Missing Person #7

Kathy came back in the room with tonight’s dinner, Italian pasta with chicken. As we ate, I told Kathy about Anne and her missing sister.

“A strange man came to Sarah and Bill Salas’s apartment building two days ago, forced them both into a car, and took them away,” I explained. “Today, the man let Bill go and told him to get a half a million dollars, or he would kill Sarah.”

“And how did you get mixed up in all this?” Kathy asked.

“Sarah’s sister Anne is my student at USC. She asked me to lend her a hand, and I said ‘yes’.”

“So who do you think the kidnappers could be?” she asked.

“Well, Bill and Anne gave me the names of two ex-employees of Pardo Computers. I am going to see one of them tonight.” 

“Where does this person work?” Kathy asked.

“He now works at a strip club near the airport.”

“He’s not the person who took Sarah,” Kathy said confidently. 

“Why do you say that? I haven’t even talked to him yet,” I said, surprised.

“Trust me. The man you want is smart, very smart. Smart men don’t work at strip clubs.” 

Kathy was probably right. I thanked her for the wonderful dinner, and told her I would call her tomorrow if I found out anything. Even though I trust Kathy’s judgment, I decided to go visit this former employee anyway, just to be sure he wasn’t the one who took Sarah.

I drove my car down La Brea. Suddenly I heard an emergency announcement on the police scanner in my car. The radio picks up all of the police communication in the city. I had it put into my car so I could hear any important police action related to my cases. I immediately pulled over and cranked up the volume.

There was an accident on the freeway involving a black Mercedes. The woman in the car was hurt. I listened closely to the name as the radio operator gave the details: young Latina female, age 22, name--Anne Pardo.

Missing Person #6

I drove Bill and Anne back to Sarah and Bill’s apartment building to drop them both off there. Anne had left her car there, so she could drive herself home. I told them to call me if anything new came up. 

“Thanks for your help today, Dr. Reeves.” Anne said. “I know you’ll help us find my sister.” She gave me a big, long hug. 

I didn’t linger there with Anne, as much as I wanted to reassure her that things would work out. I needed to talk to an old friend, Kathy Chang, about what happened today. We were supposed to have dinner at 5:30 p.m. at her apartment, and it was already 5:20. Kathy hates it when I’m late.

I drove to Kathy’s apartment and I snagged a parking spot in front of her building. It was 5:45 p.m. and I was late. I knocked on the door, and Kathy let me in.

“You’re late, Darren--as usual,” Kathy said. 

I knew I was late, but Kathy and I have known each other for many years. I didn’t want to hear about all of the other times I was late, so I changed the subject. “I’m glad to see you, too, Kathy. What are we having for dinner?”

“Dinner? You come late and now you want dinner?” she replied. “How much are you willing to pay me?” She had one of her inviting smiles on her face.

“All I have is yours,” I said jokingly. I think I broke the ice with that one.

Kathy and I stopped dating over a year ago, but she still likes to pretend that we’re going out. I meet her every week for dinner, and I play along with the joke. Deep down, though, I think she’s still in love with me. I admit I have feelings for her as well. But life keeps interfering…
“Okay, time for dinner. Let’s dig in.” Kathy quickly brushed her long hair back from her face, got up, and went into the kitchen.

Kathy was a reporter for Los Angeles’ biggest television station. She was both very smart and very beautiful. I first met her at a conference in Hawaii about six years ago. She was now my best friend in Los Angeles. One more thing about Kathy: she is a great cook.

“Let’s eat, big guy,” she said. And so we did.

Missing Person #5

“When does he want the money?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. He said he would call me this afternoon and tell me where to make the drop,” Bill said. “He also made it crystal clear that we were not to call the police. If I don’t hand over the money by the deadline, he said he’s going to kill Sarah!” Bill put his face in his hands. He turned to Anne, “Geez, Anne, I don’t know what to do!”

“We’ll get the money, Bill, don’t worry!” Anne said. “You know that my parents left Sarah and me a lot of money when they died.” Anne put her hand on Bill shoulders. 

Anne and Sarah’s parents owned a very large computer company in Los Angeles, Pardo Computers, Inc. When they died a few years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Pardo left their two daughters a very large pile of cash. That’s how Anne got the money to go to USC, and could afford her cell phone, her Mercedes, and her apartment on the beach.

While Anne and Bill comforted each other, I called the young waitress over and asked for another iced tea. She wasn’t very friendly, but then again most waitresses in L.A. aren’t. They all really want to be actresses.

Drinking my tea and thinking about the case, the thought occurred to me that the kidnapper must know Anne and Sarah or at least know that they had a lot of money, and could get it quickly. 

“I know this is a difficult time, Bill,” I interrupted, “but I need to ask you and Anne a few questions. Does your family have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt you?” Anne looked at Bill, and they both began to think.

The two of them spent the next 20 minutes coming up with a list of people who might want to harm them. They got the list down to two prime suspects, both of whom used to work for the Pardo computer business before they were fired. They gave me the names of the two ex-employees. 

