“Come on.” Erik’s voice slurred. “We don’t have time for this fucking shit.”
They were at the edge of the trees now, maybe fifteen yards from her hiding place.
“What a mess. She could be anywhere in there,” said Jake. “How are we going to find her?”
“I’ve had ‘nough this shit.” Erik pulled the flask from his pocket again.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?”
Erik shook the flask and the contents sloshed inside. “Apparently not.”
Jake stepped into the clutter, calling Lindsay’s name. She held her breath as she heard him moving closer to her hiding place. Erik took a few steps into the grove, watching Jake struggle through the debris.
“What if we can’t find her?” Jake said.
Erik picked up a long roll of dry bark. “We can always burn her out.”
“Are you crazy? This whole place will explode, and we could all be trapped and killed. There is no way we could get away fast enough. Especially with Phil unconscious.”
Lindsay held her breath, trying not to cry out. Oh, please, dear God. Help me, Mommy.
“Phil’s not my problem,” Erik said.
Jake knew Erik was drunk, but he was still astounded. “Phil’s your friend. And she’s an innocent girl. I am not about to become a murderer on top of everything else.”
Erik thought a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Jake turned toward the center of the woods and cupped his mouth, shouting, “Lindsay! I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can…You’ve probably figured out who we are. I just want you to know how truly sorry we are for everything that’s happened.”
“Yeah, we’re sorry,” Erik sneered. “Real sorry.”
Jake ignored him. “We never meant you any harm. We were really, really drunk that night and didn’t know what we were doing. That’s no excuse, I know, but it’s the truth. We’re still kids, not that much older than you. If you turn us in, our lives will be ruined forever. We’re not bad kids, I swear.” He dropped his voice and said to himself, “Really, we’re not bad.” He spoke louder again, “So, we want to make you a deal. Erik’s rich—”
“Yeah, rich,” said Erik. “Mega-rich.”
“And he’ll pay for your college education, if you promise not to tell anyone it was us.”
Lindsay listened to Jake’s bizarre plea. Did they seriously think she would go for something so stupid?
“So, what do you think, Lindsay? A college education at the school of your choice?” Jake paused. “At least then maybe something good will have come out of all of this.”
“And if you don’t want to go to college, I’ll buy you a car. You want a car?” Erik lowered his voice and spoke to Jake, “Do you think she’s listening?”
“Yes,” Jake said, and then spoke to Lindsay again. “So what do you think, do we have a deal?”
Lindsay shivered in the moist menthol-scented leaves. The sun was low in the sky and she was freezing in her damp clothes. A deep all-body ache was settling in and her joints were stiff. She would wait for them to leave and when she was sure they were long gone, she would find a house where she would call her mother to come get her. Now she knew who her attackers were and could tell Detective Angela.
After a couple of long minutes had passed, Jake said to Erik, “Either she’s not here, or she’s just not going for it. Let’s go.”
“Fuck it, Jake,” said Erik. “We can’t just leave her here so she can turn us in.” He shouted to the center of the grove, “Here’s the real deal, Lindsay. You tell anyone, I mean an-y-one, who we are, and we will fucking. Kill. Your. Mother. Got that?”
Jake shoved Erik. “What the hell? We’re not killing anyone.” He shouted for Lindsay to hear, “Erik didn’t mean it. He’s drunk. No one’s going to hurt your mother. I promise.”
“Do you really want to risk it, Lindsay? I’m not nearly as nice as Jake and Phil, and I’ve got a lot more to lose than they do, and no way am I going to lose it over a lousy, drunk fuck. So yeah, if you go to the police, I swear to God I will get to your mother before the cops get to me. But if for some reason I don’t, I will pay someone to kill her. I got a lot of money, Lindsay, and I promise you, I can make it happen. Your mommy will never be safe again.”
Jake said to Erik, “God, I hate you. I truly, fucking hate you.”
Erik shrugged. “Hey, somebody’s got to have some balls.”
