Immediately upon my arrival into the station, Thursday morning, I was summoned into Captain Jones’ office. Captain Jones had always been kind to me. He didn’t much participate in the office gossip, so he was quite impartial to my capabilities as a detective. He trusted Evan and a couple of his other boys to get a case solved and since I was partnered with him, it didn’t much matter how good I was because Evan would always get the case solved—whether I was there or not. Campbell’s disappearance changed the game for me. I always knew, in my heart, I would find her. Always. But what I had a hard time convincing myself was whether it would be because of good detecting or good fortune.
Apparently, that Tuesday around one when Evan left school grounds in a fit, it was because Captain Jones sent him home. As I explained, he was antsy and agitated and wore his emotions quite starkly as he grazed from station to station listening to these students talk about his child as if she were already dead. The whispers around the station was that Evan, who after hearing the many, monotonous stories the students gave, felt like the day was a waste of time. We were all pissing on the wrong plot, so to speak, and made it quite clear to Captain Jones that he was gonna fuck up this investigation and get his daughter killed if he kept it up. Apparently, it was the phrasing that really did him in. It was enough of a disruption to make Captain Jones have to ask his best boy not to return. That must’ve been tough for Captain Jones.
I gave a brief report of my findings, after he insinuated that Evan could be right and explained to Cap' that I had three more people left to interview and that if I didn’t present any solid leads by Friday afternoon, I would happily switch the point of focus in my investigation. He begrudgingly agreed, but informed me that I would not have any department resources allocated towards anything unless I had some undeniable proof because it was looking more and more like a serial kidnapper, as Evan had previously suspected, as another girl may have gone missing. He then restated, in a tone that was to convey with finality, that I had only until Friday afternoon.
I left his office as quick as was appropriate, found Mallory’s note on my desk with my appointment times; the over-achiever was scheduled to arrive in half an hour. I quickly prepped one of the interview rooms, added a couple more questions to the list I had already prepared and waited.
Mikey arrived with his mother and asked me to forgive his father who was at work and didn’t have coverage or something like that. His mother was a short, thin lady who walked alongside her son with her arms woven around his at the elbow. He pulled her chair out first and helped her grasp some form of comfortability before finding the same for himself. I noticed he had some sort of white powder in his hair and along the side of his face, as he checked his watch three to four times in rapid succession before saying something to her in Spanish. They communicated for a while this way before the English finally surfaced.
Mikey explained to me that he usually volunteers at the food resource center for a couple of hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Volunteer work was one of the stipulations of attending Newbury Academy, however, most parents donated money to get their children out of this requirement. Mikey explained that his mother was quite worried that if he was late to the center it would affect his scholarship to the school and that they still had to take two buses to get there. I reassured them both that I would get them out of here on time and that I would personally drive them to Grace Center afterwards. Then I went down my list so as not to delay any further.
I got the usual responses to the typical questions. He hadn’t seen her. Never been to her house. Talk to Bianca. I asked him if he had heard from Bianca. He shook his head and surmised that it wasn’t uncommon for her to disappear. Then I asked him about Bianca’s father. He explained that he invented the app, Ribbit, a few years back which was intended as a place for talented yet aesthetically unpleasing people to go to escape the everyday world. They could adopt a persona and become a fantasized version of someone they could never be in real life. If you woke up an overweight funeral director, you could be a popstar in Ribbit. You can make your own songs, simulate your sound and people can spend actual money to attend your concerts. You could be anything you wanted to be in real life except yourself. Mikey said Bianca's father is always traveling and on most occasions she joins him. Then I skipped to a few of the newer questions on my list.
I asked if he had ever been to Bianca’s house. He said quite a few times but usually when her father was traveling as she didn’t like to be in that big house alone. I asked if he had heard from Sonny. He said that Sonny didn’t come to work today but he had seen him that week around campus. I asked if he had heard about Campbell and Sonny in an intimate manner. It was then that he looked up from his fingers and paused. He shifted quite subtly before answering that he had heard some kids talking about that once but that he dismissed it as lazy gossip.
Then, I asked him if he were to put together a theory on who took her, out of everyone he knows, what it would look like and who it would be. He explained, in no uncertain terms, that it would either be one of the shy kids from her math group who is creepily obsessed with her or that it would be Sonny and for both reasons it would be to finally get what they couldn’t otherwise have. Finally, I asked if he thought Sonny could hurt her or anyone else for that matter. He returned his gaze towards his fingers, and nodded silently.
I smiled and stood as my way of communicating with his mother that I was ready to uphold my promise. I helped them retrieve the three large canvas sacks they had carried in with them and then showed them the way to the parking garage. Grace Center was clear across town and took thirty-five minutes to get to by car. I made small talk on the ride over. Mikey, who had let his mother take the front seat, listed his extra-curriculars from the back after I remarked about his volunteering.
In addition to his volunteer hours, which I learned counted as his elective credits, Michael plays three instruments to which he takes lessons for two of them, he is president of the STEM club, he is on the swim team and he has a part time job at the Pizzaz, our local pizza joint. Not to mention, all his core classes are AP and that, currently, he has the 2nd highest GPA in the county.
I asked him how he was able to manage. He explained that on some days he isn’t sure how himself either. That his dad always promises that if he works hard now he will get to play harder later. So he banks that as his motivation in order to keep going. But he concluded, that in actuality, he doesn’t really have much of a choice. Most of the kids are wealthy. Their money can buy just about anything one could ever want or need, including one of his most precious resources which was time. He said, one day, his success would allow his kids to experience the privilege of their peers too. I seconded his motion and smiled back at him through the rear view mirror as confirmation.
