by Glenn Ickler
“Can you describe the panties?” yelled Trish.
Holmberg’s face reddened almost enough to match the item in question. “They’re what is known as a thong, and they’re bright red.”
Trish persisted. “Are they the right size to fit Roxie?”
The redness in Holmberg’s face grew even brighter. “I have no idea what size Ms. Robideaux wears. All I can say is that they’re not very big.” This drew a laugh from the crowd and I thought Holmberg’s face might burst into flame.
When the laughter petered out, a voice in the back of the room asked a question that chilled the atmosphere. “Do you think the girl is alive?”
Holmberg was silent for a minute, and I could visualize the wheels turning while he constructed his answer. “I’m hoping with all my heart that she’s alive,” he said. “But my gut feeling is that if she was alive, and Mr. Jones knew where she was, he would be talking to us rather than remaining silent. And with that I’ll say thank you all for coming and good night. I’ll contact Ms. Rogers when there are any new developments.”
“That didn’t sound good,” Al said as the crowd dispersed around us and we started toward the door.
“It’s not what anybody wanted to hear,” I said. “I’m afraid we’ll be covering a search for a body and not a hidden hooker tomorrow.”
At the door we were met by Angie Olafson, who was sobbing and wailing. “I heard what the sheriff said. That Roxie is dead.”
“He’s not positive of that,” I said. “She could turn up alive and well tomorrow.” I’m sure I didn’t sound convincing.
“She’s gone,” Angie said. “That bastard killed her, I know it.”
“Don’t give up just yet,” Al said. “He might be holding out for a deal before he tells the sheriff where he’s got Roxie stashed.”
“If she’s locked up somewhere she’ll starve to death before they find her,” Angie said. “They need to beat the crap out of him until he talks.”
“I’m sure they’d like to do that, but this is America,” I said.
“I don’t know what to do,” Angie said. “I’m going crazy worrying about her.”
She was so distraught that we invited her to come with us and sit in our cabin until she could stop crying and calm down. I had a story to write and Al had pix of the press conference to send. Angie walked between us, sobbing and sniffling all the way to our cabin.
The pleasant, high-sixties daytime temperature had been replaced by a forty-degree nighttime chill. Angie, wearing only a pink T-shirt and white shorts that barely covered her buns, was shivering and displaying a collection of goosebumps on her bare arms by the time we reached the cabin. We wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down on my bed. Al made a cup of hot chocolate with a packet he found beside the coffee pot and Angie sipped it while I tapped out my story and sent it to the desk.
Both Martha Todd and Carol Jeffrey called to say they were hoping that the search for Roxie Robideaux would end on the morrow so Al and I could finally get on the road for home. We reminded both Martha and Carol that there still was a murder case to be dealt with when the emergency search for the missing woman was over. Neither of us had given our statements about finding the lifejacket to the sheriff yet, and all the people who’d been present Friday morning, except the governor and lieutenant governor, were still under orders to remain at the resort until the sheriff had interviewed them.
“We could be here until Wednesday or Thursday if they don’t find the woman early tomorrow,” I said.
“Thursday?” Martha said. “How about Saturday? Will you be here then or am I getting married to a surrogate groom?”
“I will be there no matter what happens up here,” I said. “I’ll write out a statement for the sheriff if I have to, and I’ll get Don to send up another reporter and photographer so my best man and I can make it to the wedding. I know Don will understand.”
“Why can’t you have a quiet, nine-to-five, five-day-a-week job that keeps you home in St. Paul all the time?”
“Because I would be bored stiff with that kind of job and you would be bored stiff with me and there wouldn’t be any wedding to worry about.”
“I suppose you’re right. Just promise not to break any more bones or drown or get shot or stabbed or anything before Saturday, okay?”
“I promise,” I said. “I swear on a stack of stylebooks that I’ll be the most careful, cautious reporter on the Daily Dispatch staff for the rest of this week.”
“What about after this week?”
“Can’t promise a thing.”
“Ooh, if I didn’t love you so much I would hate you,” Martha said.
“Lucky me,” I said.
“Damn right you’re lucky. Call me in the morning with some good news, please.”
“I’ll do my best. Love you.” We made kissy sounds and clicked off.
By the time Al and I finished our respective phone conversations, Angie was almost asleep. She had slid down from a sitting position and was flat on her back as if preparing to stay for the night.
“Time for you to go home, Angie,” I said. “You look like you could use some sleep.”
“It’s awful comfy here,” she said in a small, drowsy voice.
“Sorry, but I’m not sharing the bed. I’ll let you keep my blanket and walk you back to your cabin.”
“You sure I can’t stay? I promise not to rape you.”
“Not a good idea to have you here. Come on, up and at ’em.”
Grudgingly she sat up, swiveled on her butt and accepted my extended hand to assist her in rising. Still wrapped in my blanket, Angie kept hold of my hand as we walked to her cabin.
“Come in and I’ll give you your blanket back,” she said as she unlocked the front door. I followed her inside, where she unwound the blanket and handed it to me. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck, pulled my face down to hers and kissed me on the mouth for a long, long time. I confess that I did not resist when she added a thrust of her tongue before she pulled away. “Stay with me,” she whispered. “I can feel that you want to.” Her body was pressed tight against mine, which was responding the way a male body responds to that kind of kiss.
