She pulled her car over to the shoulder. Then there was a blinding bright light in her face, a sudden electrical snap-crackling at her neck, pain shaking her brain like a marble in a glass, grinding her teeth, her body going into spasms, leaving her without control. Totally helpless.
She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t move.
A sack with breathing holes slid over her head.
She was hefted from her car, placed on a floor, felt a cloth gag cover her mouth, heard the peel of duct tape binding her ankles and wrists. Felt an adjustment made to align her nostrils with the breathing holes. Heard a door shut, movement, driving and driving, motor and wheels droning; breathing hard through her nose, her blood thumping.
Who’s doing this? Why? What’re they going to do?
Drifting in and out of consciousness, no way to know how long or how far they’d traveled before they stopped. She was placed into something hard and open. It tilted and she was moving and bouncing, a wheel squeaking.
A wheelbarrow.
She was moved in a wheelbarrow.
I’m going to be killed and buried!
A loud crackle of another electrical zap. Quaking with pain, she passed out. For how long, she didn’t know.
She woke in darkness.
Her gag, hood, and bindings were gone. She was on a mattress; her body ached. She had to pee. For a long time, she didn’t move or speak, then, hearing a soft click, she turned over, saw a tiny red light and heard the gentle drone of a fan. The room filled with light. She shut her eyes, taking a moment, adjusting to the single bulb in the ceiling.
That’s how she came to be in her prison.
It was square, about ten by ten feet, smelling of fresh-cut wood. It seemed newly built; sawdust laced parts of the floor. The windowless walls were solid planks. There were no cameras watching her. The door had a sliding viewing port built in. The entire place felt insulated, to absorb cries for help. A small, screened vent for air was atop one wall. A small space heater—the source of the tiny red light—was built into a wall and covered by a steel mesh screen. The light bulb and heater would come to life intermittently, likely set on timers.
She had a clean mattress, pillow and blankets. They smelled new.
Beside the main door, at floor level, were two small doors side by side, like pet doors. She could open them from her side, but there were heavy metal doors on the other side that were locked.
And there were THE RULES.
They were taped to the wall next to the big door, printed in a bold black font on a single sheet of paper.
THE RULES:
THEY MUST BE FOLLOWED
BLACK PAIL FOR TOILET & WASTE—ALWAYS REPLACE
WHITE PAIL FOR WASHING—ALWAYS REPLACE
FOOD, WATER, ETC., WILL BE PROVIDED
The plastic pails and other essential items were transferred to her through the small doors, usually preceded by the sudden, cold snap of her captor sliding open the viewing port. Eyes would look at her from the shadows, then movement at the lower doors and she’d receive whatever her captor delivered. So far it had been a clean toilet pail, a roll of tissue, and then food. Other times, toiletries, sanitary napkins, plastic utensils, bottled water, clean underwear, sweatpants, T-shirts, a hoodie, a notepad and pen.
Jennifer had used the pad and pen to continue pleading with her captor.
Please, I don’t know who you are. Just leave the door open. I’ll go back to my family.
She left her note with the pails. It disappeared without a response.
There were no other sounds here. No indication of other prisoners, no distant hum of traffic, no trains or jetliners. Nothing but her gloom and the sense that something was going to happen to her.
She hadn’t been sexually assaulted.
Not yet.
She hadn’t been beaten.
Not yet.
No demands had been made.
No one had spoken to her.
Will I be killed?
She flinched.
The door of the viewing port slid open.
Jennifer looked into the pool of darkness, at the eyes watching her.
Then there was activity at the lower transfer doors. An exchange of pails and then again, food was left, a store-bought ham and cheese sandwich, potato chips, bottled water, two apples, and a folded page of paper.
She opened it to the words:
YOU’RE NOT READY. BUT SOON YOU WILL KNOW WHY YOU’RE HERE.
Twenty-Five
Clarence, New York
The next morning, Lieutenant Phil Becker nodded to his law enforcement colleagues from Buffalo PD, Erie County, and the FBI.
They’d come together at the New York State Police Clarence Barracks for the first multiagency meeting of the Griffin investigation. Laptops, tablets, phones, and notebooks were positioned at the ready on the room’s large table. The air held a mingling of coffee, cologne, and solemn determination.
“Let’s get to it,” Becker said. “Everyone’s received our updated reports. This is a missing person case. While not yet confirmed, foul play cannot be ruled out given the known aspects, which we’ll get to. Now, I’ll throw it to the lead investigator, who most of you know, Claire Kozak, and her partner, Ned Carillo.”
Kozak worked at a laptop, linked to a large screen on the wall at the end of the room. She directed everyone’s attention to it, and Jennifer Griffin’s face filled the screen, along with a set of details.
“We’re at the very early stages of this investigation.”
Kozak began with a timeline encompassing approximate times, locations, and names on maps, arising from when Jenn was last seen leaving the book club meeting; to when Greg Griffin searched for her, then reported her missing, up until two walkers discovered her Toyota Corolla. Then aerial photos appeared on the screen, pinpointing where the car had been found, then maps with distances from Liz Miller’s house to the Griffin home.
“The car’s been trailered to Batavia where FIU will process it,” Kozak said. “In addition to the car, a dog team made a key discovery at the scene.”
Another aerial photo and map appeared.
“In dense forest, some forty yards from the car, we found a woman’s purse. Among the items it contained—Jennifer Griffin’s driver’s license, other identification, her wallet with cash and credit cards, a personal calendar, contact list, and her phone, which had died. Forensics tells us that her phone’s battery strength may have been low earlier in the evening. The phone will be analyzed and information extracted and examined.”
New images of Jenn’s purse and its contents, including her phone, appeared, and notes were taken by investigators. Kozak said the surrounding area was being methodically grid-searched, in an ever-expanding manner, with drones and dog teams.