It Only Takes a Moment (14 page)

T
he curtains were drawn and the room was dark except for the sliver of light that streamed in from the hallway through the crack left open at the door to the bedroom. Eliza lay on her side, legs curled up toward her chest. A cup of tea and some toast lay untouched on the table next to the bed.

She stared into the darkness. She was supposed to be getting some rest, but she couldn’t relax, couldn’t let go, couldn’t erase the new picture of Janie from her mind. The eager, trusting smile on her little girl’s face just before she disappeared made Eliza ache with longing. She wanted Janie back, right here, right now. She yearned to reach out as she had so many times before when Janie had crawled into bed with her, when she’d come in to wake Eliza too early in the morning or wanted to be comforted after a bad dream woke her in the middle of the night.

Eliza extended her arm out across the coverlet, trying to get herself to imagine that Janie was lying there beside her. But her mind wouldn’t allow her even the most fleeting mercy. Janie was gone and, though she knew she shouldn’t allow her thoughts to wander in such a defeated direction, Eliza realized there was a chance that Janie wasn’t coming back.

Tears dripped down Eliza’s cheeks onto the linen pillowcase. She lay there, crying, until she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Oh dear God, let it be good news, or, at least, don’t let it be bad news. Please, no bad news.

Eliza sat up and turned toward the door as it opened.

“It’s me, sweetheart.”

Mack stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders outlined against the light. She reached out to him as he came right to her and took her in his arms.

“Oh, Mack, thank God you’re here.”

Eliza buried her face in his chest and held on tightly. Mack stroked her hair and spoke to her softly.

“It’s going to be all right, Eliza. We’ll find Janie. We’ll get her back.”

Eliza pulled away and looked into his face. It was lit on one side by the light from the hallway, unreadable on the other. “Will we, Mack?” she asked. “Will we get her back?”

Both of them knew that Mack couldn’t be sure about what was going to happen to Janie, but he answered with the words Eliza needed to hear.

“Of course we’ll get her back. You have to believe that, sweetheart. Janie is coming home.”

They held each other in the semidarkness, Eliza telling Mack all that had been happening, her impressions of the FBI and the police, her anguish at the picture of Janie snapped just before she was taken from camp.

“I don’t know what I’ll do, Mack, if…”

“Hey,” he said, crooking his finger under her chin and lifting it. “Let’s not think about the future. Let’s just concentrate on the present. Right here, right now.”

Eliza nodded. “Okay,” she said. “What I have to do now is go out there and talk to them. They’re camped out, waiting to hear from me.
There isn’t a single thing that can help find Janie more than publicity. Assistance from the public could be the key to getting her back.”

Mack listened, knowing that Eliza was right. “All right,” he said. “You can do it in the morning.”

“No,” said Eliza. “I’ve got to do it tonight so I’ll run on the ten and eleven o’clock local news programs, and we’ll get more exposure on all the network shows in the morning. I have to do it now, for Janie’s sake.”

Eliza was blinded by the powerful spotlights that beamed at her as she came out of the front door of her home. She held her hand up in front of her face to block the glare as she walked down the path to the driveway. Flashbulbs popped and cameras whirred while the crush of reporters and videographers jockeyed for position near the bank of microphones.

The harsh white light drained the color from Eliza’s already pale face and highlighted her red-rimmed eyes. At the last moment, she had run a comb through her tousled hair and had applied some lip gloss. The normally immaculately groomed and fashionably dressed anchorwoman stood before the microphones wearing a pink T-shirt and white jeans, looking every bit the vulnerable and anguished mother. Mack stood guard beside her.

“First of all, I want to thank every one of you for all you are doing to help us find Janie and Mrs. Garcia,” Eliza said softly. “Your efforts in getting the word out can make the difference because somebody has seen something or will see something that will lead us to the people who have them. What you report will make the public aware of what they should be looking for.”

A reporter yelled, “Can you speak up a little, Eliza?”

Eliza nodded and cleared her throat before continuing. “Most important, I want to say this. Janie, I love you, sweetheart, and we are coming to get you. I promise, baby. We’re coming.”

Eliza felt Mack reassuringly squeeze her arm.

“To whoever has Janie and Mrs. Garcia, I beg you. Please let them go.” Eliza paused, feeling herself ready to break down. She took several deep breaths to steady herself. “And to all of you who are watching this: If you have seen anything at all, if you know anything at all that you think could help us find my daughter and Carmen Garcia, please, come forward. Call your local police or your local FBI office or call the Find Janie hotline number. Janie is just a little girl and I know she must be very confused and frightened right now. She needs to be home with the people who love her.”

