Taking a bite, he let the cookie slowly dissolve on his tongue. Carefully picking off crumbs from his shirt and whatever fell on his desk, and when he was sure he had gotten rid of all evidence, he picked up the phone and pushed the intercom. A husky female voice answered.
“Records.”
“Rita, can you pull the file on that body that was found near Fort Rock Park about four months ago. That young girl.”
“Sure, Mike, I’ll bring it right up.”
“Thanks, Rita.” He carefully placed the phone on the base and grabbed another cookie before shutting the lid and replacing the tin in the desk drawer. He placed the manual on the tin and shut the drawer.
When Rita knocked on his office door, he was just swallowing the last bite and he helped it down by taking a swig of his still hot coffee.
His tongue swept across his teeth and felt around, surveying the gum area, making sure all he was leaving no obvious signs and all evidence of the snack had dissolved.
“Come in,” he called out as he grabbed some blank sheets of paper and placed them in front of him.
“Here you go, Mike.” Rita said as she started to hand him the file. Rita Doidge, the records clerk, was a fixture here in the building. The woman had been working for this troop for over twenty-five years and had seen many troopers come and go. She watched a generation of troopers grow up and have children of their own; some of them who followed in their parent’s footsteps and now were working as officers themselves. She had diapered a few of the rookies and never let them forget it if they got out of hand. She attended funerals and births and Sanders thought that without her, this outfit would be lost. The woman was the most efficient woman he knew, ask her for a file and it was in your hand before you hung up the phone. The only problem was that Rita’s filing system was understood by her and her alone. Several attempts to train another clerk had been a disaster. So much so that in twenty-five years, Rita had not taken a sick day or a vacation. For the last several weeks though, she had taken on an assistant in preparation for her very first vacation. Her daughter Jessie was getting married and the wedding was going to be in Hawaii. She was scheduled to take two weeks off; and the entire office was thrown into a panic.
“How’s the new girl doing, Rita?” Sanders asked, attempting to take the file from her hand. He looked up and noticed a strange look in her eyes, her nostrils opened wide.
“Do I smell oatmeal cookies, Michael?” Her grip on the file got stronger.
Shaking his head in defeat, he opened the drawer and lifted the tin, handing it to her.
She let go of the file. Grabbing the tin from him, she pulled and maneuvered the lid open and took a deep breath. “Umm, oh, these smell scrumptious.”
“What are you, part wolf?” he asked accusingly, and took the manila file and sat down. He opened the cover and started to read. He didn’t look back up as she turned and headed out the door.
“Leave those here,” he growled.
“Didn’t Tammy tell you to share?” She was guessing, but it was a good guess.
“I just did, now.” He held out his hand, and with quite a bit of reluctance, she handed the tin back.
“The new girl? How’s she doing?” He asked her again.
“I think she’s going to work out, Mike, she’s bright and she’s willing to work. I think she’s a keeper. Are we sure she’s Scarecrow’s niece? I think we should request a DNA test.”
“Just make sure she knows what she’s doing before you leave, cause it would be a shame for you to miss your own daughter’s wedding.” He answered her in a snarl, as he shoved the tin back in his drawer, shut it, and locked it with the key.
“How about you solving this case before I leave?” She motioned to the file. “It would be nice to find out if we can bring justice to that girl’s family. Find out who killed that poor girl.” Her sarcastic tone turned to sadness.
“Maybe, Rita, maybe we just caught a break. Shut the door when you leave, will you, and hey, keep your mouth shut about the cookies.”
She laughed as she turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
As soon as she was gone, he grabbed an aerosol can of air freshener and gave it a pump. He wasn’t taking the chance of losing one more cookie because of someone else’s overactive sensory organ.
Marty’s next door neighbor, Mrs. Kolakowski, greeted them before they even got out of the car.
“Marty, how’s the Captain doing? I wanted to visit him, but I thought that the family needed the time to visit. Is there anything I can do? I just finished a wonderful novel by Kassandra Lamb, I know how your dad loves thrillers; I can bring it to him, or give it to you to give to him.”
She held up the book to show them.
She was nervous and Marty knew she wanted to talk about more than his father’s health.
“Thanks, Mrs. K, why don’t you bring it to him tomorrow? He would love to see you. Besides, you are family.” Marty responded.
He looked at the sadness in her eyes; and he just wanted to grab her and give her a ferocious hug. He knew she needed one at this moment, and he certainly would have enjoyed it. “A good book is just the thing he needs. You know he gets cranky when he gets bored.”
“I saw the news. It was so wonderful to see that little girl and her family reunited.” She turned and addressed Hope, averting her eyes.
Marty watched as she tried to keep herself composed. He knew she was fighting back tears and an awful memory. Marty hadn’t realized just how time and circumstances had changed the woman; and he was embarrassed that he hadn’t paid more attention to her. She was right next door and he hadn’t taken the time to visit the woman who became a surrogate mother to his family, especially him and his twin brother, after their own mother passed away.
Marty could tell that she wanted to ask him more about the little girl that was found; instead, she just smiled and bade them goodbye. As he watched, he realized just how tiny in stature she was. For some reason, he remembered her being taller.
