Failure to appear jpb-11

by J. A. Jance

  CHAPTER 11

  We were ready to give up and leave when Tanya returned to the deck. Her eyes were red; she'd been crying. She had changed out of her shorts into a denim skirt. In the soft evening light, she seemed both insubstantial and defeated. This time she sat down on the bench next to Ralph. She folded her hands together on the table and sat staring at them.

  "I wouldn't want what happened to me to happen to anyone else, but I'm not ashamed of what I did," she said thoughtfully. "Even though I was very young, I'm willing to accept full responsibility for all of it. No matter what anybody says, where I ended up was way better than where I started. But now it's not just me anymore, either. There's Amber to worry about. I've spent all afternoon trying to decide what to do. It's hard to know where to turn, who to trust."

  "You have to start somewhere," Ralph replied.

  She looked over at him through lashes still veiled in tears. "You want me to talk about it?"

  "If you want us to try to help you, yes."

  "But it's so hard. I've spent years trying to forget it-to block it out of my memory, to make myself believe that it never happened. Or, if it did, that it happened to someone else."

  Ralph reached over and gently placed one hand over Tanya's. "Please tell us, Tanya," he urged quietly. "It's the only way."

  When Tanya spoke again, her voice was a hushed whisper. "I thought I had forgotten about it, but then, as soon as I saw Elise, it came back. All of it."

  "Elise?" I asked. "Who's she?"

  "Elise was what she called herself years ago when I first knew her. Detective Fraymore told me her name was Daphne Lewis."

  "This was when you saw her in the Members' Lounge?" Tanya nodded. "What came back?" Ralph prodded.

  His insistence propelled Tanya up off the bench, away from the table and us. She paced over to the handrail where she stood facing off the deck, gripping the railing with thin, white-knuckled fingers. For several long minutes, she didn't speak.

  "Tanya," I said finally. "Were Shore and Daphne in the movie business together?"

  "Yes."

  "I can see why it's difficult for you to talk about it, but you have to understand that the people who make kiddie porn are animals, the very worst kind of vermin. Whatever Martin Shore did to hurt you…"

  Tanya Dunseth spun around and faced me, her face distorted into an ugly mask by a burst of derisive, caustic laughter. "Martin Shore? He never hurt me, not once. Oh, he tried, but he wasn't any good at it. What Jacques liked-that was his name back then, Jacques-was that I was still so flat-chested and young-looking. He thought that meant I was a virgin. The idea of cracking a virgin on film was a real turn-on for him."

  She paused. "I wasn't, though," she continued. "Hadn't been for years, but I let Jacques think I was. I always wanted to be an actress, and I told myself it was my first real acting job. When he came into the room to get me, I knew he wanted me to be scared, so I acted scared. When he wanted to hurt me, I screamed and cried and pretended like it hurt. And when he wanted me to like it? Well-I knew how to do that, too."

  Her voice drifted away and disappeared, the way a dying breeze leaves behind an unexpected silence. I felt as though her story had taken an unforeseen detour, wandered off the beaten path and left me flailing around an unfamiliar cross-roads in the dark. Tanya was telling us a story I hadn't expected to hear.

  "You say Martin Shore never hurt you?"

  "Never. Sometimes I had to fight to keep from laughing. Nothing poor old Jacques ever did to me for the camera was any worse than what my own father had done to me a hundred times before. Nothing that happened to me later was worse than that."

  Her father? Stunned by Tanya's words, I glanced at Ralph Ames. His face was ashen, his jawline set. The horrific similarity to Anne Corley's own story was far closer than either one of us could possibly have imagined. Or wanted to.

  "That's my first conscious memory," she added quietly, "my father coming into my room at night. His shadow would fall across my bed, and then he'd be standing in front of the window, blocking out the moon. For years the memories ended there."

  I found myself cursed with sudden, unwanted insight. "Is that what you meant when you said seeing Daphne brought it back? You remembered?"

  "Yes," she said.

  No wonder she had spilled her drink in the Members' Lounge.

