It Only Takes a Moment (18 page)

O
nce Mack arrived to support Eliza and act as a “family” spokesman and liaison with the press, Annabelle was able to focus on producing. She’d spent the day making phone calls, researching other kidnappings and law enforcement procedure, and devouring every new wire service story about the Janie Blake case.

Over and over, she read that, most often, a child was abducted by someone who was close to or at least knew the child. In Eliza’s case, Annabelle suspected there was a very wide field of suspects because so many people with whom Eliza had never even spoken, had never even met, knew her or felt they did.

Annabelle was aware of the fact that Eliza got mail from viewers, some laudatory, some critical. Letters came in with comments about the clothes she wore and the way her hair was styled. Men wrote in that they’d love to date her, women said Eliza felt like a friend. She got letters asking for donations, and requests for speaking engagements at charity events and college graduations. People wanted to know what her hobbies were, what she liked to eat, and where her favorite place to vacation was.

Undoubtedly, there must be some letters that Eliza got from people wanting to know about Janie, thought Annabelle. She picked up the
phone, called Eliza’s assistant, and explained what was on her mind.

“Sure, she’s gotten letters asking about Janie,” said Paige. “Most of them are pretty benign. But any that seem the least bit threatening or creepy, I send down to Joe Connelly in security.”

“Joe, this is Annabelle Murphy. I’m a
KTA
producer,” she reminded him.

“Sure, Annabelle. What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling about the abduction.”

“Yes?” Joe’s tone turned wary.

“I was hoping that you’d talk to me about any threatening letters or calls Eliza has received, ones that you might be concerned about, or think could be related to this.”

“You should know I can’t do that, Annabelle.”

“Can you tell me if law enforcement is investigating anything in that regard?”

“They’d be remiss if they weren’t, wouldn’t they?” asked Joe.

“Yeah, you’d think that would be a no-brainer, wouldn’t you? But I just wanted to check,” said Annabelle. “We had something that we beat the FBI to the punch on last night, a picture of Janie taken at camp just a little while before she was abducted. I’m not criticizing them, but they certainly aren’t infallible, are they?”

There was a momentary pause on the line before the security chief answered. “Off the record?” asked Joe.

“I’d rather not, but if it has to be.”

“It has to be,” said Joe firmly. “No using this information on the broadcasts unless it comes from the FBI. But, yes, they’ve been looking at some correspondence that’s come in.”

“Anything in particular?” Annabelle tried.

“Uh-uh, Annabelle. Nice try, but I’m not going to bite,” said Joe. “Even if I did give you some letters, you don’t have the wherewithal to track down a postmark or analyze handwriting. Those are jobs for the FBI.”

Joe was right. Annabelle didn’t have the ability to figure out who had sent anonymous letters to Eliza. Yet Annabelle didn’t want to give up. She was desperate for something to do to help her friend.

Forget the phone.
She went down to Eliza’s office to speak with her assistant in person.

“You’ve got to help me out, Paige.”

“With what?”

“I just spoke with Joe Connelly and he’s not giving anything up,” said Annabelle as she sat and crossed her legs. “He admitted there’s been some questionable correspondence that has come in for Eliza, but that’s all he would say. What help is that?”

“What do you need, Annabelle?”

“I need something
specific,
something we can look into,” said Annabelle. “A name, a place, something we can investigate in hopes that it leads us to Janie.”

“And the elements for a good story,” said Paige.

“That, too,” Annabelle admitted. “But that’s not my first concern.”

“I know it’s not,” said Paige. She glanced down at her notepad. She had jotted down the name of the bakery where the cookies and the creepy letter had come from. “I do have something,” she said. “But you can never say you got it from me, Annabelle. I want to keep my job and don’t want to lose anybody’s trust.”

“You’ve got my word,” said Annabelle. “I promise. Nobody will ever know where I got the information.”

E
liza and Mack, along with Katharine and Paul Blake, sat around the kitchen table. Conversation was minimal. They were waiting, listening for a phone to ring.

A square of lasagna lay untouched on Eliza’s plate. “Try to eat something, dear,” urged Katharine. “Susan’s lasagna is delicious.”

Eliza picked up her fork and then laid it down again. “I’m really not hungry,” she said.

“Eat anyway,” said Katharine. “You need fuel to keep up your energy. If you get sick or collapse, what good will that do Janie?”

Putting some food in her mouth, Eliza chewed slowly, not tasting it. She was thinking about Janie and calculating how far it was to Kentucky and how long it would take to get to her daughter. Eliza had wanted to get on a plane as soon as she heard the news about the black van and possible “Janie spotting” at the fast-food restaurant, but the FBI agents had persuaded her not to do it. Nobody knew where the vehicle could be traveling and, until it was actually found, it made no sense for Eliza to fly anywhere.

A ringing sound cut the silence and Eliza jumped to her feet. Mack followed her into the den, where Agent Laggie held the phone to his ear.

With her hands clasped beneath her chin and feeling that she would burst, Eliza forced herself to remain quiet until the agent ended the call.

“Well? Please, tell me they’ve found her,” Eliza begged. “Please.”

