Through the Darkness

CHAPTER 7

Greeted by a silence so heavy it was palpable, still cradling that ridiculous white tiger, Ruth froze. “What? What did I say?”

“Timmy’s missing,” Dante snapped.

Ruth looked from Dante to the tiger and burst into tears.

I wasn’t due at Hillsmere Elementary to meet Chloe until three-ten, but I decided I couldn’t bear another torrent of tears when I could barely control my own. “I need to pick up Chloe and Jake,” I announced, suddenly rising from my chair. I was desperate to get outside. Maybe breathing the fresh salt air would revive me. I consulted Officer Powers. “Is that okay?”

“Who are Chloe and Jake?” he wanted to know, as if they were suspects he needed to add to his interview list.

After I explained that Chloe and Jake were my grandchildren, he nodded permission. With a reassuring squeeze of my hand from Paul, and a barely audible thank-you from my son-in-law, I managed to escape the spa.

Getting out of the grounds wasn’t as simple. As I stepped onto the concrete apron that surrounded the parking lot, someone said, “It’s Hannah, isn’t it?”

I turned. Roger Haberman.

I had been charting a course straight for my trusty LeBaron, and I didn’t want to be delayed by Roger Haberman or anyone else.

“Is everything all right?” Roger asked, his face scrunched up with concern. “I beg your pardon, but you look terrible.”

No doubt my face was a mess, whatever makeup I’d managed to dab on that morning long since washed away by torrents of tears. “No, Roger, everything isn’t all right. Our ten-month-old grandson appears to have been snatched from the day care center. That’s why the police are here.”

Just sharing the bad news with Roger started me off on another crying jag. Roger waited until I had more or less gotten myself under control, then laid a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry. Are the police organizing a search? Where do I sign up?”

“Timmy hasn’t learned how to walk yet, so they don’t think he wandered off into the woods on his own.” I pulled a ragged tissue out of my handbag and dabbed at my eyes. “Honestly, Roger, if I thought that chopping down every tree in Bay Ridge would find him, I’d grab a chain saw and turn the whole neighborhood into a pile of kindling.”

A sudden thought occurred to me. “You’ve been out here for a while, haven’t you?”

Roger nodded. “I was just arriving for an interview when all hell broke loose.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

“I’m afraid not. Just your usual to-ing and fro-ing, like that water truck over there.”

It occurred to me that if Roger had been entering the gates just as the fire alarm went off, he might well have passed the kidnapper as he or she was making a getaway on Herndon, the narrow, two-lane road that led directly from Paradiso on Kimmel Lane down to Bay Ridge Road. “How about on the way here?” I asked, my hopes rising.

Roger thought for a moment. “There was a car behind me. That one,” he said, pointing to the girl in the Jetta, who I now realized must have been coming to the spa rather than going away from it. “And I’m sure I passed a few cars on the way here, but I don’t remember any car in particular.”

“Think, Roger,” I urged. “Close your eyes and try to picture those cars.”

Roger closed his eyes as instructed. “Two cars, I think, and an SUV definitely.”

“What kind of cars? Did you notice the make of the SUV?”

Roger grimaced. “Sorry. The cars were just cars, and all SUVs look the same to me. Big and ugly.”

“Oh.” I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

“The SUV was brown, though. I remember that. Or it could have been gold. Looked like one of those vehicles you take on safari.”

“Oh, Roger, bless you! The police are inside Paradiso right now, interviewing people. Please tell them exactly what you’ve just told me. Make sure to ask for Officer Powers.”

“I wish I could be more helpful.” He tapped his temple with a forefinger. “Old noggin ain’t what it used to be.”

Two cars and a brown SUV, I thought, mulling it over. Pitifully little to go on, and Paradiso wasn’t the only establishment at the end of Herndon Road. The vehicles could just as well have been heading back to Annapolis from the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, a brand new facility built on property adjoining Paradiso. Nevertheless, Roger’s information might help narrow the field if a list of suspects was eventually identified.

“I’d be happy to help search,” Roger said, returning to an earlier topic.

“Thanks, Roger, but the police are bringing search dogs in pretty soon. Officer Powers thinks the dogs will confirm that somebody picked Timmy up and walked away with him.”

“I see.” Roger scowled. “It’s a terrible thing to harm a child.” His face softened. “Eva and I were never blessed with children, so I can only imagine what you must be going through. And the child’s parents, too,” he added quickly.

“Thank you for your concern, Roger.”

“If there’s anything I can do, anything at all…” His voice trailed off.