“This hits really close to home for her.” Marty told Hope, as he hung his arm over her shoulder while they walked up the path towards his front door.
“What do you mean?” Her cool hand reached under his shirt and landed on his bare skin. It felt cold and warm at the same time.
They got as far as the front porch and then he sat down on the top step. Her hand now free, she brushed away some debris from the concrete landing and sat down beside him.
Marty picked up a thin branch that was lying by his left foot. He scrapped it across the concrete step below him. He began to tell her the story.
“It happened about twenty-five years ago; actually, last week would have been twenty-five years. It was the day of my mother’s funeral.” Marty let his thoughts travel back in time to when he was nine years old.
“About a year before my mother passed away, Mrs. K came to live here to help out her younger brother, Tim, with his kids. Tim’s wife Sarah had been killed in a car wreck and he was a mess. You know that hutch in the dining room you love so much? Tim built that. He was a master carpenter. A genius with wood. Well, anyway, I’m getting off point; the youngest boy Tim Jr. was only three years old when he mysteriously disappeared. At first we thought he just wandered off, but it turned out he was abducted, and it happened on the day we buried my mother.”
Marty took a deep breath before he continued. “Mrs. K took her nieces, her brother Tim’s five older girls, to the services; and Tim had stayed home with his youngest child, the only boy. Tim had come and seen my dad that morning and told my dad he couldn’t bring himself to go to another funeral. So he stayed home with Tim Jr.”
Marty took another deep breath as he reflected back in time. “Everyone called him T.J. for short. Mrs. K thought he was too young and didn’t want to take him to the funeral. His father was supposed to be watching him, but he was drinking pretty heavily in those days, and when they got home from the funeral, he was passed out drunk. When they woke him up and
couldn’t find T.J. in the house, they thought that he probably went outside to play or to look for his Aunt Peri, or maybe he had even walked over to my house to visit my family. When they couldn’t find him after a while, they started to search the neighborhood. After a few hours, it started to get dark, so they called the police and reported him missing.
One of the neighbors thought they saw a strange van that day, driving slowly around the neighborhood. By the time my family got back from my mom’s funeral, T.J. was long gone. There were many theories about what happened to T.J., but the most plausible was that someone in that van snatched him.
Mrs. Kolakowski’s brother killed himself a few weeks later. Put a gun to his head and shot himself. He just couldn’t cope with what had happened. Tim Sr. doted on that kid; the sun didn’t come up until T.J. opened his eyes in the morning. If you saw the old man, Tim, T.J. wasn’t too far behind. Tim’s wife had T.J. late in life trying to give her husband Tim the boy he longed for. My dad used to say that he made buttons, or boys, and Tim only made buttonholes, or girls. When Tim’s wife was killed in that wreck, he pretty much fell apart, but he tried to keep it together for his six kids. But when T.J. disappeared, old Tim was inconsolable. He blamed himself and I guess he wasn’t the only one. Everyone blamed him. Everyone in this town blamed him, except for the one person that really mattered, his sister, Mrs. K. She blamed herself because she didn’t want to take him to the funeral. Thought he was too rambunctious and would be a distraction. Strangely enough, I remember my brother Danny blaming my mother. T.J. used to tag along after Danny all the time, and it used to make Danny feel like a big shot. He was only seven at the time, and Tommy and I, especially me, well, we treated him like he was a pain in the ass. T.J. made him feel like he was the big brother.”
Marty leaned back against the porch railing as visions of the past appeared before his eyes, slightly out of focus. Memories that he had thought were lost forever were flooding back in waves.
“I remember Danny screaming at my dad one day that it was my mother’s fault Tim Junior was gone. That if we weren’t all at my mother’s funeral, T.J. wouldn’t be missing. Secretly, I think I felt the same way. I guess I was a bit of an ass back then. I just didn’t understand that my mother’s dying wasn’t something she could have prevented. I was nine years old and angry and stupid. I was pissed off that she was sick all the time, that she was the reason my dad and older siblings were always so sad. It was a really tough time back then; and I think I felt abandoned by her. If something bad happened, I would blame my mother. My mother, well, she was an easy target.”
“Did they ever find him?” Hope asked. Marty wondered if she was developing a new insight into their neighbor, who she once described as always looking sad even when she was smiling.
Marty shook his head.
“No, it was as if he vanished into thin air. I don’t think she ever gave up hope that he would be found, but she has resigned herself that he is probably dead. I think it’s fair to say that it was probably the worst summer of my life, all of our lives. Anyway, Mrs. Kolakowski, and her husband, stayed to raise her nieces, the orphaned five girls left behind by the tragedy; and I guess you can say she helped raise us. She never gave up her maiden name, just in case T.J. came looking for them,” he told her.
Marty let out a quick exhale, and he felt his facial muscles break out into a smile, as he visualized something he hadn’t thought of in years.
“What?” Hope asked him.
“Just remembered something about T.J. I hadn’t thought about in years. The kid had this uncanny ability to look at a license plate and know what state it was from. He couldn’t read. Just, he could just tell by the color or design. Whenever the families would go somewhere together, T.J. always wanted to ride with us. I remember him wanting to sit by the window so he could name the plates’ states. The kid was good.”
