by Loy Holder
He squeezed her hand. “Sweetheart, what can I do to help?”
She pulled her hand away. “Nothing. It’s my mess.” Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Sam walk into the kitchen. She stood. “I need to go.”
Bill stood with her and said, “If you need me, call, and I’ll come running. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
When she watched him walk toward the exit, she had an urge to run after him and ask him to stay and maybe even keep her company through a tough night. Shame on me. I should focus on my children, not my needs. She headed to the women’s lounge to wash her face.
She finished out her shift by playing pool with a few lingering customers. She’d won three games and then bet she could win the next three. Paul White, an older, retired man with a bushy gray beard, took the bet. Liz ran the table twice. While on the third game, she couldn’t run the table, she did call the pocket and sank the eight ball. Paul grumbled, “Hell, Liz, at least you could give me a little smile, since you cleaned me out.”
“I’m fresh out of smiles tonight, Paul, but thanks. I can always use an extra thirty dollars.” She stuffed the bills into her top and headed for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Drink up, guys. It’s almost two.”
Liz buzzed through counting the cash and tucked it away in the safe. She made small talk with Sam while they finished closing up. When they stood together outside the front door, Liz placed her hands on Sam’s shoulders. “I’ve got to run. This is going to be a long night.” She could feel Sam’s eyes watching her as she walked to her car. She knew Sam was hurt that she hadn’t confided in her, but it was too hard to talk.
The house was cold and dark. Liz glared at the phone and yelled at it, “Ring, you bastard.” Then she reminded herself that she was home a little early, and she prayed it would ring soon.
She headed for the antacids. The fire in her stomach was back. She kept another bottle of pills in the kitchen near the phone; she took three and swallowed them down with milk.
Beyond exhaustion, she walked into her bedroom and found temporary solace in the soft moonlight that streamed in the window and flowed across the foot of her bed. Still in her street clothes, she pulled the covers over her and lay back on the pillow, waiting for the antacid to work. She focused on the moonlight at her feet and its gradual movement toward the floor.
Finally, the pain subsided, and she felt drowsy. She gave in to her heavy eyelids and slept for over an hour. The sound of a garbage truck startled her awake, and she gazed at the clock. It was four thirty in the morning. She got up, made herself some coffee, and paced as she drank.
Just after five, the phone rang, and Liz ran to answer. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Harmon?”
“Yes. Is this Deputy Forrester?” It didn’t sound like him.
“No, I’m Deputy Mark McMullin. My partner and I were assigned to your case late last evening. We found your children. Can you come to the sheriff’s department downtown to pick them up?”
“Oh, thank God. I’ll leave right now.” She wrote down the address and raced downtown, breaking the speed limit and running a red light. When she arrived, she introduced herself to the young deputy at the front desk. While they were talking, the children heard her voice and came running out to her.
“Mom!” Ronnie yelled as he clung to her legs. “I’m sorry I said I hated you.”
Regina was right behind him, sobbing, holding up her arms, and waiting to be held. Liz picked her up, and in between sobs, Regina kept repeating, “Daddy’s bad,” as she tightened her arms around her mother’s neck. As she wiggled her little body nearer, Liz shifted her arm slightly to get a better grip, and one of her hands brushed against Regina’s bare foot.
After Regina’s sobs quieted, Liz gently loosened the little girl’s death-grip on her neck, stood her on the floor, and said, “You’re barefoot, sweetie.” When Liz knelt down to examine Regina’s feet, she felt as if someone had just twisted a knife into her gut. Regina’s feet were ice cold to the touch, filthy, and covered with cuts and abrasions. Liz gently pushed Regina’s tangled blond curls from her eyes, and asked softly, “What happened to your feet, sweetie?”
Regina’s lip began to quiver as she whimpered, “Daddy made me—,” and burst into tears again.
