Part 2: 4 - Monday
At the Sheriff’s Office
Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Last week: Part 2: 3 - Between the Raindrops • Maeve and Todd take a Sunday ride
Part 2 | History is a Pile of Debris
4 - Monday
Deputy Alexander Ocampo
June 13, 1988
El Cajon, California
It was 7:45 AM on Monday morning. Deputy Ocampo’s coffee was not only cold, but it had lost all effect. The weekends he didn’t have his two girls, Rosie and Chanel, he preferred to be at work. It was better to be busy, but this string of long night shifts was hitting him hard, and it wasn’t over yet. They still hadn’t found the Cartwright girl. Dani had been missing for almost 48 hours now—too long.
Ocampo was the first and only person to respond to the call on Saturday morning, but only because he was the only one working in the Dehesa Valley that morning. It was the end of his shift when the BOLO, “be on the lookout”, went out on the radio for Dani Cartwright: a nine-year-old girl with long black hair who might show up at Allen Haven Ranch on Blue Haven Lane in a white Volkswagen Beetle, accompanied by a teenage girl named Barbara Ames, who goes by the name of Barb.
No beetle, but he did find the teen. After questioning Miss Ames, Ocampo filed his reports with the Sheriff’s Office, and also with the La Mesa Police Department. Then he went home. He was confident his buddy Chavez, who was assigned most of the investigations involving children, would find her pretty quickly. More than likely, she was at another child’s house in her neighborhood. And if not, they were sure to find her on a bus within the hour.
The anxiety didn’t hit him until late Saturday afternoon, at which point he gave up his struggle to sleep. All he could think about was that little girl. He couldn’t stop picturing his own girls. The heartbreak of losing his battle to stay married was bad enough. Now he only saw them every other weekend. Those girls were his life, if something happened to one of them, he would die inside.
When Ocampo came into work early that night and checked in with Chavez, his worry was justified. They still hadn’t found Dani. From what Chavez told him, it sounded like the mother had done everything right when her daughter went missing. She called for her, inside and outside the house, she walked the neighborhood and knocked on doors. When the mother called 911 on Saturday morning, Dani had been missing for less than an hour. There’s no waiting period when a child Dani’s age goes missing. Dispatch put the BOLO out on the radio immediately.
The La Mesa Police canvassed the neighborhood and came up empty. They thought maybe she had boarded a different bus when she missed the one Barb took, but when they interviewed both bus drivers with that stop, neither had seen her. They would have noticed a small girl her age boarding alone. None of the shop employees at the strip mall across the street had seen her, either. Chavez himself had interviewed the employees at the Circle K in Dehesa Valley just in case, beyond reason, she did make it out there. No sightings.
Ocampo was determined to help in any way he could. He wasn’t alone in that. He was certain every man and woman there at the Sheriff’s Office had Dani Cartwright on their minds. During his shift that night, Ocampo drove along the highway in Dehesa Valley, passing by Blue Haven Lane as often as he could between patrol calls. Not that he really expected the girl to show up there.
He was half-hoping to see Kiko. Ocampo often saw the vet walking alongside the roads in Dehesa Valley and the surrounding area. Every now and then, Kiko would show up out of nowhere to report something, usually a child he thought might be in danger. Often it was nothing Ocampo could follow up on. But now and again, his tips were golden. The intelligence Kiko provided was surprisingly accurate, considering the guy was a little off his rocker.
The last time he popped up at Ocampo’s vehicle window was just a few weeks ago. He had a tip that led them to a three-year-old Dehesa Valley boy who had been abducted by a meth dealer—the boy’s estranged father, as it turned out. The child was quickly located and returned safely to his grandparents, the legal guardians.
By the end of Ocampo’s shift Sunday morning, he still had not seen any sign of Kiko, or Dani. At this point, the case was looking more sinister than a lost child who took the wrong bus. When he checked in with Chavez on his way out to patrol that morning, Chavez told him they still had nothing. A public announcement was going out on radio and TV stations. Someone out there had seen Dani. Ocampo was sure of it. He requested to stay on for another shift, not like he would get any sleep anyway, but Lieutenant White sent him home.
What little sleep he managed to catch that afternoon was far from refreshing. He leaned his elbows on the desk, the world around him slightly wavy in his fatigue. Pushing his paperwork aside, he held his head between his hands. If he could have grabbed hold of his cropped hair, he would have been pulling it out. His heart was lead. But the Cartwrights had it so much worse. They were living in hell right now.
