One Last Scream (18 page)

He weaved forward and continued to make sobbing noises for her benefit. He was banking on the element of surprise. She wouldn’t expect a weeping, sniveling man to suddenly attack her. The rock was just in front of him now. He stumbled, then hurled himself to the ground. He even let out a defeated cry. Then he grabbed the rock.

A loud shot rang out.

The rock flew from his gasp. A spray of blood hit him in the face. It felt as if his hand had exploded. He howled in pain. Grabbing his wrist, he brought his hand up to his face so he could focus on it.

To his horror, Russ Koehler saw a bloody, bone-exposed stub where his index finger used to be.

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled, real tears streaming down his face. Curled up on the ground, he held onto his mangled hand, and glared at her.

Expressionless, she stood over him with the gun.

“Goddamn you!” he hissed. “You’ve been jerking me around for the last hour, and I’ve known it. You have no intention of leaving me alive in these woods.”

She nodded. “You’re right about that.”

“You’re stupid,” he said, gasping for air. “Everyone on the police force knows I’m checking on you. When I disappear, they’ll figure out it was you. And when they find my body—”

“Oh, they won’t find you, not right away,” she cut in. “What I was telling you earlier about all the wild animals in these woods, that wasn’t bullshit. They’ll take care of you, the hungry ones. They’re always hungry. Some of them will even bury your bones. I learned that from
him
. He didn’t bury every one of them, you know. Sometimes, he just let nature take its course. If there’s enough exposed flesh and enough blood—and enough carnivorous creatures around to smell it—then, it isn’t always that necessary to bury a dead body.”

“Jesus, you’re insane,” he murmured, still curled up on the ground. “Did you hear what I said, Amelia? You’re in-fucking-sane, you stupid—”

“I’m not Amelia,” she said. “I’m Annabelle. And you’re the one who’s stupid—for not seeing that earlier.”

Wide eyed, he stared at her as she aimed the gun at him again. “NO! NO, WAIT! GOD, PLEASE….” He screamed and screamed. But there was no one around to hear him.

And no one heard the gun go off…three times.

“Hello?”

Karen heard a baby crying in the background on the other end of the line. “Yes, hello,” she said. “Is Russ Koehler there, please?”

“Who is this?” Mrs. Koehler asked, sounding haggard.

“My name is Karen Carlisle.” She glanced at her wristwatch: 10:35. “Um, I’m sorry to call so late, but I’ve been trying to get ahold of your husband, and he’s not answering his cell phone.”

“I know, I’ve been trying to reach him too,” she replied. “What’s this about? How do you know Russ?”

“He came by my office today regarding an investigation,” Karen explained. She figured the less she said about it, the better. She decided not to mention Amelia, who still hadn’t gotten in touch with her. “Um, Detective Koehler was supposed to call me back, and never did. I was just checking in.”

“Well, he isn’t here,” Mrs. Koehler said abruptly. “If you happen to hear from him, Miss—”

“Carlisle,” Karen finished for her.

“Yes. Well, tell him his wife and son are waiting up for him.”

Karen heard a click on the other end of the line, and then—nothing.

“Your homework assignment this week is to be good to yourself,” Karen said, walking out of her office with her last patient of the day. Cecilia was a divorced forty-something woman with curly gray-brown hair and low self-esteem. Karen opened the front door for her. “List ten things you consider life’s little pleasures and do three of them for yourself this week. Treat yourself, okay?”

Nodding, Cecilia smiled at her. “Okay, Karen. Thanks. See you next Monday.”

Ordinarily, Karen would have gone back into her study and jotted down some notes about the session, but she still hadn’t heard back from Amelia. Twenty-four hours, and still no word. No one had heard from her—not George, Shane, or Amelia’s roommate.

Karen always switched off her cellular and set the home phone answering machine for immediate pickup during client sessions. Between each of her three sessions today, she’d anxiously checked her messages.

With Cecilia out the door, Karen made a beeline to her purse, which was on the chair in the front hallway. She dug out her cell phone and clicked on the messages display. There was one. She recognized Amelia’s cell phone number. She knew it by heart, now. Karen pressed the playback code. “Hi, Karen. You’re not answering at home, either. You must be with a client. Um, looks like you called me a bunch of times. Sorry, but I’ve been out of town, and I switched off my phone. I just had to get away from everything and everyone. Shane and my Uncle George left a ton of messages too. I didn’t mean to worry you guys. Anyway, I’m back. Call me, and I’ll answer this time, I promise! Bye.”

Baffled, Karen played the message again. It didn’t make sense. Amelia was acting as if yesterday with Koehler had never even happened.

She hit the last caller return, and Amelia answered after two rings. “Karen, is that you?”

“Hi, Amelia. I just got your message.”

“And I just got all of yours. Sorry if I gave you a scare. I should have told you—”

“You were out of town?” Karen asked, cutting her off.

“Yes. I rented a car and drove up and down the coast. Now that my credit card’s working again, I—”

“And you just got back
today
?”

“Yes, about an hour ago. I blew off a morning class. Why? What’s going on, Karen?”

