Without a Trace: The Disappearance of Amy Billig -- A Mother's Search for Justice

by Greg Aunapu

  Billig intersected the young woman—short, with long dark hair, wearing jeans, a red checkered blouse, a wide leather belt, and boots. "Excuse me?" Sue said, and introduced herself. "I think I saw you at the Red Lion last night."

  The woman cast a suspicious eye on her, looking Sue up and down. "Maybe."

  Sue dug out a picture of Amy from her purse and explained for the thousandth time in her short career as a self-taught detective that she was not 'the heat," and only looking for her daughter.

  "Sure, I've seen her, right here," the woman said.

  Sue could hardly constrain her glee. "You're positive?”

  "Absolutely," the woman responded. "Not too long ago, either."

  "Where? Have you seen her anywhere else?"

  The woman shook her head. "I'm really not into saying any more," she said, ducked her head down and bullied forward as if forging into a gale.

  Inside the market, they found a shop that sold herbal teas. When Sue showed the owner Amy's picture, he said, "She comes in every Saturday. Yeah, I'm positive."

  Sue was more excited than she had felt in a long time. Saturday! Today was already Wednesday. "If I hadn't been in the damned hospital, we'd have been here to see her!" Sue complained.

  "Calm down," Artie said, "you just had a bypass operation, and we're running around like maniacs, drinking in biker bars at night. Don't give yourself another heart attack. If we're this close, we'll find her."

  "Let's go back to the Red Lion now," Sue said. "It'll be calmer and we can talk to the bartender."

  Apparently, people did a lot of drinking in Seattle, because there were plenty of people inside. The bartender was different, a smaller, friendlier looking guy with long hair and a beard. His name was Ralph.

  He scanned the picture with interest. "Yeah, I know her," he said. "Why do you want her?"

  Sue explained that she was Amy's mother, and that bikers had been helping her locate her daughter.

  Ralph wasn't convinced. He made a motion with his fingers and said, "Gimme some names."

  Artie was looking nervous, but Sue had been through this before. "Big Jim Nolan, for one," she name-dropped. "And Bracket in jail in Florida. There's lots more."

  "Just a second," Ralph said. He took the photo and showed it to a large guy, also with a beard and ponytail. The guy glanced at Sue, nodded, and said something back to Ralph.

  Ralph returned. "I gotta be sure there are no police involved," he said.

  "All I want is my daughter. We're prepared to buy her back," Sue said.

  "Buy her back, eh? Well, that's interesting. Give me your number and I'll let you know when I can put it together."

  Sue left the bar feeling as if she were walking on a cushion of air. She held Artie's arm and just about skipped. "We're going to get her, Artie. I can feel it!"

  Artie was beginning to enjoy himself, and seemed glad to be a part of this terrible situation's denouement. He could imagine coming home to Coconut Grove with Amy. It would be so wonderful!

  When Sue called Skagen and told her everything that had happened, even the sergeant said, "You've done really well!"

  Sue was so excited when she called Ned that she breathlessly stumbled over her words when she recounted her tale.

  "That's fantastic, honey," Ned replied. "You keep on like this, and you'll have a whole new career as a private eye. Or we'll make you a character on a television show—a veritable Miami Ms. Marple!"

  -14-

  T he trail was the freshest, yet most elusive, that Sue had come across. This was the day she had been waiting for—Saturday. The day Amy was supposed to frequent the herbal tea store.

  When Sue and Artie returned to the Pike Place Market area and showed Amy's picture to more of the shopkeepers, a bookstore manager nearby said he was sure she was a customer, clerks in a drugstore said she came in occasionally, usually wearing overalls and a backpack, and waiters in a restaurant recognized her as well.

  When Sue asked them to describe the girl in more detail, the bookstore manager said, "Well, she had a funny sort of uplifting walk."

  "She's here, Artie!" Sue cried. The information about Amy's unique stride was almost as good an identification as Paul's recalling her appendix scar. Sue gave everyone her name and contact numbers. She was so close she could almost smell her daughter's perfume, and every dark-haired girl on every corner drew her attention.

  They kept a good lookout on the herb store, but the manager had to shrug his shoulders. "I guess she's not coming today," he said.

