Bringing Elizabeth Home (17 page)

E
D

M
ARCH
12, 2003

I
WAS SITTING IN MY OFFICE,
working, when the phone rang. Lois answered. It was Detective Parks. He told me to drop everything I was doing, don't call anyone, and to go straight to the Sandy police station. I had received so many phone calls like this in the past, I thought nothing of it. I thought I was on my way to identify Brian David Mitchell. It never occurred to me that I was on my way to be reunited with our daughter.

I drove as quickly as I could. I was getting sick inside about not being able to identify the man we had all been looking for. I spoke to Chris Thomas on the way, telling him to cancel two media appearances that we had planned for three o'clock. I told him where I was headed and hung up. Chris called me back to tell me he had heard from a friend at the station that they had a runaway girl in custody who looked a lot like Elizabeth. I didn't get my hopes up too high for fear that once again the lead would turn up nothing. Again, Lois and I had heard this so many times that it still didn't register that it was really Elizabeth. In the days prior, so many sightings of Elizabeth had come in, but most had come from states outside of Utah. I was so desensitized at this point. I couldn't get myself all worked up. I got to the station, still thinking I was there to identify Mitchell.

I wasn't familiar with the Sandy police station. It is in a newer complex that houses city hall, the police station, and other city offices. I kept asking people where to go, and then I finally found an officer who instantly recognized me. “Right this way, Mr. Smart.” He eagerly escorted me through the station, past a set of double doors, and past rows of police officers lined up against both sides of the hallway. I didn't think that was normal. Everyone was standing at attention. As we approached a closed-off room, the officer said to me, “We think we found a homeless girl that might be Elizabeth.” The door was opened, and I was stunned. I was frozen in disbelief. There, sitting on a sofa, was a girl with her arms folded. She was sitting with a police officer at her side, very quiet and subdued. I stood in the doorway, thinking to myself, “Is this really her?” Was it possible? She had grown so much. She was all grown up. The face resembled our daughter's. The girl sitting in front of me looked so much older; she looked like a homeless girl. She was taller, bigger, more mature-looking. She was unkempt. Her face was round, swollen from being outdoors in the sun. I wasn't certain at first that it was her. I went over and put my arms around her and just started bawling uncontrollably. Was this a dream? Had our nightmare ended? What if this wasn't her?

I held her back, looked her in the eyes, and said, “Is it really you, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Dad.”

I grabbed Elizabeth and held her close to me. I never wanted to let go. I hugged her and told her that I loved her so much.

Our prayers had been answered. Not to have Lois with me was unpardonable. How could the police have not told me to bring my wife? Lois would have crawled on her hands and knees to have been there at that moment. I cried—but for the first time in nine months, my tears were tears of joy.

The detective told me they wanted to transfer Elizabeth. They hurried us to an unmarked car that would take us to the Salt Lake Police Department. I held her tightly as she sat on my lap on the way to Salt Lake City. I called Lois with the miraculous news. I told her we were on our way and that we'd be there in twenty minutes.

Chapter 22

L
OIS

E
D KISSED ME GOOD-BYE
and told me he was leaving for the Sandy police station to, he hoped, identify Brian David Mitchell. It was early afternoon, which is the time I usually pick up our younger children from school. After Ed left, his business phone began ringing and at first I didn't think much of it. I rarely answer Ed's business phone, since it rings only in his home office. His phone rings often, but on the afternoon of March 12, it was ringing incessantly—so much so that I finally picked it up and heard:

“This is Lieutenant Jenson. Is this Lois?”

I confirmed it was I.

“Have you heard?”

Heard what?

I could hear him cover the mouthpiece of his phone to say something to another officer—I thought I heard him say, “She doesn't know.”

There was a long pause, and then he said, “We think we've found Elizabeth—alive.”

