Chapter 9
She needed a tool. If she went to the extreme length that the chain allowed her, she could just glimpse a tool chest – one of those standing ones like her dad's – at the far end of the room. But it might as well have been on the moon, for all the good it did her. No way was she ever going to be able to reach it. She turned her gaze from that direction and focused her attention on the items that were closer to her reach. At first her heart sank, because she could see nothing but Michael's painting and sketching supplies, which were of no use to her. But then she spied something else; some sort of funny-looking tool lying amid a bunch of empty paint tubes and rags on a shelf next to Michael's easel. It looked like a combination between an ice pick and a chisel. She recalled his comment that he’d begun trying his hand at ice sculpting, and wondered if that was one of the tools he used. In any case, it was ideal for chipping away at cinder block. If only she could figure out a way of reaching it. Chained as she was, she couldn't get anywhere near enough to touch it, even with her fingertips. But maybe she could figure out a way of bringing it to her... Moving into the powder room, she looked at the basic toiletries that Michael had provided. Her gaze passed over and dismissed most of the items: the hand towels and wash cloth, the roll of toilet tissue, the cake of soap, the toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. But the hairbrushes: maybe she could make use of those. There were two of them, a round brush with soft, natural bristles, and a vent brush with widely spaced bristles made of a hard plastic. Thoughtfully picking up the latter and considering it for a moment, she carried it over to the bed and set it down on the floor. Stripping the sheet off the bed, she twisted it until it resembled a long rope. Then she knotted each end, wrapped one end around the handle of the brush three times, and tied another knot to secure it to the sheet. Keeping one end of the sheet in her left hand, she used her right hand to toss the improvised rope and grappling hook toward the shelf. Not long enough. She pulled her rope back in and extended it by twisting and knotting the pillowcase onto the end of the sheet. Tried again. Still not long enough. Bracing herself, she shrugged off the thin blanket she was wearing around her shoulders, twisted and knotted it as well, and secured it to the pillowcase. She tested each knot to make sure that it was tight enough, because if any part of this jury-rigged contrivance came loose, she might not be able to retrieve it. Taking the hairbrush in one hand, she flung it once again toward the tool shelf, whipping her body and snapping the rope at the same time. The hairbrush hit the wall near the shelf and fell to the floor. She pulled it back and repeated the process. This time the brush hit the shelf itself. Once more she reeled her line back in. Judging the distance carefully, she made another cast. Bull's-eye! The brush landed directly on the shelf, nestled in the folds of the painting rag that swaddled the tool she so desperately needed. Carefully, she tugged on the line, praying the brush would be heavy enough to dislodge the item that she sought. She almost let out a cheer as the stiff bristles of the hairbrush caught on the chisel-like tool. She tugged on her rope again, and had to stifle another cheer as, with a thud, both hairbrush and chisel fell to the floor. Now, all she had to do was make another cast and get the hairbrush into the right position so that she could use it to drag the precious tool across the room and into her waiting hands...
*****
The state trooper who had investigated the case of their missing daughter had persuaded Tamara Norti's parents to come down to the station, so that he could be present with them during their Skype interview with the detectives from the Mountpelier police. He identified himself as Sergeant Joel Chernet; then he introduced Dawn and Rafe to Mr. and Mrs. Norti.
The first thing that Dawn noticed about Elizabeth and Elliot Norti was that they had the same look of exhausted resignation about them that Miranda Gordena had had. Elizabeth did most of the talking. Her husband held her hand tightly, but did not seem inclined to talk, at least not in the beginning.
Dawn asked most of the questions: open-ended questions at first, taking them through the last few days before Tamara had gone hiking with her boyfriend in the Porcupine Mountains one day and had never come back.
