The Only Witness

by Pamela Beason

  Since they'd put the home phone number on Facebook, the phone rang all day, every day. They turned off the ringer at night, but the answering machine still responded. They didn't even pick up the phone any more, just copied the messages off the old-fashioned recorder several times a day. Some people left messages saying they were praying for Ivy. Some people said they'd seen her somewhere—those always turned out to be some other baby. Some people said God was punishing them. Today, a so-called psychic left a message saying that Ivy's fate was in the hands of a black-haired stranger.

  When her mother tiptoed out of her bedroom, Brittany could still hear Ivy crying out there, somewhere in the black night.

  Chapter 14

  One week after Ivy disappears

  Single-wide trailers, sheds and an outdoor enclosure completely surrounded by a security fence lent 214 Cheyenne Creek Road the air of a hideout. A gray van was parked on gravel near the barn. Yep, it had mirrored windows, and on its side, Talking Hands Ranch was painted in fading white script.

  The public phone at the convenience store had yielded only fingerprints that weren't in AFIS, but it could very well be that some of the prints belonged to Dr. Grace McKenna. It had taken two days of playing phone tag with the University of Washington to locate Dr. McKenna and the van. It was odd how most people there had never heard of her.

  She was setting up a research center on a piece of donated land near Evansburg, the psychology department secretary said. This place looked more like a militia compound than a research center.

  Grace McKenna had no record other than an arrest for trespass during a political protest when she was twenty years old. But you never knew what you might be walking into. Finn wondered if perhaps he should have brought some uniforms with him. However, it was broad daylight, and a squad of cops might have been too intimidating for a little retarded girl.

  In the leather case under his arm was a tape recorder, a camera, a notepad and pens, and a single red rose in a plastic cylinder. Despite being childless, he was good with kids. McKenna—he was now reasonably sure it had been she who called—had told him her ward was twelve years old, with the IQ of a five-year-old. No matter her mental status, twelve meant hormones had started to flow. He wasn't a bad-looking guy, old enough to be Romeo's father but more or less fitting the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype. Perhaps he could charm his way into this kid's heart and she'd tell him everything she knew about Ivy Rose Morgan.

  A creature moved in the small wooden barn as he passed. The animal sounded big; he heard a snort. The doors were bolted shut. The horse probably wanted to come out into the fenced area but couldn't. The fenced area was completely enclosed, with wire mesh overhead and a rope net stretched up across one corner. Maybe Dr. McKenna kept birds, too? He'd interviewed a veterinarian once who specialized in raptors; their pen had been similar.

  A sob caught his attention. A woman, probably late thirties, with long dark hair pulled into a low ponytail, sat on the metal steps of an old single-wide trailer, tears spilling down her cheeks as she read a sheet of paper. By her elbow sat a yellow plastic tub, filled with a cabbage, a loaf of bread, a jug of liquid, and a clipboard standing on end. The woman sobbed again, shook the piece of paper, and said loudly, "Goddamn you, you spineless bastards!"

  "Hello?" he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She bolted up off the step, definitely startled. After eyeing him for a few seconds, she wiped her fingers over her cheeks, inhaled, and said, "Are you lost? Can I help you?" Her gaze darted around the compound, to the barn, and then back to the trailer she'd just left, indicating they were probably not alone. He probably should have asked for backup.

  "Dr. Grace McKenna?" She fit the description on the DMV record.

  She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Who are you?"

  He pulled his badge from his pocket. "Detective Matthew Finn. Sorry if it's a bad time."

  For a second she looked as if she might cry again, but then she waved a hand dismissively in the air and said in a strangled tone, "Have we met?"

  "You called a couple of days ago to report a witness to the Morgan kidnapping, didn't you?"

  "That was supposed to be an anonymous call."

  "Lives are at stake."

  "Yes, they are," she said, sounding defensive. Above her reddened cheeks, her gaze was unflinching. "I gave you all the information I had in that phone call."