I started to shake, and I kept asking the lieutenant if she was okay. I wanted to see her. Charles was working in the yard when he heard me screaming. I didn't want to shout to him what was happening, for fear the neighbors might hear. I asked him to get up to the house as fast as he could. I needed him to drive me to the police station. I was so frantic. I was in no condition to drive. It was a blessing that Charles came home from school early that day. He tried to calm me down, reminding me that we had been through this kind of drill many times—he didn't want me to get my hopes up too high. We had received many phone calls in the previous nine months about young girls the police had found—girls between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. Charles kept reassuring me that everything would be fine. He had certainly grown up over the past nine months. We got into my car, and I don't believe we stopped at a single stop sign. I didn't want to get into an accident and at first kept telling him to slow down, but then I told him to hurry up! While we were driving, Ed called on my cell phone to tell me that he had Elizabeth. It was really her. He said, “You won't believe this, but Elizabeth is here in my arms. I am in Detective Parks's car and we are headed to the Salt Lake station.”

I kept asking Ed, “Is it really her? Let me talk to her! I want to talk to Elizabeth.”

Some cell phone service in Salt Lake is sketchy at best, so of course when Elizabeth got on the line all I heard was a crackle.

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth! I love you! I love you! Is it really you?” I said, not sure if she could hear me or not. It didn't matter. Our daughter was alive and safe in Ed's arms.

I kept thinking that the sooner we got to the Salt Lake Police Department, the sooner I would see her. I was five minutes away when Ed called, and they were twenty-five minutes from the station. When we arrived at the station, no one said a word. They made us wait. They tried to send us to a room on the sixth floor, but I refused to go. I wanted to be right there in front when Elizabeth walked through that door. Everyone kept trying to pacify me, asking if I would like something to drink, did I need something to eat. NO! I just wanted to see my daughter. They thought it would be better to wait in the privacy of the room on the sixth floor, so I finally agreed and went upstairs. I stood at the window and stared for any sign of my daughter, waiting for what felt like forever. Those twenty minutes seemed equal to the past nine months.

I sent Charles home to get his brothers and sister from school, because they would be waiting for me. They needed to be with us when we were reunited as a family. I knew they'd want to see Elizabeth as much as I did. After Charles left, the mayor of Salt Lake City, Rocky Anderson, arrived at the station. The police station was quickly filling up with officers and investigators. The mayor kept telling me that he wanted to have a welcome-home celebration for Elizabeth. I couldn't focus on anything anyone was saying. All I could think about was Elizabeth.

When they brought Elizabeth to the sixth floor, I was stunned when I saw her for the first time. It was not Elizabeth—at least not my Elizabeth. She was wearing a gray, long sweatshirt that buttoned up the front, and an old worn pair of jeans that were being held up by a rope. Her hair was in two French braids—a way she had never worn her hair before she was taken. Her face was puffy—she was sunburned. She was so much bigger than I remembered. Her shoulders had developed from carrying a heavy backpack—she had grown and developed in the nine months she was gone.
This
Elizabeth didn't look anything like the little girl in the Missing posters. It was very hard to see her like that. I grabbed Elizabeth and hugged her as tightly as I could. She held on to me, digging her fingers into my back. I never wanted to let her go, nor did she want to let me go.

A few minutes after our reunion, the police took Elizabeth away, explaining that they needed to get her statement while her memory was still fresh and untainted. Not knowing that we didn't have to let the officers interview her, we allowed the police to take her away. Chris Thomas handed Ed his cell phone—John Walsh had heard that Elizabeth had been found and he was on the phone. Ed said to John, “You're not going to believe this, but she is here. Elizabeth is here. The police are interviewing her right now.” Both Ed and I were worried about the police handling Elizabeth without one of us present. John explained that the police absolutely did not have to question Elizabeth right at that moment. He told Ed to go get her and protect her from the questioning, which would surely be intrusive if not damaging.

Ed flew into an absolute rage—behavior that is not typical for my husband. He was yelling at everyone. “Put a stop to this right now!” he shouted. Ed saw Police Chief Rick Dinse, FBI Investigator Chip Beirus, and Mayor Rocky Anderson and began demanding that they get our daughter. He was pounding his fists on the table and demanding to stop the interview with Elizabeth. I certainly didn't want the media to see Ed in this condition. Ed later told me that his rage was heightened because he couldn't shake his thoughts about how appalling the line of questioning had been for our family when Elizabeth was taken. He couldn't bear the thought of Elizabeth being put through that kind of interrogation. She was the victim. Ed had never shared his phone call with John Walsh with me, so I had no idea why he was losing his composure. This was a time that we should have been rejoicing in privacy as a family. Instead, we were once again being subjected to someone else's agenda. The thought of what Elizabeth had gone through and the potential leaks had pushed Ed over the edge.

