Authors: Kevin O'Brien
“Give me your best one.”
“Well, since there weren’t any state, city, or county records connecting Savitt with the adoption agency, I’d say he wasn’t the child’s legal father. But there’s a chance he was the birth father. The mother could have lied about it on the birth certificate and transfer papers. Savitt may have also been your niece’s natural uncle, just as she remembers. But once again, they didn’t come across his name in any records, which means he was most likely a family friend or possibly a blood uncle on the mother’s side, and she was married. The maiden names aren’t always flagged on those records.”
George nodded. “Savitt had a sister named Joy who died just a few weeks before he went berserk at the adoption agency.”
Lori Kim stopped abruptly. “It’s strange that Savitt waited until the mother died before he tried to track down the child.”
“Well, maybe he tried to get custody after his sister died—”
“There would be a record of that,” she argued. “You said Savitt shot up the adoption place less than a month after your niece was officially adopted. But under the foster care system, it’s a gradual process toward the final adoption. And you said your niece had some false starts in other foster homes. So she had to be in foster care for at least three months, which means the mother was still alive, and therefore gave up the child. Maybe she was too sick to take care of her at the time. One thing for sure, she didn’t want her brother to have the girl or she would have given him custody. So, obviously, Savitt waited until his sister was dead before he went searching for his niece. And when he came to the agency, looking for her—”
“They couldn’t tell him where she’d gone, because those adoption records are closed,” George finished for her. “So, Uncle Duane went crazy.”
“Well, I don’t quite agree with you on that,” she said, resuming her quick gait along the path. “I doubt he’d armed himself for his first trip to that agency. He probably went there once to make inquiries, became frustrated, and then returned with his arsenal.”
George got winded carrying the heavy briefcase and trying to keep up with her. “You know, it’s weird the police couldn’t figure this out.”
“Well, they couldn’t connect him to anyone at that agency. But you have—if you’re right about him being this girl’s uncle. And so far, we’re just hypothesizing.”
“Why do you think he burned the place down?”
“Did any of those articles you read say if he used hollow-point bullets to shoot those people?”
“Yeah. How did you know—”
“Hollow-points are the bullets of choice for most mass murderers. Only God knows what other function they serve. Hunters don’t use them. Hollow-points inflict the most damage. And that’s probably why Duane Savitt set fire to the place, to inflict the most damage.”
“You don’t think he was trying to destroy some records?”
“It’s possible. But if he was really related to your niece, those same records would be in the foster care system, and he should have known that. Then again, you’re trying to figure out the logic of some asshole who took it upon himself to shoot three people who never did a single thing to hurt him. I hope I never comprehend the way someone like that thinks.”
“If those records exist in the foster care system, how can I get to them?” George pressed. “You must know some way.”
“Get your lawyer, get your niece, and file a petition.”
“There’s no alternate route?”
“Try to track down someone who knew Uncle Duane.”
“I’m giving that a shot right now,” George replied. “One of the articles I read mentioned he was buried in a cemetery in Salem, Oregon. I’m trying to track down whoever paid for the plot and the tombstone, if there is one. I figure this person must know Duane pretty well.”
“That’s good thinking,” she said. They headed toward a small parking lot.
“I called the cemetery office this morning,” George explained. “The guy there said they
might
be able to help me if I come down tomorrow and talk to him in person.”
“Sounds like someone wants his palm greased. Bring money.” Professor Kim took her key out of her purse and unlocked the driver door to her blue Geo. “Did you think I’d have some connection, a shortcut way of getting the lowdown on your niece’s biological parents?”
George gave her the briefcase. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for that.”
“Sorry, George,” Professor Kim said. She tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and then climbed behind the wheel.
“You were still a lot of help. Thanks.”
“Have a nice trip to Salem. And if you end up meeting that friend of Duane’s, would you find out something for me?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Find out why Duane waited until his sister was dead to go looking for the girl. Or maybe I should say to go
hunting
for the little girl. I have a feeling that’s closer to what he had in mind. Good luck, George.” She shut the door, started up the car and backed out of the parking spot.
