Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries) (16 page)

CHAPTER 33

W
hen the phone rang
ten minutes later, Jason grabbed the receiver and gripped it hard against his ear. Could it be Jennifer?

“Hello,” he said expectantly.

“Sir, it’s Adam. We have no recent reports of serious traffic accidents involving your wife or of injuries to anyone unidentified. No reports of off-road one-car incidents, although that remains a possibility. Why don’t you come down to the police station? I’ll meet you there and we’ll talk about what to do next. And Sir, could you bring a recent photo of your wife?”

“All right, I’ll be there as fast as I can. And Adam, thank you again. Thank you!”

“See you shortly, Sir.”

Jason’s mind raced. Where could he quickly find a picture of Jennifer? Boxes of photographs sat in a closet upstairs, but shuffling through them would take too long. A wonderful picture of Jennifer sat on his desk at work, inaccessible at the moment.

He hurried to his desk in the study and searched the passport file. Finding hers, he opened it and studied the picture. Though several years old, the flattering color photo captured her smiling face, alert blue eyes and shoulder length honey-blond hair. His breath caught as he thought of her perfume and that this woman he loved might be in terrible trouble somewhere this very moment.

Pocketing the passport, he scribbled a hasty note for the girls and started out the door, only to halt abruptly at the garage. What if Jennifer returned after he left? He dashed off a second note to her, taping both to a dining room chair where anyone entering the house couldn’t miss them.

Ten minutes later he arrived at the police station.

Adam met him in the lobby and they shook hands. “Hello, Sir, still no word from her? Okay, have you her vehicle license plate number handy so we can post an alert? Good,” he handed the information to the reception desk with some instructions. “Let’s go back to my office.”

Minutes after they sat down, another policeman joined them, introducing himself as he shook Jason’s hand. “I’m Detective Bardonner. Glad to meet you, Sir. I’d like to sit in on this.”

“Fine,” said Jason. They pulled chairs up to the desk. “ What do we do now?”

Bardonner spoke first, “We don’t want to alarm you with what we’re about to say, but may we speak frankly?”

“Of course,” Jason agreed, stiffening.

“Absent probable explanations for your wife’s disappearance, a traffic accident, for instance, we must consider other possibilities,” Bardonner explained.

Jason looked expectantly from one detective to the other, overtaken by uncomfortable déjà vu. His last visit to this police station with Denise involved filing Tina’s missing person report, her disappearance still a frightening unsolved enigma.

Adam cleared his throat, “As you know, Sir, from the MacKenzie situation, we’ve had three women mysteriously go missing from this area in the last five months.”

Jason’s polite smile faded instantly, alarm registering upon his weary face.

Bardonner shifted in his seat, leaning closer to Jason. “In situations like this, we look for patterns, but we’ve had trouble profiling this since their ages, appearances and circumstances of disappearance differ. Also, none of them have turned up, alive or dead, so we have no matches there. The common denominator we do know is they’re all females and all from this part of Fairfax County. This could be coincidental to your wife’s absence or…” Bardonner wondered whether to describe their serial-killer theory, “…or it could be related,” he finished.

Jason lurched forward in his chair. “You think someone kidnapped her?”

Seeing the worry on Jason’s face, Adam said, “Sir, technically anything is possible until we learn what actually happened, but what this means for you and for us is rather than treating your wife’s case as a routine missing person, we can throw more ammunition at this.”

“Did any of the other women’s families get ransom notes?” Jason asked.

The detectives exchanged patient looks. “No ransom notes so far, Sir,” Adam said.

“Where does that leave us? If not kidnapped for ransom, then...” Jason’s voice trailed away.

“We can only guess at that answer,” said Bardonner, quickly changing the subject. “What we want now is your wife’s description, when you saw her last and when you realized she hadn’t returned home… that sort of stuff. Plus we’ll post her picture, if you brought one for us.”

Jason handed him the passport.

