To Probe A Beating Heart (17 page)

             
“Here we go again, depending on luck.”

             
“We are almost done and it will be dark soon.”

             
“I hope that you are right.” He looked at the road and it was dry, as if it had not rained here, “Luck, pure luck.”

             
“Yeah, but it is cloudy, we will get it here soon enough.”

             
This was the new grave site that had been filled that day. Perfect.

             
He pointed the vans lights at the grave and got a shovel from the back. He spread a drop cloth next to the grave and removed the dirt in a small area down to the vault and placed the bags in the hole, stepping on them to make them as thin as possible. After getting all three bags in and flattened, he shoveled the dirt back in, stepping on it frequently to compact it. When finished he scratched the top of the grave site so it looked as it did when he arrived. The attendant would probably roll it flat the next day, put down the sod stacked nearby and add some extra grass seed.

             
As Averell was leaving the cemetery, the rain began, lightly at first,

then heavier. Luck was still on his side. He was heading for the rest area
on I-90. He took back roads until he was close to the rest area and got on the freeway. Two miles and he turned on the ramp to the parking area. He drove to the end and up over the curb and into a heavily brushed area, not at all visible from the parking lot or the highway. He tuned his radio back to the news station and listened. Whatever you may miss in a news report would be repeated at least every hour, and for the interesting stories, every fifteen minutes.

             
Then there it was on the news. “In breaking news, reported first here on your favorite FM station, the kidnapping of little Annette Shelton occurred around 3:15 this afternoon in Cleveland Heights one block from her house. The little girl was walking home in the rain, when a dark blue van with tinted windows almost hit her and stopped. She is missing and the van is missing. The driver of the van is, at this point, a person of interest. If you have any information about this van, or the driver, please contact the Cleveland Heights Police department.”

             
“Ah yes, plan ‘B’.” Averell remained in the Rest Area until well after dark and there were no cars in the parking lot. “Damn-it, and I was just getting to like this van.” He carefully pulled out and drove north and east toward western New York.

             
As he was driving on Interstate 90, passing Erie, Pennsylvania a calm came over him like a warm blanket. He was safe, he had gotten away, out of Ohio and he had not been confronted. As far as he knew, nobody knew what had happened in the barn. Nobody knew that he had put her where she would never be found. His plan was almost perfect.

             
“That was good.”

             
“Yeah, good, but it has to be better.”

             
“Let’s do another one and we will do it better.”

             
“No, not yet. We have to finish with this one and then we have to

wait a while, let everything settle down. Then, again we have to plan and I
think the next one should be a little older, maybe a few years older.”

             
“What else is there to do?”

             
“We have to clean the clothes and get rid of the tools and the clothes.”

             
“Again with the planning.”

             
“Yeah, planning.”

             
He drove to the last exit on the Pennsylvania part of I-90 and got on to Route 5 to avoid toll booths and cameras on the New York portion of I-90. Another hour and he was approaching Buffalo, he had to decide; would he stop or go on to Rochester. He knew the packages in the back had to be dealt with soon. Then he saw it, a twenty four hour laundry. He drove in and did his two cycles with bleach and packed them in fresh plastic bags. As he drove out, he noted a Salvation Army donation box, “Perfect,” he deposited the contents of one bag of Annette’s clothing, keeping the bag and drove away. Several miles later, he saw another Salvation Army drop off box in a shopping center. There he unloaded his clothing and drove away. Finally, the tools. This was the last of it. He noted a dumpster in a shopping center and unloaded the probes and after kicking the knife around in the dirt and breaking it, he tossed the knife in another dumpster. The wire cutters were all that remained. No matter how hard he stepped on them, he was not able to break them. He had wiped them clean and put them in a plastic bag. As he was driving, he spotted some water, a small lake. He pulled over on the shoulder of the road, stopped the van, took the plastic bag with the cutters, walked to the guard rail and looked both north and south. No one in sight and he threw them with everything he had as far out toward the middle as he could. The wire cutters hit the surface of the water about fifty feet straight out and sank to whatever depth the water was. He got back in his van and pulled back onto the highway.

             
“Now that was good,” and he laughed to himself, “Next time, we

could, “he chuckled, “Next time it will be even better.” Averell drove for
over an hour and found himself starting to pass his Rochester exit.

             
“Where are we going?”

             
“Oh my, I missed our turn off.”

             
“Where were you heading?”

             
“I was not thinking, I was just thinking about our next time.”

             
“C’mon Averell, you know where we were going.”

             
“Yeah, we’re going home.”

             
“No, no, You want to see Ellie and Sarah. Don’t you?”

             
“I am curious.”

             
“You want to do them.”

             
“Of course I do, but not now, and yes, I have been thinking about it, frequently, but, we can’t, yet. We would be at the top of the suspect list. When we do it, I want the process to be planned, completely figured out and practiced. I want to do it right on them and, remember, there will be no second chances.”

             
Averell turned off at the next exit and turned on a back road that took him west to the exit he missed. “We shouldn’t even think about it now, it would be crazy to try it this early, absolutely crazy.”

             
“Yeah, but you do think about it, a lot. We should discuss it so that we will be ready when the time comes.”

             
“I wanted to do it before I went in the Army. Now, I can take my time, plan and eliminate any risk, no gambles no depending on luck.”

