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The next flight from Georgia to Cheyenne wasn’t until the following morning. However, Noah found a direct flight to Denver International Airport that same afternoon. There wasn’t a chance of waiting until the next day. Noah tried to rest during the three-hour flight and go over all the details from the missing child case.
“I was only gone for a minute! When I turned around, my daughter was missing.” Sergeant Steve Hutchings and Constable Noah Hunter heard the mother scream when they first arrived at the motel. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time Noah listened to a similar statement from a parent. Those words and that moment in time still resonated eighteen years later.
The Taylor family was on holiday and passing through Yellowstone National Park. They stopped at the Travel Resort Motel in Arrow Point and would continue their drive the next morning. Leslie Taylor brought in the luggage had let her daughter Angela sleep in the car while her husband, Joe, went to the motel office.
Leslie had thrown the suitcases on the bed, and when she returned to the car, the door was wide open, and her daughter was missing. The four-year-old couldn’t reach to unbuckle the harness from the car seat, which only left one option. Someone had taken her.
They had quickly set up a perimeter search, and the highway patrol and the county sheriffs arrived on the scene within thirty minutes. The FBI was called as well. After several days of searching, they slowly called personnel away for other tasks due to the lack of viable leads. The various statements from the witness in the area and the road drivers didn’t provide any credible information. Leslie and Joe Taylor eventually returned to Washington, D.C., heartbroken. Their life and hearts had shattered. Regardless, there wasn’t anything the police could do without new information.
Noah opened his eyes when the flight attendant asked him to raise his seat fully. They began their descent into Denver, and he looked out the small window at the countryside. The early fall weather had turned the trees brilliant oranges and yellows, and winter would not be far away. The farmer’s fields were bare and ready for spring planting.
Georgia was humid and warm, but they had to wear a light jacket when they got off the plane. The Colorado autumn weather hinted at an early winter.
In a rental vehicle, they took Interstate-25 north from Denver. Construction outside of the city slowed them down, but he relied on his badge to get him out of trouble if it came to it, and he quickly made up the time.
Two-and-a-half hours after they left, the Chevy Equinox nearly sighed in relief when he closed the car door. “Much better than a four-hour drive.”
Angie stepped out of the car and stretched as the engine ticked. “I think you’ve set a new record.”
She stood two inches taller than Noah at six-foot-one and had recently cut her long brown hair to shoulder length. Angie looked much younger and had a few problems with her apparent youth despite being twenty-eight. After four years with the APPD, she was the youngest officer promoted to sergeant. Despite her misgivings, she had scored perfect on her exam and was excellent at her job. Noah didn’t hesitate to choose her as a partner, a decision he never regretted.
Eight hours after receiving the phone call, Noah walked through the police department’s doors, eager to find answers.
~
THE FD-258 FINGERPRINT card was standard for background checks through any government agency with the FBI. Noah remembered the application process as part of his police department background check.
He held the form up to the light and tried to read the blacked-out, redacted text. “Have we verified this with the Feds? Why would that information be left out?”
Staff Sergeant Steve Hutchings took the form, held it up to the light, and squinted, but he couldn’t see anything. He sighed. “This didn’t arrive through the regular channels. Someone wanted us to see this.”
The top half of the fingerprint sheet had an area for name, address, aliases, etc. There were only two pieces of information not redacted: the gender marked as female and the state of Florida.
It arrived with the daily mail to the police station, care of Noah Hunter, with no return address. Since 9/11, the staff sergeant processed all incoming mail and packages as a security precaution. Hutchings ran the prints in their system and got a match within minutes.
“Do you think it’s real?” Noah handed the form over to Dickinson as he sat behind the conference room table.
The staff sergeant nodded. “Without a doubt.”
The prints matched those of Angela Taylor, but as an adult. They had dusted and found a complete set of fingerprints from the four-year-old at the scene, but nothing else. The abductor must have worn gloves.
“Who do you think sent this? They must have known I worked the case.”
Hutchings shook his head. “Not sure, but the good news is she’s alive.”
“Do you still have the envelope it came in?” Angie slid the prints across the table and took out her notebook while Hutchings removed the large manila envelope from a folder.
She examined the paper at the corner. “This didn’t run through the post office. There isn’t a postal meter. Hand-delivered?”
Hutchings ran a hand through his short white hair and shook his head. “No. It was in the pile of mail early this morning.”
“What about this?” One end gaped opened, the other sealed by the sender. “Any chance of prints on the inside?”
“We can send this to the lab to look for trace, but I wouldn’t put much hope in it. More importantly, this is a solid lead. Review the files and go over the evidence. Start from square one.”
Angie grinned at Noah, and the dimples deepened. “Maybe your new girlfriend can help?”
“We’re just friends.”
Even Hutchings smirked.
Noah and Jessica Ross had a casual relationship, but he enjoyed her company despite the age difference—she was easy to talk with and twelve years older. Jessica was focused on her work at the lab and side business. Noah realized he wouldn’t get anywhere without some type of answer. “We went on a couple of dates, but that’s it. First, I need to sign out the evidence and go over the files.”
Steve picked up the paperwork. “I’ll have the FBI run the prints through their system. It’s their form, and they should know more. I want to put this one to bed before I retire. Get crackin’ rookie.”
Once they were alone, Angie asked. “How much longer is he going to call you that?”
Noah chuckled. “Rest of my career, most likely. It’s his way of saying he cares. Maybe.”
Despite the long day and drive, he was anxious and filled with energy. “I’m going to need my own office before we begin. We won’t be able to work in the general area properly.”
The second floor’s main workspace had a large open area filled with desks, which all the officers shared. The only rooms on the second floor were the captain’s office and the conference room. Captain Haslam preferred to work the night shift, and Lieutenant Bydal worked days. Rarely was there a problem sharing an office. It had been done this way for decades due to lack of space.
Angie frowned. “Not too sure where you want to set up. Not much free room left.”
Noah stood. “How many times have we used all three holding cells at once?”
“You want to have an office in lockup? There’s a definite odor there.” Angie tapped her pen on the table while she thought. “How about the travel trailer in the parking lot?”
The twenty-eight-foot trailer was a mobile command unit and rarely used, except for a recruitment information center at Casper College this last spring.
“At least it wouldn’t smell like disinfectant. I think it’ll work. Call Bruce and see if he can set up a phone and at least two computers. I have some more driving to do tonight.”
Noah wanted to get to work right away, but he still had to go to Cheyenne Regional Airport and get his truck and return the rental. With a quick look at his watch, he figured he would be lucky to get a few hours of sleep. After eighteen years, a night without rest would be a small price to pay.