Overwhelming fear consumed Lindsay as she brushed away the blanket of leaves concealing her trembling thin body and called out, “Please don’t hurt my mom.”
TWENTY-TWO
Petition Distribution Day
By Katy McKenna on Tuesday, April 16
First stop: Santa Lucia High School. My old alma mater. I still have nightmares about getting caught in the hall without a pass. And I can’t find my locker, and when I finally do, I can’t remember the combination!
The parking lot was jammed, but I found a spot at the end of the lot near the flagpole. I started for the office when a soft breeze fluttered the flag and its rope clanged against the hollow metal pole. The sound pulled me back in time to a candlelight vigil held around the pole for Lindsay after she’d gone missing. Throughout the ceremony, the rope had tapped its mournful metallic song.
This might sound a little crazy, but as I stood there clutching my petitions, I sensed an otherworldly presence join me. It was like being infused with a warm, loving, positive energy and I whispered without thinking, “I got your back, Belinda.”
The office windows were decorated with posters announcing an upcoming mock rock concert. At the counter, I was greeted by Mrs. Watkins, the office manager. Her black hair was now silver, but she still wore her signature black-rimmed glasses and crimson lipstick.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Thank goodness she didn’t ask if I had a hall pass. “Do you remember Lindsay Moore?”
Her head dipped and she exhaled slowly. “How could I ever forget that poor little girl? Such a horrible tragedy.”
I put the petition on the counter facing her. “One of her murderers is up for parole, and I would like to stop it from happening.”
Mrs. Watkins read the petition, then narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me. “Were you a student here at the time?”
“Yes, but you would never remember me. I was a shy, quiet girl. Definitely not someone you’d remember.”
“Those are often the ones who go on to do the greatest things in life. The shy, quiet ones. What’s your name?”
“Katherine McKenna. Katy.”
“Well, Katy, we would be very glad to have your petition here. I know everyone on staff will sign it, and we’ll make sure all our visitors see it, too.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a bald, fragile-looking boy bursting through the office doors and dashing to the counter.
“Mrs. Watkins. I need a pass.” He glanced at me and flashed an impish grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I immediately thought, What a nice, polite young man, and then, God, am I getting old. “That’s all right, I’m in no hurry, but it looks like you are.”
We shared a fist bump.
Mrs. Watkins peered over her glasses at him with a well-practiced stern look. “Where have you been?”
“I had to go to the doctor’s. Again.” He slammed a crumpled paper on the counter. “My mom wrote a note. Again.”
She wrote the boy a pass and handed it to him. “Here you go, Nick. Again.”
He snatched it and bolted out the door, shouting, “Thanks, Mrs. Watkins.”
“What a sweet kid,” I said.
“He’s a sweet kid, all right, with a big problem. Leukemia. But always so upbeat. I just want to bundle him up and hug him, but these days hugging is out of the question.” She pursed her lips with disgust. “Lawsuits. And let me tell you, there’s a lot of kids here that sure could use a hug. Thankfully, Nick has great parents.”
“T
his must be a hard job.”
“At times it is. But I wouldn’t trade my time with these kids for anything.” Mrs. Watkins took the petition over to a copy machine. “We’re going to need a lot of these.” She slipped it into the machine and pressed the start button. “You know, Phil Hobart was a student here a few years before Lindsay. I remember him well. Not because of what happened but because he was a nice boy. An Eagle Scout.” She shook her head. “I never understood it. It didn’t gel with the Phil we all knew.”
Her recollection took me by surprise. “He raped, kidnapped, and killed an innocent girl. How does a nice person do all that?”
“Sometimes things happen that you never meant to happen. Especially when you’re young. Things get out of control and you get swept along, making one bad decision after another. I am by no means making excuses for the terrible choices he made.” She waved her hands in denial. “I just know that he’d been a good kid while he was a student here.”
My hackles were erupting like a bad case of hives. How could Mrs. Watkins say anything flattering about this guy? “But a mere fifteen years in prison surely cannot pay for a young girl’s life.”
