Authors: J. F. Gonzalez
'Tbat's enough, Officer," Frank Miller said. He grasped
his wife's elbow firmly, pulling her away from the reception desk. "Come on, Joan."
"But-" Joan looked torn between wanting to leap
over the desk and throttle the officer and breaking down
in tears.
"It's okay. They're doing everything they can. All we
can do is wait." Frank looked like he had aged ten years
in the past twenty-four hours.
"Wait for what?" Joan's voice was full of anguish. The
tone of it caused several people in the lobby of the sheriff's
station to turn their way. "For that scum Caleb Smith to-"
"Enough!" Frank grasped his wife more firmly and led
her away from the reception desk and got her outside.
Once outside, Joan turned on her husband. "Goddamn
it, FYank, don't you dare do that to me again!"
"You listen to me," Frank said, holding his ground
firmly. He grasped his wife's shoulders, his eyes boring
into hers. "The facts are, these people are doing everything they can already. To release Brad from custody
would not only be a violation of California law, it would
get them in a hell of a lot of trouble. Like it or not, there's
legal protocols they have to follow. As for the accusations
against Caleb Smith-"
"Accusations my ass! That bastard has done something
with Lisa! Don't you see it?" Joan's voice practically
screeched. Her hair was in disarray, her eyes puffy from
lack of sleep.
It was late Sunday afternoon, over a day and a half
since arriving to keep Lisa company for the weekend
while they tried to get Brad out of jail. In that time the situation had grown from bad to worse. The sketch of Caleb
Smith had been put over the wire and so far there had
been no word. The police were searching for the van and
it hadn't turned up. Their lawyer friend, Billy Grecko, had
called at the hotel room this morning, and when confronted with Lisa's disappearance told them he was going to put in a call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
He knew an agent there whom he was on good standing
with, and he was sure he could convince him to get a
missing-persons investigation started, at least give the
Ventura County Sheriff a good kick in the ass to get going
quicker. Meanwhile, Brad was still sitting in a cell, getting
by with little sleep and food. The more the hours passed
with no word on Lisa, the more frantic he was becoming
behind bars.
"They are accusations right now,' Frank said, his voice
firm. "Mind you, I have just as strong a feeling as you have
that he has something to do with all this. The only thing
we have going for us right now is the fact that this Caleb
Smith guy doesn't appear to be who he is. If it wasn't for that ... if they had actually found him and discovered he
has a strong alibi, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on.'
Joan was crying now. She sank into her husband's
arms and he held her, paying no heed to those who were
coming in and out of the sheriff's station casting them curious looks. Joan hadn't cried. like this in years-hell,
Frank had never seen her cry like this before. He just
hoped his strength didn't sap away nearly as fast as hers
did. He was now the rock that held them together.
"Why is this happening to us?" Joan sobbed against
Frank's chest. "Why?"
"I don't know, honey," Frank murmured, holding his
wife close. "I don't know."
They remained that way for a while, and Joan calmed
down. Finally, she broke away from him and wiped her
eyes with the back of her hands. "Look at me. Blubbering
like an idiot."
"It's okay. You needed that cry. It's been long overdue."
Joan looked at her husband; she looked lost. "I'm
sorry. I've been trying to hold it all together. It's just .. "
She threw up her hands in despair.
"It's been too much. I know."
"I'm sorry that I caused such a big scene in there," Joan
said. "1 don't want to cause any trouble for them. I know
they're only trying to help us"
"I'm sure they realize you're upset. I think we both
know what it feels like to be an officer now. to feel helpless and bound by the law against doing what you feel in
your gut is right."
Joan nodded. She reached into her purse for a tissue
and wiped her nose with it. "What do we do now?" She
put the tissue back into her purse.
"Let's go back inside and tell Gary where we'll be for
the rest of the night." Officer Gary Fraser was the officer
Joan had just yelled at; since Officer Lansing had gone off duty late last night, Fraser had been their main contact at the station. "'Then we'll go see Brad. We'll tell him
that he'll be out tomorrow morning. Billy should be at his
hotel by now, and he may even have word on getting an
investigation going on finding Lisa. Then the only thing
we can do is go to our room and wait until tomorrow."
Joan sighed. 'omorrow. That seems like such a long
time from now"
"1 know." Frank put his arm around Joan's shoulders. "I
know."