  When Tanya continued, her eyes gazed off into space, her voice distant, remote. "I remember the terrible weight of him on my body, so heavy I could barely breathe, the ugly noises he made, and the pain, the terrible pain. And I remember going to the bathroom in the dark to clean myself up. Afterward, I cried myself to sleep. Why didn't my mother ever come to me or hold me? Why did she let it happen?"

  Finally, Tanya fell silent, and a long, involuntary sob shook her body. I wanted to go to her and do for her what her mother never had, put an arm around her and offer some word of comfort, but I didn't dare. For one thing, I didn't know what Tanya's reaction would be. For another, I didn't trust myself to talk. No words are enough to counter that kind of parental betrayal.

  Even Ralph was stunned beyond his depth. We both sat there like lumps and waited for the wild onslaught of tears to subside.

  "Is that how you ended up with Shore and Daphne?" he asked at last. "To get away from your father?"

  Tanya nodded. "Like I said, Daphne wasn't her name then, not when I first met her in Walla Walla. She called herself Elise-Elise Morgan. She was only a few years older than I was, but she claimed to be a well-known New York model. She and Jacques went to small-town schools all over Washington and Oregon running seminars that told star-struck kids like me to forget about investing in modeling school. Not to brother. All they needed to break into modeling was a great portfolio."

  "Ah," Ralph said in sudden comprehension. "The old modeling-portfolio scam. Were they really selling portfolios?"

  "Some of the time," Tanya replied.

  "Martin Shore was the photographer?"

  "Sort of," Tanya answered. "I mean, he took the pictures, and they did sell some, but mostly they claimed to be running a contest. An all-expense-paid modeling shoot in Mexico was the grand prize. To me, that looked like the perfect way out of the trap. I couldn't wait to sign up. As soon as I filled out the entry form, I knew I was on my way to stardom."

  "How exactly does it work?" I asked.

  Ralph explained. "These guys go around the country, usually to small towns, and offer to turn ordinary kids into overnight modeling successes. All they have to do is pose for and buy this outrageously expensive portfolio of modeling photographs. Taken by none other than the world-famous Jacques himself. Right?"

  Tanya nodded.

  "Did Jacques have a last name?" I asked, trying to put together a starting place for unraveling this part of the story.

  Tanya shook her head, but Ralph Ames answered for her. "You don't understand, Beau. Topflight fashion photographers don't bother with last names, do they, Tanya?"

  She allowed him a wan smile. "I didn't find out the truth until after I won the contest." Leaving the handrail, Tanya came back over to the table and sat down on the opposite bench.

  "It turned out there was no contest. It had been a model search, and I was exactly what they were looking for; I fit the profile. They wanted a scared, desperate kid, reasonably good-looking, who would do almost anything to get away from home. It didn't take long for them to figure out that my parents wouldn't bat an eye if their underage daughter suddenly disappeared without a trace. And they wanted someone whose parents wouldn't be above taking a bribe to keep quiet about what happened."

  "Your father did that?" I asked. "He actually sold you to them for money?"

  Tanya looked me in the eye when she answered. "Why not? It meant one less mouth to feed, and it gave him a bundle of money my mother knew nothing about, money he used to play the ponies."

  I've been in Homicide forever, seen things that would turn most people's stomachs. I thought I had lost my ability to be shocked, but
it turned out I hadn't. Tanya's story appalled me, shook me in a way that seeing a mere dead body never could. It almost made me ashamed to call myself a man.

  Maybe I was more susceptible right then because of what was happening with Kelly, but I couldn't abide the idea that Tanya Dunseth's own father had committed such unspeakable crimes against her; that he had sold her to the likes of Martin Shore and Daphne Lewis to do with as they wished. Although considering what he himself had been doing to her, even selling her into bondage to a kiddie-porn czar had been a favor, an inarguable improvement.

  I lost track of the conversation for a time, stopped listening because I was too outraged to hear more. I wanted to hop in the Porsche, drive straight to Walla Walla, and slam a balled fist into somebody's sick, sallow face. How could a man do such a thing to his own child? How could anyone?

