I'm Still Here: A Novel

by Jon Mills

  She sat back in her seat and remembered what Henry Ellis had mentioned about Seth Leonard driving a white and brown 1982 Pontiac Bonneville back in 1991. Was it possible that he’d been responsible for these attacks after being let out of prison? Her eyes washed over the room as the library started to get busy with moms and their young kids. She momentarily thought about Ethan and felt an ache.

  Kara glanced back at the screen and did a search through online news archives for the other four counties of Jefferson, Grays Harbor, Mason and Thurston in the same time period. A number of articles came up for sexual assaults but none that matched the M.O. reported within Clallam County. It was possible that Seth had graduated up to murder instead of just assault. Her mind was lost in deep thought when a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders from behind. Startled, she nearly fell out of her chair. Laughter erupted as she turned to find Sam curled over. His hair was soaking wet, as were his clothes. He had on a ripped pair of jeans, workman boots, and a North Face black jacket.

  “Oh that was priceless.”

  Placing a hand on her chest, she took in a few deep breaths then said, “Sam. You scared the life out of me. What are you doing here?”

  He chuckled as he slipped into a chair beside her and eyed the monitor, drumming his fingers against the table. He had a toothpick sticking out the corner of his mouth. “Got a job working on a roof in town. We got rained out. Suits me fine, we don’t have to be back until Monday. I saw you head in here earlier, figured I would see what you’re up to.” He looked back at the screen. “Sexual assaults. I knew it. You couldn’t resist, could you? So what have you managed to find out?” He leaned back and removed the toothpick. She told him about the discovery they’d made that morning at Seth Leonard’s house.

  “I’m just following up on some assaults that occurred prior to Charlie’s abduction. I’m surprised this didn’t get mentioned at the time. Did you ever hear or read about it?”

  “No, what abductions?”

  She brought him up to speed and showed him the article. Once he was done reading it he nodded. “Certainly makes sense. You figure this is the same guy who took Charlie?”

  “Not sure. They’re processing Seth’s home as we speak.”

  He took the toothpick and tapped it against the screen under the description of the vehicle. “Darryl Clayton had a Bonneville. Same colors too.”

  “What?”

  “My old man knew him back in the day. He’d hired him to help out on a drywalling job. I remember going to his farm as a kid and seeing it in the open barn.”

  “You remember back that far?”

  He nodded. “My dad got into an argument with him over money. Darryl accused him of holding back what was rightfully his. I guess that’s why it sticks out in my mind. Things got pretty heated and my dad knocked him on his ass because he took a swing at him. He was younger back then. Cocky. In his late twenties. Fucking guy said he was going to get his gun. We got the hell out of there.”

  Kara looked back at the screen. Maybe that’s why the police had focused on him. Though she did recall him matching the suspect sketch at the time.

  “Anyway my dad put Clayton’s name forward as someone who matches the suspect sketch.”

  “He thought he could have done it?” she asked.

  “Him and others. Look, if anyone could have done it, it was either him or his brother-in-law. They were both as batshit crazy as each other.” He paused.

  “You know where they live?” Kara asked.

  “Yep.” He stuck the toothpick back in his mouth. “But you don’t want to go up there. I’m serious, Kara. The guy has issues. So does his son. Well you remember him.”

  She leaned on the desk. “No.”

  “Of course you do, he was around our age at the time. Gregory Clayton. C’mon, don’t say you don’t remember him?”

  She shook her head.

  “He moved from Forks to Clallam because he got expelled for fighting. Caused all manner of trouble. You know, the one who looked a little retarded and used to wear that plaid hat that made him look like Holden from Catcher in the Rye.” Anyway, I tell you, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to him. Fortunately, he only did a year in our school before Darryl pulled him out and homeschooled him after they accused Darryl of physical abuse.” He stared at her. “Man, you really have forgotten a lot.”

  Kara got up and logged out. “Did you drive here?”

  “No, I got a ride. Asshole who was meant to take me back bailed. Said it was too far out of his way. Told me to catch the bus.”

  She smiled. “So that’s why you came in.”

  “Hey, you’ve got it all wrong.” He smiled. “But sure, I could use a lift home.”

  They made their way to the exit and looked out at the downpour. That was the thing about Clallam and living by the coast, the weather could change in a heartbeat.

  Chapter 23

  It was a good hour’s drive from Port Angeles to Forks. Highway 101 had turned into a mini stream with the constant battering of rain. The windshield wipers sloshed water back and forth in an almost hypnotic fashion. Kara reached over and switched on the heater as the windows started to fog up. She cracked the window just a little and let in some of the cold, damp air. For most of the journey Sam tried to talk her out of visiting Clayton.

  “I’m serious, Kara. The reason they didn’t bring him in for further questioning was because no one had the balls to go out there and bring him in. He’s mentally unstable.”

  “Sounds like he fits the profile.”

  He groaned and ran a hand over his head. “You’re just like your mother. No one could get her to see reason. Once she had it in her mind to do something she was like a pit bull,” he said. “Even if he’s there, you’d have a better chance of speaking to him when he’s running errands or out working than showing up on his property. Rumor has it he has brought a rifle out on numerous occasions with his neighbors. Threatens to shoot them. It’s nuts.”

