The Girl Who Was Taken

by Charlie Donlea

  “Megan McDonald of Emerson Bay?”

  Livia nodded. “The night she escaped, she was found to have a large amount of ketamine in her system.” Livia looked up from the report. “This guy OD’d Nancy Dee, perhaps tried to do the same to Paula D’Amato until he took measures into his own hands, and filled Megan McDonald with ketamine just before he meant to kill her. She escaped from that bunker and ran for her life until Arthur Steinman picked her up on Highway Fifty-Seven.”

  Denise Rettenburg slowly nodded her head. “That’s some good detective work from a Gerald Colt fellow.”

  Livia paged again through the autopsy report. “The other connection comes from the fibers found in the girls’ hair. The same fibers discovered in Nancy Dee’s hair were discovered in Megan McDonald’s the night she was brought to the hospital. From Megan’s recounting of the night she escaped, we know a burlap bag was placed on her head. This bag was recovered from the bunker. Fiber analysis from the material in Megan’s hair not only matched the bag they recovered, but also fibers found on Nancy Dee’s body. It was the same burlap, at least.”

  “Well, now that’s interesting.” Dr. Rettenburg paged through the photos that sat in front of Livia, then slid one out into the open. “The D’Amato girl was found with a burlap sack over her head.”

  Livia looked more closely at the photo. She hadn’t noticed it the first time. “A sack over her head and inside a body bag?”

  “Correct.”

  “Did you run that sack?”

  Dr. Rettenburg paged through a folder and slid the fiber analysis across her desk.

  Livia pulled a copy of Nancy Dee’s and Megan’s fiber analyses from her purse and laid all three in front of her for comparison. “They all come back as hemp woven burlap. Same fiber width, same grade.”

  Livia looked up at Denise Rettenburg, who raised her eyebrows.

  “I’d say you have a compelling case, Dr. Cutty.”

  * * *

  Livia helped Denise Rettenburg reorganize the D’Amato file, then followed her out into the hallway and waited in front of the elevator doors.

  “Gerald Colt was a year ahead of me in medical school,” Dr. Rettenburg said.

  “Oh yeah?” Livia said. “Dr. Colt is a great mentor.”

  “I hear he’s doing wonderful things in Raleigh.”

  The elevator doors opened and they both entered. Dr. Rettenburg pressed the button for the lobby, and Livia waited for the doors to close.

  “Is Gerald the one who made the ketamine connection?” Dr. Rettenburg asked.

  “No,” Livia said. “I found it.”

  “It’s a great catch. I thought perhaps Gerald’s wife played a role.”

  Livia started to say something, then stopped. Confused, she finally said, “This case wasn’t on Dr. Colt’s radar. Otherwise I’m sure he’d have picked this up.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Rettenburg said. She pressed the button to hurry the process of the elevator doors closing. In the lobby, she walked Livia to the front door.

  “Thanks for taking the time on a Saturday,” Livia said.

  “Good luck to you.”

  Dr. Rettenburg watched Gerald Colt’s fellow drive away, then headed back to her office. She thought perhaps she’d misspoken in the elevator by suggesting Gerald’s wife had helped make the ketamine connection. At her computer, Dr. Rettenburg typed her query into the search engine and waited for the results. She scrolled down and read. Yes, she thought she was correct.

  Gerald Colt’s wife was a veterinarian with a large clinic in Summer Side, just north of Raleigh.

  CHAPTER 37

  Butted up against Virginia, on the northern border of North Carolina, Tinder Valley consisted of eighty-two cabins set along a tributary to the Roanoke River. The cabins were made from galvanized log, and slept as few as two in the cozy models, and as many as eight in the larger ones with spacious floor plans. Located on the banks of the river, each cabin promised beautiful views of the water. Constructed in the eighties, Tinder Valley was, for a short time, a majestic lakeside resort where families escaped for long weekends. It was where kids steered paddleboats around the clear water while Mom and Dad watched from lounge chairs. Where couples walked the beach with dogs in tow, carving footprints in the sand. But Tinder Valley did not stay majestic for long. Over the years, poor management had allowed riverfront property to falter. Ownership changed hands many times, each new deed holder believing they could turn the place around.

