Developing Story

A Seabrook Viking Story

Monday, March 3 — 7:14 A.M.

The first thing Sam Ihle noticed was that nobody in the newsroom was talking.

That was unusual.

The Seabrook Viking newsroom was almost never quiet. There were ringing phones, clattering keyboards, reporters shouting questions across the room, the occasional printer jam, and Pat McKean’s booming voice reminding somebody that a deadline was not, in fact, a suggestion.

But that morning, the newsroom had fallen into an uneasy silence.

Sam stopped just inside the door.

Jodie Williams was standing beside her desk, staring at the television mounted on the wall.

The screen showed a photograph of an elderly woman.

White hair.

Kind eyes.

A small smile.

Beneath the photograph was a name:

ELEANOR HAYES, 72 — MISSING

Sam’s expression changed.

“Oh, no.”

Jodie looked at him.

“Yeah.”

He walked toward her.

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

Sam glanced at the television.

“Mayor Hayes?”

Jodie nodded.

“Her mother.”

The room suddenly seemed colder.

Everyone in Seabrook knew Mayor Julie Hayes.

Before she became mayor, she had been Sheriff Julie Hayes. She had spent years walking into crime scenes while everyone else walked out. She had been the sort of sheriff who remembered victims’ names, knew which deputies had children, and could stare down a room full of armed men without raising her voice.

But this was different.

This wasn't a crime happening somewhere in Seabrook.

This was happening to her.

Jodie picked up the folder on her desk.

“Eleanor Hayes went missing sometime between Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. Her car is still at her house. Her purse is still there. Her medications are still there.”

“Phone?”

“Gone.”

“Any ransom demand?”

“Nothing.”

Sam looked back at the photograph.

“Kidnapping?”

“That's what everyone's wondering.”

“Police?”

“Working it.”

“FBI?”

“Apparently being consulted.”

Sam lowered his voice.

“And Julie?”

Jodie hesitated.

“She hasn't spoken publicly yet.”

Sam nodded slowly.

He knew what that meant.

Julie Hayes was a public official.

She had spent years telling citizens that fear didn't get to dictate their lives.

Now someone had taken her mother.

Sam looked at the photograph again.

“How long before we run something?”

Jodie gave him a look.

“Pat already assigned it.”

Sam sighed.

“Of course he did.”

From across the newsroom came Pat McKean's voice.

“I heard that!”

Sam called back.

“I didn't say anything!”

“You were about to!”

Jodie almost smiled.

Almost.

Then she looked at Eleanor Hayes's photograph again.

“No jokes, Sam.”

He nodded.

“No jokes.”

Monday, March 3 — 11:42 A.M.

The first press conference was held outside Seabrook Police Headquarters.

Mayor Hayes stood at the podium.

She looked exhausted.

Sam had seen Julie Hayes angry.

He had seen her frustrated.

He had seen her furious.

He had seen her in uniform, soaked by rain, covered in mud, standing beside crime-scene tape at three in the morning.

He had never seen her like this.

She gripped the podium with both hands.

“My mother is missing.”

The reporters became silent.

“She has been missing since Saturday evening. Law enforcement is conducting an active investigation. I am asking anyone who has information regarding her whereabouts to come forward.”

A reporter raised a hand.

“Mayor Hayes, do you believe your mother was abducted?”

Julie stared at him for several seconds.

“I believe someone knows where she is.”

Another reporter shouted.

“Have you received a ransom demand?”

“No.”

“Has anyone contacted you?”

“No.”

“Was your mother receiving threats?”

“No.”

“Did she have enemies?”

Julie swallowed.

“My mother was seventy-two years old.”

Her voice cracked.

“She wasn't involved in politics. She wasn't involved in law enforcement. She was a retired schoolteacher who spent most of her time gardening and arguing with me about whether I was eating properly.”

A faint smile appeared.

It disappeared almost immediately.

“If somebody knows where she is, please—”

She stopped.

For the first time, the former sheriff looked less like a mayor than a daughter.

“Please bring her home.”

