around her. For what she didn’t know, but her hands found what felt like a canvas bag with a zipper. She fumbled to unzip it, and when she did she reached inside, feeling something cool and hard, like metal. For a minute she thought it might be a flashlight, and her fingers frantically searched for an offon switch. She couldn’t find one, so she used the object to bang on the side of the trunk. She made a lot of noise, but no one came and opened the trunk. She hoped that Sammie would have found help, but how could anyone know where to find this car? Then she heard two car doors slam and the car started moving again.

Marge was so mixed up. She’d waited so long for her two little girls, and now she’d lost one. Spanky should have tried harder to find Jessica. That’s what her heart told her, but in her head she knew that they had to take Jennifer and run.

What would she have done all those years ago if only Jessica had drowned and if Jennifer was still alive? Wouldn’t she have loved Jennifer and done anything in the world for her? Marge silently shook her head as Spanky drove the last twenty-five miles from the resort atmosphere of Traverse City to Elk Rapids, a sleepy town between Grand Traverse Bay to the west and Elk Lake to the east. The skies were dark with rain as they’d left Detroit, but up North there was no rain, she could make out every star.

“We’re almost there,” she said as Spanky took the turn leading to the shores of Elk Lake. The roads were deserted, and Marge hoped the cottage was as pristine and isolated as it had been twenty-six years ago.

“What do we do if someone’s there?” Spanky asked. “It’s the middle of the season.”

“Evan swore he’d never go back. His sister lives in Europe somewhere, and she’d only come in August. I remember there’s something about the deed. Like they have to keep it in the family.”

“Fucking family.”

Marge wished that her son did not use such bad language, but now wasn’t the time to scold him.

“We’re close to the turn-off,” she said. “Go left on the gravel road about a mile.”

Marge let out a deep breath as she recognized the Spansky property. She instructed Spanky to slow down and take the turn into the dirt driveway. There was so much overgrowth that she felt sure that no one stayed there. “I don’t think anyone’s here,” she said as the onestory log cabin came into view.

“Not much traffic on this path,” Spanky stated the obvious. “But somebody could be in there. No lights, but it’s late. What if they’re asleep?”

“Try the door.” Marge’s voice shook and her heart raced. Not with fear, but with the flood of anguish. Here was where she had lost her babies. “If it’s locked, I remember a secret way in.”

Spanky tried the door. “Locked,” he said.

“Okay,” Marge stepped out of the car onto the pine-strewn path, the headlights being the only source of light.

“Lord almighty, this looks exactly like it did back then. The air smells so fresh.”

“Just get going.” Spanky walked beside her along the side of the house until she paused at a certain point and bent low to the ground. She brushed aside saplings and thick clumps of weeds obscuring the recessed handle of a trapdoor leading to the basement. Marge gave a strong tug and the door creaked open. Then she brushed away enough debris to extend the opening wide enough for Spanky to crawl through.