It Only Takes a Moment (13 page)

A
cluster of microphones was set up on the driveway. Members of the media kept their eyes on the house, waiting for the FBI spokesperson to walk out and face the press.

The media people snapped to attention and surged forward when the front door opened. Three people strode out. A tall blond woman and a sturdily built man, both dressed in civilian clothes, along with a distinguished-looking white-haired man in a police uniform took their positions behind the bank of microphones. The uniformed man spoke first.

“Good afternoon. I am Michael Steil, chief of the Ho-Ho-Kus police. Along with me are Barbara Gebhardt and Trevor Laggie, both special agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I will give an opening statement and then we will take a few questions.”

The chief cleared his throat before continuing. “Last night at about six
P.M.
, the Ho-Ho-Kus police received a phone call from Eliza Blake expressing her concern that she had not seen her daughter, Janie, age seven, along with her housekeeper, Carmen Garcia, age fifty-two, at the usual time Janie would have come home from day camp and Mrs. Garcia would have normally been there to meet the child.”

A reporter interrupted, yelling out, “Do you have any leads on who kidnapped Janie?”

Chief Steil held out his hands. “Please, let me continue,” he said. “There will be time for questions. Due to the public prominence of Ms. Blake, the Federal Bureau of Investigation was contacted immediately.”

“Are there any ransom demands yet?” another reporter called.

Chief Steil clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm in spite of the aggressiveness of the press corps.

“I know you all have your jobs to do, and I have mine,” he said. “But I’m asking you again, politely, to let me finish my statement before asking your questions.” He paused, then began again. “At this time we are treating this as a potential kidnapping and we are asking for the public’s help. A neighbor saw an unexplained black van with a dented back door in the Blakes’ driveway yesterday morning. We are trying to find that van and asking that anyone in the area who has seen a vehicle matching that description to contact the hotline number that has been set up. Mrs. Blake is offering a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar reward for any information leading to the recovery of her child and Carmen Garcia.”

While the video cameras recorded, and the photographers snapped away, reporters scribbled in their notebooks as Chief Steil continued. “Also, we have something to add to the description of how Janie Blake looked the last time she was seen. In addition to wearing a white Camp Musquapsink T-shirt, navy shorts, white socks, and sneakers, Janie had had her face painted that morning at camp. There were green stripes painted on her cheeks and she was wearing a headdress made of construction paper with a yellow feather attached to it when she left the camp grounds. Of course, the paint could have been wiped off right away, and the headpiece discarded, but if anyone has seen a child matching any part of that description, please call the hotline.”

Steil held up the picture of Janie and Mrs. Garcia that Eliza had provided. “At the end of the conference, there will be copies of this picture for all of you. Now, questions?”

A dozen hands went up. Steil pointed to the reporter near the front of the pack. “Has there been a ransom demand?” the reporter asked again.

“No, not at this time.” He pointed to another reporter.

“What about the housekeeper? What can you tell us about this Mrs. Garcia?”

“Carmen Garcia has worked for the family for two years. Mrs. Blake has the utmost trust in her.”

“So you don’t think she had anything to do with Janie’s abduction.”

“Clearly, she had something to do with it since she took the child from camp. But, we have reason to believe that she did so under duress.”

“What kind of reason?”

Steil looked at the FBI agents. They had discussed it before they’d come out to meet the press and had decided that they were not going to reveal the details of the notation in the camp sign-out log. If it was made public that Carmen Garcia had tried to alert the camp by writing
“Call police,”
the abductor or abductors might hear that, too, and punish her for it.

Barbara Gebhardt stepped forward. “Certain details of the investigation will not be made public. At this time, we are not ruling anything or anyone out.”

“Does that mean you are looking at Mrs. Garcia as a possible suspect?” yelled the ABC reporter.

“We look at everyone in Janie’s life as a possible suspect,” said Agent Gebhardt.

A succession of questions followed, none of them eliciting any new information from the investigators.

“Last question,” declared Steil, pointing to the CNN reporter at the side of the group.