“Can’t happen,” I said. “I’m getting married Saturday.”
“How will she know if you don’t tell her?”
“Al will know. I won’t be able to face him.”
One hand crept to my crotch. “I need you,” she said. “I’m afraid to stay here alone.”
It was all I could do to pull her hand away. A miniature tug of war around the zipper on my fly was interrupted by a loud banging on the back door. We stepped apart and stared at the door where the banging persisted.
“Expecting company?” I asked. The banging continued.
“No way,” she said. “I wouldn’t be grabbing your dick if I thought somebody was coming.” More banging at the door.
“You open it and stand off to the side, and I’ll deal with whoever is there,” I said. The banging was growing weaker.
Angie went to the door and I stood squarely in front of it, about ten feet back. She snapped open the lock, grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. A woman stumbled in, staggered toward me and flung her arms around my neck, sending a bolt of pain shooting through my cracked ribs. I instinctively wrapped her in my arms.
I was holding Roxie. And she was naked.
Twenty
Roxie’s Tale
Roxie was gasping and sobbing and babbling all at the same time. All I could make out was, “Help me. He’s going to kill me.”
I wrapped her in the blanket I was holding and half-carried her to the bed with my ribs complaining all the way. “You’re safe,” I said. “He’s in the hospital with a cop outside his door. Where were you?”
“On the beach,” Roxie said
, still gasping for breath. “Under boat.”
“He put you under a boat?”
“No, no. I got away. Hid under boat.”
“Catch your breath and then tell us what happened,” I said. “Angie, get her some water.”
Angie ran to the sink and filled a glass from the faucet. She gave it to Roxie, who gulped it down and promptly tossed it back up all over my blanket. “Oh, shit, sorry,” she said.
I grabbed the glass and handed it back to Angie. She refilled it and brought it back. I took it and held it in front of Roxie. “Go real easy on this one,” I said.
Roxie nodded and I gave her the glass. She took cautious little sips while her breathing slowed to normal.
I sent Angie back to our cabin to get Al and waited for Roxie to finish the water and blow her nose on a tissue from the bedside table. “You said he’s in the hospital?” she asked.
“He was packing up to leave this afternoon but I found your thong under his bed,” I said. “He took off in his car but the sheriff’s deputies chased him and he went off the road and ran into the woods. He climbed a tree, would you believe, and wouldn’t come down until they started sawing through it. He fell part of the way down and hit his head so they put him in the hospital for observation. He claimed he didn’t know where you were.”
“He didn’t. I got away and hid under the boat. Did you say that fat-ass climbed a tree?”
“Any port in a storm. When Al and Angie get back here I want you to start at the beginning and tell us everything that happened.”
“It was awful,” she said. “He wanted me to do pervert stuff, things I would never do, so he tied me up.”
I told her to relax a minute and wait for the others. My mini-tape recorder was still in my shirt pocket from taping the sheriff’s press conference so I took it out and rewound the tape. Angie and Al, carrying his camera, came rushing in the front door.
“I don’t think pictures are a good idea,” I said, and Al nodded his agreement. “Now, Roxie, take a big breath and tell us what happened, beginning with you meeting Ronald Jones last night.”
“Can I have some more water?” Roxie said. “And is there anything to eat? I haven’t had any food since dinner last night.”
Angie found a box of crackers in the kitchen cupboard and carried it to Roxie along with another glass of water. I reminded her not to gobble and gulp, so she nibbled at the crackers and sipped the water slowly while she told her story.
“He seemed really nice at first,” she said. “He said his name was Ronny and that he was the Ramsey County treasurer. He took me to dinner in a nice place in Brainerd and then we came back here to my cabin to spend the night. We took off our clothes and went to bed and did it once in the regular way, and then he started asking for some kinky stuff. Some of it I didn’t mind, but then he got into some other stuff—I won’t even tell you what—and I said, ‘No way, I won’t do that.’
“Well, that pissed him off. He said I was a dirty little whore who’d taken his money and I had to do anything he wanted me to do, and he threw me on the bed and put it to me real rough and hard. Then he said, ‘Now you’re going to do what I want,’ and I said no, I wouldn’t. I told him I was done with him and started to put my clothes on—you know, the thong you found and my shorts and sun top. He watched me do that and then he said we were going to his cabin for the rest of the night. I said I wasn’t going there and he came after me, chased me around the cabin knocking furniture over and throwing things at me, calling me awful names. Finally he caught me and twisted my arms behind me so it really hurt and said if I screamed he would break my neck and kill me.
“He was pretty strong, and after he pushed me out the door he held my hands behind my back with one hand and clamped his other hand around the back of my neck. He pushed me like that all the way to his cabin, and when we got there he threw me onto the bed and pulled off all my clothes. He said that now I was going to do everything he wanted whether I liked it or not.