“This will be a good place for me to start,” I told them. “Now, you two need to get some rest. I’ll drive you both back to Bill’s apartment.”

“No, Dr. Reeves, I want to go with you!” Anne insisted. I found it very hard to say “no,” but I had to. I needed time to be alone, and to get some advice from an old friend.

“I’m really sorry, Anne,” I apologized, “but you need to rest and I need time to look into these names you gave me.”

“No police!” Bill quickly added. 

“Don’t worry, Bill,” I told him, “there’ll be no police involved. Not yet, anyway”

The three of us got up and started walking toward my car. I had a funny feeling that there was more to this mystery than any of us thought.

Missing Person #4

“We have to go, Dr. Reeves!” Anne said excitedly. “That was Bill on the phone. He is at a restaurant called Cafe Pico. Sarah’s been kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped? Are you sure?” I asked, somewhat incredulously.

“I’m sure. Someone has taken Sarah,” Anne replied. “Bill said that a man is holding her, and he will kill her if we don’t give him the ransom he’s demanding.” Anne was pulling me to the door of the apartment. “Come on! Bill said he will explain at the restaurant.” 

I closed the door to the apartment and followed Anne down the stairs and into my car. The weather was typical for Los Angeles: sunny, 75 degrees, with brown smog covering the city. L.A. is a city of dreams. But for some people, it’s a city of nightmares.

Anne and I drove down Robertson Avenue in my old red Mustang, going around cars as fast as we could without causing a pile-up.

“Where is this cafe again?” I asked her.

“On Robertson and Pico, next to a bookstore,” Anne answered. She was justifiably nervous. You could tell it in her eyes.

Arriving a few minutes later, we found a place to park in front of the bookstore, and walked into the Cafe. Bill was there waiting for us.

“Bill! Oh my God, Bill, what happened?” Anne hugged Bill, who looked tired and worried.

“Oh, this is a friend, Dr. Darron Reeves.” Anne said. “Dr. Reeves, this is Bill. Dr. Reeves is my professor at USC. But he is also a very good detective. When I found out that you and Sarah were missing, I went to him for help.”

“It’s good to meet you, Bill,” I said.

“Um, yeah, I’m glad to meet you, too,” Bill said.

Bill, Anne, and I sat down at a table in front of the cafe. The waitress came to take our order. I asked for a glass of iced tea. I’m a bit of a caffeine addict, truth be told.

“Bill, tell us what happened to Sarah. Is she okay?” Anne asked impatiently.

“Sarah is fine for now,” Bill said. “But for awhile, I thought both of us would be killed. Two days ago, a strange man knocked on our door at the apartment. I opened the door, and before I knew what was happening, he had a gun in my face and was shouting obscenities at me.”

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“He was tall and muscular,” said Bill, “but he wore a ski hat, so I couldn’t see his face very well. He had a mustache, I think. It all happened so fast.” 

“That’s okay. Go on,” I said.

“Well, the man took Sarah and me and put us in a car. He put a small towel around our eyes, tied our legs and hands together, and then drove us to another place. We were forced out of the car and into a small, dingy room.

“We were given food twice a day. I’m not sure how many kidnappers there were holding us there. I heard several voices outside the door, maybe three or four, I’m not sure. Finally this morning, about an hour ago, I was let go, and given a message: If I wanted Sarah to be set free, I had to pay a ransom of $500,000.”

Missing Person #3

I put my hand on my gun, and slowly opened the door wider. I saw nothing. I carefully picked up a towel from the floor. Nothing. “There must be someone in the bathtub,” I thought. 

In one fell swoop, I kicked the shower curtain back. “Don’t move!” I shouted.

Suddenly a little white cat jumped out of the bathtub and scurried between my legs. A cat. I should have known.

“Oh, Jasmine! I forgot about you!” Anne said. The cat looked happy to see her. She took her into the kitchen. I poked around the rest of the bedroom, and then followed Anne into the kitchen.

“Does the cat have any food left in her dish?” I asked.

“It’s almost gone. Poor Jasmine! You must be hungry.” 

“Well, Bill and Sarah haven’t been gone long, we know that.” I walked over to the telephone answering machine and checked their messages. No one had called.

We continued looking through the three-bedroom apartment. There was no sign of any violence, no burglary, no break-in. I checked in the master bedroom, and I saw nothing unusual: a beer bottle, photos of Bill and Sarah’s wedding, some dirty clothes, an old Time magazine. 

Next to the bed on the night table there was a bottle of pills. “Anne, what are these pills for, do you know?”

“I think they’re for Bill’s leg. He messed up his leg playing football in college at USC,” Anne replied.

I put the bottle back on the table and sat down on the bed to think. I had no idea what happened to Anne’s sister and her brother-in-law. They seem to have just disappeared into thin air. They didn’t call anyone. There was no sign of any crime in their apartment. No one at their jobs had seen them for two days. Where could they be?

“Well, Anne, I don’t see anything here to help us. I think we should talk to the police again.”

