Prologue
The 911 operator took a
call from a much panicked woman at 11.28 p.m. on a cold Monday night.
“Help! Please, I need
help,” the lady gasped.
“What is the nature of
your emergency, Ma’m?”
“My daughter, my…
baby…Astor…has gone missing…” the woman stammered.
“Your daughter is
missing, did you say?”
“Yes…yes…my baby…”
“Her name is Astor, did
you say?”
“Yes…Astor…my baby…”
“Can you please state
your name and address, ma’m?”
“Huh? Of course…Rhonda
Marshall, 203, Lincoln Street.”
“Ma’m, the police shall
be at your residence soon”
“Thank you…thank you!”
the woman gasped, and hung up.
The 911 operator
immediately contacted the Boston PD.
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
11.44 p.m. The Marshall residence
Boston PD Detective
Ansen Cole (Homicide) was standing in the living room of 203, Lincoln Street.
“Mrs. Marshall…please
calm down,” Cole said, unsuccessfully trying to calm down the panicked Rhonda
Marshall, who had been crying inconsolably since the police had responded to
her distress call.
“I’m…I’m…sorry. I…I
must…must get a hold on myself” stammered Rhonda, dabbing at her face with a
huge silk handkerchief.
“Good, Mrs. Marshall.
Now, I must ask you some very important questions about Astor, okay. The sooner
you help me get the answers, the sooner I can find Astor, okay,” Cole said in
his smoothest voice.
This statement seemed
to have worked on Mrs. Marshall like a charm. She immediately stopped crying,
sat up straighter on the sofa and even managed a weak smile.
“Go on…ask your
questions, Detective.” she said, this time not stammering at all.
“Okay. When did you
last see Astor?” Cole asked, holding a pen and small notepad in his hand, ready
to take notes.
“9 p.m. last night,
when I put her to bed.”
“That was the daily
routine for her?”
“Yes. You see,
Detective, Astor was only seven. When you inculcate good habits in children
from childhood, do they grow up to be responsible adults.” replied Rhonda
Marshall, smiling again.
“Yes, yes. Very true.
When and how did you find out she was missing?”
Rhonda’s smile faded
and her face became grim again.
“I usually go to bed
myself by 10 o’clock; but I was up late tonight, preparing a plan for an
upcoming function at the local Community Center. I’m the organizer and convener
of the Center’s activities. I got up at around 11.15 to get a drink from the
kitchen. So I thought to just check on Astor before resuming my work. I went
into her bedroom, and…and found her bed empty!” she looked about to start
crying again.
“Alright…alright,” Cole
spoke hastily to prevent that eventuality, adding, “What did you do then?”
“I proceeded to look
for Astor, first, of course, in the upstairs rooms. Bathroom, other bedrooms,
study…she wasn’t there. Then I proceeded to the rooms downstairs, and then the
front and back yards. I couldn’t find her anywhere”
“Then you called 911?”
“Yes”
“Okay. How many of you
are there, in this house?”
“There are three of us.
Astor, me and my husband Graham. He’s in the merchant navy…he’s abroad, in
England on a trip. I’ve called him, of course, and he’s on his way back here.
He stays away from home for more than ten months of the year,” Rhonda replied.
Cole was scribbling
away furiously in his notepad.
“Do you suspect anyone
of having taken Astor? Any enemies, perhaps? Seeking vengeance?” he asked.
“No…no. Ours is a nice
community…I wouldn’t suspect these people for a moment. No…I do not know about
any enemies who would wanna take away Astor for settling personal scores,” Rhonda
replied.
“What was Astor
wearing?”
“Light pink pajamas.
With Daffy Duck printed all over them. Her favorite” Rhonda replied, sadly.
“Alright. Any unusual
details you may have observed, Mrs. Marshall, when you went into Astor’s
room?”Cole asked.
“Of course not,
Detective. I was shocked senseless when I saw Astor was not in her bed. My mind
was preoccupied and not looking for things out of the ordinary,” Rhonda
replied, indignantly.
“I’m sorry, Mrs.
Marshall. I was just asking so that I could get something to go on with. Even
the smallest details can help crack a crime like this,” Cole apologized
immediately.
“That’s quite alright,
Detective” Rhonda replied, satisfied with his explanation.
“I’ll
need a recent photo of Astor, of course” said Cole.
Within minutes, he was holding a Polaroid
photograph of Astor Marshall in his hand. Astor Marshall was a cute, chubby
seven year old girl. Her eyes were blue, like her mother’s and her auburn hair
cascaded down to her shoulders in curls. In Cole’s opinion, she was a beautiful
child.
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