Heart of a Runaway Girl

by Trevor Wiltzen

  “Now, why would I do that?” Mabel said, laughing it off — but that was precisely what she wanted to do. And to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, she moved to the end of the counter to clean up some dishes. But Dan often left before eight pm to watch his hunting show, so to ask her questions, she needed another way to get his attention quick. She went back to the kitchen for a fresh pie, then came out and walked the pie past Dan, who sniffed at the aroma, but didn’t stop working. She frowned — that didn’t work. So, she dragged over the pie display to clean it. Then used errant sweeps of the cloth over the pie to send its aroma Dan’s way.

  The irritating noise and delicious smell finally drew Dan’s focus onto the pie. He asked, “Got some for me?”

  “You betcha,” Mabel said. She hid her smile, cutting him a big piece and then adding ice cream. “A little extra,” she said with a wink and then slid it in front of him.

  The Sheriff grunted, “Well, that’s all right.” He pushed the papers aside and started eating.

  Mabel took a moment to casually use her cloth to push the papers around to see the pictures.

  “Oh, dear God,” she said as she saw the first photo. The girl was white-faced, covered in blood, with her clothes half off.

  “Sorry, Mabel. Shouldn’t have it out like this.” Dan went to cover it up, but she stopped him with the cloth.

  “Mind if I look?”

  “You really want to?”

  She nodded.

  “All right then,” he said.

  She picked up a graphic photo, initially more fascinated than disgusted by it. Her eyes zeroed in on the details.

  Dan pointed out a few things with his fork. “She was raped you see.” Mabel winced. “Then these cut marks. Looks like she been tortured some. But here?” He took another bite of pie and then used his fork to point out another photo. “She fought back. Gave him hell, is what the coroner said.”

  “Any fingerprints?”

  “One. No match on anyone with a record,” Dan said. “Coroner also found a few different protein markers in the—” He looked around and then pointed towards his crotch with his fork. “—men’s samples. Inside her.” Then he spoke louder again. “He can’t say for sure, but he thinks they’re samples from two different men.”

  “The coroner said she fought like hell?”

  He nodded, chewing.

  “Did Winston have any scratches or bruises from the fight?”

  Dan shuffled through the papers to find the right sheet and then swept it over to her with his fork. “Inconclusive,” he said and kept eating.

  Mabel picked it up and tried to read it. “What does that mean? Did he have scratches or not?”

  He shrugged. “Staties wrote that one.”

  “But you brought him in.”

  “Didn’t look.”

  “So, you’re missing something here.”

  “What I’m missing is more ice cream,” Dan said, smiling through a mouthful.

  Mabel hid her frustration by going to get him another scoop. She came back, slid it over, and started again.

  “You said she was raped. By who?”

  “By Winston,” he said, his tone implying “obviously.”

  “He was her boyfriend. You said there was evidence from two men.”

  He shrugged. “Not my job. I found him. I brought him in.” Mabel glared hard at him for his indifference. “What? You still on the innocent kid thing?”

  “How does Winston explain what happened?”

  He shrugged. “Witness statement, I guess.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s all there,” he said, pointing his fork at the files and then looking at his watch.

  Mabel knew he’d be heading off soon, so she grabbed the remote and turned on the diner’s television. “You want to watch your show?”

  “You never let me watch it here.”

  “Change of heart. I’m bored.”

  He glanced around at the truckers and out-of-towners. “You sure your customers won’t mind? They skin them animals at the end.”

  She covered her disgust with a painful smile. “No, no, watch it. I can even get you a beer.”

  “Wow,” Dan said. “That’s mighty fine.”

  She clicked the remote to find the channel with The American Sportsman. “Here, and I’ll also hold these for you on this side of the counter,” Mabel said, sweeping up the file folder as she handed him a beer. “You can pick them up when the show’s over. Saves you from having to fuss over them.”

  “Mighty fine,” Dan said, lifting his cold brew and settling in closer to the television.