“Does Eliza have anyone who would want to get at her through her child? Does she have any enemies?”

Steil turned to the FBI agents. “You want to answer that one?” he asked.

Barbara Gebhardt took center stage again. “Eliza Blake is a very well-known figure and has a great deal of popularity with the public. But, as with all public figures, there are some people who aren’t fans. We’re looking at possibilities in that regard as well.”

Chief Steil stepped back to the microphone. “Let me make one thing clear. Time is of the essence here. Every hour that passes makes it harder to find a missing person. Janie Blake and Carmen Garcia could be almost anywhere by now. So we are appealing to the entire nation for assistance in finding them.” He nodded to the group assembled before him. “You can all help by getting the word out.”

T
he minute she got home from the bakery, Rhonda checked on Janie. The child’s lack of appetite was alarming.

Standing at the kitchen sink, Rhonda was truly concerned that Janie hadn’t touched the morning cereal she had left her and had completely ignored the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Rhonda had left wrapped and ready for lunch before she’d gone to work. Rhonda wanted to keep Janie healthy and that meant she had to get some food inside the child.

Spaghetti,
thought Rhonda. Every kid loved spaghetti. She remembered how much Allison had loved pasta. She’d loved it from the first time she tasted it, chopped fine in the plastic bowl resting on her high-chair tray.

That’s what she would do. She’d prepare a homemade marinara sauce and serve Janie a big bowl of pasta for dinner.

While her husband took a shower and got dressed for work on the night shift, Rhonda poured some olive oil into a cast-iron skillet. She peeled and chopped a couple of cloves of garlic and a white onion and put them in the pan. While the sautéing progressed, Rhonda selected the ripest of the plum tomatoes she had lined up on the windowsill to catch the rays of the summer sun. As she sliced them, her hand slipped and the knife cut her finger. Blood seeped out of the slit in Rhonda’s skin.

Watching the vivid redness spread, Rhonda tensed. She reached for the faucet, turning on the water and sticking her hand beneath it. As the blood pooled onto the white ceramic sink, Rhonda’s breath came faster.

The sound of the car’s loud horn and the screeching of tires filled Rhonda’s head. She closed her eyes, succeeding in blocking out the sight of the blood in the sink but unable to blot out the vision in her mind of Allison lying on the blood-drenched pavement, the mangled bicycle tossed on its side, the sneaker thrown loose and lying at the curb.

Rhonda knew it all had been her fault.

She grasped the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. She found herself picking up the knife again and wondering what it would feel like to thrust it into the side of her neck.

She struggled to regain focus.
Big breath in, big breath out,
that’s what Dr. Karas told her to do when she saw it all over again in her head. The bright lights inside the ambulance, the eerie ride to the hospital, the confusion in the emergency room, the grim-faced nurses and physicians.

Rhonda knew she could call Dr. Karas right now. He could help her through this, as he had done so many times before. He had never, ever made her feel like she was bothering him. But she didn’t want to call him. She wanted to see if she could get through it by herself this time because things were different now.

She had once thought that no child could ever take Allison’s place, but she had been wrong. Now, she had Janie. Now, she had a reason to live.

R
atings shot through the roof as more than double the number of viewers tuned in to watch the first KEY News evening broadcast since Janie Blake’s and Carmen Garcia’s disappearance.

“Good evening. I’m Anthony Reynes and this is the
KEY Evening Headlines.

“Sadly, over the years, this broadcast has reported on many child abductions and missing-persons cases, but none has hit closer to home here at KEY News than the disappearance of seven-year-old Janie Blake, daughter of our own Eliza Blake, and her housekeeper, Carmen Garcia. Janie was taken from camp yesterday morning by her fifty-two-year-old caretaker, and neither of them has been seen or heard from since. As KEY News correspondent Harry Granger reports, police and the FBI are looking for leads and battling the clock.”

The entire screen filled with the picture of Janie Blake smiling, green paint brushed across her cheeks, the picture Annabelle Murphy had found on the Web site of daily Camp Musquapsink photographs. Harry Granger’s voice narrated over the shot.

