They Disappeared

“And you found this in the street where you last saw them?”

“Yes.”

Cordelli turned it over in his hand a few times before returning it. Then he asked to see all the pictures in Sarah’s camera and immediately downloaded them to his computer. From his vantage Jeff could partially see the photos as Cordelli scrutinized them one by one and Ortiz continued the interview.

“Jeff, will you volunteer all information about credit, bank and cell phones you and Sarah use?” she asked.

“Of course.” He pulled out his wallet.

“If this is a robbery,” she said while recording account numbers, “we’ll track charges, withdrawals, maybe get photos from an ATM, that sort of thing. It helps.”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“It’s one theory,” Ortiz said.

“If the men wanted to rob them, wouldn’t they’ve let them go by now? God, they could be doing anything to them.”

“Take it easy. At this point,” Cordelli said, “we’re not sure what it is.”

Jeff’s breathing quickened.

Was there something he was overlooking, or forgetting?

One by one images from the morning flowed across Cordelli’s monitor—the street, Cole, Sarah—haunting Jeff as he turned back to Ortiz, who went over her notes. She asked a spectrum of questions, probing a little deeper about Sarah, her job, her disposition, family medical conditions and family history. Jeff told her everything but withheld mention of Lee Ann and its toll. It was too painful, entangled with his own guilt, and irrelevant as far as he was concerned.

“What about my wife’s cell phone?” Jeff asked. “I read somewhere that you guys can track cell phones, that there’s technology to pinpoint where people are through their cell phone.”

“Sometimes,” Cordelli said. “May I see your phone?”

Cordelli turned it on, expertly buttoned and scrolled through its menu and functions. “Is your wife’s phone similar?”

“It’s the same.”

“These are older models. The tracking ability you’re talking about is limited on this type.” Cordelli returned Jeff’s phone and went back to studying the photos, adding, “And as for tracking roaming signals, the phone has to be turned on. Even then, we need warrants to get the phone companies to release that information—but we can expedite them.”

“Is there anything else you can do with the phone?”

“We can get a warrant to essentially clone your phone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Any calls, texts, downloads—received or sent—will also come to us, to a special line with the NYPD, without the caller or sender being aware. It’s like a tap. It allows us to be on top of any communication that might come from the bad guys. Say, a ransom call, or if your wife or son got to a phone and called for help. And we’ll work with FBI for warrants on your hotel or home and work phones in Montana, all numbers associated directly with you or your wife, in case any calls go there.”

“I want you to do everything that helps, yes.”

“We want to be prepared,” Cordelli said. “But the bad guys are smart. They toss the victims’ phones. And they use prepaid disposables that are virtually impossible to track.”

Hans Beck.

“Wait. There was a mix-up with Cole’s bag at LaGuardia. I got a call from this guy, Hans Beck. We had his backpack, he had ours and we met near Penn Station late yesterday and traded them.”

“Anything you can remember about him?”

Jeff described Beck and explained how he’d obtained Jeff’s cell phone number. Ortiz made notes.

“He was kind of weird, nervous,” Jeff said. “His number’s on my phone.”

Cordelli displayed the call list.

Jeff pointed to it.

“Did he threaten you, ask for money?” Cordelli asked.

“No.”

“How was he weird?”

“I don’t know—he seemed preoccupied, like something was on his mind. Maybe it was because he was rushed. He said he had to catch a train.”

“Did you see what was in his bag, drugs, anything unusual?”

Jeff shook his head and Cordelli and Ortiz exchanged glances.

“He could’ve targeted your family for a robbery or ransom,” Cordelli said. “Or it could be nothing. We’ll check out the number but it could be a dead end.”

“Well, what about all these police security cameras everywhere? Can’t you use them to find my wife and son?”

“Yes, we can,” Cordelli said.

“Then do it, goddammit! My family’s life is at stake!”

The detectives let a few tense moments pass in silence as Jeff blinked back his fear, frustration and guilt. He shook his head.

“Jeff,” Cordelli started, “you’re upset, we understand. But we have people looking. We are investigating as we speak. But we need to be confident that you’ve given us all the information we need.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

Cordelli went back to examining the photos.

