U Is for Undertow

by Sue Grafton

  Deborah said, “I understand this whole business originated with Michael Sutton. What’s the nature of your relationship?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship,” I said. “I met him for the first time a week ago when he hired me for a day’s work.”

  I sketched in the situation, starting with his appearance in my office and his story about the two pirates he’d seen in the woods. “They claimed they were digging for buried treasure, but he noticed a bundle on the ground nearby. A few weeks ago, he came across a reference to the Fitzhugh kidnapping and the penny dropped. Now he’s convinced he saw Mary Claire’s body wrapped for burial. The only snag is when the police excavated the site, they found a dead dog. According to the ID tag, his name was Ulf.”

  She seemed taken aback. “Well, that’s bizarre. I can assure you he wasn’t ours.”

  “I know. I drove to Puerto and talked to the man who owned him. He said he’d taken Ulf to Dr. McNally for hip dysplasia. X-rays revealed a nasty tumor instead and the vet recommended euthanasia. Someone removed the dog’s remains from a shed at the rear of the clinic and transported the body to your property, where they buried him.”

  The look she turned on me was perplexed. “Pardon my skepticism, but it sounds like all of this is predicated on the notion that it was Mary Claire’s body he saw. What makes you so sure? It seems like folly to operate on the idea when all you have is his word for it.”

  “Agreed. I’m not even sure we could say we had his word on it. Call it a hunch.”

  “Call it anything you like, it’s still odd. If something went wrong in the course of the kidnapping and they had to dispose of her body, why would they bury her in our yard when Horton Ravine has acres of woods?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question. If we’re lucky we’ll find answers. On the other hand, we may never know.”

  “There’s a certain irony in here somewhere. I haven’t heard Michael’s name in years. His parents, Kip and Annabelle, were our best friends.”

  I looked over at her with interest. “Really. Michael’s parents? When was this?”

  “During that same period. We met at the country club when she was six months pregnant with him. They were the dearest people in the world. I lost Annabelle, Kip, and Patrick in a span of two years.”

  “Avis told me your husband died in a plane crash,” I said. I was reluctant to bring up the subject of his death, but it seemed to me the conversation we were embarking on had better be rooted in reality. The fact that we were walking, with our attention directed outward, allowed a more intimate exchange than if we’d been chatting eye-to-eye over a cup of tea.

  “Some days I think I’m reconciled, that I’ve dealt with the pain and it’s over and done. Other days the grief is just as fresh as it was the first moment I heard.”

  “What were the circumstances?”

  “Rain was just starting graduate school, working toward her master’s degree in social work at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee. This was the fall of 1985. She and Patrick drove out in her car, with all her stuff in a four-by-eight cargo trailer. His plan was to get her settled and then fly on to Atlanta for a business meeting. I’d have gone with him, but it made more sense for me to tend the home fires and let the two of them have the time together. The Midwest Express flight to Atlanta went down after takeoff. The right engine failed and then a whole series of things went haywire. I was here in California without any intuition whatever. It’s hard to realize your life can change so radically with no warning at all. When Rain phoned, she couldn’t even speak. I thought it was a crank call and nearly hung up on her.”

  “I don’t know how anyone gets through something like that.”

  “You do because you do. Because you have no choice. I had Rain to consider. I set my own pain aside and focused on helping her.”

  “Tell me the time frame. I heard about Michael’s accusations against his parents.”

  “The lawsuit was settled in 1981. By then, Kip and Annabelle were crippled by the strain. Between the public outcry and the drain on their emotions, they were whipped. Let’s not even talk about the thousands of dollars in legal fees it cost them. Annabelle died in the summer of 1983, and Kip six months later.”

  “They must have been a mess after what he put them through.”

  “You have no idea. The four of us talked about it for hours on end and there was just no way out. Suing his therapist was their only hope of putting a stop to it. Even when it was over, the bad feelings remained. Some people were convinced he was actually abused, even after Marty Osborne as good as admitted the whole of it was her doing. The general attitude seemed to be that if Kip and Annabelle were accused, there must be a grain of truth to it. Both drank. I’m not saying they were alcoholics, but they hit the bottle pretty hard at times. Patrick and I were in much the same boat. We called it ‘social’ drinking, but we were social every chance we got. When this came up, they couldn’t suck down the martinis fast enough, and that set tongues to wagging on top of everything else. At the club, feelings ran so high, the four of us resigned. That’s how bad it got. I still run into people who refuse to make eye contact. They know Patrick and I were loyal, which apparently put us on the same dung heap as the Suttons, like we were somehow guilty by association.”

  “Diana told me Michael recanted.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “That was the last straw. I wanted to kill the little shit. Patrick and I were incensed, absolutely livid. Not that it made a whit of difference. Kip and Annabelle were both gone by then and the damage was done.”

  “Diana says her mother drowned.”

  Deborah gestured toward the surf. “She was swimming a few hundred yards offshore when she got caught in the undertow. She must have used up all her strength trying to fight her way back. In the end, the ocean took her.” She was quiet for a moment and all I could hear was the chunking of sand under our feet as we walked. “I wouldn’t mind a touch of justice for Michael, some small sign he was getting back his own. I look at the lives he destroyed and it seems unfair that he gets to enjoy the same sun that shines down on the rest of us. That may sound monstrous, but I don’t care.”

