The Abducted Book 0 (4 page)

A shower and a cup of coffee later, O’Leary
felt refreshed and energized. He grabbed a left-over drumstick and
devoured it as local news played on a nearby radio. He threw on a
white dress shirt, blue tie, and black slacks, ready to go. His
badge rested on top of the dresser next to his holstered 9mm pistol
and dark-gray jacket.

Before leaving, he took one last look
at himself in the mirror. His short, thick hair was showing some
noticeable gray. Never one to shave regularly, he still had a good
deal of stubble along his square jaw and high cheeks. He just hoped
that the Dawsons wouldn’t take notice of that, or his worn and
slightly bloodshot eyes.
He walked back into the
bedroom and put some case files into his briefcase. His ID hung by
a lanyard over his tie. His gun was holstered at his hip. Ready for
the morning, he left with time to spare.

After a twenty-minute drive down State
Route 44, O’Leary’s green Ford Taurus arrived at the Dawson
home, marked by a long, circular driveway. The luxurious
two-story brick house was shrouded by large bushes, covering most
windows. Marbled steps led to a pair of elegant double doors. The
Dawsons were an affluent family, well known throughout town. Ted
owned a chain of appliance outlets, and business had been good over
the years.

One look at their thick, weedy front lawn,
neglected home, and rusty surrounding fence gave a clear indication
that it hadn’t been a good year. O’Leary rolled past the front door
and parked a few feet from the garage.

The front doors opened, and Patricia Dawson
walked out—her silver hair pinned back. She was wearing a red
long-sleeved blouse and jeans. A look of perpetual worry consumed
her pretty face as always. O’Leary stuffed a piece of Juicy Fruit
into his mouth, grabbed his briefcase, and stepped out of the
car.

“
Good morning!” he said with a
wave.

“
Morning,” Patricia replied. Nothing
in her neutral tone belied what she might be thinking.

Thunder rumbled beyond the dark, rolling
clouds above. The smell of rain was in the air.

“
Better come in before it gets nasty,”
she said, gesturing with the bottle of V8 juice she was
holding.

O’Leary walked up the steps leading inside.
She closed the door behind him and asked for his coat. He handed
her his jacket, and she offered him a drink.

“
Sure. Scotch on the rocks,” he said
with a smile.

She smiled back.
“I was
thinking more along the lines of OJ, detective.”

“
Of course. Orange juice would be
fine, thank you.”

She led him to the living room, a
spacious and oddly furnished room with a dusty, old hotel look. It
was clear that the Dawson
s were living in a time warp
of trauma and emotional toil. She pointed to a burgundy leather
sofa in the center of the room. A deer’s head, mounted on a long
board, hung above the sofa, incongruous among framed paintings of
tranquil valleys and ridges. A snake skin, massive in size, hung
across the other end. O’Leary took a seat and set his briefcase on
the glass table.

“
Ted will be out in a minute,”
Patricia said as she turned toward the kitchen, leaving him alone
in the room.

He looked again at the strange taxidermy
collection, but he had seen it before and wasn’t taken aback as he
had been the first time he saw it. Dawson fancied himself some kind
of sportsman.

O’Leary opened his briefcase, ready to
break the news. How they would respond to their daughter’s
disappearance being classified as a cold case, he didn’t know.
Moments
passed, and then he heard a bedroom door open
down the hall, followed by the sound of flip-flops shuffling across
the tile floor.

In the kitchen, Patricia also seemed to have
heard her approaching husband. “Honey,” she called, “Detective
O’Leary is here.”

“
I know,” his tired voice said from
the hall.

He shuffled some more and then reached
the living room. Ted Dawson slouched forward. Pale, with stringy
dirty-blond hair, he nodded and tipped his coffee mug at
O’Leary.
“Morning, Detective.”

“
Good morning, Mr. Dawson.”

He had on a bathrobe, tank top, and boxers,
looking as though he’d just rolled out of bed, but apparently not.
He already had coffee. His gaunt, bushy face showed little
emotion.

“
Yep. So to what do we owe the
pleasure of this hastily planned meeting?” he asked, shuffling
toward the matching loveseat at the end of the sofa, forming an L
shape.

“
I just wanted to have a face to face.
Share the latest.”

“
Super…” Ted said, lowering himself on
the couch as though it took effort. Patricia joined them with a
glass of orange juice for O’Leary.

He took the glass and thanked her as
she sat next to Ted.
“How have you guys been?” he
asked them.

They nodded and feigned smiles.
“It’s going,” Patricia said. “Alex starts tenth grade next
year. Pretty excited about that.” Alex was their son and now,
without Jenny, their only child.

“
Great to hear,” O’Leary said. “How’s
the business holding up?”

The couple looked at each other with
uncertainty. Patricia turned to O’Leary, partly smiling.
“Ted’s brother, Steven, has been running things for a
while.”

“
Things could be better,” Ted added.
“But we’re glad to see you. Hoping that maybe you have some good
news to share.”

O’Leary took a deep breath and took a
case file out of his briefcase, laying it on the table.
“I have news, neither bad nor good. But it’s news,
nonetheless.”

Ted gestured with his hands.
“Might as well just come out with it, then.”

“
Now, Ted,” Patricia said, patting his
shoulder. “Detective O’Leary didn’t have to come out here, you
know.”

O
’Leary cut in. “It’s
fine, Mrs. Dawson. Your husband’s right. I’ll get to the point.” He
leaned toward with his hands folded. “This past week, our
department has officially classified your daughter’s abduction as a
cold case. Meaning that it’s been over three hundred sixty-five
days.”

Ted took the folder as both parents sank
into the couch, expressionless.

