"Ouch! Daddy, that hurt." In his excitement, Sean had pushed a little too hard. His index finger was covered with a thin film of blood. He leaned over to kiss Joanne's pubic area. "There, sweetie, all better." Suddenly the door to the room burst open. The furious eyes of Pamela Barclay opened wide as she saw her husband's face between the thighs of her only daughter.
"You no good son-of-a-bitch!" Tears streaming down her face, Pam grabbed a baseball bat from the toy box and swung it viciously at her husband. Sean rolled away just in time to avoid the blow. A sickening thud filled the room as the bat connected with Joanne's skull. Fragile bone crushed, and the small body slid three feet across the tiled floor. Blood matted Joanne's blonde hair and seeped slowly into the crevices between the tiles.
"Oh my God, Pam, you've killed her!" Sean sat slack-jawed in shock. Pam rushed to her daughter, scooping the tiny child into her arms. Tears of anguish choked her,. "Joanne, my sweet baby, I am so sorry. Oh please, oh please, God let her be okay!" The mother rocked her motionless daughter back and forth in her arms. Sean unclenched Pam's arms from around Joanne's limp form, then gently lay the child's body on the floor.
"Pam, Pam," he shouted at his wife's motionless face. He slapped her with his open hand to bring her back to the present. "We have to do something. If we call the police, you'll go to jail for killing Joanne and I'll go to
prison for molesting her. What will happen to Stephon? He's only eleven years old. We have to think of him now." Tears fell from Sean's eyes as he looked at the crumpled body of his daughter. " I loved our daughter with my whole heart, andI feel as shocked as you do about Joanne, but she's gone now and we have a living child to think of."
"How could you molest your own daughter? This is all your fault, Sean."
"You're right, I shouldn't have touched her that way. I wouldn't have had to iff you hadn't claimed you were too sick to take care of my needs. I'm an important man in this town; I can't just pick a hooker up off the street. At least I didn't really hurt her; I never even had intercourse with Joanne. You killed her!"
"I was swinging at you. It was an accident."
"Do you really think the police will believe that? They'll think you knew about the abuse all along. They'll think you flew into a rage because she wet the bed again."
"Oh my God, Sean, I am so scared. what on earth should we do?"
"Let's calm down and think. We can make it look like a kidnapping, then when the police find the body, they'll blame the kidnappers for both the killing and the abuse. Look Pam, it's the only way we can both be here for Stephon. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison, do you?"
"Oh my God, Oh my God!" Pam paced back and forth, chewing on her knuckle. "Oh my God, Oh my God!"
"Pam, get a grip! I need you to help me with this."
Pam took several ragged, deep breaths. "Oh my God, Sean, what do you want me to do?" She looked at Joanne and began to sob again.
"First of all, get the Hell out of this room. Go write a ransom note. Get out of here!"
Still sobbing, Pam trudged up the stairs to the kitchen. She took a pad of lined yellow paper and a felt-tip pen from the kitchen drawer. "Dear Mr. and Mrs.Barclay.... The pad dissolved into a yellow blur , and suddenly Pam ran to the little half bath attached to the study. She was violently sick.
Sean heard Pam retching from the top of the stairs. He watched her splash cool tap water on her face. Her normally tan skin was deathly pale; her dark hair tousled and damp from the water. Sean knew he had to steady her to pull off his scheme. He reached out to embrace his gorgeous wife. She had been a model when he met her. She was nearly forty now, but even with her face scrubbed of make-up and her hair disheveled, she was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Pam jerked out of his grasp; her face contorted into a snarl. "Take your slimy, disgusting hands off of me. I'll go along with your little plan for Stevie's sake, but you are never, ever to touch me again! I hate you; I wish you were dead instead of Joanne!" Pam marched back to the table and plopped purposefully into the big antique dining chair. The shaking and tears were gone now. Rage had taken their place. She put on a pair of cotton gloves and began to print on a new page with a steady hand in big block letters.
"Dear Mr. Barclay,
We have your daughter. For the time being she is safe, and will stay that way provided you follow our instructions to the letter. Mr. Barclay, we have been watching you for a long time. You are a wealthy man, one of the "elite" of society. We want $178,000.00 for the safe return of your daughter. In themorning go to the bank and make arrangements to pick the money up. Get allbut $100.000.00 in hundred dollar bills; $70,000.00 in fifties and the rest in twenties-make sure they are not marked in any way and that they are non-sequential bills. Most importantly, do not tell anyone about our little deal. If you call the cops, we off the little lady. If you don't follow our instructions, we cut off her head. We will be calling you between eight and ten AM with further instructions. There better not be a tap on the line or your daughter is dead!