“He roughed me up some and did something disgusting that I won’t tell you about. And then he used some rope that he had in the kitchen to tie me to the bed. That was one of things he wanted that I didn’t want him to do—tie me up and spank my ass. I was spread-eagled naked, face down on the bed and tied to the four legs of the bed. He swatted my buns with both of his hands until they really burned, and then he put his clothes on and said he was going out with some friends and would be back to have some more fun. He said if I tried to get away he would kill me and sink my body in the lake with cement blocks.
“I was trying to breathe and I was crying and he whacked me on the ass about six more times and turned out the lights and left me tied up like that in the dark. I was hurting all over and scared about what would happen when he came back. Could I have some more water, please?”
She handed the glass to Angie, who refilled it and brought it back. After a couple of swallows, Roxie resumed her tale.
“I tried to get loose but he really had me tied up tight and I couldn’t. I finally got tired and gave up, and I was almost asleep when he came back. He turned on a light, took of his clothes and flopped onto my bare back. His breath stunk like booze and he slobbered all over me and tried to jab his dick between my legs but he was so drunk he couldn’t get it up That made him mad and he swore at me and said I was a two-bit whore that wasn’t worth the money. He started choking me and kept it up until I thought for sure I was going to die. Finally he let go and got off me and went into the bathroom where I could hear him puking.
“He came back out and sat in a chair. I could just turn my head far enough to see him. I guess he passed out because he didn’t come at me again until it was just starting to be daylight. He was still naked and he said he was going to fuck me one more time before he went out fishing. When he finished, I told him he had to let me up to go to the bathroom. He told me to go ahead and wet the bed and I said it would be a lot more than wet and his cabin was going to stink like a dirty outdoor biffy.
“That convinced him to untie me and let me go to the bathroom. I went in and locked the door as fast as I could. The room had a little window and I could just barely squeeze through it. There I was, standing outside naked, wondering where to go. I knew he’d be checking the bathroom pretty soon, and I only had a few minutes before he’d be putting some clothes on and coming out to look for me. I ran into the trees and kept going until I saw the beach and an old boat that was tipped over upside down. I managed to pull one side up far enough to get under it and I laid in the sand there all day praying he wouldn’t find me. I heard him walk past the boat one time but he didn’t look under it. I guess he finally gave up, I don’t know . . .”
“He did go fishing with another man,” I said. “The sheriff had them brought in off the lake for questioning and Ronny told him that he’d never heard of you. We wanted to talk to him so we followed him to his cabin, I pulled the red thong out from under the bed and he knocked me down and ran. But go on with your story. Why did you lay under the boat all day?”
“Well, duh!” Roxie said. “Number one, I didn’t know where Ronny was, and number two, I was naked and all beat up. I decided to stay there ’til it got dark and then try to work my way to Angie’s back door. The problem was it got cold when the sun went down and I was freezing when I came out from under the boat. I’d have got here sooner but I just snuck along slow, trying to stay out of any light, and for a while I kind of got lost. You’re sure that crazy bastard’s being guarded by a cop?”
“Sure as we’re sitting here listening to you,” I said. “Now we should call the sheriff and get him back here. While he’s on his way, you’re going to put some clothes on and I’m going to write a story about your little adventure and get it in our online edition before the rest of the media mob finds out that you’re alive.”
“Remember who will be reading that story,” Al said. “Have fun exp
laining to Martha why you were in Angie’s cabin at ten o’clock at night.”
Oh, god, I hadn’t thought about that.
Twenty-One
Circus Time
You’ve probably heard the term “media circus.” Well, this one was large enough for three rings and a big top.
I called the ringmaster, Sheriff Val Holmberg, who arrived at the lodge twenty minutes later in a convoy of two squad cars and two SUVs with all lights blazing—strictly showbiz. Ann Rogers had been in the lobby talking to the manager when the sheriff walked up to the desk and asked where to find Angie’s cabin. Naturally, the governor’s new press secretary had asked Holmberg what was going on. Naturally, he had told her where Roxie had been found. And naturally, Ann had done her job, which was to spread the word to every reporter and photographer on the scene.
She’d found most of the troops partying in the bar, which should have made her job easy. But, being thorough, she’d also put out phone calls to every media-occupied cabin to make sure those not in the bar were alerted. The result was a stampede to Angie’s cabin.
Luckily for Roxie, Val Holmberg had learned a few things about handling the mass media over the weekend. He and six deputies had outrun the crowd to the cabin and had strung yards of yellow plastic police tape around the building to create a twenty-five-foot perimeter before the first TV crew came puffing up the path. Within minutes, two dozen people were playing ring around the tape, yelling out questions and shining bright lights through the windows of the cabin while Holmberg talked to Roxie.
Where were Al and I? Inside, of course, since we were part of the rescue team and were required to give our statements. If the folks behind the yellow tape had known this they probably would have tried to crash through the barrier. As it was, Roxie had put on those skin tight jeans and a sweatshirt that was a size too small around the bust line, giving Al the opportunity to take some photos of her bruised and scratched face. He e-mailed them to the desk immediately, and the city editor’s selection appeared in the online edition beside my exclusive story while the people outside the cabin were clamoring for their first look at the rescued kidnapping victim.
