Somewhere, Someone Must Have Seen Something

"Speak now." She felt her husband's nudge at her elbow, but the cameras' glare kept her attention on the flashing lights.

"Go ahead, Monica, speak now," someone said.

She drew a breath and twisted the hankie in her lap, trying to gather the courage to speak.

"My name is Monica Hawkins, and this is my husband, Thomas. Our little girl Mandy is missing. It's been two days now, and I miss her so much." Monica took a deep breath in. Her tongue dragged across the roof of her mouth. Breathing through her nose made it worse. She needed a drink. Her head was splitting. Monica inhaled again, and the dryness in her throat caused her to cough. She kept swallowing so she wouldn't vomit, but the dryness was distracting; she couldn't think straight. Thomas touched her hand, the coldness surprising, and she glanced at him.  Someone put a glass of water in front of her. She drank.

"I want to talk to the person or persons who have my little girl. Please don't hurt her. Please bring her back, she's only five years old. She's never been away from home, and I know she's scared, but if you bring her back unharmed, God will forgive you. We'll forgive you. Please, please, bring her back." 

Thomas reached across the table and took the microphone in hand. "Whoever you are, we don't care; just bring her home. If, for some reason, you are angry with us, okay, but don't take it out on our little girl. Please bring her back. I beg you."

The news media pounced when the last word came out of his mouth. The couple rushed out the side door with Sgt. Dillard, who knew Thomas from the local bowling league. The two were friendly, but Dillard always thought there was something off about Tom. He seemed like a nice enough guy on the outside, but he was a bit too slick for Dillard's liking.

The detectives thanked the Hawkins for coming in to do the media piece and assured them this would help get the word out to the public. "Somewhere, someone must have seen something," was the thought.

The police canvassed the neighborhood, spoke to everyone, and left a business card for those not home. They checked the sex offenders lists and talked to all persons of interest. They had no leads, and no one had seen a thing except for Mrs. Bullard next door to the Hawkins.

She claimed she saw Mandy playing out in the front yard alone on the afternoon of her disappearance. She said Mrs. Hawkins did not come out to check on her that she noticed. She claimed to have seen some sort of a van parked across the street earlier in the day. She took no notice and couldn't describe the van or the driver to the detectives. Maybe it was dark blue. She was a kind lady with a hand-carved bird pick in her hair. She offered the officers tea, but they declined; they had to get back to work.

When they asked Mrs. Hawkins about the van, she claimed she hadn't seen one, and no, she didn't check on Mandy because it was a safe neighborhood and her neighbors always had an eye out. The truth was that Monica was passed out drunk on the couch, and she had no idea where Mandy was.

Around 3:30 that afternoon, Monica called her friend Louie and asked him to buy a quart of Jack at Al's Liquor store. Monica had been barred from Al's, and he wouldn't let her in the front door, let alone sell her liquor. She told Louie she would come right over with the money. She and Louie did a couple of shots, and Monica left for home. When she arrived, she told Alexa to play Tom Petty. Two shots later, she cranked the music and called Deb.

"Hey asshole, whatcha doing? Yeah, well, c'mon over, and let's party. Bring some booze. I'm getting low. Yeah, yeah, I'll get you next time."

It was after midnight when Deb called her brother for a ride. Monica was passed out on the couch.

Tom came home at 2 am after leaving the Quik-Stop Motel, where he and Rosetta spent time getting to know each other better. He called Monica to say he would be late, but she didn't pick up, and he left a message.

When he got home, he assumed Mandy was in bed, and Monica, as usual, was passed out on the couch. 

Monica told the police, yes, it was true, she had a couple of drinks, her friend came over, and they had a few drinks. Monica said she fed Mandy and put her to bed but couldn't recall what time or what she ate.

Deb said she went over for drinks around 6 and just assumed Mandy was in bed.

"Yeah, she had a lot to drink by then, but Monica can hold her liquor. I didn't have no reason to think Mandy wasn't in bed."

