by Terry Odell
“Thanks.” Randy followed the road through the trees. The terrain forced him to a crawl and he rolled down the window, shouting Sarah’s name, straining to hear a response. His radio crackled and he heard Ginger’s handler reporting.
“She’s found some fabric that looks like it came from the same dress we gave her. It should have a purer scent—the other one was handled by too many people. I’m going to bring her back to the cabin and we’ll head out in the other direction.”
Randy keyed his radio. “Detective Randy Detweiler, Pine Hills PD on scene. Underhill has me checking points twelve through fourteen.”
“Deputy Birmingham here.” The voice was mellow, confident. “There are about six trails between those three cabins, Detective. Stick to the main approach drives to each cabin and the dog will pick up the side tracks.”
“Roger.” Randy drove until he was in sight of the first cabin. He walked the remaining distance, scanning into the trees on either side. Nothing caught his eye, but Underhill had been right. Someone on the ground would be nearly impossible to spot. He hurried up to the cabin and knocked on the door.
An elderly man, somewhere between sixty and a hundred and three, opened it and squinted out at him. “Yeah?”
Shit. He’d left his picture of Sarah in the truck. Not that this guy could see much, judging from the thick glasses he wore. “We’re looking for a young woman who was at Wesley Christopher’s cabin. Have you seen her?”
Apparently his hearing wasn’t much better than his eyesight. “Christopher moved away years ago. Haven’t seen him. Nope.”
“What about a young woman? Five-four, brunette? Blue eyes?”
“Ain’t seen nobody. ‘Septin’ if you count fish. Seen lots of those.”
“Thanks, anyway.” Randy pivoted and jogged toward his pickup. Halfway there, his radio crackled. Ginger’s handler’s voice came through. “Ginger’s headed toward you, Detweiler. She’s danged excited about it, too.”
“I’ve checked twelve. Negative. On my way toward thirteen.” Randy set off at a full run. Glimpses of a brown-red blur moving through the trees beyond had Randy digging for more speed. He turned up the trail, saw the bloodhound poised, quivering, about ten feet from the cabin. On the small entry to the cabin was what looked like a pile of discarded clothing. Randy rushed forward and saw the clothes were filled with Sarah. Stifling a sob, he crouched down. Touched her neck. Strong pulse. Relief swamped him.
“Sarah. Sarah, it’s me. Randy. You’re all right. It’s okay. We’ve got you.” He stroked her hair, saw a bloodied lip and a bruise forming on her cheek. “Wake up, honey. Are you hurt?”
Sounds of heavy breathing behind him made Randy jerk around. Ginger, looking as pleased with herself as it was possible for a bloodhound to look, accepted praise from her handler, a fit man wearing jeans and a plaid wool shirt. “She okay?” he asked.
“I think so. But I want to take her to the hospital.”
“You think it’s safe to move her?”
As if she heard, Sarah groaned. Opened her eyes. A look of panic crossed her face.
“You’re safe,” Randy whispered. “Lie still a minute.” He ran his hands down her arms and legs, checking for obvious injuries. When he reached her left knee, she winced and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He pulled out his radio and let the team know they’d found Sarah, that he’d take her to the hospital in Bend.
“Guess we’re done here,” the dog handler said. “C’mon girl.”
“Wait. I didn’t thank you properly. I don’t even know your name.”
“Ingraham. Warren Ingraham. But it’s Ginger who does the work. I just run along behind her.” He gave Randy an easy smile and Ginger a friendly pat.
Randy fished his wallet out of his pocket, removed a ten dollar bill.
“Hey, I don’t take tips.”
“It’s not for you. Buy Ginger a steak. A big one.”
Ingraham grinned, whistled for his dog and walked up the path. Randy turned back to Sarah. Her eyes were closed again, but her breathing was deep and steady. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. When she flinched at his touch, he clenched his teeth until his jaws ached.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sarah listened to the nurse, the doctor, and a counselor. She suffered their indignities as they poked, prodded and plucked, tuning them out. All she wanted was to get home. Back to her apartment, her shop, her life.
