And Then There Was One (38 page)

A young ranger took the helm as Conover guided the craft toward the exact spot in the woods where he’d watched the man motor off in Dale Bole’s boat. Streeter hadn’t realized that the waves of Lake Michigan matched those of the oceans, and by the time the boat approached shore, they were all drenched in frigid water.

Streeter was the first to jump onto the shore. “Can you lead us from here to the campsite?” he asked Conover. “Or would you rather wait here?”

“Follow me,” Conover said. “Single file. Path’s narrow.”

Streeter looked at the rough, overgrown terrain, then down at his pressed charcoal gray suit and polished dress shoes. Not optimal attire for a takedown in the woods, he thought as he followed directly behind Conover.

When Conover hesitated, Streeter could see a rather small tent. Nothing else. No activity. No vehicle. No ancillary camping equipment. He put up a hand for the others to halt and he readied his weapon. By now the second boat would have dropped off agents to fan out in a four-point circle around the site. Streeter led, approaching cautiously. Kneeling on the pine-strewn ground, he lifted the main flap of the tent. It rose without resistance. Still on his knees, he crept
inside. The light inside was dim, and he flipped on his flashlight. He circled the inner perimeter with the bright light. Nothing moved. Nor was there a sound. The tent had no human occupants. Had the occupants heard them coming? Or had they left earlier?

Streeter signaled his two agents. “No one inside,” he said, “but somebody’s been here. I’m going to check around the tent. Meantime, get the scene secured.”

The lead ranger waited at the open flap when Streeter stumbled out, a bundle of garments in his hands. “Clothes.” On the top was a small pair of jeans. “A child’s.”

“The Monroe child?”

“Alex was here. But they’re gone.” Defeated again. For the third time now, Streeter had been too late for Alex. The house in Holly. The cabin on Elk Lake. And now this goddamned tent. Was it him? Was he jinxed? Was he incompetent?

One of Streeter’s agents had gone into the tent and emerged holding a list. “Agent Streeter, we made a list of the contents. A few clothes: man’s, woman’s, a little girl’s. A lantern. A pot and a frying pan. Paper plates. Some food. There’s a plastic bag of trash. Ripped food wrappings, empty cans, that’s all.”

Streeter sent the rangers to search the area. Then he got on his satellite phone and called in their coordinates, reported their findings, and requested crime-scene investigators. After that he sat down on the ground with Rudy Conover.

“Got any ideas?” he asked the older man. How pathetic was that, an FBI special agent recruiting a restaurateur as a crime consultant?

“Here’s what I’d do,” said Conover. “Let’s assume that the women got away from the man I saw. They didn’t use a boat. At least there’s no sign of that. What if they walked out of here?”

“Go on,” Streeter said. A city boy, never comfortable with the vast outdoors, he valued the outdoorsman’s insights. Then suddenly Conover gasped and clutched his chest like he was having a heart attack.

“Are you okay?” Streeter grasped the older man’s shoulder.

“Oh, my holy Lord,” Conover’s voice sounded ragged. “This morning. I’d forgotten all about it. I was taking a leak behind my campsite near a clump of bushes when Duke, my dog, started to bark
and run off toward the shore before I got my thingee zipped back up. By the time I followed him to the shoreline, he had chased down the beach in the opposite direction that we’d been heading. In the distance — why didn’t I remember this before — a little girl had reached out to pet him. She was with a plump woman who seemed to be urging her forward. I don’t usually see anybody when I walk along the beach, but I didn’t think much of it, this being the tourist season. Later, I was so distracted by finding Dale’s boat that the woman and girl simply slipped my mind.”

“You’ve seen pictures of Alex Monroe and the Spansky woman?” Streeter asked, his heart starting to pump out of control.

“Who on the planet hasn’t? Especially the little girl and her triplet sisters. Beautiful kids.”

“Could the child you saw have been Alex?”

“Could have been. She was too far away to see her face. She had short, dark hair that was blowing this way and that. Sure could have been, but I only saw the back of the woman. Something like a hundred seventy pounds, medium height.”

Both men rose at the same time. “How far could they have gotten assuming they walked on along the shore?” Streeter again felt that surge of hope, this time more powerful. He
would
find Alex.

