“Lucas,” she says, sounding surprised. “How are you?”
“Well, I’m fine, ma’am, but …”
“Has something happened?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s another girl missing here.”
“Oh, my God, not again. Who is it?”
“Her name is Rhonda Getty. I believe she’s twelve or thirteen years old.”
“This is terrible …”
“Look, Mrs. Paige, I know it’s asking a lot, but is there any chance you could come up here?”
“Well … I suppose I could, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t get much of a reception from Sergeant Yates.”
“It wouldn’t be in an official capacity, of course,” I point out. “The sergeant wouldn’t even have to know you’re here if you don’t want him to.”
“When did this happen, Lucas?”
“Just yesterday. She was on her way to the school bus when she vanished.”
“Do they think it’s the same perpetrator as in Anne Marie’s case?”
“Nobody has said as much but it’s an obvious deduction.”
“No suspects then?”
“You remember Deborah Miller, the lady who was with me when I visited you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yates has arrested Deborah’s brother, Harold. He’s a bit… mentally challenged I believe the term is. I don’t know what they have on him but I do know a witness spotted Harold with the girl shortly before she disappeared. As far as I know, though, he hadn’t admitted to anything at the time he was taken into custody.”
“My goodness. Poor Deborah.”
“It’s just that I was thinking if you had a chance to immerse yourself into the scene early on it might make a difference. Maybe the girl is alive and if we---”
“Yes, I understand.” I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head through the telephone line as she pauses. “I’ll come up right away,” she says finally.
“That’s wonderful. Thank you so much. I’ll cover any expenses you incur of course, and pay you whatever you think is reasonable for your time.”
“We won’t worry about that, Lucas. Money is really not an issue for me. And my husband is involved in a golf tournament right now so I won’t be missed around here anyway. I could leave first thing in the morning.”
“Terrific. I’ll arrange a room for you at the hotel. It’s not much but it’s all we’ve got I'm afraid.”
“That’ll be fine.”
I give her the phone number at the garage. “Call me when you get in.”
“I should be there sometime in the afternoon.”
“I’ll see you then. And thank you again.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she says somberly.
****
Despite her wishes to the contrary, Thelma Paige’s arrival in Cutter’s Grove does not go unnoticed. The appearance of a bright red, top-of-the-line, current-model-year Jaguar - whose value is roughly the equivalent of the entire town - couldn’t help but have an effect on the townspeople. When Thelma calls me late in the afternoon she tells me she’s watching from her hotel room window as a crowd gathers around the vehicle below her. “I feel like a fool driving that thing,” she says with disdain, “but Roger took the Navigator on his golf tournament and left me with no choice. I know it’s the last thing in the world I should have driven if I wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “It’s not likely we could have kept your presence here a secret anyway.”
“When should we meet?” she asks.
“The sooner the better. Would you like to rest for awhile first?”
“I would like to freshen up a little. I’ll be ready in an hour,” she says.
“How about we meet for an early dinner and go over how we should proceed?”
“That sounds good, Lucas. I’d like you to arrange a meeting for me with the missing child’s parents if you could, too.”
“Her father was killed several years ago in an accident. There’s just the mother. I’ll take care of it.”
“See you in an hour,” she says.
I call Beth and bring her up to speed on what’s happening. “I’ve got to work,” she says, “so I won’t be able to join you for dinner.”
“That’s okay, we’ll link up after.”
“Have you heard any more about Harold?”
“Yeah, Yates told me he’s been arrested. He’s being held in Tehachapi at the moment. Deborah is there with him.”
“That poor woman. She must be going through hell.”
“I guess. I wish we knew what, if anything, Harold has said to the police. I can’t believe he’d harm a child.”
“Me either,” Beth says. “But for what it’s worth, Rhonda Getty was not the nicest little girl in the world you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that she was kind of a snotty little thing. Always making fun of other kids and stuff. The kind of kid you’d see in a store and she’d stick her tongue out at you just to be perverse.”
I’m reminded of Deborah’s description of Rhonda’s aura when Herb had eyeballed her at the pharmacy. Her rude behavior might well have been responsible for Herb’s sudden look of fury. “Do you think she may have tormented Harold and he overreacted by attacking her?”
“I don’t know but it’s not an impossibility,” Beth allows.
“Anyway, Thelma asked me to arrange a meeting for her with Shirley Getty so I’d better get on it.”
“Good luck,” she says. “I’ll see you later.”
I decide calling Shirley Getty on the phone is not the way to go about arranging an appointment for her with a psychic. It’s a short walk to her house and Victor looks like he could use the exercise. “Come on, fatso, we’re going for a walk,” I tell him. He gets to his feet and follows me out.
We arrive at the Getty home and I knock on the front door several times before getting a response. When Shirley eventually comes to the door I’m shocked at how much she’s aged since I saw her last. “Yes?” she says looking at me with dead eyes.
“Mrs. Getty, I’m Lucas Tunney. We met briefly a while back.”
“Yes … what is it?”
“Well, ma’am, I wonder if I could have a talk with you. It won’t take long---”
“This is not a good time for me,” she says, about to close the door .
