Capturing Angels Read online

  He introduced me to his two accompanying agents. Agent Frommer was a much tougher-looking, dark-haired man, with lines etched so deeply in his chiseled face that they looked almost like scars. The other associate, a female agent, looked older than both of them, but Tracey Dickinson had no gray in her closely cropped mahogany-brown hair. Her smile was more like the flash on a camera, but I wasn’t looking for sympathy, only competence.

  When I went to open the front door so they could enter with their equipment, the reality of my returning without Mary struck me like a severe blow to the back of my neck. I moaned, gasped, and would have sunk to the walkway if Lieutenant Abraham hadn’t shot forward to wrap his arms around my waist. I leaned against him, my eyes closed.

  “Easy,” he whispered. He gently took the key from my hand and gave it to Agent Joseph. “Let’s get you inside and lying down.”

  I regained some of my composure, but I really didn’t feel my legs. He was holding me up until we turned into the living room and he guided me to the sofa. Tracey Dickinson rushed forward to place a pillow against the side so I could lie back.

  “I’ll get you a glass of water,” Lieutenant Abraham said, and went to find the kitchen.

  The FBI agents began to set up their equipment while David Joseph explained what they hoped to accomplish.

  “If this is a ransom grab, we’d expect the call to come soon,” he said. “They usually do by now, especially when they’ve taken a girl as young as your daughter.”

  Lieutenant Abraham returned with a glass of water. I sat up to drink. He fixed his eyes intently on me, looking as if he was ready to lunge forward should I suddenly become unsteady.

  “But what if it’s not for ransom?” I asked.

  “Rest assured, we’re out there in every way we can be. Every airport and exit into Mexico and Canada—all have copies of your daughter’s picture and description.”

  “But what if they didn’t take her for that? What if . . .”

  “Take it easy, Mrs. Clark,” Lieutenant Abraham said softly. “David’s team will cover all bases. Would you rather I helped you up to your bedroom for now? Maybe you should . . .”

  “Until her husband arrives, we’ll need her near the phone,” David Joseph said.

  “I’m okay. I’ll be fine,” I said.

  I lowered myself back onto the pillow. My left arm grazed the rich cherry-wood side table, and one of the books John had been reading on the changing American economy slipped off. Lieutenant Abraham moved quickly to pick it up and place it back on the table.

  Our eyes met again, and if I needed any reminder about what he and the others were doing there, his look provided it. There was more than just professional concern and duty in his look. He seemed to be in real emotional pain for me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “A car is pulling into the driveway,” Agent Frommer said. “Going into the garage.”

  “John. Thank God,” I said, sitting up.

  “He must’ve been flying over the Ten Freeway,” David Joseph told Lieutenant Abraham.

  He glanced at me. “Can’t blame him for that,” he said.

  John entered the house through the kitchen and came hurrying into the living room. He paused for a moment and then moved quickly to my side. He knelt to hug me and held me firmly.

  It was then that all my pent-up tears broke through whatever emotional dam I had constructed. My body shook so hard I could see his shoulders shaking, too.

  “Easy, easy,” he whispered. “I’m here. Trust in God,” he added.

  I held my breath, and he released me, guided me back onto the pillow, and stood. Lieutenant Abraham introduced everyone. John shook hands and then sat at the other end of the sofa, listening as Lieutenant Abraham summed up what had happened and what had been done so far.

  He looked at me and smiled. “She’s been holding up like a real soldier,” Lieutenant Abraham said.

  John turned to me. He reached for my hand. “I think you should go upstairs and rest for a while, Grace.”

  “No, they need me.”

  “I’m here now,” he said. He turned to the agents. “She’s been a little fragile as it is.”

  “No, I’m all right. Maybe there is something else I can do or remember.”

  “You’re close to a nervous breakdown, Grace,” John said softly. “That won’t do any of us any good. I’m sure you won’t remember anything more right now. You were questioned for hours, weren’t you? The stress is enormous. These people know what I mean.” He looked up at the agents and Lieutenant Abraham. No one spoke, but they were all looking at me. “What we need is for you to regain your strength so you can really be of help, okay? C’mon,” he said, standing. He reached down for me, but I didn’t move.

  The phone rang, and everyone froze.

  “We’re set,” Agent Frommer said.

  “Okay, Mr. Clark. Pick it up. Don’t lose your temper or anything. Listen to what they say, and do your best to keep them talking.”

  John nodded and lifted the receiver. “Hello,” he said as casually as ever. He listened for a moment and then looked at everyone and shook his head. “She’s been fighting a bad cold. She’s taking a nap. I’ll let her know you called. What? I was at a meeting that ended early,” he said with obvious annoyance. “I’ll tell her you called,” he said again, his voice colder, sharper. Then he just hung up.

  “Your friend Netty Goldstein,” he said. “I wish she’d get into e-mail. The woman hangs on to a phone conversation with the desperation of someone drowning in silence,” he told David Joseph, who forced a smile.

  “We should call our parents, John. We can use one of our cell phones and keep the lines open.”