We are watching you Mr. Barclay and everyone who comes and goes from your place. Play nice and we will set up a pick-up place where you can collect the little doll. We see any commotion and we kill the kid, you don't get a call from us, and you never find the body. For now just get the money and pack it nice and neat ina big gym bag. Stay by the phone Barclay;you might want to call in sick for a few days. If we don't get an answer by the third ring-the girl is dead! Followour instructions and everything will be just hunky-dory.
A small international terrorist group
Pam set the pen down and reread the note. Wordlessly she handed it to Sean. "You didn't have to mention only me in it, you know. I've almost finished fixing things in the cellar. I'll break one of the windows out in the basement so the police will think that's how the kidnappers got in."
"What do you mean you're fixing things in the basement? What are you doing to Joanne's body? Didn't you have enough 'fun' with her while she was alive? Are you sick enough to molest her dead body, too?" Pam hissed the words at her husband.
"It's better if you don't know, sweetheart," he said sarcastically. " I want you to look surprised when
the cops find her. The less you know, the more motherly and genuine you'll seem. Maybe they won't notice what an automaton you really are. Put the note in plain sight, we've got to get everything ready so we can call the police."
"Are we going to call them tonight, or wait until morning? It gives me the creeps knowing my baby is down there with her head bashed in."
"We'll call them soon; it's already three in morning.."
Sean disappeared down the stairs. Pam pulled back on the white gloves she'd worn to the Advertiser's Cotillion; she'd felt like Miss America then, wearing gloves and the strapless, black and white designer gown. Oh how she loved high society! All those matronly high-class women envied her; she could see it in their fat, doughy faces; she was young, beautiful, and filthy rich. Sean was nearly an old man, but she could have any man, anytime she wanted. Pam examined the ransom note one last time. The printing was obscure enough, plain, not her normal flowery script; she doubted anyone would even suspect she had penned the note. She tore the sheet from the pad, leaving a ragged edge across the top of the page, then slid the pad back into the drawer.
As Pam stepped off the final step to the main floor of the mansion, Sean climbed breathlessly up the last basement stair.
"Pam, drop the note on the table beside the banister. Then put on a fresh nightgown. That one is bloodstained; better burn it in the fireplace. I'm going to shower and put on my pajamas. I want you to say that you got up, found the note, and screamed. I'll claim I heard you screaming, then we ran to Joanne's room and she was gone. Give me fifteen minutes to clean up, dry my hair and we'll call the police. Pam, you have to be strong. You cannot tell anyone now or ever, not your sister; not even our pastor, can know what really happened here tonight. It is okay to break down and cry. That will be expected. I'll get us each an attorney later this morning, but you can't tell him the truth either. If you can convince yourself that Joanne was kidnapped, do it. Now go change your gown. Both our futures depend on this."
Instead of dressing in another nightgown, Pam put on the clothes she had worn the night before.
"9-1-1 what is your emergency please?"
The hysteria that Pam had so carefully controlled was released to the operator. "Send help; Oh my God they have my daughter!" Sean took the telephone away from Pam and gave the dispatcher their address. Within minutes four police cars were flashing outside the Barclay home.
Sean handed the note to the detectives.
"Where did you find this note, Mr. Barclay?"
"Actually my wife found it."
The plain-clothes officer squatted beside the chair where Pam sat in an obvious state of shock. "Mrs. Barclay, I am Sergeant McCann of the Greeley Police Department. I understand you found the ransom note. Can you tell me where you found it and the circumstances that led you to the note?"
Slowly the present seeped back into Pam. She looked at the detective, then glanced at Sean before answering. "I woke up at about five and came down to make coffee. The note was on the stand beside the staircase."
"My wife started screaming, so I ran downstairs to see what the problem was. We both rushed to Joanne's room, but she was gone." Sean stood behind Pam's chair, his hands on the headrest.
"Did you search the house or the grounds for any sign of the intruders?"
"Actually, no. We called you as soon as we found out Joanne was gone."
Sergeant McCann stood up and conferred with his fellow officers. Two of the men set off to search the huge maze of a house. McCann turned back to Mr. Barclay, "Can you tell me when you last saw your daughter and under what circumstances?"
"Joanne was sitting with my wife and I watching the video of Sleeping Beauty, but fell asleep on the sofa. I carried her up to bed and Pam undressed her and put her in pajamas. My wife and I went to bed a short time later, and didn't hear anything else until this morning."