“The deputy needs your statement, Ms. Tucker,” the counselor said. “I’ll be right here. Would you like the gentleman who brought you to join us? He’s quite concerned.”
“No. Not him. Not yet.”
A woman wearing a brown sheriff’s uniform came in carrying a notepad. Sarah heard her own voice answering the questions, but it was as if someone else was speaking, and she wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. Finally, the woman gave her a nod and a smile and left the room. Seconds later, Randy came in.
“Hey. They said you’re cleared to leave.”
She nodded, adjusting the drawstring of the scrubs they’d given her.
“You want to go home now? If you’re not up for the trip, there’s a motel across the street.”
She could hear the strain in his voice. Why couldn’t she look at him? Braving a peek at his face, she took in the red-rimmed eyes, the shadows under them. His hair hung in tangles, as if he’d been pulling on it. For the last two days, all she’d wanted was for Randy to find her. Now he was here, and her stomach hurt more than her twisted knee. She shook her head. “Home.”
The doctor, a young man with tired eyes, spoke. “I’m going to write you some prescriptions—there’s a pharmacy off the main lobby. An anti-inflammatory for the knee. Two a day for two weeks and if it’s not better after that, see your own doctor. Ice it today, then heat tomorrow. Take the pain meds if you need them. You’ll probably wake up stiff and sore.” He stepped between her and Randy and waited until she met his gaze. “Your physical injuries are minor. It might take longer to get over the mental trauma. See a counselor, or a support group. Talk to someone. And I’m giving you some Valium, too. There might be some nightmares.”
“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin. “Can I go?”
“I’ll call for a wheelchair. Regulations.”
Randy spoke up. “I can fill the prescriptions while you’re waiting.” He shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks.”
The doctor said something to Randy too quiet for Sarah to hear. She saw Randy nod, heard him say, “I will,” and then the doctor left the room.
Probably telling him to take care of her. What did they think she was? Some wimp? She could take care of herself. Or she would, once she got home.
“I’ll meet you out front. I’ll get your meds and pull the pickup around. We’ll be home for dinner.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Sarah, I—” He stopped, then extended his cell phone. “Why don’t you call your mother? She’s worried about you.”
Sarah dropped the phone into her lap and watched him trudge out the door, shoulders slumped as if he bore an immense weight. Her eyes burned and she swiped at the tears that escaped.
* * * * *
“We’re home, Sarah.” She waited, keeping her eyes closed until she remembered where she was. In Randy’s truck. He was already at the passenger door, arm outstretched to help her out. Her knee had stiffened on the drive and she leaned into Randy as they walked toward the building. After ten slow paces, he simply scooped her up. Maggie was waiting at the top of the stairs.
“Sarah, you poor dear. How are you? I saw you coming. Here, let me unlock your door.” Maggie fluttered down the hall and held the door open. Sarah closed her eyes.
“It’s nothing, Maggie. A twisted knee. I don’t even need crutches. Randy’s playing white knight.” He tensed at her words.
When he lowered her to the couch, emotions overwhelmed her, and she had to fight for composure. Maggie was already in
the kitchen making tea, and Randy looked—well, she didn’t know exactly what he looked like because she was afraid to look at him too closely. Every time she did, she got knots in her stomach and felt like she needed to hit something. She closed her eyes and tried to retreat into a safe place.
Aware Randy was speaking, Sarah tried to focus on his words.
“I turned off the ringer on your phone and set the answering machine to pick up calls on the first ring. The police beat reporter will find Chris’ arrest report and let the dogs out. As a matter of fact, it’s probably smart to avoid the press altogether. Tell them you’re not allowed to discuss the case so that it won’t influence the trial. Be firm.”
