“That’s when we dropped her off. Have you tried her cell phone?”
“We have been calling and texting since about 11:00 this morning. We figured she must have crashed somewhere with one of you—or maybe somebody she met.” Nick posed that as more of a question. He knew kids. Kenny might simply be trying to cover for Alisha.
“It wasn’t like that last night.” Kenny wasn’t dumb. “It was just the five of us. Me, Glenn, Alisha, Tammy, and Fran. Nancy isn’t back in town, so she wasn’t with us. Glenn drove and picked up Alisha and me. We met Fran and Tammy for an early dinner, then went over to Tammy’s, pretty much like the old days. We sat around talking, didn’t really even have much to drink, and then headed home. Pretty boring, really. It wasn’t a New Year’s Eve party at all. Something is not right. She didn’t say anything about going anywhere.”
Nick got the phone numbers for each of the other four, including Nancy. He caught up with both Tammy and Fran before reporting Alisha missing to the police. Glenn called back shortly thereafter. These were good kids; they were overachievers and had never been in any trouble. Each of the four told almost exactly the same story, but not in a contrived way. Nick was scared.
The police corroborated the stories of Alisha’s friends. One clarifying note occurred during Detective Bryant Bowen’s questioning of Kenny.
“Mr. Gonzales,” Bowen said to Kenny, “you and Mr. Minter dropped off Alisha.”
Kenny was completely cooperative. He was as worried about Alisha’s disappearance as anyone.
“Yes, Detective, we’ve talked about this, but we dropped her off around two o’clock.”
“Right,” Bowen responded without making further notes, staring intently at Kenny. “And when was the last time you saw Alisha?”
Kenny was puzzled, “It was then.”
“I didn’t phrase that well, Mr. Gonzales,” he continued. “I want to know exactly where she was when you saw her last.”
Kenny still didn’t follow, and the detective did not want to lead him; it was something of an impasse. “Detective, I want to help you as much as I possibly can. I must be being thick here. The last time I saw Alisha was when we dropped her off.”
“Where did you see her last?”
“There, when we dropped her off,” Kenny was losing his battle with not becoming frustrated. This guy must be a moron.
“Be very specific, Mr. Gonzales, and try one more time. Where was the last place you saw her?”
“I don’t know, Officer, it was—”
“Detective,” Bowen corrected.
Kenny looked scared. “Detective,” he said with emphasis, “she got out of the car, and we drove off.” Kenny suddenly adopted his Harvard educated voice, maybe to gain some level of authority. “If the specific question you’re asking is, ‘did we see her until she was in her house?’, then I would appreciate it if you would simply ask that, and for the rest of this interview, please be more direct. I’m a smart guy, but I cannot read your mind. I want Alisha to be found, alive, well, all of this to be some kind of misunderstanding or miscommunication. But to get back to the direct question I’m guessing you’re asking, no Detective, we did not walk her to the door or even watch her all the way to the door. She hopped out of the car, said goodbye, and we drove off, just like we had many times before. I don’t know if I saw her three feet up the sidewalk or twelve, but it wasn’t very far. Please feel free to confirm this with Glenn. And please,” he finished, “no more bullshit. I’ll tell you anything and everything you want to know to help you find Alisha.”
Kenny glared at Bowen, who later corroborated Kenny’s statement with Glenn Minter. No one had seen Alisha Lynch enter her home once she was dropped off.
The next week was an eternity for Nick, Phyllis, Nicky, and Michelle.
The police found Alisha’s body the following Friday north of Boulder in a small town called Eden, in Mansville County, less than one hundred miles from downtown Denver. Jillian Vargas led the investigation. In a poor county like Mansville, law enforcement officers often pulled multiple duties. Jillian was responsible for homicides and forensics, along with a number of other duties. Homicides were rare in Mansville County.
