I'm Still Here: A Novel

by Jon Mills

  When she emerged twenty minutes later she poured another cup of joe and took the sketches and pinned them to the board alongside the rest of her mother’s research.

  Kara stepped back and folded an arm across her midsection, resting the other on it, and continued to sip her coffee. Her thoughts shifted to Kyle Harris. If Seth Leonard had been behind the murders of Charlie and the other boys, had he known Harris? Did he have some vendetta against him? She was also keen to find out if his sister had spoken to him about their tussle the other night, and if the brick through the window had been some form of retaliation? She still hadn’t heard back from Blackmore Police Department so she assumed they hadn’t been able to track down Mary. She still hadn’t made up her mind about Harris. Noah might have been right. Perhaps her mother had reached the end of her rope, so to speak, and come to the realization that the murders of the four other boys were the work of someone else. She ran a hand over her tired face. Yesterday felt like she’d made progress but had she? All they had was circumstantial evidence — a home of a known pedophile with images of young boys, and a person of interest seen on a video leaving behind odd sketches.

  She wanted to see Harris. Look him in the eyes. She could have used the video system but you had to book 24 hours in advance. And there was very little she could learn from a phone conversation. Ninety-three percent of communication was non-verbal. In all the years of interviewing suspects she had become confident in her abilities to detect liars. It could be found in the facial expression, body language or verbal indicators. Being able to discern required sifting through nervousness, chemical reactions and physical reactions. The best means of determining it relied on observation over a period of time. Seeing the usual reactions, and tics that were characteristic to only that person.

  She bit down on her lower lip giving thought to how long it would take and the logistics of it all. She needed to be here for the vigil but the rest of the day was open unless Noah managed to hear back from the medical examiner.

  Kara fished out her laptop and did a quick check to see how long it would take to fly down from Port Angeles to Walla Walla airport and what the odds were of getting a same-day flight. A quick browse and she brought it up. It was a quick fifty-five minute flight. I can do this. She nodded, snapping the elastic around her wrist. The question though was whether she wanted to do this. If this was him. If this was the man she’d encountered in the woods that night, could she bring herself to face him? She only briefly remembered him walking into the courtroom when she was twenty. It happened so fast and her memory of that day was vague. But to sit across from him? Kara hadn’t even considered if he would do it.

  Screw it. Just do it, she told herself.

  Kara contemplated calling Noah to tell him but decided it was probably best not to, she already knew what he would say — are you out of your mind? It was a question she’d already asked herself and she couldn’t answer it. Instead she called ahead to Walla Walla and posed the question. At first he seemed a little caught off-guard, she figured he would. Why visit in person when you can speak by phone? Fortunately instead of turning it down he agreed on one condition, that she pass on a message to his father who hadn’t spoken to him since he’d been incarcerated. All attempts at communicating with him through his family had fallen on deaf ears. He figured that his father might listen if it was coming from a cop.

  Just over two hours later, including the journey into Port Angeles, Kara’s flight touched down at Walla Walla Regional Airport. On the short ten-minute ride to the state penitentiary she was a bag of nerves. She’d sat with all manner of criminals — many that were guilty of hideous crimes — but nothing came close to how she felt as the taxi brought her through the gates and past multiple barbed wire fences up to the west complex. It was the second largest prison for men in the state after Coyote and surrounded by wheat fields. Over two thousand inmates were crammed into cells, with many on death row, hoping their appeals with the state and federal courts would eventually grant them a commutation.

  After being led through multiple barred doors, and hearing the echo of them clanging, and the jeering of inmates, she was eventually led to what was referred to as a no-contact booth. It was a small carpeted room with tiled walls. Basic. Sterile looking. A black phone was set against a steel frame with a large thick window to see the inmate. Either side of her were privacy panels. The room itself had ten chairs; two were in use when she was escorted in. The guard gave her some brief instructions and she took a seat waiting for Kyle to show up. Kara shifted a few times on the burgundy cushioned chair trying to get comfortable. Her throat went dry so she ferreted through her bag for a Fisherman’s Friend lozenge to help her breathe better.

  She waited for close to ten minutes before a door opened on the other side and in shuffled Kyle Harris. He was wearing the state-issued offender clothing of a white T-shirt, khaki pants, and white sneakers. The years inside hadn’t been kind to him. In an instant the memory of him being led into the courtroom came back to her and she felt she was back there gripping her mother’s hand. Her pulse sped up a little. His hair was shorter now, buzzed close to the side of his head, and he wore small spectacles. He didn’t smile but neither did he look angry. The guard removed the restraints around his wrists and made a comment, and he gave a nod and took a seat beyond the window. Although it had been twenty-five years since Charlie’s abduction, it had been nineteen years since she’d last seen him. She wished she could say that she had thought about what this day would be like but she hadn’t. After the trial she pushed it from her mind as it was the only way she could deal with the emotions surrounding the loss, the lack of answers and his plea of not guilty. He took a second to tap out a Marlboro Light cigarette and light it before he picked up the phone and stared into her eyes. She figured he had to have been just as nervous. Even though they’d already broken the ice over the phone it was different looking him in the eye.