  “I can understand how you feel,” I said. “It’s not about vengeance. It’s about balance, the sense that good and evil are in a state of equilibrium. At the same time, I have to admit I like the kid. I think he should be held accountable for the harm he did, but he’s paid a price like everyone else.”

  “Not enough of one.” She broke off, impatiently. “Let’s change the subject. It doesn’t do any good to dwell on it,” she said, and then glanced over at me. “You wanted information about Rain’s abduction. How much did Avis tell you?”

  “Nothing. She said the story was yours, which is why she set this up. I do know you had a son and you ended up raising his child.”

  “Rain is the good part. She’s the love of my life. At the time we took custody, I was forty-four years old, way past the point of parenting a newborn, but there she was. The birth itself was hard and Shelly ended up having a C-section. She had absolutely no interest in mothering the child. Rain was a fussy baby and didn’t nurse well. I suspect Shelly was suffering from postpartum depression. I wasn’t entirely unsympathetic, but I was seriously concerned she’d harm the child. My worries were pointless, as it turned out. She and Greg and the boy vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Rain behind.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Five days. After the initial shock wore off, we realized how totally blessed we were. I still laugh when I think about all those PTA meetings. Which I ran, by the way. All the other moms were in their twenties. I’d been chairing committees for years and I couldn’t help myself. They’d start floundering and I’d take over. That was another reason we were so close to Kip and Annabelle. They had four kids underfoot and suddenly we had one, too.” She smiled. “Sorry to run on like this.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “How long was it before you saw Greg a
nd Shelly again?”

  “Four years. June of 1967. I thought they were gone for good. I should have known better.”

  “Why did they come back?”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t for love of Rain or the two of us. Patrick’s father had left forty thousand dollars in a trust fund for Greg. He wasn’t entitled to the money until he turned thirty, but he wanted it right then. Patrick and I refused to knuckle under to his demands. He and Shelly were furious, and I was terrified they’d retaliate by taking Rain.”

  “Why was Greg so insistent on the money?”

  “I couldn’t see the urgency myself. They told us they wanted to buy a farm so they could establish a commune. Their claim was they’d paid a thousand dollars down and needed the balance by the end of the month. Patrick asked to see the contract, but Greg said there wasn’t one; it was a gentlemen’s agreement. Patrick thought it was hogwash, and so did I.”

  “Had they lived in a commune?”

  “Not that I ever heard, though by then they were full-blown hippies. Greg was calling himself Creed and she was Destiny. Shawn was Sky Dancer. The plan was to be self-sufficient, farming the land. Others would join them—at least in their fevered imaginations. They’d share the chores and pool their money, which I guess would go into an account to pay expenses. They thought Patrick should advance the funds, but he wouldn’t budge. Neither of us liked Shelly anyway. She was poor white trash, arrogant, foulmouthed. Shawn was born out of wedlock, just as Rain was.”

  “When was Rain abducted?”

  “Tuesday, July 11. There’d been a series of blowups. Lots of screaming and yelling and hysterics. The uproar finally died down and we thought they’d backed off. Then suddenly, on the sixth, they disappeared. It was the same as the first time around—no note, no good-byes, no here’s where we’ll be. Five days after they decamped Rain was ‘kidnapped.’ I put the word in quotes because we knew it was them.”

  “You’re saying they snatched Rain to force the issue?”

  “More like they were getting even, making us suffer because we hadn’t done as they asked,” she said. “It wasn’t a sophisticated plan, but they were stoned all the time and that’s how their minds worked. Anyway, they didn’t demand the entire forty thousand. They asked for fifteen, which I guess was their way of being clever. I’m sorry for all the editorializing. I should probably stick to the facts.”

  “Actually, I find it helpful to know what was going on in your mind. How’d they pull it off ?”

  “That was largely dumb luck. Rain was out in the backyard, playing in her sandbox. I’d given her some cookie cutters and a rolling pin. She had her bucket and shovel and she’d pour water on the sand, flatten it, and then cut out cookie shapes. The phone rang; some fellow taking a survey. He asked ten or fifteen questions that I answered. I wasn’t much interested, but it seemed harmless enough. By the time I looked out the back door to check on her, she was gone. Later she told me a man came with a yellow kitten and said she could play with it at his house. Don’t ask me to go through that part of it blow-by-blow. It was horrendous when it happened and it’s horrendous every time I think of it. Those first hours, I thought I’d die. I can’t revisit the trauma. It gives me heart palpitations even now. Look at that. My hands have started to sweat.”

  “Understood,” I said. “I’m assuming the man on the phone wasn’t Greg or you’d have recognized his voice.”

  “I’m not so sure. He’d already left and he was gone for good as far as I knew. I didn’t expect to hear from him so it wasn’t his voice I was listening for.”

  “If it wasn’t Greg on the phone, there must have been someone else involved. Another guy.”

  “So it would seem. Greg certainly could have picked her up and taken her without a fuss.”

  “When did you first realize she’d been kidnapped?”

