“Pick up the phone,” she told Kevin. “Keep them talking as long as you can.”
Kevin was nervous, but anxious to pick up the phone before the caller hung up.
“Hello?”
“Kevin, this is Jennifer’s mother. What’s going on?”
The detective took off her headset and pressed the “stop” button on the recorder.
Kevin announced to the room: “It’s Jennifer’s mom.” Returning to the phone receiver he said, “Can we call you back later?”
Kevin looked at the clock on the living room wall. It was 5:30. Ellen had been kidnapped an hour ago. It seemed like a week to Kevin. He would give anything to be able to hug his little girl again.
Through the living room window, Kevin saw that his neighbors had begun to gather on the sidewalk outside, near the police cars parked in front of Kevin’s house.
“Do they know?” he asked.
“They don’t know Ellen’s been kidnapped,” the detective said. “For now, the fewer who know the better. We don’t want to spook the kidnappers.”
Kevin liked his Dutch neighbors and knew they were concerned with all the police activity. Ellen had been a familiar sight in the neighborhood, racing around on her scooter or her bike. In Holland, much more than in America, neighbors looked out for one another.
Detective Weber went to confer with the other officers, while Diane used a cell phone to call Jennifer’s mom.
The minutes passed painfully slow for Kevin as he sat in the living room. He stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. He didn’t know what to say to Diane. It was all his fault – she knew it, and so did he.
Detective Weber came into the living room. “Mr. Anderson, we’d like your consent to search your house. It’s standard procedure in these types of cases. There might be a scrap of paper or something that might help us find your daughter.”
“Go right ahead,” Kevin replied. He felt very comfortable with this detective. She showed him a consent form in Dutch and translated it to them in English. Kevin and then Diane signed and dated it.
Detective Weber put the form in her folder. Kevin heard other officers heading up the stairs. It occurred to him that twice in the last six months law enforcement officers had searched their home. Kevin didn’t care; he’d do anything to get Ellen back.
The detective pulled out another form. “We’d like to take a taped statement from you,” she said to Kevin. “This consent form advises you of your right to remain silent, to have an attorney, and informs you that anything you say can be used against you.”
Kevin knew the Miranda warnings by heart. As he signed the form, a signal of caution crept into his brain. “Am I a suspect?” he asked.
Detective Weber paused. “Everyone is a suspect until we eliminate him or her. We don’t want another Jon Benet Ramsey case here in The Netherlands.”
He shuddered at the mention of the little girl found murdered in her home. Her parents had become suspects mostly because they had refused to speak to the police.
But Kevin wasn’t concerned about himself. He wanted to do everything in his power to help Ellen. He signed the form.
Then, the phone rang.
Everyone froze again for an instant before quickly moving into position.
Detective Weber activated the tape player and gave Kevin the signal to pick up.
“Hello,” Kevin said, his voice sounding hopeful.
“Mr. Anderson, this is Reuter’s News Service. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve a report that your daughter has been kidnapped.”
Kevin’s shoulders sagged. “Hold on one moment.” He covered the mouthpiece and said to the others “Reuter’s News Service.” He saw Diane’s face fall.
Kevin wanted to ask the officers what he should do. “Let me have your name and number and I’ll call you right back.”
“But can you confirm there’s been a kidnapping?”
“I can’t confirm anything. Give me your name and number.”
The reporter complied and Kevin hung up. “Now what?”
“Get ready for a media circus,” said Detective Weber, pulling the front curtains shut. “We’ll need some more people out here, and some crowd barriers.”
“Will this spook the kidnappers?”
“I don’t know. It was inevitable, though. You’d better prepare yourself for a lot of publicity.”
Kevin felt shaky. He didn’t want to say anything that might hurt Ellen. “I’ll just let your people talk to the press.”
A few minutes later, Kevin began answering Detective Weber’s questions on tape. During the interview, the phone rang three times with calls from reporters.
Kevin began to feel foolish as he played the tapes for Detective Weber of his conversations with William Evans and Pete Barnes. He was an idiot for playing games with the CIA. He should have left everything alone. Draga was a big boy. He’d known the risks of doing business with the CIA. Now, Kevin had put his own daughter in jeopardy.
“I got caught up fighting for my client. I never expected consequences like these.”
“Have you received any other threats?” asked the detective.
“Not really. The Serbs are upset with me because they don’t think I’m defending Draga aggressively enough. But I’ve received no direct threats from them.”
“After hearing those tapes, I would say that lack of aggressiveness is not one of your problems,” Detective Weber responded with a slight smile.
When the detective finished asking him questions, Kevin walked over to the front window. He peeked around the curtains. News crews were setting up their equipment, their lights illuminating the Andersons front door. It was 7:30, and there had been no word from the kidnappers.
“Where is my daughter?” he asked no one in particular as he looked past the camera crews into the dark night.
“Ellen, my sweet girl, where are you?”
CHAPTER 19
There were no lights illuminating the old farmhouse where three adults and a young girl sat around a beat-up wooden kitchen table.
“You’ll be staying here for awhile,” one of the men said in English.
Ellen kept her eyes down, staring at the table. She was scared, and she wanted her mother and father.
“Don’t try anything and no one will hurt you.”
She had screamed when the men grabbed her from her bike and carried her into the van. She had tried punching, kicking, and biting, but she could not get away from the stronger men. They had told her that if she kept struggling they would have to tie her up. After that, she had sat quietly in the backseat of the van, between the two men.
The van had sped quickly onto the highway, and then gotten off the next exit. It soon came to a stop on a residential street. The men carried Ellen out of the white van and into a black van. She had sat in the back seat of this van for what seemed like an hour as the driver, a woman, took them through several small towns and finally to a rural area with farms, cows, and lots of grass.
Ellen had cried until she was drained. The kidnappers had spoken in Dutch among themselves, but it was beyond Ellen’s simple understanding of the language. When the tears had stopped, Ellen had pulled herself in like a tortoise in a shell.
Now, sitting around the kitchen table as the two men smoked marijuana, Ellen finally got the courage to speak.
“Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?”
The woman looked at Ellen. “This is not about you. It’s about your father.”
“When do I get to go home?”
“That depends on him.”
“Do I have to sleep here tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me. I’ll show you your room.”
She led Ellen to a bedroom at the end of the hall. It was a plain room with a single bed in the corner and a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. The walls were bare, and badly in need of a paint job.