One Last Scream (33 page)

New Horizons wasn’t on a par with Sandpoint View, but it was pleasant and certainly clean enough. Karen had caught Miriam in the corner of the TV lounge, working on her crossword puzzle. There were about a dozen other residents in the room, watching
The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming
with the volume a bit too loud. Over where Miriam sat, it was a bit quieter, but her cronies still burst into laughter every few moments.

Sitting down beside her, Karen had explained that she was Amelia Schlessinger’s therapist, and she needed to find out more about Amelia’s childhood. Miriam had heard about Joy Schlessinger’s suicide shortly after the family had moved to Salem. But she hadn’t known Lon had died, too, more recently.

“What about Annabelle?” Miriam asked, putting aside her crossword puzzle.

“I’m pretty sure she’s still alive,” Karen told her. “But I don’t know her like I know Amelia. I’m trying to help Amelia remember certain things from her childhood, especially that incident with Clay Spalding fourteen years ago.”

Miriam shook her head. “Gracious, I’d think she’d be better off not recalling any of it.”

Karen gave her a sad look. “Well, she isn’t, Mrs. Getz—Miriam,” she said quietly. “I think she might need to know. I’ve read some of the newspaper accounts of what happened. It sounds like you know more about it than anyone.”

The old woman nodded. “I suppose I do.”

“I was counting on that, Miriam,” she said. “So, can you tell me about Clay?”

She frowned a bit, then shrugged. “Well, he was this Indian who, excuse me,
Native American
, who used to work for my neighbor, Isadora Ferris. She was elderly….” Miriamlet out a sad laugh. “Listen to me, I’m probably older now than she was then. But she was a frail thing with Parkinson’s. Anyway when Izzy passed away, she left the house to Clay, along with several thousand dollars. And believe you me, that didn’t go over well with the neighborhood. It didn’t help matters either that Clay let the place go to pot, and after he’d kept it so beautiful while he was working for Izzy, too. It was a sweet, little one-level ranch house. I never could figure out why he didn’t take better care of it. Sometimes, he even put these odd
art
pieces of his on the front lawn, usually some weird concoction made out of tin cans and wire hangers and Lord knows what else. It could look really junky out there.”

She sighed. “But to be fair, he was a nice, quiet neighbor. He even shoveled my walk for me one winter. And he was very sweet to those twins, too, especially Amelia. He didn’t get along with Lon or Joy. But for some reason, that one little girl liked him.”

Karen nodded. “That’s the impression I got, too. Amelia told me about a little playhouse he had in his backyard. It’s one of the only things she remembers about him.”

Miriam sighed, and fidgeted with her pearl necklace. “Yes, well, he
seemed
harmless enough, at least I thought so, until that day.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Karen asked. “Do you remember?”

“As if it was yesterday,” Miriam said. “Around eleven o’clock that Sunday morning, Joy phoned me, asking if I’d seen Amelia. Well, Amelia or Annabelle, I couldn’t tell the difference, but I hadn’t seen either one. I guess Lon had gone searching for her over at Clay’s house earlier, and Clay even let him look through the place. Apparently, Amelia wasn’t there. But wouldn’t you know? Around five o’clock, I looked out my kitchen window and spotted that little girl in Clay’s backyard. She was all by herself, bundled up in a jacket. I saw her come out of that playhouse and duck in Clay’s kitchen door. So I immediately called Joy. Then Lon got on the line. He asked me to come over and tell him
exactly
what I saw. Well, once I told him, Lon announced he was driving to the police station. He said he’d bring an armed police officer back to Clay’s house. Then off he went, and he took Annabelle with him.”

Miriam removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, about twenty minutes later, Lon was back, with Annabelle. The child was hysterical, squirming and shrieking to raise the dead. Lon had his hand over her mouth most of the time. He said he didn’t even make it to the police station, because Annabelle starting pitching such a fit. None of us could figure out what was wrong with her.” Miriam put her glasses back on. “But do you know what I think it was?”

Karen just shook her head.

