Of Guilt and Innocence (10 page)

“What's up? You guys need something?”  

“Bedard, we need you to go through these videos and note anyone or anything that looks suspicious. Here,” Jim pointed to his computer as he stood up, which displayed the security video from one of the hallways of the mall. The video had been paused and showed Lisa and Ashley fairly clearly. “That's our little girl and her mother. Anyone you see who looks like they are interested in them, note the description and the video's time of day when you saw it.  Also, here is a stack of photos I printed from the sex offender registry. If you notice anyone even looking cross-eyed at our girl, try to zoom in on their face and see if they match up to any of them.” Jim didn't ask, he told Paul to do all this—he didn't even look Paul in the eyes as he said it. He was too busy gathering his things to leave.

“Uhhh . . . all ri-- . . . I mean, I'll have to clear it with the—”

“Thanks, we gotta run. Call me if you see anything important.” With that, Jim and Dan left the office leaving Paul still standing at Jim's desk with a look of confusion.  

Jim and Dan started by re-canvassing the Wootens' neighborhood to see if anyone had remembered anything and to meet with anyone the original canvass failed to reach. When that yet again produced no useful information, they started a door to door barrage with the people in the county listed as sexual predators and offenders.  

At this point they had no real leads and were working more or less blindly. A tip line had been set up and tips were being screened by another detective who would call Jim or Dan if anything seemed promising, but nothing had thus far.

Hours passed and Jim and Dan continued to get nowhere. Jim tried to sound positive as he spoke with Lisa Wooten on the phone even though he knew they were just spinning their wheels at this point, waiting. Waiting for just one break. For something to go on.

As the pair was getting ready to approach another home, Dan's cell phone rang. Detective Sorrenson, the detective in charge of the tip line, had received a tip from a woman in Broward County that late last night she saw her neighbor in his garage with a little girl. The woman said she knew her neighbor to be a sex offender and that he did not have children of his own, but claimed she was too scared to call right away. It wasn't until this morning that she saw on the news about Ashley's disappearance and the tip line and decided she should call. She gave Detective Sorrenson her neighbor's name and he was able to verify that the man was indeed a registered sex offender. He had been convicted of a sex offense against a child some ten years prior. Dan told Detective Sorrenson to print out a picture of the man and give it to Paul to have him compare it to anyone on the security video. Their first big break in the case sounded promising. Jim's eyes lit up when Dan told him and the two headed back to the station to focus in on their new plan of attack.

The area the caller had spoken of was known to be a very rough part of town. They needed to move quickly but cautiously to ensure not just Ashley's safety, but their own.  Jim and Dan worked out the details of their operation with their sergeant, Chris Phillips. Sergeant Chris Phillips was an older man, mid-fifties, who had been a police officer for twenty seven years, a sergeant for fifteen, and a detective sergeant for ten. He was easygoing and generally let his detectives do their own investigations, rarely stepping in or holding them back. In this situation, however, he could not simply nod his head and assume that Jim and Dan would handle things on their own, so he joined in the planning. Finally, after working out the particulars and obtaining a search warrant, Jim and Dan were ready to head to Broward County, hopeful they would bring Ashley home alive.

Equipped with large bulletproof vests strapped over their shirts with the word POLICE in bold white print written across them, they met with the Broward County Sheriff's Office SWAT commander in a grocery store parking lot several blocks away from their targeted home. Jim had briefed the SWAT commander on the particulars of the case over the phone, so he and his team were prepared when Jim and Dan arrived. They followed behind the SWAT van, which was an unassuming white truck similar to a bread truck on the exterior. When they were at their designated location within view of the home, the SWAT team spread out, setting up a perimeter so that every exit could be observed.

Finally, it was time to move in on the house's occupants. Jim and Dan drew their guns and got in line behind the SWAT team's seven members. They quickly and cautiously approached the house until they were on the front porch, which was so rundown it seemed as if it wouldn't hold them all. One of the SWAT members pounded his fist on the door and yelled for someone to open up for the police. About five seconds later they obliterated the door with a large black metal ram and the SWAT team was inside shouting orders and pointing their guns.

