by Gregg Olsen
“I worked on the floor with those little kids for ten years before some idiot in Olympia decided to turn the facility into a home for troubled kids—throwaway kids, they called ‘em. I hated the very idea of it... special needs didn't sound much better, it set them apart. These kids, at least most of them, could have done a lot better if they weren't set apart from the rest of the world.”
She directed us behind a building that had once been the school's steam plant.
“Park here,” she instructed.
I pulled the Honda into a space and turned off the ignition.
“Sad to think of anyone as a throwaway anything,” Valerie said as she turned in her seat to face the old lady.
Nurse Watson nodded. “I always thought so. I always saw good and value in every kid that came in through those double doors. From the beginning with all those babies, to the end to those mixed up kids from the other side of the mountains. Even after they sent us the fire starters and the stomach carvers.”
Nurse Watson explained that in the early 1990s, Maplewood dropped another notch lower. For a two-year period, the doors were swung open to offer supervised shelter to children with severe emotional issues. Some of the kids had been abused in the worst ways a human being could conjure; some had been neglected by the cruelly indifferent. All had been through the hellish system called family court and had been sentenced to serve time—a prison sentence—really, at Maplewood.
I didn't know it had been a reformatory and I said so to the blue cotton candy-haired nurse's aide.
“It was only a corrections institution—that's what we were supposed to call it—for eighteen months. Jett came to us during that time. She came and stayed. She was lonely. God knew she had some issues. Her mother and sister came a few times. And her father... the poor mixed-up girl never came to terms with what happened to him.”
Mrs. Watson told us that after the state's trial run of using Maplewood as a kid's jail ran its course, most of the kids were shipped off to the boys' and girls' institutions on the west side of the mountains. The move made sense, in many ways. Most of the kids came from the cities and towns along the coast.
“A few petitioned to the state for their kids to stay here at Maplewood. Mrs. Carter was one of those who wanted her daughter to stay right where she was. Jett took it hard, but she told me she understood. I always thought it was because Connie didn't want to see her daughter that often.”
“A mountain range between the two of them suited her just fine, right?”
“Exactly. I had great hope for the girl. When she turned twenty-one and was eligible for release, I was optimistic. For me, the greatest hope came from the fact that her mother and sister were in prison at that time. Hooray! I hate to say it and I'm glad that they didn't kill anyone. I don't wish anyone ill will. But Jett needed to start over. Completely over. You understand? A fresh start. She needed to get out of here. She had a boyfriend at the institution and involvement with him wasn't doing her any good. He was released six months before she was and I was glad. She was a nice kid. As far as a nanny for your kids, you couldn't ask for a better one. There's a gentle heart in that girl.”
Valerie and I could have asked a million questions, but we were too shocked to think of any. The reason there had been so little about Jett in the book I was writing was because no one knew her. No one had seen her since she was eleven. I wondered if Raines knew about her incarceration at Maplewood. What had the girl done to deserve a decade of court-ordered supervision?
I tried to call Raines from my cell phone but we were out of range. It was almost 4 p.m. I knew our girls would be home from school and getting ready for Halloween. God, I almost forgot it was Halloween! I imagined the girls running around the house in the last minute Trick or Treating frenzy. Taylor was going as an American Idol contestant, all messed hair and attitude, and Hayley was dressing in a bright green leotard and sweatshirt, a dill pickle—free range, I presumed.
It was Hayley who answered after I went back inside and dialed from the Maplewood office phone.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hayley, don't tell anyone where we are. I mean anyone where we are. Okay?”
I didn't want to alarm Jett. She had kept the secret of her incarceration at Maplewood for a reason, embarrassment probably. I would leave it out of the book.
“Is Jett there?” I asked as casually as I could.
“Yeah, right here. You want to talk to her?”
“No. Just let her know we'll be home soon. Been out taking pictures of the fall foliage.”
“I'm not a tattletale, but Taylor is hogging all of Mom's makeup.”
“You girls share, all right?”
I didn't tell them to stay out of Val's stuff. I didn't want to fight a losing battle over the phone. I promised we'd be home in time to go Trick or Treating that evening. I was certain that after Hayley hung up she trotted down the hall to tell her sister that I said it was her turn with the makeup. I could hear it all the way from Maplewood
“Dad says you're in trouble. Big trouble.”
♦
THE DAY-LONG RAIN HAD SENT FIFTEEN cubic yards of mud and rock over the westbound lanes of the highway across the mountains. It was not a major slide and the traffic inched past it. It did cost us time. At five-thirty, the cell phone once more within range, I called Martin Raines at home. I knew that unless he was at the gym, he'd be there. He was. April put him on the line. I told him what Valerie and I had learned at Maplewood.
“No shit?” he said. “I had no idea.”
I asked if he'd look into Jett's file—if one existed—to see what he could scare up.
“I don't feel good about relying on a source so heavily when they aren't one hundred percent truthful. She's the book's hero, for crying out loud.”
“I thought I was the hero,” he shot back.
I had dug myself in a bad spot. “You are. You are the cop hero. There's always got to be a family hero, too. Like the big brother in Deadly Score.”