The Lynch family was crushed by Alisha’s death. Michelle was almost catatonic. She stayed in her room, laying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. Alisha had doted on her baby sister, and Michelle had relied on Alisha for advice, conspiracies, gossip, and love that only an older sister could provide. She cried exhaustively in the beginning, but as tears failed her, silence became her companion. About to turn fourteen, Michelle questioned how this could happen—to her, to Alisha, to her family.
Nicky’s reaction was quite the opposite. His normally outgoing personality exploded. He was loud, angry, resentful, challenging, and difficult to handle. After surviving the initial shock, his behavior became unruly as never before. In the ensuing weeks, he got into fights with his friends, alienating many of those closest to him. Nick and Phyllis both worried about him, but time provided its healing powers.
Phyllis took charge. She toggled between coddling Michelle and reproaching Nicky. She organized everything, the funeral, all communications, food, transportation logistics for those coming in from out of town, and her own home. Phyllis also acted out, but spent her excess energy positively rather than negatively. While mourning, however, she never found time for Nick.
Like Michelle, Nick found comfort in quiet and solitude. He also found solace, unfortunately, at the bottom of endless bottles of Wild Turkey. Nick’s quiet mourning continued. The sadness engulfed him, and the whiskey depressant only furthered his slouching to the bottom. The passage of time did not provide the healing properties Nick required. While Phyllis provided no comfort for him, neither did he ease her pain. They mourned and healed separately, in their own ways. Phyllis found overachievement; Nick found quite the opposite.
(twenty-three months ago)
The film started dark. It took some adjusting of the eyes to gain perspective, get a sense of the environment, the surroundings. The audio was as rough as the video, uncensored, coarse, and horrific.
Mike watched, enraptured.
The first camera shot from above showed a man dressed as a minister adjusting linens on a mattress on the floor.
A second camera, at eye level, revealed a steel trap door in one wall. As it slowly opened, a young beauty crawled out, wearing a seventeenth century nun’s uniform, complete with a scarlet “A” in the middle of her chest. She was blindfolded and gagged, with her hands apparently tied behind her back. She slithered through the opening and awkwardly rose.
Victor reacted viscerally, recognizing Tanya from their prior meeting at Mel’s and ill-advised adventure to the Dallas West Motor Inn. Thrown by this unexpected twist, he nevertheless moved forward and slowly caressed her. First, he removed the habit, carefully following the script provided by The Doctor, lest he fail, and more dire consequences transpire. Upon loosening the habit, he worked her hair, making it fall nicely about her shoulders as it had at Mel’s.
He continued to undress Tanya, speaking intimately but profanely throughout, as directed by the script. Tanya’s outfit was secured such that Victor was able to take it off without turning her around or even reaching around her, again, as scripted by The Doctor’s elaborate directions. Victor never suspected Tanya’s hands were not securely tied.
Once she was undressed, Victor proceeded to undress himself, continuing the graphic, profane monologue. It had taken him almost two hours to memorize the simple script and understand how to work with the improvisational directions, but now he was performing magnificently.
He loosened and discarded Tanya’s gag, revealing her wide and supple mouth. Continuing his monologue, he instructed her to remain silent as per the script’s direction. Slowly he pushed her to her knees, and she ceded willingly. The camera changed again, to an angle more waist level, a full, zoomed shot of the pornographic action.
Victor introduced himself to Tanya.
She took him fully in her mouth, and, as his organ performed despite the circumstances, he began an exaggerated moan of pleasure. The action paused, and Mike recognized poor editing as the director, off screen, provided directions. In only a second or two it resumed. The Doctor had clearly instructed Victor to tone it down a bit.
Reaching his full state, Victor laid back, pulling Tanya on top of him. She straddled him, and he pulled her down by the shoulders to kiss her. As they kissed, he slipped his hands around her throat and slowly began to cry.
He continued the sexual union while he tightened the grip around her neck. Tanya began to choke and gasp for air, attempting to pull up.