“It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I think Annabelle must have somehow known her twin sister was in distress. You know how some twins have a certain—
thing
between them?”

“Twin telepathy,” Karen said, nodding.

Miriam nodded, and patted Karen’s knee. “That’s what I think it was. Anyway, poor Annabelle was carrying on so badly, they locked her in her room.”

Karen squinted at her. “The child was upset, and their way of handling it was to lock her in her room?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Miriam whispered. “But Lon ruled the roost in that household, and he’s the one who locked Annabelle in the twins’ bedroom. Then he fetched his hunting rifle and called up the police. He told them he was headed over to Clay’s house to confront him and get his little girl back. All the while, Annabelle was screaming and crying behind that locked door. My heart just broke for her.”

Miriam clicked her tongue, and shook her head. “I told Lon I didn’t think the gun was necessary. I kept saying, ‘Let the police handle it, for goodness sake!’ I was so worried Amelia would get hurt. But Lon couldn’t be stopped, and out the door he went. I followed him down the block. Joy stayed behind. Lon was almost at Clay’s house when I heard the sirens. Two police cars came speeding up the block. Then, over all that noise, I heard screams.

“I turned toward Clay’s house and saw that pitiful little girl climbing out a side window and crying for help.” Miriam closed her eyes and put a liver-spotted hand over her mouth. “All she had on was her
underwear.
I just get sick when I think about it. After that, everything happened so fast: the sirens, tires screeching, all the policemen shouting, and that poor, sweet child running across the yard, practically naked. And this was November, mind you. Clay came out the front door, and he started to run after Amelia. That’s when Lon shot him. I remember how in midstride, Clay suddenly flopped back and fell on the ground.”

Miriam let out a long sigh. “Then Lon threw his rifle down, and Amelia ran into his arms. She was hysterical, crying, but Lon kept rocking her and telling her, ‘You’re safe now, baby.’”

“And Clay Spalding was dead,” Karen murmured.

Miriam nodded. “I think he died in the ambulance on the way to Samaritan Hospital.”

“What about Amelia?” Karen asked. “I understand she was never really the same after that day. I hear her parents had a very hard time with her.”

“Well, it might have been more gradual than that,” Miriam said. “I know she was giving Lon and Joy some problems even before that Sunday. So Lord knows how long Clay had been—
pawing
at that poor little girl. I heard stories later that he had Polaroid snapshots of Amelia,
undressed
.” She shook her head. “Anyway, if she had problems before that day, well, you’re right, they just got worse and worse after that. She tried to run away several times. I remember once, talking in the front yard to Joy and the twins, and a pickup truck came speeding up the block, like a bat out of you-know-where. I said to Joy something about how they could kill somebody, driving that fast. And before we knew it, Amelia broke away and ran into the street smack dab in front of that pickup—
on purpose
. The driver almost had an accident, swerving to avoid her. Four years old, and she was trying to kill herself. Can you imagine? Lon and Joy kept her home most of the time after that, and they didn’t take visitors. I hardly saw her. Then I heard they sent her to stay with Joy’s relatives, a cousin, I think.”

Karen imagined Lon’s solution to Amelia’s problems was to lock the tormented girl in her room most of the time.

“What about the sister?” she asked.

“Annabelle? Oh, she was very well behaved. I don’t think they had any problem with her.” Miriam rubbed her chin. “No, the only time I ever saw her kick up a fuss was that afternoon before the shooting. And then later, I remember noticing her in her bedroom window, looking out and crying. I guess she’d seen the whole awful thing. But she didn’t act up or anything after that, not like her sister.”

Karen reached over and put her hand on Miriam’s bony arm. “Did Lon run into any legal trouble for the shooting?” She winced a little. “I mean, even if it seemed justified, some people might say he took the law into his own hands.”

Miriam frowned. “Well, I know there were some concerns. But Lon cooperated with the police a hundred percent.”

“Did a doctor ever examine Amelia to determine whether or not she’d actually been molested?”

With a pained look on her careworn face, Miriam shrugged. “I really don’t know. But they found her clothes in Clay’s bedroom. And in the kitchen drawer, they found a wallet and a necklace belonging to a woman who had been missing for nearly a month, a waitress.”