They walked back to the station together.
On the morning of Brad Miller's arraignment, his parents
followed Billy Grecko in his silver Mercedes as it sped
down Interstate 5 toward Ventura. Visible three cars ahead
of the Mercedes was a white van with a Ventura County
Sheriff's logo on its side. Joan and Frank caught a brief
glimpse of Brad as he was led to the van, and when he saw
them he waved. Joan and Frank waved back. Brad tried to
smile, but it looked forced. He looked tired and defeated.
In Judge Kurt Plummer's chambers, the bailiff escorted Brad to the defendant table. When the judge got
the papers that were filed on the charges, he cast a
glance out at the court. "Case 498736, people of California versus Brad Miller.' His eyes found Brad's, locked in
on him. Are you Mr. Miller?"
"Yes, Your Honor; Brad answered. For some reason,
the judge reminded Brad of the actor Ossie Davis; his
voice was deep and commanding, his graying hair giving
him a dignified appearance.
"And do you have counsel?"
Billy Grecko rose from his seat at the defense table. "I
represent Mr. Miller, Your Honor."
"And your name?"
"William Grecko, Your honor."
Judge Plummer looked over the paperwork, his eyes
magnified from behind the thick glasses he wore. He
scowled. "Tis is a citizen's arrest.' He looked across at
the prosecution table as an African-American man in a
dark suit and a power tie stood up. "What is the nature of
this case, counselor?"
"The County of Ventura would like to decline to file
charges against Mr. Miller at this time, Your Honor," the
lawyer for the DA said.
"On what grounds?"
"Lack of evidence, Your Honor."
"And you wasted my fifteen minutes this morning just
to drag this young man into my courtroom for that? I
should fine you, Mr. Carr."
"I'm sorry, Your Honor."
Judge Plummer pounded his gavel. "Case against Mr.
Brad Miller dismissed, by request of the prosecution"
Five minutes later, Brad was walking briskly out of the
Ventura County courthouse, his parents and William
Grecko trailing him. His eyes were wide with fear. "We've
got to find Lisa!"
"Brad!"
He stopped and turned around as his parents and
William Grecko caught up with him. William Grecko was
panting, sweat dotting his forehead. He smelled faintly
of rum.
"What? We can't fuck around. It's been, like, three
days-"
"Brad" Billy was suddenly in front of him. He took Brad by the shoulders, his eyes locked with his. "Listen to
me very carefully.'
Brad's eyes suddenly went wide with fright. "What happened? You found. her! Please tell me you found her-"
Billy paused, his eyes flicking from Rank to Joan, then
back to Brad. He looked nervous. "Brad, let me explain
this to -you."
"Will you just tell me what's going on!" Brad's voice
cracked. Joan almost broke down at the sight of her son.
"Son, there's not much to go on," Frank said. He looked
nervous and scared, and he traded a glance with Billy,
who stepped back from Brad. Brad turned to look at his
father. "Billy has a friend with the Bureau. He was able to
get a couple of detectives over at the hotel and .. "
-Mey couldn't find anything," Billy finished. He
looked dejected. "They talked to all the employees at the
motel. Nobody saw or heard anything. There's no sign of
a struggle in the room. Your car is still in the parking lot,
your luggage is still in the trunk, but Lisa's stuff ... her
purse and suitcase ... they're gone-"
"What do you mean there's no sign of a struggle?" Brad
cried.
"'The police have been unable to find Caleb Smith anywhere," Bill continued. "The Bureau ran a list of aliases
and checked them all out against the composite that was
done back at the station. Neither man they came up with
was Smith. It's almost like he just vanished into thin air."
"You've got to be kidding!" Brad cried, his hands going
up to his face. He looked absolutely panic-stricken.
"I'm trying to push this down the pipe as fast as I can,
but my friend at the Bureau says that we need more to go
on," Billy said, and now he did look defeated. It was in
his eyes, his posture, the way his shoulders slumped. It
seemed to permeate the air around him, much like the smell of rum that was seeping out of his pores. "We have
nothing at the motel, no reasonable cause for suspicion
on Caleb Smith, whoever he may be ... we have no witnesses, no-"
"You've got to try!" Brad said, grabbing the lawyer's suit
with weakened fingers. His eyes searched the lawyer's
face, then lighted on his parents. He could feel himself
breaking down. "Please, you've got to try."