At this moment, Tanya’s hands slipped from behind her back, and with swiftness, she brought the knife around and stabbed Victor in the upper chest, just below the neck. Reacting in surprise and shock, Victor pulled his hands away from her neck, shoved her off, and started backing toward the wall.
The next few minutes of the video were horrific, graphic, disturbing beyond any images seen on screen, short of war atrocities. The cameras changed continually to show the best angles. In the end, one survived.
After the cameras stopped rolling, The Doctor said to the survivor, “I will be true to my word. “You will be drugged to unconsciousness and returned to the Dallas West Motor Inn. Your room has been paid for. You will wake up there and continue to follow my instructions to the letter. You understand the consequences if you do not.”
Nick whiled away the afternoon in the easy chair, drinking Wild Turkey and wondering where his life had gone. When the door slammed, he looked up. It was dark outside; his pants were wet where he had spilled his drink in his lap. A fishing show droned on in front of him. He had barely regained his senses, if not his sobriety, when Phyllis walked in. She quickly surveyed the situation and provided further disapproval.
“Jesus, Nick, you’ve sat here all afternoon drinking, haven’t you?” she demanded.
Nick headed to the bathroom, peeled off his clothes, and took a long, hot shower.
“Come in,” Dr. Crawford said in reply to the timid knock on her door.
A young, anorexic looking female walked through the door into Dr. Crawford’s office. The psychiatrist rose from her desk and moved across the room.
“Hi, I’m Christine Crawford,” she smiled, extending her hand.
Sally Winfield gazed down, apparently trying to decide whether to shake it or flee. She chose the former, gripping feebly.
“Please, come in and be comfortable,” Dr. Crawford offered as she closed the door.
“I have two options for you,” she continued. “First, I have what I call the living room,” she offered, pointing to a small sofa and a chair. “Or, I have the den, where you can lie back on a chaise. Some people seem to feel more relaxed in a setting like what they’ve seen on television or in the movies.”
Sally moved to the living room and sat on the plush leather chair. Dr. Crawford joined her, sitting back on the side of the sofa nearest Sally.
“Sally,” she started seriously, “I need to talk to you about why you are here.”
Sally remained silent.
“I know you have had some very difficult times. You tried to kill yourself and came very close to accomplishing it. None of your family has come forward, and you haven’t given us anyone to call. We actually don’t even know if you have any family. As far as I know, you haven’t spoken to anyone since you came into the emergency room.” Dr. Crawford was speaking slowly, attempting to illicit a response. None was forthcoming.
She continued, “The state has had you involuntarily committed to the Portland Mental Health Institute. It is my responsibility to provide an evaluation and recommendation. According to state law, you can only be held involuntarily for seventy-two hours unless the state can provide compelling reasons why you pose a threat to yourself or others and should be held longer. It is my responsibility to evaluate you and make a recommendation to the state, one way or the other.
Sally smiled demurely, “Is this an insane asylum?”
Dr. Crawford smiled back. “You’re too funny.” Then she whispered conspiratorially, “We’re all a little crazy around here.”
Sally smiled and relaxed.
Dr. Crawford said, “You and I have to spend a lot of time together over the next couple of days, so I want you to be comfortable. I have all sorts of goodies in here.” Christine rose and walked to a set of sliding doors, pulling them open to reveal a kitchenette. “I have cookies and chips, coffee, soda, fresh fruit, all sorts of good stuff. Come get whatever you like.”
Sally walked over and took a bag of chips and a diet soda. Christine poured herself coffee, and they both returned to the living room and sat.
“You’re going to spend quite a bit of time here, so, please, be comfortable. While we’re talking, feel free to get up and help yourself to whatever looks good. That door to the left of the kitchen area is a bathroom whenever you need it.” She didn’t mention it had neither a lock nor sharp objects.
Sally opened the chips and began snacking.