“Please, Mrs. Getty, it’s about your daughter.”
Immediately her demeanor changes. “Rhonda? You’ve found her?”
“No, no we haven’t Mrs. Getty. But … well, I’d like to talk to you about trying something that might help in finding her.”
“Come in,” she says.
I tell Victor to lie down and wait for me.
When I enter the hallway Mrs. Getty motions me into the living room. “Please, have a seat,” she says.
“That’s okay,” I tell her, “I’ll only be a minute. I know this is very much out of the ordinary, but I’ve been in touch with a woman named Thelma Paige. She---”
“Thelma Paige?” she says, “The psychic?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“She helped the police with the search for Anne Marie Alvarro.”
“Yes, she did.”
“Is she here? Is she willing to help me?”
“Yes, she is, Mrs. Getty. She got in to town just a few minutes ago and she’s very anxious to meet with you.”
“That’s wonderful,” Shirley says, brightening visibly at the prospect. “I’ve heard she’s helped find many missing children. Please tell her I’d be eternally grateful for her help.”
“I will,” I assure her, relieved at how easy it was to arrange this. I had visions of Shirley screaming at me to get out of her house and accusing me of all kinds of nasty things when I broached the idea of enlisting a psychic’s help.
Now, if only we can live up to the poor woman’s expectations.
31
When I arrive back at the garage to
clean up before my meeting with Thelma, Sonny greets me. “Deborah called,” he says. “She left a number where you can reach her.” He hands me a scrap of paper with a phone number on it.
“When did she call?” I ask.
“Just a few minutes ago. Said she’d be at that number for a while longer.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“Nope, that was it. Just that you should call her. Sounded real upset though.”
“Thanks, Sonny. Say, you’ve known Harold for a lot of years, right?”
“All his life, yup.”
“Does it seem possible to you that he could hurt a little girl?”
Sonny ponders the question briefly. “Dunno about that,” he says. Then he mumbles something I don’t hear.
“What was that, Sonny?”
“Nothin’,” he says.
He looks troubled by something. “Come on,” I insist, “what’s wrong?”
He surprises me by saying, “Maybe that little hellfire had it comin’.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask. Surely Sonny isn’t suggesting that simple childish behavior could warrant anything so extreme as kidnapping or, God forbid, murder.
“She was a holy terror, that one,” he tells me. “Always goin’ out of her way to piss somebody off.”
Sonny’s vehemence is oddly out of character but Beth had also mentioned Rhonda wasn’t the nicest kid around. “So I’ve heard,” I say.
I dial the number Sonny had given me.
“Lucas?” Deborah says, coming on the line before the first ring has completed. I can tell she’s been crying.
“Yes, Deborah, it’s me.”
“Oh, God, Lucas, it’s been terrible. Poor Harold …”
“Where are you, Deborah? What’s happened?”
“I’m at the Sheriff’s Tehachapi sub-station There’s a pay phone in the waiting area. They haven’t let me see him, but Sergeant Yates just spoke with me. He says Harold has confessed.”
“Confessed to what?”
“He admitted to the sergeant that he hurt Rhonda.”
Oh, Jesus. “Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe he didn’t---”
“I don’t know,” she says. Suddenly she breaks down and sobs. “I … don’t know what … to do …”
There are few things in the world that tug at my heart strings more than a woman crying. “Where are you staying, Deborah?”
“At Bella Vista Motel here in town,” she manages to choke out. “It’s the closest one to the sheriff’s office.”
“I’ll drive over there later tonight to see you.”
“Oh, thank you, Lucas,” she gushes. “That would be so helpful.”
“Just try to take it easy. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
After I put down the phone I clean up a little and, by then, it’s time to head over to the hotel.
Thelma is waiting for me in the hotel lobby. She shakes my hand and greets me warmly.
“I’ve spoken to Shirley Getty,” I tell her. “She’s anxious to meet with you.”
“Good,” she says. “Can we go over there right away? I’m really not very hungry right now.”
“I’m sure that would be fine.”
We take the Jeep and arrive there moments later. Shirley greets us enthusiastically. I introduce the women and let Thelma take it from there.
“Mrs. Getty,” Thelma says. “If I could see your daughter’s bedroom please.”
“Of course,” Shirley responds, “it’s this way.” She leads us down a hallway to a small, typical teenage girl’s bedroom. It’s walled with posters of movie stars and teenage singing sensations, and is not especially neat.
“Is there some personal item that Rhonda is particularly fond of here?” Thelma asks. “Maybe something she likes to wear often, like jewelry?”
Shirley rummages through some things on Rhonda’s dresser table and picks out a necklace. “Her father gave her this when she was very young. She’s treasured it for years and wears it a lot. Actually, I’m surprised it’s even here.”
“That’s perfect,” Thelma says. She holds the necklace in both her hands and stands quietly with her eyes closed for several minutes. When she opens her eyes she looks at Shirley and smiles weakly. “Thank you, Mrs. Getty. This may be a real help.” She looks at me. “Okay, Lucas. We can go now.”
When we’re back in the Jeep I ask her if she got anything from the visit.