  “Another phone call came in.”

  “The same guy or someone else?”

  “He sounded the same to me. I called Patrick in L.A. and he was home ninety minutes later, breaking every speed law. I was a basket case. I didn’t care who’d taken her or what it cost as long as Rain came back to us alive.”

  “You called the police?”

  “Later. Not at that point.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the man on the phone said they’d kill her if we did.”

  “ ‘They’d kill her.’ Plural?”

  “It might have been a figure of speech. Maybe they wanted us to picture a gang of thugs. Who knows?”

  “But you were convinced her life was at stake.”

  “Let’s put it this way: we weren’t in a position to argue the point. I wasn’t going to take the chance and neither was Patrick. He was convinced Shelly and Greg were behind the scheme, but that didn’t mean Rain was safe. We had no idea how far they’d take it. Patrick withdrew the money from four different banks. He managed to stall delivery while he made a quick trip to the plant to photocopy the bills. It was a time-consuming job and he had to do it while the office staff was gone for the night. While he was about it, he marked the back of each with a fluorescent marker he used when he exported inventory. The bills looked fine, but the kidnappers might have been suspicious.”

  “Were the marks visible?”

  “Under a black light, sure. Every kid seemed to have one in those days. If my guess is right, they’d have worried about putting that many marked bills in circulation, which can’t be as simple as it seems.”

  “Couldn’t they have passed the bills in small lots? Maybe not locally, but somewhere else. Seems like Los Angeles would have been the natural choice.”

  “Yes, but what fun would fifteen thousand dollars be if it was spread out like that? Patrick notified the local banks about the marked bills when Mary Claire was kidnapped. None of the money ever surfaced as far as we know.”

  “Avis referred to Rain as the ‘practice child.’ ”

  “Of course. She was their rehearsal for Mary Claire. If you know anything about her disappearance, you’ll recognize the . . . what do they call it . . . the MO. We didn’t believe they’d harm Rain, but we were frantic they’d refuse to return her. She was ours. We’d formally adopted her, but if they absconded with her, we’d have no way of getting her back. They had no permanent address, no phone, no employment.” She shrugged. “We did as we were told. We received another call, telling us where to drop the ransom.”

  “Which was where?”

  “Near the back entrance to the Ravine. One of them kept me on the phone while Patrick drove over with the gym bag and tossed it out on the side of the road. Then he came home. The other kidnapper must have picked up the money and counted it, making sure the entire amount was there. They told us to wait an hour and then we’d find her in the park off Little Pony Road. She was asleep on a picnic table, covered with a blanket, so they weren’t entirely heartless. I don’t know what would have happened if they’d realized Patrick marked the bills before we had her back in our keeping.”

  “She’d been drugged?”

  “Clearly. She wasn’t completely out, but she was groggy. She was fine once the sedative wore off, whatever it was. She’d been properly looked after. Fed well, at any rate, and she was clean. We had her examined and there was no evidence of sexual abuse. Thank god for that.”

  “What did she tell you about what went on?”

  “Nothing coherent, bits and pieces. She was four—not what you’d call a reliable witness. The only thing she was upset about was that she didn’t get to keep the kitten. Aside from that, she wasn’t traumatized. No nightmares and no psychological problems in the aftermath. We were thankful she came out of it unscathed. To Patrick’s way of thinking, this was further support of his conviction that Greg and Shelly had a hand in it.”

  “If the two of them took her, wouldn’t Rain have said so?”

  Deborah shook her head. “One of the kidnappers wore fake glasses with a big plastic nose attached and the other dressed like Santa Claus. We�
��d taken her to see Santa on two previous occasions so she was used to seeing him. He made her promise to be a good girl and she was.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get. If they’d already picked up the fifteen thousand, why kidnap a second child?”

  “I can tell you Patrick’s theory. When Mary Claire was taken the ransom demand was twenty-five thousand dollars. Add twenty-five to the fifteen we paid for Rain’s return and you’re looking at forty thousand dollars, which is what Greg and Shelly wanted in the first place. That’s hardly proof, but I can’t believe the total was a coincidence.”

  “It does seem like an odd amount. Too bad they weren’t satisfied with what they got the first time around,” I said. I let a short silence fall while I thought about what she’d told me. “How soon after Rain’s abduction was Mary Claire kidnapped?”

  “A week or so. By then we had the house on the market and we were looking at places in gated communities down south. The minute we heard about Mary Claire, we went to the police and told the detectives everything we knew. The FBI had been called into it by then. We gave them Greg and Shelly’s names and descriptions, plus a description of the school bus along with the license plate number. None of this ever made the papers. They did put out an APB, but there was never any sign of them.”

  “Have you heard from them since?”

  “Not a peep,” she said. “I saw Shawn when Patrick died. He spotted the obituary in the paper and drove down for the funeral.”

  “Drove down from where?”

  “Belicia,” she said, mentioning a little town an hour and a half north of us. “He was calling himself Shawn again, using Dancer as his last name. He looked wonderful. Tall and handsome. He has a shop up there where he builds furniture. He showed me photographs and the pieces are beautiful. He also does custom cabinetwork.”

  “You think he’d talk to me?”