“Know what?” said Conover. “I’d find that bright young ranger who piloted our boat. He has a map of our surroundings etched in his brain. I’ll get him, and we can make a plan. I’m good with these woods. If that was her and she’s in this park, we’ll find her.”

Alex, where are you?
Streeter asked of the darkening sky.

Today Marks One Week Since Alex Monroe Was Taken Out of That Movie Theatre.
— Morning News, Sunday, June 21

Scott had immediately disliked Special Agent Jason Pentero, the new agent in charge of finding Alex, out of the Miami field office. “Arrogant,” “flip,” “shifty” were the words he’d used to describe him to Katie after their first phone encounter. Pentero had advised Scott that he’d be transporting him to Miami, first thing in the morning so they could strategize over the ransom exchange.

Scott had balked. He’d have to consult with his wife.

He did and Katie said, “No. Tell him we all go. If we have to, and I guess we do. But I got the idea that Agent Streeter does not think that they’ll have Alex there. Not that he said it in those exact words, but I think that he thinks she’s still in Michigan. Up north. I wish he’d call us with an update.”

“Agent Pentero said that I wouldn’t personally have a role in the drop-off, but they want me there anyway. And when Alex is released, shouldn’t we both be there? And Sammie and Jackie?”

“Yes, we should,” Katie agreed. She sounded reluctant, but what else could they do?

Scott called Agent Pentero back to tell him that he would only travel with his wife and daughters. Pentero hemmed and hawed before agreeing to send an FBI plane to pick all four of them up the next morning, Monday, two days in advance of the anticipated exchange.

Katie was asleep in the bed between Sammie and Jackie when Scott returned to their hospital room. Tenderly he kissed each forehead before lying down on the fourth bed. Tossing and turning all
night he thought of nothing except getting Alex back. Would he and Katie be holding their missing daughter by Wednesday night? Would Alex be sleeping between her sisters? Would he and Katie leave their daughters in the care of another ever again? He drifted off to sleep with a dream that had all three girls back out on the diamond. Sammie the pitcher. Jackie at short, and Alex, with her arm, the best little league talent at third base that he’d ever seen.

Spanky hemmed and hawed, then fell asleep on the limp air mattress. He awoke with a chill and the ping of rain on the tent. Still no Ma and Precious. They must be waiting out the rain in some kind of a natural shelter. Ma would return to the tent soon. She would surely understand the trouble they’d be in if anybody recognized the girl. Hell, she’d hid both of those girls for five days before anyone caught on.

Bummed he wouldn’t have the kid on tape, Spanky knew he couldn’t wait much longer. He needed to get to the Everglades to set things up. The Monroe parents would be desperate enough to drop the money even without their daughter’s voice. But why take a chance? He’d go to plan B. On the way to Miami, he’d find a little girl, grab her for a few minutes, make her cry and say,
“Please don’t kill me!”
Didn’t all scared kids sound alike? Then he’d let the girl go and he’d haul ass. No time to start a new collection on this trip.

Emerging from the tent, Spanky sprinted off to the Grady White, secured in the inlet. Glancing at the sky, he cursed himself for his decision to leave by boat. The waves were really rolling now and Spanky reached for the life jacket, then tossed it aside. He was bulky enough, he didn’t need more.

As he motored south, the temperature fell and he felt cold. Looking around, he saw a heavy flannel jacket and he put it on over his sweatshirt.

Chase from Holly to Elk Rapids in Search of Nine-Year-Old Alex Monroe Ends in Disappointment.
—
Northern Michigan News
, Sunday, June 21

Alex shivered in the crook of Maggie’s flabby arm as they ate a cheese sandwich and finished the last of the plastic bottles of warm lemonade. All she had on were the pants and the short-sleeve cotton shirt that she’d worn as they’d left the tent that morning. The sky was getting dark and it had started to rain. She heard thunder in the distance. Alex hated thunder and she knew how dangerous lightning could be. Every year in Tampa, people died from bad lightning. Where could they go to stay safe?

“Jennie, I’m going to make a little nest back behind the dune grass. We can cover it with branches and stay dry. Just like the birds,” Maggie told her.

Alex had argued that birds had nests in trees.