  She took a deep breath, and feigned a weak smile. “This place is noisy.”

  He snorted. “You get used to it.”

  She nodded. “I appreciate you allowing this.”

  He chuckled a little as if finding something amusing in that. “You got your mother’s eyes.”

  She wasn’t too sure how to respond to that except to give a short nod and shift the conversation to the reason she was there. She looked down and then back again, then put a hand into her pocket and brought out her phone. A few swipes and she brought up a mug shot of Seth taken back when he was arrested, and one before that when he served the Catholic Church.

  “Seth Leonard. Does the name sound familiar?”

  He squinted at the phone. “Doesn’t ring a bell. No. Who is he?”

  “A convicted child molester, previously a Catholic deacon and child welfare advocate.”

  He scoffed and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. “The irony.”

  “I thought you couldn’t smoke in here?” she asked.

  “And you shouldn’t bribe the guards but it happens,” he said casting a glance over his shoulder with a smirk. He looked back at her and must have noticed that she was at a loss for words as he said, “Look, I get it. You think I abducted your brother and even if you don’t, the thought must be in the back of your mind, right?” Kara cocked her head and he continued after taking another drag of his cigarette. “The fact is I didn’t stand a chance in hell. Sheriff Smith had it out for me from day one. It didn’t matter that witnesses came forward and told them about suspicious individuals in the area at the time. He had his crosshair fixed on me.” He shrugged. “Then when you throw evidence found on my property into the mix, they had what they needed.”

  “I’ve put in a request to have them check the DNA on the clothing of my brother,” she said.

  “You did?” His eyes widened. “And they listened?”

  “Goodman is making a few calls. I can’t promise anything. There is a possibility that the evidence has been destroyed or lost.”

  Harris sighed and
shook his head. “You know how many times my lawyer put forward to have them retest it but no one listened?” She waited for him to continue but he didn’t. Instead he looked down despondently and was quiet, then he said, “Damn justice system. I swear to God that if I’m vindicated I will sue them for everything they have.”

  “My parents?” Kara asked.

  He shook his head. “Your parents were just along for the ride. Nothing more than puppets in the hands of lawyers wanting more money.”

  Kara nodded. “I met your sister.”

  He put out his cigarette in a small tin and the guard stepped forward and removed it. Kyle muttered something to him before looking back at her. “Mary. How is she?”

  “I would have thought you knew?” Kara asked.

  “Well, let’s say that we’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

  “She seemed pretty vocal about you.”

  He looked intrigued.

  “All right, spit it out. What’s she done?”

  “Our discussion got heated in a bar, the police showed up and since then we’ve had a break-in at the house and a brick lobbed through the window.”

  “She’s responsible?” he asked.

  Kara shrugged. “Who knows? The police are looking into it but they seem convinced that she’s behind it after my run-in with her.”

  He groaned. “I told her to stay out of it and leave your family alone.”

  Kara stared back at him. “So you are in communication with her?”

  He shook his head. “No. This was back when your mother was alive.”

  Kara studied his face.

  “That’s why, isn’t it? Mary thinks you should be blaming us.”

  He nodded. “And I did for a time until I met your mother. I realized we had a lot more in common than I thought. All of us have been played by the justice system to cover up for lousy police work and personal agendas.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “Listen, Kyle, is there anything else you can tell me? Anyone that stands out in your mind who might have had a vendetta against you, barring the sheriff?”

  “Did you speak with the kid?”

  “The kid?” she asked.

  “Ricky Weslo. He had a lot of family that were pissed at me at the time. I received death threats after the case of interfering with him was thrown out. If anyone would have wanted to see me go down, it would have been his kin.”

  “What about Ray Owen or Darryl Clayton? Any connection to Ricky’s family?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  She didn’t have any photos to show of them but it was clear their names didn’t strike a chord. “Do you know where he lived?”

  “It was a long time ago. But yes. Maybe his parents are still there. Though you want to be careful. If they were behind it they won’t take too kindly to someone sticking their nose where it’s not wanted.”

  He told her the address of a street in Blackmore, and also gave her a message to give to his father. It wasn’t much, just a few things that he wanted him to know. Just as she was about to thank him for his time, he placed a hand against the window and blurted out, “I’m sorry about your brother, Kara. I really wish I could tell you more but that’s all I know.”

  Arriving back in Blackmore that afternoon she felt torn. She now understood why her mother believed Harris. He didn’t come across as a monster but an ordinary, down-to-earth guy, who may have just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although she wouldn’t jump the gun and rule him out, she did think that his previous run-in with the law made him a strong suspect. At the bare minimum she wanted to hear Ricky’s side of the story. Not much had been released in the media before or after the events due to his age.