“Kristen Marquart,” Karen interjected. “I read about her.”

Miriam nodded, then shuddered a bit. “You can just imagine what it was like for me to realize I’d been living next door to a serial killer for two years.”

“Did they ever find Kristen’s body?”

Miriam fiddled with her necklace again. “No, I don’t think so.”

“And did they ever really connect Clay with any of the other disappearances?”

“Well, they found whatever was left of one poor woman near the reservation where he used to live. That was enough for me. Oh, this girlfriend of Clay’s raised a big fuss….”

Karen nodded. She’d already left a voice mail for Clay’s friend, Naomi Rankin, who still lived in Moses Lake. But Naomi hadn’t phoned back yet.

“She insisted he was totally innocent, and incapable of hurting anyone. But she didn’t see what I saw that day. No, she certainly did not.”

“Then you believe Clay murdered those young women,” Karen murmured.

Miriam glanced at Karen over the rims of her cat’s-eye glasses. “Well, dear, the girls stopped disappearing after Clay was shot dead. So what do you think?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Stephanie announced. “Real bad.”

“Well, hold on a little longer, honey,” Jessie said, with a glance in the rearview mirror. “We’re almost there. The last few blocks are always the worst.”

Driving up the cul-de-sac toward George’s house, Jessie kept looking for that beat-up black Cadillac with the broken antenna. She didn’t see it. She didn’t spot Karen’s Jetta either. Nothing looked unusual or out of place as she pulled into the driveway: no strange cars, no smashed windows, no one lurking around the house.

Approaching the front door with the children, Jessie didn’t notice anything wrong with the door handle. To be on the safe side, she would have left the kids in the car while she ducked into the house for the damn inhaler. But Steffie had to go to the bathroom. She was all fidgety and squirming as Jessie unlocked the door. At least the door was still locked. That was a good sign.

“Now, let me go in first,” Jessie announced, reaching for the light switch.

But Stephanie darted past her through the doorway, and made a beeline for the bathroom off the kitchen. Jessie had left the light on in there.

“I gotta go, too,” Jody said, heading toward the facilities by his bedroom.

Rolling her eyes, Jessie turned and saw the door open to the front closet, with the light on. Had she left it like that?

She remembered setting the alarm code before hurrying out of the house earlier. It should have started beeping when they came through the front door. Something was wrong. “Steffie? Jody?” she called.

Starting toward the kitchen, Jessie glanced around the living room, and stopped dead. “Oh, no,” she murmured. She felt this awful sensation in the pit of her stomach. For a few seconds, she couldn’t move.

The drawers to the antique cabinet were left open. One drawer was taken out completely and dumped on the floor.

She heard a toilet flush. Continuing toward the kitchen, Jessie saw that someone had been through the dining room breakfront, too. More open drawers, a few of them dumped out and scattered on the floor. The silver candlesticks on the dining room table were missing. All Jessie could think about was getting the children out of there, and then calling the police from a neighbor’s house.

“Kids, we need to leave!” she called nervously.

“What?” Jody called back. “What’s going on?”

Jessie turned and saw him coming from the bedroom hallway. But Jody suddenly stopped in his tracks. His mouth open, he gaped at Jessie and shook his head.

She realized he was looking at something behind her. She heard a whimpering sound, and recognized Steffie’s cry. Jessie swiveled around, and for a moment, her heart stopped.

Stephanie stood trembling in the kitchen doorway. Tears streamed down her face. She’d wet herself.

Standing behind her was a young man with black hair and sunglasses. He wore a shiny black suit, and held a gun to Stephanie’s head.

“Holy crap, I think I found something,” the deputy said. He stopped digging for a moment and gaped down into the hole.

George hadn’t had much difficulty persuading Tyler to follow him out to the Schlessinger ranch. The deputy had had a little crush on Sandra Hartman back in high school, and for a while, he’d obsessed over her sudden disappearance. And George had been right about Tyler’s hatred for his boss. He’d suggested that if they found a body buried on the ranch, Tyler could say he’d gotten suspicious and followed George out there while off duty. And yes, wouldn’t the sheriff look stupid after that?