Eliza turned and walked back to the house, unable to answer the barrage of reporters’ questions that followed her.

M
ike was dozing on the couch in the living room when Annabelle let herself into their Greenwich Village apartment. She put down her bag and keys and went to her husband, finding a place to perch on the edge of the sofa. She leaned over and kissed him as he slept.

He opened his eyes.

Annabelle smiled down at him. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” she said.

Mike ran his hands through his cropped hair as he sat up. “Any news?” he asked.

Annabelle shook her head. “No word, no ransom demand. Just a hellish waiting game.”

“How’s Eliza?” Mike asked.

“Hanging on,” said Annabelle. “
How
I don’t know. If I were in her shoes, I’d be locked up in a padded room already. Thank God our kids are safe, Mike.”

“Who’d want to take them?” Mike asked, breaking the tension.

Annabelle smiled. “How are they?”

“Sleeping now, like little angels.”

Annabelle got up from the sofa and went to the twins’ bedroom.
We really have to get a bigger place soon,
she thought.
Soon, they’ll be too old to be sharing a room, a girl and a boy wanting separate spaces.
Annabelle had no idea how they were going to afford a three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan—and Brooklyn was getting more expensive by the day.

Kissing Tara and Thomas on the forehead as they slept, Annabelle was struck by the way her heart filled with the simple gesture. The feel of their soft skin, the sound of their rhythmic breathing, the smell of their freshly shampooed hair gave her such a deep sense of peace and well-being. She tried to imagine how Eliza was feeling, knowing that her only child wasn’t sleeping in her own bed and wasn’t with the people who loved her.

What was happening to Janie right now? What could they be doing to her?

“I can’t watch anymore,” said Mike as he switched off the eleven o’clock news. The show had been almost entirely about Janie Blake’s disappearance. Eliza had been featured prominently, pleading for the return of her daughter and Carmen Garcia. “And you should come to bed, Annabelle, and get a good night’s sleep.”

“In a bit,” she said. “I just want to do a little research online.”

“Don’t be too long, honey. You have to get up early, too.” He kissed her on the mouth. “I love you,” he said.

As she searched the Internet, going to various Web sites that gave names and addresses for convicted sex offenders, Annabelle was overwhelmed by the number of names listed as living within a fifty-mile radius of Camp Musquapsink, a circle that included parts of New York state, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. She quickly realized that this was not going to be something that could be easily investigated. She and B.J. couldn’t go from house to house, from town to town, checking on pedo
philes. A job like that required a coordinated effort by law enforcement. Besides, so far, there was no real evidence pointing to the involvement of a child molester.

Before turning off the computer for the night, she printed out the list of names and addresses anyway.

T
he concrete floor was cold and hard, but Mrs. Garcia had no other choice but to sit on it. It was either that or stand up, but she was much too tired and much too scared to use the energy necessary to hold herself erect. She wasn’t certain how long she had been imprisoned belowground, but she was pretty sure that, mercifully, she had fallen asleep for a little while.

When she considered her situation, when she thought about Janie or about the threat the monster had made against her own family, Mrs. Garcia trembled with fear and hopelessness. And the thought of what he might do to her if he came back terrified her. There was nothing she could do, buried alive, the good Lord and the monster only knew where. So, to save her sanity, she tried to conjure up what it had been like to sleep in her own bed, with the comfort of her clean cotton sheets and soft quilt. She tried to imagine the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the real smell she inhaled. This place was dank and musty.

She huddled with her back uncomfortably pressed against a set of wooden shelves. She reached out in the darkness and felt a smooth, rounded surface. Her fingers closed around it and she recognized it as a glass jar. There were others beside it on the shelf.

Her body ached, her throat was sore. She cried out anyway.

“Help. Please, is anyone up there?
¡Auxilio, soccoro, ayúdenme, por favor!
”

The walls of the root cellar closed around her voice as if to snuff it out. She prayed and strained to hear a response, but no one answered her.

R
honda woke up early. As she came out of the bedroom, Dave was just coming in the front door of the apartment.

“How was work?” she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“All right,” Dave answered.

Rhonda studied her husband’s face. His coloring wasn’t good and he looked exhausted. She was afraid she was expecting too much from him. He worked all night, then grabbed only a few hours of sleep before taking over the child-care duties. While she wished she could be home to take care of Janie during the daylight hours, they needed both salaries to make ends meet. So she went to the bakery during the day. She got to spend evenings with Janie but also got to sleep while Janie slept. Dave, on the other hand, was continually sleep deprived.

“Let me make you some breakfast,” said Rhonda.

“No thanks,” answered Dave. “I just want to crawl into bed.”