  The previous owner—an investment group from New York—could never turn a profit, and to come close required them to pay attention only to the most egregious maintenance concerns. During the last few years that the group clung to Tinder Valley, the cabins and the grounds slowly perished as paint peeled, windows cracked but were never repaired, the dock skewed from sunken posts and missing boards, weeds and grass grew without restraint, and the beach bred a dense carpet of litter. The New York group eventually manipulated bankruptcy laws to free itself from the land. Finally, in a flurry of back-and-forth negotiations, the bank seized the land and the cabins and auctioned them off to the county. A three-year revamping plan was laid out by the county board to restore Tinder Valley to the majestic family-vacation spot it was always meant to be. The current clientele, however, until the revamp could get underway, were fishermen. And they cared little about aesthetics as long as the satellite dish worked and the toilets flushed.

  Kent Chapple had long stopped believing a refurbished and rebuilt Tinder Valley could repair his family. He had stopped hoping to someday bring his wife and kids here to fish and kayak, laugh, and play board games, and drink wine with his wife on the cabin’s front patio while the sun set across the water. That was an image he’d once held, but it was so far away now that he could no longer conjure it. Instead, he came to the actual Tinder Valley—ruined and weed-choked—to find something he could not find at home. He came to fill a void that was vacant and gaping the longer he stayed bound to his failing marriage.

  But there was someone else now. Someone he’d allowed himself to think about. It was possible. The idea was not that crazy. He was, he convinced himself, worthy of her. She was new. She had different tastes and different interests and she was unique in her ways. He found himself thinking of her often. Maybe it was time to make that life change he was so desperate for. He felt certain doing so would allow him to focus on his happiness. Perhaps he’d stop making bad decisions. She’d come along at just the right time.

  He parked his car outside cabin forty-eight. It was on the corner of the riverbank, set back from the water and more secluded than the others. It was dark. Only every third or fourth lamppost was lit. He preferred it dark and quiet. Standing from his car, he removed his duffel bag from the backseat along with a container of food and supplies. He headed for his cabin and felt, as he always did, the weight of the world leave his shoulders as he approached the front door. His blood vessels dilated and his skin flushed with warmth. Could this work out? Could these feelings be a regular part of his life?

  He walked up the front stairs and pushed through the door.

  CHAPTER 38

  “It’ll be okay,” Megan said. “It’s a long time coming, and I think this will help both of us.”

  Livia sat in the passenger seat of Megan’s Jeep Wrangler as they drove through Emerson Bay. “How so?”

  “People don’t really know me. Some people know the girl from before the abduction. Because of the book, lots of people know the girl from the interviews and on the pages. But I’m not really either of those people. My dad, before all this happened, was the only person who totally understood me. We’ve lost that connection over the last year. I think this will help us.”

  “I hope so,” Livia said.

  A few minutes later, they pulled to the front of the Emerson Bay Police Department, where her father had served as sheriff for the past twelve years. Together, Livia and Megan walked up the stairs and into the building. A few people who would normally have protest
ed two women walking unfettered through headquarters waved when they recognized Megan. When they arrived at Terry McDonald’s office, he was busy with paperwork.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Megan said.

  Terry looked up with surprise. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”

  Livia looked over Megan’s shoulder and caught the sheriff’s eye. She saw a sense of recognition in his expression. He stood slowly.

  “Daddy,” Megan said. “This is Livia Cutty. She’s Nicole Cutty’s sister and a medical examiner in Raleigh.”

  Livia followed Megan into the office. “I’m completing my fellowship.”

  Sheriff McDonald walked from behind his desk, his belt and holster jostling as he approached his daughter and Livia. “Under Gerald Colt?” he asked.

  “Correct.”

  “I know Dr. Colt. We’ve worked together on a few cases.” He shook Livia’s hand. “I’m sorry about your sister,” he said with a soft voice, holding her hand.

  Unexpectedly moved by the remorse she heard in Sheriff McDonald’s voice, Livia swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  Terry turned to Megan. “What’s going on?”

