The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  “Weirder shit has happened,” Jade said. “Do you think by helping them, you’ll find a way to slap this Francis asshole with a murder charge as an added bonus?”

  “Maybe?”

  “Damn,” Jade said again. “What can I do?”

  Riley shook her head. “I don’t know yet. The guy was clearly a monster …”

  “Probably still is.”

  “Michael says that too.” Taking a shuddering post-cry breath, Riley said, “I can’t go to the police with nothing but a couple creepy dreams as proof. But unless I talk to Francis directly, I don’t know if I’ll get any proof at all.”

  “Just … don’t do anything until you’ve had time to really think about it, okay?” Jade said. “I’ll help you. Michael will help you. Police use psychics all the time, right? Maybe you can find someone who will listen to you.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Riley sighed. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Of course,” she said, giving one of Riley’s hands a squeeze. “You scared the hell out of me. I’ve never heard you cry like that before.”

  “Because that was a first. God, when I woke up, I felt like I was dying. I wanted to die.”

  Jade frowned.

  “No one was there to help her,” Riley said, eyes welling again. “She fought so damn hard and that bastard got her anyway.”

  “Maybe you can help her now,” said Jade. “Her and Pete.”

  Riley nodded. “I need to shower. I’m a disaster.”

  Jade brushed a lock of hair out of Riley’s face. “Yeah, a little bit.”

  After her shower, the two watched a fluffy romantic comedy before Jade had to leave for yoga with Brie. She tried to convince Riley that she’d just cancel it, but Riley insisted she go.

  “I’m okay; I swear,” Riley said. “I owe you one for dealing with that.”

  “Of course,” she said, hugging her so tight it hurt. Pulling away and staring at her for a moment, she said, “I think you should let Michael in on this, but if it’s too hard to talk to him about it—you call me if it gets bad again, okay? I’ll stay here tonight if you’re worried about going back to sleep.”

  Ugh, Riley hadn’t even thought about sleeping. “Thank you.”

  She tried watching TV after Jade left, but she couldn’t concentrate for anything. Her itch for information was getting to her. Every time the show broke for commercials, Riley’s gaze shifted to her closed laptop. The laptop with the audio files on it. The laptop she hadn’t been able to open since she heard Orin’s voice.

  After pouring herself a glass of wine, downing it, and then pouring a second one, she steeled herself and opened her computer. A third glass followed. She made all her best decisions while wine-drunk, after all.

  Francis had still been banged up in the snapshot of the past, so his successful attack on Renee had happened soon after his failed attack on Mindy. Searching for girls named Renee who went missing in 1983, the same year Mindy escaped Orin’s ranch, she very quickly spotted a headline of a website that read, “Who killed Renee Palmer?”

  The poorly-crafted website sported a gray background, the font a too-bright blue. Below the title in huge font featured a smiling, slightly-grainy picture of Renee.

  In her dream, Riley hadn’t seen her face. She’d been her. Felt what she felt.

  Renee had been a Caucasian girl with a bright smile and a head of slightly curled, light brown hair. She looked so normal. Like any other girl Riley might see walking down the street, going about her life.

  A brief flashback then of grubby, unwanted hands on her skin assaulted Riley, and she had to close her eyes for a moment and breathe deep. She knocked back the rest of wine glass number three.

  The site had been set up like a blog, but only had eleven posts. The first pinned entry had been posted ten years before on September 7th.

  Below that, it listed the most recent posts first. The newest one was from last year, also in September. It simply said, “Renee would have been 56 today, had she lived. We love and miss you, Renee!”

  The next nine were very similar, each one acknowledging Renee’s birthday on the seventh of September. Someone kept up hope—all these years later—that Renee’s murder would be solved.

  She scrolled back up to the pinned post.

  Renee Beatrice Palmer was the light of my life. She was my only daughter and I treasured her. At only twenty-three years old, she was brutally murdered and assaulted during a hike in the Gila National Park, her body left to the mercy of the elements.