Raines bought it. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Hey, I'm going in to get my racquetball gear. I'm off tomorrow. I'll look into it.”
I thanked him and told him that if he turned up anything to sit tight. Val and I would detour a bit to get to Timberlake.
Valerie and I stopped at a McDonalds drive-thru where the mountain highway met the interstate. It was six p.m. We'd be home around nine. Thankfully, we had missed the bulk of commuter traffic. I had Chicken McNuggets and put the sauce between my legs, so that I could continue to drive and eat at the same time. Valerie dipped the chicken into the hot mustard.
“Hey, I could learn to like this,” I joked as her hand brushed against me.
“Bet you could. Should have ordered the twelve-piece.”
We laughed. And I drove on to the Edmonds ferry, and on to Port Gamble, wondering how I could have ever doubted her. How I could have ever thought she could have killed anyone. I was a lucky man.
Chapter Forty-one
Late Thursday, October 31
OUR HOUSE WAS DARK AND STILL. A single light glowed from the porch as I went to the front door. The happy faces of my daughters' oh-so-perfectly-bland jack-o-lanterns had burned out. Val went around the house to the backyard to get Hedda, who was barking intermittently. I went to the front door where I found a Tupperware bowl filled with a dozen full-sized Hershey bars. Please take one only! Happy Halloween! read a card taped to the front of the brimming plastic container. I knew instantly it was Taylor who had made out the card. All of the o's had been fashioned with smiley faces. Taylor had been going through that phase for the past few weeks.
“They should be home by ten. I doubt Jett knows as many of the good neighborhoods as I do. Besides, tomorrow is a school day,” I said when I met Val inside.
A flashing red light indicated two messages on the machine. The first was from Gina, our neighbor.
“Girls, pick up! Pick up. Cecile's still in makeup and is running a few minutes late. I'm going to give her a hot do
g and we'll be right down. See you soon!”
In the background I could hear Cecile's chirp, “My mom wants all of the candy corn we get!”
The second was from Martin Raines.
“Kever, call me when you get in. I can't find your cell phone number.”
I dialed his home phone and April told me that he was out with their kids Trick or Treating.
“Marty swears it'll be his last year,” she said, though it was clear she doubted it. “I'll have him call you when he gets back.”
“You want me to drive around and look for them?” Val asked when I got off the phone.
I shook my head and lied. “I'm sure they're having a good time, getting the basis for tomorrow's dental expenses. They'll be home soon. Let's sit tight. Jett is all right. Her problems are in the past. She's a friend.”
Gina and Cecile showed up about a half hour later. Cecile was dressed as a witch. She tinted her skin with lime Jell-O and she smelled of it.
“Where are Taylor and Hayley?” Gina asked.
“And Jett?” Cecile added.
“I thought they were with you, Gina.” I said.
Valerie pricked up her ears. She knew something was wrong and I knew that worried look on my wife's face all too well. I was usually the source of it.
Gina made a face. “We were running a little late so I guess they left without us. I thought they'd be back by now.”
I could feel my heart freefall.
“But Cecile always goes with the girls,” Val said. “They wouldn't have it any other way. They were looking forward to going with her—and Jett.”
Gina went to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of licorice tea in the microwave. “Yeah, that's what we thought, too. But when we got down here they were already gone.”
Neither Gina nor her daughter seemed alarmed. Cecile turned her pillowcase upside down and dumped its contents. A rainbow of candies spread over the floor.
“I got more than last year!”
Where are our girls? Be calm. Be calm. They are out with a friend.
Val and I said nothing more about our worries, nothing about what we had learned at Maplewood. Gina drank her tea and Val and I took turns answering the door and dispensing the candy from the Tupperware bowl. Each time the bell rang, we hoped our girls would be outside, tricking us by pressing the doorbell instead of coming right in. Every kid in America did that as they came home to the parent that had been stuck at the house passing out treats.
And just before ten, as Cecile and Gina were packing up to leave, the phone rang. It was Martin Raines. I waved goodbye to our neighbors and motioned Val to the phone.
“I got something,” he said. “I don't know how interesting it'll be to you, but it's all I could find. I found it in an incident report under Jett's father's name.”
“Did you know Buzz Carter supposedly jumped off the River Bridge?”
“Yeah. She told me about it. So did Connie.”
“Did you know she was there?”
“Connie?”
“No, Jett.”
My eyes met Valerie's. It was the instant of recognition that something terrible, far worse than I had imagined was happening.
“Go on,” was all I said.
“The man was drunk. God, his blood alcohol was through the roof. A guy—let's see—some mill-head reported that he saw a little girl lead him to the middle of the bridge...and push.”
I was flabbergasted. “What? I'm not sure I heard you right.”
“You heard me. The witness said he thought he saw the little girl push her father off the bridge. She ran off to a waiting car. The witness had been drinking and wasn't sure what he saw. The guy disappeared before investigators could get to him a second time. There were a few other notations that backed up the wife's theory that her husband had been a no-good drunk and her daughter was asleep at the Seahorse Motor Inn where they kept a room. So it was dropped.”
Valerie was practically on top of me, straining to hear what Raines was saying.
