Chapter Fifteen #2
She was making notes in the margins of the bill and listening to a convoluted explanation from the woman on the other end of the line when the screech of tires on the road outside distracted her. Then a child screamed. Not just any child. Her child.
She dropped the phone and raced outside, banging her knee painfully on the porch railing as she hurtled down the steps toward the curb, where Noah struggled with a black-clad figure at the open driver’s door of a white SUV.
Riley stood beside them, wailing. Never slowing down, Anna grabbed the nearest weapon she could find—a scooter one of the children had left in the driveway.
Raising it over her head she brought it down on the man’s head.
He swore, and shoved the scooter back toward her, toppling her over. But she managed to wrap one arm around Noah and drag him with her. “Riley!” she shouted. “Run to the house!”
For once, Riley didn’t hesitate, but raced across the lawn and through the front door Trisha had left open. The man jumped back into the car and sped away.
Trisha lay back on the grass, both arms wrapped around Noah. “Shhh,” she said, rocking him back and forth. “You’re safe now. Mama’s got you.”
They lay there several minutes. Riley joined them, both children clinging to her, all three of them crying.
Trisha could feel a knot rising on her forehead where the scooter had hit her.
Slowly, she sat up and, the children still clinging to her, made her way inside.
She found her phone and picked it up. The woman from the insurance company was still talking, apparently oblivious to Trisha’s absence.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Trisha said, and ended the call. She dialed 911. “A man just tried to kidnap my son,” she told the operator who answered.
Tuesday afternoon, Travis Walker studied the man across from him in the modest living room.
Mitch Anders was a stocky, clean-cut man in his early thirties with blond hair and blue eyes.
He looked nervous, but most people would under the circumstances, being questioned by law enforcement again so soon after his release from jail.
“Someone tried to snatch a little boy from the yard in front of his house yesterday afternoon,” Travis said. “The car the man was driving matches the description of your car.”
“There are a lot of white SUVs in this county,” Mitch said.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon between four thirty and six thirty?” Travis asked.
“I was at my girlfriend’s house.”
“Who is your girlfriend?”
“Shayla Green.”
“Address?”
“Twelve-fourteen Wild Rose.”
Two blocks from the Isbell house. “Was your car there?”
“No. Shayla picked me up this morning and she drove to her house.”
“Was your father at home?”
“Probably. He doesn’t go many places.”
“Where is your dad now?”
“He’s in his room. Taking a nap.”
“Could he have driven your car?”
“Dad has an old red Jeep he drives. He doesn’t like my SUV. He says it’s too hard for him to get in and out of. You’ve seen him, Sheriff. He can hardly walk. How could he snatch a kid?”
“Is there anyone else who would drive your car?” Travis asked.
“No. Why would they?”
“We talked to your neighbor. She’s sure your car wasn’t in your driveway that afternoon.”
“It was.”
Travis glanced out the window. He could see the white Toyota from here. “Can we take a look at the car?”
“I guess.”
Travis and his brother, Gage, followed Mitch out to the car. It shone in the afternoon sun, and smelled like wax. Gage opened the passenger door and looked inside. “It’s been cleaned recently,” he said. “It’s spotless.”
Mitch frowned. “It wasn’t like that this morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door, stuck his head in and sniffed.
“Maybe your dad took it to be washed,” Travis suggested. “As a surprise for you.”
Mitch stepped back from the car. “My dad isn’t really like that. And I told you, he doesn’t drive this vehicle. He prefers his Jeep.”
“What’s that in the back seat?” Gage asked.
Mitch looked inside. “I don’t see anything.”
“On the floorboard.” Gage slipped on gloves, then reached in and picked up something black from the back floorboard. “It’s a sweatshirt,” he said. “There’s a pair of pants and a mask and gloves in there, too.”
“This matches the description of the clothing the boy’s mother told us the suspect was wearing,” Travis said.
Mitch took another step back, all color drained from his face. “I don’t know how those got in there.”
Travis stepped forward. “Put your hands behind your back, Mr. Anders,” he said. “You have the right to remain silent…”
Frantic pounding sent Mira running to the front door of her apartment Tuesday afternoon.
She checked the security peephole and saw Shayla waiting there, wringing her hands.
She hurried to open the door. Shayla collapsed against her.
Mira embraced her with one arm, the cast on her other arm cradled between them. “Shayla, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Mitch has been arrested again. I told them he couldn’t have done it, but they didn’t believe me.”
“What?” Mira shut the door and led Shayla into the living room. “Tell me again. I didn’t understand what you said.”
“They’ve arrested Mitch. For the kidnappings.
Someone tried to take another little boy this afternoon and the mother described Mitch’s SUV.
Only Mitch wasn’t in the car. He was with me.
I told the sheriff’s deputies that, but they wouldn’t believe me.
They found the clothing the kidnapper wore in the back seat of the car.
And the car had been washed, as if someone was trying to hide evidence. ”
“They think Mitch washed the car, but left the clothing the kidnapper wore in the back seat? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing about this makes sense,” Shayla wailed. “Mitch called me from the station to ask me to look in on his dad, so I went over there and the old man wouldn’t even let me in. He told me to go away and slammed the door in my face.”
“Shayla, I’m so sorry. Sit down and let me get you some water.” Mira retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen and hurried to rejoin her friend. “What happened with the boy, do you know?” she asked.
“Apparently his mother fought off the kidnapper.”
“What kind of clothes did they find?”
“Black sweatpants and shirt, a black ski mask and gloves.”
“That’s the same thing the man who attacked us on the trail was wearing,” Mira said.
“I know that wasn’t Mitch,” Shayla said. “He would never hurt me. And he wouldn’t hurt you, either.”
Mira tried to think back. Had the man who had rushed at her been Mitch Anders? Everything had happened so fast. And she didn’t know Mitch well. How could she be sure?
“Shayla, do you think there’s any possibility Mitch did have something to do with these abductions?” she asked.
Shayla jumped up, her face flushed. “How can you say that? Of course he didn’t. Didn’t you hear me? I was with him this afternoon!”
“What did the sheriff say when you told them that?”
“They said the boy’s house was only two blocks from mine. That Mitch could have left while I was in the shower.”
“Could he have done that?” Mira asked.
“He didn’t! Why don’t you believe me?”
She wanted to believe her friend. But she had wanted to believe George, too.
“The most wonderful seeming people in the world can do terrible things,” Mira said.
“I dated a man in Santa Fe. Everyone loved him. I loved him. And then he was arrested for possessing child pornography. He had a big collection I knew nothing about. He was part of a whole network of collectors. Pedophiles. And I never saw that side of him.”
Shayla was sobbing, her face contorted by angry tears. “I can’t believe you’d think something like that about Mitch,” she said.
“I don’t think it. I don’t want to think it. I’m just saying you need to consider the possibility. To protect yourself.”
“Love isn’t about protecting yourself,” Shayla said. “It’s about wanting to protect the other person.” She turned and ran from the apartment.
“Shayla, please!” Mira ran after her, but Shayla was already hurtling down the steps and running to her car. Mira sagged against the doorframe, sick to her stomach. What had she done? And what had Mitch done?