  Back at the hotel, Billig called the police and spoke to another sergeant, and relayed the newest information. "Please be on the lookout for her," Sue asked. "I really think she's here." She also asked about bikers again, saying some bikers from the Red Lion were also on the case.

  This officer was more forthcoming than Skagen and admitted there were some bikers around. "But just Hell's Angels and Banditos. There are no Outlaws here."

  In the early evening, Sue and Artie returned to the Red Lion. It was already crowded and noisy, with a lot of the same faces from their previous visit. But it seemed as if, while Sue and Artie had been gone, these people had just been here drinking. An angry Native American man wearing a flannel shirt with rolled up arms, exposing his tattoos of skulls and knives, slammed a baggie of marijuana down on the bar in front of a muscled black man wearing Army-style fatigues.

  'Tarragon, motherfucker!" the Indian said.

  Ralph, not paying attention to the escalating fight, brought Sue and Artie their beers. "I got feelers out, and told people about buying Amy back. I ain't heard nothing yet."

  The black man turned slowly. "Who you calling motherfucker?"

  "Who am I looking at?" the Indian said. "I paid good money for weed, and all I get is herb!"

  Ralph turned to the nearby drug dealers. "Hey, guys. Take it outside!"

  The Indian smashed a bottle on the bar, sending glass flying into Sue's lap. He held the jagged edge up to the black man's throat.

  "Let's get out of here!" Sue said, and they made for the door.

  The relentless Sue made Artie drive back to a restaurant district where they had obtained some information about Amy earlier. A young woman at the drugstore said a girl named Willow Treeland fit Amy's description, and gave Sue an address of a nearby apartment building.

  The entire three floors were dark, as if the building had been cut off from electricity. No one seemed home in any apartment. A mailman, still making deliveries, said Treeland had just moved. Back at the hotel, Sue called directory assistance and found a new listing for Treeland. She dialed it immediately, and a woman answered.

  "Yeah, I'm Willow," the woman said. Not enough words to know if it sounded like Amy. "This is Susan Billig," she said. "Does the name ring a bell?"

  "Not really," the woman said.

  Susan explained who she was and why she was calling.

  "Well, it's not me," the woman said. "My parents live right here in Seattle."

  Sue asked her to describe herself, to see if the multiple sightings of Amy might be Willow instead. "That's kinda hard to do, isn't it?" Willow said. "I have long brown hair, and, well, I'm pretty fat, okay?"

  That didn't sound like the girl people had been describing. They spoke a bit longer. Willow's boyfriend, Mike, said he knew some Florida Outlaws in town, and his buddy John suggested that Sue check the tattoo parlors and a few strip clubs, but they were all closed that night.

  "It's like Tulsa," Sue said. "Does every town in the West roll up the sidewalks on Sunday?"

  On Monday, Sue and Artie went off to check out more bars. At the Rainbow Café a female bartender looked at Amy's photo and snapped her gum meaningfully. "Yeah, I know her. Goes by the name of Vicky. Runs with a biker from the Zudmans club." Her gum cracked an exclamation point.

  "You're sure?"

  "Well, as sure as I can be. But I can't tell you where to find them."

  A gray-bearded biker wearing leathers at least twenty years old had been li
stening. “Check out some places on Pike," he said. "Unique Café and Chi Chi's. You'll find 'em."

  On the way back to Pike they found one of the tattoo parlors people had mentioned. An old man there shoved a voice box against his throat and intoned mechanically, 'Try Custom Tattooing. The Outlaws run the place."

  "You mean they go there a lot?" Sue asked.

  The old man was annoyed. "No, they own it! Florida Outlaws come here and take away our damned business.”

  "And you're sure they're Florida Outlaws?" Sue asked. "Everyone says there aren't any here."

  The leathery tattoo artist raised a cigarette to a hole in his throat, sucked in smoke and blew it out his nose. He obviously liked to disgust people. "They're from Florida, all right," came the buzzing words. "Got rings and T-shirts that say so."

  The Outlaw tattoo parlor had a lock and chain securing the door shut. The windows were so dusty it looked like someone had sprayed liquid snow on them one year and never wiped it off. They couldn't see inside.