She met his gaze. A weight settled on her shoulders. “I didn’t think of that. Thanks. I don’t think I could face a reporter.”
“Don’t open your door either, unless you know who it is. They can be persistent.”
“Right,” she murmured. No, it wasn’t right. But she could handle a reporter or two. She was home, and she was safe. “I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss it,” she practiced under her breath. When the words came naturally, she found a weak smile for Randy. “Thanks for the ride. You can go home.”
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Maggie came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “No. I’ll stay.”
Sarah bristled. “Be quiet, both of you. It’s my apartment. I think I have a say in the matter. I’ve got some scrapes, some bruises and a tender knee. I don’t need a nurse, a babysitter, or a white knight. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. Let me go back to being Sarah.” She couldn’t tell them of all the images that had flooded through her on the drive from Bend. There was still a curtain in her brain, but it was transforming from thick velvet to filmy gauze.
She heard her voice crack and hobbled to the bedroom, and if slamming the door was childish, so be it. It felt good.
* * * * *
Randy sank into one of the chairs and lowered his head in his hands. He took three deep breaths, counted to ten and looked up at Maggie. He heard the sounds of a tub filling. “I guess she told us.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t have the details. We found her at Falcon Lake, out past Bend. Chris drugged her, she managed to get away. Chris is in jail.”
“I think there’s more.”
“I know there is. But I don’t know what it is. She’s shut me out. Won’t talk, barely looks at me. I’m going to get a copy of the police report and see if she told the deputy what went on.”
“She’ll have to face it, you know. But the mind will only accept so much, and then it blocks the memories.”
Randy stared into Maggie’s eyes. “That’s what scares me. That whatever happened to her was bad enough for her to withdraw like this.”
The kettle whistled and Maggie went to the kitchen. She spoke as she worked. “I’m going to bunk on her couch tonight, whether she likes it or not. No matter what happened, she’s going to have to work through it. The Women’s Center has counselors, support sessions, referrals to doctors. I’ll get her there.” She came back with two cups of tea. “Let it steep a while. My guess is you could use a change from coffee.”
He smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.” He balanced the cup on his leg. “Give her time, give her space. That’s the training we get and that’s what the doctor said. I’ll give her as long as it takes.”
“But it’s tough when you love someone, isn’t it?”
Randy barely caught the teacup before it splashed to the floor.
Maggie gave him a gentle smile. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know you’re in love with her.”
Randy put the teacup on the coffee table and rubbed his hands across his face. “I think I knew it the moment I walked into her shop. But I’ve never admitted it. Not so simply.”
“It is simple, really. And I’m sure she loves you, too. She needs to get over this little setback is all.”
He managed a grin. “Little setback? You heard her. She wants nothing to do with me.”
“Right now, I don’t think she wants anything to do with anyone with a penis.” She glared at his startled reaction. “Oh, like you’ve never heard the word before.”
“No, I mean, yes, of course, but—”
“But nice little old ladies aren’t supposed to say it? What should I say? Dick? Cock? I know. Y chromosome. Is that proper enough for someone like me?”
“Maggie, if things don’t work out with Sarah, are you available?”
“You go on.” Her blush was almost as becoming as Sarah’s.
Exhaustion flooded him and he stood to leave before it overwhelmed. “The doctor gave her some prescriptions. If you can get her to take a Valium, I think she’ll sleep easy.”
“Don’t you worry about her. I can handle Sarah.”
* * * * *
Randy arrived at the station, ignoring the sidelong glances from other officers as he made his way down the corridor to lockup. Chris, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, lay on his back on a narrow cot, arms folded behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes void of any expression.
“He’s lawyered up,” the officer on duty said. “Want me to call the guy?”
“No,” Randy said. “I wanted to see the prisoner.”
Chris jumped up and moved to the front of the cell. He leered at Randy, his eyes now wide open, whites showing all around. “What are you doing here, you overgrown excuse for a cop?”
“Detweiler,” the guard said. “Are you sure—?”