Liz let it go. It was obviously a scary subject for Regina. She figured Ron probably forgot shoes for Regina and made her walk barefoot. She’d deal with it later. Still kneeling, she pulled both children tight against her. Ronnie pulled back and took his mother’s face in his small hands. With as serious a look as a five-year old could muster, he said, “Mom, I never want to see Dad again.”
From the corner of her eye, Liz caught a deputy watching the reunion between her and the children. He had a thick shock of red hair and a benevolent look. He stepped forward. “Mrs. Harmon, I’m Deputy Mark McMullin.” He extended his hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you.” Liz shook his hand, her eyes moist with tears. The children continued to cling to Liz’s legs as if to make sure she didn’t vanish like their father had.
The deputy smiled. “Bring the children, and come on back with me so I can brief you on what happened.”
Mark showed Liz and the children into a spacious, well-lit office off the main hallway and motioned for them to sit down in front of his desk. The children scooted their chairs closer to Liz, and their hands clung to her loose-fitting sweat pants. Mark said, “Mrs. Harmon, I know the waiting’s been rough. Would you like some coffee before we get started?”
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, and put an arm around each child. “My stomach is a little cranky. Please, I’m anxious to hear what you have to say.”
“OK, I’ll make this quick.” He looked at Ronnie and then at Regina with an earnest smile. “Kids, let me know if I get something wrong.”
Regina nodded, and Ronnie gave the deputy a thoughtful look before he said, “I will.” The echo of confidence in Ronnie’s response surprised Liz, because he clung to her pant leg so tight his knuckles looked white.
The deputy smiled at Ronnie and looked at Liz. “From Mr. Mahoney’s information, we knew that Mr. Harmon borrowed his truck and that there was camping gear in the truck bed. We found the truck at Beal’s Point. The camping gear was missing, so we figured Mr. Harmon set up camp nearby. We searched the campground and found a tent with two scared kids inside. We asked their names and how they got there. We got an earful.
“Your children said that Mr. Harmon took them to the lake. He was drinking a lot and being mean. He was scaring them, so they asked to go home, and he got mad and just left them there. While I talked to the children, my partner found clues on where Mr. Harmon might have gone, but the children were trembling from the cold and in extreme distress, so our first priority was getting the children out of there and safely reunited with you. Before we left, we called in for backup to look for Mr. Harmon and collect evidence.
“It was about four thirty in the morning when we loaded the kids in the squad car, and brought them here. Since your little girl was barefoot, we took pictures of the cuts on her feet. Otherwise, they appeared physically unharmed, but they endured some emotional trauma. You might want to consider counseling for that.”
“Yes.” Liz nodded. “I will.”
“Well, kids, how’d I do?” the deputy asked with a smile.”
The boy spoke up, “You forgot the part about my dad making me go pee way in the dark trees. I was so scared, and he called us bad names, too.”
“I’m sorry, Ronnie. You’re right. You want to tell Mom?”
He frowned and paused for a moment. “No. I’m too mad at him.”
Liz struggled to keep her composure. She placed her hands on her son’s shoulders. “Ronnie, I feel so bad about what Dad did to you and Regina. We’ll have a long talk when we get home.”
“OK,” Ronnie said with a lingering frown. “But talking won’t make me forget the bad stuff.”
He settled back in his chair,
still clinging to Liz’s pant leg. That was the deputy’s cue to continue. “This is a lot to digest, but we’ll find Mr. Harmon. Do you have any questions or anything you’d like to add?”
More tears slowly made their way down Liz’s cheek. She rummaged in her purse for a tissue and dried her tears before she answered. “Could a deputy watch my house? I’ll be a nervous wreck until you find him.”
The deputy smiled. “We’ve already put out an all-points bulletin and, yes, we’ll have a deputy watching your house. We’ll also impound the truck as evidence, and we hope to have him in custody soon.”
“Will I be notified as soon as he’s arrested?”
“As soon as possible.” He nodded. “We have your work and home numbers. Is there anything else?”
She paused to rub her forehead before asking, “Can we go home now?”
He smiled and stood quickly. “Sure. Are you kids ready to go home?”
