Trapped. Chris Jordan

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СКАЧАТЬ why we’re issuing a Be On The Lookout. Your daughter’s photograph and description will be circulated throughout the tri-state area. Local police, county police, state police, within the hour they’ll know to be on the lookout for Kelly Garner.”

      “What about TV news?”

      He leans back in his chair, touching his prayerful fingers to his plump and dimpled chin. “We can’t compel the media to run the story, but they will get the BOLO, and then it’s up to them. Absent any indication that she’s been abducted, they may or may not use it.”

      “What about an AMBER Alert?”

      Berg sighs. He’s been waiting for that question, and he’s ready with an answer. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garner, the AMBER system has been effective precisely because it’s reserved for child abduction cases. Your daughter left home on her own accord. There’s no indication of abduction. I really do expect she’ll call you as soon as the excitement wears off.”

      “She did call!” I say, exasperated. “She’s in trouble, I could hear it in her voice. I’m sorry I don’t know the boyfriend’s last name—I feel really stupid about that, okay?—but that doesn’t mean this isn’t an emergency.”

      More sympathetic nods from the detective. “Of course it doesn’t. The fact is, we are treating this as an emergency. Believe me, all police officers take this kind of thing seriously. Many have daughters of their own. They know what you’re going through, Mrs. Garner. You can be sure they’ll study the BOLO and they will in fact be very much on the lookout. As I said before, if you had a probable destination, or a point of origin, or a make and model of a motor vehicle or motorcycle, we could start from there.”

      “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid.” No matter how hard I try, another spasm of weeping comes along every few minutes. Detective Berg has thoughtfully provided a box of tissues and my lap is full of wadded-up Kleenex.

      “You’re not stupid, Mrs. Garner,” he assures me. “Believe me, the parent is often the last to know. And if this guy your daughter is seeing is over eighteen, as you suspect, he might even face charges.”

      “I don’t care about that. I just want her back, safe and sound.” “Of course. But there are legal ramifications. Let me read you the statute,” he says, picking up a card from the desk. “If the victim is under fifteen and the perpetrator is at least eighteen, this constitutes a second degree sexual offense. However, if the defendant is less than four years older than the victim, this may constitute an affirmative defense.’”

      “What’s an ‘affirmative defense’?”

      Berg reads from the back of the card. “‘Affirmative defenses are those in which the defendant introduces evidence which negates criminal liability.’”

      “Meaning he gets away with it? Taking advantage?”

      The detective shrugs. “The legal age of consent in the state of New York is seventeen. Your daughter is sixteen, so it depends on how much older he is. If he’s thirty, he can and probably will be prosecuted. If he’s twenty or under, probably not, unless your daughter testifies that he forced himself on her.”

      “Oh God.” The whole thing feels like it’s spinning out of control. All this talk about criminal liability and prosecutable offenses, all I want is for Kelly to be okay. And I want every cop in the known universe out looking for my daughter. I want them a lot more proactive than Be On The Lookout.

      “I told you the boy is a pilot. Can’t he be traced that way? Can’t I look at pictures, pick him out?”

      “You already have a photo of the guy,” he reminds me. “We’ll post it with the BOLO.”

      “A picture but no name. Can’t you like run it through a computer or something?”

      Berg chuckles. “Like on TV? Face-recognition software isn’t that precise, not in the real world. Plus, you’d have to get access to the right database. But there might be someone who can help.” He rummages around in a desk drawer, hands me a card. “Never met this guy, but he comes highly recommended.”

      I check out the business card. Just a name, title and phone number. Nothing fancy. “Says here he’s retired,” I say, feeling stunned.

      The friendly, sympathetic detective is passing me off to some geezer.

      “He’s not a real cop,” I point out.

      “Don’t let him hear that, these retired guys get very offended.” Berg stands up. The interview is over. He’s palming me off, passing me along. “Get me a name, Mrs. Garner. A last name for this bad boy who ran off with your daughter. Give us a place to start and we’ll do the rest.”

      He shows me the door.

       10. Girl Talk

      First thing I do when I get home is call Kelly’s best friend, Sierra Wavell. I’m thinking I should have called her first, before reporting Kelly missing. Call the girlfriend, that should have been obvious. If I’d been thinking straight. Which, admittedly, I’m not.

      I’m instantly bumped to her voice mail, which means her cell is already engaged, no surprise.

      “Sierra? This is Jane Garner, Kelly’s mom. Please call me when you get this. It’s an emergency, Sierra. Please?”

      I leave my number, enunciating slowly.

      Next task is Kelly’s computer. Seth will be on there somewhere. Name or number. Something to work with. Something to give the cops.

      My computer skills are, by the standards of your average ten-year-old, modest. I know how to work my spreadsheet software, how to send and receive e-mails, even, with Kelly’s coaching, how to download digital photographs from my little Nikon, which comes in handy for taking pictures of first fittings. I know how to search for stuff on Google, all of it business related—fabrics, suppliers, manufacturers and so on. I have a pretty good understanding of how computerized cutting and sewing machines operate, how the information is fed in one end and the complete item comes out the other.

      That’s pretty much it. A recreational computer person I am not. I don’t game or chat or role-play. If I have an hour to myself I’d rather read a book, or, if my brain is really stressed, veg out watching one of my shows.

      So I don’t know how to write code or mess with the hardware or hack into encrypted programs. Which means I’m able to open Kelly’s e-mail program, but I can’t get into the files where she actually keeps her saved mail. Files marked with enticing names like Girltalk, Junk-o-la, Facers, S-man.

      Girltalk. Very clever, my daughter. This will be where she keeps all the gossipy stuff. And every time I click on the file it comes up File locked, enter code. Which I would gladly do if I knew the code.

      I try Kelly’s birthday.

      

       Log-in did not complete for the following reason(s):

       Log-in Information Is Missing Or Invalid

      I try her never-to-be-mentioned middle name. (Edith, my mother’s name—there I said it. Kelly Edith Garner. Live with it.)

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