  The address Harris had given her was for a low, pale-white rambler with a for sale sign in the front yard and an attached garage. A shed and a child’s swing set stood behind it, and both looked weathered by time. The garage door was open and the inside was cluttered with all manner of junk. A collection of storage totes was stacked to one side and an elderly woman was sorting through it when Kara pulled into the driveway. The woman glanced back, squinting, and cupped a hand over her eyes. She was tall, thin and had hollow cheeks with oversized glasses. Her hair was gray with a few black strands. She wore a pair of black jeans and a button-up yellow shirt that hung loose.

  When Kara pushed out of the SUV the woman piped up, “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Weslo?”

  “Ms. My husband passed away a few years back.”

  Kara glanced at the sign and flashed her badge as she got close. “I’m working with County and was hoping to speak with your son Ricky.”

  She put down the bag in her hand and her face screwed up. “Why do you want to speak to him?”

  “Just a few questions about the incident with Kyle Harris.”

  She snorted. “Will it help put him on death row?”

  Kara wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  “Is he around?”

  “Doesn’t live here anymore. Moved out when he was eighteen. He’s got a place over on Rawlands Drive. You know it?”

  She nodded.

  “Can I get the address from you?”

  “28. But you won’t find him there today. He works for Green Lumber and Millwork in town. Usually knocks off around six.” She squinted at her. “Who did you say you were again?”

  “I didn’t. Sorry. The name’s Kara Walker.”

  “I thought I recognized you. You’re Anna’s daughter. Sorry to hear about your mother. Poor woman was put through a lot. We were close, her and I. After everything that we’d been through with Ricky’s abuse and well, your brother.” She stared for a second or two. “That’s why I don’t get it.”

  “Get what?” Kara asked.

  “The sudden change in your mother’s view of him.”

  “She spoke to you about that?”

  She gave a nod. “I told her he was playing mind games. That’s how he did it with Ricky. That’s how he did it with all those boys.”

  “All those boys?”

  “The ones the cops overlooked. The ones your mother uncovered. The ones that were attacked in Forks.”

  “You think he was behind those?”

  “Damn right he was, and nothing can change my mind.” She shook her head and looked off into her garage. “Had they locked him up when my boy told the cops, Charlie would be alive. But that’s not how it works. The justice system is crooked. It’s all about how much money you have.”

  She was venting and if there was truth to it, she had every right to be angry.

  Kara looked around. “You selling?”

  “Have to. Can’t afford to keep it. Not on the pension I get.”

  Kara thanked her for her time and headed back to the SUV. As she was climbing in, Ms. Weslo hollered, “Pass on my regards to your father.” Kara nodded.

  Chapter 29

  Green Lumber and Millwork was a building supply company that served Blackmore and the greater Olympic Peninsula. The A-frame steel facility stood out at the corner of 16th and 17th Streets on the industrial side of the town. Orange forklift trucks carrying large amounts of lumber veered in and out of the storage area that covered building material as Kara was given directions by an employee to where she could find Ricky.

  A workman wearing steel-toe boots and a yellow work hat hollered at her as she made her way inside. “Lady, you shouldn’t be in here. The pickup area is over there,” he said pointing to a space at the front of the store.

  “Ricky Weslo around?” she asked.

  The guy told another employee to keep it down as he cupped a hand over his ear. “Who?”

  “Weslo.”

  “That’s him over there.”

  He pointed to a large guy driving a forklift. “Ricky!”

  Ricky turned off the forklift and twisted in his seat. “What?”

  “A lady here to see you.”

  Someone wolf whistled and Kara shook her head. Ricky step
ped out and muttered something to another worker before jogging over. He was a tall, muscular man with a full face, black hair and a beard going slightly gray on the chin. He had on dark pants, and a white T-shirt beneath a thick plaid shirt. If he was under sixteen at the time of the alleged molestation, that would have made him in his early forties. Ricky yanked off a thick pair of yellow workman gloves, and removed his hard hat and wiped sweat from his brow.

  “What can I do for yah?” he asked.

  “The name’s Kara Walker. I’m working with Clallam County Sheriff Department. I need to talk to you about Kyle Harris.”

  The mention of his name immediately got up his back up. “I’ve already said everything I’m gonna say.”

  He turned to walk away when Kara blurted out, “Just five minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking for. It might save a kid’s life.”

  He turned and looked back at her for a few seconds as if he was contemplating it. He nodded, then shouted out, “Hey Brian. I’m gonna take that smoke break. Can you cover me?”

  “Sure,” his buddy replied.

  Ricky breezed past her. “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”

  She followed him over to a wooden picnic table that was positioned on a patch of green adjacent to the parking lot. There was a dented paint can full of ash and cigarette stubs, and a small trash can that was overflowing with empty lunch wrappers. Ricky hopped up onto the table, resting his feet where others would sit. He tapped out a cigarette and lit it.