“Jeff, is Sarah under a doctor’s care? Does she take any medication?”

“No.”

“Does she use illegal drugs? Maybe gamble?”

“What?”

“We have to ask.”

“No.”

“Does she or Cole spend a lot of time online, chatting with strangers?”

“No.”

“What was your wife’s state of mind just before this happened? How would you characterize her demeanor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m looking at these pictures of you, of her, and I’ve got to tell you, your smiles look a little forced. I’m getting the feeling that there’s some underlying stress in your family.”

Jeff said nothing.

“Tell us about your family, your marriage. Is it all good out there in Big Sky Country?”

Jeff searched his heart for the answer.

“Who’s this?” Cordelli turned the monitor.

The image nearly winded Jeff. He didn’t know it was there—a beautiful shot of Sarah cradling Lee Ann, who was smiling up at her. Sarah smiled down at the angel in her arms. She’d obviously saved it on his phone.

“You said you have one child? Who’s this, Jeff?”

Cordelli’s eyes were like black ball bearings, shining hard.

“Our daughter.” Jeff cleared his throat. “She died about a year and a half ago. SIDS.”

“I’m so sorry,” Juanita said tenderly as Jeff’s attention flicked to the snapshot of Juanita and the girl with the butterfly.

“My condolences,” Cordelli said. “But how would you characterize your marriage since then, up to the point these pictures were taken here, this morning? Would you say there was stress in your family this morning before Sarah and Cole disappeared?”

Jeff swallowed hard.

“Yes.”

“Were you arguing?”

“Yes.”

Cordelli shot a glance to Ortiz: bingo.

“What were you arguing about?” Cordelli asked.

Jeff stared at the image with restrained anger and said slowly, “I need you to help me.”

“We are helping you,” Cordelli said. “But we need the truth, all of it. What were you arguing about before Sarah left with Cole?”

“We’d been having a hard time since we lost our daughter. Cole has always dreamed of seeing New York City, so we came here to give him the trip and to talk about our future.”

“Were you going to stay together, or separate?”

Surprised at the accuracy of the question Jeff said nothing.

“Losing a child can lead to divorce—it happens,” Cordelli said.

“It’s what we were talking about this morning,” Jeff said.

“So it would be fair to say your marriage was strained up to the point they disappeared?”

“I told them to stay right where they were while I bought new batteries for the camera.”

“Jeff, is it conceivable that Sarah was a little ticked at how your conversations were going and needed some time alone?”

He stared at Cordelli, knowing how it looked to him, but knowing the truth, still feeling Sarah’s arm around his waist, holding him tight.

“No.”

“I need you to be honest with us, Jeff. Would Sarah have any reason to harm Cole?”

“God, no! I’m telling you, no. I told you at the start, she’s a loving mother, a schoolteacher, a good person. She’s incapable of doing any of the things you’re suggesting.”

Cordelli shot a glance to Ortiz, leaving matters open but signaling an end to the interview.

“Okay, Jeff,” she said. “Be assured, we’re on this, leave everything with us. Meanwhile, we suggest you go back to your hotel, in case Sarah returns. We’ll stay in touch with you and we’ll ask you to call us, should anything change.”

“If Sarah shows up,” Cordelli said, “please return to the station house with her and Cole so we can sign off.”

Cordelli started repositioning file folders on his desk.

Clearing his desk.

That was all that Cordelli was interested in, Jeff thought later when he’d returned to the street and started looking for a cab.

Jeff would call the hotel and their room to check on Sarah.

But he had no intention of returning and doing nothing.

8

New York City

Time hammered against Jeff.

As his cab cut through the midtown traffic he watched the muted backseat TV monitor—reports on Broadway, the Mets, a triple murder in Brooklyn and more on the UN meeting in the Lower East Side.

Amid the horns, sirens, the chaos, he tried to think.

He called the hotel room, then the desk for messages—nothing.

His hope sinking, he turned to the city, the sidewalks, scanning the crowds, studying faces until details melted away. He understood the skepticism of the NYPD, knew how things looked to them.

Bad.

Because they were bad.