  “No,” he said. “There’ll be plenty of time to get everyone into this.”

  “But they’ll hear about it because of the alerts, won’t they?” I looked to Lieutenant Abraham.

  “They could, yes. Or someone who knows them could hear and call them.” He looked at John. “When you call them is your decision entirely, of course.”

  “We’ll deal with that soon,” John said. “Maybe there’ll be a quicker resolution than we think.” He nodded toward the equipment. “What’s your success rate with this sort of thing, if it is this sort of thing?” John asked.

  “Oh, not bad, really.”

  “Seventy, eighty percent?”

  “Something like that,” Agent Joseph said. “I’m not much of a numbers cruncher.”

  “What about Margaret?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine our neighbor and babysitter not noticing that something was happening, despite how discreet the FBI was.

  “She hasn’t called, and I don’t want to call her, either, just yet. The whole neighborhood will go into heart failure, especially people like the Masons and the Thomases who have young children, too, as soon as the news spreads, so you can just imagine what’s going to occur when Margaret finds out.”

  “But what did you tell your people at work when you were called away from your meeting?” I asked.

  He looked at the others and then at me as if I had revealed some fault of his. “I didn’t tell anyone anything, Grace. What good would that have done?”

  I nodded. “They’ll know soon, too, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, soon,” John said, looking away.

  “Your husband’s done the right thing by holding back as long as possible, Mrs. Clark. We don’t want anyone dropping in to commiserate with you just yet,” Agent Joseph explained in softly modulated tones. It was as if they all saw that the air around me was crackling. “It’s better if we give whoever calls the sense that he or she could get away with it, get something and return your daughter unharmed.”

  “Isn’t it on the television news yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet. We’re holding back on that for a few hours.”

  “Too much medi
a coverage right away might spook them,” Agent Dickinson followed. She wore no makeup and was quite stocky. My imagination whipped around, and I thought maybe she was wearing a bulletproof vest. Maybe the taking of our daughter was simply the first act in this assault on our family, our perfect little family. Some other form of attack was pending. Agent Dickinson looked like someone expecting it. If a female agent had been sent to help comfort me, she would be a failure, I thought.

  “You think whoever took Mary is watching our house right now?”

  “They could be, yes,” she replied. “On and off. No one is standing out there, of course.”

  I looked at Lieutenant Abraham for some confirmation. Maybe because he was first on the scene or maybe because he really was a compassionate man first and a policeman second, I found comfort in the way he looked at me and spoke to me. Right now, I felt as if I had to have everything confirmed and agreed to by him. He closed his eyes gently and nodded in support of what Agent Dickinson had said.

  “She must be so frightened,” I said, my lips quivering, my throat closing.

  John turned back to me sharply. “You should be upstairs. It’s better you stay upstairs right now, Grace. Listen to me.”

  “I don’t want to be alone,” I said mournfully.

  “I’ve got to remain here with them,” he replied, looking at the FBI agents. “I’ve got to answer the phone, and this has to be done as perfectly as possible so we don’t mess it up if it happens. You just heard that.”

  “I’ll help you back up to your room if you’d like,” Lieutenant Abraham said. He nodded at the others. “They’re really running this thing now. It’s their bailiwick. The FBI has far more experience with this, and take it from me, they’re good at it.”

  I looked at John.

  “Go on, Grace. Do as he suggests,” he said. “We’ll call you if something happens.”

  I rose, feeling so helpless. Wasn’t there anything I could do, anything I could add, think of? Lieutenant Abraham walked alongside me but didn’t reach for my arm or my hand. I started up the stairway and paused.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, turning to look down at him. “I was just thinking that Mary would be waking from her nap by now. Do you think they let her take a nap?”

  He hesitated and then seemed to decide to go for it. “People who do this often sedate the children. It’s actually more humane.”

  I nodded and continued up, pushing away the follow-up question: What if they gave her too much sedation? They could be amateurs. I knew he wanted to mitigate my worrying, and I didn’t want him to feel bad about telling me what really might be happening, or he wouldn’t be honest about anything else.

  I paused again at Mary’s bedroom doorway. He looked in, too.

  “Mind?” he asked. I shook my head, and he entered the room.

  “Very nice room,” he said. He looked at the shelves of stuffed animals neatly arranged. “Quite a collection.”

  “Everyone who knows her has known to give her something like that for her birthday.”

  “Yes. Has anyone given her a lot more than others? I don’t mean any relatives, grandparents.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, some of those are more expensive than others, but . . . well, Margaret Sullivan has more to do with her, so she always gives Mary something nice.” I paused, studying him for a moment. “You’re still thinking that someone we know, someone who knows us well, might have done this?”

  He looked as if he regretted having spoken. Maybe it was the tone in my voice that gave him the impression that I was on the verge of being explosive, that the smallest, seemingly most inconsequential thing could get me screaming.

  “Tell me what you really think, please. I’m okay. Why did you ask that question?” I insisted.