“Everything was just normal,” Elizabeth Norti insisted. “Tamara commuted to her classes at the local community college here on weekdays. She was home for dinner most nights. She'd been going with her boyfriend, Blake, since they were both in eighth grade. She didn't have a boyfriend before then; we wouldn't permit it.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath before continuing, “That Saturday, the day they left to go hiking, it was unusually warm for that time of year. Normally the mountains are pretty inaccessible from the late fall until mid-spring – it's not uncommon for there to be ninety inches of snow or more up there from November through April. But that day, it was in the high fifties. Both Tamara and Blake loved to go hiking. They left early in the morning and promised to be home by five o'clock. We were going to have dinner together. I'd made lasagna – it was Tamara's favorite.”
She faltered for a minute, then resumed her account. “When they didn't get back by five, we weren't worried at first. Tamara was always running a little late. Blake was much more punctual, though. So when they weren't home by five thirty, I called Tamara's cell phone. When she didn't answer, we tried Blake's cell. When he didn't answer either – that's when we began to get worried. So we called the park rangers and told them we were worried about Tamara and Blake. We knew where they liked to park their car, so one of the rangers went to look for it, to see if it was still there. It was.”
Elizabeth took another ragged breath before going on. “It was getting dark by that time, so the park rangers knew that something was seriously wrong. No one in his right mind would hike in those mountains after dark, not at that time of the year. And the temperature was supposed to drop below freezing that night. The rangers started a systematic search, but they couldn't do much that night, in the dark... We didn't sleep at all that night. All I could think was, 'Please let them be safe, please let them be together, please don't let my baby freeze to death'.”
Her husband clutched Elizabeth's hand convulsively, then took up the story himself when it became apparent that his wife was unable to continue.
“The rangers and some volunteer search teams looked for them all through the next day, but there was no sign of either Tamara or Blake. Then, on Monday, we got the call. They had found Blake, dead, at the foot of a cliff. But there was no sign of Tamara. For a few more days, we still hoped. But then there was a big storm. The temperature dropped below freezing, and twenty inches of snow fell in one night. No one could have survived that. We had to face facts: our baby was gone.”
Dawn said gently, “I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Norti. I wonder if you could tell me if Tamara was concerned about anything just before she went on that trip. Did she mention anyone who might have taken an unusual interest in her, made her feel uncomfortable?”
“No, not that I know of.” Elliot looked at his wife, who also shook her head negatively.
“Dad?”
Elliot Norti turned his head and spoke to someone off-screen. “What is it, Katelyn?”
Dawn couldn't make out what the other person said, but then a third face appeared on the screen.
“Detective Cimarron, this is our younger daughter, Katelyn. She remembers something. It might be important; it might not. Anyway, she insists on telling you.” He turned to his daughter. “Go ahead, Kate.”
Katelyn Norti, who looked to be about fifteen, did not look much like her sister. Her brown hair was a short spiky cap, she wore what looked like dozens of tiny studs in each ear, and her lips had been painted a goth-like black. Only her eyes were similar – they were the same deep blue as Tamara's.
“There was this guy,” Katelyn began.
“When, Katelyn? Can you tell me when and where?”
“About a week before it all happened. We were in the park. Tamara and I, Blake and his friend Dave. I was a lot younger than the others, but Tamara was really good about
letting me tag along, as long as it was something casual, like hanging around in the park. The guys were throwing a Frisbee around, and Tamara and I went to watch this artist guy.”
Dawn felt a prickle at the back of her neck. “Artist guy?” she inquired.