  There were no witnesses. She was found by another hiker a day later.

  She is survived by her father, Walter Palmer, mother, Gladys Elise Palmer, and her two younger brothers, Isaac and Scott.

  I have lived without my baby girl for three decades and my greatest wish before I leave this earth is to have closure on the darkest chapter of my life. Any information you can provide a grieving family would mean the world to us. We’ll ask no questions and offer no judgement. But maybe with enough evidence, we can get her case rekindled.

  God bless,

  Walter

  Riley teared up reading the post written by the man who’d done his best to train Renee to defend herself.

  Tracking down newspaper articles for a thirty-year-old crime proved to be harder than she’d realized. She found short articles here and there, the most recent one from ten years ago on the anniversary of her death, published in the now defunct Better News based out of Silver City.

  Given how tiny both the town and the paper had been, Riley guessed it hadn’t taken much to get the story printed. But she also suspected no one would know it’d been there had they not been looking for it.

  The article went over many of the same things Walter included on his website, but also added a little tidbit of information that made Riley sit up. The park rangers who had come upon the scene after the hiker found Renee’s body had then gone to Orin Jacobs’ house to ask if he knew anything about the woman found dead roughly half a mile from his property. Little did the rangers know then that the quiet, unassuming man would be arrested later that week for the kidnapping of Mindy Cho, and eventually the murder of five missing girls.

  Orin had been ruled out quickly. The MO didn’t fit Orin, and Renee had clearly put up a fight. Orin had shown no sign that he’d been in an altercation just days before.

  Riley wondered how long the effects of pepper spray would last. After a day, would Francis still have felt the pain of it? Riley hoped so.

  She kept searching for some mention of Francis’ name—or Hank, for that matter—but found nothing. Wouldn’t his DNA have been all over her? He wouldn’t have had a record before this, but they would’ve taken a sample after he was convicted of the statutory rape with the thirteen year old. The link in DNA of the two cases should have put him away.

  So why was the asshole still free all these years later, posting smiling pictures online with his friends like he didn’t have a care in the world?

  DNA, according to her next search, hadn’t been actively used in criminal cases in the US until after 1985. Had Renee’s ended up a cold case before DNA testing was readily available?

  She snapped her laptop shut and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  How the hell was she supposed to get Francis Hank Carras behind bars?

  There were already too many people wrongly convicted of crimes they didn’t commit, years—decades—of their lives lost. DNA was starting to help overturn those convictions. Maybe she could find a way to get the opposite to happen to Hank, someone deserving of incarceration who had somehow slipped through the cracks.

  And how the hell was Francis going to lead her to Pete?

  She snatched up her phone and texted Mindy. Do you know who Renee Palmer is?

  The reply came within minutes. No. Should I?

  Wanna meet for lunch again?

  I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re going to tell me. But yeah. When and where?

  Same place?
In an hour?

  Lucky for you, I don’t have a life. See you then.

  It was nearing two in the afternoon.

  After getting ready, she shoved her laptop into her bag and headed out for the Redbird Café.

  Mindy beat her there this time and managed to snag the same table in the corner. “So what’s this about? Who’s Renee Palmer?” Mindy asked, arms folded on the table. She wore a flat leather bracelet on her wrist again.

  Even though they shared a twenty-year age difference, Riley thought they might be friends one day.

  Images from her dream flitted through her head, linking up with the things Mindy had told her when they first met. Mindy’s relaxed demeanor likely wouldn’t last long. “Remember when you told me Hank said he’d ‘done something’?”

  Mindy’s pale skin paled further.

  “I know what it was.”

  The waiter showed up, and she and Mindy hastily gave him their orders.

  When he was gone, Riley launched into the dream. By the end of it, Mindy was in tears. Riley was in tears. Mindy immediately excused herself and hurried to the restroom. Riley felt hollowed out. She hadn’t wanted to upset Mindy; she’d even gone a little lax on the details, unlike Jade, who had gotten the full story.