“They’ve traced the tags,” said Laggie. “The van belongs to a guy in Versailles, Kentucky. The state police and agents from our Cincinnati field office are on their way to his house now.”

A
modest but tidy brick ranch house stood on a small plot of land at the end of a long country road. A dusty black van sat in the driveway.

Unmarked cars parked just out of sight. The occupants of the cars got out quietly and made their way with stealth toward the house. Crouching and hidden from view by trees and bushes, they watched as a man came out of the house and deposited a plastic bag into a trash can before pulling the can to the curb. As the man started to walk back up the driveway, the law enforcement officers pounced.

“L
aggie.” The FBI agent answered the call, his voice curt, his expression strained.

Eliza watched him intently. She could feel her own body grow even tenser. As she listened to his side of the conversation and realized what it meant, Eliza felt a rush of intense disappointment and defeat.

It wasn’t Janie in that house in Kentucky. It was another little girl whose daddy had taken her to Burger King that afternoon. It was she who had been sitting at the table coloring when the police barged into her house. It was another little girl who was where she belonged, safe at home with her parents. Another little girl who, although undoubtedly confused by the excitement and chaos of the police charging into her world, would be soothed and reassured by her mother. Another little girl who would sleep in her own bed tonight.

It wasn’t her Janie.

Her Janie wasn’t safe, wasn’t at home, and didn’t have her mommy to comfort her. Her Janie was confused and scared and, if Stephanie Quick really did have psychic abilities, her Janie was wounded and hurting.

Blood. The psychic had seen blood.

Eliza felt light-headed and the room began to spin before her eyes.

When she awakened, she was lying on the sofa. Mack was bending over her, deeply concerned, his eyes studying her intently.

“It’s all right, Eliza,” he whispered as he stroked her forehead. “It’s all right.”

For a few seconds she was disoriented but, too quickly, the horror of what was happening came flooding into her mind.
Who has my baby? Where have they taken her? What are they doing to her?
Eliza felt the hope she had been clinging to slipping away.

“No, Mack,” she answered. “It isn’t all right. And it might never be all right again.” Tears seeped from her eyes and she covered her face.

“We’re far from the point where we have to give up,” Mack said firmly, pulling her hands away. “You have to keep on fighting, for Janie and Mrs. Garcia.”

Eliza looked into his eyes and reached up to touch his face. She knew he was right. She had to keep going, had to keep hoping, had to keep paying attention. But she was overwhelmed and overtired and overwrought. She needed more help and she knew it.

Katharine made some tea and toast and watched until Eliza consumed all of it while she waited for her friends to arrive. Within an hour, Annabelle, Margo, and B.J. were at the house. Eliza filled them in on the disappointing false lead in Kentucky and voiced her fears about what Stephanie Quick had said when they’d stood in Janie’s bedroom earlier in the day.

“What do you think?” Eliza asked. “Do you think there could be any possible way this woman is legit? Do you think she can really see that Janie is hurt?”

“Anything’s possible, Eliza,” said Annabelle. “But do I think it’s probable? I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“I don’t, either,” said B.J. “I think the whole psychic thing is a load of crap. But I also have to say that I remember my grandmother talking about feelings she had about things that were going to happen, and wouldn’t you know, some of them did!”

“She also said something that no one could know about but me,” said Eliza. “She told me that John was glad I still wore the perfume that he loved. The fact that John loved that perfume was never reported, never in a magazine.”

The three colleagues exchanged puzzled looks.

Eliza turned to Margo. “What do
you
think?” she asked.

“To tell you the truth, I’m skeptical about supernatural gifts, extremely skeptical. But there is at least some research that supports paranormal phenomena. I have friends and patients who are convinced that extrasensory perception exists. You might be surprised by the number of successful businesspeople who go for palm and tarot card readings, who make their plans according to what the fortune-teller says. Are they all crazy?” Margo shrugged. “But I do know I’ve seen coincidences and had lucky guesses myself, picked up the phone to call someone just as that same person rang me. Synchronicity.”

“So your answer is what?” asked Eliza.

“My answer is, I wouldn’t bet the bank on Stephanie Quick and her psychic abilities, not by a long shot,” said Margo. “But, at the same time, as long as you don’t go overboard and become obsessed with everything she says, maybe it doesn’t hurt to at least listen.”

D
amn it.
He had waited too long to clean the cuts and the children’s aspirin hadn’t done any good. The kid was running a fever and needed professional help. When this was all over, the plan was to return the child to her mother, but in good health.

The lights were on in the Urgentcare Center, but there were still too many cars in the parking lot to risk going inside. One by one, patients and medical personnel straggled out, got into their vehicles and drove away, eventually leaving just one car on the macadam.

“Now, you remember what I told you?” said the man to the little girl. “I’m going to take off my mask.
Do not look at my face!
And when we get inside, let me do the talking. If you look at me or open your mouth, we’re gonna kill your mother.”

Janie nodded.

“Come on, kid. Let’s go,” he said as he lifted Janie out of his Jeep.