  From a pay phone, Sue called John, the friend of Willow's who had seemed fairly knowledgeable about local bike activity, and asked about the Zudmans, whom she had been told Amy was with.

  "Yeah, I know the president of Zudmans—a guy named Roach. They're not a violent group. Mostly they just party and get high. I'll set up a meeting for you."

  "Listen, if they're decent people, tell them I want to see the girl I've been told about."

  "No problem," he said.

  The next day, Sue met with Skagen again.

  "You said there weren't Florida Outlaws here," Sue said, "but there are. They own a tattoo parlor, for Christ's sake."

  Skagen seemed apologetic about the misinformation about the bikers, and even a bit more helpful now. The sergeant searched police files and found a Harry Kramer listed as an area biker, but there was no "street name" such as "Dishrag" listed, or even a present address.

  Two days later the Outlaw tattoo parlor had still never opened its doors. Obviously, it was not a place that was meant to do any business. Sue met with Skagen again, asking her to pull the occupational license of whomever owned the place. They also spoke about the Zudmans. Skagen said, "Yeah, they've got a club called the Mink Farm. But do not go there! I don't want to send you home in a bag. We'll contact the sheriff's department."

  Sue laughed. "If you knew just a portion of what I've done, you wouldn't be telling me that," she said.

  The occupational license was listed to a Loretta Clayton and leased to a man named Jack Hunt. Sue and Artie drove to the address—a run-down house with peeling paint and rotting window frames, with junk strewn around and a pickup truck in the front yard. When Sue got out of the car, a rat nearly ran across her foot and dodged under some rusting debris. She yelped. Artie, sitting in the red Mustang rental, looked apprehensive. "I'll tell you right now," she said. "This is the place."

  Artie said, "I'll stay here."

  Sue trod up to the weathered door and knocked. The door swung open to reveal a tall, bearded biker wearing a veteran leather jacket with Outlaw colors. He held a large revolver pointed at the floor in his left hand.

  "You must have the wrong address," he said.

  Sue quickly explained her presence, and the man admitted he was Jack Hunt. "Please, may I speak with you?”

  The man gestured to Artie in the car. "That the FBI with you?"

  "Him an FBI agent?" She laughed. "No, that's my friend Artie. I don't drive, and he's very kindly come all the way from Florida to help me."

  Jack gestured for Artie to come in. He looked reluctant, so Sue shouted, "It's okay!"

  Inside there were about a dozen tattooed men and women dressed in biker garb, T-shirts, leather vests, Levi's, and chains. The whole Outlaw posse at Jim Nolan's could have been teleported here, and hardly anyone would have known the difference. A five-year-old girl wearing pajamas welcomed them inside. "My name is Patsy!" she said.

  "My daughter," Jack said. "And that's my wife Patricia." He motioned to a woman with frizzy dark blond hair and sharp features. Two large black Labradors nosed forward and tried to stick their noses in Sue's crotch. She pushed them away, but they persisted, wagging their tails, until Jack shooed them into the living room.

  Jack had let them inside, but he suddenly had a lot of questions. Sue worried she might not get back out so easily unless she answered them correctly. "So you said some bikers in Florida were helping you find your daughter? What're their names?" Jack asked.

  "Well, there's Big Jim Nolan, for one," Sue said. "Bracket, up in Raiford, and Scar in Belle Glade."

  Jack nodded. "Well, those are the right names, but why in the hell are you in Seattle?"

  She told him about Paul Branch. "He said this lead was his final payment to me," Sue said.

  Again Jack nodded, and relaxed. "Get these guys a beer," he told his wife.

  Sue recounted their adventures in Seattle so far as Jack studied Amy's photograph.

  "I have to say, Willow does look exactly like Amy, and she's not that fat. She's real spaced, like she dropped too much acid. Talks in real sixties slang and listens to music all the time. Sings to herself a lot, too. Got nice teeth—you notice that about her."

  Another biker named Chris knew her, too. "I'd say she looks ninety-eight percent like this picture. Her old man is a guy named Mike Martin, and he's real good to her."

  Jack passed the photo back to Sue and plucked Patsy up and put her on his lap. "Yeah, but if Willow is Amy, she belongs with her family. I know a doctor can help, if it's her. We'll go over to Willow's house and see if we can take some pictures and show them to you."

