“She couldn’t have driven to Lake Wenatchee,” Karen argued. “There wasn’t enough gas in her boyfriend’s car to get her there and back. And Amelia didn’t have the money or credit cards to buy gas.”
“So, she could have siphoned some gas. Or maybe she just drove to some designated spot and met her uncle. Then he could have driven the rest of the way so they could pull off the job together.”
“That’s crazy,” Karen whispered. “I saw Amelia on Saturday afternoon, and I got a good look at the clothes she had on, the same clothes she’d worn to the party the night before. Everyone was shot at close range. There would have been bloodstains.”
“Yeah, so? She could have easily changed into something else before she started shooting, and then discarded the bloody clothes later. Or maybe she let Uncle George do the shooting.”
Karen just shook her head at him.
“Obviously, you’ve considered the possibility that Amelia killed them,” he pointed out. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so fast with your counterarguments about her clothes and the gas in her boyfriend’s car. You must have discussed this with her. What did she say to convince you she was innocent? I’d like to hear it, Karen. You convince me.”
“I didn’t need convincing,” Karen replied. “I know Amelia. I know she couldn’t kill anyone.”
He cracked a tiny smile. “I’m pretty good at reading people, Karen. And I could tell just now you really weren’t sure you believed what you were saying. I’m certainly not buying it.”
It was all she could do to keep from squirming in her chair. “You grossly overestimate your powers of perception, Lieutenant,” Karen managed to say. “And it’s got you jumping to a lot of wrong conclusions. You’ve already made up your mind about Amelia and her uncle, haven’t you? Anything I tell you that doesn’t fit into your preconceived scenario, you simply disregard. Why bother even talking to me? Have you talked to Amelia yet, or her uncle?”
Koehler nodded. “The uncle, yes. But he clammed up pretty tight after a few questions. As for your client, she keeps giving me the slip.”
“Then your investigation isn’t official police business, is it?” Karen said.
Grinning, he shrugged, “Well, I…”
“Before coming here, I called a friend of mine on the police force,” she went on. “He said you’re on paternity leave right now. What’s your angle, lieutenant? Why is this so important to you that you’d take time away from your wife and newborn baby to investigate a case that isn’t even in your jurisdiction?”
“Because I care about the truth,” he said, with a straight face.
“I’m pretty good at reading people, too, Lieutenant. And you’re full of shit.” Karen got to her feet. “I’ve talked to you all I want to right now. If you come around my place again asking me a lot of questions, you better bring your checkbook, because I’m charging you for my time.”
She started for the exit, and he called to her, his voice rising above the noise inside the cafe. “I’ll just have to chase down your client and talk to her,” he said ominously.
Karen headed out the door, and pretended not to hear him.
“You have-no-messages,” said the prerecorded voice on her answering machine.
“Damn,” Karen muttered, hanging up the cordless phone in the study.
Amelia still hadn’t called her back. Karen felt so torn. She’d just returned from the coffeehouse, where she’d argued Amelia’s innocence to that cocky cop. Yet, while walking home in the light drizzle, she’d repeatedly looked over her shoulder for that broken-down black Cadillac.
How could Amelia be so innocent, and at the same time be a potential threat to her? Could she really have multiple personality disorder?
This other Amelia had never emerged during any of their sessions. Sandpoint View was the only place Karen had seen her. Why there of all places?
Biting her lip, Karen picked up the cordless phone again and dialed the rest home. One of the night nurses answered: “Good evening, Sandpoint View Convalescent Home.”
Karen recognized her voice. “Hi, this is Karen Carlisle. Is this Rita?”
“Sure is. What’s going on, Karen? I heard someone was stalking you this afternoon down in the laundry room or something. What’s up with that?”
“Beats the hell out of me, Rita. But it’s got me a little nervous about my dad. Would you mind checking on him for me?”
“Don’t have to. I just saw him five minutes ago in the lounge, watching TV with a bunch of them. Frank’s just fine.”
“Could you check on something else for me, Rita? Could you take a look out at the parking lot and tell me if you see a…an old black Cadillac with a broken antenna?”
“Sure, no sweat. I’ll just go look out the side door. Hold on a minute.”
With the cordless phone to her ear, Karen wandered to the front hallway. She glanced up the stairs to the darkened second floor. She hadn’t been up there since leaving the house early this afternoon. She kept staring up at the second floor hallway. Suddenly a shadow swept across the wall.
She gasped and started backing away from the stairs. Then she saw the shadow race across the wall again and realized it was just a car passing outside, the headlights shining through the upstairs windows. She let out a sigh. “You idiot, Karen,” she muttered to herself.
“Karen, are you still there?” Rita asked, getting back on the line.
“Yes, Rita?”
“I didn’t see a Cadillac in the lot, or parked on the street, either. Does this have anything to do with the whacko who was stalking you?”
“It might. Listen, how late are you working tonight?”
“Until midnight, lucky me.”
“Could you give my dad an extra check now and then for me, Rita?”
