“Karen, for God’s sake, you can’t just ask me if I’ve had a blackout, then say you’ll call me back. What’s going on? Did something happen over the weekend that I should know about?”
“I can’t talk right now,” Karen whispered urgently. “There are people at my front door. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She clicked off the line. “Rufus, calm down!” she yelled. Then she opened the door, and put on her best cordial smile for the two of them. “Can I help you?” She still clutched the cell phone in her hand.
The woman flashed her police badge. “Karen Carlisle?”
She nodded. “Yes?”
“Good afternoon, I’m Jacqueline Peyton and this is Warren Rooney.” Behind her, the man gave a little nod. Neither one of them cracked a smile. “We’re with the Seattle Police,” she continued. “We’re hoping you might help us locate a missing person. I understand Detective Russ Koehler was here yesterday afternoon.”
Karen stared at them and blinked. “He’s missing?”
“Was he here yesterday afternoon?” the woman pressed.
Karen nodded more times than necessary. “Um, yes, he showed up around this time yesterday-two o’clock. He was here for about ten minutes.”
“Mrs. Koehler said you telephoned her last night.”
“Yes, I thought I’d be hearing back from him, and never did.” Karen opened the door wider. “I’m sorry. Would you like to come in?”
The two detectives stepped inside the foyer. Karen closed the door after them. The cell phone went off in her hand, and she glanced at the caller ID: Amelia again.
She switched off the phone and stashed it in her purse. “I always thought a certain amount of time had to go by-like forty-eight or seventy-two hours-before the police considered anyone officially missing.”
The man shook his head. “In Washington State, there’s no waiting period. He’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. And at three o’clock this morning, we picked up a DUI driving Koehler’s car, a brand-new Audi. He claims he found it-abandoned, unlocked with the keys inside-on Aurora Boulevard.”
“What was the nature of Detective Koehler’s visit here?” the woman asked.
Karen hesitated. She remembered Koehler walking off with Amelia yesterday. “My car’s parked just down the block,” he’d told her. “We can go for a drive.”
“Ms. Carlisle?” the policewoman said.
Karen folded her arms in front of her. “Um, I’m a therapist, and Detective Koehler was asking about one of my clients, Amelia Faraday. I believe he was conducting some sort of follow-up investigation into the deaths of her parents and aunt in Wenatchee last week.” She figured this wasn’t any news to them. George had already told her that other cops on the force knew about Koehler’s interest in the case. But they didn’t know Koehler had driven off yesterday afternoon with Amelia.
She needed to talk to Amelia before the police did.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Karen added. “I told Detective Koehler it would be unethical to repeat anything a patient shared with me during a session. Not that there’s anything to conceal. I’ve read the newspaper reports, and I don’t think Amelia held back on anything when she spoke to the police.”
The policewoman cocked her head to one side. Her eyes narrowed at her. “When Detective Koehler left here yesterday, did he indicate where he was going?”
Karen shrugged. “I have no idea where he was headed.” All the while, she thought, God, I’m lying to the police now.
“But he said he’d call you,” the man interjected. “What about?”
Karen shrugged again. “I’m not sure, actually. He didn’t specify the reason.”
“And when you didn’t hear from him, you tried calling him.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“You told Mrs. Koehler you’d been trying his cell before phoning his home.” The cop finally cracked a tiny smile. “Sounds like you felt his calling back was pretty darn important.”
Karen swallowed hard. “I just didn’t like the idea of having unfinished police business hanging over my head at the end of the day,” she answered carefully.
Neither one of the detectives seemed to be buying her story. The woman cleared her throat. “Ms. Carlisle-Karen, you don’t have to answer this. But it would be a big help to us. Do you have a-a personal relationship with Russ Koehler?”
“With Detective Koehler?” She let out a little laugh. “God, no, I only just met him the day before yesterday. What, did his wife think that I-”
“Do you suppose Koehler went to see Amelia Faraday after leaving here?” the man asked, cutting her off.
“Um, I really can’t say,” Karen replied, shrugging.
“Do you have a contact address and phone number for Ms. Faraday?” he asked.
“Yes, I have that on file. I’ll write it down for you.” She retreated into her office, took a deep breath, then looked up Amelia’s campus address and phone number. She scribbled down the information, then returned to the foyer and gave the piece of paper to the policewoman. “That’s her room number in Terry Hall, along with the phone there.”
The woman took it. “You don’t happen to have her cell phone number, do you?”
Karen hesitated. “Um, I…”
“Never mind,” she said. “This is good enough. Thank you for your time, Ms. Carlisle.”
As soon as Karen ushered them out the door, she ducked back inside, and dug her cell phone out of her purse again. Amelia answered on the first ring. Karen asked her if she was in her room at the dorm.
“Yeah,” Amelia replied. “Why did you ask me if I had a blackout? What’s going on?”
