Authors: Rick Mofina
59
Rampart, New York
A
shley Ostermelle is texting while walking from the Apple Store west through the Mall of America. She stops to check the directory before she exits. Now she enters the garage at P4 West Arizona, stops to text, then the picture goes fuzzy and she disappears from view.
Frustrated, Ed clicked and replayed the security camera footage, hoping to find something different.
How many times have I seen this?
The FBI had determined that Sorin Zurrn had breached the mall’s stand-alone system. He’d managed to obscure the security cameras recording in the areas where he’d been active. Brennan had examined the footage and the rest of the case over and over, searching for anything he may have missed.
Come on. There’s got to be something.
Time was hammering against them.
Zurrn had Vanessa Page and was likely preparing to kill her.
If he hasn’t done it already.
Every detective on the case was going flat out, but after Minneapolis they’d made little progress in picking up Zurrn’s trail.
I know I’m missing something that twigged with me earlier.
Whatever it was, it was gone.
Brennan left his desk to freshen his coffee. It had been four days since the Minneapolis break. He’d gotten home late last night and was up before dawn this morning to get back at it. The weight of the case was enormous. The task force was now having case status calls twice a day and had grown to include investigators from Chicago, Minnesota, Colorado and more from Canada. It had gained more profile—most network newscasts had led with it for the past few days and the press calls were nonstop.
Returning to his desk, Brennan reviewed the major points again. They’d found no trace of Ashley’s phone. Zurrn must’ve removed the battery and tossed it. The FBI worked with the family’s service provider and had gotten Ashley’s exchange of texts from the phone and her tablet, hoping to get a lead to Milwaukee, if that was in fact where Zurrn had been operating. But that line of investigation soon dead-ended.
He was good at covering his tracks, but we’ve got him on the run and as we get closer he makes mistakes.
Forensic teams were still processing Zurrn’s complex in Hennepin County, and everyone was optimistic it would yield something to tell them where he was headed. In the garage they’d found twelve vehicles, including the SUV used to abduct Ashley and the Chevy van linked to Rampart and the Lost River State Forest. They’d also found an array of commercial and service vehicles, like an ambulance, an armored car and a utility truck. Trouble was, they didn’t know which vehicle was missing or if he had others stashed elsewhere in the country.
Zurrn was a brilliant planner.
No one who knew the area and the auto-wrecking yard would have been suspicious if they saw a trailer hauling vehicles to the property.
Investigators got lucky when they managed to lift some latents at the property. They’d capitalized on Kate Page’s journalistic digging. Her work into Zurrn’s past had impressed most of the investigators. The FBI and Chicago PD made a full-court press executing warrants on Zurrn. They’d learned that he had done a stint with the Illinois National Guard, which enabled the FBI to confirm his fingerprints with those found at the property.
Here in Rampart, forensic teams were still working at the scene. Everyone was grateful that they hadn’t found more victims as they continued their efforts to identify those whose remains had been unearthed.
Brennan looked at the files on his desk, which obstructed the framed photographs of his wife and son. He looked at the case board at the end of the room. He knew what Zurrn had done. He knew where he’d been.
We need to know where he’s going to be.
There had to be something he’d missed. Something he’d overlooked. There had to be a pattern, a puzzle piece.
Brennan looked at the map with its pins flagging locations, events, victims and time lines before he sat at his computer and scrolled through the folders and databases.
Wait.
He glanced at the map, then the computer folders, concentrating on the one holding interviews with Zurrn/Nelson’s coworkers at the data center.
Who was that guy? Rupp. Mark Rupp.
Brennan clicked on the interview they’d conducted, reading fast, searching for the section where Rupp had recalled seeing Carl Nelson sitting at a coworker’s terminal.
What was it Rupp saw?
...Carl was looking at a real estate page and making notes. Looked like he was interested in some property...seriously interested...he thought that no one saw him, but I saw him and I saw what he was looking at.
Brennan kept reading while shooting glances at the map, feeling his heart beat faster.
It was a coworker’s terminal! That’s why we missed it! This could be it! I think I know where Zurrn’s going!
60
New York City
K
ate stared at her screen in the newsroom struggling to forge a clear thought on what she should do next.