When Jim and Dan made their way into the house, which seemed to be only seconds after the SWAT team had gone in, they observed a woman lying on the floor, facedown, with her hands to her sides and palms facing up. They walked farther into the home and saw a heavyset white male, matching the description given by the neighbor, also lying face down in the same fashion. Two members of the SWAT team remained in the downstairs of the two-story home with Jim and Dan and each had a gun trained on the man and woman. The remaining SWAT members checked the upstairs area of the home for Ashley or anyone else. After several minutes, the entire house was checked and there was no sign of Ashley. Jim leaned down over the man, who was still lying face down on the floor, but at this point had his hands behind his back in handcuffs. “Where's the girl?”

“What girl?” the man shouted back at Jim.

“Where's the girl, asshole? I know she's here.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the man said to Jim as he sobbed.

“Everything clear outside? Can we get into the garage?” Jim bellowed to no one in particular, but got a nod from the SWAT commander in response. The majority of the group moved outside to the unattached garage slowly, ready for their last obstacle.

Jim got ready to pull open the garage door and the SWAT members and Dan raised their guns in preparation for what they may find inside. Jim swiftly pulled the door up and it slid all the way open exposing the inside of the garage. The guns slowly lowered in unison. A stunned silence overcame the group. In the back corner of the garage, under a tarnished yellow bed sheet was the outline of a child sitting down, shaking and whimpering. A large chain stretched from under the sheet to the leg of a large workbench and wrapped around it until it came together at a large silver lock. Jim slowly approached the child, hopeful, yet afraid of what he might find when he lifted the sheet.

He grabbed the sheet with one hand, turned and looked at Dan quickly, then lifted the sheet off. Rarely was he at a loss for what to say or do, but as he stood there, looking at the frightened little girl, he didn't know what to do. Finally, he snapped out of his momentary daze and squatted down next to her. “It's OK, sweetie, we are here to help you. You are safe now.” He turned his head. “Someone bring me some bolt cutters!”

Dan had approached by this time and Jim, still squatting, turned to look at him. Jim saw the expression on Dan's face and knew exactly what he was thinking. It was stunned disbelief follow by guilt for what had initially crossed his mind. They had just rescued this poor little girl. They should have felt invigorated, not disappointed. And no doubt they would have, had the little girl been Ashley Wooten.

Her name was Heather Martin and she was eight years old. She had been kidnapped from her home in Texas four months ago. The man who had kidnapped her, who sat in the house handcuffed, held at gunpoint, was named Lee Dixon. He had been arrested for molesting his niece and served five years in prison for it. He bought that home shortly after his release and lived there with his wife, the woman inside the house with him, who he had been married to before he went to prison and who stayed with him throughout his incarceration.

 

Heather was taken to Ft. Lauderdale Hospital for examination and treatment. The Texas authorities conducting the kidnapping investigation were contacted and were due to arrive in Florida later that night.

The case that Jim and Dan had unwittingly assisted in and helped solve was turned over to the Broward County Sheriff's Office, at least for the moment. The detectives were left to make the drive back to Boca Raton with mixed emotions.

The ride was a silent one, Jim driving, glaring straight ahead at the road, and Dan gazing out the window. Neither knew how to react to what they had just been a part of.

They both felt a sense of deflation and disappointment that they knew would pass. They both knew they would eventually feel a sense of pride for what they had just accomplished. They saved a little girl's life. Heather would have most certainly been killed when Dixon grew tired of her, and until then would have faced daily physical and mental abuse. They knew that the sense of pride that would come with saving Heather's life and putting a violent man away would be that much sweeter if they were also able to find Ashley and bring her to safety.

