Tell My Dad (11 page)

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Authors: Ram Muthiah

BOOK: Tell My Dad
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Grace walked across the living room and stood near the window adjacent to the front door. She watched April chasing butterflies with Carol in the small flower garden near the front porch.

She felt pain poking from inside her stomach. Since the day she came to San Jose, she had experienced the stomach pain every few days. She had hoped that pain would go away someday. But it did not. She ran to the bathroom.

Seven minutes later, she heard a loud screeching sound as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

What was that?
She looked through the front window. Carol was running toward the house. Grace quickly opened the front door.

“Someone took April in the car! Someone took her!” Carol screamed. “Call the police! Call the police!”

Grace quickly ran down to the front lawn and scanned the road. There was no sign of April and no sign of a car, except for disgusting exhaust. She shouted at Carol, who was standing behind her. “What are you saying? Who took April? She was playing with you, right?”

Carol quickly nodded. “Yes. But someone came in a car. He asked for help to find his cat. Then, he dragged April to the car and drove that way.” She pointed to the far end of the street.

Grace felt dizzy. She ran into the house, grabbed the telephone handset, and frantically dialed Harrison’s number.

Chapter 22

P
olice Detective Frank Littleton
looked up. “Do you have any other recent pictures of your daughter?”

“This is a recent picture. It was taken just six months ago for April’s school application.” Harrison’s voice was broken.

Detective Littleton turned his attention toward the middle-aged woman holding Carol’s hands. He asked, “Ma’am, do you mind if we ask your daughter a few questions?”

She nodded.

He pulled a bar stool up and sat closer to Carol, who sat on the couch.

“Carol, can you tell us again what happened?”

Carol looked at Harrison and turned to the detective. “We were just playing. Then, a blue car came on the road. A man got down and asked us, ‘Did you see my cat?’”

“Okay. The guy lost his cat? He asked you about his cat?” The detective took his notes.

Carol nodded. “Yes. We didn’t see any cat. We told him that. Then…”

“Then?”

“He asked us if we could help him to find the cat. April said she could help. Then…” Carol stopped for a second and sniffled. “He asked April to come with him to look for the cat. April was walking to the car. Then, he grabbed her, opened the back door, put her in the backseat, and drove…I ran to April’s grandma and told her what happened.”

The detective looked at Carol. “You are very helpful, Carol. Thank you. Did April say anything? Did April know this guy? Have you seen this guy before?”

Carol shook her head. “I don’t know. April was crying. She put her head on the car window and cried. She kept saying, ‘
Tell my dad
.’”

Tears fell down Harrison’s face and ripped his heart.

“Do you remember the car color, Carol?”

“Yeah, it was blue. Just like this blue.” Carol pointed at the couch.

“Okay. Navy blue. Was it a small car or big car?”

“It’s small. Just like our car.”

“Okay. Small car. If you see this guy again, will you be able to identify him?” The detective posed his question gently.

“Identify?”

“I mean, if you see him again, can you show him to us?”

“Yes, I will. I remember his face.” Carol looked confident.

“Did you notice any other details? Any scars on his face? Anything else you can tell us about this guy? Or the car?”

Carol looked up at the ceiling and thought about something for a moment. Then, she spoke in a tremulous voice. “He was kind of short. He wore glasses. He walked weird. His right leg was a little crooked.”

“Like he was crippled?” the detective asked.

Carol nodded. Her mother gently pressed her hands.

“Anything else you can remember, Carol?”

“I don’t know. There was a big Hot Wheels sticker on the car door. That’s all I saw.” Carol put her head down, stared at her pink-colored fingernails, and pressed her right thumb on her index fingernail. April had painted her nails pink last week. The nail polish still remained fresh.

“Thanks, Carol.” The detective signaled his deputy and said, “Get the sketch artist. Carol may help us find this guy. I want the artist to draw the sketch ASAP. Once we get it, we need to distribute that to the media. This guy is probably local to the area.”

The detective turned to Harrison. “Mr. Azevedo, do you have any custodial issues?”

Harrison wiped his tears and shook his head. “No. My wife died on 9/11.”

“Oh, sorry. Do you have any enemies or—”

“No.” Harrison sobbed. He could not believe April had been taken away from him. He had called 911 as soon as his mother had called him. His heart was pounding like hell when he drove home. The cops were already in the house when he reached it.

The detective broke the silence. “We issued the Amber Alert already. We will send the picture to the media. We hope to find your daughter soon. FBI folks are on their way. They are always involved whenever there is a child abduction.”

Harrison pressed his right palm to his forehead. “I never thought this could happen to me.
Please
catch this bastard and get my daughter back…
Please
.”

The detective touched Harrison’s shoulder with compassion. “I hope that we catch this guy soon. Carol has seen this guy. Once we get the sketch of this guy, we should be moving very quickly.” He reassured him again. “We will catch this guy.”

Harrison felt intense pain in his heart as if an elephant had sat on his chest. He struggled to breathe. His entire world looked blank.

Chapter 23

B
iana Patterson placed
a leather folder on the dining room table and smiled at the old couple sitting in the bright-orange seat. “Here is your check. You can pay it at the front counter. Drive safe; it’s Friday night!”

The couple smiled and waved back without saying a word.

The big analog clock on the wall of the Denny’s restaurant indicated ten minutes past eleven o’clock. As she walked back toward the kitchen, she stopped when she saw the picture on the television. It was a sketch of a man with eyeglasses. The face looked familiar.