“The girl went nuts and her mom turned her over to the state and they sent her to Maplewood. Committed her...until she turned twenty-one.”
“How could that be?”
“Ten years ago it wasn't so hard. Lots of folks with a bone to pick got rid of their kids. Connie got a court order to protect her and Janet from Jett. She said she was afraid for their lives. She had wounds to prove her case. That's what got her from foster care, then to Maplewood, at least I'm guessing. I'm filling in the gaps, because there are an awful lot of them.”
“Martin, she's out Trick or Treating with my kids,” I said.
There was a long silence on the phone.
“As long as she doesn't know you know anything, there's probably nothing to be concerned about. Up until you knew this, you didn't view her as a threat, did you?”
I had not. I hated the fact that because of her past, I now considered her less than what I knew to be true. I liked her. We all liked her. People change. I tried to convince myself Jett Carter was not a danger to Taylor and Hayley.
I could feel my composure slipping. I fought hard. I didn't want my voice to break. I had to be strong, but I was afraid.
“Martin, I hate to admit it, but I'm worried.” I tried to stay as calm as I could. “I'm very concerned.”
He told me to call back if the girls weren't home soon. He'd put out the word as soon as he could—officially, twenty-four hours after they were last seen. He consoled me that the girls would probably be home with stories to tell about Trick or Treating in every subdivision on the peninsula.
As I told Valerie what he said, I absentmindedly fiddled with the Caller ID button on the cordless phone. Val did her best to remain calm. Jett's lies were a protection for herself. She was not a danger to our girls. She loved them. Jett had lied for no other reason than to give herself a better chance at being judged for who she was now. She didn't know we had uncovered something from her past; she was entitled to keep it secret. She had been treated, and by God, she was well now. I fibbed to myself again and again.
“It just makes me wonder if she could have lied about other things as well,” Val said.
“I know—” I stopped talking. A name popped up on the Caller ID and it sent a chill down my spine.
“MPLWD INST” stared at me like the dead eyes of a snake. It took me a second to decipher it, like some goofy vanity plate that made no sense to anyone but the vehicle's driver.
Dear God, I had called from Maplewood.
I turned to my wife.
“Val, I think Jett knows what we know.”
Chapter Forty-two
Later Thursday, October 31
I HAD NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD BE one of those people on television pleading with the public for information about his missing child or children. I had told my girls from day one the rules of safety when it came to strangers. Our favorite show from the time they could watch TV from behind a baby bottle was America's Most Wanted. My mother thought her grandchildren had no business watching that “trash.” But I disagreed. I saw no harm in letting my daughters know that there were dangers in the world. Real danger. I told Hayley and Taylor that most of the mysteries involving missing kids would never have happened if their parents taught their children to stay away from neighborhood weirdoes.
“We'll have no milk carton kids in this family,” I had often remarked.
I had even gone to the elementary school and talked about safety. I was the goddamn Block Watch captain for our neighborhood. And yet, I had screwed up. I had screwed up big-time. I had let my guard down and my girls were gone in the night.
I could not wait for Raines and the county sheriff's office to help me. I could not wait for anyone. It had been six hours, maybe more, since Taylor and Hayley went off Trick or Treating with Jett Carter. Val stayed home to be near the phone and I drove the LUV to Timberlake. I had not slept; I had not even tried. My eyes were drawn apart like slits, like off-brand Kmart mini blinds jammed open forever. Vomit had
burned my throat and my stomach heaved as if something more could come up. I knew there was nothing left inside of me. I was empty. I had never felt emptier in my entire life.
I drove as fast as I could. I didn't care if I got another ticket. I almost hoped a cop would pull me over. I needed help. I needed a police escort. My girls were gone.
I punched the buttons on the radio desperately seeking a news account of our plight. But there was none. Radio, usually the first to jump on an abduction case because the medium needed no visuals, had been cool. One reporter, a supposed friend I had called for help, had the cruel audacity to ask if my story was a publicity stunt for a book I was working on. I wished I were that clever.
“Tell me the truth. I'll still play with you on it, but I gotta know.”
If the interview had been face-to-face rather than over the phone, I would be fleeing from a murder scene instead of searching for my missing daughters.
I turned down the street o Jett's apartment and parked in the back. I carried a flashlight and a screwdriver from my glove box. It flashed through my mind that Ted Bundy had kept the same tools in his famous VW. If I couldn't get inside with a screwdriver shoved into the doorjamb, I planned on breaking a window. A Pierce County Sheriff's business card fluttered from the door frame and fell into the remains of a smashed pumpkin.
MARTIN RAINES, CHIEF INVESTIGATOR
Marty had been over to see Jett, but she hadn't been home. Or, she hadn't answered the door.
I turned the knob to the right and then left. It was locked. I stuck the flathead screwdriver into the thin space between the doorknob and the jamb and pushed. Harder. I twisted it. I could feel the wood crunch. I pried again. The knob became loose, but still I couldn't push it open. Another twist and I slammed my shoulder against it. The door creaked open and I slowly went inside. I could sense that I was alone, but the empty room still made me jumpy.
