Dead River (7 page)

“What’s in the syringe, Sara Ann?”

He’s in my waist pack!

“It’s my insulin. I—I’m diabetic.”

“You don’t say?”

“I need an injection. I need one right now.”

“I’ll give it to you. You don’t worry about a thing. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said. “I mean yes, Gabriel.”

“You know where seventh heaven comes from?”

Her head was spinning. She needed her insulin.

“I asked you a question!”

“No, I don’t,” she mumbled. “Gabriel.”

“I didn’t think so.” He paused and she heard a syringe hit the nightstand. I need insulin! “Well, some say there are seven heavens, one lying above another. They’re graded accorded to the degree of merit one has acquired on earth. Don’t you want to be in the seventh heaven someday, Sara Ann?”

“I—I—I’m not sure, I—”

“I—I—I, what’s wrong with you? Why can’t you answer a simple question?”

He paused. She tensed, expecting him to hit her.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You’re a whore! You’ll never get to the seventh heaven. Whores aren’t even allowed into the first heaven.”

“I’m not a whore,” she whimpered.

“Oh yes, you are, Sara Ann! Oh yes, you are! Everybody knows it! You fuck that soccer player I saw you with. I know you fuck him! You are a whore!” Gabriel paused, and his voice softened. “But you can be saved, you can become an angel. I can save you; I’m the Prince of Justice. Did you know that, Sara Ann?”

“Please, Gabriel, I need my insulin.”

“I asked you a question! When I ask you a question, I expect an answer!”

“No, no, I didn’t know that,” Sara Ann said, beginning to cry uncontrollably.

“Stop crying!” Gabriel paused again and lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. “You’ll get your insulin, Sara Ann, and then I want you to write something for me. Okay?”

She didn’t respond.

Gabriel brought his mouth right up close to her ear. “But first you will get me,” he breathed.

 9 

IT WAS MONDAY EVENING, three days since Sara Ann disappeared. Adam sat at his desk in the study, mindlessly rustling through the Wall Street Journal. None of the articles interested him, and neither did work. He and Valerie had decided that they both would not go back to their jobs until Sara Ann was home safely.

He flicked the newspaper on the desk and swiveled his chair to turn on his computer. There was a Web site he’d seen on TV, missingkids.com, the official Web site of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. He typed in the address and was soon staring at the faces of three children lined up across the screen, none of them more than five. All three wore a smile, the pictures certainly from happier times. Tears streamed down Adam’s face as he imagined Sara Ann’s picture on the Web page.

He spotted the If My Child is Missing link and clicked on it. The screen flashed and six bullets appeared: a checklist of what to do if your child is missing. His tears blurred his vision. He dabbed at them with first one shoulder, then the other, leaving two damp spots on his shirt.

Glenn Wilkerson gnawed on a two-hour-old ham and Swiss on rye as he worked through the mounds of routine paperwork that covered half his desk. The phone rang and he grabbed for it. It was Averly.

“Do you have something, Rob?” Wilkerson asked, as he tapped his pencil on the pile of papers in front of him.

“Probably nothing.”

“What?”

“I got the lab results back on that black stuff you guys scraped off the driveway. Big surprise—it’s rubber.”

“Figured that.”

“It’s a kind of hard rubber they use for all sorts of things, including the heels and soles of shoes.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The photos show that mark as real dark, like it was fresh.”

“I know.”

“What was she wearing?”

Wilkerson stopped tapping and scratched his head. “Maybe the boyfriend knows.”

“Right. Like he spent time looking at her shoes.”

“Yeah,” Wilkerson said, snickering and sighing simultaneously.

“You guys don’t get many of these, eh?”

“Never had one before.”

“I figured that.” Averly paused for a moment. “We see them all the time.”

Wilkerson hung up the phone and stared at the piles of paper on his desk.

Adam finally left the study to check on Valerie. She was sitting up in bed, staring straight ahead.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Hold me,” she pleaded, with her arms reaching out for him.

Adam sat by her side and took her in his arms, gently placing her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Val.”

Valerie said nothing, only squeezed his ribcage tightly.

“Would you like some water?”

She nodded and her arms slowly retreated.

Adam rotated on the bed, retrieved the glass from the nightstand and held it out. “Do you think you can sleep tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Do you want a Valium?”

“Two.”

Adam checked the brown plastic medicine bottle in the bathroom and found only eight tablets left. Time to call the doctor’s office.

Adam offered the tablets.

She placed the two yellow tablets in her mouth and washed them down. Without a word she handed Adam the glass.

“Why don’t you lie down? It’s ten-thirty.”