“Nothing can ever pay for that, Katy.” She paused, looking reflective. “You know, there was another girl hurt deeply by this crime. Phil’s younger sister, Christy. Suddenly no one would speak to her as if it was her fault this had happened. Overnight, she became an outcast. A pariah. Eventually she tried to commit suicide and that’s when her parents pulled her out of school and she never returned.”
“Christy was a year ahead of me so I didn’t know her, but I do remember kids talking about her. I didn’t know she’d tried to kill herself. Do you know what happened to her after that?”
“I have no idea. Once she left the school, I never heard another thing. And of course we were all focused on the trial and Lindsay’s poor mother.” She paused in thought. “I do remember reading that Phil’s dad died of a heart attack during the trial.”
I hadn’t considered what this had done to the Hobart family. Their lives had been ruined, too. But that didn’t change my resolve to keep Phil in prison. One thing had nothing to do with the other.
Mrs. Watkins returned to the copy machine, took out a stack of petitions, and put them on the counter. “This is a good thing you’re doing.” She tapped the pile.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about. It isn’t just the victim’s family that suffers.”
“No, it isn’t. Not by a long shot. Terrible crimes like this change everyone’s lives forever. If my child had done something like this, I think I would forever wonder what I could have done better, as far as parenting.”
“This petition could cause the Hobarts more grief,” I said, thinking aloud.
“So would his parole. These things are never truly over until everyone involved is dead and forgotten.”
My next stop was the Santa Lucia police station. The charming Spanish Revival building dates back to the 1930’s. As I climbed the steps to the entrance, I paused to admire the colorful tiles fronting the steps…or was I stalling?
I introduced myself to the clerk at the front desk and explained my mission.
“I didn’t live in the area when it happened, but I’ve certainly heard about it,” he said, as he read the petition. “The chief was the lead detective on the case. I’m sure she’d be interested in what you’re doing. Would you like to talk to her? I could check if she’s free right now.” He picked up a phone and pushed a button before I could stop him.
“I really don’t want to bother her. Maybe I can leave it with you?”
Too late—he was already talking to her on the phone. He told her about the petition, paused a moment, and then hung up. “She’d be happy to talk to you. Go down the hall to the right and she’ll meet you.”
I longingly glanced back at the entrance door, trying to contrive an excuse to escape, but before that could happen, an attractive middle-aged African-American woman with close-cropped salt and pepper hair stepped into the lobby and greeted me.
“Hello. I’m Angela Yaeger. Officer Clayton told me you’re here with a petition about Lindsay Moore.”
Her warm manner immediately put me at ease. Maybe that’s why she was the police chief. I was ready to spill my guts about my parking ticket right there in the lobby.
We shook hands.
“Hi. I’m Katy McKenna.”
“Katy McKenna, Katy McKenna,” she said, tapping her chin. “Now why does your name sound familiar?”
“My stepdad is Kurt Melby.”
“Of course, you’re little Katy. I remember you as a little girl at Christmas parties and picnics.” She did an upsweep of my 69 inches. “Not so little anymore, huh? Let’s go to my office.” She started down the hall and I was obliged to tag along. “He talked about you all the time, and I do mean all the time. Talk about a proud papa.” She ushered me into her homey office. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you again. Have a seat on the sofa.”
I sat and she asked, “Would you like some coffee or water?”
I watch enough crime dramas to know you should never drink the coffee at a police station, and I don’t drink bottled water—got a big problem with all that plastic, plus you have no idea what you’re drinking—so I passed on both.
She picked up a half empty water bottle on her desk and sat next to me. “So, Katy, tell me about your petition.”
“Well, Chief—”
“Please. Call me Angela.”
I held up a petition. “How can someone be up for parole after committing rape, kidnapping, and murder?”