They’d said they were investigating but Cordelli and Ortiz likely thought Sarah took Cole for a few hours of shopping because she was pissed off. The detectives probably didn’t put much currency in the witness, a street guy, and were reluctant to give it much effort. Deep down Jeff believed they had doubts about his report. He didn’t trust them to make it a priority.

As his taxi rolled through the city, his misgivings resonated with his memories of himself at fifteen. His parents were killed when their tour bus crashed in the Canadian Rockies and he went to live with his grandfather near Billings.

In the months after the estate was settled, Jeff was given his father’s Ford pickup truck. Traces of his cologne were still in the truck; the steering wheel was worn from where his big hands usually held it. Jeff cherished the pickup because it was his connection to his mom and dad.

Jeff got his learner’s license, and when he drove the truck with his grandfather, it felt like his parents were in the cab with them. Jeff treasured the Ford, washing it and changing the oil himself. With that truck he learned how to fix things, to become self-reliant, to endure the deaths of his parents.

Then one day the truck was stolen from his grandfather’s driveway.

Jeff was devastated. They’d reported the theft to police, who’d promised to “leave no stone unturned” in recovering it. But days, then weeks, passed with no news. Jeff convinced his grandfather to let him search for it by driving him to truck stops, auto shops, bars and diners in nearly every town in Yellowstone County.

Weeks passed. Then, as if guided by fate, they’d spotted a Ford pickup at a mall near Ballantine where they’d stopped to shop for shirts. It was Jeff’s. It had a different plate and was all primed like it was going to be painted but it had the same tiny spiderweb fracture in the rear cab window and the chip in the left rear bumper.

After police and the court returned the truck, Jeff’s grandfather told him something he’d never forgotten.

“The truck could never be as important to anyone as it is to you, Jeff. There are certain things in this world that you just have to take care of yourself, or they’ll never be done right. If you don’t trust your gut in these matters, you’ll have to live with the consequences for the rest of your life.”

A horn blast yanked Jeff back to Manhattan’s traffic and a decision.

So what am I going to do here, now?

He had no choice. He would search for his family on his own.

Where do I start?

He’d go back to the spot where it happened and start looking there.

He tried calling Sarah again and again. It rang to her message. Nothing. It had been about two hours since he’d last seen Sarah and Cole.

Where the hell are you?

Jeff stared at his phone, then, on impulse, he called the number for Hans Beck and got a recorded message saying the number was no longer in service. That’s strange, Jeff thought, unsure what to make of it.

After the cab dropped him off, Jeff allowed himself a moment to entertain the belief that Sarah and Cole had returned. That they’d have some wild explanation and they’d all laugh it off. How sweet the relief would be. He’d admit to her that he’d been a fool, that he was wrong for wanting to separate—no, confused, stupid and so sorry.

He’d tell her that he wanted to keep their family together.

Hold them and never let them go.

But his hope was overtaken by reality as he came to the spot. There was no sign of Sarah or Cole. Freddie, the wheelchair panhandler, was gone. Jeff got out his camera, cued the photo of Sarah and Cole and returned to the ponytailed man selling souvenirs at the pushcart where Sarah and Cole had been. Again, Jeff begged for his help, showing him the photos.

The vendor shook his head, his face a mask of indifference behind his dark glasses.

“They were right here,” Jeff said.

“I told you, pal. I don’t remember them.”

Deflated, Jeff lowered his camera to grapple with a million thoughts, horrible imaginings of what the phantom abductors could be doing to his family at this very moment. Slowly he turned in a full circle in the heart of Manhattan, one of the busiest cities in the world.

He forced himself to remain calm, to think.

Retrace your steps. Re-create the scene.

His attention came to the store where he’d bought the batteries, where it all started: Metro Manhattan Gifts and Things.

He entered.

Not as busy as before. A few browsers checking out the knickknacks; otherwise, a lull. Even the music was subdued. He recognized the same girl at the counter.

A good sign.

She had her nose in her cell phone, thumbs flying.

He needed her. Don’t interrupt her. Not yet.

He assessed the store again, locking in on the security camera mounted on the wall above the counter. It was angled to the door, front window and the street.