  They met again at four P.M. outside the tattoo parlor. Jack was there, driving the pickup truck. "You checked out with Nolan," he said. "So we're going to help you out. If Willow is Amy, I'll grab her, even if it means I gotta blow someone's head off. If it's not her, and she's anywhere in the Outlaw nation, we'll get her back."

  Sue felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude. "You have a daughter, so you know what this means to us. We will be so grateful to you, Jack."

  He smiled, showing strong, but yellowed teeth, gray in the corners. 'Tomorrow's Thanksgiving," he said. "Why don't you spend it with us? We're going to have a great dinner."

  She patted his hand. "Thanks so much, but I really get depressed on holidays. Let me see how I feel and we'll call you tomorrow." Later she wrote in her diary, If bikers can be good guys, these people certainly are!

  Artie was all for hanging out with the Outlaws on Thanksgiving, but Sue wasn't so sure. "I feel awful you're not home with your family, but I don't think we should get too chummy with the bikers. And you never know what will happen if they start getting drunk."

  She felt blue after speaking to Ned and Josh, but also energized because she might be close to Amy.

  "Next Thanksgiving, we'll have the whole family eating dinner here," Ned told her. "I'm sure of it."

  But on this Thanksgiving, Sue and Artie spent an hour in a bar with the cast of a musical that was doing a road show.

  The next day they drove out to Jack's house to see if the bikers had seen Willow the previous night, as they had promised. Sue was already out of the car running before Artie had even turned off the ignition. She jogged up to the door and knocked heartily to be heard over the sound of music inside. The dogs barked and Jack opened the door, looking a bit stoned, hung over, but not unhappy.

  "Come on in," he said. "Take a seat. You wanna beer or a toke? Man, you should have come over last night. What a bash!"

  As before, the house was full of other bodies in various states of dress and wakefulness. The sounds of a couple in the throes of passion emanated loudly from the other room.

  "It was really nice of you to offer," Sue said, "but I get depressed. Did you see Willow? Were you able to take pictures?"

  Jack shook his head. "They were partying with the Zudmans. We passed by, but couldn't figure out any way of taking photos without the Zudmans getting suspicious. But she really l
ooked like Amy to me." He turned to Patricia and Chris. "What'd you guys think?”

  "I'd say it's her," Pat said, stroking her daughter's head. "Hair, skin, teeth, her body shape. She's not that fat. And she's got that walk you talked about. If it's not her, I think she's the girl you've been following from Miami. If it's not her, you should just give it up."

  Sue shook her head. "I can never give up. Not unless I see her, or bury her."

  Jack sucked on a beer. "Okay, we'll see if we can lure her and her old man and the Zudmans over to the Cedar Bar tomorrow night. You be there already, and if you walk out, we'll know it's Amy, and we'll decide how to grab her. But figure out what you're going to do if she freaks and won't leave town with you."

  "I hope to God it comes to that!" Sue said.

  "We have some great leftover Thanksgiving food," Pat said. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

  The turkey proved succulent, with excellent gravy and homemade cranberry sauce. All the bikers were extremely friendly.

  Pat and a few of the other biker women made a living as topless dancers. A girl named Debby was showing everyone a butterfly she had just had tattooed on her chest. Finally, two guys named Chow Hound and Tank said Amy's profile picture looked just like Willow.

  Besides the biker clothes and the bare-chested Debby showing off her tattoo to all the men, Sue thought this was not that far off from normal. Then a car pulled into the driveway, lights skimming across the curtains.

  The men jumped from their chairs. Guns appeared from pockets and from behind pillows, and everyone rushed to the windows with weapons in hand. Sue's heart jumped into her throat and she almost choked, but Artie looked strangely excited, his eyes focused on the big revolver that Jack held in his hand.

  Jack let the curtain fall back. "Go back to dinner. It's just a turnaround," he said.

  By Saturday night plans had changed a bit. The Zudmans weren't interested in going to the Cedar Bar and had their own party planned. Sue and Artie met the Outlaw group at Jack's to finalize their actions.

  "You're never going to mix in with the bikers," Jack said.