“Janie Blake left her house in Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, yesterday morning, looking forward to a day of activities at Camp Musquapsink, a day camp over the
state line in Sloatsburg, New York. This picture shows Janie less than an hour before she was picked up at camp by her babysitter a little before lunchtime.”

Now the picture provided to the press corps at large appeared on the screen: Janie being wrapped in a towel by the Guatemalan woman. Granger’s voice continued the narration.

“When Janie did not return home from camp at the usual time, in the late afternoon, her mother, Eliza Blake, started making phone calls to friends and neighbors, asking if anyone had seen her daughter or her caretaker, Carmen Garcia. By the time police were alerted, over seven hours had elapsed from the time Janie was taken from the camp grounds. Today police admit that, in cases like these, time is not their friend.”

A white-haired man wearing a police uniform spoke. The text at the bottom of the screen identified him as Michael Steil, chief of the Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey, police.

“Every hour that passes makes it harder to find a missing person. Janie Blake and Carmen Garcia could be almost anywhere by now. So, we are appealing to the entire nation for assistance in finding them.”

Now viewers saw Harry Granger standing on the street in front of Eliza Blake’s stately brick colonial as he spoke.

“Carmen Garcia has worked for the Blake family for two years and Eliza Blake is said to thoroughly trust Garcia and believe she would never do anything to hurt her daughter. Special Agent Barbara Gebhardt says the FBI is trying to figure out Garcia’s role in this.

“Clearly she had something to do with it since she took the child from camp. But, we have reason to believe that she did so under duress.”

Shots of the yellow police tape cordoning off the entrance to Camp Musquapsink appeared.

“Authorities would not say why they think Garcia was acting against her will when she took Janie Blake from camp. Nor would they say she wasn’t a suspect.”

Barbara Gebhardt appeared on the screen again.
“At this time, we are not ruling anything or anyone out.”
A graphic with the picture of Janie and
Mrs. Garcia and a telephone number flashed on the screen.
“There has been no ransom demand but police are treating this as a potential kidnapping. A neighbor saw a black van with a dented rear door in the Blake driveway earlier in the morning. Police are trying to find that van and asking anyone who sees a vehicle matching that description to call the hotline number.”

Agent Gebhardt had the last sound bite.
“We look at everyone in Janie’s life as a possible suspect.”

Harry Granger wrapped up the piece.
“In Janie’s life and out…law enforcement is scrutinizing family, friends, acquaintances, peripheral contacts, sex offenders registered in the community, and, most dauntingly, complete strangers as they try to determine what has happened to Janie Blake and Carmen Garcia.

“Harry Granger, KEY News, Ho-Ho-Kus, New Jersey.”

A
gent Gebhardt slammed her fist on the kitchen table.

“Damn it, we’re the FBI! How did KEY News get that picture of Janie Blake—and why didn’t
we
have it first?”

“We’re already checking on the Web site listed on the courtesy graphic they used on the picture,” said Agent Laggie, not really answering Gebhardt’s questions. “We’ll go over it with a fine-tooth comb. Every picture on it will be studied and analyzed.”

“We’ve gotta stop playing catch-up,” muttered Gebhardt angrily. “This is pathetic. We damn well need to start doing better than this or Janie Blake doesn’t stand a chance.”

A
s the interminably long day drew to a close, Annabelle, B.J., and Margo sat with Eliza around the kitchen table, drinking coffee, taking notes, and offering support. Annabelle chewed on the end of her pen, her intensity reflected in her furrowed brow and keen blue eyes that narrowed in concentration. B.J. rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger, as Eliza had seen him do many times before when he was nervous. Margo doodled on the yellow legal pad in front of her.

“Nice going, finding the picture of Janie on that Web site,” said Eliza. “But, I think you ticked off the FBI.”

“Tough,” said B.J. “It will keep them on their toes, knowing that they are competitive with us.”

“Right, Beej.” Annabelle chuckled sarcastically. “The FBI really feels competitive with us.”