Bardonner stood. “Adam, will you help him complete these forms while I get her picture copied and distributed?” Turning to Jason, he added. “Then we’ll have a few more questions. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bardonner left, closing the office door on his way out. Each case took its own direction, but he didn’t like where this one pointed.

CHAPTER 34

Adam indicated the papers
o
n the desk. “These questions are pretty straightforward, Sir. Her name, birth date, weight, height, hair and eye color.” He slid the forms toward Jason, who bent over them in concentration, his pen moving carefully across each page.

Bardonner returned about the time Jason finished. “Would you like coffee or something to eat?” Jason declined. “Okay, then, let’s get started. When did you see her last?” Bardonner asked, taking notes.

“At breakfast. Then she headed out to garage sales about 11:00,” Jason recalled. “The newspapers should list many of those addresses, telling us some of the places she went, though we wouldn’t know in what order or whether she found others not advertised.”

“Do you remember what she was wearing?” Bardonner asked.

He wracked his brain. “Black slacks and a black T-shirt with white dots.”

“What time did you expect her home?”

“Well, it varies. Sometimes she returns for lunch, sometimes she doesn’t. “Since she left at 11:00 today, I didn’t expect her home for lunch. Typically, she’s home no later than mid-afternoon. Occasionally 4 p.m. Rarely 5 p.m. But if that late, she would call from her cell phone with a game plan. At 6:00, I began to feel uncomfortable, more so at 7 and 8 p.m. I left a message for Adam at nine and then asked the dispatcher to contact him immediately at 10:00, when I knew something was very wrong.”

“Has she seemed moody or depressed lately?” Bardonner asked.

Jason didn’t hesitate. “Hardly! She’s always high-energy and upbeat, but she’s especially happy right now because Hannah has come back to life.”

Adam tried hiding his immediate interest at hearing Hannah’s name and listened intently as Bardonner said, “Oh?”

“Our daughter, Hannah, had a romantic disappointment about five months ago and took a nosedive. She temporarily lost faith in people and shut down to a low burner to heal her wounds. Jennifer worried some about her, but then just recently, our bright, fun-loving Hannah is back,” Jason explained, before returning to the real reason he was here. “So I guess that was a long-winded ‘no’ to your question. Jennifer definitely is
not
moody or depressed.”

Bardonner leaned forward. “Did she have any enemies?”

Jason looked pensive before shaking his head.

Bardonner studied the forms Jason completed. “Maybe a neighborhood dispute or a problem where she works?”

“Hers is a temp job, filling in for someone on medical leave. But no, she loves her work and the people there. And ours is just a quiet residential neighborhood. No problem there.”

She hadn’t told Jason of any difficulties at school where she mentored once a week. He considered her bridge group and tennis friends. “She volunteers with Childhelp, the organization that rehabilitates victims of child abuse. She belongs to an auxiliary that supports the organization in various ways. She’s told me some awful stories about unbelievable things some parents do to their kids, but she wouldn’t be exposed to any danger there.”

Bardonner tapped his pencil against his chin. “Sir, from a police standpoint, citizens can be exposed to danger any time, anywhere. A false sense of security is your enemy because you are always your own first line of defense wherever you are.”

Jason stared uncomfortably as he absorbed this information.

“Okay, has she any friction with relatives? Any situation at all that might cause her to leave voluntarily?” Bardonner asked.

“Nothing I know of. I’m certain. No.”

“Forgive my asking this but I have to,” Bardonner said. “Are you having any marital problems?”

Jason chuckled, “Every marriage has little glitches, but something big? Definitely not.”

“Is there any possibility that she has an admirer or a boyfriend?”

Jason’s startled expression answered that question for Bardonner. If she did, this husband knew nothing about it.

“You need to rule out the family, don’t you?” Jason asked. “At least, that’s how it works on the police shows. They always suspect the family first,” Jason said.

Bardonner sighed. “We’re trained to look at every possibility. Over 80 percent of victims are harmed by people they know, relatives or acquaintances, so you see the reason…”

Jason leaned forward, locking eyes with first Adam and then Bardonner. “Please do whatever you need to in order to find her. I promise my family will do
everything
in our power to cooperate and to help you.” He brought a clenched fist to his lips and tears glistened in his eyes as he added in a faltering voice, “We are desperate to find her.”