  “Relax, Sam. You can stay in the SUV with the engine running. If things get hot, we’ll leave. Okay?”

  He didn’t look any more satisfied with that answer than those she’d already given. Darryl Clayton’s farm was located minutes away from the Quillayute Airport and only ten minutes from Olympic National Park and Rialto Beach. It was everything she expected when she veered into his driveway. The farmland itself was unkempt with fenced pastures, stables and deteriorating storage buildings. The home represented those who might be heavily into fishing and hunting. It was rural, off the beaten path and shrouded by dense pine forest. All the buildings including the barn off to the right had a red tin roof and were made from timber.

  “So is he still working as a handyman?”

  “His son is, I saw him in Blackmore the other month. Darryl helps him from time to time but apparently makes his money breeding dogs and selling them. Who knows what kind of environment he has them in.”

  The SUV rumbled up the driveway. As they got closer a woman who looked to be in her early fifties emerged from the barn holding a steel bucket in one hand. She was wearing black boots, jeans and a thick fall jacket. “That’s Nancy Clayton. Darryl’s wife,” Sam said. She put a hand up to her brow and looked over as Kara parked the SUV. She left it idling, checked that her service weapon was loaded and climbed out.

  “Hang tight,” she said to Sam who had already sunk down into his seat a little. “Hello there,” Kara said in a friendly manner as she made her way over. The woman scowled making it clear she wasn’t happy with the intrusion. “I’m Kara Walker.” She pulled her badge and flashed it but didn’t leave it out long enough for her to see. “I’m assisting Clallam County Police Department. I was hoping to speak with Darryl, is he around?” Her gaze bounced between her and the home nearby. She’d always found it best to lead people instead of letting them guide her. She started making her way over to the house when Nancy fell in step.

  “What’s this all about?” Nancy asked.

  “
Just a few questions I need to ask him.”

  “Concerning?”

  As they got closer, the front door opened, and a pudgy fella wearing a camouflage baseball cap, a dirty-looking white shirt, and brown pants and slippers pushed open the screen door. It creaked a little but he didn’t step out.

  “Darryl Clayton?” Kara asked.

  “Who’s asking?” he replied in a deep voice.

  Before she could reply Nancy did the honors. “She’s with the pigs.”

  The guy smirked. “Lady, you better turn around and head out of here if you know what’s good for you. I’m tired of you assholes hassling me.”

  “Just have a few questions to ask and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He scowled. “Did you not hear me?”

  “Mr. Clayton, I was told you own a white and brown Pontiac Bonneville, is that right?”

  He didn’t reply but thumbed over his shoulder to his wife like he was used to telling her what to do without words. She slipped by him, keeping her distance as if expecting to be swatted. He stepped beyond the screen door and it clattered behind him.

  “Who told you that?” His eyes darted to the SUV and he squinted.

  “So do you?”

  “And what if I do? How’s that any of your business?”

  There was no other way around it except to come out with it. The whole point of the visit wasn’t to get him to confess to anything but to gauge his reaction, get a feel for who he was but more importantly to hear his voice. Even though the man who took Charlie wore a mask, was younger and spoke through gritted teeth, she figured she’d know it when she heard it. Then again there was a chance she could be wrong.

  “We’re currently investigating assaults that occurred between the years of 1989 and 1991. A vehicle that matches the description of yours was mentioned to us and we would just like to—”

  “Get the hell off my property!” he blurted out jabbing his finger in her direction.

  “So that would be a no?” Kara asked.

  “Lady, I won’t ask you again. Get back into your vehicle and…”

  As he was saying that Sam stepped out of the SUV and made his way over. “Everything okay here, Kara?”

  Darryl scowled and stepped down from his porch. He jabbed his finger. “I know you. Tom Young’s boy.”

  “And I know you too, old man.” Sam pulled at Kara’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Why, we were just getting acquainted,” Kara said turning back to him.

  “Yeah that bastard is finally where he deserves to be.”

  Sam balled his fists. “You want to say that again, old man?”

  Before things could get out of control, a vehicle could be heard rumbling down the driveway. She turned and saw a van. It splashed through some of the rain puddles and veered in at an angle. A broad-shouldered man in his late thirties, wearing a black T-shirt and dirty jeans tucked into workman boots, stepped out and hurried over.

  “These people giving you trouble?”

  “They were just leaving.”

  “And you must be… Gregory? Holy cow. Gregory Clayton. Don’t you remember me? Kara Walker.”

  “Walker?” Darryl blurted out.

  “Yeah, you both probably remember my mother Anna, and most certainly Charlie.” She let his name linger gauging their reaction, hoping to see anything in their expression that would give her reason to believe they knew more than they were letting on.

  “That’s it. I’m done with this. I’m getting my gun.”

  “Hold on, Dad,” Gregory said.

  “No. Enough is enough.”

  He slammed the door on the way into his house leaving them outside.

  Gregory spun around, a flash of anger. “I would advise you to leave. Now.”

