Kidnapped

Chapter 8

"Poochie's gone?" Mrs. Sanders repeated, as if she couldn't possibly have heard correctly.

"I looked in his bed," Elizabeth said, "and under the table where he likes to sleep, and then I looked in the backyard. He isn't here."

"Could he have gotten out of the yard accidentally?" Officer Carter asked. "Is there a gate that might have been left open?"

"There is a gate," Mrs. Sanders said, "but we only use it when we out the trash can in the alley for the trash collector."

"The gate's closed," Elizabeth said. "I checked."

"Might someone have let him out on purpose? A neighbor, perhaps? Does Poochie bark a lot?"

Elizabeth could follow Officer Carter's thoughts. "Poochie hardly ever barks anymore," she said. "If someone came in the yard, he probably wouldn't even notice."

"If he did, he'd wag his tail and hope to get petted," Mrs. Sanders said.

Detective Manfield returned with a German shepherd. "This is Spike," she said.

"The family dog is missing," Officer Carter said.

Elizabeth saw the two police officers exchange a glance, the significant kind of look adults give each other when they know something the kids don't know.

Fear flickered at the edge of Elizabeth's mind all morning, but it had been a dull fear, without a name. As she looked at Poochie's empty bed, a sharp, specific fear wrapped around her. Max was missing, and so was Poochie. What if they never came home? She might never see her brother or her dog again. The tears Elizabeth had successfully held back at school now spilled out.

"Do you think Poochie's disappearance is connected to Max's?" Mrs. Sanders asked the police.

"It might be," Detective Manfield said.

"Let's make sure the dog isn't here," Officer Carter said.

A thorough search of the house and yard turned up no Poochie, nor did it yield any sign the house had been broken into.

Elizabeth and her mom called Poochie, both in the alley and up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, in case he had somehow been let out. Poochie did not come.

"Let's have Spike smell those pajamas," Detective Manfield said. "Then I'll take him over to the school."

Elizabeth led everyone upstairs to Max's bedroom. "He keeps his pajamas under his pillow," she said.

"Don't touch them," Detective Manfield cautioned. She lifted the pillow. Max's pajamas were scrunched into a ball, as usual.

When Mrs. Sanders saw them, she started to cry.

Detective Manfield led Spike toward the bed and pointed.

The dog sniffed the pajamas.

"Max," said Detective Manfield. "Find Max." She put Max's pajamas in a bag and took them with her. She and Spike returned to their car and drove away.

"Does anyone else have a house key?" Officer Carter asked Mrs. Sanders.

"Elizabeth has one."

Elizabeth held up the chain she wore around her neck; the key dangled from the chain.

"We also have one hidden outside. We put it there after I accidentally locked myself out."

"Let's see if it's still there," Officer Carter said. "I hope you don't keep it under the doormat. Thieves look their first."

Elizabeth and her mom went out the kitchen door, followed by the police officer. Elizabeth counted five fence boards from the corner, then picked up a small rock from the bass of the fence. The extra key was taped to the bottom of the rock.

"It's here" she said.

"Who else has a key?" Officer Carter asked. "Your husband?"

"I'm single."

"Ex-husband?"

Mrs. Sanders leaned against the fence as if her legs were too weak to hold her up. "My first husband, ELizabeth's father, was a firefighter who died when a burning roof collapsed on him. I married again two years later, but the marriage was a disaster and I filed for divorce after only three months. Seven months later, Max was born."

"What is Max's father's name?"

"Daniel Thomas."

"Is this where you lived with him?"

"No. I bought this house two years ago."

"Has there been a recent disagreement about Max's custody or visitation rights or support payments?"

"Daniel has no visiting rights," Mrs. Sanders said, "and I didn't ask him to pay child support. He wouldn't admit the baby was his; as soon as he found out I was pregnant, he vanished, and I haven't heard from him since."

"Then you don't think he might have taken Max?"

"No. He doesn't like kids; that was one of our problems."

"I didn't like him, either," Elizabeth said. "I was glad when he left."

Officer Carter nodded as if to say I don't blame you.

"We all make mistakes," Mrs. Sanders said. "Marrying Daniel Thomas was the biggest mistake of my life. The only happy result was Max."

"We'll check him out. A high number of abducted children are taken by the noncustodial parent."

"Not this time," Mrs. Sanders said. "He doesn't even know if I had a boy or a girl."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"The last I knew, he was living in Reno, but that was six years ago. He always moved often, to get out of paying his gambling debts."

"Would Max recognize him, maybe from a picture?"

"No."

"Can you think of anyone at all who would want to take Max? Is there someone Max would know, someone he'd go with willingly?"

"He'd know lots of people- neighbors or friends or people from church- but he would not leave school with any of them unless I had told him it was okay."

Elizabeth said, "If the same person took Poochie, how did they get in? Matt doesn't have a house key, and the one under the rock is still there."

"I think he took Poochie first," Officer Carter said. "He might have used the dog to get Max to go with him."

"Then it wasn't a crime of opportunity," Mrs. Sanders said. "Max didn't happen along at the wrong time by accident. If whoever took Max came here first and got Poochie, then that person set a trap specifically for Max."

"It's one possibility," Officer Carter said.

Who would do that? Elizabeth wondered. She couldn't think of a single person who would commit such a crime.

"We'll check the house for fingerprints," Officer Carter said, "and call the animal shelters."

"Poochie is micro-chipped," Elizabeth said. "If he gets scanned, the scanner will show our number."

Officer Carter called the police station and gave Poochie's description. "Please call the humane society, PAWS, animal control, and the other shelters," he said. "Have them notify us immediately if anyone brings in such a dog."

Elizabeth didn't expect that to happen, though. Dogs brought to shelter by someone other than their owners are usually strays. Poochie had not wandered away accidentally; he had been stolen.

This, Elizabeth thought, is worse than any bad dream I ever had.

She hugged herself, trying not to shiver.