“Did you happen to have a blackout over the weekend? Any lost time?”

“Why do you ask that?” Amelia replied, a sudden edge in her voice.

“Well, I…” Karen trailed off at the sound of someone on the front stoop. Rufus started barking in the kitchen. Then the doorbell rang. “Amelia, just a minute,” she said, moving to the door. She glanced through the peephole to see a petite, very pretty black woman and a stocky, Caucasian man in his late forties with a bad comb-over. From their somber expressions, office clothes, and the odd pairing, Karen figured they were police detectives.

She backed away from the door. “Listen, Amelia,” she whispered into the phone. Rufus’s barking competed with her. “I have to call you back.”

“Karen, for God’s sake, you can’t just ask me if I’ve had a blackout, then say you’ll call me back. What’s going on? Did something happen over the weekend that I should know about?”

“I can’t talk right now,” Karen whispered urgently. “There are people at my front door. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She clicked off the line. “Rufus, calm down!” she yelled. Then she opened the door, and put on her best cordial smile for the two of them. “Can I help you?” She still clutched the cell phone in her hand.

The woman flashed her police badge. “Karen Carlisle?”

She nodded. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, I’m Jacqueline Peyton and this is Warren Rooney.” Behind her, the man gave a little nod. Neither one of them cracked a smile. “We’re with the Seattle Police,” she continued. “We’re hoping you might help us locate a missing person. I understand Detective Russ Koehler was here yesterday afternoon.”

Karen stared at them and blinked. “He’s
missing
?”

“Was he here yesterday afternoon?” the woman pressed.

Karen nodded more times than necessary. “Um, yes, he showed up around this time yesterday—two o’clock. He was here for about ten minutes.”

“Mrs. Koehler said you telephoned her last night.”

“Yes, I thought I’d be hearing back from him, and never did.” Karen opened the door wider. “I’m sorry. Would you like to come in?”

The two detectives stepped inside the foyer. Karen closed the door after them. The cell phone went off in her hand, and she glanced at the caller ID: Amelia again.

She switched off the phone and stashed it in her purse. “I always thought a certain amount of time had to go by—like forty-eight or seventy-two hours—before the police considered anyone officially missing.”

The man shook his head. “In Washington State, there’s no waiting period. He’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. And at three o’clock this morning, we picked up a DUI driving Koehler’s car, a brand-new Audi. He claims he found it—abandoned, unlocked with the keys inside—on Aurora Boulevard.”

“What was the nature of Detective Koehler’s visit here?” the woman asked.

Karen hesitated. She remembered Koehler walking off with Amelia yesterday. “My car’s parked just down the block,” he’d told her. “We can go for a drive.”

“Ms. Carlisle?” the policewoman said.

Karen folded her arms in front of her. “Um, I’m a therapist, and Detective Koehler was asking about one of my clients, Amelia Faraday. I believe he was conducting some sort of follow-up investigation into the deaths of her parents and aunt in Wenatchee last week.” She figured this wasn’t any news to them. George had already told her that other cops on the force knew about Koehler’s interest in the case. But they didn’t know Koehler had driven off yesterday afternoon with Amelia.

She needed to talk to Amelia before the police did.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Karen added. “I told Detective Koehler it would be unethical to repeat anything a patient shared with me during a session. Not that there’s anything to conceal. I’ve read the newspaper reports, and I don’t think Amelia held back on anything when she spoke to the police.”

The policewoman cocked her head to one side. Her eyes narrowed at her. “When Detective Koehler left here yesterday, did he indicate where he was going?”

Karen shrugged. “I have no idea where he was headed.” All the while, she thought,
God, I’m lying to the police now.

“But he said he’d call you,” the man interjected. “What about?”

Karen shrugged again. “I’m not sure, actually. He didn’t specify the reason.”

“And when you didn’t hear from him, you tried calling him.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“You told Mrs. Koehler you’d been trying his cell before phoning his home.” The cop finally cracked a tiny smile. “Sounds like you felt his calling back was pretty darn important.”

Karen swallowed hard. “I just didn’t like the idea of having unfinished police business hanging over my head at the end of the day,” she answered carefully.

Neither one of the detectives seemed to be buying her story. The woman cleared her throat. “Ms. Carlisle—Karen, you don’t have to answer this. But it would be a big help to us. Do you have a—a
personal
relationship with Russ Koehler?”

“With Detective Koehler?” She let out a little laugh. “God, no, I only just met him the day before yesterday. What, did his wife think that I—”

“Do you suppose Koehler went to see Amelia Faraday after leaving here?” the man asked, cutting her off.

“Um, I really can’t say,” Karen replied, shrugging.

“Do you have a contact address and phone number for Ms. Faraday?” he asked.

“Yes, I have that on file. I’ll write it down for you.” She retreated into her office, took a deep breath, then looked up Amelia’s campus address and phone number. She scribbled down the information, then returned to the foyer and gave the piece of paper to the policewoman. “That’s her room number in Terry Hall, along with the phone there.”

The woman took it. “You don’t happen to have her cell phone number, do you?”