Did it capture Sarah and Cole?

He had to see the camera’s perspective.

“Can I help you?”

The clerk had finished with her phone. Her bejeweled nostril sparkled as she smiled—nice bright teeth, sincere. He sensed a good heart.

“I was here a while ago buying batteries.”

“I remember you.”

“You do?”

“Your shirt, says Montana. I’ve visited Glacier National Park. It’s gorgeous.”

“Small world,” he said. “Look, I was hoping you could help me.”

“Depends on what you need.”

“My wife and son, we got separated out front, and I was thinking that maybe your security camera—” he nodded to it “—maybe it recorded them.”

She turned to it and back to him without speaking.

“I just need to see if it records the spot on the street where they were.”

“Why don’t you just look for them?”

“I did and a man who was near them told me they may have been abducted or robbed.”

“What? That’s a crazy scary.”

“I’m worried. I need to see where they went or what happened. Can I just have a look at your camera’s monitor, see it if picked up anything?”

“I don’t really want to get involved.”

“No, nothing like that. Just let me check it out, it won’t take long. No one has to know and I’ll pay you fifty dollars just to see. Just to have a look. If it doesn’t get the angle, then that’s it. If it does, I’ll give you more money to rewind it back?”

“I don’t know, I—”

“Excuse me,” a woman said.

A middle-aged man and woman approached with T-shirts, key rings, postcards. Jeff stepped aside as the girl rang them up.

“Can you tell us how to get to Central Park from here?” the woman asked.

“Go right out front and catch a bus on Eighth Avenue,” the girl said. “Or you can walk north on Eighth, but it’s about sixteen blocks.”

“Thank you.”

Once Jeff and the girl were alone again, he pressed his case. He showed her his digital camera and the photos of Sarah and Cole. The girl blinked at them—a typical American family vacationing in New York.

“We were right out front a couple of hours ago,” he said. “I just need to see what happened. I need your help.”

“I think you should just go to the police.”

“I did. I just returned from talking to detectives at the precinct.”

“There you go.”

“They said they’re looking, but I’m looking, too. Please, put yourself in my shoes. Wouldn’t you do everything you could?”

Considering his point and his plight, she glanced around, caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Jeff pulled out two twenties and a ten. She glanced at the cash.

“Just a quick look.” He gave her his wallet, his phone, everything. “You hold this. I’m just trying to find my wife and son.”

Searching his eyes she saw the emotion and desperation broiling behind them, his plea eroding her resistance.

“Please,” he said.

After another glance around she put Jeff’s items under the counter. Then she went to a wire mesh door that separated the counter from the rest of the store. She unlocked it and ushered him inside to the counter and the monitor on a lower shelf. The monitor screen was sectioned into quarters, four small clear color screens.

“It changes all the time,” she said.

Jeff passed the fifty dollars to the girl and lowered himself. On one of the screens he saw a miniature, partial view of the ponytailed vendor and the street—it was very limited but it was something.

“I need to enlarge this one.” Jeff tapped the top right quarter. “I need to rewind this one to the time I came in.”

“I can’t,” she said. “It’s locked so thieves can’t take it. See?”

She tapped a steel mesh case around the control console.

“What’s your name?”

“Mandy.”

“Mandy, I’ll pay you more. Is there anyone in the store with the key who can access the controls and can operate this? I need to see what happened to my wife and son. Then I’m gone.”

Mandy took stock. The store was quiet. She looked to the rear.

“Chad has the key. He’s in the back.”

“Can you get him? Please, I just need to rewind it and see what happened.”

Mandy pulled out her cell phone and sent a text message.

“Excuse me?” An old man rapped his knuckles on the counter and Mandy rang in his two sodas, two chocolate bars and two bags of chips, then came back to Jeff.

“Sit here and wait.” Mandy pushed an overturned plastic milk crate toward him so he could sit behind the counter unseen. A few minutes later a lanky man in his early twenties appeared at the wire mesh door. He was not the same young man Jeff had seen on the ladder a few hours earlier when he’d entered the store for batteries.

“What do you want, Mandy?” Then, seeing Jeff by the monitor, he said, “What the—? Who’s he? What’re you doing?”