She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Crap, I have to go. I have to stop by Sweet Magnolia’s and pick up some bridal magazines before they close. I have an appointment with Tawnya to get my hair trimmed. She wanted me to look at some hairstyles for the wedding. Marty, maybe we should . . . .”
He cut her off. He knew what she was going to say and he wasn’t having it. Marty grabbed her hand and squeezed hard, as she stood up. “Hope, the Captain will be fine and he will walk you down that aisle,” he assured her.
Marty had his suspicions that it was more than her concern about the Captain being healthy enough to attend the wedding. She was nervous, more nervous than he was. Hope had become so close to his father, and since her own dad was deceased, she was thrilled when he offered to give her away. Getting married was Marty’s idea, and she seemed more than content to keep things as they were. At least that’s how she acted. Marty’s father didn’t buy it; neither did his partner, Jean. They were both adamant that Hope was just scared of taking the plunge because her first marriage failed. The closer the wedding date came, the more excuses the woman came up with. Instead of arguing with her, Marty pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers, causing her to moan softly.
When she left, he went inside and took a quick shower and got a change of clothes. He grabbed a jug of orange juice from the refrigerator and pictured his dad balking at him for drinking out of the container. He was torn between going back to the hospital and going back to work. He knew what his dad would tell him to do. He would tell him to help Jean solve the case. He would want him to find out what happened to those kids and try and make it right. Maybe with Archie Blakey dead, justice was already served, but they still had Troy Blakey to deal with. That is, if the man ever came out of his coma.
He slammed the payphone down on the hook. He had walked for at least three hours before he found one in working order, and when the operator refused to give him any information on his brother’s medical status, he thought he would lose it. He rested his head on the cool metal coin slot plate and tried to calm himself down. Scratching his head, he wasn’t surprised when he pulled out some dead weeds and a small twig from his thick, wheat-colored hair. It was to be expected, since he spent the night sleeping in a small cave he found in the wooded area as far from the cabin as he could walk.
The handle of the pistol he placed in his waistband was rubbing against his skin, irritating it. He was so conflicted about whether he should dispose of it or keep it, just in case. He hated the feel of it. The cold steel felt foreign to him. First things first, he decided, he needed to find the kid. That’s what his brother would want him to do, find the kid. Trying to think, he stood frozen in the rarely used, narrow glass phone booth, and he could feel his heart beating. It felt to him like it was going to burst outside his chest wall.
“I’ve got to calm down,” he silently lectured himself. He looked around, trying to organize his thoughts. The payphone was right outside a restaurant, and when he folded the door in order to open it, he got a whiff of something that smelled like Bar-B-Que. He stuck his hand in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He rummaged through the wallet and counted three twenty-dollar bills and four ones. It wouldn’t last very long, but he would at least be able to get something to eat, and maybe a room for the night, a much needed shower and a decent night’s sleep. He looked around, cautiously noting the signage over the entranceway of the restaurant. The Liar’s Den. He just hoped it wasn’t some sort of cop hangout. In Oregon, the cops were notorious for eating at these types of restaurants. The last thing he needed was to run into a damn cop. He had no idea if anyone had seen him leave the cabin and he needed to know what the cops knew. He needed to find Tristan, and if he couldn’t get to his brother, he needed to get to Tristan. He had hidden in the woods and watched when they took the little girl out of the house. Tristan had run away from the cops and he was in danger of getting caught himself when the kid spotted him. He had put his finger to his lips, letting Tristan know not to let on and hoping Tristan wouldn’t give him away. When the cops finally managed to catch up to the kid, he was glad the kid didn
’t let on. Troy would be proud.
His stomach began making gurgling noises and he knew he had to get some food. He tried but couldn’t remember the last time he ate. As he stepped outside the phone booth, he quickly made his decision.
First things first, he decided he would be no good to his brother or Tristan if he passed out from hunger. He would go in The Liar’s Den, get something to eat and then make it a priority to find the kid. He needed to get Tristan and get the hell out of this town.
The tall, ultrathin hostess walked over and asked him how many were in his party. He looked around before he spoke. “Just one, unless you would like to join me.” She laughed at his joke and he was still smiling when the hostess brought him to a small corner table. Watching the hostess walk away, he had another thought. Maybe this town wouldn’t be so bad. He made up his mind. He was going to eat and then he would figure something out. Maybe he would go to the hospital and try and see what shape his brother was in. Either way, he had come to this town for a reason. With or without his brother, he was going to find out the truth. He was glad the old bastard was dead, but the fact the old man was dead was definitely a problem. He just hoped the answers didn’t die with him.
Marty tossed and turned all night long, his thoughts jumping back and forth, from his dad’s situation to the homicide investigation and the two children found at the scene. Hope, on the other hand, fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He thought about waking her up and having her relieve all of his growing tension, but she was sleeping so peacefully, and he just couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. Instead, he got out of the bed carefully, as to not wake her, showered, dressed and made himself a cup of coffee and set the Keurig machine so all she had to do was push the button when she was ready to drink hers. She was still fast asleep when he left the house.
STOLEN Page 7