“Yes!” they both shouted.
The sun was a faint glow in the east when Liz settled the children into the back seat of the car. Exhausted from their ordeal, both children fell asleep within the first mile of their trip home. She pulled into her driveway and carried the sleeping children, one at a time, to their beds. When she made one more trip to the car to lock it, she caught sight of a squad car parked on Sibley Street, and she began to relax.
Liz called Josie to tell her the children were home safe. The she was finally able to sleep.
* * *
Chapter twenty-nine
Doug Forrester and Mike Duncan were called in just before dawn to find Ron Harmon. They figured they’d start their search at the Beal’s Point campsite where the children had been found. The deputies were quiet, lost in thought, until they skirted the town of Folsom. Doug broke the silence, saying, “You know, since Mark told us the Point was deserted, I’m thinking we might luck out. Maybe the only footprints we find will belong to the suspect.”
“Remember, the little girl was barefoot, and the boy was wearing Keds,” Mike said.
“Oh, right. Well, we’ll be there in a few minutes. Let’s hope it’s that easy.”
They rode without speaking the rest of the way. When they made the turn into Beal’s Point, the truck Ron had been driving was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Doug parked the squad car beside it, and both men got out.
They approached the campsite, and dozens of birds flew away from an opened loaf of bread on the picnic table. “Shit,” exclaimed Doug, as he stood looking at the mess the birds had left behind. A closer look showed that ants and flies were enjoying the open containers of peanut butter and jelly. There were empty beer bottles and used toilet paper scattered over the ground. Just inside the tent they saw an empty fifth of Jack Daniels lying on a blanket. Near the opening to the tent, Doug spotted a large pair of men’s western boots and some dirty socks.
Doug motioned to the ground as he followed footprints toward the cooler. “Looks like our suspect removed his boots and walked over here to the cooler in his bare feet. Man, the guy must be Sasquatch. Look at the size of his feet.” Doug opened the cooler and counted the bottles. There were six beers left. “Lots of drinking going on here if you count the fifth of Jack and all the empty beer bottles.”
While Doug was checking out the cooler, Mike walked past him, examining the ground. “Yeah,” Mike said, “and those prints are headed toward the water. Take a look.”
“Right.” Doug agreed and left the cooler. “Let’s see where they go.”
They followed the footprints along the water’s edge. Once in a while, the prints disappeared into the lake and reappeared in the sand a few yards ahead. Doug said, “Damn, this guy must have been drunk out of his mind. The footprints are weaving all over the sand.”
“You see that up there?” Mike stopped and pointed at something down the shoreline. “What’s it look like to you?”
“That looks like a body,” Doug answered. “Come on.”
They approached with caution, hands ready to draw their guns if necessary. The body of a very tall, muscular man with dark hair lay face down in the wet sand. Doug whispered, “Check him out.”
Doug stood back with gun drawn, while Mike kneeled beside the man and placed his finger on Ron’s carotid artery. “He’s got a pulse.” Then Mike pulled out an empty bottle lodged in the sand under the man’s shoulder. “Man, another fifth of Jack Daniels. He’s not dead, but he’s going to have one hell of a headache.”
Mike shook Ron’s shoulder and said, “Wake up, sir.”
When Ron moved, Mike stood and stepped back. He watched as Ron moaned and opened his eyes. Ron got up on his hands and knees and then puked his guts out in the sand as he rocked back and forth. After his heaves subsided, he sat and looked up at the two deputies. His dark beard was matted with sand, and his eyes were swollen and watery. “So whatta you want?”
“What’s your name, sir?” Doug asked.
“Why?”
Doug frowned. “Can I see some ID, sir?”
“Shit!” Ron exclaimed and rolled on his side, fumbled in his hip pocket for his wallet, struggled to sit again, and handed his ID to Doug.
Doug looked at Ron’s expired license and said, “Ron Harmon, we’ve been looking for you. You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Regina and Ronnie Harmon. Get up. You’re coming with us.” Then Doug read him his Miranda rights.