“A lot of that stems from our overcrowded prison system,” she said ruefully, as she took the petition. “And he had a good lawyer and no previous record. Up until the day of Lindsay’s rape, Hobart had been a squeaky-clean kid, and that weighed heavily in his favor.”
“I heard he was an Eagle Scout.”
“Yes, he was. Let me read your petition.” When she finished, she said, “This is good. Brief, well-written, and to the point.”
“Should I be doing this?”
“Definitely. Someone needs to stand up for that little girl. This case is just as important now as it was back then. It caused the Alpha Gamma fraternity to be suspended until 2016, and it forced the college to adopt tough new laws to govern that kind of out-of-control partying.” Her tone heated up. “But it’s been a long time now, and things have slipped badly. Last fall, a seventeen-year-old freshman died from alcohol poisoning.”
“I remember that. He was found in the bushes outside a fraternity house.”
“Such a stupid, stupid waste.” Angela cleared her throat and sipped some water.
“Will you be going to the parole hearing?
“Yes.”
“May I go with you?” I asked, without thinking my question through. What was I getting myself into?
“Probably not a good idea. I don’t consider Hobart to be dangerous, but he’s been in the system for a long time now. He went in a scared, naive kid and now he’s in his mid-thirties. God only knows what he’s had to endure. That kid could have grown into someone very different. It’s unlikely he’s going to appreciate your efforts to stop his parole.”
My wanna-be superhero-vigilante side saw me courageously standing up for justice as I approached the parole panel and set millions of signatures in front of them. But the self-preservationist, saner side of me saw Hobart jumping out of his seat and throttling me in front of the parole panel. So doing the petitions and then Angela going to the hearing while I stayed home behind locked doors was a win-win for me.
I had another question. “Whatever happened in the case of Lindsay’s mother’s death?”
“Belinda Moore’s death is still an open case. However, it’s been a few years and no new leads have surfaced, so it’s pretty cold now. It always amazes me how many conflicting stories you get from witnesses. But these things happen so fast, that it’s understandable when you’re not trained to know what to see
in a matter of seconds.”
“The newspaper account said it might have been a Toyota Camry or a Honda Civic and I can see why people would get those confused. Unless it’s a Hummer or a Rolls Royce, everything kind of blends together for me.”
“She was a lovely, gracious woman who endured her grief with dignity. I admired her. I would love to close her case and let her rest in peace. But I doubt I ever will now.”
Officer Clayton stuck his head in the door to remind Angela about her lunch date with the mayor.
“He loves Thai, and my stomach doesn’t. There goes my afternoon.” Angela stood up, brushing the creases out of her black pencil skirt. “I’m sorry to cut this short. If you have any more questions, feel free to call me.”
We walked to the door and she gave me a hug. “I’m going to circulate your petition to all the local police departments.” Angela opened the door. “We need more caring people like you in our community, Katy.”
The last stop on my petition distribution list was The Bookcase Bistro, located two blocks down from the police station, so before I lost my nerve, I strolled over to face the enemy. Santa Lucia’s population of 34,000-ish means that sooner or later, I will run into my ex, Chad, and her. I figured it would be better to break the ice on my terms rather than one day be shopping at Whole Foods, turn into the frozen food aisle, and oops. Plus, I was having a good hair day.
The bistro area was bustling. Adding it to the bookstore had been a good call on our part. Small bookstores took a major hit when the big box bookstores came to town. Now e-books are killing off those stores.
I peeked in the door and saw a young woman working the register, but no Chad, so I boldly marched to the front counter and waited my turn to speak to her.
“I’ll be right with you,” she said with a big toothy grin.
It was her. Heather. I recognized her teeth from the newspaper wedding photo, although her strawberry-blond hair hadn’t been in pigtails. I hadn’t anticipated her working at the store. She was, or used to be, a personal trainer. Shouldn’t she be at the gym making somebody miserable? I spun around to leave, thinking…what was I thinking?
Pamela Frost Dennis - Murder Blog 01 - Dead Girls Don't Blog Page 14