  She waited till he was distracted and then pulled the files closer and dove right into it. She stopped at a large photo showing the whole crime scene. Karen — she couldn’t think of that young girl as just a body — was sprawled out on the sawmill floor, covered in blood from stab wounds in the chest.

  She searched for the witness statement next and then found the photocopied version of it.

  Winston wrote that after leaving the diner, he and Karen had smoked a joint in his car but got into another argument before Karen stormed off. A man inside a black truck parked nearby had waved her over. Winston didn’t see the driver but watched her get in, and that was the last he’d seen her. After that, he went home to his trailer and smoked more weed before passing out. He didn’t really have an alibi.

  Mabel tapped her fingers against the counter. How did Karen end up in the sawmill of all places? The killer must have known the site. Did Winston? Larson was rumored to own a piece of the sawmill, and his gang supplied the local drug dealers, including Winston. Even though Larson was a racist, he was an equal opportunity distributor to various gangs: black, white, Asian, Latino. Quite the humanist if it meant better profits, she thought sarcastically.

  Her mind turned to the black truck. Who drove it? It had been dark, and the truck could have been any sort of color. It didn’t help that pretty much everyone in town had a truck, but Winston had written that the truck was black and looked new, which narrowed things down a little. While most locals and the mine’s construction crews had beaters, Larson’s gang bought new, as their drug money fueled most of the town’s purchases. But there were more suspects than just his gang members, like her motel guest, Bill Jordan.

  Mabel looked through the rest of the police files. The assigned detectives didn’t ask Winston if he was familiar with the sawmill and didn’t search long for the truck. At least they highlighted the second semen sample as indicating a possible unknown suspect, but after interviewing Winston and then the Thompson family, had simply hypothesized that she had been trading sex for drugs. Mabel frowned — that didn’t sound right.

  She went back to Winston’s statement. He wrote he had been worried about Karen and that she felt she was being watched. By who? Mabel wondered. And why didn’t he stop her from getting into that truck? That seems weird.

  She closed the file folder slowly and thought about what she had learned. If only—

  “You got another beer?” the Sheriff asked, jiggling his empty can, which startled her into dropping the folder and scattering papers onto the counter.

  Dan gathered them together. “I better keep those,” he said. “Ain’t supposed to have them lying around.”

  “No, no, I’ll look after them,” Mabel protested, handing him another Bud to keep him occupied.

  “No worries, I got ’em.” Dan tucked the folder under his arm and hoisted his beer in a gesture of thanks. “Got me a show to watch.” Then walked back to the TV.

  Mabel swore under her breath — she wanted those files. And now she’d have to suffer through that stupid hunting show.

  Unless… she considered with a growing smile: Sally hated those types of shows, and if Mabel spelled her off, after one look Sally would shut that TV off in ten seconds flat.

  CHAPTER 13

  Friday, September 12

  The next day after lunch, as Mabel was busy clearing dirty dishes off the
counter, Carlos came up.

  He asked with a winning smile, “Hey, do you have Bill Jordan’s things? I can get them out of your hair and shipped back to his place.”

  “Oh sure, Luv,” she said, then paused, worried she could be giving away clues. “On second thought, hand me that address, and I can ship it for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Carlos said, but he gladly handed it over anyway. A busy man, he had enough on his plate, managing a large crew of men.

  Mabel took a look — Tacoma. Not too far away. She smiled at Carlos. “No worries. My wholesaler is nearby, and I got a regular run going today and could even drop it off to save you some charges.”

  “Oh, it’s on the company. No need to put yourself out.”

  “I’m fine, a little thing.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll make sure my boss knows about this.” He smiled again. “That’s mighty fine of you.”

  “You’re busy, and I’m here to help. I want all you boys to have a nice stay.”

  Carlos thanked her and headed off, whistling down the motel hallway back to his room.

  Mabel looked at the address, thinking of what she might do. Kevin, the cook, typically did all the weekly pickups on Fridays. But not this time.