“Of course I will, Karen. Don’t you worry about Frank. I’ll make sure he’s okay. You look after yourself, girl. Do you have pepper spray? I don’t leave home without mine. If you don’t have pepper spray or mace, you should keep a knitting needle in your purse.”
“Well, I’ve had a minicanister of mace in the bottom of my purse for years, but I’ve never had a reason to use it.”
“Better make sure it still works. Test it, girl.”
“I will. Thanks, Rita. Thanks a million. And if you happen to notice a black Cadillac in the parking lot, would you call me?”
“No sweat. Your cell number’s right here at the nurse’s station.”
After she hung up, Karen was still worried about her father, so feeble and helpless. Visitors wandered in and out of that rest home all day. And there were plenty of temps on the nursing staff. Amelia could have easily passed as one of them.
If there was a photo of Amelia by the nurses’ station, the staff could keep a lookout for her, and Karen would feel a lot better. But she didn’t have a picture of Amelia. They’d done a pretty good job of keeping her photo out of the newspapers last week.
George McMillan certainly had a picture of his niece among the family snapshots. Karen needed to call him anyway. Even if he didn’t like her, she had a good reason to phone him right now. Maybe he had an idea where Amelia was.
Jessie had left the McMillans’ number by the phone in the kitchen. Karen went in there, and called him.
George picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Jessie.”
Karen balked. “Um, this isn’t Jessie. It’s Karen Carlisle.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your name came up on the caller ID, but I just figured it was Jessie.”
“No, it’s-it’s me, Karen,” she said, feeling awkward. “I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”
“No, we just finished. It was spaghetti, the only thing I know how to cook that my kids like. What can I do for you, Karen?”
“I’m wondering if you know where Amelia is. I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.”
“She’s incommunicado right now,” George replied. “Shane phoned earlier today, all worried about her. He just called back an hour ago. Amelia’s
roommate said she mentioned something this morning about needing to get away. It looks like she just took off someplace for the weekend. She used to pull this on her parents every once in a while, and it drove them crazy. I hope she’s not drinking again. She was doing so well this week, considering everything she’s been through.”
“Listen, would you mind if I came by tonight? I need to talk with you, and I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.”
“No problem, Karen,” he said. “When can I expect you?”
“I’m leaving the house right now.”
“I had a bellyful of Koehler myself,” George said. He stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a saucepan. Karen stood beside him with a dishtowel in her hand. Despite George’s protests, she’d insisted on helping him clean up. His daughter, Stephanie, was in bed, playing with her stuffed animals. Jody and a neighbor friend were watching TV downstairs.
“When he came by yesterday, I thought it was official police business,” George continued. “So I let him in, and talked to him for a while. But then Koehler started in about Amelia, saying she could have killed her parents and my wife. He even insinuated that Amelia and I could have been having an affair. He pointed out that, after all, she isn’t a blood relative, and niece or no niece, a hot-looking 19-year-old is hard to pass up. That’s when I threw him out on his ass.”
He handed Karen the saucepan. “Then I called Dennis,” he said. “Dennis Goodwin, he was that detective who was here last Saturday. We drove to Wenatchee together. He turned out to be a pretty nice guy. I could tell he liked me, or at least felt sorry for me. He told me Koehler’s on leave-”
“Paternity leave,” Karen interjected. “His wife just had a baby.”
“Mazel tov,” George grunted. “Anyway, apparently Koehler thinks he’ll make a big name for himself if he cracks this case wide open. He was talking to another cop about the potential for a book deal and movie rights. Anyway, he’s not afraid of treading on anyone’s toes on the force, because he’s very well connected with the powers that be. I guess I didn’t do myself any good by pissing him off, but I really don’t care.”
“Do you mean that?” Karen asked, studying him.
He let out a little laugh. “Well, actually I am a bit worried about what he might do. I’m thinking about Amelia, mostly.”
Karen nodded. “So am I. Remember what we talked about last week? It took a lot of persuading on my part to assure Amelia she didn’t kill her parents, and your wife. I’m not sure exactly how much I succeeded in convincing her. She’s probably still pretty confused. If Koehler goes to work on her, God knows what she’ll end up telling him.”
“Then he’ll go to the media, and make Amelia out to be a deranged killer.” George reached over and turned off the water. “God, I don’t want my kids to read that.”
Karen said nothing for a moment. Gnawing away at her was the idea that it could be true about Amelia. She dried off her hands, then folded up the dishtowel. “Listen, something happened to me when I went to visit my father in the rest home today. It involves Amelia…”
They sat down at the kitchen table, and she told George about her bizarre, scary experience in the basement storage room. She explained her reluctance to diagnose Amelia as having a split personality, and asked if he’d ever noticed any abrupt behavioral changes in his niece. “Not just mood swings,” Karen clarified. “But a total shift in her persona, when she might have sounded or even looked different to you.”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember ever seeing Amelia act like anybody except Amelia. Ina never said anything to me about personality shifts, and she and Amelia were pretty close this last year. Mark and Jenna never mentioned anything either. I…” He hesitated. “Wait a sec. You know, Collin said something to me about a month before he died. He and some friends were eating lunch on the bleachers at his school in Bellingham, when he spotted Amelia watching them from across the street. He called to her, and she started to walk away. It struck him as weird, because Amelia was supposed to be in Seattle, and he usually knew when she was coming home to visit. Anyway, when he caught up with her, Amelia acted like a total stranger, he said.”
