Chapter 7 - The Backup Plan
I ended the call and immediately checked every door and window.
Frederick was asleep upstairs.
Amy sat beside his crib.
Neither of us wanted him out of sight.
The idea that my mother could involve my son changed something inside me.
Money could be recovered.
Documents could be challenged.
But our child was not part of anyone’s game.
Ramirez took Betsy’s statement seriously.
Officers interviewed everyone from the party again.
Most claimed they knew nothing.
Some admitted Teresa had encouraged them to criticize Amy.
One cousin said Teresa promised to cover everyone’s food and alcohol if they “helped teach Amy some respect.”
That alone was disgusting.
But the backup plan remained unclear.
Then we reviewed our doorbell footage.
At 3:17 that afternoon, while Amy was trapped inside the kitchen, Mason had walked toward the nursery entrance.
He remained upstairs for four minutes.
He came down carrying nothing.
At 3:42, Aunt Betsy went upstairs.
At 4:06, Teresa followed.
None of them had any legitimate reason to enter Frederick’s room.
We searched the nursery carefully.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
Then Amy noticed that Frederick’s diaper bag had been moved.
Inside one pocket, we found an envelope.
My name was written across it.
The letter inside appeared to be from Amy.
Connor,
I can’t live like this anymore.
I’m taking Frederick.
Don’t try to find us.
My hands started shaking.
Amy stared at it.
“I never wrote that.”
I knew immediately.
The language did not sound like her.
But to someone emotionally shattered after discovering an empty home, it might have looked convincing.
Then we found something beneath the letter.
Two printed bus tickets.
Nashville to Atlanta.
Both issued under fake names.
One adult.
One infant.
The intended story became obvious.
Amy was supposed to disappear with Frederick.
Or at least appear to.
I looked at Ramirez.
“Where were they going to take my son?”
“We don’t know that they planned to physically take him.”
I pointed at the tickets.
“Then why are these here?”
He couldn’t answer.
Later that evening, investigators examined the party photographs guests had posted online.
One picture showed Mason near the side gate.
Behind him stood a black SUV.
Another photo showed the same vehicle thirty minutes later.
A man was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Daniel enlarged the image.
I recognized him from his business website.
Leonard Crane.
He had been outside my house during my son’s birthday party.
He had never been invited.
The police traced his vehicle.
Traffic cameras showed the SUV leaving my neighborhood minutes after I arrived.
It headed south.
Then disappeared near the interstate.
Ramirez called Leonard.
No answer.
Police went to his office.
Closed.
His house.
Empty.
Three people had now vanished.
Gloria.
Elaine.
Leonard.
And then, shortly before midnight, my phone rang.
Mason was calling from county detention.
I answered.
His first words were barely audible.
“Connor, your mother lied to all of us.”
I stayed silent.
Then he said something I never expected.
May you like
“Frederick wasn’t the backup plan.”
“You were.”