Randy shot the guard a look, one he usually reserved for uncooperative suspects. “If Mr. Westmoreland wants to talk without his lawyer present, that’s his business.”
The guard shook his head and busied himself with paperwork.
“Oh, I want to talk to this guy,” Chris said. “She’s mine, you know. You thought she loved you, but she loves me. She married me. Sealed with a kiss.”
Randy heard the contempt in Chris’ voice and his stomach churned at the thought of Chris’ lips touching Sarah’s. He clenched his fists and concentrated on the pain of his nails digging into his palms. He forced himself to remain silent until his jaws throbbed.
You’re a lying, worthless piece of shit. You’re lucky you’ve got those bars between us.
Randy yearned to grab the monster by his neck and squeeze the life out of him.
Chris licked his lips. All Randy could see was a snake.
“You should have seen her in that wedding dress.” Chris sighed. “She was beautiful. And when I carried her across the threshold and she was cold, it was me who warmed her, not you. I took off her wedding gown. You know she has the most succulent—”
His control snapped in two, Randy lunged toward Chris.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Kovak’s voice registered, and several strong arms pulled him away. He looked into the faces of his partner and the guard.
“Nothing,” Randy mumbled. “Chris wanted to talk. I didn’t say a word, as I’m sure this officer can attest.” He worked free of Kovak’s grasp and bolted down the hall.
Kovak followed, half a pace behind, and shut their office door behind them. “We’ve got him, big guy. Don’t blow it.”
Randy picked up his coffee mug and threw it against the wall, watching the shards fall to the floor as if in slow motion.
“Feel better?” Kovak said.
Randy sat for a moment. “No. Give me the damn arrest report. Give me whatever damn paperwork you’ve got.”
Kovak handed Randy a thick folder. “He muttered something about being married, about how everything would be right now, and then he lawyered up.”
“I didn’t ask him any questions, you know. He volunteered everything he said.”
“What’s really the problem? She’s all right, isn’t she?”
Damn, could everyone on the planet read him now? “Something happened. She’s not talking.” He tunneled his fingers through hi
s hair. “I should have known better. People, things I care about get hurt and I’m always too late. Easier not to care.”
“Easy to say. But losing the lows mean you lose the highs, too. Give it time.”
“Maybe. For now, I want to read this report. Alone.”
“Understood.” Kovak slipped out the door and eased it shut behind him.
Randy worked through the pages, feeling more and more frustrated. Evidence collected—videotape, torn and dirty wedding dress, bottle of ether, champagne bottle with traces of blood. Whose blood? Bed sheets, partially empty box of condoms. Randy rubbed his eyes. Wastebasket had crumpled tissues, two disposable razors, seven Big Red gum wrappers and two toothbrush packages. But no used condoms. That told him absolutely nothing. Chris could have used one and flushed it. But why would he bother using one at all? The prick believed he was married.
Could Sarah be pregnant?
His stomach roiled. He slammed the folder against the table. The evidence wasn’t talking.
He found the statement Sarah had given at the hospital and the medical report. She was bruised, but the rape kit would go straight to the state lab. Had she been raped? Her bruises said he’d tried. But no signs of forcible penetration. Had she gone along to keep from getting hurt? Or had she escaped before he got that far? The doctor’s notes said something about denial, dissociation. Was she blocking the memories? He pushed the folder aside.
Someone knocked on the door. Randy looked up, waiting for it to open, but it remained shut. What was it with everyone pussyfooting around him? He closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, then said, “Come in.”
Laughlin opened the door, stepped inside and closed it behind him. Randy wondered if this would be worse than the usual summons to the chief’s office. “Sir?”
“She’s all right?”
He nodded. “At home.”
“Good work. I think we mentioned your vacation surplus. You’re going to use up some of that starting immediately. I don’t want to see you until Monday. And then, it’ll be in my office, oh-seven-thirty. Sharp.”