“You mean she didn’t recognize him?” Karen asked.
“No, she knew who he was, all right. They talked for a minute or two, then Amelia said she had to go and asked Collin not to tell their parents that she’d been there. I remember Collin saying to me, ‘I felt like Amelia was a different person.’ He said she didn’t seem drunk or anything. She just didn’t seem like his sister. Collin was spending the weekend here when he told me this story.” George let out a sad sigh. “Huh. You know, that weekend was the last time I saw him.”
Karen was about to reach over and put her hand over his, but she hesitated. She cleared her throat. “Um, I don’t know much about multiple personality disorder. We’d have to get Amelia to a specialist. We also have to prepare ourselves for the awful possibility that Koehler is right about Amelia.”
George frowned. “Do you really think she could have killed her own parents-and my wife? I know my niece, and she could never-”
“Yes, I agree with you,” Karen cut in. “The Amelia we know isn’t capable of murder. I’m saying there could be another person inside Amelia we don’t know. Maybe this other Amelia was in the rest home earlier today. Maybe she’s the one Collin spotted outside his high school that time. Collin said she was like a stranger. We don’t know this other Amelia either. We don’t know what she’s capable of.”
George slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I mean, Jesus, I’ve had her here alone with the kids this week. Are you sure?”
“I’m just saying it’s a possibility we have to consider. In fact, one reason I wanted to stop by tonight was to borrow a photo of Amelia, any recent photo of her that you might have. I want to post it at the nurses’ station in my dad’s rest home so they’ll keep a lookout for her. You probably think I’m overreacting.”
“No, not at all,” he said. “We have plenty of family pictures. I’ll make sure you get a current one of Amelia before you leave tonight.”
“Thank you, George,” she said, sitting back in the kitchen chair. “About Amelia, I’d like to get her to someone more qualified in multiple personality disorder. I’ve never had a true MPD case. There are theories it can be caused by an early childhood trauma. But that’s just a theory. And Amelia’s early childhood is still a mystery to us. I really-”
“God, I forgot to call and tell you,” he interrupted. “I was up at Mark and Jenna’s house in Bellingham the day before yesterday with Amelia, and I found the adoption papers.” He got to his feet. “They’re in my study. I’m not sure how much help they’ll be.”
Karen eagerly followed him into the study. She remembered some of those fragmented memories Amelia had shared with her about her early childhood: a woman screaming in the woods while young Amelia sat alone in a car; the Native American neighbor she liked; a person or place called Unca-dween; and her mother standing over her in the bathroom, asking, “Did he touch you down there?”
If they could track down more information about Amelia’s biological parents, they might discover what those fragments meant. Maybe they’d find the key to Amelia’s problems.
George put on his glasses and sifted through a stack of papers on his computer desk. “Here’s the file,” he said, handing her a folder. “I’m afraid there isn’t a lot of information here-no mention of the biological parents or even where Amelia was born, just her first name and the birthday, May 21, 1988.”
Karen glanced at the records: sixteen pages of legal documents, most of it boilerplate stuff. But the adoption date was there: April 5, 1993; and so was the name of the agency: Jamison Group Adoption Services, Spokane, Washington.
Karen nodded at his computer screen. “Could I get online for a minute?”
“Sure, I’ll start it up for you.” Sitting down, he switched on the monitor, then worked the keyboards for a minute until he connected to the Internet. He q
uickly vacated the chair for her. “What are you looking up?”
“This adoption agency. I want to read about the fire. Maybe they’ll say something about where all their records went, besides up in smoke.” She sat down, and did a Google search for Jamison Group Adoption Services, Spokane, WA.
The first four listings were for other adoption agencies in Spokane, and three more, picking up the key words, were for Jamison Auto Services in Spokane. And there was a Jim Jamison offering group rates for his limousine services in Spokane.
Frowning, Karen went to the next page, and then she found something halfway down the list:
FOUR DIE IN SHOOTING…Gunman Sets Adoption Agency on Fire… Duane Lee Savitt, 33, walked into the Jamison Group Adoption Agency on East Sprague Street at 1:35 P.M. Within minutes, he had shot and killed office manager Donna…
www.spokesmanreview.com/news/shooting/042993-14k.
“My God,” George murmured, peering over her shoulder. “All this time, I thought the fire was accidental.”
Karen clicked on the link, and pulled up an article in the Spokesman Review archives, dated April 28, 1993:
FOUR DIE INSHOOTING RAMPAGE
Gunman Sets Adoption Agency on
Fire After Shooting Spree
SPOKANE: Police investigators are still trying to determine the motive for a Pasco man’s shooting spree at an adoption agency, which left three employees dead on Monday afternoon. Before it was over, the gunman set ablaze the small, two-story Tudor house which served as the adoption agency’s office. He was shot and killed as he opened fire on police and firefighters arriving at the scene.
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