Adam pulled out one of the two pillows stacked up at the head of the bed. She slid down and then lowered her head onto the soft, down-filled pillow. Her eyes met Adam’s.

“Sara Ann’s coming back. I know she is.”

Adam stroked her hair. “You need to get some sleep, dear.”

Adam and Dawn sat together on the couch in the family room and watched the late-night news. One of the stations in Orlando had a short segment on the missing high school girl. The two choked back tears as they stared at Sara Ann’s picture on the screen. It was the one Adam had given Detective Wilkerson on Saturday, but Brad’s image was cropped out.

The TV blared: “Sara Ann Riley, a seventeen-year-old Cocoa Beach high schooler, is still missing this evening,” the anchorwoman announced. “If anyone has information, or thinks they may have seen her, they are asked to contact the Cocoa Beach Police Department. She has been missing since Saturday.”

A phone number appeared on the bottom of the screen. Sara Ann’s picture hung in the upper right-hand corner, as the background switched to the Riley driveway. It was night, but their home could be seen in the distance, the porch light glowing. It looked like nothing was wrong.

The anchorwoman came back on. “No one from the Riley family has been available for comment.”

Dawn leaned against her father, locked her arm with his, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“What do you think happened to her?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I want her back home.”

“We all do.”

The two continued sitting on the couch, softly sobbing and still not completely grasping the gravity of the situation.

When the news ended, Dawn kissed her father’s moist cheek and went upstairs to bed. Adam walked to the living room. Before entering the room he blotted the tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve. Detective Carillo was slouched comfortably in the leather chair reading a magazine, a crumpled McDonald’s bag at his feet.

“That’s an interesting magazine,” Adam commented, pointing at the front cover.

Carillo peered around the side of the magazine. “It sure is.”

“My friend has a subscription and gives me his old copies. It’s humbling to see some of the yachts in there.” Adam stuck his thumb over his left shoulder. “And then I look out back at my twenty-one-foot Chris-Craft Bowrider. Well, anyway…”

“At least you got a boat. I’ve been in Florida for two years, and for two years I’ve wanted one.”

“Why don’t you buy one?”

“It’s a long story, but here’s the short version: My wife got the house she wanted.” A hint of a smile formed on Carillo’s face.

“Say no more, I understand.”

Adam stretched his arms upward as if trying to touch the ceiling. “I think I’m going to try and get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Riley.”

Adam lumbered up the stairs to the master bedroom and soon was sliding into bed beside his sleeping wife. For the time being, she was lost to the world. He had a fleeting thought about taking one of her Valium tablets. But the weight from mental exhaustion quickly settled upon him, and within twenty minutes he was in his own sheltered, dreamless sleep.

 10

THE PHONE was ringing. Adam sat straight up in bed. It was 2:30 am. Valerie moaned and rolled over. A rush of adrenaline shot out from his stomach and through his body. A jackhammer was pounding in his chest. Sara Ann?

The phone rang again and he lifted it. “Hello?”

Adam looked up and saw Dawn in the doorway. He motioned for her to leave the room.

Adam heard a metallic-sounding voice. “Let me speak to Valerie.”

“Who’s this?”

“I said, let me speak to Valerie,” the distorted voice snapped back.

Adam shook Valerie’s shoulder. She gradually sat up, rubbing her eyes. He put his hand over the phone.

“It’s for you,” he whispered.

“Who is it?” she asked in an undertone.

“I don’t know, but his voice sounds strange. Remember, stay calm.”

Still groggy, Valerie looked in Adam’s direction and slowly reached for the phone. He handed over the receiver reluctantly.

“He—llo?” Valerie said, struggling with the single word.

“I have your daughter,” the man said. His voice was peculiar, like he was gargling and talking at the same time.

Valerie’s hands began trembling, almost dropping the phone. “Where is she?”

“I’m sorry I had to take her.”

“But—but why? Where is she?” Valerie’s voice wavered and became louder.

Adam whispered, “No, Val, settle down.”

“Valerie, my dear, I don’t have much time.”

“Is she all right?” she blurted out.

“Val—settle—down,” Adam breathed.

“I want you to know that this is not a ransom call.” There was a pause. “Sara Ann will be returned to you.”

The words sent an instant wave of calm through her. “Then what do you want? Tell us what you want.”

“You will get a letter. Today. I will call again.” There was a click, and then silence.

Valerie sat on the bed, momentarily staring down at the receiver resting in her hand.

“What?” Adam asked.

“He hung up.”

“What did he say?”

Suddenly she threw the phone across the room then pounded both fists on the bed. “My baby! Someone has my baby!”

“Stop it, Val! Get your robe on. We need to go downstairs and see Detective Carillo.”