Jim and Dan were fairly certain Dixon was not responsible for Ashley's disappearance. Heather confirmed that she had never seen another child there, and Dixon's alibi of being at a local hole-in-the-wall bar during the time Ashley was taken was confirmed before they left the town the raid took place in, Hollywood. Before they could cross Dixon off as a suspect they needed to be certain he wasn't on the mall security videos, but they knew he wouldn't be. They were back to no suspects, no evidence, and no leads.

It was late afternoon when Jim and Dan arrived back at the station. Word of their heroic efforts had spread throughout the department, as well as the local news media. Jim knew the Wootens would probably see their involvement on the television or in the newspaper. He knew he should call them to explain what had happened, how things had turned out the way they had. He could imagine how hard it could be for them to see the detectives responsible for finding their daughter finding another missing child instead. He didn't want them to think they were working other cases. He knew seeing the story on the news would be just another reminder that their daughter was still missing, and that good fortune had been bestowed upon someone else, brought about by the people they had hoped would bestow good fortune upon them. Jim stayed behind in the car to call Tom Wooten while Dan went back to his desk.

When he finally arrived back in the bureau, Jim received somber smiles and congratulatory pats on the back, which he ignored. He sat back down at his desk and started shuffling paper around. “Dixon isn't our guy. He wasn't on the videos. Bedard checked each video three times for anyone that might possibly resemble him.  Nothing,” Dan called out, unprovoked, still looking down at the papers on his desk.

“Yeah, big surprise there,” Jim said as he exhaled. “He come up with anyone else on those videos?”

“Yeah, a few people worth looking into. How'd it go with the family?”

“I know you don't have kids, but say you did and one was kidnapped, how would you act?” Jim fired back at Dan.

“Come on man, don't be like that. It was an honest question. Don't be a smartass. I'm upset about this, too, OK? Just because I don't have kids doesn—”

“I'm asking you a serious question so calm down,” Jim interrupted, his voice raised. “What would you do, how would you act?”

“I don't know . . . I'd be a mess. I wouldn't be able to do anything but try to find them, why?”

“Even if you weren't a cop, wouldn't you want to be involved in the investigation every step of the way?”

“Of course, yeah, why?”

“I don't know. Tom Wooten wouldn't really speak to me. I called his cell phone and he answered, but when I started explaining things to him he interrupted and gave the phone to his brother. No real explanation for it. If it was me, and my little girl was taken, I would be up that detective's ass every second of every day. This guy sat and waited until crime scene was done to even go look for his kid. I don't know, maybe I'm just fired up still about everything.”

“People deal with things differently. You don't think he's involved, do you?”

“Of course not. I mean, at least not directly, no. But I'm starting to wonder if we shouldn't start looking into people with possible motives to hurt him. He's a businessman, has some money, plays golf at a hoity toity country club, handsome guy . . . maybe there's something there. I'm just getting this vibe from him all of a sudden, and it makes me wonder if he isn't keeping something from us. Something he doesn't want people to know about. Something or someone.”

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

 

Snoring drowned out the sound from the television, which didn't matter much because the only viewer in the room was the one doing the snoring. Louis lay on a worn out plaid upholstered recliner, dressed in a white v-neck t-shirt and black sweatpants. He had been sleeping for hours, gently tucked under a white throw blanket, which had been put on top of him after he had fallen asleep by his mother, just as she used to do when he was a child.  

While Louis slept, Anne cooked dinner and tidied up the kitchen. She enjoyed having him in the house, having barely seen him at all over the past two weeks. He had spent the entire day there, which very much pleased and surprised her. She had cooked him breakfast, the two had chatted all morning, and then he stayed for lunch. He had fallen asleep shortly after lunch and had been asleep now for close to four hours.

She knew he was tired; she had heard him start the car and pull out of the driveway earlier that morning. She thought it must have been around three a.m., which was what she recalled seeing on her alarm clock after the car door shutting and engine starting had woken her up. She hadn't heard when he arrived back, but she knew it had to have been after four a.m., which was about the time she figured she got back to sleep.