Gone Missing – Part 3 of 8

Anne hung up the phone and called Tim, a young attorney in her circle of friends at First Baptist Church in Charlotte.

It was after 5 but Tim was still in his office, working.

“I know where Bob is,” she told him. “I have an address.”

Tim said he needed a couple of hours to think about what they ought to do, that he would call her back.

Tim verified the address Anne had given him, in Houston, TX, and considered their options. He filled three yellow pages with notes, airline schedules — and discarded plans. And then, at 9:30, Tim canceled his appointments for the next couple of days and dialed my brother’s telephone number.

Brother Dave was a pilot and he owned a plane.

David H. Stith
David H. Stith

Dave had been up since 5 a.m. He had put in a day at his “box shop,” Queen City Container, and was about to go to bed. But he took the call. He knew Tim –Dave also belonged to First Baptist — and Anne. And he knew Anne’s ex had taken their son and disappeared.

“I thought you might like to go with us to get Britt, or rather allow us to go with you to get Britt,” Tim said.

Do you mean sometime this week?” Dave asked.

I mean tonight, right now, in the next hour or two.”

Dave had one question: If they could find the boy, and grab him, would that be legal or illegal?

A little bit of both I suppose but it’s something we should do,” Tim said.

“Deal me in,” my brother said.

Continued tomorrow.

Gone Missing – Part 2 of 8

Anne had no idea where her ex had taken her four-year-old son, Britt, no idea where to begin looking.

December –Christmas– dragged by. And then most of January.

Every day was much like the day before.  Anne would be at work at the dental office by 7 a.m. and home by 3:30, always with the same question as she came through the door:

Any news from Bob?”

No, honey, I’m afraid not,” her mother would reply. Sometimes her mother would just shake her head, No.

And then, late one afternoon toward the end of January, a bill collector called. Anne answered the phone.  Her ex had skipped a payment on his truck in December and the credit union wanted its money. Another payment was due in two days.

Wait a minute,” Anne said. “I don’t have a truck and I don’t owe you any money.”

Yes, ma’am, your name is on the paper work and you didn’t make the December payment and the January payment is due the day after tomorrow. When may we expect payment?”

And then Anne realized — this was her chance, maybe her only chance — and she asked the single most important question of her life:

Where is this truck I am supposed to have bought?”

There was silence on the other end except for the familiar clicking of a computer keyboard. The clicking of the keys stopped, another pause, and then he gave her the address.

Hello, hello, are you still there, when may we expect payment?”

“We’ll get a check in the mail today,” she said. Anne hung up the phone and stared at the address she had written down.

Her ex-husband, Bob, and her son, Britt, were in Houston Texas.

Continued tomorrow.