             
“We should talk about it.”

             
“Yeah, we should.”

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

Family, we are part of a very large family . . .

The search for Annette continued throughout the week and into the

weekend. As the search moved into its second day, an unusually large number
of people from out of the area showed up to help. The neighborhood was searched from top to bottom. Every house was addressed, every backyard was inspected, every car was opened. The searchers went as far afield as could be reasonably determined a little girl could go and then some. A nearby wooded area was scoured by no less than 75 people. “A flea couldn’t stay hidden in there,” said Casey. It was obvious that she was nowhere to be found.

             
Posters were printed with her picture and circulated throughout the greater Cleveland area. When as much canvassing as could be done was done, the people who came to help and would now be in the way, seemed to melt away.

             
“Where did all those people come from?” asked Casey.

             
“Well, I talked to a guy from Michigan and another from Ontario,” replied his partner.

             
“I met someone from Kentucky, another from Illinois and two or

three from down near Cincinnati,” said Andy. “I have no idea why they

came here, but they were a great help.”

             
“Yeah, they came in, worked hard, didn’t ask for anything and left. Is it some kinda’ helpers club?” said Casey. “Like to know how to get them

on some other stuff we are backed up on.”

              Clare and Dave were interviewed on television and their emotional

plea for Annette’s safe return was broadcast nation-wide. Averell caught
it on the radio and made a point of watching the news that evening. The tearful plea by Clare made him smile, a little, the expression on Dave’s face scared the living hell out of him.

After the interview, someone mentioned the number of people that came
to help, “Family, we are part of a very large family, you know like cousins and cousins of cousins or more like a Clan,” said Clare with a glassy stare in her eyes, “and my dad and his friends, he’s with the highway department, and my cousin, Sean, he’s with the CHPD and some of his friends.” She was exhausted, and couldn’t sleep. Dave was near burnout also, overtired and unable to close his eyes. The two of them were strong together, but started to crumble when away from the other. Clare’s father, Ben Creighton, was another rock she could lean on. He was as hard as highways that he tended and always there when she needed him. He brought a number of people that worked for him to help in the search and seemed to know a number of others who were from “out of town”.

             
The search continued, the police stepped up the neighborhood cruises, dozens of people were questioned and nothing came of it. Strangers continued to come into town and help distribute posters, knock on doors, do whatever was asked of them. And when asked why they were there, they would simply say, “no problem, we’re family and we want to help”. After four weeks, kids were back in school and Annette was a topic of conversation. Dave had to go back to work, but he often found reasons to cut a day short or call in sick. The company was completely on his side and gave him a lot of slack, allowing him a pass on all the time he took. It was booked to overhead, and he did not miss a day’s pay. Clare was a complete wreck. She took pills to go to sleep and more pills to relax her during the day.

             
Back in Rochester, Averell was thinking about his dark blue van with tinted windows. It had been seen and he may have been seen. This was a problem. He didn’t know just how much detail had been noted, color, make, license, driver, he didn’t know and that was disconcerting.

             
“Now what should I do?”

             
“We could trade this van for something else, even a van of a different color at least.”

             
“I just bought the damn thing.”

             
“We could say that it’s not what we expected, can’t handle the snow.”

             
“Yeah, that could work.”

             
The next Saturday Averell went back to the dealer and looked for Tom. While waiting, he looked at a four wheel drive SUV, that probably burned more gas than he wanted, but it would work. Tom came out and greeted him with “Averell, how have you been?” He remembered his name, impressive. He was a salesman.

             
“What can I do for you today?”

             
“Well, the van is a great vehicle, especially in town, but it is not that good in the snow and a little sensitive to a wind gust on the freeway. I am on the road year round and the snow cannot be allowed to slow me down.”

             
“I see what you mean. So what would you like to do?”

             
“Well I know that it has lost some value since I got it, but I feel that I have to let it go and get something a little more highway and snow capable.”

             
“Okay, let’s look at different machines and get you into a model that works, then we get the right one. You know that we have some ‘Pre-owned’ vehicles. They don’t cost as much, still have warrantees. Something to consider. Let’s take a walk.”

             
They went out to the lot behind the main building where the dealer had hundreds of vehicles. They walked through the lot until Averell pointed one out, a green SUV with tinted windows and oversized tires.

             
“Let’s take it for a ride.”

             
“Okay, but I can tell you now, this looks like the one.”

             
An hour later, Averell was in his new ‘pre-owned’ SUV, driving down the road feeling safe and satisfied.

             
September rolled into October, and no there was sign of Annette, the blue van or the man driving. The search had long since taken on the tone of a homicide investigation. No clues, no talk amongst the “usual information sources” and the prospect of finding Annette alive and well had become only a glimmer of a hope in her parents minds. With the passing of time, wounds heal, most wounds. Some like the disappearance of your only child seem to tear another piece of your heart away every day you wake and realize she is not there.

             
Winter came and Averell maintained a low profile. “Let the dust settle.” He drove past the farm house several times during the winter and noted no marks in the snow. The place remained deserted. His lab was ready for another experiment. As the winter turned into spring and leaves came back to the trees, the farm house and the barn remained untouched. His lab remained ready. All the elements were in place and in June, he began looking for another ‘subject’ and again check the obituaries and the two cemeteries.

* * *