Marcia Talley - Through the Darkness

Paul had stepped up to the microphones. Speaking without notes, looking directly into the cameras, he began.

“At approximately one o’clock on Monday, May fifteenth, our grandson, Timothy Gordon Shemansky, was taken from his playpen at Spa Paradiso in the Bay Ridge community near Annapolis, Maryland. Timothy is ten months old. He has short red hair and green eyes, and was last seen wearing denim overalls, a blue and green striped polo shirt with a white collar, socks with Thomas the Tank Engine on them, and black and white tennis shoes. The heels of Timmy’s shoes blink red. If you see Timmy, or have any information about his disappearance, please call the Anne Arundel County Police Department or the Federal Bureau of Investigation at the number which is now showing at the bottom of your screen.”

At the mention of Timmy’s shoes, I reached out and grabbed Connie’s hand. I’d bought those shoes for Timmy, and he adored them. He’d sit in his high chair, pounding his heels on the rungs, squealing with delight every time a well-placed kick got them to light up. My heart lurched, remembering.

Paul turned and extended a hand to Emily, who slipped out from under her husband’s arm to join her father at the podium.

Emily was a mess. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lids swollen. Her thick blond hair-normally worn in a single, plump braid-was gathered willy-nilly at the back of her head and secured there with a large plastic clip. Strands of hair had escaped the clip and hung untidily over her shoulders. Had it even been combed? I doubted it. In spite of the warm afternoon, she wore a shapeless sweater over a pair of black jeans with frayed cuffs.

Emily coughed. She cleared her throat. With downcast eyes and her lips close to the microphone she began speaking quietly. “If you have our little boy, please bring him back.” Then she raised her eyes and looked directly into one of the cameras. “Timmy, Daddy and Mommy love you very much. I want you to be a brave little boy, to… to…” Tears leaked out of Emily’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She sucked in her lips and shook her head from side to side, unable to continue.

Looking gaunt and haunted, Dante stepped to the podium, whispered something in his wife’s ear, waited until she had been safely turned over to the care of her father, then bent at the waist so his mouth could reach the microphone.

“Please. If you have children, you know how much Timmy means to my wife and to me. There is a big, deep hole in our hearts that won’t be filled until Timmy is back home again. We miss him so much, and so does his big sister, Chloe, and his big brother, Jake.” Dante paused, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “If you have Timmy, please, please take good care of him. Please don’t harm him.” Dante raised both hands, palms out. I’d seen him do that before. He was struggling for control.

You are an idiot, Hannah. How could you doubt this man, even for a minute?

Paul quickly stepped in and continued where his son-in-law had left off. “This is a message to whomever took my grandson. Please, bring Timmy to a police station, or to a hospital. Or take him someplace where he’ll be safe, and call 911 and let us know where he is. We bear you no ill will. We just want our boy back.”

We bear you no ill will . That was a crock. In my opinion, a sex change operation using a rusty penknife would have been too good for Timmy’s kidnapper.

“Thank you for coming.” Paul was wrapping it up. “Now, Officer Ron Powers of the Anne Arundel County police will answer your questions.”

With Powers in charge of the mikes, all hell broke loose. Until that moment, presumably out of respect for our family, the press corps had listened in polite silence, scribbling notes to the accompaniment of the beeping and clicking of digital cameras. With the police in charge, however, all bets were off. Powers-clearly a pro at dealing with the press-simply stood there saying nothing, waiting them out.

“I have a brief announcement,” he said when the crowd grew quiet, “then I will take your questions. Our department is working around the clock to reunite Timothy Shemansky with his family. To that end, we have enlisted the help of the FBI, who have assigned a crisis negotiation team to the case.” A brief nod here to Agent Crisp. “Until the child is found, we will be holding a press conference daily at this time and place. If there is breaking news, we will, of course, let you know. That is all.”

“Officer Powers! Officer Powers!” The shouts came at him from every direction.

Powers pointed to someone on his right wearing a ball cap. “You.”

“Has there been any ransom demand?”

“No.” A finger to the left.

“We know you brought the K-9 team in this morning. What did they find?”

“Canine Officer Barbara Helm and her dog, Yoda, working out of the Baltimore County Search and Rescue Center, determined that Timothy Shemansky was taken from his playpen at Spa Paradiso. The kidnapper carried the child to a vehicle in the parking lot, and drove down Herndon Road toward Annapolis. The dog lost the scent at the intersection of Forest Drive and Bay Ridge, which as you know is a busy intersection. There is some indication that the kidnapper may have entered the Bay Ridge shopping center, so we are checking the surveillance cameras there, and will let you know if there’s anything to report in that regard.”

“Officer Powers!” A reporter in a red windbreaker had sidled up to us where we stood on the fringes of the crowd. “Officer Powers!” He was standing so close to me that I feared for my eardrums if Powers didn’t call on the guy soon.

Powers ignored the man and continued. “In addition, we have been conducting a roadblock search at the entrance to Bay Ridge, talking to people who use that route every day to see if we can come up with any witnesses who remember seeing Timmy or any unusual vehicles.”

“Sir, sir…” The jerk in the windbreaker again.

Powers’s head swiveled our way. “Yes?”

“At what time was the child taken?”

“I believe we’ve already answered that question. Next?”

“How about other surveillance cameras?” another reporter wanted to know.

“The spa has surveillance cameras. We’re working on that now.”

Dennis’s head spun in my direction. What? he mouthed.

I shrugged and whispered into his ear, “They’re not working. Apparently the FBI doesn’t want the kidnapper to know that.”

And the FBI seemed to have the situation well in hand. While we stood outside the house listening to Officer Powers answer questions, the FBI’s crisis negotiation team was inside, manning the command center. We’d given them complete run of the upper level of the house, including its three bedrooms.

Dante and Emily had checked out of the hotel, but they’d decided to occupy the “mother-in-law” suite of their split-foyer home, a bed, bath, and pocket kitchen combination that had been built into the basement by a previous owner. As for Chloe and Jake, we would try to keep their lives as normal as possible. They’d stay with Paul and me, for the time being, at least.

For one thing, I didn’t want the children to witness their mother’s inexorable slide into depression. Emily was, completely understandably, going through a wide range of emotions-upset, frightened, and clinging to her husband one minute, angry and argumentative the next, refusing to be comforted, either by Dante or anyone else. In coaching my daughter in how to deal with the kidnappers, the FBI had its work cut out for them. Crisp urged Emily to pull herself together, to be strong to help save her son’s life. Emily responded by alternating between screaming insults at everyone and staring at the wall. Once, in exasperation, I’d threatened to drive my daughter back to the Marriott where she could hole up in her room, watch television, and order junk food from room service. She told me to go to hell, but it did seem to calm her down.