Karen hesitated. “Um, I…”

“Never mind,” she said. “This is good enough. Thank you for your time, Ms. Carlisle.”

As soon as Karen ushered them out the door, she ducked back inside, and dug her cell phone out of her purse again. Amelia answered on the first ring. Karen asked her if she was in her room at the dorm.

“Yeah,” Amelia replied. “Why did you ask me if I had a blackout? What’s going on?”

“Listen,” Karen said. “Do me a favor. Finish up whatever you’re doing there and get out. Some people might be on their way to see you, and it’s best you don’t talk to them until I meet with you. Don’t answer the phone either. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes at the U Library, the Graduate Reading Room. Don’t tell anyone else where you’re going, okay?”

“Well, okay, I guess. But I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”

“I’ll explain everything when I see you. Take care.”

Karen clicked off the line. Then she headed to the closet and grabbed her coat.

“So, the way I understand it, your niece was adopted through the agency when she was four and, within a month, this Duane Lee Savitt character walked into the adoption place, shot three employees, and set their offices on fire. Is that about right?”

George nodded. He stood by Professor Lori Kim’s desk and watched her load her briefcase with books and papers. Her Family and Juvenile Law class had just let out, and the classroom was empty except for the two of them. Lori Kim was a stout Asian woman in her late thirties. She had a few gray streaks in her close-cropped hair and wore designer glasses with her dark-blue power suit. Lori’s brisk, no-nonsense manner was occasionally punctuated by a sweet, disarming smile. George had called a few friends at the university, and had heard Professor Kim had a background in law enforcement as well as child psychology.

“I’m wondering if there’s a connection between this girl and the shootings at the adoption agency,” George explained. “I heard you know something about adoption laws. Do you think Savitt might have gone to the agency, trying to track down the child? At the same time, he torched the place, so I’m wondering if he wanted to destroy records that might link him with one particular child.”

“That one particular child being your niece?” Lori Kim asked.

“It’s a stretch, yes. But she does have vague memories of an Uncle Duane. “

Professor Kim zipped up her briefcase. “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have a dental appointment at two-fifteen, and my car’s parked on the other side of the campus.”

“Not at all,” George replied. “In fact, I’ll even carry your briefcase for you. I was hoping to get some information on my niece’s biological parents, but—”

“Oh, that won’t be easy,” she cut in. She unloaded the briefcase on him, and it was damn heavy. “Those records are closed in Washington State.”

George had already found that out the hard way. He’d been on the phone for two hours this morning with several government agencies, talking to a lot of apathetic, curt, and often rude clerks who had told him the same thing: the information he wanted was “confidential…unavailable…restricted.” Finally, he’d given up and started phoning people, asking if there was a professor who knew a lot about adoption procedures. He hoped against hope that Lori Kim might know a way for him to get past all the legal stumbling blocks.

Lugging the briefcase, he walked down the corridor with her on the law school’s second floor. She moved at a brisk clip. “If your niece remembers an Uncle Duane before she was adopted by your in-laws, it means she had to be at least three or four years old before she lost her parents—or they gave her up. It’s unusual that she’d end up adopted through an agency. She should have gone through the foster care system.”

“She did spend time in some foster homes before my in-laws took her,” George said. They ducked into the stairwell and started down the steps. “I was still dating Amelia’s aunt when Amelia’s parents were going through the adoption process. They lived in Spokane at the time. But I know they had a lot of visits back and forth, and a trial period.”

“That’s how they do it in foster care. Maybe the adoption agency was involved for some other reason.” Professor Kim stopped at the bottom of the steps. “You said your niece spent time in other foster homes. Did the child have any problems or disorders?”

He nodded. “She had frequent nightmares, and she got these phantom pains and illnesses. She practically drove her parents nuts. But that didn’t start up until after the adoption went through. By then my in-laws had moved to Bellingham and had a baby boy of their own. We figured Amelia was just vying for their attention.”

Lori Kim frowned. “Then again, maybe those nightmares and phantom pains were what got the child bounced out of one foster home and into the next. Might even be why her real parents gave up on her. Children learn very quickly. Your niece might have been on her best behavior with your in-laws during that trial period. When she saw her baby brother cried without getting the boot, she might have figured it was safe to let her pain and fear be heard.”

They stepped outside into the sun and a cool autumn breeze. This section of the campus was graced with stately old buildings and magnificent trees with their leaves changing. The grounds were bathed in a riot of fall colors. Classes were in session, so there wasn’t the usual mob scene. Only a few students and teachers lingered about.

“Of course, I’m just speculating,” Professor Kim continued, as they walked along a paved pathway across the leaf-scattered lawn. “Once in a while, if the foster system has problems placing a child, they may turn to an adoption agency for assistance. It’s possible that’s what happened with your niece.”

“I always assumed Amelia’s biological parents were dead,” George remarked. “But you mentioned they might have just given her up. Do you think they could still be alive?”

“Anything’s possible,” Lori Kim replied. “If you want me to come up with a potential reason for why this Duane Lee Savitt did what he did, I can give you about a dozen different scenarios.”