Tyler had a flashlight in his car, and they’d set it on a tree stump so it shined in the general direction of the wildflowers. They’d chosen a patch, and started in. George had worked the pick, and Tyler had manned the shovel. While they’d worked, the deputy had gone on and on about how much he couldn’t stand that ballbuster boss of his. They hadn’t even dug two feet down when Tyler had noticed the bones.

George grabbed the flashlight from the stump, and directed it into the pit. He figured Lon must have been lazy and careless about disposing of his victims’ bodies, because the grave was way too shallow.

And the bones were way too small.

“It’s a fucking cat,” Tyler grumbled. He leaned on the shovel, and glanced at the other wildflower patches. “You were right about these pretty little buds indicating a grave. But I bet this is a boneyard for fucking cats. Ranchers and farmers often have a mess of cats to keep mice and rats away.”

“Well, let’s try one more,” George said, putting the flashlight back on the tree stump. He grabbed the pick again. “Just to be sure, okay? I mean, if it’s another cat, it won’t take us long to find it.”

“I think we’re wasting our time here,” the deputy said. “And I don’t want to miss
American Idol
tonight.”

“Just another fifteen minutes,” George said, swinging the pick into a new section of wildflowers. “Just think, you might help solve Sandra Hartman’s disappearance. What was she like, anyway?”

They dug for twenty minutes, while Tyler talked about what a knockout Sandra had been. Then George got a call on his cell phone. He checked the caller ID. It was home. He dropped the pick, and clicked on the phone. “Jessie, is that you?” he asked.

“Yes. Hello, George,” she said.

He could tell immediately that something was wrong. “What’s going on?” he asked warily.

“Oh, we have a situation here,” she said. “Y’see, my sister’s sick, very sick, and I need to go see her. She lives in Denver. Anyway, how soon can you come home?”

“Um, it’ll take at least two and a half hours,” he said. “Jessie, I’m so sorry about your sister—”

“Well, we had a family emergency here, too, George,” she said stiffly. “Steffie had a bad asthma attack. I called the doctor. She’s fine now. She’s resting. But she’s asking for her daddy.”

He could tell from Jessie’s tone, it was more serious than she let on.

“If it’s worse than that, Jessie, please, tell me,” he said. “I’d rather know now.”

“No. But I need you to hurry home.”

“Well, could you put Steffie on the phone? I’d like to talk to her.”

“Um, I can’t, George. Like I said, she’s resting. Just come home as soon as you can, okay?”

“I will, Jessie, thanks. I’m leaving now.”

“Be careful,” she said. Then there was a click and the line went dead.

He hit the disconnect button. “I’ve got to go,” he murmured. “A family emergency up in Seattle, my daughter needs me.”

Tyler leaned on his shovel. “How are you getting back there?”

Wringing his dirty hands, George shrugged. “On the way down here, I flew to Portland and then rented a car.”

“It would be faster for you if you took a charter from McNary Field here in Salem,” Tyler suggested. “You’d zip home in no time at all. The airport’s not too far from here. Want to follow me out there?”

George hesitated. “Thanks, but could you give me directions instead?” He glanced down at the new crater they’d dug. It was at least three feet deep

The deputy gave him a wary look and chuckled. “Holy crap, you want me to keep digging?”

“Just ten more minutes, please,” George said. “If it was a cat, we would have found it by now. Something else is down there.”

Tyler took a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll keep at it,” he sighed. “So, let me tell you how to get to McNary Field from here.”

The man with the sunglasses took the receiver away from Jessie’s face and hung up the phone.

“Good job,” he said, with a tiny smirk.

While holding the phone for her, he’d kept the other extension—George’s cordless—to his own ear. He clicked that off, and then set it on the kitchen counter.

Jessie was tied to a kitchen chair, her wrists bound together behind her with duct tape.