"We'll try," Billy said, taking Brad's hands and squeezing them tight. "We'll do everything we can.'
Brad could do nothing else but stand in the parking lot
of the Ventura County Courthouse in the clothes he had
worn for the past three days, not even aware of his body
odor as his mother took him in his arms, not even aware
of his own warm tears coursing down his cheeks.
Noon.
Lisa tried to ignore the stench of vomit, piss, excrement, and blood that now permeated the room, but with
the window boarded up and the cabin now locked up
good and tight, that was hard to do.
She sat cross-legged on the floor just outside the bedroom, still in shackles. Aside from yesterday, Caleb
Smith-a.k.a. Tim Murray-had only been in one other
time since Saturday morning, and that was later that afternoon to deliver another series of chains and a pulley
to truss up Debbie Martinez in a like fashion. Wouldn't
want Debbie to shit her pants now, would we? he had
said grimly as he worked. Debbie had been reduced to a
quivering thing that could only moan as Mr. Smith came near her. She had burst into tears the minute he entered
the room. "Please let me go ... pl eeaaassseee!'
Lisa had told Debbie what happened to her and Brad,
starting with the road rage incident and ending Saturday
morning when Mr. SmithiTim Murray had shown up to
truss her up more securely. Debbie's eyes had grown
wide at the mention of the snuff film and Tim's involvement. "1 don't believe this ... this is some kind of sick
joke...
"I'm afraid not," Lisa had said matter-of-factly.
Debbie couldn't believe that Tim Murray was capable
of what Lisa was telling her. She couldn't believe that
somebody so sweet-so normaNooking-was a bona
fide weirdo. She had still been puzzling over the revelation when Tim returned to truss her up more securely,
and that was when the implication hit her-why else
would Tim be keeping her prisoner like this? 'That's when
she had begun to plead for her life. It fell on deaf ears.
When Tim finally left for the night, Lisa set about to
find a way out. She tested the length of chain she was
tied to and found she could only exit about four feet out
of the bedroom before the chain pulled tight. There was
a small closet in the bedroom, which yielded nothing.
Aside from the single bed in the middle of the room,
there was a small dresser and a nightstand. The bathroom was bare bones, too; just a bar of soap, a couple of
towels, and a dusty medicine cabinet. Lisa flipped on the
light switch; the bedroom light came on.
Debbie had sat on the lumpy mattress and watched as
Lisa stormed around the perimeter of their prison, trying
to find a way out. Debbie was just as pretty nude as she
had been fully clothed. Lisa's first impressions of the
woman were that she could have passed as a model.
With her flat tummy, her full, perfect breasts, and her
long legs, she looked like she could pose for a Playboy centerfold. Lisa scowled as she searched frantically for a
way out, casting glances back at Debbie, who sat on the
bed still in shock. "Bambi"better get her head out of her
ass if she wants to stay alive, she thought. Then she
silently chastised herself. Stop it. She's a victim as much
as you are. She doesn't deserve this any more than you;
she's just handling it differently. She's not as tough. You've
got to help her toughen up. If you can help her find the
strength she needs, she'll be an incredible asset.
For a while, Lisa thought that's exactly what would happen. They had talked, and after a while Debbie began to
relax. Sometime later that night, Debbie became a different person. She was still scared, but now she was angry
as well. She told Lisa that her husband Neal was probably worrying about her right this minute. "1 thought I
could hear my phone ringing a while back," she had
said. "Sound can sometimes carry pretty well out here."
Did that mean that if they screamed loud enough
somebody else might hear them? Debbie shook her
head. "Nobody up here now except us. The closest cabin
is the Hamptons' about two and a half miles east of here,
and they might not even be at their place this time of
year."
It was a start. They grew tired as the night wore on, and
after eating a sandwich and some chips they went to
sleep, both of them lying together on the narrow bed.
Lisa had never slept with another woman before, and
sleeping with Debbie wasn't sexual for her in any way,
but it was comforting. The feel of the other woman lying
beside her, feeling her breathe next to her, feeling her
skin touch hers, was comforting. Having somebody with
her helped make the night more bearable.