  “Every case is different in some way. I had a case where a supposedly good friend of the mother’s had an unnatural attraction to the child. She had lost her own in an accident. It was more complicated than I’m making it seem.”

  “There’s no one like that in our lives,” I said.

  “I’m sure there isn’t. You look like the kind of mother who would sense danger if it was that close by,” he added with a smile. It brought no comfort.

  “I didn’t today. I didn’t take any pills before we left for the mall,” I emphasized. “Maybe I take them more than I led you to believe, but I didn’t take them this morning. I swear.”

  “I believe you. You were distracted in some other way. None of us is that perfect.”

  “But when it comes to Mary, I am. She’s with me so much. It’s as if they never cut the umbilical cord. How could this happen?”

  “It happens. Stop beating on yourself. It doesn’t help anyone at this point.”

  I shook my head and bit down on my lower lip. I wanted to punish myself somehow.

  He leaned toward me like someone about to reveal a big secret. “I was in an automobile accident last week. Oh, not that serious an accident, but it was a little bit more than a fender bender. The point is, it was my fault. A young woman on roller skates wearing short-shorts caught my attention, distracted me just long enough. It was quite embarrassing, especially for someone in law enforcement. I felt like a doctor who smokes, is overweight, or something.”

  I smiled. Of anyone involved with Mary’s disappearance so far, Lieutenant Abraham seemed to be the easiest person to talk to. I wondered how long he had been a detective. I didn’t think he was rough and edgy enough to battle very violent and evil people. For a few moments, at least, thinking about him took my mind off what was happening.

  “Are you married or seeing someone?”

  “No, I’m not married and not seeing anyone at the moment. I’m not exactly brilliant when it comes to my romantic relationships. Most of the women I’ve dated look for the nearest exit when they see my . . . let’s say my enthusiasm for my work. I don’t blame them. A woman should feel she’s first in a man’s priorities. Besides,” he continued, walking toward Mary’s closet and then turning to me, “when I fall in love, I want it to be of biblical proportions.”

  Now I was really smiling. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “I once read somewhere that a man said to the woman he loved, ‘Oh do not die, for I shall hate all women so when thou art gone.’”

  “I love that quote.”

  “You’ve heard it? I don’t know where it’s from. One of my school buddies gave it to me to use in pursuit of someone once.”

  “John Donne’s poem ‘A Fever.’ An overly dramatic high school boyfriend wrote it to me on a get-well card when I had the flu. I was impressed but too sick to care.”

  He smiled and held his gaze on me, then opened the closet to look at Mary’s things.

  “Everything’s so neat, organized, just like those stuffed animals. I don’t think most kids are this neat, are they?”

  “No, but that’s our Mary. She’s just like her father when it comes to caring for her things and being efficient. Believe me, I’m not the one she takes after. John is usually fixing what I mess up.”

  I looked at Mary’s bed, and his gaze followed.

  “She makes her own bed. John took great pains to show her how to do it properly, and she’s very proud of how she does it and the fact that he gives her his stamp of approval.”

  “Remarkable,” Lieutenant Abraham said. “She does much better than I do.”

  Suddenly, the idea of talking about her in her room was too overwhelming. My whole face started to quiver. My body felt as if it were liquefying. I would melt and splatter on Mary’s pink carpet. His eyes widened, and he rushed to me and embraced me. The vision I’d had when I first met him in the mall returned. I welcomed his arms around me and lowered my head to his shoulders. My sobs were more like hiccups.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back a little.

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p; “Your husband is right. Better get you lying down. You did take a pill, and with the tension tearing at you . . . ,” he said in almost a whisper.

  I nodded, took a deep breath, backed away, and went to the master bedroom. He followed to the door and stood there for a moment as if he thought it wouldn’t be proper to enter.

  “How about a fresh glass of water?” he asked, looking at the glass on my side table.

  I nodded, and he came in, took the glass, and started out.

  “You can draw the water from the sink in our bathroom,” I told him.

  He went quickly into the en suite bathroom to get my water. He handed me the glass, and I sipped some and then put it on the side table.

  “I’ll let you try to sleep,” he said.

  “Don’t leave yet.”

  He paused.

  “I just need to hear another voice, think of something else, or I’ll go crazy.”

  “Sure.” He looked at me and then around the bedroom, nodding. “This is a very nice room. I like your taste in furniture, décor. More like a home in New England. Are you from the East originally?”

  “No, but I’ve always liked the décors you find more in the Northeast. John does, too.”

  “It’s amazing how everyone tends to buy the same things out here. Naturally, I’ve visited many homes in L.A. Sometimes I couldn’t tell one from the other and had to remind myself where I was and whom I was seeing, what case, what victim. I won’t forget this,” he added, still looking at our curtains, our armoire, and the matching secretary desk in the corner. He went to it and saw how the desk opened when the drawer was pulled out. “Beautiful piece.”

  “Thank you.”

  I sat back against my pillows. He glanced at me but then shifted his eyes to the oil painting John had bought last year at an auction.