She ignored patrons walking on her side and focused on the news anchors. “Five-year-old April Azevedo was kidnapped at four o’clock today in San Jose. The suspect is a Hispanic male in his forties. He wears thick eyeglasses. He may be crippled or have suffered an injury to his right leg. If you know about the person shown in the sketch, please call 911 or the FBI hotline.” The phone numbers flashed on the screen.

Biana gasped and shook her head in disgust. She walked quickly toward the front counter. Allison, her coworker, was taking a phone order from a customer. Biana pulled the headset from Allison’s ear and disconnected the call. “Sorry, Allison. This is an emergency.” She ignored Allison’s frightened, pale face and dialed 911.

“Hello, this is about the girl kidnapped today. I know the guy shown on the television just now. He is my ex-boyfriend.” She went on to provide more details. “Yes, I am at Denny’s, just off Holly Road Exit on 101. My shift ends in six hours.”

Allison put her right hand on her forehead and listened as Biana wrapped up the call. “Okay. I’ll wait right here. No worries.”

As Biana hung up the phone, she observed the question in Allison’s eyes. “Sorry, Allison. A girl was kidnapped this evening in San Jose. I saw the sketch of the kidnapper on the TV. It looks like my ex-boyfriend. I should have killed that bastard a long time ago.” Biana tightly gripped the edge of the front desk. “I should have
killed
him.”

* * *

T
en minutes later
, San Mateo Police Detective Rick Kim sat across the table from Biana and wrote down the details.

“Thanks, Biana. We’ll move very quickly. I hope that the address you gave us is still current.”

“It must be. Juan does not have a stable job. He lives with his mother. You will find him there.” Biana sounded confident.

Detective Rick Kim called the control room and broadcasted the address. He hung up and sighed. “FBI agents and Los Gatos Police will take it up from here. Thanks for your help. I’m sure you saved this little girl’s life!”

Biana gave a wry smile and stared at her right palm.

The detective noticed the stress in Biana’s face. “What’s wrong? Is there something else we should know?”

Biana shook her head back and forth. After a few seconds of thinking, she took a deep breath before speaking. “Juan is impotent. He blamed me for his impotence. A few years ago, he tried to rape my sister, who was visiting us from Texas. We beat him up and kicked him out of the house. He never came back. Later, we found that he had tried to abuse an eleven-year-old girl in our neighborhood. The girl’s family didn’t file a complaint because they didn’t want to deal with the all the questions from cops. The family didn’t have the papers—” She paused for a moment. “You know, they crossed the border when the girl was two. They were afraid that they would run into immigration issues.”

The detective sighed. “Thanks for the additional information. I’m sure it’s going to be very helpful.”

* * *

L
os Gatos Police Officer Kennedy Ross
reached Juan Martinez’s house at five minutes past midnight. He scanned the street as he got out of his Ford Crown Victoria. The street was very quiet and was packed with houses on both sides. He looked at the small house on his right and scanned the exterior of the house. A blue Toyota Corolla was parked in the driveway. A large-sized Hot Wheels sticker was stuck on the driver’s-side door.

Four minutes later, a SWAT team from San Jose arrived. Officer Ross briefed Captain Fletcher, a well-built man in his early thirties, who led the SWAT team. Captain Fletcher signaled the two officers to wait near the back of the house and two in the front.

Ross knocked on the front door. There was no answer. He knocked again. “Open the door, Police.” Ross repeated the process two times. Fletcher got ready to storm in but stopped when the light bulb lit up on the wall near the front door.

An elderly woman opened the door. “Police? What happened?” She rubbed her terrified eyes.

Ross spoke. “Ma’am, we want to talk to Juan Martinez. Where is he?”

“Juan is my son. He is sleeping.” Garcia Martinez’s hands trembled. “What is going on?”

Ross did not answer. Instead, he quickly moved into the house and scanned. The kitchen was in the far end. There was one room on the right and one on the left. He stormed into the room on the right and found the man in a deep sleep.

Fletcher switched on the light. Ross checked for any weapon within the reach of the man and knocked on the bed frame. “Juan!” His loud voice rattled the man.

Juan jerked and sat up on the bed. His eyes widened when he saw Fletcher’s gun pointed straight at his face.

“Are you Juan Martinez?” Ross asked.

“Yes.” Juan scanned the room and noticed more officers coming into the room. “Why are you here? What is going on?”

An officer whispered to Fletcher, “We searched the entire house. There is no sign of the girl.”

Fletcher walked closer to Juan. “Where is April?” He was ready to kick him.

“April? I don’t know what you are talking about.” Juan shook his head.

“Where were you this evening? Around four o’clock?” Ross asked.

“I don’t remember. I was just roaming around, looking for work. I guess I was in Home Depot.” Juan shook his head again. His body was shaking.

“Were you shopping in Home Depot?”

“No. I am a handyman. I look for work outside Home Depot. I think you are mistaken. I did not take any girl. I am not that kind of a person.” He looked up at the ceiling and avoided eye contact with Ross.

“We did not say anything about
taking
a girl. Let me ask you again. Where is April?” Ross was ready to punch him in the face.

Juan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Ross removed handcuffs from his duty belt, pulled Juan’s hands behind his back, and clipped the cuff. Then, he read him his Miranda rights. “You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.”

Fletcher gazed at Juan.
Sick bastard, I wish I had a right to put a bullet in your head.

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