THE ONLY WITNESS: A Mystery/Suspense Novel

by Pamela Beason

  Coeur d'Alene was only an hour or so away from Cheney, where Charlie Wakefield attended school, and the baby had vanished two weeks after Charlie had started summer session. Was there a connection? Stranger things had happened.

  Three teenage mothers, three missing babies, all using YoMama. Coincidence? And there could be more. He'd matched Kinsey and Adams only because their user names—SKORGirl and CariSad—hinted at their real names.

  "Mason," Finn said. "How goes the matching of the YoMama user names?"

  Mason crawled from under the desk into the chair and touched a button on the keyboard. "I'm working on it. It'll take days to match the names to the class lists. YoMama lets users stay on the site until their 20th birthday, so I've got a mountain to plow through. And naturally the lists are not standardized for easy searches. Two of the teachers typed their class lists. On a typewriter." He stood up and stomped out of the room.

  "Huh." Finn called the Coeur d'Alene police department and asked them to send him the Adams case file so he'd have info on all three cases with the YoMama link.

  "We're understaffed, Detective," the sergeant told him. "Although it's still an open case, it's on the back burner. And the detective in charge of that case is on leave at the moment. We'll get that out to you in a week or so."

  Fuming, Finn hung up and glared at the phone for a minute. 'In a week or so' was not soon enough. Mason came back, a cable dangling from his right hand, as Finn looked up distances and airline schedules on his computer. "Damn."

  "Having a bad hair day?" Mason asked.

  "Just a comment on life in general," Finn told him. It was almost a five-hour drive to Coeur d'Alene and he'd have to get up before dawn, but driving would work out better than the plane schedule between small airports. He scheduled the Portland trip for the day after and paid for his Horizon Air flight with his own frequent flier miles.

  Chapter 11

  Four days after Ivy disappears

  Finn left his house a little before five a.m. When he arrived at Carissa Adams' school in Coeur d'Alene nearly five hours later, he was painfully stiff from sitting in the car and his tie was stained with grease from the Egg McMuffin he'd picked up along the way.

  He caught up with the head of the local Sister-Mothers Trust program, Marsha Valdez, just before she began her next class. She gave her teaching assistant an assignment, and then she led Finn to the teachers' lounge for bad coffee. He didn't get much useful information. Carissa was not in her class this year, but had seemed depressed at the end of the last school year. Valdez had never heard of Charlie Wakefield.

  She walked Finn to the principal's office, where he was told that Carissa was out sick that day, and then she ushered him down the hallway to the outer door, passing a display of photos of girls and babies nearly identical to the one in Evansburg. Probably a requirement in the Sister-Mothers handbook or something. A janitor was polishing the glass on top of the display case. Finn saw no photos of Carissa Adams and baby in the mix.

  "Pretty little things, ain't they?" the janitor said, nodding toward the photos. The gray-haired man wore a coverall with three red stripes on the shoulder, similar to what the cleaning lady had worn at Brittany's school. "Especially these two." He pointed to a brown-haired girl with huge earrings and a chubby baby. "'Course I could be a lil' bit prejudiced, 'cause that's my grandbaby. And my great grandbaby."

  Finn faked a chuckle for the janitor and then walked out of the building. Had the Coeur d'Alene police interviewed the janitorial staff? Now that he thought about it, he realized that none of the Evansburg detectives had interviewed the school janitors at Brittany's school. He called Dawes and left instructions to remedy that oversight.

  Finn drove through the unfamiliar streets to Carissa Adams's neighborhood, which could be described, if one was being unkind, as a trailer park. But these days most of the trailers were manufactured homes and the lots in this park had flowers and fountains. Some even sported tiny patches of grass. The yards looked like a heck of a lot less work to maintain than mowing his three acres of weeds.

  The girl's mother welcomed him with a glass of iced tea. It was sweet tea, though, and in Finn's opinion sugar qualified as a pollutant in tea or coffee. After gagging down a mouthful, he set the glass down on the coffee table.

