Missing Without A Trace (7 page)

“I can’t file a report until you check with her family,” said the operator. “She’s an adult, and she can go where she wants.”

“So you’re telling me that because she’s an adult she has the right to die?”

“Call back after you check with her family,” the operator instructed. “Goodbye,” he added, before the line went dead.

My phone rings again. It stops. It rings. It stops. I want to answer. Oh, God, I want to answer! Come and help me! Come and find me and free me from this hell! I cry, but no tears come
.

I want this nightmare to end, just end—quickly end. I think about my mortality. How long will I have to wait until death claims me? When will I finally die and be spared from this hell?

Tom called Tanya’s family and found out that, just as he had suspected, they hadn’t spoken in a long time. Again, he punched the numbers into the phone.

“911, what are you reporting?”

“My wife is missing and I’ve called all the jails, hospitals, friends and family,” Tom said. “And no one has seen her. She hasn’t touched our accounts.”

“Okay, let me ask you a few questions. Does she suffer from any mental disorders?”

“No,” Tom answered. “She was diagnosed with depression but she’s treating it.”

“What type of medication does she take?”

“She treats it with her diet and staying away from non-organic foods.”

“Then she doesn’t meet our criteria for a search.”

What?
Tom was shocked. Tanya was missing, had been for two days, and she didn’t meet their criteria? He felt panicky as his adrenaline rose. “So, what you are telling me is, unless she’s dead you don’t
care
?”

“She’s an adult and she can go when and where she wants,” the operator said bluntly and without emotion. “And she doesn’t have to tell you or anyone.”

What?
Tom screamed inside. He felt the darker side of his own nature launch a full scale assault. His insides seethed. Trying to control his temper, he clenched his teeth with unhealthy force.
Think before speaking
, he told himself, mustering all of his willpower.
Do not lose it now
, he thought,
or you could lose her for good
.

“So,” Tom said, “what you’re saying is that, unless she’s dead, you don’t care?”

“With no evidence of foul play, I can’t start an investigation,” said the operator, coolly.

“
What
criteria?” Tom demanded. “She’s
missing!
This isn’t like her! She never misses work and if she was going to leave, she would‘ve taken some money—if not all of it!” As he finished speaking, his internal voice screamed,
What in the hell do they pay you for, you moron?
But reason prevailed and he swallowed hard, leaving his feelings unsaid.

“She doesn’t meet the criteria for a search,” the operator told him simply.

The operator’s rigidity and lack of concern at once emotionally drained and enraged Tom. He couldn’t take it. “How are you going to feel if she dies tomorrow and you could have helped?” Tom blurted out, struggling to push some calm into his voice. “How is
that
going to fit your criteria?”

“Unless there’s evidence of foul play or she’s a minor or on medication for a mental disorder, she doesn’t meet the criteria for a missing person,” the operator said, sounding a little irritated. “She’s an adult. She can go where she pleases and we do not have to look for her.”

“Arghhh, this
can’t
be happening!” Tom said, as his rage boiled up and over. “What the
hell
do we have the police for—if not for
this
? Aren’t you supposed to ‘protect and serve’? Why the hell is that written on all your fucking cars?” The longer the conversation continued, the more he struggled with himself.
This isn’t right
, he thought.
This just isn’t right!

Tom needed someone to listen so he looked online for news contacts and called the news tip line at Channel 13. The Q13 tip line reporter told Tom that, without a case number, they couldn’t run the story. Tom explained that Tanya did not meet the police department’s criteria, so the police refused to open a case. The reporter offered to check about the criteria with the Sheriff’s office and see what he could do. He said he’d call back.

Maybe I have missed a solution. Can I figure out a way to escape this captivity? If there is a way, I will find it! I will not be a victim!

Is this even real? Is my mind failing me?