Sam lowered his camera.

He didn't take the picture.

Jodie didn't write anything.

Neither did several other reporters.

For once, journalism could wait.

Tuesday, March 4 — 9:03 P.M.

The newsroom was nearly empty.

Sam was still working.

So was Jodie.

The two of them sat across from one another surrounded by printed maps, police statements, photographs and timelines.

Jodie rubbed her eyes.

“Three days.”

Sam nodded.

“Seventy-two hours.”

“Actually, seventy-eight.”

He looked at her.

She pointed at the clock.

“Missing since Saturday evening.”

Sam checked his notes.

“You're right.”

Jodie stared at the map.

“Something bothers me.”

“What?”

“No ransom demand.”

“Could still be a personal abduction.”

“Then why take the phone?”

“Because they don't want it traced.”

“Then why leave the purse?”

Sam paused.

“Good question.”

Jodie tapped Eleanor's photograph.

“Everything about this is strange.”

Sam leaned forward.

“Maybe she left voluntarily.”

Jodie looked at him.

“Her medication was left behind.”

Sam nodded.

“That makes that unlikely.”

“And her car.”

“Right.”

“And her coat.”

“Okay.”

“And her gardening gloves.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I'm beginning to think you're accusing the gloves.”

“I'm saying she didn't plan to leave.”

Sam smiled faintly.

Then his expression became serious again.

“Did the police find signs of forced entry?”

“No.”

“Broken windows?”

“No.”

“Blood?”

“No.”

“Witnesses?”

“Nothing useful.”

Sam sat back.

“So somebody got her out of the house without making a mess.”

Jodie nodded.

“That's what worries me.”

Friday, March 7 — 6:31 P.M.

The Viking published its first major story.

MAYOR'S MOTHER STILL MISSING AS SEARCH ENTERS FIFTH DAY

The story was written by Jodie.

Sam had contributed reporting.

The article contained no speculation.

No sensationalism.

No theories.

Just facts.

Eleanor Hayes had last been seen Saturday evening.

Her vehicle remained at her home.

Her phone was missing.

No ransom demand had been reported.

Authorities were asking residents to check doorbell cameras and security footage.

The mayor had asked for privacy while investigators worked.

At 6:31 P.M., the website traffic counter went insane.

Thousands.

Then tens of thousands.

People were reading.

Commenting.

Sharing.

Speculating.

Sam stared at the screen.

“This is going to get ugly.”

Jodie nodded.

“It already is.”

She pointed at the comments.

Someone claimed Eleanor had been kidnapped by an organized crime syndicate.

Someone else claimed the mayor knew exactly where her mother was.

Another person insisted Eleanor had been abducted by a foreign intelligence service.

Jodie closed the comments.

“People are idiots.”

Sam nodded.

“Sometimes.”

His phone rang.

He answered.

“Sam Ihle.”

Silence.

Then a man's voice.

“Stop looking.”

Sam froze.

“What?”

“Stop looking for Eleanor Hayes.”

The line went dead.

Jodie stared at him.

“What happened?”

Sam didn't answer.

He was already reaching for a notepad.

“Tell me exactly what he said.”

Sam looked at the phone.

“Stop looking.”

Jodie went pale.

“Did he identify himself?”

“No.”

“Could you recognize the voice?”

“No.”

She stared at him.

“Sam.”

“I know.”

She grabbed her coat.

“We're telling Pat.”

Friday, March 7 — 6:43 P.M.

Pat McKean listened without interrupting.

When Sam finished, Pat leaned back.

“Did you record it?”

“No.”

“Caller ID?”

“Blocked.”

Pat nodded.

“Okay.”

Jodie crossed her arms.

“You don't sound surprised.”

“Oh, I'm surprised.”

“You don't look surprised.”

“I've been a newspaper editor for twenty-five years. There's a difference.”

Sam frowned.

“What do we do?”

Pat looked between them.

“We don't become the story.”

Jodie nodded.

“We keep reporting?”

“Carefully.”

“And tell police?”

“Yes.”

Sam hesitated.