  “He’s right, Kara,” Sam said giving a small tug on her coat. She didn’t take her eyes off Gregory but then turned away glancing at his blue van with a red decal on the side that read: Clayton Handyman Service. They made it over to the SUV and were just climbing in when Darryl came out of the house with a Winchester rifle in hand. Gregory waved him off and stepped up onto the porch to watch them leave.

  “I see what you mean now. Real friendly. Why the animosity, huh?” Kara muttered not taking her eyes off the two of them. Sam didn’t answer but just told her to get moving before he took a crack at them.

  Beyond the gates of the farm, Sam looked over his shoulder. “I told you. Insane.”

  They hadn’t made it a few miles down the road when her phone started vibrating. She veered off to the edge of the road and fished into her bag. It was Goodman.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Where you been? I tried phoning a couple of times but got no answer.”

  She looked over to Sam. “I got caught up running a few errands. Any luck at the house?”

  He sighed. “Look, I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Kara, but we found video footage of the vigil for Charlie. Seems he was there. There are also a number of articles he kept on the vigils of the other missing boys. We also found a painting of Charlie. Looks as if it’s based on the same headshot that was used on the missing flyers. There is a carload of porn here and the team is going to jack-hammer the basement as the cement looks freshly poured. I’ll keep you posted.”

  She was quiet.

  “Kara?” he asked.

  “I’m here.”

  “Did you want to come down and take a look around?”

  “I looked into those attacks on boys between ’89 and ’91. Six occurred in Forks, and another two in Blackmore. Do you know if we can get our hands on the original police reports? Find out who the kids were?”

  “Best of luck with that. They’ve probably been destroyed by now.”

  “Then what about speaking with Sgt. Barnett? As he was mentioned in the article. Oh, and do you know Clayton was apparently in possession of a brown and white Pontiac Bonneville back then?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Sam,” she said.

  “Please tell me you did not go up to the Claytons’?”

  “Afraid so.”

  He sighed. “Kara. Seriously. If he files a complaint the chief will take you off the case.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Okay so things got a little heated but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

  “We?” he asked.

  Kara cleared her throat. “Sam.”

  “Dear Lord. Look, just stay out of trouble for a few hours until I can get this squared away. I have—”

  She cut him off. “Noah, you need to get a warrant and speak with Clayton again. I’m serious. Something’s not right there. In the meantime I’m going to see if I can speak with the families of the four missing boys. If Seth had a video of Charlie’s vigil, maybe he attended the other ones.”

  “Kara.”

  “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Chapter 24

  After dropping Sam off, it was a little after two in the afternoon. Kara sat outside in the SUV thumbing through the case file given to her by Tim Greer. It was a thick, lumpy folder that had faded over time and was jam-packed with papers stuffed into more folders; each one corresponded to the missing boys: Scott Caldwell, Chris Peterson, Dwight Harrington and Richard Beck.

  Over the course of the next five minutes she made phone calls in the hope of being able to chat with all the parents. It wasn’t to be. The Becks and Harringtons said it wasn’t a good time; the Petersons didn’t answer so she left a message. The only one that seemed receptive and available was Maureen, Scott’s mother.

  Before leaving for Jefferson County, she took ten minutes to go through the notes on the family. Scott Caldwell was twelve and the fourth boy to go missing. He went missing on Halloween 2011 while out trick or treating. According to the original police report, his mother had made arrangements for him to go with another family that lived two streets over on Calhoun Street. However she had an unforeseen emergency with her other child and co
uld not take him there. Scott said he’d be fine to walk by himself the five-minute journey over to their home. He was never seen again. No witnesses. No one remembered seeing him on the streets, then again it was dark and most would have assumed a boy walking down the street was just walking ahead of his parents. She ran a hand over her face as memories flooded in of her own fateful night, before setting out on the two-hour journey to the eastern shore.

  Port Townsend was the largest city in Jefferson County with just over nine thousand residents. Like Port Angeles, it was often a hot spot for tourists looking to visit the National Forest and take in some of the natural scenery that Washington State had to offer. Its location at the northeast tip of the Olympic Peninsula provided breathtaking views of the bay.

  In all the years Kara had lived in Blackmore she’d never ventured into Port Townsend even though the county of Jefferson butted up against Clallam and offered all manner of annual events. The SUV wound through the streets into the heart of the downtown and she took in the sight of Victorian buildings, the federal building, the Rose Theatre, Elks Lodge and various mom-and-pop stores. The water of the bay glistened in the afternoon sun, and waves from the harbor crashed against the shore. Seagulls wheeled over the pier, disappearing behind dockside attractions. A salty smell lingered. The traffic moved ahead of her at a steady pace. The roads around the bay were clearer in October than in the summer when it was ludicrous to attempt to navigate some of the one-way streets in Clallam. After taking a right off Washington Street she eventually found the white clapboard home on the corner of Pierce and Jefferson. It was a one-story abode with brown shingles, white shutters and a picture-perfect landscaped yard.

  She parked her SUV outside and made her way to the door. Someone glanced out the window and she heard a thumping, somebody running. A female approached the door as she heard her voice. Kara’s hand was reaching for the knocker when the door opened and she was greeted by an auburn-haired woman close to Kara in age.