God, I do not think I can do this. Please save me, God. Please protect me. I am not strong enough without you. I want so desperately to get out. Please, Lord, guard my mind, heart and body from the evil snares of the devil. God, I give you all that I am for you to fulfill your
will. You always said ask and you shall receive. Lord, I’m asking—no, I’m begging—please help me. I need you. I cannot do this. I believe you can, God. Please do so, according to your will
.

Tom called 911 again.

“911 what are you reporting?” said an operator who didn’t sound familiar.

“My wife has been missing for three days now,” Tom said. “I’ve called the jails, hospitals, family, State Patrol and the morgues. I’ve checked all of our accounts. She hasn’t accessed any money. The only thing I can’t check is her Nordstrom Visa because I’m not on that account, so they won’t tell me anything. All her bankcards are at home. She has two checks that aren’t cashed on the railing upstairs and…”

“Can I have her name and date of birth?”

“Tanya, that’s T-A-N-Y-A, Rider, that’s R-I-D-E-R.” He told the operator Tanya’s birthdate.

“And what was she wearing the last time you saw her?”

“Black slacks and a white blouse,” Tom said. “I found a tape of her leaving work the day she disappeared. She was leaving from her overnight shift at Fred Meyers.”

“Can you tell me what she was driving?”

“A blue Honda Element. Brand new, 2007, with a paper plate in the window.”

“Can you tell me anything that can distinguish it from any other car of its kind?”

“Silver running boards and all the upgrades available.”

During the interview, the operator gave Tom a case number, 07-284-580, and explained that they would list her and that the listing would go out countywide, statewide and countrywide, so that, if Tanya was found and an agency ran her name—anywhere in the country—they would learn that she was missing.

After they concluded the call, the operator called back, asking for the vehicle identification number (VIN) from Tanya’s car. Tom found the number and gave it to the operator, but they had a little mix-up understanding the letters among the digits over the telephone. Finally, the operator found the car’s record.

“I got it,” the operator said. “2007 Honda. Anyway, I found it. That’s great. Okay.”

“It’d be better if you found
her
,” Tom said.

“It really would,” said the operator. “I think we’re gonna go ahead and send an officer out to talk to you about this.”

Thank God
, Tom thought. He felt as if he’d finally reached an operator with a heart.

I think God hears my prayers with tears of His own, as I hear a single sound in the brush. A plop. Then, a second later, I hear another. Then another and another and another. In a moment, I feel it—blessed water, sprinkling and then raining down on my tomb. But it doesn’t reach me. I reach out my hand toward the broken windshield but can’t get my hand out far enough. Some precious drops of moisture splash into the interior of the car and I wipe them with my fingers, raising a smear of moisture to my lips
.

When the King County Police officer arrived, Tom met him in the driveway.

“Are you Mr. Rider?” the officer asked.

“Yes, I am,” Tom said. “My wife’s missing.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“When she left for work, she called me to see what I was doing,” Tom explained. “That’s the last I heard from her.”

“When was that?”

“The nineteenth, around ten
PM
,” Tom said. “She was going to
work. She asked what I was doing. I said sleeping and she hung up.”

“And you didn’t do anything that made her angry and maybe cause her to want to leave you?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “We’ve been together for a long time and she gets mad at me, but she didn’t say anything to make me
think
she was mad.”

“How long have you been together?” the officer asked.

“Sixteen years this February,” said Tom. “We’ve been married for about ten years this October third and we’re building a house and buying this one. If she was going to leave, she would have taken the money. She hasn’t touched it, so I know something’s wrong.”

“Do you know what she was wearing when she left?”

“Black slacks and a white blouse,” Tom reported. “The Bellevue Police and I found video of her getting into her car, so they said I had to file in King County because that’s where we live.”

“You say she got in her car? What makes you think something happened?”

“Because she never got home and didn’t go to work. That’s not like her. Something happened between there and home.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“Blue Honda Element, 2007. She was on tape at nine
AM
, getting in it and driving away from the Bellevue Fred Meyers.”

“And that was on the twentieth?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “That’s why Bellevue said it was no longer in their jurisdiction and I would have to file a report here.”