"What time was Joanne put to bed and what time did the two of you retire?"
Sean rubbed his forehead. "Let me see; I guess we put Joanne to bed at about 10:00 and my wife and I went to bed at about 11:00."
"My men are doing a quick search of the house and grounds for any clues to how the kidnapperss might have gotten in. I am also having the marked cars removed from the premises, just in case the house is under surveillance. We may get lucky, it snowed early last evening and the intruders were bound to leave footprints."
One of the men from the search patrol whispered something in Sergeant McCann's ear. "Um, Mr. Barclay, one of the windows in your basement is broken, but apparently from the inside. Also, there are no footprints outside the window. I doubt anyone but a small child would fit through there anyway. When we arrived today there were no footprints coming up the walk and we have been unable to fiind prints anywhere around the outside of the house. Is there any way your daughter could have been gone longer than you think?"
"No, we tucked her into bed at 10:00 PM, give or take a few minutes. She was fine then."
"Okay, thank you for your cooperation. I am going to leave Detective Bitsy Stildon here to wait for the call from the kidnappers. Is there anything we can do to make either you or Mrs. Barclay more comfortable?"
Pam stood up. "No thank you officer. Nothing is going to help until I get my daughter back." A tear slid down Pam's cheek. "Right now I want to wait for the call from the kidnappers."
"Of course, Mrs. Barclay, I understand completely."
The minutes ticked by slowly, Officer Stildon monitoring the telephone, waiting for a call. Mr. Barclay paced back and forth while the sun rose in the eastern sky, making diamonds of the glittering snow.
The doorbell rang; friends Ted and Sharon Brown arrived. Susan took off her warm fur coat and put her arms around Pam while Pam sobbed softly. It was the first bit of closeness Stildon had seen during her hours with the Barclays. Twice more the doorbell rang, Dave and Carol Brooks and the Barclay's pastor joined the vigil in the parlor. Just after seven-thirty, Stephon came downstairs, and immediately Sean asked the Brooks to take him to their home. He was whisked away before Stildon could say anything.
Eight, then ten AM passed, without the phone ringing. Neither Pam or Sean seemed to notice the passage of time. At about noon, an officer stopped by with pizza and soft drinks, before going on his way. Neither of Joanne's parents could eat, balthough Pam sipped absently at a soda.
Sean stood up and spoke quietly with Ted Brown, then turned to the room of people. "I can't handle this anymore!" He sounded angry and agitated. "The waiting is driving me crazy. I have to do something!"
Officer Stildon walked to the distraught man and patted his back. "I know it is hard, Mr. Barclay. Why don't you do me a favor? You know the place better than we do. Why don't you and your friend do a careful search of the house to see if you notice anything out of place."
Sean sighed in relief. "Sure, I'd be happy to do anything, except just sit here. Come on, Ted, we'll start with the basement."
The two men walked down the basement stairs, Sean leading while Ted followed closely behind. Sean strode straight down the steps, not even glancing at the small broken window. He walked to the playroom and opened the door, switching on the light. There lay a lumpy blanket on the floor. Sean walked to the blanket and whisked it away. Ted gasped in horror. The body of Joanne Barclay lay on the floor, her skull crushed on one side, the blood matted in her blond curls. Her mouth was covered with silver duct tape, and a rope was tied around her bruised neck. Blessedly her eyes were closed. Sean ran to his daughter, ripping the tape off her mouth and scooping the tiny body into his arms. Ted could see another loop of cord around one of Joanne's wrists; the girl was dressed in a frilly pink nightgown that was strangely unruffled by the violence. The pallor of the little girl's skin and the stiffness of her body left no doubt that she was dead.
Sean ran up the stairs with his burden. Ted stood a few minutes longer inthe cold playroom, too shocked to move. When he ran up the stairs, Joanne's body was lying on the living room carpet. Pam knelt on the floor, sobbing hysterically as she held her dead daughter tight. "Oh God! She's been strangled. Sean! How could this have happened?" Pam seemed to glare at her husband almost in anger. Sean stood silent and unmoving looking down at his wife and daughter.
Detective Stildon pulled the hysterical woman away from the body. "Come on Ms. Barclay, let me do my job." The police officer called McCann to tell him what had happened and to request backup.
Stildon helped the sobbing woman to the sofa where her friend, Sharon, held her close and let her cry. Quiet tears fell from Sharon's eyes and onto Pam's dark hair.
