The Sunday paper featured a front page filled with children’s photos. The article followed.
Missing Children Stump Authorities
Authorities are offering cash rewards to anyone who can offer information leading to the recovery of local missing children. Liza Reynolds, top left, was first reported missing nearly a year ago on January 26th. Since then, twelve additional children have been reported missing from the Hibbing community.
Initially, after each child was reported missing, surrounding areas were searched by Search and Rescue teams but after no progress was made the investigations changed course. Extended investigations have led local authorities to suspect serial kidnapping.
Detectives from Minneapolis are participating in the search and the Twin Cities’ drug enforcement department is looking into potential connections to the victims and suspected drug operations. There have been no arrests made.
The public is encouraged to stay vigilant, ensure childcare plans are positively confirmed with trusted individuals. An 8pm curfew is still in effect for minors. Report suspicious activity and incidents with the (cont. pg 5).
I pushed the paper away from myself and sipped my coffee. According to the top corner, the victims and their families had profiles on page 8. My waiter stopped at my table and wordlessly refilled my mug. He lived in my apartment building.
He moved in a little over two years ago. Tall, blonde, overweight and stand-off ish.
The newspaper had started publishing articles on missing children six months later. It was shocking to the community when the first one went missing. A little girl name Liza, 5 years old and living between the two homes of her divorced parents. It took two days before they knew she was missing because of a miscommunication between the parents on who had picked her up from school for the weekend.
The next month it was a 3 year old girl. She lived with her alcoholic father, her mom had been arrested two years prior and had four years left.
The next week it was another 5 year old boy. Three weeks later, an 8 month old girl.
The first one was considered a fluke. But by the time the twelfth child went missing, we knew it was an epidemic. A curfew was enacted. New rules for after school and day care pick up were instituted. Parents were panicked.
There was no obvious reason to suspect him, it was just a tragic coincidence. It was the day he dropped his wallet and I saw the cash, that’s when I asked what he did for a living. A waiter, he said. I handed him his wallet from the floor in front of my door, shocked to notice his tips seemed to come in awfully high value bills.
I let it go. I prefer to mind my own business. But I watched a little closer.
He usually left for work around 6am. Not that I was stalking him. I just noticed. He had nightly visitors most weekends. I mean, I like to mind my own business but there was a different person there every weekend.
He worked at the restaurant on weekdays primarily, like today, which is why I was seated at one of his booths picking at the remains of a chorizo omelette, no onions, with a side of hash browns. He provided adequate service but did not speak much.
After our incident in the hall, I eventually did do a little research. He was divorced, no kids. He had a small record, he was arrested for public intoxication and urination. Apparently he was walking home from the bar - at least he didn’t try to drive - and stopped on a side street to relieve himself. It happened to be an elementary school that was hosting a lock-in. That tacked a sexual predator label onto his sheet.
I was shocked that schools still hosted lock-ins. Anyway, the police were called and he was arrested. This must’ve been the final straw because his divorce was finalized six months later.
There were viable red flags there, but like I said, I mind my business. I tried not to pay too close attention to the man. I didn’t want him to think I had any unwarranted interest in him. So, I would make my regular monthly trips up to Canada. I had been doing this for years. The camping is superb and I have a favorite cafe just north of the border. I have made really great friends there over the years.
One gal who moonlights at the cafe in Canada, Teresa, works full time as a social worker but needs the extra income to help pay for some bills she inherited in her divorce. She’s a wonderful human. She really cares for the kids in her program.
I digress. The newspaper published profiles on the missing children after the disappearances. I cut them all out and kept them. Almost all of them disappeared out of broken homes. Most of them had a family member either in jail or on probation. The newspaper was usually less blunt but if we’re being honest - these kids were coming out of drug houses.
He stopped and refilled my coffee. Excellent.
The police put together a profile. They suspected a drug dealer or drug ring was either exacting revenge for nonpayment or was harvesting mules. They didn’t say that outright, of course, but I know how to read between the lines. It was plausible, wrong, but plausible.
Listen, I’ve been noticing how well he serves his customers. It’s fine, but he isn’t making more than $10 a table, at most. He had to be making more money somewhere else. Have I mentioned I like to mind my own business? Anyway, his weekend visitors were from the cities. I won’t call them prostitutes, but I know they were getting paid to come up to Hibbing. Not for the sex. They were delivery girls.
The drug scene here has gotten worse in recent years. I’m not sure what came first, the dealers or the buyers, but now we have plenty of both. As a common person, it’s easy to feel helpless as your town falls apart because of drugs. Luckily we have a decent police force
I checked my watch. It had been 15 minutes since I’d borrowed the restaurant phone. The door opened. Four uniformed officers walked in, hands resting on their firearms. Oh, good. A show. I curled my hands around my mug. It was still warm.
They waved my waiter over. He sulked but approached them. Their conversation was quiet. I sipped my coffee and carefully avoided staring. The tallest officer placed a hand lightly on my waiter’s shoulder and they escorted him out. There would be no show after all. Fine.
I dropped cash on my table and stood to leave.
If they weren’t there yet, police with a warrant should be at his apartment soon. They’d find newspaper cutouts following all the missing children. These sickos always kept paraphernalia. They’d also find various single socks, ranging in size from 5 month old to 7 year old. They could’ve been labeled with the kids’ names, but I thought that was overkill.
There was just enough evidence in his underwear drawer that any local jury would deliver a guilty verdict for kidnapping. If it wasn’t a local jury, he would still serve time for dealing.
I pulled my cell out on my walk back to my own apartment.
”Hi, Teresa.”
”How did it go?”
”The cops just picked him up.”
”Good. So that’s that.”
”That’s that.” We let a moment of silence linger before I spoke again. “How’s Liza?”
”Doing great. Working through the behavior issues in therapy nicely. Her teachers are reporting an improvement in performance. Best of all, her parents are applying to adopt.”
”I love to hear that. The others?”
”Some are better than others but overall, very promising.”
”Great. I’ll see you next week.” I hung up. A squad car was parked in front of our building. My role was over. I would follow the news, but now was the time to keep my distance.
Teresa had placed all twelve of the children with Permanent Wards - in the US we call them foster parents. Twelve was perhaps a bit ambitious, but once I’d found the children I couldn’t leave them in the drug houses with negligent parents.
I like to mind my own business. Really. But all I had to do was follow my blond drug dealer of a neighbor and I found a trail of broken parents driving their children into a life of hardship and addiction. Teresa found much better families for these kiddos. They could have a future now.
Oh, you want to judge me? Pause for a second. These kids were abused, neglected. Now they can have a life with families who love them and don’t prioritize drugs over their well being. I’m not a monster. I only did what was best. I chose these so-called “victims” with intention. They needed help, and this way they aren’t at risk of being put back in those dangerous homes they were once in.
He’s a dealer. He’s a part of the problem. Teresa and I? We’re a part of the solution. You would have done the same.