“Not yet,” she answers quietly. “Let’s go to the last place Rhonda was seen.”
I fire up the Jeep and drive to the location where Dory Butterfield reported her sighting.
“Turn off the motor, Lucas,” Thelma says when I pull to a stop.
She sits quietly for five minutes.
“Anything?” I ask.
“I’m afraid it’s not good,” she says solemnly.
“What is it? What do you feel?
“A very strong impression of extreme violence. I … I think she’s dead, Lucas.”
Shit. “What about her location? Did you get any sense of where she might be?”
Thelma shakes her head, no. Then suddenly she looks at me eagerly. “I have a strong impression of hay and … wooden floors.”
“A barn. It has to be close by if it was Harold that took her. There can’t be that many barns within a short distance of here.” I fire up the Jeep again and we do a circuit of the area. Within minutes we sight two buildings relatively nearby that could fit Thelma’s minds-eye impressions. One is a big, two-story barn; the other a much smaller equipment shed. Both are dilapidated structures, out of use for years. “Let’s try the barn first,” I suggest.
We approach the barn by traversing a deeply rutted driveway. When we enter the building we’re assailed by the still pungent stench of manure. Maybe it hasn’t been out of use for as long as we think. There’s a hayloft with a ladder leading up to it. I take the ladder while Thelma scours the stalls and feeding troughs.
The loft doesn’t have much left in it but a few scattered remnants of hay. There’s nowhere up here to hide anything, much less a body.
“Do you see anything?” Thelma calls up to me.
“No, there’s nothing here,” I answer. “I’m coming down.”
“Nothing here either,” she says when I join her.
“These places were all checked out by the police during the initial search so I’m not really surprised,” I say. “But let’s try the other one.”
Thelma hesitates to leave. “Somehow this feels right, Lucas,” she says. “Is there anything we might have overlooked here?”
I look around. The floor is dirt and there’s obviously been no disturbance to it. “Let’s have a look outside.”
We do a walk around the barn, looking for signs of turned earth. I recall the knees of Harold’s pants were dirty when I saw him the day Rhonda disappeared, and he could have been coming from this direction. But our search reveals no signs of broken ground anywhere near the barn. “What do you think?” I ask.
She looks confounded. “I’ve never had any stronger sensation of being in the right place before. It’s almost like we’re right on top of her. I can’t figure it out.”
“Let’s try the equipment shed. Who knows? Maybe your radar is off a little.”
She doesn’t argue but I can see she’s not happy about leaving the barn.
Our search of the shed and the area surrounding it takes little time and turns up nothing. Thelma keeps looking back at the barn, squinting her eyes in concentration. “Can we go back and have another look?” she asks. “I don’t know when I’ve ever felt so certain that I’m on the right track.”
“Of course,” I say, “if you feel that strongly about it.”
This time we enter the barn with the attitude that Rhonda is here. We just have to find her. We go in different directions, being as thorough as we can possibly be.
I’m scouring the stalls and Thelma is looking in the feeding troughs again when she stops. “Lucas,” she calls.
> There’s something in her voice that tells me she’s on to something. I hurry over to her. “What is it?”
She’s staring at the bottom of a trough, like she’s in a trance. I follow her gaze. It’s a wooden trough with a few strands of moldy hay at the bottom. That’s all. What is there here that’s so engrossing?
“Under the boards, Lucas,” she says in a whisper. Then in a much louder voice: “Lift up the boards.”
“I’ll need something to pry it loose,” I tell her. "These things have been---”
“No,” she interrupts me. “Lucas, she’s there. I know it.”
I reach down and feel the edge of the bottom board with the tips of my fingers. Unbelievably, the board slides ever so slightly. Jesus, she’s right. It’s loose! Now I attack the board with fervor, ripping it from it’s bed.
The instant I lift it free we’re assailed by a horrid smell and an even more ghastly sight.
We stand here, dazed, looking down at the brutalized body of Rhonda Getty.
She’s lying face up with her eyes open. There’s a purplish blue band of bruising around her neck that is dissected by a thin slit cutting through the flesh.
I’m struck as much by the unfairness of her circumstances as I am by the horror of what I’m seeing. No one this young should ever have been made to suffer such an unspeakable fate.
32
I use Thelma’s cell phone to get through to the sheriff’s office in Tehachapi. Neither Yates nor Chapin are in but the dispatcher takes my message that we’ve found Rhonda Getty’s body. At her request we leave Thelma’s number so that Yates can call us back direct.
Within five minutes Yates calls from his car. “Don’t touch anything and stay right where you are,” he says after getting our exact location.
He arrives thirty minutes later with sirens blaring and lights flashing. He takes in the sight of Rhonda, shaking his head, and cursing softly to himself. After a brief account of the series of events that led us to the discovery of Rhonda’s body we’re ordered to wait by the sergeant’s car. Shortly thereafter Deputy Chapin pulls up, and soon after that a host of other officials arrive on the scene.
The sergeant oversees the activities of the various underlings whose jobs are to photograph, measure, rope off, and examine the crime scene.
CUTTER'S GROVE Page 15