  "William was only two weeks old," sixteen-year-old Carissa Adams said to the worn beige carpeting beneath her feet. Her hair, a short spiky weave of maroon and black, did nothing to enhance the girl's blotchy moon face. She didn't seem sick to him, in spite of her alleged stomach virus.

  Carissa's mother eyed him like a hen keeping watch on a hawk. A photo of a tiny dimpled smooth-skinned baby surveyed them from the wall. William, no doubt; all black hair and big blue eyes.

  Sweat slid down the back of his neck. The windows were open and outside the manufactured home, a handyman was using a leaf blower; he hoped the man would finish soon because Carissa had not yet spoken above a whisper. She sat hunched over like a wilted flower, tears dripping from her face onto her peasant blouse and green cropped pants.

  "Tell me what happened to William," he finally said.

  "We've been over this so many times already with the local police," the mother complained from her armchair. She tapped ash off her cigarette into the ashtray she held in her lap.

  "I know, ma'am. It's not my jurisdiction, but my case in Washington is similar—missing baby, teenage mom in the Sister-Mothers Trust program. We're trying to figure out if there are any connections. It's possible that by solving one we'd solve them both."

  "I was sleeping," Carissa finally said. "William was in his cradle. And when I woke up, he was gone." She rubbed her hands over her face, smearing tears and mascara across her plump cheeks. Through her fingers, she stole a glance at his face, then quickly returned her gaze to the carpet.

  He asked to see the room that William had disappeared from, and the mother took him to a cramped bedroom. Clothes formed a heap on the double bed, waiting to be folded. Both male and female clothing. The toe of a man's cowboy boot poked through the open door of the closet.

  "Who besides Carissa sleeps in this room?" Finn asked.

  The mother leaned on the door frame. "Jerome. Carissa's boyfriend."

  "Is Jerome William's father?"

  The woman nodded.

  "When did he move in?"

  "About a year ago, after Carissa got pregnant. He's a good boy—I mean, young man—he works on a threshing crew part of the year, and for a security company the rest. He's been real good to me and Carissa."

  "He's at work this morning?"

  She nodded again. "He's real diligent."

  "How did Jerome like being a father?"

  "He was proud of that baby. He didn't like the crying, but who does?"

  There was an awkward silence for a minute. Then the mother said, "William was in a bassinet over by the window. Which was open, just a crack."

  "No screen?" he asked.

  "We don't have bugs around here."

  Only a wooden stool sat beneath the window now, a hairbrush on the seat.

  The mother exhaled a long stream of smoke before she said, "Carissa couldn't stand lookin' at the bassinet anymore. It's in the storage shed out back."

  They returned to the living room and Finn asked Carissa a few more questions. "Do you know Brittany Morgan?"

  "She's been on TV. The girl with the missing baby, right?"

  "Right. How about Serena Kinsey?"

  The girl's expression was blank.

  "Brittany is Hot-T on YoMama. Serena is SKORgirl."

  "Oh," she said. "Then yeah, I used to message them, probably. But I haven't been on YoMama since…" Her words trailed off.

  "Do you know this boy?" He showed them Charlie Wakefield's photo. The mother immediately shook her head, but Carissa held the photo for a long minute.

  "I think maybe I saw him before."

  Finn leaned forward. Now they were getting somewhere. "Where?"

  "On YoMama. We were t
alking 'bout the daddies, you know, and we sent some pictures around. This guy is Ivy's daddy?" She handed the photo back.

  "We think so," Finn said. "Ever seen him in person?"

  Carissa shook her head.

  Damn. "Carissa, what do you think of the Sister-Mothers Trust program?"

  "Um." She glanced at her mother. "I think it was a good thing, that girls didn't have to drop out of school just because they're moms too. But since I don't have a baby now, I don't go there anymore."

  She burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. "I was such a bad mother," she sobbed.

  "I'm sure that's not true," he said gently.

  Carissa started crying in earnest, with loud hiccups, and her mother moved over to her, rubbing her back. Finn excused himself, glad to exit that sad household, and left for the Coeur d'Alene police station to question the local officers about the case.