They finally brought Elizabeth back to us, and that's when her brothers and sister saw her for the first time. They hugged her and held her and told her how much they loved her. We were so happy to have her home. To rejoice, we knelt down in the middle of the police station and had a family prayer. All of our children were there—we knelt in a circle and thanked God for this miracle. This was truly an incredible moment.

The police station was now packed with people. The word had spread that Elizabeth had been found. A huge crowd had gathered outside the station. The entire block was packed with people. Once again, news vans and satellite trucks had converged on Salt Lake City. This time it was to celebrate that Elizabeth was home. Sadly, our own celebration would have to wait. The police insisted on getting more testimony from Elizabeth before they would release her for a medical examination. They would not allow Ed and me to both be present during her questioning. The police stood firm that if they were to bring charges against Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee, Elizabeth's statements were crucial. They didn't want her recollection to be corrupted by media or other outside influences. That explanation seemed to make some sense to us, so I agreed to accompany her for questioning. To my utter disbelief, they would not let me sit with Elizabeth during the questioning. I was allowed to witness everything from a room that had a small television monitor, which I could barely hear. I was told that the volume control was broken, but I am not convinced that was the case. Listening to Elizabeth tell of the nightmare she had suffered through for nine months was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I felt like dying as I listened to my daughter painstakingly detail the abuse and assault she endured at the hands of Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee. I will never forget the sinking feeling I had watching my daughter tell of her living hell. As she spoke, I remember feeling that Wanda Barzee was just as despicable as Brian Mitchell; as a woman—as a mother—how could she have allowed this to happen to a young girl? To someone's daughter?

The police finally allowed us to leave the station around seven o'clock. Though they tried to shield us from the hordes of press and media that had now gathered outside the station, some clever photographer still found a way to shoot us as we made our way to the back of a windowless van that was to take us to the hospital for a medical examination. Elizabeth and I sat in the back of the van, looking out the front windshield, passing billboards and posters that bore Elizabeth's image. I explained that the whole country had been praying for her. I told her the light blue ribbons that were hanging all over town were in her honor. Elizabeth said she had noticed them over the nine months but never realized they were for her.

“I thought light blue was appropriate, since it's your favorite color.”

“Mom, light blue is not my favorite color! Why would you pick light blue?”

We passed by her junior high school, and there was a banner strewn across the fence that said, “We Love You Liz!”

And suddenly, it sunk in. Elizabeth was home—really home.

We were taken to the University Hospital in Salt Lake, where we were whisked through a private door and down a corridor that was virtually empty. Elizabeth was given a complete physical. Thank heavens she was healthy. Her diet had been limited while she had been held captive. Elizabeth ate one meal a day, and that was usually bread. She wasn't able to get much exercise, since she usually sat around tethered by a cable. When she did come down from the canyon, she walked and was forced to carry a heavy backpack. I could see Elizabeth was uncomfortable, so I tried to get her through the medical exam as quickly as possible. The hospital staff was able to come up with a pair of sweatpants and a clean T-shirt so Elizabeth could get out of the smelly, grungy, dirty clothes she had been in for too many months. It must have felt good to put on clean clothes.

Finally, at approximately ten o'clock in the evening, Elizabeth and I were able to head home. She wanted to go home. We started toward our neighborhood in the same van that took us to the hospital, and someone stopped us to say that we couldn't get up the street because there were too many reporters blocking the road. That was simply ridiculous. It was out of the question that Elizabeth couldn't be taken straight home. I demanded that the police make way for us—they had the authority to move all of those people. I called Ed, who had taken the other children home when Elizabeth and I went to the hospital, and told him to open the garage door so the van could pull right in. Elizabeth was entitled to have some privacy in her homecoming. We had so little privacy left; it was the least they could do to grant us this moment of bringing our daughter home in peace.