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the chair. For some inexplicable reason, which I have not quite figured out, he turned a green oil rag into a sloppy blindfold.
But I’ve already seen your face. Your beady black-eyed, puffy face of patchy stubbles and poor complexion
.
    I was taken that fast. I was taken for turning right. I was attacked from my left.
    He closed the umbrella, flung it to the back of the van, collected his gun, and hunched his way up to the driver’s seat. All of which I did not see, but felt or heard, in the micro-filaments in the air, in the micro-decibels suspended on fractions of timing. It is these subatomic particles that now crowd my memory in cycles.
    “Where are you taking me?” I yelled to him.
    He said nothing.
    “How much do you want? My parents will pay. Please let me go.”
    “We don’t want your money, bitch. You’re going to deliver that baby for us, and I’m going to throw you in a quarry with the rest of you worthless girls. Now shut the fuck up or I swear I’ll fucking kill you right now. I don’t need any shit. Do you hear me?!”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Do you fucking hear me?!”
    “Yes.”
    And those were the facts. I put my foot on the backpack to prevent it from sliding away.

CHAPTER TWO
S PECIAL A GENT R OGER L UI
    I was fifteen years with the FBI by the time they doled out case number 332578, the Dorothy M. Salucci case. Child abduction cases my lot, and such a miserable life it made. As for Dorothy M. Salucci, her case remains the hardest case of my career to overcome. Ultimately, because of her, I quit the FBI. Fifteen years of hell is enough.
    I may as well start from the start.
    On March 1, 1993, I got a call about a pregnant teen, taken outside her school. This case fit a pattern of cases I had been working over the last year: pregnant teen, married parents, between six to eight months along, Caucasian. The difficulty with these cases is the initial misperception that the child has run away. Statistically speaking, a whopping 1.3 million teens run away each year, a high percentage of which are due to unwanted pregnancies. This statistic means critical evidence is squandered and resources flag in a matter of days, actually hours, worse, minutes, seconds.
    In the Dorothy M. Salucci case, we had a boyfriend and two married and seemingly supportive parents insisting Dorothy had not run away. I profiled the picture of the blond girl, noted her high grades and honor student status, interviewed the family and boyfriend, and determined the case required my full attention.
    On the first day of the investigation, I arrived around ten a.m. to begin interviews and fieldwork. This was unfortunately not until the day after the kidnapping. The scenario: parents came home from work→ no child→ called police→ searched all night→ calledall friends all night→ she didn’t return by morning→ FBI alerted→ case lands on my desk. I, along with the local police and my partner, canvassed the entire school searching for anyone who might have seen anything on the morning she vanished. It was the morning, we knew, because her father stated that he woke Dorothy before leaving for work. The principal confirmed she had not shown for school, and due to a serious mix-up, no one called the parents. Fingers were pointed. There was evidence Dorothy had eaten breakfast, and her car was in the garage. Incidentally, the father’s co-workers and videotape of his place of business confirmed his arrival at work at 7:32 a.m. He appeared unruffled and normal. I did not suspect the father.
    The mother’s firm confirmed her arrival as punctual as well; she arrived at 6:59 a.m., according to the security guard who logged all arrivals and departures. Video of the mother at McDonald’s, where she stopped for coffee, showed nothing other than a normal drive-thru transaction and commute to work. My partner and I studied the tape of her humming a song to herself and fixing her lipstick in the rearview mirror, daydreaming and