She’d been tied up like that for the last twenty minutes now. Their intruder had forced Jody to strap her into the chair. He’d used Jody’s little sister as a negotiating tool, and the 11-year-old boy had been very cooperative.

“That’s right,” he’d told Jody, one hand over Steffie’s mouth. The other held the gun to her head. “Now, wind the tape around fatso’s stomach and the chair back. Strap her in real tight. Huh, you might need a few yards to get around all that blubber….”

Shooting him a look, Jody hesitated.

“Just do what he says, honey,” Jessie whispered. She was worried Steffie would have an asthma attack right there. The little girl trembled and quietly wept while the intruder tickled her earlobe with the revolver barrel.

Jessie sat there helpless as he made Jody wrap the tape around her ankles, fixing them to the chair’s front legs. He tested Jody’s work, pulling at each adhesion.

Then he took the children into their bedrooms. Cringing, Jessie listened to him barking instructions to Jody on how to tie up his sister. She heard Steffie whimpering the whole time, and Jody telling her to be brave. Jessie prayed and prayed that the next sound she heard wouldn’t be a gunshot.

“That’s right, put the tape over her mouth,” the man said at one point.

Jessie listened to Steffie’s muffled whining.

“C’mon, your turn,” the man growled to Jody. “Take me to your room.”

For the next few minutes, it was deathly quiet. Then suddenly, Jody let out a loud cry. It sent a jolt through Jessie’s heart. “What are you doing to him?” she cried.

She waited anxiously for the next sound. Finally, she heard Jody’s stifled moaning. At least he was still alive.

“There’s no reason to hurt the children!” she called. “We’re not stopping you. Please, just take whatever you want and leave!”

A few long moments passed before the young man ambled back into the kitchen with the cordless phone from George’s study. “Oh, I’m not leaving for a while,” he announced. “In fact, we’re all going to wait here for their daddy to come home.”

Then he’d forced her to make the call to George.

Jessie couldn’t figure out why he wanted George to rush home. But she realized this wasn’t an ordinary robbery. This was something much worse.

She stared up at that pale, young man with the jet-black hair and those tiny bangs over his forehead. Jessie wished she could see his eyes behind those dark glasses. “Listen, what’s your name, anyway?”

He didn’t respond. But he seemed to be studying her behind the sunglasses.

“Well, you heard George tell me that he won’t be here for another two and a half hours,” Jessie continued. “Since we’re stuck here together that long, I should at least know you by name,
any
name. What should I call you?”

“Call me Your Majesty,” he replied, deadpan.

“Well, Your Majesty, I want to compliment you on the way you dress,” Jessie said. “That’s a very snappy suit. It shows you’re serious and have a lot of self-respect. I think you’re also smart enough, and compassionate enough, to care about those kids. You must know they’re scared, and very uncomfortable.”

“They’re fine, hog-tied on their beds.”

Jessie sighed. “The little one has asthma. If she has an attack, we won’t be able to hear her. You’ve taped up her mouth. She could suffocate.” Jessie’s voice started to shake. “And she’s wet herself. I’m sure you saw that. You have a heart. I know you do. If you’d just let me change her clothes and wash her up. Then the two children and I, we’d sit quietly on the sofa together. You could still keep our wrists and ankles tied….”

“You talk too fucking much,” he said coolly. “Would it help shut you up if I tied a plastic bag over your head?”

Jessie stared at him, and didn’t say another thing.

George was driving down Rural Route 17 about a mile away from Sherry’s Corner Food & Deli when he saw the patrol car in the distance. The red strobe lights on the roof flashed and glowed in the darkness ahead. He heard the siren’s wail.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. If that was the sheriff on her way to the Schlessinger ranch, he didn’t have time to talk with her or answer questions. He couldn’t stop for anything. He needed to get back to Seattle. He could tell from talking with Jessie earlier that he hadn’t gotten the full story about the situation at home. Something was terribly wrong.

He watched the cop car, speeding toward him. The flashers were getting brighter.

Tyler must have found a body. Why else would the sheriff be speeding toward the ranch? Well, they could carry on without him.