He went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Rhonda walked into the living room and turned on the television, keeping the volume low so as not to wake Janie. She went into the adjoining galley kitchen, filled the kettle with water, and put it on the stove to boil. Then she took a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. As she cracked the eggshells on the side of a mixing bowl, she heard the words coming from the TV. Wiping her hands on a dish towel,
she went back to the living room and sat down to watch and listen more closely.

Eliza Blake was on the screen. Rhonda almost didn’t recognize her. The woman didn’t look like herself. She was even paler and more washed out than Dave. Eliza stared into the camera, glassy-eyed, while she spoke.

“She needs to be home with the people who love her.”

Troubled, Rhonda switched off the set.
What was Eliza Blake talking about? Janie was already home with people who loved her.

K
atharine stood in the kitchen doorway. “Linus Nazareth is on the phone, honey.”

Eliza took the phone from her mother-in-law and held it to her ear. “I just wanted to check and see how you’re holding up, Eliza.”

“Oh, thanks, Linus. All right, I guess.”

“I could kill those lousy bastards for writing that trash.”

“What trash?” Eliza asked.

There was silence on the line.

“Linus?”

“Forget it.”

“What trash, Linus?”

“All right, you’re going to hear it sooner or later. It’s the
Mole
. That rag is saying the FBI is looking at you as a suspect. But that really isn’t a big deal. Everybody knows that the people closest to the victim are always viewed as suspects first. Nobody is going to take what the
Mole
says seriously and think that you could actually be in on Janie’s abduction.”

“As if this nightmare isn’t bad enough, now it’s getting worse?” Eliza asked, her voice going higher.

The other people in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and looked at Eliza.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” groaned Eliza as she sat in a chair.

“You know what I think?” The executive producer of
KEY to America
didn’t wait for an answer. “I think you should come on the show and talk about it all. Get your side of the story out there.”

“What side of the story, Linus? There aren’t two sides. There’s only one. My daughter and a woman I care very much about are missing and I want them back.”

“You know what I mean, Eliza. Come on. Let Margo Gonzalez interview you and the people at home will see what a loving mother you are and that you could never hurt your kid.”

“Now I have to prove to America that I love my child? That’s absolutely ludicrous. I won’t do it, Linus, no way,” she said. “And have somebody fax that
Mole
article to me, will you? I want to see what I’m up against.”

When she hung up the phone, Eliza went to find Agent Gebhardt. She paused to control herself before she entered the den where the command center had been set up.

Gebhardt was talking on the telephone, her back to Eliza. “Listen,” she said, “these types show up whenever a child is kidnapped. They’re all smoke and mirrors.”

The FBI agent stood and listened to whoever was talking on the other end of the phone.

“I don’t know how to explain that,” she answered. “But, officially, the FBI doesn’t use psychics. Maybe she’s had some coincidences that worked out with other cases she was involved in at those other departments, but that’s all they were, I assure you. Coincidences.”

Eliza stepped forward and interrupted. “How to explain
what
?”

Gebhardt turned around and saw Eliza standing there. “I’ll call you back,” she said into the phone. She hung up and gestured to the armchairs next to the fireplace. “Let’s sit down,” she said.

“How to explain what?” Eliza repeated.

“Some crackpot came into the Ho-Ho-Kus Police Department saying she saw Janie in a dream.”

“And?”

“The woman says she’s a psychic.”

“What else did she say?”

Agent Gebhardt crossed her legs and jiggled her foot. “She said that, in the dream, Janie had green paint on her face.”

Eliza leaned back in the chair. “Anyone could know that now. It’s been all over the news.”

“I’ve got to tell you the truth,” said Gebhardt. “I don’t believe in this psychic mumbo jumbo. I think these people prey on desperate parents who are willing to do anything to recover their children. But, the only thing is, this one came into the station and told her story
before
the public knew about the face paint.”

Eliza digested the information. “Where is this woman now?” she asked.

“She lives in Pennsylvania.”

“I want to talk to her. Let’s have her come here.”

“I don’t suggest it. We can send a couple of agents up to interview her.”

“Why not? Why not have her come here and see where Janie lives, let her be near Janie’s things? If she is truly psychic, the proximity to Janie’s private world might give her some insights. We don’t have anything to lose. And it’s a hell of a lot better than spending your time investigating me.”

The color rose in the FBI agent’s cheeks. “We’re just doing our jobs,
Eliza. We have to look at everyone, including you. Our job is to find Janie.”

“And Mrs. Garcia,” said Eliza evenly. “And my job is to insist that every possibility, every lead, no matter how ridiculous, is followed up on. I don’t care if you think she’s a phony. I want to talk to this woman.”