It had started to rain harder now, and Maggie was singing. Mother Goose stuff. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” songs like that. Songs for little kids. Alex didn’t know why Maggie treated her and Sammie, when Sammie had still been with her, like babies. Thinking of Sammie made Alex think of Mom and Dad and home and Jackie. She didn’t know if Jackie was still sick or if Sammie had found their parents.

She started to cry and Maggie wrapped her tighter in her arms. “It’s okay, Jennie, I’m not going to let Spanky get you. I don’t think he’d hurt you again, but I can’t take that chance.”

“Is that why we left the tent?” Alex didn’t trust Maggie to tell the truth, but she asked anyway.

“Yes. But it’s so cold and a storm’s coming. I thought we’d find someone to help us get to Toronto by now. Once we’re there, we’ll be safe and happy.”

Find someone to help them?
Alex thought that sounded strange as Maggie steered clear of the few people that they had seen today.

The first strike of lightning was huge, followed by deafening thunder. Maggie held Alex more tightly. But after the thunder, Alex heard something else. A faint motor sound. More lightning; more thunder. And the motor. Rain now poured heavily, and she and Maggie were both drenched. Alex shook from the cold and from her fear. Could there be a boat out there? What if someone in that boat would rescue her? Was there enough light that they could see her? She had never been so scared. She thought,
What would Sammie do?

She’d fight.

Alex tensed her body and jerked herself out of Maggie’s hold. She ran, as fast as she’d ever run toward the shoreline and the crashing waves.

“Jennie, get back here!” Maggie’s screech pierced the rain.

Another bolt of lightning. More thunder. Alex thought of Sammie that night. How it had rained then, too. She imagined that Sammie had run really fast that night she got away, but Alex knew that she was the fastest runner of the triplets. She’d always bragged that Dad gave her the sign to steal more often than her sisters.

With her feet sinking into the sandy shore, Alex heard the motor get farther away. She moved back to the firmer soil along the trees and followed the noise. That way Maggie could not see her very well. Then she remembered that you should stay away from trees when there’s lightning so she ran back out closer to the beach, stopping for an instant to listen to the sound of the motor. Yes, it was closer now. Which way was it coming from? She listened just long enough to be sure. The left. She started off in that direction. Behind her, she could hear Maggie’s voice calling, “Jennie! Come back, my baby!”

Keeping her eyes focused in the direction of the rumbling sound of an engine, she almost called out when she saw a light that must be from a boat, moving up and down on huge waves. She ran left toward the boat and the light. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she thought Maggie would be able to hear it, but Maggie’s
calls were getting farther and farther away. And the light was getting brighter and closer, highlighting the gigantic waves.

Alex kept running until she realized that that the light was going back and forth, like it was searching for something in the dark water. Then her heart started beating even harder. What if that was the bad man? Spanky, Maggie’s son. He had a boat. He must be back looking for them. Alex ran back toward the dune grass, knowing that she had to go farther back into the woods to hide. Alone in the woods at night would be better than getting into that boat with that man.

Tears filled her eyes as Alex pulled back into the protection of the trees. Silently she watched the disappearing searchlight. The noise of the boat engine became fainter and fainter. Crying full out now, Alex almost missed the change in the pulsating sound. The motor rhythm had started to speed up and when she looked out to the shore, she saw the boat heading directly toward her. She’d have to hide farther back in the woods and hope that there were no wild animals back there. Thank goodness this wasn’t happening to Sammie, she thought, with a smug smirk. Sammie, always so tough, was scared to death of animals.

But before Alex had wended her way among the pines, a scurry of movement made the brush at her feet crackle. Something furry rubbed against her leg and she let out a scream.

Streeter was the first to spot the lone woman on the shore, running frantically in one direction and then another. She went to the edge of the water and then moved back whenever a wave crashed. She was pointing into the surf. The ranger swung the boat toward her, and Streeter radioed the park office to call out the helicopter. The weather might keep the copter grounded, he didn’t know. The woman on the beach could well be Margaret Spansky, but through heavy rain and darkening skies, he couldn’t be sure. She appeared to be alone. Where was Alex? Had she eluded him again?

When the ranger cut the motor, it became apparent that the woman was yelling something at them and gesturing with both arms. Streeter jumped into the breaking waves and chilly water. The woman motioned hysterically into the waves, screaming something. When he got closer he could make it out, “My baby! She’s drowning! You have to save her!”