“What if the call was meant to scare us off?”

Pat looked at him.

“Then whoever made it knows you're looking.”

The room fell silent.

Pat stood.

“And that means you might be looking in the right place.”

Monday, March 10 — 8:17 A.M.

One week.

There was still no Eleanor Hayes.

Police searched wooded areas outside Seabrook.

They searched abandoned buildings.

They questioned neighbors.

They examined traffic-camera footage.

They asked for tips.

Hundreds came in.

None produced Eleanor.

At City Hall, Mayor Hayes canceled two public appearances.

At the Viking, Jodie continued digging.

Sam began constructing a massive timeline on the newsroom wall.

Saturday.

5:12 P.M. — Eleanor seen at grocery store.

6:03 P.M. — Neighbor sees her gardening.

7:41 P.M. — Phone last active.

8:16 P.M. — Unknown vehicle seen on residential camera.

9:02 P.M. — No activity.

Sunday.

11:17 A.M. — Neighbor notices Eleanor's newspaper still outside.

2:35 P.M. — Daughter calls police.

Sam stared at the timeline.

“There's a gap.”

Jodie looked over.

“Which one?”

“8:16 to 9:02.”

“Forty-six minutes.”

“Exactly.”

Jodie walked over.

“What are you thinking?”

“Whoever took her had forty-six minutes.”

“Forty-six minutes to do what?”

“Get her out.”

Jodie studied the map.

“Where could someone go in forty-six minutes?”

Sam drew a circle around the neighborhood.

“Depends on what they were driving.”

Jodie stared at him.

Then she looked at the photograph from the security camera.

A dark SUV.

Partially obscured by a tree.

License plate invisible.

But there was something else.

Jodie zoomed in.

“Sam.”

“What?”

“Look at the rear window.”

He leaned closer.

There was a small decal.

A white shape.

Almost invisible.

Sam frowned.

“That's not a random decal.”

“What is it?”

“I don't know.”

Jodie grabbed her notebook.

“Then let's find out.”

Wednesday, March 12 — 2:26 P.M.

The decal belonged to a private security company.

Argus Protective Services.

Sam stared at the company profile.

“Former law enforcement personnel.”

Jodie nodded.

“Lots of them.”

“Former military.”

“Some.”

“Government contracts.”

“Apparently.”

Sam scrolled.

“And one former Seabrook Sheriff's Department deputy.”

Jodie looked at him.

“Name?”

“Daniel Voss.”

Jodie went still.

“Why do I know that name?”

Sam looked it up.

Then his face changed.

“Because he was one of Julie Hayes's deputies.”

Jodie stood.

“Former?”

“Resigned twelve years ago.”

“Why?”

Sam opened another article.

“Internal investigation.”

“What for?”

“Unauthorized access to police databases.”

Jodie stared at him.

“Was he charged?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Insufficient evidence.”

They looked at each other.

Sam grabbed his coat.

“Let's go.”

Wednesday, March 12 — 3:11 P.M.

Daniel Voss answered the door.

He was fifty-something.

Broad shoulders.

Gray hair.

A face that looked permanently tired.

He listened to Sam's questions.

Then he said:

“I haven't seen Eleanor Hayes.”

Jodie watched him carefully.

“We didn't ask if you'd seen her.”

Voss's expression didn't change.

“You were about to.”

Sam noticed something.

A photograph on the wall.

Sheriff Julie Hayes.

Younger.

Standing beside several deputies.

Including Voss.

Sam pointed.

“You worked for her.”

“Long time ago.”

“Did you know her mother?”

“Everyone knew Eleanor.”

“Did you ever provide security for her?”

“No.”

“Are you currently working for Argus?”

“Yes.”

“Were you working Saturday night?”

Voss hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Downtown.”

“What time?”

“Six to midnight.”

Jodie looked at Sam.

Sam said nothing.

Voss opened the door wider.

“You're journalists.”

“Yes.”

“Then you know better than to turn a missing-person investigation into a conspiracy story.”

Sam met his eyes.