  * * * * * *

  It was after eight p.m. when Finn drove up his driveway. He practically fell out of the car, walking like Frankenstein after driving ten hours in one day. Curiously, the dog and cats were not on the porch to meet him. Half of him hoped they had run off, the other half was disappointed at the lack of a welcome. When he opened the front door, he heard the click of Cargo's nails on the wooden floor. The dog materialized out the dark hallway and pushed his massive head under Finn's hand. "What are you doing in here?"

  Cargo barked in response. He heard a low rumble somewhere in the back of the house. Had he left the patio door open? He popped the safety strap from his holster and walked quietly into the living area, one hand on his pistol.

  Instead of the stench of the overflowing litter box that he'd left this morning, he smelled … lemon? The carpet was freshly vacuumed, the piles of paper slithering off the dining room table were neatly stacked, the oak tabletop gleamed in the light cast by a living room lamp. In the kitchen, the dishes had been washed and the garbage emptied. Lok and Kee were curled up together in his recliner. Kee opened one eye, regarded him for a second, then went back to sleep.

  He walked to the sliding glass doors and flipped on the deck light. The back yard lawn had been neatly mowed. Finn took off his jacket and his shoulder holster and laid them on a chair.

  The rumbling noise in the utility room stopped. The clothes dryer. Quickly, he checked the bedroom. All neat and tidy. Oh jeez, he'd left a big pile of dirty clothes in the corner, jockey shorts and sweaty socks on top.

  For a wild minute, he imagined that Wendy had come back. I was insane to ever leave you, Matt. Can you forgive me? But that was crazy. His second leap of insanity was that Miki had somehow copied a key to his house, which was a terrifying thought.

  Then he found the note on the refrigerator.

  WE WORRY ABOUT YOU.

  CALL WHEN YOU CAN.

  S & D

  Shit, this was embarrassing. But the stroganoff his mother-in-law left in the refrigerator tasted like heaven.

  Chapter 12

  Five days after Ivy disappears

  Josh laid out several pictures of young women in front of Neema. All were in color, two had reddish hair. The photo of Brittany Morgan was cut from the front page of the newspaper this morning, where she'd been pictured holding out her arms to receive handcuffs. Grace had trimmed away the others in the photo and the quality was grainy, but at least it was in color and it showed the girl's face. They'd also cut out Ivy Morgan's image from a poster Josh had picked up at the convenience store.

  Grace drew the gorilla's attention to the photos on the floor. She signed, Where red hair girl?

  Store. Neema signed with both hands. Go store candy Neema.

  Show me red hair girl. Grace gestured to the photos.

  Neema's eyes flicked over them, then she slapped her hand on first a red-haired older woman, and then on Brittany's image.

  "Which was the red hair girl at the store?" Grace asked aloud, simultaneously signing.

  Go store candy Neema.

  "Which girl was at the store?" Grace persisted.

  Neema slapped the newspaper photo of Brittany Morgan. She signed Now candy now hurry.

  Where baby? Josh signed.

  Neema looked around the room, and then finally back to them. Baby cat sleep box.

  "Not the kitten." This baby. Grace pointed to the photo of the kidnapped infant. Where this baby?

  Red hair baby store car. Candy Neema hurry.

  Josh exhaled a puff of air in exasperation. "Can we give her a piece of candy so we can get on with the story?"

  Grace quickly unlocked a drawer, unwrapped a lollipop and handed it to Neema. The thought that it was unwise to give in to a 400-pound gorilla flashed across her mind, as it so often did. She was a lax parent, raising a spoiled daughter. The trouble was, her 'kid' was capable of throwing her across the room if she so desired. It was hard to know where to draw the line.

  Good tree candy, Neema signed. She popped it into her mouth.

  Josh smiled. "I still can't get over how she adds the word 'tree' as a descriptor for anything on a stick. I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." He watched Neema suck on her lollipop for a minute. "Of course, three years ago I wouldn't have believed that gorillas could comprehend human language, let alone sign it. Nowadays I wonder if the birds are talking about me."

  Grace knew the feeling. Where this baby? she signed to Neema, then tapped baby Ivy's photo again.