“Listen,” Karen said. “Do me a favor. Finish up whatever you’re doing there and get out. Some people might be on their way to see you, and it’s best you don’t talk to them until I meet with you. Don’t answer the phone either. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes at the U Library, the Graduate Reading Room. Don’t tell anyone else where you’re going, okay?”
“Well, okay, I guess. But I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”
“I’ll explain everything when I see you. Take care.”
Karen clicked off the line. Then she headed to the closet and grabbed her coat.
“So, the way I understand it, your niece was adopted through the agency when she was four and, within a month, this Duane Lee Savitt character walked into the adoption place, shot three employees, and set their offices on fire. Is that about right?”
George nodded. He stood by Professor Lori Kim’s desk and watched her load her briefcase with books and papers. Her Family and Juvenile Law class had just let out, and the classroom was empty except for the two of them. Lori Kim was a stout Asian woman in her late thirties. She had a few gray streaks in her close-cropped hair and wore designer glasses with her dark-blue power suit. Lori’s brisk, no-nonsense manner was occasionally punctuated by a sweet, disarming smile. George had called a few friends at the university, and had heard Professor Kim had a background in law enforcement as well as child psychology.
“I’m wondering if there’s a connection between this girl and the shootings at the adoption agency,” George explained. “I heard you know something about adoption laws. Do you think Savitt might have gone to the agency, trying to track down the child? At the same time, he torched the place, so I’m wondering if he wanted to destroy records that might link him with one particular child.”
“That one particular child being your niece?” Lori Kim asked.
“It’s a stretch, yes. But she does have vague memories of an Uncle Duane. “
Professor Kim zipped up her briefcase. “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have a dental appointment at two-fifteen, and my car’s parked on the other side of the campus.”
“Not at all,” George replied. “In fact, I’ll even carry your briefcase for you. I was hoping to get some information on my niece’s biological parents, but-”
“Oh, that won’t be easy,” she c
ut in. She unloaded the briefcase on him, and it was damn heavy. “Those records are closed in Washington State.”
George had already found that out the hard way. He’d been on the phone for two hours this morning with several government agencies, talking to a lot of apathetic, curt, and often rude clerks who had told him the same thing: the information he wanted was “confidential…unavailable…restricted.” Finally, he’d given up and started phoning people, asking if there was a professor who knew a lot about adoption procedures. He hoped against hope that Lori Kim might know a way for him to get past all the legal stumbling blocks.
Lugging the briefcase, he walked down the corridor with her on the law school’s second floor. She moved at a brisk clip. “If your niece remembers an Uncle Duane before she was adopted by your in-laws, it means she had to be at least three or four years old before she lost her parents-or they gave her up. It’s unusual that she’d end up adopted through an agency. She should have gone through the foster care system.”
“She did spend time in some foster homes before my in-laws took her,” George said. They ducked into the stairwell and started down the steps. “I was still dating Amelia’s aunt when Amelia’s parents were going through the adoption process. They lived in Spokane at the time. But I know they had a lot of visits back and forth, and a trial period.”
“That’s how they do it in foster care. Maybe the adoption agency was involved for some other reason.” Professor Kim stopped at the bottom of the steps. “You said your niece spent time in other foster homes. Did the child have any problems or disorders?”
He nodded. “She had frequent nightmares, and she got these phantom pains and illnesses. She practically drove her parents nuts. But that didn’t start up until after the adoption went through. By then my in-laws had moved to Bellingham and had a baby boy of their own. We figured Amelia was just vying for their attention.”
Lori Kim frowned. “Then again, maybe those nightmares and phantom pains were what got the child bounced out of one foster home and into the next. Might even be why her real parents gave up on her. Children learn very quickly. Your niece might have been on her best behavior with your in-laws during that trial period. When she saw her baby brother cried without getting the boot, she might have figured it was safe to let her pain and fear be heard.”
They stepped outside into the sun and a cool autumn breeze. This section of the campus was graced with stately old buildings and magnificent trees with their leaves changing. The grounds were bathed in a riot of fall colors. Classes were in session, so there wasn’t the usual mob scene. Only a few students and teachers lingered about.
“Of course, I’m just speculating,” Professor Kim continued, as they walked along a paved pathway across the leaf-scattered lawn. “Once in a while, if the foster system has problems placing a child, they may turn to an adoption agency for assistance. It’s possible that’s what happened with your niece.”
“I always assumed Amelia’s biological parents were dead,” George remarked. “But you mentioned they might have just given her up. Do you think they could still be alive?”
“Anything’s possible,” Lori Kim replied. “If you want me to come up with a potential reason for why this Duane Lee Savitt did what he did, I can give you about a dozen different scenarios.”
“Give me your best one.”
“Well, since there weren’t any state, city, or county records connecting Savitt with the adoption agency, I’d say he wasn’t the child’s legal father. But there’s a chance he was the birth father. The mother could have lied about it on the birth certificate and transfer papers. Savitt may have also been your niece’s natural uncle, just as she remembers. But once again, they didn’t come across his name in any records, which means he was most likely a family friend or possibly a blood uncle on the mother’s side, and she was married. The maiden names aren’t always flagged on those records.”