She went to Chad, opened the door and updated him in a hushed tone loud enough for Jeff to hear. Chad’s neck was tattooed with flames. He was harder than Mandy. Listening to her, his eyes narrowed as he gave Jeff an icy appraisal.

“Two cops were here,” Chad said, “asking to see our surveillance footage. They didn’t tell me why.”

“When?” Mandy asked. “I didn’t see them.”

“It was twenty minutes ago when you and I were out on our break. Kyle told me when we got back.”

“Did they find anything in the footage?” Jeff asked.

“They never saw it because Kyle doesn’t have the key. I have the key. The cops told Kyle they’d be back later. Guess they’re asking around at other places. It’s probably got something to do with your situation.”

“Will you help me?” Jeff asked.

“Maybe. You gave Mandy fifty bucks?”

“Yes.”

“I want two hundred and all you get is a look. No copies.”

“Deal.”

“First, let me copy your driver’s license, to cover my ass.”

Jeff retrieved his wallet from the counter. Chad placed Jeff’s Montana license on the small photocopier, then Jeff pulled out the cash, nearly all he had left. Chad shoved it in his pocket, then unlocked the console.

“What time do you need?”

Jeff consulted his receipt for the time and Chad expertly rewound the footage. Tiny people moved backward in fast motion. Then he enlarged the images and let the recording play at normal speed. A time and date stamp ran across the bottom.

The footage offered a clear color overhead view of the counter, the front area of the store, the door and suspect height marker. It also captured the front window, and the area above all the items on display. It only showed a limited view of the street.

People bustled by in both directions on the sidewalk, bordered by street vendors and vehicle traffic—but beyond the sidewalk the view of the vendors and the road was restricted. Jeff eyed every movement of every stranger when—bam!

“That’s them!”

His pulse raced. There was Sarah taking Cole’s picture, then Cole taking one of him with Sarah.

“Slow it down.”

Jeff stopped breathing.

He concentrated on Sarah—feeling her slip her arm around him. Now the tourist was taking the shot of the three of them. The image tore at Jeff. The tourist looks at the camera. Dead batteries. Jeff has the camera and leaves for the store. He stops to talk to Freddie with the beat-up wheelchair. Jeff gives him money.

Behind them Sarah and Cole browse at the vendor’s souvenir cart. They move closer to the road. Bit by bit they are exiting the frame.

“Can you slow it down some more?”

The footage slowed to near frame-by-frame speed.

Now, Sarah and Cole are almost out of the picture. All Jeff can make out are their feet, up to their knees, and the lower portions of cars passing by.

One stops near Sarah and Cole with such suddenness.

It just appears.

Doors open, other legs emerge from it, shoes, black shoes, or boots. Military style? Three sets? They move fast, positioning next to Sarah and Cole. Right beside them. Too close. A moment passes, then they all move to the vehicle two steps away.

Doors open.

Sarah and Cole vanish.

Doors close.

The white vehicle pulls from the curb, the rear right quarter, rear bumper, plate flash. Then someone’s head, a passerby, blocks the view; the plate is obscured. The vehicle disappears.

It’s over.

“Hold it!” Jeff pressed his finger to the screen as if to grab the image and stop time.

Chad froze the frame.

“That plate. I need that license plate!”

“Hold on.”

Chad froze the footage, then frame by frame he reversed and forwarded it until he had the best view on the plate.

“Hold on.”

Chad enlarged the plate until it was clear enough to read.

“I need something to write with,” Jeff said.

Mandy passed him a pad and pen and Jeff copied down the New York State license number.

“Can I use your computer to get online?” Jeff asked.

Chad and Mandy traded worried glances, obviously concerned that they were already too involved in whatever was going on.

“No.” Chad returned the security surveillance system to its normal state and his keys jingled. “That’s all you’re going to get from us.”

“Please.”

“We’re done.” Chad locked up the console.

“You saw what happened!” Jeff said.

“I don’t know what happened,” Chad said.

“Those people took my wife and son! I have to run this plate!”

“I don’t know what I saw, but we’re not getting involved.”