Since returning yesterday from Minnesota, she’d been pulled in a thousand directions. Reeka and Chuck wanted her to break more stories—Newslead needed to stay out front. Other news organizations wanted interviews. Grace was feeling the stress, too. She’d seen the TV reports, and kids at school talked about the case. She hugged Kate more often, tighter and for longer stretches.
Eclipsing everything was Kate’s agony over Vanessa.
She had been alive and free only to be recaptured by Zurrn. Where is she? Each passing minute increases the odds that he’ll kill her, if he hasn’t already.
Kate’s phone rang, the display showing an area code she didn’t immediately recognize.
“Kate Page, Newslead.”
“Hi, Kate, this is Sheri Young in Tilley, Alberta. We talked when you were here.”
“Yes, hi, Sheri.”
“You said to call if anything came up on Tara’s, well, your sister’s, case?”
“Yes.”
“This will sound strange, but a raccoon burrowed into one of the upstairs rooms at Eileen and Norbert’s place. It used to be a sewing room.”
“Okay...”
“When they started to make repairs, they found something in the wall, a short journal that Fiona Mae had kept in the days after Barton died. We think you should see it before we pass it to the RCMP.”
Within an hour Sheri had scanned some two dozen pages and sent them to Kate. Fiona’s entries were neatly written in blue ink.
We were camping near the Kicking Horse River in BC. The beauty of the place always helped us deal with the pain of losing our baby. Incredulously, during a moment of sublime peace, Barton spotted a child struggling in the river—a little girl. He got in the water and pulled her clear.
She was alive, terrified and didn’t speak. We put her in our trailer, and kept her warm and safe until she slept. All through the night we gazed at the stars, and this little angel, thinking this was a heavenly sign.
Fiona detailed how in the morning they’d learned about the horrible crash, the deaths, and the search, miles upstream.
God forgive me, I know we should have informed the authorities that we’d found the child, but our hearts were conflicted. We’d learned on the radio news that her parents were dead. We were convinced she needed a family and we were forever aching for a child. Barton and I believed that this was ordained by God. Suddenly, we felt whole again at having a child with us to love. We decided to keep her and name her Tara Dawn. In the early days, she’d told what she could of her turbulent, tragic history. Over time she stopped asking questions about her new situation, as she was accustomed to moving from home to home. But I confess, it tore me to pieces when she cried for her sister.
Instinctively, in the core of our souls, we knew what we did was wrong. We found comfort at church where we were bathed in God’s blessing and compassion, for
He knew and He understood
, that we did what we did with profound love in our hearts. We had rescued an angel who rescued us.
Fiona wrote how she and Barton had devised the idea to portray Tara Dawn as being a child they’d adopted from a distant relative in the US. Fiona went on to say how happy Tara Dawn had become living a healthy life in a loving home.
Then came the day she disappeared. When it was clear she was truly gone I was struck with a lightning bolt of horror. We were being punished for what we did. It was too late to tell the truth. The burden of our guilt added to our loss. We felt shame in God’s eyes. Our second child was gone, leaving us to live in agony and the pain of our sin. I fear it is too much to bear.
From there Fiona’s entries trailed, to brief notations of the weather and her disposition. “Sunny, cloudy. So alone today. I can’t go on.”
After she’d finished reading the journal, Kate left the newsroom and walked around the block, absorbing the new information. For fifteen years she’d ached to know what had happened to Vanessa.
Now I know.
Kate was angry at the Maes, yet understanding. They’d never harmed Vanessa. They’d loved her. But what they had done was wrong.
She returned to the Newslead building.
In the elevator, Kate felt that the truth had somehow brought her another step closer to her sister. At her desk she sent a message to Chuck and Reeka.
I’ve got a new story coming, an exclusive—
Kate stopped herself to consider what she was typing next; something that she would normally write if she were writing about strangers. She swallowed, blinked quickly and typed it anyway, adding to her note:
And this one’s a real heartbreaker, people will eat it up.
61
New York City
“D
on’t be nervous, it’ll be a conversation about your sister’s situation. I like your jacket.”
Betty Lynne, who was filling in for a vacationing host of the
Today
show, smiled as she readied Kate for her live interview, which was less than a minute away.
Kate’s last story about Vanessa had received major play across the country. While there were no developments on Zurrn, she knew that keeping the case in the spotlight kept the pressure on him.