“Yeah. A bunch of people were crowded around him, and he was doing sketches of different girls in the crowd. For free. He said that he just needed the practice, so he wasn't charging anything. I thought that was strange. I mean, nobody does anything for free these days, you know? Anyway, after we'd watched him do about three or four of these sketches, he glanced around and saw Tamara in the crowd. He smiled at her and asked her if she wanted to be next. She was all excited about it, so we went up right next to him. He had a stool for her to sit on, so she sat down and he started working on her portrait. The thing was – it took him a really long time. He was finished with the others in just a few minutes, but he spent almost half an hour on Tamara. He was chatting with her the whole time, too. At first I thought he was hitting on her, but once she told him that she had a boyfriend, he sort of backed off. He just asked her really general questions after that, like what were her favorite hobbies and stuff. And she told him how much she enjoyed hiking, that she and Blake went hiking together a lot. Well, Tamara's sketch was taking such a long time that a lot of people in the crowd got bored and began to drift away. And when he was done, he said that was the last one he was going to do that day, and he started to pack up. I was a little miffed because he didn't want to do my portrait, but I got over it. Tamara and I just went back over to Blake and Dave. They'd finished playing with the Frisbee, so we went off to one of the vendors and got some hot dogs. And while I was putting some ketchup on my hot dog, I happened to look over to where the artist was, and he was staring at Tamara. When he saw that I had noticed, he waved at me and walked away. I don't know if any of this helps, but you asked if anyone was taking an unhealthy interest in Tamara. I'm not certain if I'd call his interest unhealthy, but he sure paid more attention to her than he did to any of the others who sat for him that day. And when I caught him looking at Tamara while we were at the hot dog stand – there was just something about the way he was looking at her that struck me as odd. But Blake and Dave were with us, and the guy had gone away, so I didn't think much about it again, until now.”
“Did he ever tell you his name, Katelyn?”
“No. We never asked. He was just the artist guy.”
“What about the portrait? Did he give it to Tamara when he was finished?”
“Yeah. It was really good.”
“What about a signature? Did he sign it?”
“I'm not sure. I could look, though. We never cleared out Tamara's stuff. If I look in her room, I'm pretty sure I could find it. I don't think she would have thrown it away. Like I said, it was really good. Guy had talent.”
“Okay, Katelyn. You've been very helpful. But now I need to speak to Sergeant Chernet again.”
When Sergeant Chernet's broad face appeared on the screen, Dawn asked, “If I send you a sketch one our witnesses here collaborated on, would you be able to put together a photo line-up and see if Katelyn can identify him as 'the artist guy'?”
Chernet nodded slowly. “I can do that. I'll also go back to the house with the Norti family and conduct the search personally. That way, everything will be official, and the proper chain of evidence will be maintained. If we find it, I'll shoot you a copy right away, Detective.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. We'd appreciate that.”
“You know, when you first contacted us, I thought that you were just blowing smoke – trying to make a big case out of a simple missing person's investigation. I don't mind telling you now that, after looking at the latest information you sent us and listening to what Katelyn had to say, I'm inclined to believe that you're on to something. Better than even odds that the two cases are connected after all. So you'll be getting all the cooperation you need from us. Just wanted to let you know that.”
“Again, we appreciate your cooperation. I'll keep you updated on things as they are unfolding here. But I'd like to ask you to keep it out of the press, if you could. We think that there's a fair chance that our missing girl, Leanne Zarafin, might still be alive. Any of this gets out and the perp realizes that we're looking for him, her chances for survival might be negatively impacted.”
“I understand. There will be no leaks to the press from our end. You have my word on that. I'll get that photo line-up ready as soon as you send us the sketch of your suspect. After Katelyn has a chance to look at it, I'll let you know if she recognizes the guy. Then I'll follow the Norti family home and begin the search for that portrait of Tamara. I'll be in touch.”
*****
When Ty pulled up to offices of Lewellen Air after the appointment at the Vet's, Traitor, who had been glued to Brody's side all morning, bounded out the door as soon as Brody opened it and whined at Ty's feet until he picked her up.
“Oh, so now I'm your best buddy again, huh? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Sticking to Brody as long as you thought he could be of any use to you, and then dropping him like a hot potato once you realized he wasn't going to be able to save you from the vet.” Since she was already comfortably ensconced in Ty's arms, Traitor took no offense at his tone. She contented herself with licking his face enthusiastically.