George watched her drive away until the car disappeared around a curve in the winding road.
“Karen, I swear, I didn’t get back to town until this morning,” Amelia whispered.
They sat at the end of a beautiful long wood table. There were twenty matching tables in the Graduate Reading Room of UW’s Suzzallo Library arranged like pews in a church, ten on each side. The tall stained-glass windows, ornate hanging light fixtures, and cathedral ceiling inspired quiet meditation. Bookcases were pressed against the stone walls. There were at least sixty other students in the library, and only the slightest murmuring could be heard among them.
Amelia looked pretty in a lavender sweater and khakis. She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, and she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I was driving around Olympic National Park yesterday afternoon,” she told Karen in a hushed voice. “That’s as close to Seattle as I got. I ended up spending last night at a B & B in Port Angeles. I can show you the receipt if you don’t believe me. It’s in my other purse.”
“So, you don’t remember coming by my place yesterday?” Karen asked.
Amelia adamantly shook her head.
“We talked in the kitchen,” Karen said, trying to jog her memory. “Rufus was acting strange, growling at us.”
Amelia glanced down at the library table and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“And you never met a Detective Koehler? The name isn’t even familiar?”
“No.”
“He gave you coffee, and took you for a drive….”
Amelia brought a hand up to her mouth, and stared back at Karen. “He gave me coffee?” she repeated.
Karen nodded. “Koehler’s tall and good-looking with pale-blond hair. He’s got a very cocky smile….”
“Are his eyes blue?” she asked.
“Yes,” Karen whispered, leaning forward.
“His eyes match the blue stripes in his shirt,” Amelia murmured, staring down at the tabletop.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I make him take it off and tear it into strips,” Amelia continued, almost in a trance. “He ties the pieces of his shirt onto branches in the forest. They’re markers. I—I’ll need to find my way back to the main trail after I kill him.”
Karen swallowed hard. She waited a moment before saying anything. “What forest, Amelia?”
She gazed at Karen. Her lip quivered. “This really happened, didn’t it? Oh, Jesus!”
A student one desk down loudly cleared his throat and scowled over his textbook at them.
“I need you to remember, Amelia,” Karen whispered. She stroked her arm. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to work this out. Do you remember where you where? What forest?”
“God, Karen, you must be right,” Amelia said, under her breath. “I don’t remember being at your house at all, but I was with him. We were driving for long time. He was worried about me spilling coffee in his new car. I remember keeping my purse shut and in my lap most of the time. I—I didn’t want him to see that I had a gun in there.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Karen, I don’t own a gun….”
“You mentioned Olympic National Park,” Karen pressed. “Was this forest anywhere around there?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No. Oh, God, Karen, this is so screwed up. How could I think I was in one place and be in another? I didn’t have anything to drink at all yesterday, I swear….”
“We’ll straighten all that out. Just try to remember where you went with Koehler.”
“Cougar Mountain Park, over in Issaquah,” she replied numbly. “It’s nowhere near where I thought I was. But I remember the signs for the park. We walked at least a mile before we veered off the trail.”
“They have a lot of hiking trails there. Do you recall which one it was? Did it have a name?”
Amelia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you remember where you parked, or the name of the road you took there? Anything?”
Amelia closed her eyes for a moment. “It was, um, Newcastle-Coal Creek Road,” Amelia whispered. “I remember the turnoff. We went to the fourth or fifth little parking area off that road. At the start of the trail, there’s a small sign with a cartoon of Dennis the Menace on it. I don’t remember what the sign said, but someone wrote on it. We—we were parked there for a while. He started touching me, and I—I hit him!” Her voice cracked. “God, I hit him with that gun.”
Several people shushed her. Karen quickly helped Amelia to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“And then later, in the forest, I shot him.” Amelia cried, clutching Karen’s arm. “He was begging for his life and I shot him in the head….”