Ron looked dumbfounded as he quietly listened to Doug, but when asked if he understood his rights, he became enraged and got to his feet. He stumbled backward and staggered as he moved away from the deputies. “Hell no! You can’t kidnap your own kids!” He waved his arms. “Get the hell away from me. My kids are waiting.”
“Mr. Harmon, your children are safe with their mother,” Doug said. He’d watched Ron edge away and took a few steps toward him.
“You motherfuckers.” Ron’s lips curved into an angry sneer, and he lunged at Doug, but his reaction time was slow, and he was weak from the effects of his alcohol binge. Doug grabbed him from the front and pinned his arms to his sides, immobilizing him, while Mike got behind him, jerked both of Ron’s hands behind his back, and handcuffed him.
Ron tried to squirm and kick his way free as they wrestled with him along the beach. He kept yelling over and over, “You can’t kidnap your own kids.” By the time they got him into the squad car, Ron had collapsed and was sobbing like a child.
While Mike settled Ron in the back seat, Doug called their dispatcher and received confirmation that investigators would be coming to collect evidence from the Beal’s Point campsite and tow the truck from the parking lot. Ron was quiet for most of the trip, but as they left Rancho Cordova, he said, “Tell me why I’m being arrested for being with my own kids. I just don’t get it.”
Doug thought for a while. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and scratched his ear with the other. Finally, he said, “Mr. Harmon, I’m no attorney, but maybe it’s because you don’t currently have visitation rights.”
“That’s bullshit. They’re my kids.”
Doug frowned and eyed Ron in the rearview mirror. Then he asked, “Well, aren’t you and Mrs. Harmon divorced?”
“She filed, but it’s not final yet.”
Doug wanted to end the conversation. He shook his head. “Like I said, I’m no attorney. I can’t give you a better answer.”
“Attorney? Hell, I know the drill. Those guys in the public defender’s office don’t give a shit about my problems. Useless motherfuckers.”
Mike turned to Ron. “Give it a rest, Harmon. I’m tired of your bullshit. Shut the hell up, and sleep it off.”
After he was booked, Ron was alone in his cell, and he prayed the throbbing pain in his head would stop. He sat on his cot and leaned against the wall. The cold cement felt good against the back of his skull. He’d kill for just one shot of his old friend, Jack. He needed something to slow the diabolical images flooding his mind. The demons were back.
He held it in as long as he could, but fin
ally, he let out a scream. It started in his belly, vibrated through his vocal chords, and exploded into the air as a piercing, haunting shriek that echoed down the hallway. He waited, but no one came. No one answered or cared. He tumbled off the cot, curled up in a ball on the cement floor, and began to cry, bitterly cursing his wife, until he was completely exhausted and fell asleep.
* * *
Chapter thirty
Early that morning, Liz tried to talk to both children about their camping ordeal. In the past, the kids had been able to express their feelings to her, but this time was different. Ronnie changed his mind, saying he just wanted to forget about it. When Liz tried to talk to Regina, her small face crumpled, and tears started as she shook her head, saying, “No, it’s too scary.”
It seemed urgent to get the children in for counseling because of their refusal to discuss what had happened at Beal’s Point. Liz cleaned up after breakfast and made the call. The children’s health insurance covered psychiatric services, and within a few minutes, she’d made an appointment for the children to see a child psychologist. She was lucky to catch the doctor in the office, and she was able to brief him on what the children had been through with their father. He assured her that she was right to bring them in.
After marking the psychologist appointment on the calendar, Liz tackled some much-needed housework. An hour later, the phone rang. Liz answered, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Harmon, Deputy Forrester here. I have good news. My partner and I took Mr. Harmon into custody earlier today.”
“That’s good news. Are you sure it’s Ron Harmon?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re sure.”
Liz thanked the deputy and heaved a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. She called the children in for lunch, and when they’d finished their sandwiches. Ronnie eyed his Mom. “Can I go back outside? I hear my friends out there.”