  "Sometimes—"

  A loud thump sounded from the barn behind him, and it was his turn to jump. He shot a look at the building. Nothing looked different. He turned back. "What's in there? A horse?"

  McKenna pressed her lips together in a quivering line and smoothed her hair back from her brow with her left hand. "Look," she said. "You're right, it is a bad time. I need to get back to work. Maybe I could come to your office tomorrow?"

  No way was he going to let her shuffle him off like that. Something fishy was going on here. "Can we talk for just a minute?"

  She anxiously eyed the trailer behind her, then turned back to him. Scuffling sounds followed by another snort erupted from the barn, and she put a hand on his arm. "Over here," she said, urging him toward a picnic table under a big cottonwood between the two trailers. She picked up the tub and brought it and the piece of paper with her.

  Grace McKenna had ivory skin, hazel eyes, and long dark hair. She might have been pretty except for her watery eyes and a thin scar that ran from her right nostril down through her upper lip. He wondered what she'd been crying about; she placed the paper she'd been reading face down on the picnic table. Another thump and a snort came from the barn.

  "What do you have in there?" he jerked his chin over his shoulder to indicate the building behind them. "A stallion?"

  "He probably thinks he is." She gestured toward the bench.

  "Feel free to let him out," Finn sat down. "I like horses."

  "That's okay." She sat down on the other side of the table. "I only have a few minutes, Detective, before I need to get to work. I told you everything I know in the call. There's nothing else I can do for you."

  He leaned forward. "Actually, I came to speak to your ward."

  "I'm sorry, that's not possible." He sensed she was making an effort not to look at the trailer behind her.

  "Is she here?" He studied the single-wide. A dark shape appeared at the rightmost window, then quickly vanished. "I just saw someone at the window. What's her name?"

  Grace McKenna stared at the scarred tabletop for a minute, sighed heavily, and then met his gaze. "Her name is Neema. But as I explained, she's got the IQ of a five-year-old."

  "Five-year-olds can be pretty observant."

  "And she can't speak."

  Perhaps the child wasn't retarded, then, but brain-damaged in some other way. "Is Neema deaf?"

  "No, but she cannot speak. She uses sign language to communicate."

  "Then you can translate."

  She shook her head, loosening a wisp of dark hair that sprang forward across her left cheek. She tucked it back behind her ear. "I told you everything she told me."

  "I still need to talk to her."

  A loud series of snorts and thumps erupted from the barn, and they both turned. The noise grew in volume and intensity. The sides of the wooden building visibly shook with each blow.

  McKenna rose from her bench. "I've got to go before he tears the place apart. I can't do anything for you, Detective."

  Time for the bad cop routine. He stood up and crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving until I speak to Neema."

  She glared at him for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "Guess I can't call the cops to have you thrown off my property, can I?"

  Turning, she trotted toward the fenced enclosure, carrying her plastic tub. She pulled out a key on a retractable wire from her belt, and then let herself in through a padlocked gate and closed it carefully behind her. She called out, "Coming, Gumu."

  He followed, stopping outside the fence. He was half afraid that Grace McKenna would dis
appear within the barn, but instead she pulled back the bolt on the wooden door and stood back. A gigantic black hulk rushed out, nearly bowling her over. Slowly Finn's mind shifted from horse to bear, and then, as he blinked in disbelief, to gorilla. Gorilla? He involuntarily took a step backwards. Undeniably, it was a gorilla, and a huge one at that. Grabbing the cabbage from the tub, it swung itself up onto the net and curled up, gnawing on the cabbage head as if it were an apple.

  McKenna wrote something down on her clipboard, laid the other items on the ground near the barn door, and then retrieved her tub and exited through the gate again, taking care to fasten the padlock. She gave it a tug to make sure it was secure before she turned around.

  "You have a gorilla." As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he felt like an idiot. Nothing like stating the obvious to make a professional impression.

  She put one hand on her hip and gave him a cool stare. "There's no law against having gorillas here."