Adam said nothing as this man, old enough to be his own father, fought for composure. Bardonner also waited.

“Should I gather the family so you can talk to them?” Jason finally managed.

“That’s not necessary at the moment,” Bardonner said. “Just let us know how to reach them and we’ll follow up if we need to. I can see how worried you are, but if there isn’t a reasonable explanation for her apparent disappearance, we’re pretty good at what we do. We’ll try to have some news for you soon. Go on home and we’ll get to work. Do you need help getting back?”

“No, thanks.” The smile of gratitude Jason intended for the detectives twisted into a grimace as he fought to control his emotions. Bardonner shook his hand, said good-bye and left the room.

Rising to his feet with unusual effort, Jason thanked Adam again for his help. On his way out the door, he turned back to ask, “Who was that Detective Bardonner?”

Adam cleared his throat, unable to think how to soften the truth. “Sir, he’s from Homicide.”

Open-mouthed, Jason stumbled from the police station into the parking lot and leaned against his car, groping for his keys and the strength to use them.

CHAPTER 35

J
eremy Whitehead wakene
d late
and headed for the bathroom when the first strange feeling hit him. He brushed this indigestion away as a morning hunger pang until a wave of dizziness forced him to lie down.

When he arose, he still didn’t feel right but ate a small breakfast while watching TV. He flipped channels between programs to find the news, having cancelled his newspaper subscription a few years ago. Reading blurred news type made his head spin, likely because he needed new glasses. But he no longer trusted the medical profession, particularly after their proven incompetence in letting Ginger die.

Despite decades of sleeping eight-hour nights, Jeremy couldn’t remember ever sleeping twelve straight hours until last night. So what? Things changed when you were seventy-six!

He opened all the first-floor windows and turned on the kitchen fan. Without air conditioning, he knew ventilation on these hot July days was mandatory. He turned up the TV volume partly because the commentators just whispered and partly because the background sound gave the illusion of human company without its annoyances. Real people were an intolerable nuisance.

Therefore, he did not welcome an insistent knock on his front door. A pause and even louder knocking the second time. He opened the door slightly and growled through the crack, “What do you want?”

“Hello there, Mr. Whitehead. I’m Bob Wolf, your neighbor from next door,” said a pleasant voice from a friendly face.

“Well?”

“Any chance I might come inside for a minute, Sir?”

“No!”

“Oh, ah, okay. Well, we just wanted to see how you are getting along.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“My wife’s baking today. She asked me to bring these cookies over to you. They’re on a paper plate so no dish to return.”

Silence from inside the house.

“And,” Wolf continued, “what with it being summertime, of course it’s natural to open windows to let in the breeze, but we wonder if you realize your TV might be tuned up a bit loud. The sound carries all up and down the block every day. You know, this is a pretty quiet neighborhood and we just thought maybe you wouldn’t mind turning it down a little so that…”

“You young whippersnapper!” Jeremy pulled the door wide, his frail body framed in the opening. “You mind your own damn business!” he snarled. “My TV is not too loud, because my hearing is perfectly good. But even if I wanted it loud, this is America and in my own house I’ll do whatever I want. You stuff your cookies you-know-where and leave me alone! You hear?”

Jeremy glared at him as Wolf groped for some way to break through this cantankerous old goat’s wall of anger. As neighborhood spokesman, he hoped yet again to befriend the old man and perhaps also solve the community nuisance of Whitehead’s blaring TV.

“You hear?”
Jeremy shouted and slammed the door with a crash so mighty, the sash of the adjacent open window thudded shut.

Having rudely slammed the door right in Bob Wolf’s face, Jeremy didn’t see his neighbor stare at the plate of cookies in his hand, sigh deeply and reluctantly turn toward his home next door.