“Sally, I know I look young, or at least so I’m told, but I’ve done this for quite a while now. I’m going to ask you to do something for me, and if you will I believe our time will go very well. I want you to trust me. My job is to have your best interest in mind, and I do. I chose this profession because I like to help people, people like you. I really do hope you will trust me. Secondly, I’m going to ask you a lot of questions. Ultimately, I will probably need to get all of them answered, or at least the most important ones, and you will know which ones those are. But for now, as we get to know each other, if I ask a question, you’re not comfortable answering, please say that. We’ll come back around to it later when the time is right, if it is important. But I want you to get comfortable. I want you to feel comfortable here, and to feel that I really am looking out for your best interests. Are you okay with those two things?”
“I’ll tell you if I’m not comfortable with something, but I can’t tell you I trust you, I don’t. I don’t know you, and I’m here against my will. No, I can’t tell you that.”
Great answer, Christine thought, but she replied soberly, “I can understand that. I appreciate your honesty. I hope as time passes you will feel that you can trust me, but we’ll work on that for a while. Let’s get started.”
She leaned forward a bit. “As a first step, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Where you were raised, what you are interested in, who your friends are, anything you want to talk about. I want to get to know a little more about you, and you can provide that better than anyone.”
Sally began. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I was born in Tucson. My mom was seventeen when I was born. She had some pretty serious health problems, so she had a hysterectomy about a year later. I’ve never met my dad, but evidently, he was quite a bit older than my mom, like twenty-nine or something like that when I was born. My grandparents, my mom’s parents, never liked me much. Actually, I don’t think they much liked my mom. It’s funny, my grandfather was a preacher of some sort. Seems like those who talk the most do the least, or at least that’s what it seems like to me. They lived in Wyoming, or Montana, or someplace like that. I saw them a couple of times when I was growing up when they would be passing through to go help poor people on some mission.” She laughed sarcastically. “I don’t know if they’re alive anymore. The last time I saw them was when I was ten or eleven. My mom died when I was sixteen. She had AIDS.”
Dr. Crawford absorbed all of this, then asked, “Was your mother a prostitute, Sally?”
Sally glared at her, but then her eyes teared, and she nodded.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, we all do what we have to do.”
Sally composed herself and continued. “I never was the greatest student. When my mom died, I sold all of our stuff and came to Portland with my boyfriend. I never went back to school.” She paused. Dr. Crawford allowed the silence to lead Sally further.
“T
he money ran out pretty quick, and my boyfriend left right after that. I started dancing. Stripping.”
Sally went into some detail about her experiences in adult entertainment. Dr. Crawford asked leading, open-ended questions to keep the conversation moving and the information flowing. As Sally shared ever-more-troubling details, she began to cry. Before long, her body was racked with sobs.
After a period of time, the crying subsided. Christine Crawford looked at Sally Winfield compassionately and said, “I know how difficult these sessions can be. How about if you go back to your room, get cleaned up, rest a little bit, get a nice lunch, and then we’ll pick back up here this afternoon.”
Sally looked at Dr. Crawford pleadingly. Christine knew something bad had happened. It would take some time to root out.
“One more thing, Sally,” she said as they both stood. “I know I’m evaluating you for the state. But what goes on in this room is confidential. It stays between you and me. It is my ethical responsibility to maintain this confidentiality.”
“Hello Sacramento,” the speaker began, further pumping up and already energetic audience. The crowd erupted. “It is my great honor and pleasure to introduce our keynote speaker tonight.”
The venue was packed. With over sixty thousand seats filled plus a packed crowd on the field, people later would be asked to estimate how many people were there. The low end of the range was sixty-five thousand, and, of course, some idiot estimated there were “well over one hundred thousand, at least.”
However many people attended, the event was destined for success. Gary Knight had left his lucrative chief executive job at Rocky Mountain Data Storage ten years earlier to form the Coalition of Values movement. The organization’s mantra was, “based on Christian values and all that’s wrong with America.” Gary Knight had formed an organization his followers hungered for.
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