  “Livia and I have been reviewing details about my case, from the night I disappeared and the night I escaped.”

  “Honey,” Terry said in a controlled voice. “We agreed this was a topic best saved for your sessions with Dr. Mattingly.”

  “It has been, Daddy. But Livia, through her work in Raleigh, found some things we need to talk to you about.”

  “What things?”

  “She’s made some connections between my case and two other girls who have gone missing. And, we don’t know, maybe others. She came to me with her findings and together we’ve gained some leverage and made some progress. But we need help, Daddy.”

  Terry McDonald stared at his daughter and then lifted his gaze to Livia. There was something in his eyes that took Livia a moment to define. But then it clicked. She made the connection to her own father, realizing every father who had lost a daughter to abduction likely carried a similar look of fright and guilt in his eyes. With Terry McDonald, though, there was something else. Something rooted, Livia was sure, in the fact that his daughter had been found, while Nicole and these other girls were lost forever. Had her own father appeared in the doorway, Livia got the sense that Sheriff McDonald would break down and cry.

  “Other missing girls?” he finally asked.

  Livia nodded. “Possibly, yes.”

  “You’re working with detectives in Raleigh on this?”

  “No, sir. Just myself and . . . Megan’s been a big help, as well.”

  Terry McDonald looked at his daughter, then back to Livia. “Let’s see what you’ve come up with.”

  They sat at the desk and Livia pulled from her bag each of the documents she had collected over the past few weeks. They spent an hour cross-referencing the information that tied Nancy Dee and Paula D’Amato together, and then spent time on the links to Megan’s case—the ketamine and the burlap fibers. Finally, Livia presented what she knew about Casey Delevan, who had arrived on her autopsy table at the end of summer. She revealed the profiles of Nancy Dee and Paula D’Amato discovered in Casey’s abandoned desk drawer, and told Sheriff McDonald everything she knew about the Capture Club. She revealed her guess that Casey played a role in the disappearance of the girls and was also present the night Megan and Nicole were taken from the beach party.

  They covered the leg fracture and that it matched the height of Nicole’s car bumper. Livia left out the tuft of Casey’s shirt found under Nicole’s car, and her theory about the barbecue set with the missing fork and the piercings to Casey’s skull. To present everything she had found would be to implement herself, and Megan, in evidence tampering. If it meant finding the answers she was so desperate for, in the end she would do it. For now, she’d use everything else she had to gauge Sheriff McDonald’s willingness to help.

  She presented her case for an hour while Terry McDonald listened with patience. When Livia finished her argument, he asked the same question his daughter had.

  “But this fella is dead, right?” He pointed to Casey Delevan’s picture. “He showed up in your morgue. So what are you looking for, Dr. Cutty?”

  “Casey was killed more than a year ago. The last time he was seen was the weekend Megan and Nicole disappeared. Nancy Dee’s body was found six months before Megan and Nicole were taken. But Paula D’Amato, who had been missing for more than two years, just turned up in Georgia. Dead for roughly two days, according to the ME down there. If we all agree these cases are connected, then there has to be someone still out there who killed Paula. Someone who was keeping her. Who abused her. I don’t have all the answers, Sheriff. Just enough questions to make me suspect something is happening out there that needs to be sorted out. Enough questions so that I can’t sleep at night. And enough suspicion to make me think there’s someone who’s still taking girls—other sisters and daughters.”

  Terry McDonald was silent as he studied the documents laid out before him. “How did you find out about this club? The one that does the mock abductions?”

  “We talked to an old club member. He confirmed that Casey and my sister were members.”

  “When you say ‘we,’ who does that include?”

  Livia looked at Megan.

  “We talked to him together, Daddy.”

  Terry folded his hands and took a deep breath. “Megan, how long have you been doing this without my knowledge?”

  “Daddy, it’s fine. It’s good for me.”