  He'd have to check on that. He'd never come across this situation before. "Uh, why do you have a gorilla, Dr. McKenna?"

  Her expression was guarded. "I do communications research. Gumu"—she pointed at the gorilla in the net—"is an orphan from Africa."

  "I've seen the specials on television." Another only slightly less idiotic thing to say.

  She nodded and then raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. They both watched the big gorilla chew the cabbage for a moment. Grace McKenna came only up to his chin, and she'd gone in that cage with that huge ape. Gorillas in rural Washington. Who would have expected that?

  He finally remembered why he was standing there. "I still need to talk to your ward," he said.

  She turned to study him for a long moment. Finally, she seemed to make up her mind and gestured toward the trailer. "Might as well get this over with."

  The outside door opened into a kitchen. There was a chain and padlock on the refrigerator, and a keyed deadbolt on a side door that led to the rest of the trailer. What the hell? McKenna set the tub in the sink, washed her hands, and then picked up her clipboard and, pulling a key out from her belt again, unlocked the interior door. Surreptitiously, Finn reached under his jacket and unsnapped the safety strap on his holster as he followed her over the threshold.

  The living room was in shambles. Orange peels, a National Geographic magazine, and a toy alligator were strewn across the rug. A huge pile of blankets were heaped in one corner. The place smelled a little funky. McKenna was clearly not the best of housekeepers. But Finn had searched crack houses and homeless squats; this level of grunge was nothing in comparison.

  He sat down on the couch, flipping out his jacket tail so it hung loosely over his pistol. Then he unzipped his case and pulled out the rose in its plastic cylinder. "I brought a little present for Neema."

  The pile of blankets in the corner suddenly shape-shifted. He found himself staring at another gorilla. In the same room. No more than twenty feet away. With no netting or bars in between them. A gorilla twice his size. He found it difficult to breathe. A blanket hung over the animal's huge black head in an attitude that might have looked funny on another occasion. The creature's eyes were red-brown, and they were locked on his face as intensely as his gaze was locked on the gorilla's. He slowly moved his right hand to the pistol on his belt.

  McKenna's hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and he almost jumped out of the seat. "Do not pull out your gun, Detective. She's gentle, but that might make her freak out. Just relax. Take a breath."

  He tried to relax, but the way the gorilla eyed him made tranquility difficult to achieve. The ape raised its head. Its wide nostrils flared as it sniffed the air. God, was it sniffing him out? He remembered a television show in which wild chimpanzees had killed and eaten a baboon. Why in the hell did his brain serve up trivia like that right now? He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

  "How many gorillas do you have?" he asked. Was it possible that there was a whole gorilla colony just outside of Evansburg?

  "Only two." Her hand left his shoulder and she moved to the side of the couch, gesturing to the gorilla as she spoke. "This is a good man. A friend."

  "Yeah, friend," he said in the animal's general direction. As if words would keep the enormous creature from ripping his head off. The woman was clearly off her rocker. "Umm, McKenna, is there another room where I could speak to your ward?" A room without an ape loose in it?

  She gestured to the gorilla. "Come meet Detective Finn." She pointed at him.

  The monster scooted forward. Finn leaned back, mashing the cushions against the frame. He wondered how quickly he could vault over the back of the sofa.

  The animal's eyes focused on the flower he held. The gorilla moved its huge black hands in the air and then slapped itself on its leathery chest with a small 'huh.'

  "She wants to know if the flower's for her," McKenna told him.

  His hands shook a little as he opened the plastic cylinder and extracted the single red rose. "This flower is for Neema," he told the gorilla, enunciating carefully. As if that would make it go away. As if telling Cargo that the food was for cats made the dog stop drooling on the floor.

  A huge hairy hand snatched the flower from his fingers, and the gorilla scooted backwards as quickly as it had launched itself forward.

  "Hey!" he yelped.

