April, Twenty-three years earlier: Des Plaines, IL
Carol Sandinsky stood on the stoop of her apartment building staring at the spot where her daughter was last seen. Smoking a cigarette, she seemed not to notice the chill winds that whipped past her.
“When was the last time you saw Ashley?” the reporter from the Chicago Times asked.
“Like I told the cops, Friday, around seven. I was just getting ready to make dinner. I looked out the window to check on her. She was over there by that tree.” She pointed to a leafless tree near the curb.
“About forty minutes later the boys straggle in. Hungry, you know. I says to them, ‘Where’s Ash?’ But none of them knew.” She pushed back a strand of brown hair from her face. “I just had this strange feeling, and I said to my husband Mitch, ‘Mitch,’ I says, ‘I’m calling the cops.’ ”
“Can you give me a description of Ashley? What was she wearing when she disappeared?” the reporter asked.
“Ashley’s fourteen. She’s five-five and weighs about a hundred and fifteen pounds. She has long blond hair, curly-like, and blue eyes. That day she braided it and tied it off with one of them rubber bands with those glass balls. Purple colored. She likes the purple ones. She was wearing a light blue T-shirt, dark blue jeans and white sneakers.” Her voice had gone flat with the recitation.
“Did anyone else see her after you?”
“My husband, Ash’s daddy. He said he saw her sitting in her uncle’s car out front there by the tree. He told her to come in for dinner.”
“Was there anyone else around at the time? Her uncle, maybe?”
“Bill, that’s her uncle, my brother. He was inside watching a baseball game. No one else was out there.”
“What about your husband? How do he and Ashley get along?”
She crushed the cigarette out with the toe of her sneaker before she answered. “He loves his daughter. That answer your question?”
The reporter shifted from one foot to the other. “What were, are Ashley’s interests, outside of school?”
“Ashley’s real involved with sports—basketball, soccer. She’s also a member of the school choir. And she’s a straight-A student. Make sure you put that in. She’s a real good girl. I want people to know that about her. She’s never any trouble.”
“Sure. I’ll do that. Do you have any ideas what happened?” the reporter asked.
“It’s like she was sucked up into the sky. I’m just waiting here, hoping she’ll fly back.”