Inside his own house, Jeremy dialed the TV volume even higher. “I’ll show them,” he muttered to no one. “Now look what they’ve done; I’m all riled up. Why can’t they just leave me alone? Is that asking too much, damn it all?”

The odd feeling swept over him again and he leaned against the table, trying to clear his head. The fingers on his left hand tingled and his vision blurred until out of the fuzziness materialized an absolutely clear thought: call in yesterday’s bad driver reports.

Jeremy stepped out the side door of his house to the carport and paused for breath. What was this tightness in his chest? Had he eaten breakfast too fast? No, it was that insufferable neighbor, trying to upset him. Well, they wouldn’t get the best of Jeremy Whitehead, no sir.

He opened his car door, pulled out the clipboard and stumbled back into the house. From his chair facing the TV, he heard the newscaster announce, “And here is a local news flash. Another woman is reported missing in the McLean area. In the past five months three other Fairfax County women have disappeared. Police suspect these cases may be related.”

Jeremy closed his eyes. His legs felt heavy, his left arm numb, and he had trouble catching his breath. The newscaster continued, “The latest missing woman is Jennifer Shannon, last seen on Saturday in McLean, Virginia, driving a white Cadillac SRX Crossover SUV with Virginia license plate YRDSALE. If you have any information about her whereabouts or the circumstances of her disappearance, call Fairfax County Police Crime Stoppers at the phone number on your screen.”

His eyes snapped open wide. Printed on the screen were a woman’s name, a license plate number and the Fairfax County Police phone number. Why did that license number look so familiar? Fumbling to pick up the pencil, he hadn’t time to copy the Crime Stoppers number before it faded from the screen, but he knew the Fairfax County Police number by heart.

Jeremy felt a surge of energy born of vindication. When he reported his information, the media would interview him and tell the world of his tireless efforts to rid roads of incompetent drivers. Showcasing his cause, this public platform would
finally
bring the recognition he richly deserved.

He sat still and tried to breathe deeply but a sharp pain stabbed his chest each time he inhaled. The phone... in the kitchen. More dizziness doubled him over as he rose from the chair, one hand clutching its armrest. He staggered into the kitchen, fell heavily into a chair and reached across the table for the phone.

With the clipboard in one hand and phone receiver in the other, he grunted with discomfort and focused on his task. There was the tag number he needed to report the white SUV. His hand trembled as he slowly punched buttons on the phone.

“Fairfax County Police,” said the voice.

“This is Jeremy Whitehead.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Whitehead. What can we do for you today?”

“I want to report... ” He was breathing rapidly now with the increasing effort for his leaden body to draw and expel breath.

“Another bad driver, Mr. Whitehead? Okay! Where did the violation occur?”

His large script blurred on his clipboard. He shook his head to clear his vision and amazingly, the page came into focus.

“3508 Winding Trail Road,” he read hoarsely.

“Okay, Mr. Whitehead. I’ve copied that. And what was the violation?”

His mind reeled back to the serpentine road and the white van, its sudden stop demanding his brilliant, skillful maneuvering. “Jammed on the brakes right in front of me, forced me to swerve nearly off the road or crash into that damn car. Nearly killed me,” he managed. Sweat broke out on his face and he felt clammy, even though the kitchen fan blew directly toward him.

“Sounds like a scary experience for you, Mr. Whitehead.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Can you describe the car for me?”

“It was a... a white Cadillac SUV.”

“Okay, now can you give me the license plate number?”

His left arm was useless now, his body so heavy and every breath a gasping effort.

“It’s... ” he wheezed audibly and stared at the writing on his clipboard, “Virginia tag YR...,” another gasp and a long silence.

“Mr. Whitehead, we need that license number to finish your complaint.”

“I can’t breathe!” The pressure in his chest intensified.

“Mr. Whitehead, are you all right? Do you need help?”

“I...I can’t breathe! My heart feels like it’s on fire! Yes…help me!
Pleas
e!”

Clutching his chest, Jeremy Whitehead toppled to the floor; arms flung outward, eyes glazed.