“We're not.”

Voss stared at him.

Then he said something quietly.

“You really should stop.”

Sam's blood ran cold.

“Stop what?”

Voss closed the door.

Thursday, March 13 — 12:04 A.M.

Sam couldn't sleep.

He sat at his kitchen table staring at his notes.

You really should stop.

It could mean anything.

Maybe Voss knew something.

Maybe he was warning them.

Maybe he was simply annoyed.

But then Sam noticed something.

The time on the security footage.

8:16 P.M.

Voss claimed he was downtown.

Sam pulled up a map.

Downtown to Eleanor's neighborhood.

Twenty-two minutes.

Maybe less.

Sam called Jodie.

She answered immediately.

“You're awake too.”

“Yep.”

“I was just about to call you.”

“Why?”

“Because I found something.”

Sam sat upright.

“What?”

“Daniel Voss wasn't working downtown.”

“How do you know?”

“I called Argus.”

“And?”

“They said his assignment was canceled that evening.”

Sam's heart began pounding.

“Did they say why?”

“No.”

There was a pause.

Then Jodie said:

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I think somebody just drove past my house.”

Thursday, March 13 — 12:19 A.M.

Sam was at Jodie's house twelve minutes later.

He found her standing behind the curtains.

The street was empty.

“Could've been nothing,” Sam said.

“Maybe.”

He looked down the street.

“Did you get the plate?”

“No.”

“Make?”

“Dark SUV.”

Sam exchanged a look with her.

Neither spoke.

Finally Jodie said:

“Tell me we're not thinking the same thing.”

“We are.”

Saturday, March 15 — 9:00 A.M.

Two weeks.

No Eleanor Hayes.

The mayor appeared before cameras again.

This time she looked different.

Not defeated.

Determined.

“We will find my mother.”

Her voice was steady.

“She is loved. She is missed. And we will not stop looking.”

A reporter shouted:

“Mayor Hayes, do you believe someone in law enforcement is involved?”

Julie stopped.

Her expression hardened.

“I believe there are good people in law enforcement.”

She paused.

“And I believe there are bad people in every profession.”

Sam watched from the newsroom television.

Jodie stood beside him.

“She knows.”

“What?”

“She's thinking the same thing.”

Sam nodded.

“Probably.”

Monday, March 17 — 4:52 P.M.

The breakthrough came from an unlikely source.

A traffic-camera technician.

He called the newsroom.

He didn't want his name published.

He had been reviewing footage from the night Eleanor disappeared.

He had found the same SUV.

Not just once.

Three times.

The first time:

8:16 P.M.

Near Eleanor's house.

The second:

8:27 P.M.

Three miles away.

The third:

8:41 P.M.

Heading toward the old industrial district.

Sam stared at the timestamps.

Jodie whispered:

“Forty-six minutes.”

Sam nodded.

They traced the route.

Then stopped.

The road led to an abandoned textile warehouse.

The warehouse had been vacant for years.

Except—

Argus Protective Services had leased part of the property.

Sam and Jodie looked at one another.

“Call the police,” Jodie said.

Sam was already dialing.

Monday, March 17 — 5:37 P.M.

Police surrounded the warehouse.

Sam and Jodie waited behind the perimeter.

Neither spoke.

At 5:52 P.M., officers entered.

5:57.

6:03.

6:11.

Then—

A radio transmission.

“Female located.”

Sam closed his eyes.

Jodie covered her mouth.

“Alive?”

A pause.

“Alive.”

Jodie burst into tears.

Sam exhaled shakily.

For seventeen days, everyone had feared the worst.

Now—

Alive.

Monday, March 17 — 7:26 P.M.

Eleanor Hayes was taken to the hospital.

She was dehydrated and frightened.

But alive.

Police arrested Daniel Voss.

He had not acted alone.

The investigation was ongoing.

There had been no ransom.

No political conspiracy.

Voss had abducted Eleanor because he believed she had unknowingly witnessed evidence connecting him to a corruption scheme involving several former law-enforcement personnel.

