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Bruce transformed the trailer into an acceptable office, and the computer system was up and running and tied into the station. He changed the door lock and installed secure filing cabinets to store sensitive material. The APPD didn’t have the budget for all new furniture. The desks and chairs looked like they had been salvaged from a thrift store, but they were functional.
Noah stopped at the store, made a few purchases, and once unboxed, the mugs were lined up in front of a new coffeemaker like soldiers—ready to go. The desk drawer already held a stash of protein bars, and water bottles were stocked in the small fridge. Priorities.
Dickinson finished setting up a long table in the secondary office and spread out the evidence boxes and reports. She was reading through the material to familiarize herself with the case.
Noah’s first order of business was to electronically forward the DNA sample to Jessica at Casper’s FSL laboratory.
Eighteen years ago, hair and skin cell samples were collected from the car seat hoping the kidnapper had left evidence. They had matched the child’s hair and toothbrush samples, but there wasn’t anything else left behind. They didn’t find the abductor’s prints on the door handle or the buckle.
Jessica wrote back immediately and told him it wouldn’t take long to complete an analysis. Most of the work involved separating the DNA, but that was already done and digitally recorded. Revisiting old cases and using modern technology to help law enforcement or give families closure was why she worked at FSL and was more than happy to help out.
In the basement of the police station was a storage facility for documents and files that stretched back decades. It took several trips to the trailer and a few hours to go over all the material gathered for the case. Noah refreshed his memory on what attempts to locate the child had been made, and the steps law-enforcement officers had taken. That alone filled countless reports.
The only information worth revisiting was the witness statements. Leslie Taylor had moved the luggage into the motel room, and Joe went to the office. Kendra Plummer and her husband, Ethan, argued next door, and the couple could not hear or see a thing. The young man who worked behind the counter and a businessman who arrived in the parking lot had nothing to add.
“Do you think it’s worth doing a follow-up interview to see if any of the witnesses would remember anything else?” Angie pushed the reports back and rubbed her eyes.
Noah shook his head. “After this long, it’s doubtful.” When his computer chimed, he checked his emails.
After reading the message twice, he leaned back in the chair. “Holy crap.”
With the tone of his voice, Angie spun her chair around. “What’s wrong?”
“Just a second.” He quickly scanned the email and reports once again before grinning. “Information from Jessica at FSL.”
Noah rotated the monitor when she sat beside him. “This is on the child’s grandparents?”
“Angel Taylor would be twenty-two years old by now. If she had submitted her DNA for ancestry tracking, we could contact her. It’s a whole new science that’s gaining ground. However, we don’t know if she’s alive or not.” He opened the family tree. “This is the interesting part.”
The maternal chart showed a couple had married in western Ukraine in 1954, Zoya and Petro Chupryna. They had six children, five boys, and one girl.
“Angela’s mother, listed as Leslie Taylor, but this chart shows Zoya only had one daughter, named Tetyana Chupryna, born in 1970.”
Angie scanned the information and shrugged. “People change their names.”
Noah scrolled and showed her the composition ancestry chart for Angela; 42% percent Ukrainian and, 49% percent eastern Slavic, 9% other.
“I would have to go over the file one more time, but I thought Leslie and Joe Taylor were from Washington D.C., and it appears the father’s side of the family was also from the Soviet Union.”
Angie opened the folders and quickly returned with a photocopy of Noah’s notebook. “According to your notes, they were from Alexandria, Virginia.”
She passed over the photocopy of their driver’s licenses and detailed statements. Noah entered the information into the computer and located Leslie at the same address, but the computer didn’t show any data for Joe.
Noah pulled out his cell phone and dialed the long-distance number. He placed the call on speaker and waited while it rang.
Noah added two hours for the time difference. It would be seven o’clock at night in Virginia.
A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
She had a deep, throaty voice and seemed out of breath. “Leslie Taylor?”
Dickinson slid her cell phone beside his and activated the voice recorder. He nodded in approval. It was best to keep a record of all the conversations, something he should have thought of beforehand.
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“This is Detective Noah Hunter from Arrow Point Police Department. Do you have a moment?”
There were a few seconds of silence, and then they heard a sharp draw of breath. “Is this about my daughter?”
“Yes, is your husband available? I want to go over some information with both of you if possible.”
There was a moment of silence before she continued. “Joe passed away two years ago.”
“My condolences, Mrs. Taylor.”
Angie sat down at the desk and worked on the computer while listening.
“I’m not able to confirm. However, we may have information that leads me to believe Angela is alive.”
“Oh, my God.” Leslie cried into the phone, and her sobs tore at Noah’s heartstrings.
“I have re-opened the case, and I’ll keep you informed of any details as they arrive.”
“Thank you.”
There was an awkward moment of silence, and Angie cleared her throat. “Mrs. Taylor, this is Sergeant Dickinson. Is it okay to ask a few questions?”
Leslie paused to blow her nose away from the phone. “Sorry about that. The news hit me rather hard after all these years. Anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“First, have you recalled any other details on the day of the abduction that may be of assistance?”
“Joe and I went over this a hundred times. Sorry, I can’t be of more help.”
Noah turned his monitor and tapped the ancestry chart on the screen.
“I had another question.” Dickinson made sure her phone was recording before she continued. “When did you change your name from Tetyana Chupryna?”
The moment of silence stretched on for fifteen seconds.
“Mrs. Taylor?”
Noah leaned forward, and he thought he could hear muttering on the other end.
“That’s a long story. I wish I could talk about—”
After they heard the click, Angie reached for the cell phone, “Disconnected.”
Noah quickly redialed the number, and it rang a few times before the call disconnected once again. On the next attempt, they heard a computer recording, “The number you have reached is no longer in service.”
Angie turned off the voice recorder, and the trailer filled with the sound of Noah’s fingers as he drummed the death march on the desk.
*****
IT TOOK LESLIE A FEW seconds to realize she was talking to dead air. She tried to call the detective back, but there wasn’t a ring tone.
The lines were down.
She dug in her purse, pulled out her cell, and tried to look up the Arrow Point Police Department’s phone number, but there wasn’t a signal. The internet wasn’t working on her laptop, either.
Leslie tried to slow her breathing and control the rapid pounding of her heart against her ribs. She glanced around her small home and made a decision.
She ran upstairs to the bedroom and changed out of her work clothes. Once dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she pulled her long blond hair into a ponytail and grabbed a navy-blue ballcap.
“Am I doing the right thing?” Leslie closed her eyes and thought about what was at stake. After a slow breath in, she listened to her heart. Nothing else mattered but her daughter. Leslie flicked the exhaust fan switch in the guest bathroom before darting downstairs.
She slipped on a pair of running shoes and a hooded sweatshirt from the front hall closet. She pulled down a heavy green backpack from the top shelf and emptied her purse on the couch. The money from her wallet and the spare change went into the pocket of her jeans.
Leslie took two steps away and, with a change of heart, she opened her wallet and removed a small picture from the plastic sleeve. A brief smile lit up her face, and she placed the photo in the front center pocket of the backpack. With a last look at her credit cards, bank card, and driver’s license, she left them all behind.
She still had time until it was dark outside. There was no point in leaving early. It didn’t take long to make a few roast beef sandwiches and place two water bottles in the pack before she sat at the kitchen table and waited.
Once the sun had set, Leslie slipped out the back door and disappeared into the streets of Alexandria.
Her cell phone sat on the kitchen table, next to her wedding ring and a red, White House identification security badge.