During the commercial break, Kate checked her phone quickly for messages. Then she took in the lights, the cameras, the sets and the crew. The show was produced at Rockefeller Center in a ground-floor street-side studio. Through the glass windows she saw the audience lining the sidewalk, waving signs and cheering to get on camera.
Surveying the river of strange faces, Kate felt a ping of concern—
Zurrn could be among them
. But she dismissed it as unlikely. Besides, every audience member in the plaza had been subjected to a security check. Kate’s attention shifted back to the set.
I have to concentrate. My sister’s life is at stake.
Theme music played; a crew member gave a countdown.
“And we’re back.” Betty Lynne looked into the camera and read from a prompter. “In the terrible wake of the recently discovered horrific crimes in Upstate New York and Minnesota, the manhunt for Sorin Zurrn has gripped the nation.
“So far, police have linked Zurrn to sixteen murders making him one of the worst serial killers in American history.”
Photos of Zurrn appeared on-screen as she continued.
“The FBI has confirmed that Zurrn, a computer engineering expert, who kidnapped Vanessa Page some fifteen years ago, is on the run with her. The fear for her safety is unimaginable, especially for her sister, Kate Page.
“Kate is a reporter based here in New York, but her connection to the case is remarkable, reaching back to when she and her little sister Vanessa, were orphaned by tragedy twenty years ago.
“Kate joins us now to tell us their incredible story.”
The cameras moved to a two-shot of Betty and Kate.
“Thank you for being with us. Our thoughts and prayers are for your sister Vanessa’s safe return.”
“Thank you. And I want to offer my condolences to the families and the friends of the other victims for the excruciating anguish they’re enduring.”
“Absolutely, our prayers go to them, as well.” Betty Lynne paused respectfully, glanced at the notes on her lap. “Kate, tell us about your earliest memories of your sister, Vanessa.”
As she remembered their childhood, a montage of photographs showing them as little girls came up on the screen.
“They were our happiest times—birthdays, Christmases, family trips, just being together.” Kate recalled moments with Vanessa and their mom and dad leading to the point when her mother gave her and Vanessa each a necklace with a guardian angel charm. Brennan had cleared Kate to talk about it and a photograph of a necklace appeared on the screen. “That’s not it, but we each got one like it.”
“That necklace was a key link to this case, but we’re jumping ahead,” Betty Lynne said. “Tragically, it was shortly after your mother gave you the guardian angels that your parents were killed in a hotel fire and you and Vanessa were orphaned. How old were you?”
“I was seven and Vanessa was four.” Kate touched the corners of her eyes. “That was so hard for us. After it happened we lived with relatives, then in foster homes.”
“And it was while you were with foster parents on a trip to the Canadian Rockies that you lost Vanessa and your foster parents in that terrible crash. That must’ve been horrible for you. What do you remember of that time?”
Those tragic moments were part of the fabric of Kate’s being. She recounted details as if she were experiencing them up to the moment Vanessa’s hand slipped from hers; how she’d coped with years of having to accept that Vanessa had drowned and was gone forever.
“But deep down you didn’t accept it. You’d always believed that somehow, some way, your sister survived,” Betty Lynne said. “And you never gave up looking for her.”
“No, because her body was never found. In my heart I always felt that she’d survived and I started searching for her. It was one of the reasons I became a reporter. If she survived, I was going to find her. I looked for her in the faces of strangers on the street. I did everything I could to find her.”
Age-progressed photos of Vanessa on missing persons posters, social media pages and other online sites appeared on the screen.
“It turned out you were right and your work paid off, when your sister’s necklace surfaced at the crime scene in Rampart, New York, and later the FBI used your DNA to compare with DNA found at one of the crime scenes to prove Vanessa had been there so she couldn’t have drowned in the river.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’re going to take a short break and when we return, Kate will tell us how she broke this case wide-open and put the FBI on Sorin Zurrn’s trail.”
Theme music played; a crew member counted them out and Betty Lynne touched Kate’s shoulder.
“You’re doing great, Kate, thank you.”
As Betty Lynne turned for a makeup adjustment, Kate checked her phone, which she’d kept on silent mode. The show had wanted her to switch it off, but she’d insisted on keeping it on for any developments in the case. Kate scrolled through several supportive messages from former colleagues in Ohio. Others were from people at Newslead. Her brow creased when she came upon one that she didn’t recognize.