He had intended to move her out of state.

But something went wrong.

She had resisted.

He had panicked.

And then, for reasons investigators were still determining, he had kept her alive in the warehouse.

The truth would take months to unravel.

But the most important part was simple.

They had found her.

Monday, March 17 — 8:03 P.M.

Mayor Hayes walked into the hospital.

She had been a sheriff once.

She had arrested murderers.

She had confronted armed suspects.

She had stood at countless bedsides and told families that their loved ones hadn't made it.

This time, she entered the room as a daughter.

“Mom?”

Eleanor opened her eyes.

For a moment neither woman spoke.

Then Eleanor smiled.

“You look terrible.”

Julie laughed through her tears.

“I've been worried about you.”

“I noticed.”

Julie took her hand.

“I thought I'd lost you.”

Eleanor squeezed it.

“You didn't.”

Julie bowed her head against her mother's hand.

And for the first time in seventeen days, she allowed herself to cry.

Tuesday, March 18 — 6:14 A.M.

The Seabrook Viking homepage went live.

The headline was simple:

ELEANOR HAYES FOUND ALIVE AFTER 17 DAYS

Jodie had written the story.

Sam had written the timeline.

Pat had edited every sentence twice.

There was no sensationalism.

No triumphant self-congratulation.

Just the facts.

At the bottom was a photograph of Eleanor and Julie embracing outside the hospital.

Sam stared at it.

Jodie came to stand beside him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded.

“Me too.”

Sam looked at the timeline still covering the wall.

March 3.

March 7.

March 10.

March 13.

March 17.

Seventeen days.

Four hundred eight hours.

Twenty-four thousand four hundred eighty minutes.

Jodie looked at the timestamps.

“You know what gets me?”

“What?”

“We kept saying there was a forty-six-minute gap.”

Sam nodded.

“And that gap was where we found her.”

He smiled faintly.

“That's why deadlines matter.”

Jodie gave him a look.

“Don't get sentimental.”

“I'm a journalist.”

“You're a pain in the ass.”

“Also true.”

Pat shouted from across the newsroom.

“YOU TWO DONE ADMIRING YOUR WORK?”

Sam called back.

“Almost!”

“Because I've got another story!”

Jodie sighed.

“Here we go.”

Sam picked up his notebook.

“What is it?”

Pat looked over his glasses.

“Mayor Hayes wants an investigation into security contractors with access to municipal facilities.”

Sam and Jodie looked at each other.

Jodie groaned.

“Of course she does.”

Sam grabbed his coat.

“Former sheriff.”

“Still terrifying.”

They headed toward the door.

Then Sam stopped.

“Jodie?”

“Yeah?”

“Eleanor Hayes gets to go home today.”

Jodie smiled.

“Yeah.”

Sam looked back at the photograph on the screen.

After seventeen days of uncertainty, the story finally had an ending.

At least this one did.

The newsroom phones began ringing again.

Keyboards began clattering.

Pat started yelling.

And the Seabrook Viking moved on to the next deadline.

But on the wall, Sam left one thing exactly where it was.

The timeline.

8:16 P.M.

8:27 P.M.

8:41 P.M.

Forty-six minutes.

Sometimes a mystery hid in years.

Sometimes it hid in months.

And sometimes—

It hid in forty-six minutes.

Tuesday, March 18 — 6:31 A.M.

For the first time in seventeen days, Julie Hayes's phone did not ring with another tip about her missing mother.

Instead, it rang with a call from the hospital.

Julie answered.

“Hello?”

Her mother's voice came through the speaker.

“Julie?”

Julie smiled.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I was thinking.”

“That's dangerous.”

Eleanor laughed.

“Bring me breakfast.”

Julie laughed too.

“What do you want?”

“Pancakes.”

“Mom, you're in a hospital.”

“I've been kidnapped for seventeen days. I believe I've earned pancakes.”

Julie shook her head.

“Yes, ma'am.”

There was a pause.

Then Eleanor said softly:

“I love you.”

Julie closed her eyes.

“I love you too.”