When we arrived, I took a peek inside the three canvas bags as I was retrieving them out of the back seat while he helped his mother out of the car. They were filled with cakes, pies and other sweets. I remember thinking, at the time, how nice his mother was to bake all of those for the center but would find out, just a few days later, that it was Mikey all along who was the baker.
My last appointment with the gymnast wasn’t for a few hours, so I decided to head back over to Ribbit headquarters. I had driven over there after meeting with Desiree, hoping to speak with Bianca’s father but had arrived too late to find the doors locked.
Security for the building, which was a thin, black man in his
thirties, insisted on making a phone call first before escorting me up the
elevator. He delivered me on the 18th floor and no further and told
me to talk to Stacy, the receptionist, and pointed in her direction. However,
she was impossible to miss as she was the only face one saw when you exited the
doors.
I showed my badge to her and explained that I needed to talk to a Mr. Rib Bailey. Stacy explained that Mr. Bailey was in Switzerland for work and that he wouldn’t be expected back for at least another week. I asked if she happened to know if his daughter Bianca had attended the trip with him. Stacy made some clicking noises on the keyboard in front of her before replying that she only showed a booking for one ticket. Then she made a few more noises before offering a correction. She did book two tickets this trip, an hour apart. Then she recalled Bianca calling in, shortly after she had booked the first ticket, to confirm that she would be joining her father in Switzerland. So Stacy had to find another ticket but couldn’t find one on the same plane.
I jotted down the booking information and confirmed the date they were expected to return. I left my card for her and asked her, if it wasn’t too much trouble, to give Mr. Bailey the message as soon as was possible. Her fingers were already clicking again before she said she would send my info along to him straight away. Then I headed over to meet with the gymnast.
My time with the gymnast was quite brief. The address I was provided was to a gymnastics center, not their home. The sign on the front of the building said that it had trained four Olympic medal winners. Keiva, her mother and her trainer were the only ones inside when I arrived. I had to wait 25 minutes before the trainer, a tall, Russian gentleman, allowed her a break. He then exclaimed in a thick accent directed at her that she was only allotted fifteen minutes, despite the flashing of my badge that should’ve conveyed more urgency.
Keiva answered my questions in much of the same way as the others. She didn’t offer me anything useful about herself or any of her friends plus she kept glancing up towards her trainer, who was off in the distance near, what appeared to be his office, but who stood in the doorway glaring in our direction. Keiva’s mother kept interrupting between my questions to insist that her daughter didn’t have any more time to waste.
Keiva was a frail, tiny thing. Her sunken face, which made her eyes appear alien-like, looked sullen and was on the verge of tears. She expressed in a somber tone that Campbell was one of the good ones. That she couldn’t believe she was gone and that she doesn’t know how she would ever be okay if she doesn’t see her again. Keiva explained that a lot of the kids made fun of her weight and that, once, her hair began falling out. So Campbell had began coming over early in the mornings to help her style it in a way that hid her bald spot. Keiva emphasized that Campbell was one of the only ones who really understood how important she took training and made no judgments about how far she took things in order to win. Campbell just helped her figure out ways to cope with some of the consequences. Keiva then went on to relay how Campbell was something like that to each of them.
She said that, once, Maurice Jr. had made a comment to the group about how it would feel to be popular. She said he wanted to experience the feeling just once before he died. A month or two later, Campbell kissed Maurice Jr. in the middle of school. Just ran up to him in the beginning of lunch, just as the crowds were settling into their territories, and she kissed him dead on the lips. The boys, who all have a crush on Campbell, were devastated. But for little over a week straight, Maurice became the most popular boy on campus. Hundreds of guys would come up and congratulate him or slip him notes asking how her lips tasted. Girls even began smiling back when he would say “hello.” One girl even managed to shove her used panties in his locker. Keiva said Maurice Jr.’s feet never touched the ground that entire week.
On another instance, some of the popular boys got a bit too unruly and started a food fight in the café. They did it, of course, so that Mikey’s daddy would have to clean it all up. But not thirty minutes later, Campbell had somehow convinced a hundred boys to help clean the cafeteria and they all did it with a smile too. Mr Malabarista came in with his bucket and cleaning supplies and found the whole room spotless. Campbell never even took credit.
Keiva repositioned as if to signal that she could, literally, go on and on about Campbell’s charity but stood up and glanced over at her trainer, who was still leering from the corner, as her way of saying it was time for her to head back. She explained that Campbell knew how to be everything to everyone at any time of day. She knew how to put a smile on your face. She knew what to say to boost your spirit. She knew how to feed your soul.
“She was magic.”
I thanked Keiva and her mother for fitting me into their schedule, then waved goodbye to the trainer from afar and left. I debated, quite heavily, on whether or not to go see Sonny Samuels that night or to wait until Friday after school. Truth was, I was dreading the interaction for some eerie reason. But Captain Jones had already made it clear to me that he expected me to manage all of our duties in Evan’s absence. So I decided to spend the remainder of the night and following morning doing paperwork. I had quite a few cases that needed attention, especially with Evan not around to help, and was biding my time until 3pm. By four, I had found her chained up in Sonny’s basement. She had been raped repeatedly and beaten but I found her. I brought her home alive.
Campbell's disappearance really changed the game for me. I always knew, in my heart, I would find her. Always. But what I had a hard time convincing myself was whether it would be because of good detecting or good fortune. Turns out it was neither. See Campbell really was magic and for years I built my career around her illusions. But in like any good trick, that which has been hidden must be revealed.
This work is created by, written by and belongs to Aecko and shared here for entertainment.