  When I came back to the conversation, Ralph Ames was still patiently asking questions. The process seemed even more difficult for him than it was for her. From time to time, his voice cracked under the strain of it, while Tanya continued to answer his questions in a quiet, steady voice barren of any emotion.

  It struck me as odd that Tanya's disclosures seemed to have a far greater impact on her two male listeners than they had on her. It was as though in revisiting those scenes from her horrific childhood, she somehow conquered the demons that lived there. She emerged from the battle with a kind of newly minted poise that was more than slightly unnerving.

  "When did you meet up with Jacques and Elise?" Ralph asked.

  "I was around fifteen, a sophomore in high school."

  Ralph frowned and looked at me. "Didn't Denver Holloway say the girl in the film was younger than that?"

  "It was me, all right," Tanya said. "I'm sure of it. I started taking birth-control pills when I was only eight. My father brought them to me. I don't know if the pills fouled up my natural development or if I was just a late bloomer. I didn't have my first period until I was fourteen. My second came a year later. My lack of boobs drove my father crazy. He was always pinching me there to see if I was growing. He kept telling me he wanted me to be a ‘real' woman. I hoped I never would be."

  "Birth-control pills for an eight-year-old?" I demanded. "How the hell did he get away with that? Where did he get them? Didn't your mother notice?"

  "If she noticed, she didn't care," Tanya replied. "Besides, my father was a sneak. Each month, he'd give me the new package. I had to take all the pills out of their little foil wrappers and put them in a vitamin bottle. He told me that I had to take a pill every day or I'd end up with a baby that would be blind and deformed. He said he'd have to drown it in the pond the way he did kittens whenever our cat had any."

  The story she told was so brutal and ugly I wanted to puke. Ralph rubbed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "I'm really sorry to put you through all this, Tanya, but once Detective Fraymore finds out about what you've told us, he's going to be asking the exact same questions."

  Tanya nodded. "I guess I knew he would," she said. "Amber and I went for a walk this afternoon while you all were at the hospital. I realized then I'd have to tell somebody. If it was only me, I wouldn't, but with Amber…" She paused and shrugged. "Well, I guess I have to face it sometime. And in a way, it's easier than I thought. It's like I'm two different people-the girl all those awful things happened to and somebody else, the person I am now. It's like acting. If you live a role long enough, you start believing it, and none of what I told you ever happened. I shut it out of my mind, and it doesn't exist."

  "What about your parents?" I asked. "Do they? Still exist, I mean?"

  "I don't know. I don't care."

  "Jeremy and Kelly told me that your parents died in a house fire when you were small, that you ran away from your guardian."

  "No," she replied quietly. "That's a lie. I made it up because it was easier to pretend they were dead than to accept them for what they really were. Over in eastern Washington, in the town of Goldendale, there was a girl about my age whose parents did die that way-in a house fire. I remember reading about it in the newspaper and wishing it could have been my parents who died instead of hers. I wanted to be her so much that finally I was. I stole her story and turned it into mine."

  "You're not from Goldendale at all?"

  "No. Walla Walla. My father was a guard at the prison. My mother cooked in the school cafeteria."

  "What are their names?"

  Tanya's story had led her through a landscape teeming with emotional land mines, yet through it all she had maintained her composure. Now a note of genuine alarm crept into her voice.

  "Do you have to bring them into this? I don't want anything to do with them-nothing. I don't even want them to know I'm still alive."

  "Someone will have to contact them," I said. "If we don't, Fraymore will. As soon as he tumbles to the Daphne Lewis/Martin Shore connection, he's going to be on your case. Believe me, his questions are going to be a hell of a lot tougher than Ralph's."

  Tanya seemed to consider my words before she answered. "Roger and Willy," she said finally. "Their names are Roger and Willy Tompkins."

  "Would they still be in Walla Walla?"

  "Probably." Tanya nodded. "I don't think they'd ever leave."

  "And your name?" I asked. "The official one on your birth certificate?"

  "Roseann Charlene Tompkins," Tanya answered. "I always hated it. My father chose the name, and I couldn't wait to get rid of it."