A set of keys jangled down the hall. A door latch opened and closed. Ocampo looked up at the clock. Almost eight, now. Was that Chavez? He was early. He tossed his paper cup of cold coffee into the trashcan next to his desk and knocked on Chavez’ office door.
“Alex?” Said Chavez, from inside.
Ocampo opened the door and peeked his head in, “Hey brother, I’m about to go get a fresh cup and an apple fritter down the street. You want anything?”
“Yeah, thanks, a fresh cup of real coffee sounds good. A couple glazed. . . Actually,” Chavez motioned him in with a hand. “Come on in. Let me give you some cash. Get a couple dozen for the rest of the guys and gals, too.”
“Okay,” said Ocampo, and then added quietly, “Any new leads?”
“I just requested a new BOLO to go out over the radio. We’re now looking for a lime green car, late 60’s, early 70’s coupe, maybe a Chevy Impala or similar, but definitely lime green. One of the customers at the donut shop across the street said he saw a lime green car idling at the bus stop Saturday morning, just in passing. He couldn’t be sure. . . It was hardly worth a note. But just now, Edwards talked to a woman who saw a little girl running down the hill toward the bus stop when she got out of her car to pick up her dry cleaning. The bus was leaving; the girl couldn’t have been on it. Then, on her way back out of the shop, she saw a lime green car pulling away from the bus stop.”
Ocampo’s brows lowered in annoyance, “The girl running alone didn’t set off any alarms when the lady saw her?”
“Most people don’t think like we do, Alex. She probably assumed the parents were behind the girl, or more likely, she was in her own world and didn’t think anything at all. It’s not good news though. It’s looking more like a stranger abduction at this point.”
Ocampo’s heart sank. “I’ll do everything I can to help find that vehicle.” God, I hope she didn’t get into that car.
“I know you will, we all will,” said Chavez unfolding a bill from his wallet, “Twenty ought to do it. Keep the change.”
As Ocampo reached the driveway past the Sheriff’s parking lot fence, a busty blonde woman put an expensively manicured hand on his vehicle’s hood. Veronica Stevens. He rolled down the window.
Veronica was an ABC reporter with a reputation for hanging around the bar near the station with the aim of pulling stories out of deputies through flirtation and alcohol. Ocampo had nearly succumbed, recently.
“Veronica Stevens,” said the woman. “You do know me,” she added, pulling out her press credentials, “Deputy Ocampo, right? Do you have anything for us on the missing Cartwright girl?”
“It’s an ongoing investigation. I can’t give you any comments, Ms. Stevens,” Ocampo started to roll the window back up.
She put her hand on top of the glass preventing it from closing, “I have a tip for you. That lime green car you’re looking for, the one our gopher saw from the donut shop—I’m the one who told him to call it in.”
“Thank you,” said Ocampo.
“My cousin’s husband has a lime green Pontiac GTO, by the way, a late 60’s coupe. You might have seen him on the news talking about his horse program for teens. Todd Allen? Allen Haven Ranch.” She narrowed her eyes and almost sneered.
Ocampo rolled the window all the way back down.
“Not only does he have that lime green car, but he is also very friendly with the kids. They all like him, especially the girls. I know because my own daughter was in the riding program for a couple of years. She developed a crush on him.” Veronica paused and leaned in closer. “My daughter is not in the program anymore.” Her blue eyes bore into Ocampo’s. “It was. . . Uncomfortable.”
The way she said “uncomfortable” sent a tingle to his pelvic region, and at the same time, turned his stomach. “We’ll look into this, ma’am,” he said, sounding to himself like Lieutenant Columbo. He tried to move the car forward. She held on.
“One more thing. I talked to Sam at the Circle K in Dehesa Valley. There was a lime green Pontiac GTO at the pump just before midnight Saturday night. He remembers, because he’s seen it there in the past and it’s one of his favorite models. I came straight here when he told me that.”
“Got it.” Ocampo said, “Anything else?”
“That’s it,” said Veronica, backing away. She walked to the waiting media van at the curb.
Ocampo reversed his vehicle back into the parking lot.
Next
Part 2 | History is a Pile of Debris
5 - At the Door
It must be so scary for someone who we love to disappear like that. Great chapter