People were staring as Karen hurried Amelia down the aisle between the rows of tables. By the time they stepped outside together, Amelia was sobbing and recounting—in fragments—what had happened in that forest. She’d left Koehler’s seminaked corpse where she’d shot him four times. She’d found her way back to the main trail, but didn’t remember removing any of the homemade markers from the branches and shrubs along the way. She’d taken Koehler’s car, and by then it had grown dark. She didn’t remember anything until she was back in Seattle, catching a bus in a sketchy neighborhood along Aurora Boulevard.
“I don’t understand it,” Amelia said, shaking her head over and over. They sat down on a park bench outside the library. “I woke up this morning at a B & B all the way over in Port Angeles. I could have sworn I spent all of yesterday there. Karen, if you saw me with this man yesterday, and I remember all these horrible things, then they must have really happened. Do you see what that means? I killed this guy. And I probably killed my parents and Aunt Ina and my brother—”
“We don’t know that yet,” Karen said, rubbing her back. “You could be wrong about what happened to Koehler. You can’t hold yourself accountable, not until I’ve looked into this further. Are you listening to me? You’re not responsible for killing anyone, Amelia. We’ll work this out together, but you’ll have to trust me.”
Amelia’s cell phone went off—a low hum. Wiping her eyes, she reached inside her purse and checked the caller ID. “It’s that policewoman again, the one you told me about,” she said, her voice raspy. “Same number as last time.”
“Don’t answer it. I don’t want you talking to her or anyone else until we figure out what really happened. Let her leave another message.” She patted Amelia’s arm. “Listen, I think it’s best you lay low and stay at my place tonight. But I need to check out your story first.”
“What, are you driving to Port Angeles?”
“No, Cougar Mountain Park.” She glanced up at the sky. “And I’d like to get there before dark.”
“You can’t go alone,” Amelia said. “I should go with you.”
“No, you shouldn’t. If something really did happen in that forest yesterday, you’re in no condition to relive it. I’ll be back by six if traffic isn’t too nuts.” Karen got to her feet, and so did Amelia. “You’ll probably need some overnight things. Let’s swing by the dorm. We’ll call Shane and see if he can take you someplace for the next two or three hours. Maybe you guys can take in a movie.”
Amelia nodded. She pressed the keypad on her cell phone, and then listened to her voice mail. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “That policewoman, she and her partner are at the dorm now, waiting for me.”
“What?” Karen asked.
“She said she’s calling from the lobby downstairs at Terry Hall, and they want to ask me some questions.”
“Damn,” she whispered, rubbing her forehead. “Okay, call Shane. Tell him we need him to do something for us right away.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Shane emerged from the crowd in Red Square, the campus’s redbrick-paved central plaza and hub. He ambled toward them with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His blond hair was covered up with a stocking cap, and he wore a T-shirt over a long-sleeved T, and baggy jeans.
Jumping up from the park bench, Amelia ran to Shane and embraced him. They kissed feverishly. Amelia broke away, nodded toward Karen, and whispered something to him. Then holding hands, they approached her together.
Karen stood up. “Thanks, Shane. Did you have any problems?”
“Pulled it off without a hitch,” he said with a crooked grin. “You were right though, Karen. The two of them were sitting in the lobby—a nice-looking black chick, and this older white guy with Donald Trump hair. They looked like total narcs. But they hardly paid any attention to my coming and going.”
“Did you remember my robe?” Amelia asked with her arm linked around his. “And my copy of
Washington Square
? I need it for English Lit.”
He kissed her forehead and pointed to his backpack. “It’s all in there, along with your black jeans, the pink T-shirt you sleep in, and everything else you wanted. I called the Neptune Theater while I was in your room. They’re showing a new print of
The 400 Blows
at 4:15. We’re all set.”
Karen glanced up at the sky, and guessed she only had about an hour of sunlight left. She didn’t want to start hiking down that forest trail after dusk. “Um, Shane, can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked.
“Sure, Karen, what’s up?” he said, uncoupling with Amelia for a moment, and stepping toward her.
“I need you to be very, very careful,” she whispered. “This may sound strange, but—”