  Store. Go store Coke.

  "No," Grace groaned. Did mothers of human kids suffer through conversations like this, constantly zooming off on tangents instead of sticking to the topic? "Where is this baby now?" she pressed, pointing to the photo. "Where did this baby go?"

  Baby go, Neema agreed. Snake arm baby cry. She crunched the candy between her teeth, and then pulled the naked stick out of her mouth and examined it closely to make sure she'd missed none of the sweet.

  Snake on ground? Snake in car? Grace signed rapidly, her lips pressed into a grim line.

  Man snake arm baby cry. Sensing that this was important, Neema decided to take advantage. Candy more hurry, she signed.

  Josh leaned forward to connect with Neema's gaze. "Where is the snake?" His hand made a serpentine motion, two fingers pressed out like fangs. "Where is this baby?" He tapped the newspaper photo.

  Neema eyed the kitchen drawer, signing candy candy.

  "Blackmail." Grace reluctantly pulled out another lollipop and handed it over. As soon as Neema had it in her mouth, Grace asked again, "Where is the man snake? Where is the baby?"

  Man snake go. Baby cry baby go, Neema signed. Then she clenched her hands into fists, and rolling her lollipop around on her tongue, scooted back to her National Geographic.

  Josh and Grace eyed each other.

  "The snake business, the baby business—is it possible?" Grace stuttered.

  Josh glanced at Neema, who now cradled her baby gorilla toy in her arms and held the magazine with her feet. "Sounds like she was trying to tell us what she saw."

  Grace swallowed hard. "We were in the parking lot around the time that the baby supposedly was kidnapped…"

  "Whoa." Josh's face lit up. "I've just found the perfect subject for my dissertation. Signing gorilla vital witness to crime."

  Crap, Grace thought. "I so hoped it wasn't true."

  Neema scooted back over to them. Cat baby cat, she signed. Want baby cat now now.

  "Good idea. Better than more C-A-N-D-Y." Josh rose from his chair. "I'll go get the kittens."

  Grace groaned and leaned forward, resting her head on her arms on top of the table. She couldn't deny it any longer; Neema had likely seen a man take the baby from the store parking lot. She couldn't ignore the fact that her gorilla could be helpful in a criminal case.

  But she'd have to be very, very careful. She couldn't risk another nutcase finding out about her gorillas. The kidnapper was out there somewhere. What if he discovered that Neema had witnessed the abduction? She couldn't get the image of Spencer's corpse out of h
er mind.

  Spencer hadn't been involved in an important event like this. He definitely didn’t want the attention that came after one of her students made a video of Spencer and Grace conversing, complete with subtitles. Spencer had been one contented gorilla learning sign language. Until a zealot named Frank Keyes, outraged that anyone could believe that an ape could 'talk' like a human being, gave that innocent gorilla a cup of cyanide-laced Kool-aid. Keyes had received a sentence of only two years in prison for animal cruelty and a hefty fine for destroying university property.

  Keyes was out walking the streets somewhere right now. Grace needed her alarm system in place yesterday. But how could she pay for it now?

  Warm leathery fingers softly caressed Grace's arm. She raised her head. Neema sat only a foot away, cuddling Snow in one arm, an anxious look on her face. She signed, Sad?

  "A little," Grace admitted, holding thumb and forefinger close to show Neema how much. That poor Brittany girl, being arrested, nobody believing her. And her baby was out there somewhere. In whose arms? Snake man's?

  Grace knew what she had to do. She needed to get off her butt, climb into her old car, and go do it soon. Lives could be at stake.

  Neema leaned forward and brushed her black lips across Grace's cheek in a gorilla kiss, then sat back and held out the white kitten. Grace love baby cat. Good now.

  Neema was right. Holding the soft fuzzy kitten in her arms did help a little. Thank you, she gestured.

  Neema Grace love good, Neema signed. Cat Gumu love. Gorilla love good.

  Grace's heart melted. This giant hulk of a creature was so gentle, so loving. And so completely dependent on her for food, shelter, safety. For her very life.