B.O.D.
THE
ABDUCTION
It was Sunday, and Bill and Joe were once again working the night watch in the Business Office Division. The day had been warm, and the heat lingered in the building, making it uncomfortable. It had been fairly busy so far, but mostly routine things. Citizens with questions, a group requesting a permit to hold a public rally, minor complaints against neighbors, and one stolen vehicle report. Joe was on the phone doing a follow up on a report of a rabid dog on the loose.
"Really? Are you sure? That figures. Okay, thanks. Guess that is better anyway. Well, we have to check it out, either way." Joe shook his head and hung up the phone.
"What was that about?" Bill asked from the desk where he was sitting.
"You know that report that was filed about an hour ago, the one with the rabid dog running around?" Joe asked as Bill nodded his head.
"Well, the Officer went there and found the 'rabid' dog. Turned out to be a miniature white poodle a little high strung. Seems the lady who filed the report hates dogs and her neighbor, and decided to get both of them. She thought a cop would shoot the dog and eliminate the problem. We can't really prove she didn't know the dog was ok, but the Officer warned her about filing false reports for the future."
"It takes all kinds, doesn't Joe?"
"Yeah, and they all seem to wind up here."
Bill returned to his paperwork as Joe left to see what's happening at the front desk.
A very distraught woman approached the counter where he was standing.
"Can you help me, please?" she asks, nearly in tears.
"Yes Ma'am, I'm Sergeant Friday, what can I do for you?"
"It's my boys, Sergeant, they're missing. They haven't come home."
Joe turned around and motioned at Bill to join him at the counter. Bill came with his notebook open and ready.
"This is Officer Gannon, and your name is?" Joe pulled a report sheet from under the counter and began to fill in the information as she began to give it to him.
"Stella Brockberg." She gave him her address and phone number.
"Now tell us about the boys. How old are they and their names."
"Jacob, he's seven and his younger brother Jeremy, he's just five."
"Now, when did you notice they were missing? When was the last time you saw them."
"On Friday afternoon, about three-thirty."
Bill and Joe exchanged startled looks, then looked back at her.
"Your sons have been missing since Friday and you're just reporting it now on Sunday?" Bill is appalled.
Her tears are coming faster and she searches her pockets for a tissue. Joe reached under the counter and produced a box to set in front of her.
Taking one she dabbed at her eyes before continuing. "Thanks. No, you don't understand. On Friday, their Father picked them up for the weekend. We're divorced see, and he gets them every other weekend. He gets them on Friday and always has them home by Sunday by five. Always on time, never late."
Joe gave Bill a knowing look. They got a lot of cases like this. Dad is a little late and right away Mom thinks he stole the kids. It happens, but usually they are just running late, or had a flat. The kids are returned unharmed.
Joe explained this to Mrs. Brockberg in an effort to calm her.
"No, I know that is not the case here. I'm getting remarried soon, and he thinks a new Father will take his place. He's been depressed about this and I am afraid he's taken the kids and run off with them."
"Did you try to contact him at his residence?" Joe inquired.
"No, they go to his cabin up on Lake Silverwood, northeast of here about seventy five miles. There's no phone there. He takes them to go fishing, they really enjoy that. He was a lousy husband, but he is a good father."
"OK Ma'am, can you give us the exact location of this cabin? We'll get a report made to the local authorities and have 'em check it out."
She gives Joe all the information he needs and he puts it into the report.
"Officer Gannon will get this filed immediately. Now you should go home and wait for your boys. Maybe they are there already." Joe smiled encouragingly towards her.
"Someone from here will contact you as soon as we have any information. Try not to worry, I'm sure they are fine. Maybe the fish were biting today and they just lost track of time. They are with their Dad, and are safe."
"I don't know, Sergeant, I just have a bad feeling about this. It's just not right."
"Do you have a way home? I could have someone take you."
"No, thanks, my boyfriend is waiting in the car. You'll call as soon as you know, right?"
"Yes, Ma'am, we will."
She grabbed a few more tissues before heading towards the door.
Bill returned to the counter having filed the report and made the phone calls.
"The local police said they would dispatch a unit out shortly. They know where it is."
Joe nods, "Good. Thanks Bill, it's just going to be another case of being late, or maybe just taking a little extra time with the kids. Seems like we see more of this all the time. The adults break up their marriage, but the kids are caught in the middle."
"Yeah," Bill agreed. "You see fewer happy marriages these days, but you never see a happy divorce, especially where kids are involved. You want something to eat, Joe, or some coffee maybe? I can get it if you do."
"No, I'm not hungry, but coffee sounds good. Thanks. I'll take on some of this paperwork while you do that."
He sat down at the desk, but didn't start anything. Something just doesn't feel right. He's not one for premonitions, that's more Bill's style. But something was eating at him about this. He tried to shrug it off, tackling the work in front of him.
The last couple hours of the shift went by slowly. Finally the clock said it was time to leave. Bill and Joe grabbed their jackets and turn things over to the next shift. Just as they are about to go, the phone on the desk rings.
"Let the new shift get it Joe," Bill said. He was anxious to head home.
"Just take a minute Bill," Joe said as he reached for the phone.
"Business Office, Friday speaking,"
Bill watched as Joe listened to the caller. What's wrong? he thought. He's not saying much, but is nodding his head.
" Uh huh, Ok. You're sure? How long ago? All of them? Yeah, I'll take care of it on this end. Thanks, we appreciate your cooperation. Good bye"
He hangs up the receiver and leans over the desk, bracing himself with his arms.
"Joe? What's wrong? Who was that?" Bill's voice was filled with concern. Joe usually didn't react so strongly. He replied so softly that Bill could barely hear him.
"That was the Lake Silverwood Police. They went to the cabin, the father and two boys were there. Double murder, suicide. Father shot his boys, and then himself. The investigators think they have been dead for over twenty-four hours. Looks like he shot them in their sleep."
"I'll call the chaplain Joe. You want to do the notification, right?"
He knows Joe well enough to know that.
"Call the chaplain and ask him to meet us in the garage." He speaks so softly Bill can barely catch the words.
Bill phones the chaplain and fills him in on the details. He tells Bill he will meet them at the car in ten minutes. Bill looks over and see's that Joe has not moved from where he'd been standing. He had an unlit cigarette in his hand, just rolling it back and forth, not really aware it was even there. The look on his face was something Bill had never seen on Joe, and he doesn't want to see it now.
For a moment Joe feels like he may lose it. It's my job, he's thinking, to help people. How do I help here? There is nothing, he thinks, absolutely nothing to make this better or easier for her. He becomes aware of Bill standing to one side, waiting patiently for him to work through the horrors in his mind. Despite the warmth in the room, Joe felt chilled, right to the marrow of his bones. He lifts his head to meet Bill's eyes.
"I told her they were probably OK, Bill. I told her they would be home soon. That they were safe with their father. How do I tell her this? They're not safe! They're not coming home! Not now, not ever! Nothing we say or do will change that."
He tosses his unlit cigarette into the trash, turning abruptly on his heel, he heads to the garage where the chaplain waits for them. Bill following in his wake.
God, he thinks, sometimes I hate this job!