Читать книгу Missing: The Oregon City Girls - Rick Watson - Страница 9

Prologue

The emergency line beeps in rhythm with the flashing red indicator. The woman in the communications control room opens the line, “Dispatch.”¹

A soft-spoken female voice stumbles a bit trying to focus. “Yes. Um, how do I go about filing missing persons and what’s the…what’s, you know, the stipulation on how to go about doing it?”²

The twenty-something single mother sitting at her station says, “Okay, well, there isn’t really a time frame. They used to say twenty-four hours on things like that, but there isn’t really a time frame. You can start with me. I can have a deputy call you back and you can get a report filed that way. Is this an adult or a child?”

“A child.”

“Okay. That’s a runaway. That’s something a little bit different.”

“Okay.”

“And this is your daughter, or son?”

“My daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s twelve. She would never run away though.” The woman’s voice wavers as her restraint starts to crumble.

“Okay. You don’t think she would ever run away?”

“No, I know she wouldn’t.”

“Just a minute please.” The dispatcher switches between lines and addresses a radio transmission coming in behind the call. “Fifty-two fourteen…Yeah, we have a potential runaway, suspicious circumstances.” The dispatcher quickly examines her caller-ID display and then resumes. “Newell Creek Village, off Beavercreek Road. Stand by for further.” She switches back, “Okay, ma’am, I’m back. Go ahead… How long has she been missing?”

“Well, she left for school this morning, and I have contacted all her friends and none of them saw her at school. And she has dance after school. She wasn’t at dance so she’s been missing since this morning.”

“Where does she go?”

“Gardiner Middle School. This is so out of character for her. She always calls and informs me of everything.”

“Well, if you’ll tell me what she was last seen wearing…”

“Um, you know, I didn’t get up with her this morning, but I know that she…she was wearing blue jeans, Tommy Hilfiger blue jeans. I’m pretty sure she was ‘cause they’re not here. I looked.…and white Skechers…”

“Okay, what’s her name?”

“Ashley, A-S-H-L-E-Y Pond, P-O-N-D.”

“Last seen wearing blue jeans.”

“Yeah. And white Skechers, like sneakers, you know? And ma’am, I have no idea what shirt she was wearing. I didn’t get up with her this morning.”

“Hold on a moment ma’am.” The dispatcher turns her attention back to the officer standing by on the radio. “Fifty-two fourteen, we have a twelve-year-old possible runaway, Ashley Pond, last seen wearing blue jeans, white Skecher shoes…”

The radio speaker vibrates with the officer’s response. “I know the address…”

There is no time to register her surprise. The dispatcher continues, “…That’s correct, apartment 228.”

She then turns her attention back to the caller. “What color jacket does she have?”

“She normally wears sweatshirts. It probably would be, um, she only wears a blue sweatshirt, so she probably would be wearing a blue sweatshirt or some type of sweatshirt. She doesn’t like coats.”

“Okay.”

“We looked at what ones are missing. There’s—yeah, I think she’s wearing her blue sweatshirt. Let me ask her sister real quick. She might remember.

“Honey? Hon, do you remember what shirt Ashley was wearing this morning, or what she was wearing?”

A child’s voice replies, “I didn’t see her this morning.”

The distraught woman on the phone returns to her conversation with the dispatcher. “But she…because she got up at 7:00 and said… and thought she was late getting up for school, and I fell back to sleep.”

She asks the child again, “So you didn’t see her at all, huh?”

Getting a shake of the head in response, she says into the phone, “Okay, yeah, cuz I remember her getting up this morning and thinking she was late and she wasn’t. And then I fell back to sleep. So, she doesn’t remember, but I know she most likely…is wearing some type of sweatshirt.”

“Just a moment please.”

“Thank you.”

The dispatcher takes yet another police radio transmission. “Fifty-two sixteen…you’re 10-7 at nineteen-thirty hours.” She shifts back to the caller. “Just a moment please, okay?”

“Okay. Are you trying to do two things at once?”

“Yeah, about ten things, actually. What is your name?”

“Lori, L-O-R-I.”

“Your last name?”

“Pond, P-O-N-D.”

“Okay, just a moment here. Okay, we’ve got an officer on the way out there.”