George nodded. “Savitt had a sister named Joy who died just a few weeks before he went berserk at the adoption agency.”
Lori Kim stopped abruptly. “It’s strange that Savitt waited until the mother died before he tried to track down the child.”
“Well, maybe he tried to get custody after his sister died-”
“There would be a record of that,” she argued. “You said Savitt shot up the adoption place less than a month after your niece was officially adopted. But under the foster care system, it’s a gradual process toward the final adoption. And you said your niece had some false starts in other foster homes. So she had to be in foster care for at least three months, which means the mother was still alive, and therefore gave up the child. Maybe she was too sick to take care of her at the time. One thing for sure, she didn’t want her brother to have the girl or she would have given him custody. So, obviously, Savitt waited until his sister was dead before he went searching for his niece. And when he came to the agency, looking for her-”
“They couldn’t tell him where she’d gone, because those adoption records are closed,” George finished for her. “So, Uncle Duane went crazy.”
“Well, I don’t quite agree with you on that,” she said, resuming her quick gait along the path. “I doubt he’d armed himself for his first trip to that agency. He probably went there once to make inquiries, became frustrated, and then returned with his arsenal.”
George got winded carrying the heavy briefcase and trying to keep up with her. “You know, it’s weird the police couldn’t figure this out.”
“Well, they couldn’t connect him to anyone at that agency. But you have-if you’re right about him being this girl’s uncle. And so far, we’re just hypothesizing.”
“Why do you think he burned the place down?”
“Did any of those articles you read say if he used hollow-point bullets to shoot those people?”
“Yeah. How did you know-”
“Hollow-points are the bullets of choice for most mass murderers. Only God knows what other function they serve. Hunters don’t use them. Hollow-points inflict the most damage. And that’s probably why Duane Savitt set fire to the place, to inflict the most damage.”
“You don’t think he was trying to destroy some records?”
“It’s possible. But if he was really related to your niece, those same records would be in the foster care system, and he should have known that. Then again, you’re trying to figure out the logic of some asshole who took it upon himself to shoot three people who never did a single thing to hurt him. I hope I never comprehend the way someone like that thinks.”
“If those records exist in the foster care system, how can I get to them?” George pressed. “You must know some way.”
“Get your lawyer, get your niece, and file a petition.”
“There’s no alternate route?”
“Try to track down someone who knew Uncle Duane.”
“I’m giving that a shot right now,” George replied. “One of the articles I read mentioned he was buried in a cemetery in Salem, Oregon. I’m trying to track down whoever paid for the plot and the tombstone, if there is one. I figure this person must know Duane pretty well.”
“That’s good thinking,” she said. They headed toward a small parking lot.
“I called the cemetery office this morning,” George explained. “The guy there said they might be able to help me if I come down tomorrow and talk to him in person.”
“Sounds like someone wants his palm greased. Bring money.” Professor Kim took her key out of her purse and unlocked the driver door to her blue Geo. “Did you think I’d have some connection, a shortcut way of getting the lowdown on your niece’s biological parents?”
George gave her the briefcase. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for that.”
“Sorry, George,” Professor Kim said. She tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and then climbed behind the wheel.
“You were still a lot of help. Thanks.”
“Have a nice trip to Salem. And if you end up meeting th
at friend of Duane’s, would you find out something for me?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Find out why Duane waited until his sister was dead to go looking for the girl. Or maybe I should say to go hunting for the little girl. I have a feeling that’s closer to what he had in mind. Good luck, George.” She shut the door, started up the car and backed out of the parking spot.
George watched her drive away until the car disappeared around a curve in the winding road.
“Karen, I swear, I didn’t get back to town until this morning,” Amelia whispered.
They sat at the end of a beautiful long wood table. There were twenty matching tables in the Graduate Reading Room of UW’s Suzzallo Library arranged like pews in a church, ten on each side. The tall stained-glass windows, ornate hanging light fixtures, and cathedral ceiling inspired quiet meditation. Bookcases were pressed against the stone walls. There were at least sixty other students in the library, and only the slightest murmuring could be heard among them.
Amelia looked pretty in a lavender sweater and khakis. She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, and she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I was driving around Olympic National Park yesterday afternoon,” she told Karen in a hushed voice. “That’s as close to Seattle as I got. I ended up spending last night at a B amp; B in Port Angeles. I can show you the receipt if you don’t believe me. It’s in my other purse.”
“So, you don’t remember coming by my place yesterday?” Karen asked.
Amelia adamantly shook her head.
“We talked in the kitchen,” Karen said, trying to jog her memory. “Rufus was acting strange, growling at us.”
Amelia glanced down at the library table and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“And you never met a Detective Koehler? The name isn’t even familiar?”
“No.”
“He gave you coffee, and took you for a drive….”
Amelia brought a hand up to her mouth, and stared back at Karen. “He gave me coffee?” she repeated.
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