Al Cimino - The Disappeared--The Cleveland Kidnappings and Other Shocking Cases

O n Monday, 6 May 2013, Ariel Castro left his house at 2207 Seymour Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio. It was a three-storey clapboard building with a detached garage, standing in the middle of a tree-lined street in Clevelands West Side neighbourhood a working-class area with a close-knit community. Ariel Castro had bought the four-bedroom house from Edwin and Antonia Castro in 1992 for $12,000 (7,750). It was now valued at $36,100 (23,300), but faced repossession over the non-payment of taxes. Castro owed some $2,501 (1,615) in taxes for the period 201012. The property had four bedrooms, a bathroom, a 760sq ft (71sq m) basement, two porches and an attic. It is just steps away from a petrol station and a Caribbean grocery. Other than being a bit run down, there was nothing at all extraordinary about it except that it held a terrible secret.

Ariel Castros son Anthony had visited the house just two weeks before and noticed that the doors to the basement, the attic and the garage were padlocked. He had spent his early years in this house, but most of the rooms were off limits even to family members. Ariel Castros ex-wife, Grimilda Nilda Figueroa, Anthony and his three sisters moved out of the house in 1996 after years of violent abuse. Since then, Anthony seldom visited.

The house was always locked, recalled Anthony. There were places we could never go. There were locks on the basement locks on the attic locks on the garage.

In fact, on that visit Anthony had not even been invited inside. Visits, when he made them, were brief. I havent been at that house for longer than 20 minutes for longer than I can remember, he said. And were talking since high school. Late nineties.

To the neighbours, Ariel Castro, a school bus driver, was just a regular Joe who chatted with other families on their porches, waved hello in the street and invited neighbours to clubs where he played bass with several Latin bands. He was not a troublemaker, said 58-year-old Jovita Marti, whose mother lived across the street.

Mike Kazimore, a local postman who delivered mail to the porch virtually every day for the previous 12 years, said, It looked like a normal house.

Niki Greiner, another resident, said the property was usually quiet, although sometimes you would hear music. This broke the background hum of traffic, but was rarely loud enough to obscure the birdsong.

Some of the houses in the street had seen better days. The recession had taken its toll and paint peeled from a fair few of the one-and two-storey houses. As in many of the poorer areas of American cities, a number of houses had been boarded up since the sub-prime mortgage crash. But it was not the kind of area where you felt menace on the streets. The people were friendly and happy to talk; residents like to sit out on their porches in the warm weather and watch the world go by, and the red-brick Immanuel Evangelical Lutheran Church with a large silver cross on the wall was well attended.

Ariel Castro had left home to visit his mothers house nearby that afternoon. He arrived at around 4.30pm. Other members of the family were there and he greeted them warmly. The first thing he said was, Familia! said his 63-year-old brother-in-law, Juan Alicea.

After a meal of rice and beans and pork chops, Castro and Alicea did some digging in the garden with Aliceas two grandchildren. He was talking about how he wanted to get it done because he didnt want to have to come back and do it tomorrow, said Alicea. Then he kissed his mom goodbye and said, I love you, Mom. The food was good. Just like normal.

But that day was not like normal. When he left the house, Castro had forgotten to lock the front door. Inside was 27-year-old Amanda Berry, one of three who had been held as a slave there for over a decade. All that stood between her and freedom was a flimsy storm door, but she was afraid to break it open because she thought that Castro might be testing her. Castro used a sick game to intimidate his captives; he would pretend to leave the door unlocked and beat them if they tried to escape.

This time, though, she plucked up all her courage and started screaming. Her cries alerted a neighbour, restaurant pot-washer Charles Ramsey, who was eating a hamburger.

He had spoken to Castro early that day. It was at around 3.00pm when Ramsey handed Castro his mail, which had been put in the wrong mailbox. He had seen Castro leave the house. Then Ramsey had got on his bike and cycled around to the local McDonalds. After he got back, he was in the living room by the front door when he heard Amandas cries for help.

Man, this girl screamed like a car had hit a kid, which made me, you know, stop eating. What the hell was that? said Ramsey. You know, so when I got up, I saw this my neighbour across the street, he run across the street and Im like Im thinking, where you going, because aint nobody next door because I just saw Ariel leave.