The Stolen - Jason Pinter [39]
knows a soul down here? Besides, I thought you loved the
Woodward and Bernstein stuff."
"I do, but Robert Redford is a little too old and leathery
to play me. And Dustin Hoffman's too short for you."
Amanda looked around exaggeratedly. She eyed the
barista, squinted her eyes. I had no idea what in the hell
she was doing. It was as if she was expecting a rogue team
of FBI agents to come out of nowhere and load her in the
back of a van. Sadly, it wasn't even two years ago when
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two FBI agents did break into her house and shoot
someone in her bedroom.
Maybe that's what made it funnier.
She pressed her foot up against the tote bag underneath
the table. Then she kicked it toward me. Then she gestured
at the bag before taking a long, slow sip of her latte.
"Oh, is that for me?"
She eyed me contemptuously. "Oh, for Christ's sake,
open the damn thing."
I picked up the tote and pulled out the folder. The top
sheet was Michelle Oliveira's birth certificate. She was
born on November 15, 1991. That would make her sixteen
today. Michelle Oliveira's parents were Carlos and
Jennifer Oliveira. At the time of the abduction, the family
resided in Meriden, Connecticut. According to tax records,
Carlos worked as a housepainter, and Jennifer had worked
in a variety of temp jobs over the years. Secretary to an
orthodontist. Court stenographer. Doctor's office receptionist. Telemarketer.
Together, the Oliveiras' income never exceeded thirtyfour-thousand dollars a year. They had two other children,
a boy, Juan, now fourteen, and a girl, Josephine, twelve.
Juan was a high school freshman, Josephine was just about
to begin the seventh grade. Their sister Michelle was kidnapped on March 23, 1997, not yet six years old. She
returned on February 16, 2001, nearly four years later.
According to the report, Michelle had spent that afternoon at the home of Patrick and Lynette Lowe. Michelle
was in grade school with their daughter Iris, and according to interviews with the Lowes, and confirmed by the
Oliveiras, Michelle often went to the Lowes' home after
school to play. She would often stay at the Lowes' from
approximately three-thirty to six, at which time she would
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come home to get ready for dinner. As the Lowes lived just
four houses down on the same block as the Oliveiras, the
families admitted she walked home on most occasions
unsupervised. On March 23 she left the Lowes' home at
approximately a quarter to six. At six-fifteen Jennifer
Oliveira called Lynette Lowe to ask when Michelle would
be home. When Lynette Lowe informed Jennifer that
Michelle had left half an hour earlier, and Josephine could
not find Michelle on their block, she called the police.
The Meriden PD found no trace of Michelle Oliveira.
They compared tire tracks found on Warren Street to all
vehicles registered to inhabitants of the block. All vehicles
checked out. Nobody had seen Michelle after she left the
Lowes. No neighbor glimpsed the girl. Nobody came
forward. Michelle Oliveira had simply vanished.
The next page contained her social security number,
employment records, known addresses. And her parents'.
I looked at Amanda. She was absently sipping her
coffee while eyeing me.
"Did you read this already?" I asked. She nodded.
I continued reading. In 2003, two years after Michelle's
reappearance, the Oliveiras moved from Meriden to
Westport. Westport, I knew, was a much more affluent
part of Connecticut. Records indicated that the Oliveiras
were able to sell their home in Meriden for nearly
$800,000, nearly triple what they'd paid for it ten years
earlier. That was quite a profit for a family who couldn't
afford to do much refurbishing.
"What are you thinking?" Amanda asked.
"I'm thinking I'm throwing away money by renting
my apartment."
"Seriously," she said. "As soon as I can afford it, I'm
leaving Darcy and buying a studio."
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"Good luck coming up with half a million dollars," I
replied.
"No way."
"You want three hundred and fifty square feet in