I read all the news stories about Ayla Reynolds, the 20-month-old girl reported missing from her bed in Waterville, Maine, last Friday. I watch the TV news. I even watched CNN’s Nancy Grace: (“Tot snatched from bed—Exclusive”) as Nancy interviewed Trista Reynolds, the child’s mother. “All I want to know is where she is,” said Trista, who lost custody of the little girl a couple of months ago and has reportedly struggled with drug addiction.
It’s all pretty horrible. And familiar.
I say this, not because I’ve seen other kids snatched from their beds, but because I’ve written about one. A lot. His name was Lincoln and he was almost a year old. He disappeared from the bedroom of his mother’s apartment in Portland. Mom was a drug addict and for several hours didn’t notice he was gone. When it sank in, she freaked.
This was in my last crime novel, PORT CITY BLACK AND WHITE. My fictional cops converge on the neighborhood. They bring in tracking dogs. They interrogate the mom, her boyfriend, the child’s father, all of the neighbors, a homeless woman who roams the neighborhood.
Nothing.
Days go by. The mom and her family accuse the police of dragging their feet. The dad beats the boyfriend to a pulp. The neighbors say they’ve seen nothing, heard nothing, know nothing. The child has simply vanished.
Of course, he hadn’t. And some of the people in the book know where he was. Even as the cops speculate that little Lincoln has been snatched to leverage a drug debt, or maybe has been sold on the street. I knew what had really happened. I’d made up the story.
I had someone tell me just last week that they couldn’t read my book because it involved a crime against a child and they didn’t have the stomach for it. I was surprised because as the author, I hadn’t found the story terribly disturbing. But then again, I knew how it would end.
That’s not the case with Ayla Reynolds. I walk out to the mailbox to get the paper every morning and, with trepidation, open the front page. (Today was a $30,000 reward). I don’t want to see bad news. Like everyone else, I want to see the story that says the blonde, smiling innocent toddler has been located and she’s live and well.
As I write this, I’m still hopeful. As a crime writer, I can come up with any number of scenarios that involve all sorts of deception—and no violence. I can envision any number of ways this all could play out, and end with the child safe and sound. I know the tangled webs that people weave, how one lie leads to another and before you know it, every investigator in the state is at your house. I know that because I’ve invented those stories. I can invent one with a happy ending for Ayla Reynolds—but I can’t write it.
It’s an odd feeling, seeing things happen that are right out of my book, but knowing that this case has a life of its own. Something happened to this little girl last week and the dominoes continue to fall, day after day, cold night after cold night.
It’s made me wonder why I invented such a story—a child snatched from his crib, his mother distraught, racked with guilt—but in the end, it’s just that—a story. And just as I have the power to imagine such a mess, I have the power to clean it up. I can put little Lincoln in harm’s way, but I can also save him.
Not with Ayla. I just follow this story like everyone else, with the hope that she is fine and the guilty parties in the case will be brought to justice. It happens in books. Let it happen one more time.
In PORT CITY SHAKEDOWN, the first Brandon Blake novel, Brandon gets a full dose of bad guys. A brawl in a funeral home introduces him to Joel Fuller, a sociopathic hustler. Fuller is fresh out of jail and determined to take Brandon out—after Fuller and his sidekick Kelvin shake him down.
Rocky isn’t a tough guy. He’s a skinny little kid with crooked glasses, and he shouldn’t be homeless in Portland, Maine. When McMorrow and Roxanne pluck him from under the stomping feet of a gang of street kids, Rocky latches onto McMorrow–and drags him into a world of murder, both old and new. Why is McMorrow protecting Rocky? The cops want to know. Why is Rocky on the run? McMorrow wants to know. Why does death follow in Rocky’s wake? Jack and Roxanne need to find out before they’re added to the list. 
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Hey Gerry, I’m about 3/4 through Black and White (really stretching it out, savoring every word as I know it will end soon and will be a long wait for your next Jack& Roxanne book); I guess when one really loves to read a certain author it seems like an eternity between books; sometimes we wish we could put you on “speed write”, but of course we can’t; we all know writing is a process and, of course, as a popular author you have to do all the book signings, meet and greets, etc. required of such fame; I’m a fan of Julia Spencer-Fleming too, and am anxiously awaiting her next book; love you Maine writers!!! But, the reason for my reply is to say that I immediately drew the parallel between Lincoln in B & W to the little Ayla Reynolds case; makes the writing of your book seem somehow prophetic, although, there certainly are plenty of missing children cases cropping up all over the country to write about, kids being used as pawns in drug money situations, custody battles, etc.; not so surprising, I guess, that one would occur right in our backyard; I can’t help but feeling that Ayla’s case is somehow drug related given the mom’s history and who knows what on the father’s side. I fear the outcome is not going to be a positive one, whatever the reason. You must be somewhat haunted by the case knowing that you wrote about something so similar and knowing your compassionate spirit for those less fortunates in this world; yes, I remember your colums and how they touched me. You said they were in a box in your barn (at the book signing); someday you should revisit those articles when your writing muse is running on “low battery”; you of course will note growth and changes in your writing but will also be reminded of the basic human instinct emtions that led you to write about those people and their issues; by the way, another connection I feel to the Brandon character (other than the physical aspects of Portland/waterfront) is his conflicted feelings about family (or the lack thereof); I lost my father at 4 and my mother at 13 so pretty much brought myself up; I too suffered over the years from a lack of family structure and always felt like I was on the outside of life looking in, not unlike those ambivalent feelings that Brandon has from time to time; you always know you are different and thus more vulnerable, always searching for a way to be “normal”, to belong to the status quo of life; of course, that never happens because ultimately we have learned to rely only on ourselves to “get through” life; relationships become complicated; we are always the odd man (woman) out; isn’t it amazing how just when we think we are so unique in our experiences we read of someone (fictional or real) who has been in the same place; sometimes the parallels of life are almost scary! By the way, my background is Irish, too; mother’s name was Riley. Be well, write with a guided spirit; all we can ask of you! Kerma
Hi Kerma:
Thanks for your note and I’m really glad you’re enjoying PC B&W. Yes, the parallels are unsettling. And like you, I don’t have a good feeling at all about the real-life outcome. Holding out hope but it’s dwindling with each news story. I can control all this in a book. It might seem weird but I feel sort of powerless in this case.
And I can see why you would feel a connection to Brandon. Your description of his state of mind is spot on. I should have spoken to you when I was coming up with the character. If I’d only known. … Always the odd man (woman) out. I’m going to file that one away.
The Irish connection as well. No wonder we’ve had such good chats over the years. (The Irish are great chatters).
Thanks again. I may point people to your comment because I think they should read it.
All best,
Gerry