Brody had maneuvered himself out of the car by that time and joined them. He looked around, noting the offices and hangars and other buildings that made up Lewellen Air.
“When's that flight coming in?”
“It should be here in a few minutes. Unless it got held up or something. Or maybe the pilot made an error and is going in the opposite direction. You know – like “Wrong Way” Corrigan. Started out for Long Beach in California, ended up in Ireland. It can happen to pilots, you know. Something screws up their navigational instruments, and they go hundreds, even thousands of miles off course. It's even more likely to happen to pilots when someone has been threatening to kick their boss's ass.”
“You even think about trying something like that, and there's no place you could run where I won't find you. Even your mother won't be able to save you then, hot shot.”
“No, but my wife the cop might.”
As Brody rolled his eyes at that one, Ty continued, “But it's not going to come to that. Here she comes now.” He nodded toward the bright silver streak in the sky that was making its final approach as it prepared to land. A minute later, the landing gear deployed, and the jet set down smoothly on the runway. As it came to a halt, Ty sauntered over toward the pilot's side of the plane, with Brody close behind him on his crutches.
*****
After taking the time to inform Ellanor Torrense and Gwen Mallinder about Monieque's arrest for Cullen's murder, Dawn and Rafe left headquarters and hit the real estate offices again. As they walked out of what seemed like the millionth office they had visited that day, Dawn's phone rang. She answered it automatically.
“Cimarron.”
“D.C.?”
She would have recognized Detective Ralph Sokoto's voice even if his name hadn't already flashed up on caller ID. “What's up, Sok?”
“Eddleston and Garrone just brought in Vivian Zarafin, Leanne Zarafin's mother. They were swinging back toward her house when they noticed a car being driven erratically, so they pulled it over. Turns out it was our girl, and impaired is too mild a word to describe her condition. Anyway, they brought her downtown, got her some coffee, tried to sober her up. And this is the weird part, D.C. As soon as they brought the subject of her daughter up, started telling her that Leanne may have been kidnapped, she started shaking and screaming hysterically. She said that she always knew this day would come. But it's what she said next that floored all of us. She says that she's the one who kidnapped Lee!”
“Are you screwing with me, Sok?”
“Uh-uh. Gospel truth, D.C.”
“She sober now?”
“Yeah, like I said, Eddleston and
Garrone gave her some time to sober up before they started questioning her. Then, after she dropped her bombshell, they had her take another breathalyzer test. She's just under the legal limit.”
“Okay. Sit tight and keep a lid on this. Sergeant Melbourne and I will be right there.”
She disconnected and told Rafe what Sokoto had just informed her. He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and said, “This case just keeps throwing curve balls at us. All right, let's go and find out what motivated Vivian Zarafin to cop to kidnapping her own daughter. Personally, I think it's a waste of time, though. Either she's drunk or she's crazy, because all of the evidence, including what Will said before he lost consciousness, points to abduction by a stranger, and a male at that.”
Dawn made no response and maintained her silence in the car on the way back to headquarters. After glancing at her profile a couple of times, Rafe said, “You okay, Dawn?”
“I'm fine. Why do you ask?”
“You seem a little off, that's all. Noticed it first when we talked to Alissa Gordena's mother. You all right with handling this particular case?”
“If you're asking if it's affecting me emotionally, the answer is 'yes'. There's something about this one, about that girl, Lee, that's getting to me. But I'm okay, Rafe. It's not affecting me nearly as much as the Bidasoa case did. And that case hit home far more than this one does. I handled that one, and I'll handle this one as well. Don't worry about me.”
The Bidasoa case had involved the stabbing death of a father and his teenage son. Rafe had been concerned then that certain similarities between the murders and the tragedy that had befallen her own family would compromise Dawn's ability to work the case, but she'd shaken it off and had done a superb job. So if she said she was able to deal with this one, he'd take her word for it.
When the Tiger Kills: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller: Book One Page 18