At that moment all I wanted was to get away from Roger Haberman and be by myself for a little while. If I could concentrate on things that needed to be done, perhaps it would keep my mind from drifting off into the terrifying, dark corners of my imagination.

I had taken several steps in the direction of my car, but turned back. “Do you think Eva will be in her office tomorrow morning?”

“She’s up by seven, and usually in the office around nine,” Roger told me. “Would it help if I mentioned that you might drop by, or would you rather call her yourself?”

Just thinking about picking up the telephone and talking about Timmy made me ill. With Roger to give Pastor Eva a heads-up, at least when I saw her, I wouldn’t have to deal with her initial shock and surprise, which would set me off crying again for sure. “Thank you, Roger. That would be a real kindness. And if she can’t see me at nine, perhaps she could give me a call at home and we’ll work out another time.” I dredged up a smile from somewhere and pasted it on my face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go, or I’ll be late picking up my grandchildren.”

“Of course,” Roger said. “Take care.”

He was still looking after me like a kindly uncle when, two minutes later, my LeBaron and I pulled out of the parking lot and headed down Kimmel Lane.

Step one accomplished.

Step two. I had to make my way past the police who were guarding the gate to Paradiso. Norman Salterelli, the body-builder, was still on duty, lounging against the gatepost, beefy arms folded over equally beefy chest, chatting with the officer.

I rolled down my window to identify myself. To his credit, the officer punched a number on his Nextel and checked out my story with Powers before motioning me through.

For a split second I entertained a fantasy of peeling out of Paradiso in a roostertail of flying gravel, until Norman squashed the idea by resting his hairy forearms on the roof of my car and leaning into my open window. “You take care, Hannah Ives, and if there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Norman. You’ve been a real star.”

He patted the top of my convertible with the flat of his hand. “Go with God.”

“Thank you.” In spite of myself, I smiled.

Step three.

I’d forgotten about step three. True to his word, Ron Powers had ordered a roadblock at the gates that once upon a time had guarded the entrance to the Bay Ridge community. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I waited at the end of a long line of cars for my turn for inspection. The police were thorough, thank goodness, checking front and back seats, and asking everyone to pop open their trunks, too. I didn’t think I could endure one more sympathetic look, so when it was my turn, I simply let the officer check my car for Timmy, thanked him, and drove on.

At the light at Arundel on the Bay Road, I turned left. Hillsmere Elementary School, where Chloe attended first grade from 8:55 to 3:10, was almost immediately on the right, a modern brick building, typical of Anne Arundel school architecture in the 1970s. I was early, so I pulled around a queue of school buses with their engines idling and into a parking space marked VISITORS, where Chloe would be certain to see me.

Because Dante and Emily lived in Hillsmere Shores, Chloe could have ridden the bus, of course, but Emily had to drive Jake to preschool at St. Anne’s Day School just a quarter of a mile farther down the road, so she preferred to drive the children herself. Fortunately, I was on the schools’ lists of approved “picker uppers” so I wouldn’t have any trouble driving away with the children.

Neither had Timmy’s kidnapper.

That thought stung. I wanted the world to stop-the cars on the road, the birds in flight, even that stray dog trotting down the road-I wanted them to stop, look my way and say, “I feel your pain.” But even the day refused to go into mourning: the sun shone in a cloudless sky, a gentle breeze blew. I sighed, and because I knew the children would approve, I reached up, released the levers, and powered down the top on my convertible. No matter what I did, life would go on.

I leaned my head back against the headrest, closed my eyes and let the sun shine directly on my face. The sun must have jump-started my brain, too, because I sat up so suddenly that I bumped my head on the sun visor. Dennis! Dennis Rutherford, Connie’s husband, my brother-in-law, my police lieutenant brother-in-law from Chesapeake County. He’d know what to do.

I rarely called Dennis on his cell phone, except in case of emergency. After the last time he’d galloped to my rescue, he’d programmed his number into my phone as a joke. “Here,” he’d said, handing it back to me. “Don’t bother with 911. Just call me.”

If this wasn’t a 911, I didn’t know what was.

I scrolled down to DENNIS and pushed the Call button. After two rings his message machine kicked in. Damn damn damn. I left word that I needed to talk to him and pressed End.

Something in the recording of my voice must have given him a clue to my state of mind, because Dennis rang back almost at once. When I told him that Timmy was missing, he exploded. “Jesus Christ, Hannah, how long ago was that?”

“Two hours.”

“Two hours.” He repeated my words in the same tone of voice he might have used if I’d said “two days” or “two years.” Two of anything was clearly too long. “Tell me you’ve called the police.”