  But Francis had tried the same thing with Mindy as he had with Renee. Mindy was likely reliving it now. Pulling up those horrible memories even all these years later. Memories of those rough hands wandering skin uninvited.

  Riley’s leg bounced under the table as she waited for her to come back. Hoping she hadn’t fled. The waiter brought their food and it had been sitting there for a good ten minutes before Mindy returned, her lightly freckled face a bit splotchy now.

  “Sorry,” she said, sitting down and using both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Riley said. “I’m sorry I—”

  “You don’t be sorry either,” she said, grabbing her napkin out from under her utensils and then softly blowing her nose. “I just got to thinking …” Her balled fists sat on the edge of the table. Though her gaze was focused on her salad, Riley was sure Mindy wasn’t really seeing it. “I was thinking if I had just let Hank—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Riley snapped.

  Mindy glanced up then, clearly startled.

  “You didn’t owe that little shit anything then, and you don’t now.”

  Mindy pursed her lips. “He told me he’d done something. I knew something was wrong. I could’ve—”

  “No. You couldn’t. I think she’d already died by the time … before he …”

  Mindy pressed the fist still holding the napkin to her mouth, as if that would keep her nausea at bay. “It’s my fault.”

  “No. It’s his fault. He was the one who couldn’t control himself. There’s nothing either one of you did or didn’t do. Renee fought as hard as she could, right until the end. Even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He was the problem, not you. Orin just turned a bad apple even worse.”

  Mindy’s lip quivered. “I know.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I guess I just need to be reminded sometimes.”

  Riley reached across the table and squeezed Mindy’s hand, who relaxed a fraction.

  “So that’s her name, huh?” Mindy asked. “Renee Palmer?”

  “Yeah. Case went cold after a couple years.”

  “How do we nail the bastard for it?”

  Riley grinned. “I don’t know yet.”

  “I’ll help any way I can,” she said. “I shouldn’t have kept quiet this long.”

  Riley shot her a pointed look.

  “Sorry. Blaming myself for everything is a force of habit.”

  When the waiter poked his head out the patio door, Mindy said, “We should probably eat before we give the poor guy a complex.”

  Riley decided she needed to stop having such heavy conversations in public.

  Mindy told Riley about the Crooked Horseshoe and their tour across the United States in an old van. Living off fast food, sleeping in motels with neighbors—often ones who paid by the hour—having loud sex, playing shows where one night the place was packed, and the next it only had three people in it, all drunk and who had no idea where they were, much less who was playing. It didn’t sound like a life Riley would have enjoyed. But Mindy’s face lit up when she talked about it, and Riley found herself smiling too.

  After they finished their food and the waiter had cleared away their plates, Riley said, “So, uh … there’s one other thing …”

  “I’m scared to ask.”

  “One of the investigators from the ranch sent me a couple of EVPs,” Riley said. “I think they’re from Orin.”

  Mindy sat back. “Damn. We really need to have our lunches in bars from now on. I’m too sober for this shit.”

  “Do you want to hear them? I was thinking maybe you could make sense of them.”

  “No, I don’t want to,” she said. “But do you think it’ll help put Hank away?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Hopefully.”

  “Okay, I’ll listen. I’m very likely going to regret this, but I’ll listen anyway.”

  Riley fished her laptop and earbuds out of her bag, then set it up for Mindy. The other woman’s leg bounced so forcibly under the table, the whole thing tottered slightly. Riley couldn’t blame her; she’d heard the EVPs only once each and vowed never to listen to them again if she could help it. How closely did the gravelly voice on the recording sound like Orin?

  She was just about to hand the plugged-in earbuds to Mindy when she pulled her arm back toward herself. “I’m not traumatizing the shit out of you, am I?”

  Mindy gave a full-body shrug. “I was pretty fucking traumatized before I met you.”

