Frank Zafiro - Heroes Often Fail

Standing in the middle of the front lawn, Crawford had re-lit his cigar. The acrid smell stuck in Gio’s nostrils.

“You want some overtime?” Crawford asked in between puffs.

“Doing what?”

Crawford picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue and flicked it onto the grass. “I don’t want a parade of cops traipsing through these poor people’s house. But someone needs to stay here in case we get contact from the kidnappers.”

“I’ll do it.”

Crawford gave him a suspicious look. “It’s just that I don’t want to roll in a swing shifter and then a graveyard officer. I’d like to keep it at a day shift and graveyard officer. It’s worth a little overtime to give these folks some peace.”

“I said I’ll do it.”

Crawford grunted and puffed on his cigar.

“Are you going to bring in phone recorders?” Gio asked.

“No.” Crawford exhaled a cloud of pungent, blue smoke. “Phone traps are already set up with the phone company. Every call will be taped down at the station.”

“All right.” Gio hadn’t known they could do that. “Any special directions?”

“Yeah,” Crawford said. “Try not to bang the little girl’s mother after the chaplain leaves, Giovanni.”

Crawford turned and walked to his car.

1118 hours

Kendra’s voice was very quiet.

“He had scary eyes. That’s why I ran.”

Detective John Tower nodded his head for Kendra to continue.

“I ran as fast as I could, but I don’t think he chased me. That’s how I got away.”

“You must be a good runner.”

Kendra shrugged, then asked, “If you’re a cop, where’s your gun?”

“I keep it out of sight,” Tower said.

“Why?”

“Because some kids are afraid of guns.”

“I’m not,” Kendra said. “Do you have a gun like Officer Will?”

“Pretty much the same one, yeah,” Tower said. “But I carry mine here.” He pantomimed where his pistol hung from his shoulder rig.

“Why?”

“It’s more comfortable,” Tower answered. He changed the subject. “Do you like to draw?”

“Sure.”

“Would you like to draw a picture of the bad man for me?”

Kendra recoiled and shook her head rapidly. Tower held out his palms, placating her. “It’s okay, then. You don’t have to.”

Kendra shook her head again fiercely.

“All right,” Tower said. “We’ll just talk about it and I’ll write it down. Would that be better?”

Slowly, Kendra nodded her head.

Tower opened his narrow steno pad. “I wish I could draw,” he pretended to mutter to himself.

“Why?” the little girl asked.

Tower looked up, feigning surprise. “Oh. Well, if I was good at drawing, you could just tell me and I could draw it for you.”

“Like on TV.”

“You saw that on TV?”

“Yeah. I watched Unsolved Mysteries with the babysitter and the guy drew a picture from what the person said.”

“You want to try it?” Tower asked. “I’ll try if you will.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me about the driver first. Did you see him?”

“Not really. He was big and looked like Bill Cosby.”

“How about the scary guy, then. How tall was he?”

She shrugged. “I’m little. Everyone else is big.”

Tower’s smile widened. “Fair enough. Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“Jeans. I think.”

“Blue?”

“I think.”

Tower sketched the beginnings of a stick figure on the top of the notebook page and jotted the description lower on the page. “How about a shirt?”

“A T-shirt.”

“What color?”

“Yellow?”

“Is that what you remember?”

“Yeah.”

Tower traced the stick man for a moment. Then, “What did his face look like?”

“I only saw his eyes. They were scary.”

“Is that because you only looked at his eyes?”

“No. He had a mask. A black one.”

“Do you remember what kind of mask?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Could you see any part of his face except for his eyes, Kendra?”

She shook her head.

“How about his skin? Was it white?”

She shook her head again. “It was brownish.”

“Dark brown or light brown?”

“Dark.”

“Did you see anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Did you see a tattoo?”

“Oh, yeah. I did.”

“Can you describe it?”

Kendra swallowed and closed her eyes. “It was on his arm.”

“Which arm?”

She opened her eyes and pointed to his right arm. Tower sketched on his stick man for a moment, then asked. “What did it look like?”

“It was…a spider web,” she whispered and touched the point of her elbow. “Here.”

Tower nodded and jotted down the description. Then he looked back up at the little girl. “Now, Kendra, did this man say anything? Did he talk?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded her head vigorously. “When I ran, he said, ‘Hey, you kid, get back here!’”

“What did his voice sound like?”

“Scary.”

“Was it high like this-“ he made a squeaky voice, then shifted to baritone-“or low this this?”

Kendra giggled at him. “You’re funny.”

“I try. Do you remember the voice?”

“Yeah. It was kinda low.”

“Do you know what an accent is, Kendra?”

She shook her head.

“It’s where people talk kind of funny, you know? Like this.” He affected a British accent. “Cheer-i-o, madam.”

Kendra stared at him. “Like in Mary Poppins?”

“You’ve seen that?”

“It’s my mommy’s favorite. She has the tape.”

“Well, then, yeah, like that guy in Mary Poppins.”

“He didn’t sound like that.”

“Did he talk funny in a different way?”

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“How did he talk?”

“Like that little mouse in the cartoon.”

“Which cartoon?”

“The one with the big white hat and he goes really fast?”

Tower remembered the cartoon. “Speedy Gonzalez? Andele, andele, arriba! That guy?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Did he say anything else?”

She thought some more, then nodded. “When I was running away, I heard him yell, ‘Let’s go, Wesley’ to the other guy.”

“The driver?”

“Yeah.”

Tower traced his stick man some more and jotted a few notes. “Kendra, did Amy say anything?”

“No.”

“Did she scream?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did she know the people in the van?”

“No,” Kendra said. “She was just too scared, like me. And then he grabbed her. He grabbed her first.”

Tower looked the little girl in the eye and saw the knowledge there that he’d hoped she’d be spared. But it was there. She knew that if the man had chosen to grab her first, he’d be talking to Amy Dugger right now, and she’d be in a very bad place instead of Amy.

“You wanna see my picture?” he asked her with a forced grin.

1131 hours

In another world, the attic might be a wonderful place to be.

She could smell the dust and saw it floating in the air, highlighted in a shaft of sunlight that came through a high window.

There were boxes and boxes of things, but she didn’t dare look in them. Even though the scary man had patted her on the head and then on the bottom and told her she was home now, she knew this wasn’t home. It was like the opposite of Fairy Castle, where everything was dangerous instead of wonderful.

She sat in the chair he had pulled out to the center of the room for her. It had a cushion on it and she found it to be comfortable enough. Several feet away was the small desk and mirror set that the chair belonged to, and Amy imagined that was the type of thing that a real princess would have in her room.