Capturing Angels (4 page)

“I love the fact that you know yourself so well and know that less is often more,” he told me, referring to how I wore my makeup, how much jewelry I put on, or how I styled my hair. It was important to him to be comfortable with a woman. As trite as it might sound, I knew he really believed it when he said we were a good fit.

Besides looking good together, we could have intelligent conversations. I knew enough about economics, the stock market, and business to understand the things he said and add substantively to the discussion myself. I never tried to be someone I wasn’t or put on airs, and neither did John. Whatever hesitation, walls, and guarded language a man and a woman have when they first meet was diminished with every subsequent date John and I had, until we were naked and exposed, every fear, quirk, and dream revealed.

Trust has to come before love. Maybe that was why John didn’t believe in the “at first sight” concept. “You can be immediately attracted to someone sexually, but love requires an investment and a risk,” he said. “Once you confess it, you’re out there hanging, hoping you have not misjudged the person you hope loves you, too.”

I knew he was more religious than I was, but he was never obsessive about it when he was with me. I think it was simply part of his faith to believe that whatever he believed, eventually I would, too, and to the same extent and intensity. We had disagreements about it, but he was always tolerant during those early days.

Of course, my parents just loved that he was a religious man, even though they weren’t very religious. They went to church on holidays and for funerals and weddings, but in my father’s mind, giving up his golf on a Sunday was more of a cardinal sin. John made no argument. He was about as accepting a man as I could ever imagine. I know that was because of his confidence that what he believed was right. He didn’t have to convince anyone.

“I’d be just as comfortable in a room full of atheists,” he once said. “No matter what they profess, they live in doubt. I don’t.”

In a social world where young men were increasingly superficial and openly arrogant, John Clark was a dream come true. I could see the envy in the eyes of my girlfriends whenever they saw us together. Every one of them surely asked herself what I had that she didn’t, why I had found a man like John and she couldn’t. When I complained about this once to John and told him how I couldn’t stand the jealousy I saw in my so-called good friends, he thought a moment and said, “The only people who really feel happy for you are people who already have what they want, people who are comfortable being who they are. Seek those out to be your close friends. Acquaintances are fine, but think of them as just what they are—temporary, disposable imitations of real friends and pools of green envy.”

How could I not fall in love with John Clark and want to spend my life with such a man, a man who could give away wisdom as easily as one of those people hired to stand on street corners could hand out advertisements?

Before we were married, John had already gone after the Tudor house we would own. He loved the cul-de-sac, the clean, quiet neighborhood. The first time he showed it to me, I did think it looked like an illustration torn out of a children’s fable, with its white picket fence, immaculate front walk, hedges, and bright green lawn. No one had a great deal of acreage in Brentwood, but the house had a good-sized lot with a row of lemon, orange, and grapefruit trees in the backyard. It was easy to imagine us as a family there, our children laughing and squealing with a feeling of complete security. There would be no drive-by shootings, no inner-city terrors. Fences were designed more for appearance than for safety. It would always be safe to walk at night.

John knew the real estate agent handling it, and he knew just how to bargain for it, because the owner was in some distress. The day after we bought it, its value was already up twenty percent. Anyone hearing all of this wouldn’t have to wonder why I thought that every day, every month, every year of John’s and my life together would be filled with success and perfection.

Of course, it wasn’t that way. It isn’t that way for anyone. Lately, I was having more and more trouble navigating the sea of perfection on which John had placed our marriage. Ironically, it was his mother who had suggested my therapist. She had a good friend whose daughter used him. She relented with, “If you young people today need such things, at least you can seek the best.”

The pills he prescribed were meant to bring me to an even keel so our sessions could be therapeutically successful. I had kept this from Lieutenant Abraham because I feared that he would think this was all my fault, that my psychological and emotional problems were the culprits. I was afraid that in his mind, it would be a convenient way to explain what had happened and he wouldn’t be as vigorous in his pursuit of discovering whatever had happened to Mary.

Of course, I couldn’t escape from my own thoughts and questions. Was this turmoil I had been experiencing the reason I had neglected her, hadn’t noticed she was gone? If so, it was even more my fault. I knew that the first question out of John’s mouth when we were alone would be, “Did you take one of your pills before you went to the mall?”

Would he believe me if I told him no?

Would I believe myself?

3

Ringing

Lieutenant Abraham’s FBI friend was waiting at the house with a team to tap our phones and run the sting operation and retrieval of Mary in the event that ransom was indeed the purpose for her abduction. Although he was as tall and as stocky as I’d imagined an FBI agent to be, David Joseph had a soft, almost feminine face, with eyelashes most women would die for. He had thin lips and a light complexion, almost tissue-white, emphasized more because of his carrot top and the freckles on the crests of his cheeks. I thought he had a comforting smile and imagined he was successful in his work because of how quickly he might put a nervous mother especially at ease.

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 media 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.”