“But I tried talking to the police, Dr. Reeves! They told me to fill out some forms and wait. They won’t do anything. That’s why I went to you for help!” She began to cry a little.

I stopped and looked at her for a second: God, I thought, this poor kid. Twenty-two, and in such pain. 

“Okay, well, we won’t find anything else here. Let’s go,” I said to her.

Just then I heard a telephone ringing. I turned to the phone on the table, but there was no sound. Then I saw Anne reach inside her purse: it was her cellular phone!

“That’s my cell phone, Dr. Reeves.” Anne said. “Hello?”

I watched Anne’s face as she answered the phone. First it was happy, then worried, then very sad. 

“Right...10 minutes...yes...see you there...bye!” Anne hung up and looked at me in fear.

“That was Bill. Something terrible has happened!

Missing Person #2

I didn’t kill him. 

I didn’t even plan to kill him. I had a gun, but I just wanted to hurt him and stop him from attacking me. I had no idea why this stranger was hitting me, and it was ticking me off.

This morning Anne Prado, one of my students at the University of Southwestern California, came to my office. She said she had a problem and she needed my help. Her sister, Sarah, was missing. We were on our way to Sarah's apartment to find her, when halfway up the front steps of the building, a man ran toward me and started punching me.

I hit the man in the ear. He screamed with pain. He was small, but a tough son-of-a-gun. I stepped back, and hit him hard in the stomach.

“Oh my God!” he moaned. I think I hurt him that time.

I knew he was in pain. I pushed him down to the ground. He fell onto the grass in front of the steps to the apartment building. Now it was my turn to take control.

I stood over him and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?” He didn’t answer. He had a ski hat on, so I couldn’t see his face. 

“Just get the hell away from this apartment building! You’re not welcome here!” he said.

I grabbed him by the shirt, pushed his face into the ground, and put his arm behind his back. He yelled even louder now. I think he was finally ready to stop fighting.

“Now, who are you? Why can’t I go inside the apartment?” I was getting angry and wanted some answers. I saw a few people come out of the apartment building to see what was happening. 

But the man still didn’t say a word. He lifted himself up suddenly, and pushed me away. He looked at me coldly for a second, then ran into the street.

I turned to find Anne to make sure she was okay. “Do you know who he was? Have you seen him before?” I asked.

“No, Dr. Reeves. I don’t come to my sister’s apartment very often. I don’t know who he is.” 

Let me back up a minute: This morning in my office Anne had explained that two days ago, she was supposed to have lunch with her sister, Sarah Salas. When her sister didn’t come to the restaurant, Anne called Sarah’s apartment. There was no answer. 

Anne went to her sister’s apartment right away and knocked on the door, but there was no one home. She called Sarah’s work. Her boss told Anne that Sarah had been missing for two days. So Anne decided to ask me to help find her sister and her sister’s husband, Bill, who was also missing.

Mising Person #1

Some of my students know I’m an amateur detective. Before I became a university professor five years ago, I had a real job. I worked for a security agency that protected private homes, and also important people like famous actors and politicians. I learned a lot about criminals. I had also learned a lot about police work from my father, who was a cop for 34 years.

I had wanted to become a police officer, too. But that was impossible. I got into some trouble when I was a kid. It was a stupid high school trick, but because I was 18-years-old, I was treated like an adult. I was arrested by the police, convicted, and now I have a police record. With a criminal record, I can never be a cop. 

I worked for awhile as a bodyguard. One of my cases was protecting a famous history professor. He and I became friends, he helped me go to college and now I, too, am a professor. 

As I said, when Anne came to see me this morning, I told her I would be happy to help. We came over to the apartment building where Sarah and Bill live, and that’s when this mysterious man tried to stop us from going in. 

“Let’s see if we can get into their apartment and take a look around,” I suggested. 

We walked into the large, white building, and up to the third floor. Anne got an extra key from the apartment manager so we could go in.

“Apartment number 306, Anne?” I asked her.

“Yes. Here’s the key,” she answered.

“Let me open the door.” I took the key from her. I opened the door very slowly. One thing I learned from my work as a bodyguard: Be careful when opening a stranger’s door. You never know what’s behind it.

I opened the door slowly. I went in first, making sure everything was okay before Anne followed. The living room was large and full of expensive things: a big-screen television, a fancy stereo, a CD player, two big, brown leather chairs, and a comfortable-looking sofa. The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment. 

“My God, it smells like beer and cigarettes in here! Bill and Sarah don’t even smoke,” Anne said.

I walked to the back of the apartment, and saw myself in the mirror. I am always surprised at how I look: I’m 42 years old, five feet eleven inches tall, blond hair, average weight. But when I see myself in the mirror, I look 3 inches shorter and 5 years older. 

I checked the windows and the closets on each side of the apartment, and went into the bathroom. Then I saw something move.

I quickly turned to Anne and put my hand up in the air, meaning: “Don’t move.” I put my finger to my lips, telling her to be quiet. 

Someone was in the bathroom.