I’m watching you. I have information about the case. I’ll be in touch.
A little uneasy, Kate took a breath as a shadow crossed in front of her.
“I’m just going to neaten your hair, Kate.” The makeup woman used the end of a comb to shift a few fallen strands. “There.”
Music played and the break ended.
As they resumed, Kate told Betty Lynne how discoveries at Rampart led her to the case of Tara Dawn Mae, the little girl who’d vanished from a truck stop at Brooks, Alberta, Canada.
“What did you learn when you went to Canada?”
As Kate related the history of Fiona and Barton Mae, pictures of Tara Dawn were put up next to those of Vanessa, including one where both were wearing the necklace, which had been enlarged in separate photos.
“Unbelievable,” Betty Lynne said. “And a few years later, tragedy struck again when Tara Dawn vanished from the highway truck stop near the Maes’ farm?”
“Yes.”
“And your relentless journalistic digging yielded the lead that pointed to Jerome Fell in Denver, who turned out to be Sorin Zurrn from Chicago, who was living as Carl Nelson in Rampart, New York, and was behind the crimes there, and in Minnesota, according to the FBI.”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell our viewers how you did that?”
As Kate elaborated, she saw a studio crew member flagging Betty Lynne to the time remaining.
“Kate, before we close, do you have anything that you’d like to say?”
“Yes, my sister has been in captivity for at least fifteen years. During that time, she transformed from a girl to a woman. I cannot imagine her nightmare existence. We’re asking if anyone knows anything about this case to call police. Sorin Zurrn, if you’re watching me now...”
Kate’s composure slipped and the camera moved in for a closer shot.
“Sorin, if you’re watching...before you met Vanessa, she’d already suffered more than any child should have to bear. I’ve discovered some things about your life. I know that you suffered, too. You’ve already shown the world by what you’ve done just how smart you are. Show everyone how powerful you really are by giving Vanessa her life back.” Tears rolled down Kate’s face. “Please, I’m begging you, Sorin.”
The show closed the segment in silence and went to commercial.
“Thank you, Kate.” Betty Lynne blinked back tears as crew members came to Kate. One started unclipping her microphone while the makeup woman passed her a tissue.
“That was extremely moving, Kate. Thank you for being on our show,” one of the senior producers said. “We’ll have someone go with you to the car, if you like.”
Before leaving the studio Kate stopped off at a restroom, splashed water on her face. Then she took out her phone and responded to her anonymous message.
Who are you? What information do you have?
An assistant walked Kate to the street where a driver opened the rear door of a polished black sedan. The car service was waiting to take her to Newslead, as had been arranged. Kate got in and buckled up.
As the car pulled into Midtown traffic Kate’s phone rang. It was Grace.
“Hi, sweetie.”
“I saw you on TV, Mom. It made me sad.”
“It made me sad, too.”
“But maybe it will help us find Aunt Vanessa.”
“That’s what we’re praying for. Now, hurry up. Don’t be late for school. We’ll get a pizza tonight if you want, or we can ask Nancy if she’d like to go out somewhere nice with us.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her. I love you, bye.”
“Love you too, bye.”
After the call, Kate searched her messages for a response from her anonymous tipster. There were many messages from friends who’d seen her on
Today
. Chuck wrote:
You did great!
While Reeka said:
It looked good but not once did they say you worked for Newslead.
Kate also received interview requests from
USA Today
, the
Wall Street Journal
and
ABC News
, but nothing from the anonymous messenger.
She searched news sites for updates on the case. Nothing was happening. Watching Manhattan roll by, Kate rested her head on the high-backed seat. These past few days of her life had been a surreal blur. But she couldn’t stop. She had to go full tilt until she found Vanessa.
One way or another I will find you, I swear.
“Miss?”
Kate surfaced from her thoughts to the sounds of the street. They’d arrived. The car was parked in front of the building where Newslead was headquartered. The driver was holding the car door open for her.
“Yes, sorry.” She reached into her bag and her wallet. She put a twenty in the driver’s hand.
Kate stepped toward the entrance but stopped upon seeing a man staring at her. His back was against the building. He had short, slicked-back hair, a stubbled beard, dark glasses and an untucked denim shirt under his leather jacket.
“Viper? I mean, Erich?”
“There’s something you need to see. Let’s go.”