McCann returned and gathered his officers for orders, "Okay, you know the routine. Put crime scene tapes around the house and grounds; no one goes downstairs until the photographer gets here. Damn, I wish the father had't disturbed the crime scene. We'll have to question both men carefully about the position of the body and what they saw down there. A lot of evidence is gone, thanks to their traipsing around down there. I never imagined the girl would be in the house. What the Hell kind of a kidnapper kills his victim and then leaves her in the house? Call the coroner, and somebody get the family's doctor here. Mrs. Barclay is going to need a sedative."
Days later the house had been searched, initial questions asked, and the Barclays had obtained attorneys. The attorneys refused to let the officers question the Barclays, claiming they were too upset by the murder. On the fourth day, the Barclays made an appearance on local television. Pam was dressed in a sedate black suit, Mr. Barclay in dark gray. Pam spoke. "I want to thank everyone for their condolences and support during our tragedy. Please continue to pray for us and for little Joanne. Mothers, keep your babies close to you. A killer is out there somewhere. He killed our little girl. Please help us find him."
A week after the murder, the coroner released the body of Joanne Pamela Barclay to be buried. All over the country people had taken the little girl into their hearts. The funeral home had more flowers than they could handle. At the cemetery, hundreds of people stood silently, many openly crying as the Barclay's minister read the eulogy. Pam held on to Stephon's hand, both of them, bundled against the cold. She laid a bouquet of daisies, Joanne's favorite flower, on the small white coffin. A cold rain fell gently as though the sky cried with the mourners at the grave of the beautiful little girl.
After the coroner's report was released to the police, McCann ireleased a statement the newspapers that the police did not believe that a killer roamed loose and there was no need for the parents of other children to panic. At the Barclay's home, the weary parents sat in silence in their living room, not even glancing at one another. They had asked that no one come to the house after the funeral, and had sent Stephon to stay with the Browns.. Joanne had been dead for ten days now, and the couple had hardly spoken to one another, had even started sleeping in separate rooms.
The doorbell rang. Pam stood wearily to her feet and pulled the front door open. There stood Sergeant McCann and two uniformed officers.
"I am sorry to bother you today of all days, Mrs. Barclay, but we felt you would want to know about the coroner's report."
"Yes,of course, officer, come in."
Pam led the police officers into the living room. Sean sat in a stiff-backed chair, still dressed in the black suit and tie he had worn to the funeral. Pam perched on the edge of the sofa.
McCann spoke, "I would like to summarize the coroner's notes since they are awfully technical, if that is okay with the two of you."
Pam and Sean nodded silently.
"Mr. and Mrs. Barclay, I am sorry to have to tell you this, but there are signs that you daughter was molested before she was killed. There is evidence of trauma to the vagina, but probably no intercourse. There was no semen found on the body or in the vaginal canal."
"You mean whoever killed Joanne molested her first?" Sean asked.
"Well, we have a problem with that interpretaion. Some of the injuries to Joanne's genitals were fresh, but most were partially healed."
"I don't understand what you are trying to tell us, Sergeant."
"Mr. Barclay, corpses do not heal after they are dead. We have indications of ongoing sexual contact with your daughter for at least a year before she died."
"That's ludicrous. You are accusing me and my wife of sexually abusing our daughter! Ask anyone who knew us. We are not that kind of parents!" Sean was furious. Pam sat quietly, looking at the floor.
"Calm down, Mr. Barclay, I just want you to know that we have to investigate those injuries to your daughter as part of our inquiry. The doctor said that there was an outside chance that extremely poor hygiene could have caused vaginal infections and led to chronic inflammation."
"Other than that, your daughter received a blow to the head with a blunt instrument before her death. The cause of death was strangulation by the ligature around her neck."
Pam looked up suddenly at the police sergeant. "What? Did I hear you say that Joanne died from strangulation?"
"Yes, mam. The blow to the head fractured the skull and formed a blood clot on her brain. The development of the clot is how we know that the blow occurred before death. The rope ligature was the actual cause of death. We have no way of knowing whether Joanne was conscious when she was strangled, but it is best to imagine she did not suffer."
Pam glared at her husband, her eyes flashing with hate. "You said you never hurt her! It's over, Sean." Her husband returned her gaze, narrowing his eyes in contempt of the inevitabile. Pam stood and walked to where Sergeant McCann watched the uneasy couple. Pam spoke to McCann,, but her eyes remained locked with her husband's.
"Sergeant, have your men telephone Sean's and my attorneys. I am going to tell you what really happened the night Sean Barclay murdered my little girl."
