Crystal lived at the Regency Arms apartments in a second-floor corner unit, minutes from the park where Joey disappeared. Despite its impressive name, the aging complex had seen better days. Curls of paint peeled from window frames and trim, and the siding buckled with dents and tears in the green vinyl. On the landing, at the threshold of unit 209, sat a battered Big Wheel and two pairs of flip-flops, one small enough for a four-year-old.
When we arrived just before ten thirty that morning, David, flanked by two detectives, pointed to the side walkway. I nodded and, as we’d planned, made my way around, taking a position on the balcony that ran along the side of Crystal’s apartment. I had my Colt .45 drawn and ready, just in case. Once I was in position, David pounded on the door and shouted, “Mrs. Warner, open up. It’s Special Agent Garrity, with the FBI.”
There was scuffling inside, and then someone cracked open the apartment door. In a single breath, it slammed shut. “We have a warrant for your daughter’s arrest,” David shouted. “Open up and stand back, Mr. Farris. Open up and stand back. Now!”
A pause, and again the door eased open. I heard David talking and caught a glimpse of him walking with the detectives inside, then I heard a window inching open. Planting my feet, I waited, my gun aimed at the source of the scraping sound. Cocking my head to the right for a better view, I saw four smallish hands straining to push the window farther up. Once it reached the top, a trim bare ankle slipped through, the body of the person it belonged to still hidden behind a dingy beige curtain.
“Now, go to Aunt Helen’s and wait for us there,” a woman’s voice whispered. “Don’t forget or get any other ideas in your head.”
“Shut up, Mom,” Crystal said, seething. “You never believe it, but I know what I’m doing.”
Slowly an arm and a leg appeared, then a face, her neck craning to the left, checking to see if the proverbial coast was clear, until she turned right and stared directly at me. Eyeing my gun barrel, Crystal let out a yelp and then lurched back into the apartment. After that, all was nervously quiet.
“Come on out, Mrs. Warner,” I ordered. “This time, all the way!”
A moment passed, then her arm and leg appeared again, followed by her upper body. Appearing uncertain, she cocked her head to the side and glared at me. I felt as if I could hear her thinking, considering possibilities, not realizing she didn’t have any.
“Agent Garrity is inside, so there’s no way out. You might as well climb out here, onto the balcony, Mrs. Warner,” I ordered again, this time motioning with my gun to stress the direction I wanted her to exit and the wisdom of complying. At first, I thought the standoff was over. Then somehow the threat my message carried appeared to escape her. Suddenly, Crystal slid all but her left leg back inside.
“Stop!” I ordered, moving forward until I could see her inside the apartment. Looking directly at her, I ordered again, “Out here, now!”
By then, I heard David shouting from somewhere inside, “Do as the lieutenant ordered, Mrs. Warner. All the way out of the window onto the balcony. Move it. Now!”
This time, Crystal did as instructed, slipping the rest of the way out until she stood firmly on the concrete balcony, nervous, waiting.
“Hands up, and turn and face the brick wall,” I ordered, and slowly, reluctantly, she complied. One of the two detectives moved in quickly, grabbing Crystal’s trembling hands and pulling them together, anchoring them in place behind her back with handcuffs, then giving her a quick search.
When we had her safely secured, I shouted at David, “Everything okay in there?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Bring her to the front door.”
By the time the three of us arrived, Crystal leading the pack, David waited. He had the second detective inside the apartment, watching over Crystal’s parents. “Well, Mrs. Warner,” David said, “thank you for giving us another charge to level against you. Fleeing arrest is always a quality addition.”
“My lawyer warned me not to talk to you,” she said.
“That’s okay,” David said. “This is one of the times when I don’t mind doing all the talking.” With that, he began reading her Miranda. “You have the right…”
When he finished, he ordered one of the deputies, “Take her downstairs to the squad. Transport her to Lockwood and hold her in lockup. We’ll get the CSI unit going on the new search warrant and meet you there.”
The deputy grabbed Crystal by the crook of the arm and did as instructed while we walked inside the apartment, where bent blinds and stained curtains hung heavy, filtering the light. Danny and Ginny sat on a careworn, tan corduroy couch, his arm around her and her hands over her eyes, crying.
“What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough to us?” she screamed. “Get out of here! Leave us alone!”
Ignoring the woman’s pleas, David moved forward and ordered her to stand up. “Your daughter is under arrest, and you’re lucky we’re not taking you in for trying to help her escape,” he said. “And we have a search warrant for the premises. One of our officers will escort you downtown. We’d like to ask you both more questions.”
Crystal’s parents appeared bewildered, as if neither had envisioned the possibility of such a turn of events. “We don’t have anyplace to go,” Danny said. “We were staying here with Crystal, through the hurricane.”
“What about your house?” David asked.
“It’s a mobile, double-wide,” Danny said. “The management at the RV park suggested we all get out.”
While David talked to the Farrises, telling them again they’d have to vacate until after the apartment was searched and released, I wanted a good look around before CSI moved in. I circulated slowly, finding traces of Joey visible in every room. In a corner of the living room sat a plastic laundry basket filled with toys: Lego’s Star Wars, Thomas the Tank Engine, Diego, and SpongeBob. Next to the basket waited a riderless rocking horse, painted black and white like Emma Lou, Maggie’s pinto. I nudged David. “The toys are still out,” I whispered. He looked at me, puzzled at first, but then glanced around and shot me a wary look.
“Why are you doing this?” Ginny asked, cheeks flushed and tears streaming. Danny shook his head, still in disbelief. That his daughter might be arrested was incomprehensible. While her husband remained speechless, she turned to me and charged, “Are you here because we embarrassed you on TV? Are you getting even?”
Although tempted to confront her, I ignored the question, turned my back, and walked farther into the apartment. Next to the couch, more toys were stowed in a bright blue vinyl box, and in the kitchen, a small plastic picnic table with child-size benches was topped by a single dinosaur place mat, as if waiting for Joey to eat his lunch.
The bathroom was cramped and cluttered, but a pile of plastic containers nested beside the tub, ready for warm soapy water to be poured from one to the other, and a bottle of SpongeBob bubble bath waited on the sink. In the first bedroom, I found a queen-size mattress with bright yellow sheets and suitcases on the floor, leading me to believe that the Farrises were bunking there. The sheets were disheveled, thrown off to the side, the bed unmade. The second bedroom had one twin bed, also consisting of simply a mattress on the floor. Yet it was immaculately made, the sheets and blanket pulled up over the pillows, and a knobby-jointed Woody from the Toy Story movies had been lovingly placed on the pillow. To the right lay a pile of blankets and a pillow, where it appeared Crystal, who’d given up her bed to her parents, was spending the nights. Is she feeling too guilty to sleep in the kid’s bed? I wondered. Or is she keeping it pristine for his return? Joey’s clothes hung in the closet, toddler three and four shorts and jeans and small T-shirts with comic book characters on the front. I fingered a pair of cotton pajamas covered with trucks that hung from a hook inside the closet door and thought about the little boy who might never again wear them.
In the living room, David escorted the Farrises outside, explaining again that they had to leave the apartment so forensics could work and that they could follow the squad cars to Lockwood, where he wanted to take statements from both of them.
“There won’t be any statements. This is harassment,” Danny warned, his face glowing so red-hot that I had no doubt his heart was beating double time. “We’re calling our lawyer.”
“Tell him to meet us at the sheriff’s department, major crimes,” David suggested. “There’s room enough for all of you there.”