George saw a mailbox and the driveway to a farm on his right. Switching off his headlights, he made the turn. He navigated down the dark, narrow, gravel road that wound behind some trees. Then he slowly turned the car around. The sound of the police siren grew louder, closer. Hands on the steering wheel, George watched the police car speed by.

His cell phone rang. The deputy had given him his cell number earlier. George recognized it. “Tyler?” he said.

“I found another skeleton,” the deputy said. “It wasn’t a cat this time. You were right. There are human remains out here.” He let out a sigh. “Jesus, I still can’t believe it. This could be what’s left of Sandra Hartman right here in front of me.”

“Did you call the sheriff and tell her?” George asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, she’s on her way,” Tyler answered. “She wants you to come back and show us exactly where you found the waitress’s name tag. The state police are on their way, too. This place is going to be like Grand Central Station in about an hour.”

George winced. “Listen, Tyler, do me a favor. Pretend you couldn’t get ahold of me. I can’t stick around. I need to get home to my kids. It’s an emergency.”

There was no response on the other end.

“Tyler?”

“Okay, but I don’t think she’ll believe me.”

“Thanks.” George switched his headlights on again, and started back onto Rural Route 17. He didn’t see the police flashers in his rearview mirror. The sheriff’s car had sped down the road, out of sight.

“Could you do me another favor?” George asked. “Don’t tell them where I’m going, okay?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee they won’t figure it out, but I’ll try to stall them.”

“Good. Thanks. And hey, don’t let that creep of a sheriff grab any credit for finding those bodies. You’re the one who did it.”

“Okay,” he said, with a dazed laugh. “Jesus. I’m really blown away. I still can’t believe it. I’m standing here, looking down at this skeleton, and it could be Sandra.”

His eyes on the dark road ahead, George didn’t say anything for a moment. He was thinking that Sandra had been the last young woman to vanish. And Annabelle was still alive.

“I wouldn’t expect to find Sandra Hartman’s corpse out there on the ranch,” George said finally. “You’re more likely to find her buried in Arbor Heights Cemetery—beside Lon Schlessinger.”

The Schlessinger ranch—July 2004

“Sandra, can you hear me?”

She leapt up from the cot. Hobbling toward the big, bulky door, she accidentally kicked a few empty tin cans. She’d been living on Purrfect Kitty cat food, canned sliced peaches, and water for the last several days and nights. As long as she’d cooperated with him, she’d gotten food.

“Annabelle?” she cried, leaning against the door. “Is that you?”

“I’m getting you out of here
now
,” Annabelle called. There was a knocking sound, and then a loud clank, as if something metal had dropped to the concrete floor.

It was the same noise Sandra had become accustomed to hearing before
he
came in to beat her or screw her, or whatever he had an itch to do to her that particular night. “Assume the position!” he’d call, before opening that big door. She had to kneel by the cot, her back to him, and her arms at her sides. Then he’d start in on her.

But this was Annabelle. For several days now, Annabelle Schlessinger had promised to help her escape. Each time, she’d said the same thing. “If I spring you out of here, you have to help me get away and start someplace new, okay?” Annabelle had kept telling her to be patient and hang in there. It would only be another day or two.

They’d always talked through the closed, bolted door. But now that thick, cumbersome door squeaked open. Sandra felt her whole body trembling. She couldn’t wait to get out of there. She didn’t even think to grab her shoes. She just started pushing at the door.

Annabelle stood and blocked the door opening for a moment. Her hair was cut short and dyed blonde. “Do I look different?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

Sandra balked.

“I told you, I’m getting out, too,” Annabelle said.

“Well, you—you look great!” Sandra gasped, not sure what to say. “Let’s go, okay? All right?”

Annabelle grabbed her hand and led her toward the basement stairs. “C’mon, we just need to get some stuff out of my room….”

Sandra’s legs buckled as she raced up the stairs with Annabelle. She hadn’t run for days; she hadn’t even been able to walk more than a few steps without turning around in that cramped, filthy cell. She stumbled on the stairs, but quickly got up again and kept moving.