“
It varies. Sometimes it can take as
much as two years for that to happen,” O’Leary continued. He held
out a hand, trying to raise their spirits. “This isn’t necessarily
a bad thing. New investigators can jump on board now. They’ll
reexamine all the evidence. Reanalyze everything.”

Ted sighed and leaned forward,
squeezing the bridge of his nose between his eyes.
“How is it that in a town of two thousand people, no one can
find our daughter?” Ted looked up, realizing the weight of his
words. “Not like you haven’t tried, Detective. We appreciate that.
Can’t we bring in the FBI or something?”

“
We could,” O’Leary said. “I’d have to
talk to our captain on that.”

“
Christ, they should have been brought
in from the beginning,” Ted lamented, rocking back on the
couch.

“
Perhaps,” O’Leary said.

“
It’s not their fault,” Patricia said.
Our own private investigator has come up empty-handed so far too.
You know that.”

O
’Leary narrowed his
eyes. “Your own… private investigator?”

Ted held both his arms up,
defensively.
“What was I going to do? Sit around on my
hands? We have to try all avenues. A year later and you’re still
chasing this Snatcher fellow.”

“
He
is
our most likely subject,
” O’Leary said with
conviction.

“
And where the hell is
he?”
Ted asked. Patricia touched his shoulder, trying
to calm him.

“
I’ve narrowed the list of suspects
down to one man,” O’Leary began. “But we have no evidence, and
there’s no—” He stopped suddenly.

“
No what?” Ted asked, his eyes livid.
“No body? Is that what you were going to say?”

O
’Leary looked away,
unresponsive. Patricia looked as though she was fighting back
tears.

Ted then pointed at
O
’Leary, jabbing the air. “Until that happens, we’re
going to believe that she’s still alive. Understand?”

“
Yes,” O’Leary said. “And with new
investigators on this case—a fresh set of eyes—I’m confident in the
outcome.”

Patricia placed her face in her hands
and cried.
“But you promised us… you can’t just walk
away now.”

“
I know. Like you, I was confident in
the outcome. I was confident that everything pointed to the
Snatcher and that it would only be a matter of time before we
caught him.” He took a deep breath. “I was wrong…”

Ted scratched the scruff of his beard,
lowered his head, and took a change in tone.
“Look, I
know I can be an asshole sometimes. I’m frustrated, and I’ve had
enough. My wife and I can’t handle this fucking nightmare much
longer.”

“
That’s why I’m going to recommend a
new investigation team. One that specializes in cold
cases.”

“
No!” Patricia said, reaching out as
if to touch his shoulder. “You have to stay on the case. We don’t
have time for everything to start all over again. You can’t do that
to us!”

“
I’m sorry,” O’Leary said, rising. “I
had my chance. It’s time for someone else.” He placed his files in
his briefcase and stood and nodded at the couple. “Thank you for
your kindness and trust. I’ll keep you posted to every last
detail.”

Patricia grabbed his arm as he tried
to walk by. He stopped and looked down. Her face was awash in tears
and desperation.
“Please. Let me show you something
first.”

“
Mrs. Dawson…”

“
Just one minute!” she cried
out.

O
’Leary nodded in
understanding. “What is it?”

Patricia rose as Ted watched them
both, looking confused.
“Follow me.”

Though he was eager to leave,
O
’Leary begrudgingly followed Patricia toward their
long hallway, leaving Ted sitting on the couch, staring ahead
blankly—clearly in his own world.

The darkened hall had three doors on
each side. Framed family pictures of happier days adorned the
walls. Jenny was in many of them, blond hair to her shoulders,
sparkling eyes, and a white smile. In many of the pictures, her
parents looked unrecognizable. Their faces were full of life and
vigor—Ted smiling at the barbecue grill, with Alex at his side;
Patricia and Jenny with their arms around each other at a school
dance recital. O
’Leary wondered how they could even
stand to look at those pictures, but when they reached the second
door on the right, the answer became clear.

Patricia opened the door and stepped
aside.
“Here, Mr. O’Leary. You might be familiar with
this room.”

O
’Leary looked in. He
was. It was Jenny’s room, untouched since the day he had first
searched it for clues nearly a year ago. A plush pink blanket
covered her bed in the corner. A mountain of dolls crowded the
pillows. Some posters on her wall were typical of a nine-year-old
girl, others weren’t.

She had unicorns and
Frozen
characters, but also
Beethoven and Albert Einstein. From what O’Leary had heard, she was
a bright, promising student. Her dresser, bookshelf, and computer
desk were untouched. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.
Someone, most likely Patricia, was keeping the room tidy. He went
to step inside but stopped.

“
Why are you showing me her room?” he
asked.

“
Because this is where she belongs.”
Patricia stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes in
anguish. She opened her eyes and spoke calmly. “The fact that her
clothes still hang in the closet. The fact that I still haven’t
looked in her diary after I came across it months ago. The fact
that I haven’t changed this room one bit. This means that I still
believe in finding my daughter, which means that I still believe in
you.”

O
’Leary opened his mouth
then paused. “Mrs. Dawson… I don’t mean to sound harsh, but you
should consider the reality here.”

She shook her head in response.
“I want you to go into her room. Go in there for one minute
and tell me what you feel.”

“
I’m sorry, but—”

“
Please… It’s all I ask,” she said,
holding back tears.

He reluctantly entered the room and
looked around as she waited in the hall. The beige carpet was
freshly cleaned and all the surfaces polished. He approached
Jenny’s bookcase, where several 3
×
5 framed photos were displayed on the shelves. More family
pictures. Pictures of Jenny and her school friends. Pictures of
Jenny in her dancing outfit. Pictures of Jenny in the honor club.
Trophies and medals sat behind the pictures. O’Leary glanced past
the bookcase, not wanting to be in the room any longer.