It's all over the eleven-o'clock news.
“Authorities in Sea Haven have issued an Amber Alert for Harriet Ashley Hart, the twelve-year-old daughter of murdered billionaire Reginald Hart….”
They flash her picture. And her first name is Harriet? No wonder she calls herself Ashley.
“The young girl apparently witnessed her father's brutal murder earlier today. Now it appears she may have become the victim of foul play herself….”
Yep, folks-been a busy day down in beautiful Sea Haven. Murder. Abduction. Foul play aplenty. And you thought people came here to relax.
Up pops the police sketch of Squeegee. He looks plenty scary, with big blank eyes that don't give you any clue what the hell his whacked mind might be thinking. He looks like a skinnier version of Charles Manson, only without the swastika scratched into his forehead with a safety pin. Squeegee's scowl will probably give the folks watching at home all sorts of raw material for their nightmares tonight.
Now they're showing video footage taped earlier in the day. We see the mob of people in T-shirts and shorts, some licking ice-cream cones, outside the fence at Sunnyside Playland. Guess this was the thing to do on vacation today: Grab the kids, head on down to the closed-off crime scene, prop your boy up on your shoulders, and see if he can sneak a peek at the Tilt-A-Whirl where, as the TV reporter on the scene so colorfully puts it, “Reginald Hart's whirlwind life came spinning to a stop.”
“Danny?”
Ceepak motions for me to join him at what I guess is the wet bar.
We've set up a mobile command center inside the rec room, a big space right off the pool through sliding glass doors about twenty feet tall.
“Yes, sir?”
“Does this look like the bootprint we found behind the bushes this A.M.?” Ceepak shows me what looks like a smooshed dinner plate somebody stomped on while the clay was still wet, like the plaster handprint I made for my mom one Christmas that still hangs above the cabinets in her kitchen.
“Did this come from the beach?”
“Check. The State boys took a plaster cast of the bootprints we found in the sand.”
“It's a Timberland,” I try out. “Just like we found this morning.”
“Check. But remember-it's a very popular, very fashionable brand of boot. Lots of people wear them.”
Ceepak refuses to eliminate too many possibilities.
“Still,” he admits, “it's a link. A strong connector….”
Ashley's mother comes into the room. She looks like hell on toast. She sees all the police putting pins in maps and talking into hand-held radios. Then she sees Ceepak.
“Why aren't you out searching for her?”
Ceepak puts down the bootprint plaster. I hope Betty doesn't use it for an ashtray. She's smoking again and there are gray ash flecks dusting the front of her black sweater. Her face looks ashen too, like it's been gray and drizzling all day and there's more precipitation in the forecast for tomorrow.
“You said you'd protect her. When you raised your hand and made that vow? Ashley believed you. So did I.”
The chief comes up behind her and places his big beefy hand on her shoulder. She turns to look up at him. He towers about two feet above her blond head, but he's a gentle giant and his touch seems to comfort her.
“Ma’am, believe me-Officer Ceepak and all the other officers, in here and out in the field, will do everything they can to find your daughter. We're sorting through clues and organizing a massive search-and-rescue operation. We've called in the Coast Guard, the Rescue Dogs. We're setting up roadblocks, sending out a call for volunteers to assist in the search….”
The woman nods her head. She understands.
“Thank you. It's just that….” She takes a deep breath. “I'm afraid.”
“Just let us do our jobs? Please?”
She hesitates, then pulls herself together. “Of course, Chief. Of course.”
They both nod their heads. The chief steps away. She turns to Ceepak.
“Ashley really liked you.”
“Don't worry. We'll find her.”
She turns to go back to her bedroom and cry some more, when one of the State Crime Scene Investigators comes over carrying a small Dell computer.
“Excuse me, ma'am?”
She slowly turns around.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you with this….”
“Will it find my daughter?”
“It could.”
“All right.”
“We've been working on your ex-husband's laptop. Trying to access his calendar, address book. See who he might have had recent contact with….”
Betty closes her eyes for a second, like she needs to collect her thoughts to keep from screaming at this cop for worrying about a computer when he should be outside, finding her little girl.
“You really think
“Like I said, it could.”
The chief now marches back to her side, looking every bit the big-hearted commander.
“We think the murder and the disappearance are linked,” he says, using his confident coach voice-the one that tells you he knows exactly what play to call to win the game in the final five seconds. “So we really need your help.”
“Of course.” She gives him a tense smile.
“Any idea what his security code might be?” the crime scene guy asks. “It might help us crack into his database faster….”
“BUSTER,” she says.
“Ma'am?”
“Buster was his dog when he was a boy. B-U-S-T-E-R is his security code for everything. ATM card, E-mail … everything.”
“Thanks.” The guy with the laptop plops down on a sofa and starts tapping keys.
“Thank you,” the chief echoes softly.
“You're welcome. I think I'm going to lie down now. The doctor gave me some pills … I'm starting to feel a little groggy….”
“Good. Sleep is good.”
“Officer Ceepak?”
“Yes, ma'am?”
She steadies herself, wanting to say whatever it is she needs to say before her brain closes up shop for the day.
“You made a very special connection with my daughter today. Somehow, I think she needs you more than all these others. She put her trust in you … told me you were her protector, her special champion.”
Poor Ceepak. He's being pegged as Ashley's only hope, her knight in shining armor.
He nods. I guess he sees himself the same way. The Code? It'll do that to you.
“I'll find her,” Ceepak whispers. No “we” any more. This is personal. “I give you my word.”
“Thank you.”
Betty leaves the room, her five-day forecast looking extremely gloomy, indeed.
“Ceepak?” It's the chief.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want you and Danny on the morning shift.”
“Fine. We'll work straight through….”