Janie cried out as her legs bent at the knees. He could feel the heat coming from the child’s body as he carried her toward the building. When they got inside, there was no one in the waiting area.

“Hello?” he called out.

A young woman in a blue smock came to the reception desk. “I’m
sorry,” she apologized, gesturing to the clock on the wall. “We close at ten o’clock.”

“It’s just five after, Carol,” he said reading her name tag.

“I know,” she said, “but the doctor is gone. I’m just straightening up.”

“Can’t you take a look at her?” he asked. “She’s in a lot of pain.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Carol said. “It’s against the rules, plus I’m not insured.”

“Please,” he begged. “Are you a nurse?”

“In training,” she answered.

“Well, this isn’t brain surgery. The kid just fell and cut her legs, but I’m afraid they might have gotten infected. Couldn’t you just take a look?”

Carol regarded the child’s flushed face. “All right,” she said. “Bring her into the examining room.”

With Janie perched on the edge of the examining table, the woman carefully pulled back the bandages wrapped around the child’s knees. Tears ran down Janie’s cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound except for a few hiccups.

“It’s all right, honey,” said the nursing student. “It’s all right to cry. I know it’s painful. You really hurt yourself, didn’t you?”

Janie nodded.

“How did you do this?” asked Carol.

The man answered for her. “She was running and she fell.”

“What kind of surface was she running on?” she asked.

“Dirt,” the man answered.

The nursing student directed herself to Janie. “Do you know when you had your last tetanus shot, honey?”

Janie didn’t answer.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Go ahead and tell the lady.”

“I had some shots before camp started this summer,” she volunteered.

“Oh, that’s good,” said Carol. “I’m sure your camp requires that ev
erybody is up to date with their tetanus shots.” She looked at the wounds again and shook her head. “These are really nasty-looking, and it’s red and hot where her body is trying to fight the infection. I can clean them up, but I think she really needs to start taking an antibiotic. I can’t write a prescription for that.”

The man gestured to the cabinets that lined the walls. “Don’t you have any on hand?” he asked.

“You know, I think we do have some in the other room,” she said. “I’ll get it after we finish here.”

Carol spoke soothingly to Janie as she cleaned out the cuts. “So you’re going to camp this year,” she said, trying to distract the child. “I used to love camp when I was younger. What camp are you going to?”

“Camp Musquapsink,” Janie answered automatically.

The man squeezed his hand around the child’s arm and she didn’t say another word. He stared at the nursing student but her head was down as she applied ointment and clean white bandages to the wounds. He couldn’t see her face.

“All right,” she said when she was finished. She headed straight for the door. “That should do it. Just wait here and I’ll go see if I can find those antibiotics for you.”

The nursing student went to the front desk and quietly rifled through the trash basket. She pulled the well-read newspaper out, looked at the picture of the little girl on the front page, and quickly scanned the article beneath it.

The child in the examining room resembled the girl in the picture, though she couldn’t be completely certain. The picture captured Janie Blake smiling, full of life. The child she had just treated was solemn and withdrawn. Her eyes were glassy from fever.

But the article dispelled any doubt Carol had about picking up the phone and calling the authorities.

Musquapsink.

Janie Blake had gone to Camp Musquapsink.

“I told you to keep that mouth of yours shut,” sneered the man. “Didn’t I?”

Janie’s eyes were wide with fear, her bottom lip trembling, but she stared straight ahead, afraid to look at him.

“Didn’t I? Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes.” The child could barely get the word out.

“Damn you,” he hissed.

He opened a succession of drawers in the examining room until he found the instrument he wanted.

Carol made the call to the number listed in the article. Her heart pounded as the phone rang over and over again. Finally, someone answered.

“Find Janie hotline. May I help you?”

“Yes,” Carol whispered. “I think Janie Blake is—”

“I’m sorry. Will you please speak up? I can’t hear you. Please, repeat what you said.”

The young woman started to clear her throat but, before she could, the ice-cold scalpel sliced across it.

She heard a vehicle approaching the house and looked out the window to see if it was the Jeep. It was. Hurriedly, she pulled on her mask.

The front door opened and the child walked in, head down, her knees wrapped in snowy white gauze.

She led Janie into the bedroom and turned on the television set. “You can watch it until you fall asleep,” she said. After she shut the bedroom door behind her, she turned her attention to the man.

“I’m glad you took her to the Urgentcare,” she said, taking off her mask. “That was the right thing to do.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re glad,” he said, “because that little trip came with a heavy price tag.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something came up at the Urgentcare. A situation.”

“What kind of situation?” she asked with trepidation.

“The girl who helped us figured out who Janie was.”

“Oh my God,” she said, sinking down on the couch. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” he yelled. “She was on the phone saying Janie’s name when I killed her.”

She stared at him, unable to utter a word.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded.

“I heard you. I just can’t believe what I heard.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “What have you done to us?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t done a damn thing to us. It’s the girl at the Urgentcare who has the problem.”

She looked at him with disbelief and fear. “No one was supposed to get hurt. There was nothing in the plan about anyone getting killed.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Well, the plan changed.”