My throat felt raw, but I managed to croak, “Of course we called the police. They’re at Paradiso right now. I had to leave to pick up the kids.”

“Tell me what Anne Arundel County is doing.”

“Wait a minute.” I rummaged under the passenger seat and came up with a bottle of springwater that had been rolling around on the floor since Valentine’s Day. I twisted off the cap and took a long drink, trying to soothe my aching throat before continuing. I explained to Dennis what I knew about the investigation so far, about the BOLO and the Amber Alert, while Dennis made attentive listening noises-uh-huh, right, okay. From his reaction, I assumed he didn’t think we were dealing with rank amateurs.

“Who’s in charge?” he asked after I wound down.

I told him what I knew about Ron Powers.

Dennis mentioned that he’d met the guy, then reassured me by adding, “Sounds like Powers has a good handle on it, Hannah, but I want you to check on a couple of things.” He paused. “Are you up to this, or do you want me to do it?”

I found myself nodding, which was ridiculous since Dennis couldn’t see me over the cell phone. “I can handle it, but I think it might be better if you call Paul’s cell. He’s at Paradiso right now, and he can put you through directly to Powers. I can’t imagine that Powers has let anyone go home just yet.”

“Right.” Dennis hesitated for a moment, and his phone went beep-beep in my ear. “Okay, good. I’ve got Paul’s number programmed into my cell.”

“What do you want Paul to do, Dennis?”

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, Anne Arundel County hasn’t had a noncustodial kidnapping in years, so I’m not sure they’re completely up to speed. Did anyone call the FBI?”

“My God! Should I have? I thought that was the cops’ job.”

“Absolutely, it’s their job, and I imagine they’ll do it, but we should make sure it happens, sooner rather than later. The FBI has the resources to help us find Timmy, and time is generally not on our side in cases like this.”

“Won’t Powers feel like we’re stepping on his toes if we insist on bringing in the FBI?”

“I don’t give a damn about his feelings, for Christ’s sake, and neither should you. Law enforcement agencies cooperate to the fullest when a missing child is involved.” He drew a long breath. “The first thing we need to do is get information about Timmy up on NCIC. Sorry, that’s the National Crime Information Center’s missing persons’ file.”

Dennis didn’t need to explain about NCIC, the database maintained by the FBI to track information about crimes and criminals. My name and vital statistics had been added to that database a year ago when I’d been falsely accused of murder. I hoped the negative information about me had been purged when all charges against me were dismissed, but I knew better. Old data never died. All of it was archived somewhere in that great big CPU in the sky. In addition to my rap sheet, anyone with a computer and Google or Ask.com could see how I felt about libraries, fair use, and other relevant provisions of the Copyright Act of 1976 way back when I worked as records manager at Whitworth and Sullivan.

“I gave Powers a picture of Timmy, and Emily gave him a description, so that NCIC business may already have been done.”

“Good, good. But we should check on that. Where are you now?”

“Waiting at Chloe’s school. Then I’ll swing over to St. Anne’s and collect Jake. After that, I’ll stop by their house and pick up a few things so they can spend the night with us.” Until I said the words, I didn’t know I already had a plan.

“Good.” Dennis paused. “Look, Hannah, unless they find Timmy right away, things are going to get frantic. Once the word gets out, people will crawl out of the woodwork volunteering to help. The press will show up on Emily’s doorstep. They’ll camp outside the spa. We’re going to need a family spokesman. Do you think Dante is up to it?”

“Frankly, no. I’d do it, but if I’m watching Chloe and Jake…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “We should ask Paul.”

“Good idea. I’ll suggest it.”

“Oh, Dennis, what am I going to tell the children when they ask me about Timmy?”

“If they ask, you tell them the truth. But keep it simple.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Hang in there, Hannah.” And the line went dead.

The opportunity to tell the truth came sooner than I expected. Chloe came loping down the sidewalk, bent like a Sherpa under the weight of an oversized backpack.

“Grandma!” She wiggled out of her backpack, letting it drop to the sidewalk with a thud. I noticed that Emily had taken the time to braid Chloe’s hair into neat French braids that morning. My heart turned over. Emily is a good mother.

“Can I ride in the front?”

“Of course,” I said, without thinking. Then I remembered the airbag. “But only if we slide your seat way back.” I unfastened my seat belt, leaned over the console and eased the passenger seat back as far as it would go. Then I waited until Chloe had hoisted her backpack into the car, crawled onto the seat, and we both buckled ourselves in before shifting into gear.