  He shook his head. “Look, I went over all this nonsense about the Capture Club during the investigation. It never led anywhere. All we ever found was a group of kids who pretended to kidnap each other. They talked about missing people, and got off by chewing on other people’s misery. Unfortunately, there’s no crime in that. I tried that summer, Dr. Cutty. I tried to find my daughter, and I tried like hell to find your sister. I looked at this club from every angle. And if you want me to open my books, I’ll show you a hundred other leads we looked at that are much stronger than a bunch of burnouts in a secret club. I’ll show you the sex offenders we are still watching. The three convicts paroled two months before Megan and Nicole were taken. One of whom is suspected in an assault outside of Raleigh. I’ll show you the interviews with the informants we have inside the jails who tell us about anyone bragging to high-profile crimes.”

  “But now we’ve got more to go on,” Livia said. “We’ve got the forensics. We’ve got science that shows these girls are connected.”

  “You’re talking about getting three different states involved in the same investigation. Reopening old cases and getting everyone on the same page and moving in the same direction. Once we cross state lines, we’re talking about involving the FBI. A very tall order. And you say you want my help? I won’t be able to do a thing once the Feds are called in. Hell, once I get detectives from Georgia and Virginia involved, I’ll be pushed to the side. I’ve been through that process before and I didn’t like it.”

  “Daddy, that’s why we’re asking for your help. We know you can’t do it all by yourself. I know if you ask for help from all those people—the detectives and the federal agents—they’ll take things from you like they did before. But it wasn’t your fault, Daddy. It wasn’t your fault that I was gone for two weeks. It wasn’t your fault that no one could find me. Nicole is not your fault. I know that, and Livia knows that. But you can help. You can make a difference. All Livia wants is some attention put on these cases. On Nancy and Paula. And on Nicole.”

  Megan ran her hand across the information on the desk. “All of this evidence will generate that attention. And I know it will bring attention to me, too. I’m okay with that. I want that. I want to be more than the girl who made it home, Daddy. I want to be the girl who found the man who took her. I want to be the girl who helped other girls, Daddy. Really helped them. Not in the way we’re all pretending my book is helping them.”

 
Terrence Scott McDonald ran his hands through his strawberry blond hair and slowly nodded his head. His eyes darted around the information and photographs on his desk. Finally, he looked at his daughter. “I’ll make some calls. See what I can do and who I can convince.”

  Megan smiled and looked at Livia, grabbed her hand in victory.

  “Thank you,” Livia said.

  Terry nodded. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see where this goes first. This is good work you’ve done.”

  Livia nodded a gracious thank you and packed her things. She stood and walked with Megan to the door while Terry McDonald remained at his desk.

  “Dr. Cutty,” he said. “If I could have brought your sister home that summer, I would have. I did everything I could to find her.”

  “I know you did.”

  Terry McDonald pursed his lips. “I’ll be in touch.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Megan sat Indian style in Dr. Mattingly’s chair, eyes closed, arms resting on the overstuffed wings. In a deep mode of hypnosis, she could barely hear Dr. Mattingly’s voice. She was careful not to venture too far on her own. His voice was her lifeline. Her safety net in case things went wrong and she needed to quickly exit this part of her brain where her suppressed memories were buried. But part of her, Megan knew, wanted to be free from the tether of his voice. Part of her wanted the liberation that came from venturing off on her own, without Dr. Mattingly’s influence to guide her movements or control her destiny or limit her progress. Megan had grown frustrated during the last session when he so quickly pulled her back to consciousness just as she was ready to discover the thing that bothered her for so long. She could not tolerate being restrained when she was inches from unveiling the mystery buried in her memories. If only she were able to peel back the blanket of suppression that concealed it, that secret was waiting to be discovered. Megan just needed to get there.

  For a moment now, in this session, Dr. Mattingly’s voice disappeared. Megan felt like an astronaut on a spacewalk, leaving the familiar view that framed the earth to journey to the dark side of the space station. But, not able to advance farther due to the tether that held her, she unclipped herself to drift freely in space. The wrong move now would send her floating away with no way to return to safety. In her hypnotic state, Megan moved freely in the cellar of her captivity, released from the leash of Dr. Mattingly’s comforting voice that she had always clung to during these sessions.