  She went into the kitchen. “Kevin?” He glanced over his shoulder as he put a burger patty on the hot grill. “You have the list for Shelby’s?” Shelby’s Wholesaler was their food supplier. He nodded. “I’ll be going in today. Sally’s on in an hour. That okay?”

  “I don’t mind, I can do it for you,” Kevin said, ever helpful.

  “That’s okay, I got this.”

  He saluted with one hand while holding the spatula down on a sizzling patty with the other. Mabel really liked that boy: he had a good work ethic, was always helping out, and had started dating a girl too. Not long ago, that lanky young man, covered in tattoos, had been a candidate for prison. Kevin had gotten into a fistfight with a Larson crony at a beach party on Long Lake, and Dan was about to send him to jail to appease Larson when Mabel had an idea. Knowing how good Kevin’s mother was in the kitchen, she’d offered to take him in as a cook. To everyone else’s surprise, and in particular to Kevin’s, he’d loved the job, and with him out of sight in the kitchen, Larson soon lost interest.

  With the day getting on, Mabel grabbed the car keys from the office and then asked Sally to mind the diner. Bill Jordan’s gear was heavy, and she had trouble carrying it over to the trunk of her station wagon. Dropping it in, she wiped the sweat off her forehead, and then took off her apron, draped it on the back seat, and got into the front.

  After twenty minutes of driving, doubts started creeping in — she was no detective. When she reached the address in Tacoma, she felt pretty foolish. Wanting to get this over with, she lugged the gear out and hauled it to the townhouse door, on the edge of Tacoma’s rundown industrial district, then knocked.

  The door opened a sliver.

  “Hi, I’m—” Mabel paused upon seeing a distraught young woman with tear-stained cheeks. “Dear? Are you all right?”

  The girl wiped her cheeks, embarrassed. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Mabel Davison, from the motel and diner. In Blue River.”

  The girl shrugged.

  “Where Bill Jordan was working?”

  “Oh,” she said, perking up. “Are you with the construction company?”

  “No dear, I own the motel. Bill left all his things in the room. I’m just dropping them off.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, numbly, and opened the door wider. Mabel helped her drag the gear into a sparsely furnished room.

  The woman, more like a girl of nineteen, stood awkwardly, rubbing her arm. Then she noticed Mabel’s downward glance and quickly rolled down her sleeve to cover a slight bruise, looking deeply embarrassed.

  Mabel wanted to stay now and ask questions, so she said, “It’s been a long drive. Do you mind if I get a glass of water?”

  The girl nodded and then went off to the kitchen. She seemed a meek sort, and Mabel followed her in. There was nothing of a woman’s touch in this place, but Mabel took a guess. “Are you Bill’s girlfriend?”

  The girl nodded as she poured. She seemed to want to cry again but only handed over the glass.

  Mabel reached out to take it, and the girl jumped at the touch. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  She looked pained and just shook her head.

  “Come here, girl,” Mabel said and guided her to sit at the kitchen table. Mabel reached out to hold her hands, and this time the girl did not pull away but would not look into Mabel’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Luv? Are you okay?”

  She shook her head and was silent for a solid minute until she finally said, “Bill and I got into a fight. Again.” She seemed to collapse in on herself and said nothing further.

  “Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that,” Mabel said, struggling to find a way to reach this girl. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Susan.”

  “Susan? What a pretty name,” Mabel said, trying to tease out a smile. “You are a very pretty girl, too, Susan — that name fits you.”

  Susan tried to smile but failed miserably.

  Mabel frowned and cut right to it, but as softly as she could. “Did he hurt you?”

  Susan flinched. “It’s my fault, really. We got into a fight is all.”

  “It’s never anyone’s fault to get hurt. Especially not in an argument. What was it about?”