“Where’s Mommy?” she asked as I pulled away from the curb.

“Your mama’s really busy at the spa,” I answered, “so she asked me to come get you. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Chloe folded her hands primly in her lap. “K-E-W-L,” she added.

I flipped up my turn signal. “Kewl?” I pronounced the word. “Oh, I see! Cool!”

Chloe’s head bobbed up and down. “Kewl.”

“I hope that wasn’t on your spelling test this week, Chloe.”

“You’re silly, Grandma. I know how to spell. I get A’s on my spelling tests. N-B-D.”

I turned right onto Arundel on the Bay road. “What’s N-B-D?”

“No big deal.”

“I see. Where did you learn that, Chloe?”

“It’s computer talk.”

“Do you do your homework on the computer?” I asked, thinking that the world was far too serious a place if six-and-a-half-year-olds were required to know Word and PowerPoint to produce their book reports.

“Sometimes. I like games, too.”

“What games do you play on the computer?”

“I like Zoboomafoo. Harry Potter’s cool, too.”

I thought a website featuring Harry Potter and his gang might be a little too advanced for a child Chloe’s age, but after further conversation, it turned out that the website’s main attraction was Hedwig, Harry’s snowy owl that whoo-whooed through a clever opening sequence.

“Sometimes after school I get to play games at Sammy’s house,” Chloe said seriously. “That’s funner, because Sammy doesn’t have P-O-S.”

P-O-S? I considered the possibilities. Point of sale? Pepsi on sofa? Pigs on steroids?

“Okay, I give up. What’s P-O-S?”

Chloe’s shoulders shot up, nearly touching her ears. “Dunno.”

I made a mental note to ask Emily about this Sammy person, but not just that minute. Emily had far more important things on her mind.

“Is Sammy a boy or a girl?” I asked, trying to distract my granddaughter, who had turned on the radio and begun punching buttons, changing the station from classical to all news to country and back to classical again.

“Sammy’s mother calls her Samantha,” Chloe said, punching another button, tuning into WETA just as the news on the half hour began.

“Anne Arundel County Police are asking the public’s help in finding a young Annapolis boy who was abducted from-”

I slammed my thumb down on the power button, and the radio fell silent. Oh God, it’s for real. Riding in the car with Chloe, chatting with her about mundane things like spelling tests and computer games, I could almost convince myself that Timmy’s kidnapping had never occurred. Hearing those words tumble so matter-of-factly out of my car radio turned the knot in my stomach to stone. Timmy was really gone.

“Samantha is a nice name,” I stammered, gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep my hands from shaking and the car squarely on the road as I rounded the curve at Old Annapolis Neck Road. A few seconds later I turned into the drive at St. Anne’s School and slotted the car into a parking spot. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, breathing deeply, feeling as exhausted as if I’d just completed an obstacle course.

“You tired, Grandma?”

Without lifting my head, I studied Chloe sideways. “A little bit, pumpkin. C’mon, let’s go get your brother.”

Officially, Jake attended school from eight-fifteen to noon, but until Puddle Ducks opened for good, he’d been taking part in Afternoon Enrichment, followed by Extended Care, which allowed Emily the flexibility to leave him there until six if necessary.

I checked in at the office to let someone know I had arrived, then went to track down Jake. We found him in a classroom with four other children, working seriously on a drawing with a fat brown crayon.

“What’s that?” I asked, studying the amorphous brown blob taking shape on his paper.

Jake exchanged the brown crayon for a black one and drew a small black circle within the brown blob. “It’s Coco.”

I squinted at the masterpiece. “Right,” I said, more to myself than to Jake, who was now adding the dog’s lolling, red tongue to his drawing. “I’d forgotten about Coco.”

The teacher helped Jake slide the drawing into his book bag, and located his sweater. “See you tomorrow, Jake.”

I managed an anemic grin. “Come on, guys and gals. We’re going to pick up Coco, and your pjs, and we’ll all have a slumber party at Grandma’s house. Anybody up for pizza?”

“Pizza! Yay!” shouted Chloe.

“Pizza!” echoed Jake.

Skipping down the hall with the children, thinking about pizza, did nothing to lighten my spirits. In three years, Timmy would be old enough to attend St. Anne’s Day School.

Would I ever get to skip down the hall with Timmy?

Chloe tugged on my sleeve. “No pepperoni, Grandma.”

I blinked back tears.

Would Timmy’s kidnapper give him the chance to grow up and hate pepperoni, too?

I smiled down at Chloe, my heart nearly breaking. “No pepperoni, I promise.”