  We had been sitting on the picnic bench for far too long. Ralph Ames stood up and rubbed his back. "How did that happen?" he asked. "What was the chronology that took you from Roseann Tompkins to Tanya Dunseth?"

  "Some kids run away to join the circus. I ran away to make movies. I stayed with Elise and Jacques for two years. It worked for me. Eventually, I did get to be an actress. Except when we were making a movie, they left me alone. I had a place to live, enough food to eat, books to read. Nobody bothered me."

  "You made more than one movie? How many?"

  Tanya shook her head. "I don't know. Ten maybe? But if Fraymore recognized Martin Shore, then he has the very first one."

  "Why? How do you know?"

  "Because that's the only one where Jacques didn't wear a mask. I guess he was afraid someone might recognize him."

  "No wonder," I put in. "He was a cop."

  "A cop?" Tanya echoed, her eyes widening. "Really?"

  "He got drummed off the force in Yakima when they found out he was distributing pornography. I don't think anyone ever realized he was making the flicks and starring in them as well."

  Suddenly, surprisingly, Tanya Dunseth started to giggle. Within moments she dissolved into semi-hysterical laughter.

  "What's the matter?" I asked when she was finally able to talk again. "What's so funny?"

  "You mean all that time he was really a cop?" she asked, wiping tears from her eyes and gasping for breath.

  "Yes," I answered. "Why does that make you laugh?"

  "Whenever we were doing it, I always pretended I was making it with the Lone Ranger," Tanya answered. "I don't know why that made me feel better. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I am."

  "You were a survivor," Ralph cut in. "Playing games like that with your tormentor is a well known survival technique. Don't ever fault yourself for it. It's what they teach POWs to do in order to maintain their sanity. You stayed with them for two years?"

  Tanya nodded. "One day they gave me five thousand dollars and told me to leave town. I don't know why. Maybe they were about to be raided. I bought a bus ticket and came here."

  "To Ashland? Why?"

  "I always read about Ashland, even when I was little. I knew they did plays here. It seemed like the place to go if I wanted to be an actress. I gave myself a brand-new name-Tanya O'Brien, came here, got my GED, and started taking drama classes at Southern Oregon State College. And I started trying to work my way into the Festival. I did everything-sold tickets, mopped floors, worked the concession stands, sewed costumes. It took a
while, but finally I started getting parts."

  "That's when you met your former husband?"

  "I didn't realize it at the time, but Bob was just like my father-mean. He had a bachelor of fine arts. I didn't. When I started getting parts, it made him crazy and meaner. When I got my first speaking part, he beat me up the night before the opening. I went onstage the next night wearing a pound of makeup. Then, when he found out I was pregnant, he beat me up again and left town. At first, I felt deserted, but when I had time to think about it, I was relieved he was gone. It was the best thing that could have happened for me or for Amber."

  Ralph stopped pacing. "Have you ever told anyone else about this?" he asked quietly.

  "No."

  "Not a roommate or a friend? Not even your ex-husband?"

  "No. No one."

  "Do you have any enemies?"

  "Other than my father and my ex-husband? No."

  "And you don't know of anyone else here in Ashland, maybe someone else here at the Festival, who might share your…" Ames stumbled. "…your, uh…unfortunate background…someone else who may have her own grudge against these two and who is systematically trying to shift the blame to you?"

  Tanya shook her head. "No. I get along great with everybody. Ask anyone. No one here ever gave me any trouble."

  It wasn't difficult to understand Ames' line of questioning. The idea of Shore having another victim inside the Festival had already crossed my mind. I added my own twist. "By the way, where is your ex?" I asked.

  "He jumped off the 1–5 route. He burned out and isn't doing West Coast theaters anymore. For a long time now, I haven't heard anything about him, and I don't want to know."

  "He doesn't pay child support?"

  "Are you kidding?"

  I'll admit, with someone like Robert Dunseth, asking about child support was strictly a rhetorical question.

  Ralph shook his head. "I don't think it would be him, anyway, Beau. It has to be someone with a grudge against all three-Tanya, Daphne, and Martin Shore. Did Martin Shore try to contact you once he got to town?"