The following day was Saturday. Tom got up to make Mandy's breakfast and noticed she was gone. He panicked, rousted Monica up out of a stupor, and yelled at her, and she got angry and yelled back, and the ensuing argument lasted another 20 minutes.

It wasn't easy reporting the incident to the police while maintaining they were good parents and something awful had happened to them, innocent victims. Tom did most of the explaining in the living room while Monica poured herself a shot in the kitchen. To "steady her nerves," she told the policewoman.

Dillard's theory was that Tom had sold the kid on the black market to get money to pay off his gambling debt. It was well known Tom gambled above his means. The guys on the bowling team volunteered stories about the bookie who was always looking for Tom. If Tom missed a league night, it was probably because the bookie was looking for him.

Dillard's boss leaned toward Monica as the guilty party. Her money said the mother did something to the kid to get back at the father for his infidelity and because he was an all-around shit husband and father. Or, maybe, she didn't want the kid around anymore because it interfered with her drinking. Or, perhaps the kid was kidnapped or wandered off, and the mother didn't notice because she was drunk. In any scenario, she was a shit mother.

Tom and Monica garnered no sympathy from the police.

The days passed, and after the first 48 hours, the hope of finding the little girl diminished significantly. But the police wouldn't give up yet. Leads came up and were researched but to no avail. Several people were called in for questioning, including Monica and Tom, who cried and insisted they were innocent.

The day came when the consensus was that Tom had done the deed and he was to be arrested. He was the prime suspect. His answers didn't add up, and his alibi was no good. He said he was with a woman from the bar named Rosetta, with whom he went to the motel. No, he didn't know her last name. No, he didn't know her address or phone number. The police couldn't find any witnesses at the bar to vouch for Tom, and the bartender said he couldn't remember any woman because Tom was always talking with one chick or another. He hadn't seen anyone matching that description since then, either. He apologized; he didn't pay any attention and couldn't help them.

The guy at the motel didn't see any woman matching the description the police gave him, and he couldn't say for sure he even saw Tom; he was watching the playoffs on TV. He didn't pay any attention, and the guy paid in cash.

The police didn't see his name in the register, so he must have used a false name - "they do that sometimes" said the clerk.

Monica began to doubt Tom's story. Maybe he did do something to Mandy. He certainly owed enough money in gambling debts. He had taken a second mortgage on the house and was desperate to keep up with the payments. Maybe he was at his wit's end.

As the police dragged Tom out in handcuffs, he gave Monica one last look. He knew when she didn't defend him that she was the guilty one. She must have become so jealous that, in a drunken rage, she murdered their baby.

The room down the hall was decorated in pink and white. A lush canopy bed with billowy white and pink curtains surrounding soft bedding with large pink and white throw pillows and puffs awaited the princess.

A reading nook contained all her favorite books in one corner, with a table and chairs and teddy bears and dolls. In another corner was a rocking chair on a soft white rug. The white bureau with a mirror held a comb, brush, and trinkets for her hair. A toy chest containing everything a child could ever want was beside the bureau.

As Tom got in the police car, Mrs. Bullard pulled the curtain back slightly. She turned to the little girl sitting in the overstuffed chair with Mittens, the cat, curled up beside her and smiled. 

Mandy went to the child's table spread with homemade cookies and pretended to pour tea from a beautiful teapot. "Will you have some tea, Mrs. Bullard?"

"Why yes, Mandy, I will thank you."

A year later, Dillard was driving a patrol car down Parker Road. Arthur asked his partner, "Hey, did they ever find that little girl that went missing? She lived on this street, right"?

No, Dillard replied, "They never found the girl. The mother got killed in an auto accident, if I remember right. I don't know what happened to the father; he moved I think. He owed a lot of money - big-time gambler; the bookies were after him. But we had to let him go, no body, no real evidence. Sad story. The whole neighborhood went to shit. Even that nice lady, Mrs. Bullard, moved out."

"Hey, you wanna get some lunch?"