“I think we have what we need for now,” the officer said. “I’ll write this up and get you a card.”

“Do you want to search the house?” Tom offered. “Anything you need, you don’t need to waste time with a warrant. You have my permission. My life’s an open book. I have nothing to hide. And I don’t want you wasting resources looking at me when you could be looking for
her.”

“Okay, if you’ll wait here I’ll take a look around and come back out.”

Tom waited in the driveway while the officer searched the house.

“Those are her checks on the railing?”

“Yes, and that’s her bankcard on the counter,” Tom said. “All she has with her is her Nordstrom Visa and I can’t check it because I’m not on it. But, if you guys could check it, then we’ll know if, well, if someone stole it or not.”

“Well,” the officer said, “I can’t make those decisions. I’ll turn this over to the sergeant and he’ll make the call on whether it goes to a detective.”

“So you mean you might not investigate, after all this?” Tom asked. “What do I have to do?”

“It is out of my hands,” the officer sighed. “I just take the report.”

“Well, you do what you have to and I’ll do what I need to,” Tom said. At least he had a case number so he could get the story out there. He thought that, maybe, some attention would force the police to do their job.

Tom called Channel 13 News, which had called the Sheriff’s office about the missing persons case criteria. Can it be that that phone call tipped the scales and made them open the case?

Through the darkness again and again, my phone rings and stops, rings and stops. I want to answer it but it is somewhere over there. I can’t reach it, can’t even find it. My mind is foggy. If only I could reach the phone! If only I could reach the phone. If only! But I cannot. I am trapped here, stuck here, abandoned here. What if no one comes to save me? What if they never find me? How long can I survive, anyway? I have been without water for… I don’t even know how long. I have been unconscious a lot. I
think I have gone through two nights, but I am not sure
.

Saturday night, Tom didn’t know what to do with himself. He just sat at home, waiting.
Tanya
, he thought,
where are you?
When it got dark, he walked out of his house and down the driveway, to the street. he moseyed down their street and stood into the night, waiting, until morning came.

I am hungry. I had been so healthy that, maybe, my body doesn’t have a lot of fat stores. I worry, but I hope that my healthy diet has given me the strength to endure this. Still, I think about food. I want food as much as I want water. My hunger and thirst add to the agony of the searing pain from my broken body. Then, my worry grows. Other things start to happen with my body, things I don’t understand. My heart seems fluttery, with an irregular heartbeat. Why is my heart pounding like this? It’s not like I’m exercising or anything. It’s not like I had coffee with my breakfast. Oh, breakfast. I want food. But I feel dizzy and a little nauseous. Oh, my stomach feels so icky. How can I feel nausea when I haven’t eaten anything? I am worried. I don’t understand it
.

I am floating in and out, conscious and then dreaming. Sometimes I do not know the difference. I think I am dying but God helps me to survive one more moment, one more hour. I decide that I am not trapped in a desperate situation, pinned behind the wheel of my car. Instead, I drift above my body. I float off, happily, above the beautiful mountains with snow capped peaks, above the beautiful Northwest greenery with its azaleas and ferns and grasses. Lady takes me on a serene sightseeing tour of idyllic landscapes bathed in light, away from misery
.

I am back in my body. I am tired and dizzy. I don’t know what to think. Why don’t they come? Why doesn’t Tom come?

The dizziness grows and then it sweeps over me. I close my eyes and wipe my face, avoiding my left eyebrow, which still has an open wound
.
Opening my eyes, I run my hand through my hair, brushing it away from my face. Several hairs cling to my hand and I have no way to wipe them off. I feel sick to my stomach. Oh, God, it’s bad. I feel my stomach swell up in me as. No! No, no, no! I don’t want to throw up! But I am not in control. I face the window below my left side and try to press my face forward a little as I throw up. The vomit lands near the front of the side window. The heaving contraction of my gut and my chest makes everything hurt so badly, I can’t think. I throw up again and the vomit splats all over the window at my side. I am spinning. It stinks. I can’t handle it
.