  Susan sighed and shook her head. She didn’t speak for a long moment, but once she did, it flooded out. “Bill… he, uh… he and I’ve been struggling, for a while. He’s been off work for ages. Then he got the construction job. That was supposed to change things. But after less than a week, he uh, he’s back home again, getting all cut up and scratched from some stupid backcountry climb he was doing, and now he don’t have a job again.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. Then she broke down and sobbed. “I don’t know. I thought he was the one for me. But he’s struggling and angry all the time, and I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should just go home.”

  “What sort of cuts? Where?”

  “Scratches here,” she said, pointing them out on her face and arms. “And a bad cut on his hand, here.” She pointed to her left hand. “He took a fall, he said. Then with the bushwhacking he did to get out, he got scratched up some. Since it wasn’t on the worksite when it happened, he needed to go the hospital out here, which just adds to the bills. I met him there and took him home.”

  “What time was that, dear?”

  “Last Wednesday night.”

  A chill went down Mabel’s spine. She sprang into action. “Listen to me,” she said, grasping Susan’s arm. “A girl got murdered out in Blue River that night. Apparently, she tried to fight off her attacker. Scratched him up good. Seems to me that Bill got those scratches at the same time. So, you think he was telling you the truth about some climbing accident, or maybe he got that from the girl?” The girl’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened, and her reaction told Mabel everything. “I don’t know what your boyfriend did or not, but it’s possible, right? Him squeezing your arm too like that? Getting angry a lot, like you said?” Susan nodded, scared now. “Do you have some kin to go to? Or some friends?”

  Susan nodded. “My parents.” She looked around. “I wasn’t planning on staying anyways. I wanted to leave, but I…” Then she looked down and sobbed again. “It’s been so hard. This isn’t what I want.” Mabel brought her in for a long hug until her crying subsided, and then the girl looked up, frightened. “Do you think he done it? Really I mean?”

  Mabel moved the stray hairs from Susan’s face and said, “I don’t know. But I’m not taking any chances. Let me ask a question to be sure. What time did you meet him at the hospital?”

  “I think ten pm or ten-thirty, I’m not sure, but no later than that.”

  Mabel felt a chill again. The timing was tight. Karen had left her diner around eight pm. If Bill had murd
ered Karen, he’d only have had about an hour or less to drive out to Tacoma. He’d have to be speeding, but if he were involved in a killing, she thought, he’d be fleeing as fast as the devil could drive him.

  “Susan,” she said, getting up. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you out of this house. Don’t come back here, no matter what. You said you have parents here, right?” She nodded. “Go straight there. Tell them Bill hasn’t been good to you and that you’re moving on, okay?” She nodded again. “Now, get your things and come meet me at the door.” Susan got up, shaken and frightened, and then went into the bedroom. She only had a few spare clothes, and it didn’t take her long to come out holding them.

  Mabel had grown terribly anxious, expecting Bill Jordan to burst in any minute. She grasped Susan’s arm and started to lead her out. “Let’s get you out of here this minute, okay? But first, I’ll need you to report this to the authorities. We’ll go straight to the police rather than your parents, and you’re going to tell them that Bill arrived at the hospital at ten or ten-thirty at the latest, like you said? Okay?”

  She nodded, scared, but then said, “That’s when I arrived, yeah.”

  Mabel opened the door ajar and peeked out, the street clear of danger. “Yes, when he did, Luv,” she said. They were almost free.

  “No, uh, he had already been treated. He was there a few hours, at least.”

  Mabel stopped, confused. “That can’t be right. The girl hadn’t even arrived at my diner by then. Think. Are you sure? How do you know he arrived so early? You said you saw him after ten.”

  “Yeah, but he’d already had his stitches in. He’d been there for hours, I’m certain.”

  Mabel’s concern deflated. “You’re certain?”

  Sarah nodded, scared, and wiped her nose. “Does that mean he still did it?”

  Mabel hesitated, her adrenalin fading fast. In its place, she felt ill and a fool. “No,” she said finally. “No, dear. I don’t think so.”

  “So, I’m not in danger?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Oh,” Susan said, lost and alone.

  “I can still take you to your parents,” Mabel said. “I don’t think you should stay here anyway.”