  Riley frowned. “I just don’t want to make things worse.”

  “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” Mindy sighed. “Talking to you the other day was more freeing than I thought it’d be. I have a shrink … I talk to her. But … I don’t know. It felt different talking to you. You give a shit. You’re not just listening to me because my fucked-up life is helping pay your mortgage.”

  Riley cocked a brow. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  She grinned. “My shrink thinks I have a rage problem.”

  With a snort, Riley handed over the earbuds. The laptop was set up on the left side of the round table, so they could both see the screen if they awkwardly craned their necks.

  When Mindy gave her the thumbs up, Riley hit play.

  Roughly thirty seconds later, Mindy yanked the earbuds out of her ears. They clanked lightly on the iron surface. “Fuck,” she hissed.

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “Does it … does it sound like him?”

  “It’s … uhh … deeper, I guess? But it’s him.” She stuck the earbuds back in. “Play the other one.”

  Riley did.

  Mindy pulled them out when it ended, breathing deeply. “Hank lying isn’t exactly news.”

  “Do you know what he meant by ‘dark room’?”

  Mindy chewed on her upper lip for a second. “He called the cellar that sometimes. ‘I’m going to the dark room for a while,’ he’d say before locking me in my room.”

  “But he didn’t always call it that?”

  “No. Sometimes the cellar, sometimes the dark room.”

  Were they the same place?

  “Did you stalk Francis online after I told you his full name?” Riley asked.

  “Hell no. What if he could trace it somehow?”

  “Do you want to see him?”

  Mindy fidgeted, chewing on her upper lip. Then she thrust her chin at the computer. “Show me.”

  Riley clicked out of her email and switched to her browser, pulling up Francis’ social media feed.

  Mindy was quiet as she scrolled through the pictures. Finally, she said, voice soft and a little faraway, “You can tell his nose never healed right. It’s kinda lopsided.” She reached up and ten
tatively touched the screen. “He looks so normal. Still really good looking.”

  “I know.” Thinking back to her dream, Riley said, “He’s a monster with a pretty face.”

  While they looked through his page, a red 1 popped up at the top of the screen. A new friend request.

  Mindy and Riley looked at each other, then the screen again, having noticed the notification at the same time.

  “You don’t think …” Mindy started.

  “My profile is almost all private.” Then a thought hit her. “You can’t actually trace who looks at your page, can you? I thought you were just being paranoid.”

  “Gee, thanks. And I don’t know. Isn’t the government watching us through our TVs now or something?”

  Riley laughed, but it was halfhearted. She was going to throw her TV out the window when she got home.

  “Do it,” Mindy said. “Friend him back. We’re gonna have to have contact with him to get his ass caught, aren’t we?”

  “There’s the real Mindy. I knew she was in there somewhere,” Riley said, eyeing her. “What do I say, though? ’Sup, Francis. You murder a girl back in 1983?’”

  “No,” Mindy said with a laugh. “No one says ’sup.”

  Riley chewed on a thumbnail, then clicked the notification. After all, it wasn’t necessarily Francis.

  But it was.

  “Shit,” they said in unison.

  Before she could convince herself not to, Riley hit accept.

  Curiosity sent her on another internet search. They found a way to track the people who interacted with your page the most. Which included views, even if you weren’t friends.

  “Look up mine,” Mindy said.

  Riley didn’t like the panicky edge to her voice, but she logged out of her page and let Mindy log into her own. Pulling up Mindy’s stats, there, at the top of the list, was Francis.

  “Goddammit,” Mindy muttered. “He can’t know it’s me, right? I don’t even have a picture of myself up there.”

  “I don’t know,” Riley said. “Maybe he obsessively checks the pages of all the Mindy Chos in the area.”

  “Because that’s a comforting thought,” Mindy said. “I’ve updated my location several times over the years,” she said softly, almost like a confession. “What if he’s been following me online and now knows I’m back here?”