  The creature twirled the rose between its black leathery fingers in a delicate movement worthy of a flamenco dancer, held the flower to its huge nostrils and inhaled audibly. Then the rose vanished between its rubbery lips, and the bare stem emerged seconds later. The gorilla chewed as it made a motion with its empty hand, first touching its chin and then holding a leathery black palm upward in his direction.

  "Neema says thank you."

  Neema? This was Neema? He felt as if he'd been booted off a precipice into an alien world. He turned toward McKenna.

  "This is how you say 'You're welcome'." She gestured. "Try it, Detective."

  He copied her gesture. The gorilla dropped the rose stem on the carpet, tapped its chin and shoved a palm forward again, then brushed its nose as if smelling a flower and ended with a thump on the chest, looking eagerly in his direction. The intensity of those ape eyes was disturbing.

  McKenna interrupted their staring contest. "She wants to know if you have another flower for her."

  Finn realized his mouth was open and made the effort to shut it without biting his tongue. After another minute of glancing back and forth between the woman and the gorilla, he found his voice. "I only brought one flower."

  She signed to the gorilla, which made a huffing sound, picked up an orange peel from the floor and placed it on its head like a tiny cap. It looked ridiculous, but it seemed like less of a monster that way.

  Dr. McKenna smiled and turned in his direction. "Well, now that we're all friends, what would you like to ask Neema?"

  Feeling as if he were an actor in some surreal play, he reached for his notes. He'd talked to invisible friends of schizophrenics to get information; used puppets to question children who found an adult's questions too intimidating. Perhaps pretending to interview a gorilla was the way to get more information from this mad woman scientist.

  Grace McKenna studied Detective Finn. The man didn't take his eyes off Neema except for shooting a few glances in Grace's direction. His neck and jaw were rigid. He'd removed his fingers from his pistol, but his hand remained poised in the air only an inch away.

  So it was going to happen; her gorilla was going to have a conversation with an outsider who'd never heard of signing apes. Grace always thought she'd have more time to prepare for this.

  "You're telling me that this ape reported the kidnapping?" Finn's gaze shifted sideways to connect with hers. Neema leaned forward to snatch a magazine off the table and Finn's focus shot back to the gorilla.

  "I wouldn't use those words. She told me about seeing a baby taken by a man."

  He turned his head toward her, but his gaze kept sliding back to Neema,
keeping an eye on her out of the corner of his eye. "The Morgan baby disappeared a week ago. Why didn't you report it then?"

  "It took me a while to understand what she was saying."

  Neema sat on the floor, holding the magazine open with her feet and turning pages with her hands. She stopped on a page that featured a lush bouquet of roses and lilies. She signed to herself, then focused on Finn and gestured.

  "What's it doing?" Detective Finn's voice was tense.

  "Her, not it. She noticed the flowers in the magazine and said Good flower sweet eat. Now she wants to know if you have another flower for her."

  "I already said I didn't."

  Neema scooted closer to Finn. She tilted her head, intently examining his features and his clothing.

  "What?" he said nervously. "What does it—she—want?" He lifted his hand toward his gun again.

  Neema hooted and scooted back, signing Gun bad gun.

  "Please lower your hand. She's worried about your gun."

  The connection of Finn's gaze with Grace's was rapid, but long enough to tell her he thought she was crazy.

  Gun bad run away, Neema signed. She stood poised on all fours as if she was about to follow her own advice. She was also eyeing a footstool, which made Grace anxious. Neema had thrown furniture at visitors she didn't like. Grace quickly strode to her. She patted Neema on the shoulder, then signed as she spoke. "It's okay, Neema, you don't have to run away."

  The whites of Neema's eyes showed, and she was breathing too quickly.

  "He won't touch the gun," Grace promised.

  Neema looked doubtful, but slowly inched closer to Finn again, her gaze raking him from head to foot. Finn stiffened.

  Grace laughed. "Relax, Detective. Haven't you ever had a kid stare at you?"

  "Kids, yeah. Not an ape."

  "It's pretty much the same. Gorillas have the mental capacity of five-year-old children."