Missing: The Oregon City Girls. Rick Watson
has paid the price. Aghast, the PI begins weeping softly while her puzzled mother tries her best to understand why her daughter’s upset. “Linda, what’s the matter with you?”
Linda lapses into a muttering monologue as she rocks her head back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks. A nearby nurse hears her and rushes in to offer comfort. “No, no, no. Oh God! No. Not Miranda, too. It’s crazy. I just met her. She was so alert and perky. I’ve got to get back to work! Oh this could have been so different. If I had really worked on the Ashley Pond case, I might have prevented this. She was so lovely, so spunky. Maria asked me for help, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Now I am. A third girl is not going to disappear if there’s anything in the world that I can do to prevent it.”
On March 8, 2002, at about 5:30 PM, Oregon City Detective Greg Fryett receives a telephone call from his boss, Lieutenant Jarvis. “You won’t believe this Greg, but a second juvenile girl has turned up missing at the Newell Creek apartments. We need you to take charge. Valenzuela-Garcia has been handling Ashley Pond’s case, so you’ll coordinate with her. Both girls live at the same apartment house, so you’d better get over there and see what you can find out.”
Fryett brings in every available reserve officer to do extensive canvassing of the entire apartment complex. While his assistants ring doorbells, Fryett interviews the latest missing girl’s mother, Michelle Duffey.
With her other children sitting nearby, Michelle tries to explain the unexplainable. “I don’t think Miranda would leave. She’s friends with Ashley Pond and she was very upset over Ashley’s disappearance. My oldest daughter had been staying with the dance team coach. My youngest daughter was here this morning though. She left for school at about 7:10 on the early bus, the one that arrives at about 7:20. Then I was at home alone with Miranda until I left for work at 7:30. The last thing I heard when I left was Miranda locking the door behind me. I heard the clicking of the deadbolt. Then I went to work and I got back home about 2:15 in time to be here when my younger girl arrives, usually about 2:20.”
At the conclusion of his interview with Duffey, Fryett searches the apartment for signs of forced entry but doesn’t find any. His conclusion? It appears as though Miranda Gaddis left the apartment on her own with her books and backpack. He also determines there had been no caller ID phone calls recorded.
Fryett visits with every occupant of Building 1, the building that contains the Gaddis unit, but the interviews prove fruitless. Nobody has seen anything suspicious.
By this time, rain is falling steadily and Fryett, accompanied by Sergeant Lisa Nunes, trudges up the hill to the school bus stop. A lone residence nearby attracts the detective’s attention. It’s the only single family house in the apartment dominated neighborhood.
Night has fallen, but his curiosity prods him to survey the place. They walk through overgrown grass and notice a run-down shed near the rear of the half-acre yard. In the darkness they make their way to the front door and knock. A moment later the door swiftly swings open revealing a five-foot-eleven-inch, white male in his late thirties who throws his arms high in the air. With a broad smile he attempts to charm the policemen when he shouts, “I give up, officers. Take me away.”
Fryett is not amused. “Another neighborhood girl is missing. Fourteen hours have elapsed. She’s thirteen-years-old and her name is Miranda Gaddis. May we come in?”
The man opens his front door and gestures for them to enter. Fryett notices a young girl sitting on a nearby couch. He explains to the man, “We’re looking for any information about Miranda. Have you seen her?”
The man plays with his reddish mustache then shakes his head. “The last fourteen hours? No, I certainly haven’t seen her. But I do know her. She’s a friend of my daughter Mallori.”
The detective opens his notebook and removes the cap from his ballpoint with his teeth. “Can I have your name?”
The smiling man shrugs. “Sure. Ward, Ward Weaver III.”
“Mr. Weaver, is that child on the couch your daughter?”
“Yes she is. Her name is Mallori and like I said, she is friends with Miranda and Ashley.”
“Would you mind if I had a word with her?”
“No, not at all. Mallori, come over here. The officer wants to ask you some questions.”
Mallori obeys and soon is standing next to her dad. Fryett smiles before he asks, “Can you tell me what your day was like today, Mallori?”
“Sure, well, I didn’t go to school today, because I was sick.”
“What time did you get up? Was your dad still here then?”
“I didn’t sleep here last night. I slept at my mom’s. I haven’t been here all day.”
“So you weren’t in school today?”
“There was only a half day of school anyway, so I didn’t go.”
“You haven’t seen Miranda?”
“No, I sure didn’t. I saw her yesterday, but I wasn’t even around to see her today.”
“Your dad says she’s friends with you; is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Does she visit you here in the house?”
“Sure, we hang out here sometimes.”
“Mr. Weaver, let me ask you something. Did Miranda come to your house this morning looking for Mallori?”
Weaver shakes his head. “Oh, no. She didn’t.”
“Was there anyone else in your house this morning?”
“No, just me and Mallori live here now. Nobody else.”
“Would you have any objections if I just looked around your place a bit? It’s just routine.”
“Sure, go ahead. Help yourself.”
Fryett and Nunes carefully examine room after room, not even sure exactly what they hope to find. The bedrooms and the closets are first, but they seem fine. The bathroom is next, nothing suspicious there. A pass through the living room and dining room doesn’t reveal anything either. The kitchen is the only room left, but it too yields no clues.
“Could you show me around the backyard while Nunes stays inside with your daughter?” Fryett asks.
Weaver agrees and leads Fryett out the kitchen door to the rear of the house. Though the night is dark, Fryett notices the outbuilding again, but a cursory inspection fails to arouse any suspicions. At the end of the visit Fryett and Nunes shake Weaver’s hand and politely thank him for his cooperation.
Weaver says, “Glad to help, and if I can be of any further help, feel free to call on me any time. I wish I had more information for you.”
Detective Fryett thanks the talkative witness for his comments and hands him a business card. “Call me sir, if you should think of anything else.”1
In these first twenty-four hours after Miranda vanishes, few clues surface. However, soon an explosion of FBI activity erupts. Agents from all over the country quickly swarm the makeshift command center above an Oregon City firehouse, swelling the total of official investigators past seventy. A separate agent is assigned responsibility for each building in the huge Newell Creek Apartment complex. Some inhabitants are interviewed as often as three times in three days. As days pass, the pressure intensifies as authorities become almost desperate to squeeze out a meaningful lead that can break open the baffling mystery.
More days pass and the FBI task force ratchets up its reward fund to fifty thousand dollars. This money is to be awarded to the provider