“Well, they should,” said B.J. “They shouldn’t be complacent for a minute, because we’re going to be all over this.”

“I don’t get the feeling they’re letting things slide, B.J.,” said Eliza. “Basically, I’m pretty impressed with how professional and on top of things they are.”

B.J. shrugged. “Then I guess our finding that picture first should show them there’s always room for improvement.”

Annabelle looked up from her notes. “Here’s what I’ve been thinking about, Eliza,” she said, “and tell me if you agree. With Mack coming home, he can act as liaison with the press, and that will free B.J. and me to keep current on developments in the case, following up on any leads and investigating whatever we can. That’s what we should really be focusing our energies on. Margo will be able to help us as things come up.”

Eliza nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. “Any specifics on what direction you’re taking?”

“Nothing worth bringing up at this point,” said Annabelle. “I want to get my thoughts and notes organized.” Annabelle refrained from announcing that when she went home she was going to spend the rest of the night on the Internet, finding out how many pedophiles lived in the area.

“I wish I could go with you out into the field, but I can’t leave the house,” said Eliza. “I have to be here when the kidnappers call with a ransom demand.”

“Of course,” acknowledged Annabelle. “But we’ll be keeping you posted on everything we find out.”

Eliza was bolstered by the strength and conviction she felt coming from her friends. Having them with her made Eliza feel more secure, more hopeful. They emanated positive energy and capable strength. Though Eliza knew their hearts were aching for her, she appreciated that they weren’t clucking around her, making her feel like a victim. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t do the situation any good. Janie and Mrs. Garcia needed people who were committed to finding them, not people who were cowering in fear and doubt about the possibility of a successful recovery.

Annabelle and B.J. got up and started toward the front door. Margo lingered behind and pressed a piece of light blue paper into Eliza’s hand.

“It’s a prescription,” she said softly. “It will help you relax and sleep. Get it filled and take it if you need it.”

As Eliza watched the three of them leave, she was filled with gratitude for having friends of this quality rallying around her. Since they had come together just a few months before to investigate the murder of her predecessor on
KEY to America,
Eliza had marveled at the unique skills each of them had brought to the task.

Annabelle was one of the strongest producers at KEY News, able to assemble coverage of anything, ranging from space shuttle launches to movie premieres. Her research and organizational skills were extraordinary and her gut instincts were inevitably right on target. Not much got past Annabelle. Yet her capabilities extended well beyond her professional life, as she juggled raising young children and maintaining a loving relationship with her husband. Eliza deeply admired her.

B.J. was fearless, unafraid to take a chance if that’s what was needed to get the best shot or follow the most promising lead. He had physical strength, was quick to size up situations, and added a valuable male perspective to their team. His cynicism disguised a soft and vulnerable heart. B.J. identified with the underdog, was ferociously loyal, and Eliza knew she could always count on him to watch her back.

Margo’s years of training and clinical experience in understanding how the mind worked were powerful credentials. She understood human motivations and had laserlike insights. But beneath her professional exterior, Margo was warm, compassionate, and a good friend, always ready to help.

As they put their heads together again, Eliza prayed they could have the same success. This time, as far as she was concerned, there was far more at stake.

After her friends were gone, Agent Laggie approached Eliza. “I couldn’t help but hear parts of your conversation with those three,” said Laggie.

“And?” Eliza asked.

“I understand that your friends want to help, but we don’t want them getting in the way,” said Laggie.

“They won’t be in the way,” said Eliza. “They are professional journalists. They know what they’re doing.”

“Just as long as they don’t jeopardize our investigation,” said Laggie. “I really don’t see them as a hindrance, Agent Laggie. I think they’ll be a tremendous help,” said Eliza. “You needn’t feel threatened by them.”

The agent’s jaw tensed. “The only way they threaten us is by sticking their noses into things that should be left to law enforcement,” he said. “If your friends are too ambitious and get involved in areas that should be left to us, it could endanger your daughter. Just keep that in mind.”