Without Trace

by Rae Richen

  “And on into San Francisco. They could have been headed to Fresno, or Los Angeles, or . . .”

  “Without the driver’s information, even an educated guess, we’ve lost them.”

  Reese said, “You don’t think I’m going to let him die, do you? I’m keeping him alive if at all possible.”

  Reese opened his door, “Be right back.” He got out, leaving the front door closed and locked.

  As Reese strode toward the stretcher that held Officer Seneca, Willie stood in the back seat, in-so-far as she could, stretched her stomach over the seat back, pulled her purse across the seat and used its hard corner to flip the child-door lock mechanism.

  She was out before Reese got to Seneca. On her way to the low ground where her grandchildren sat, she heard Officer Seneca say, “That van driver is the key. Don’t believe he didn’t know the trip. Miss Jones says he was as much in the know as the dead guy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Hours later, Grandma Willie sat next to Glyn’s bed. Beside her, in the second bed, lay Trace. Trace’s mother sat silent vigil while her son dreamed and thrashed, and then fell silent for interminable minutes.

  On the other side of Glyn’s bed, Willie’s daughter, Susan, held his hand. Glyn’s father paced the floor, fidgeting with his phone, with Glyn’s toes and then, having paced to the head of the bed, watched the green lights on the monitor while he brushed fingers into Glyn’s hair.

  Susan said, “Mom, stop apologizing.”

  “If I hadn’t taken him with me...”

  “Then you’d never have known about Arwain and Claudia.”

  Grandma Willie nodded, but she thought about all the things she could have done differently... not letting Glyn go down that driveway, for one.

  The truck driver, Aron Peterson, also lay in this hospital under guard. His tall buddy had not made it.

  As Captain Reese put it, “The guard is at that bedroom door to keep Peterson in and all others out. They gotta know he knows stuff we want to know.”

  Willie had glanced at him.

  “I know. I know.” He smiled. “Repetition is a literary device if you use it well,” he said, quoting her from his academy writing class. “Otherwise, it’s literary laziness.”

  All that she used to teach these officers about writing, and she’d never really understood the horrors they had to write about.

  **

  Arwain sat in the hallway and regretted many things. Her brother, Glyn, lay in bed, his body trying to build strength and use the transfusion of A negative blood that came from his father. Trace lay in another bed in the same room, trying to rid his body of several drugs, some self-administered, others put into him by his kidnappers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ash, Claudia’s family, sat in another room, watching for Claudia’s body to rid itself of the anesthetic Ketalar. By the time the ambulance got to the hospital, Claudia’s lungs were in respiratory trouble, a sign, the doctor had explained, that Claudia was allergic to the anesthetic. The doctors had hooked her up to oxygen, a heart monitor and a drip of some kind that Arwain hadn’t understood at the time.

  Across the hall from Claudia, Officer Seneca lay in a bed, shrapnel out, but a deep wound in his back. He tossed so much with worry that the nurse had to restrain him into sleeping on his stomach. His dreams made him cry out.

  Arwain sat in the waiting room situated in between the three rooms, listening for anything going on in either bed, but not willing to commit to visiting Officer Seneca.

  Yet, every time she heard him cry out, she jumped and then sank back into the sofa.

  Next to Arwain, Violeta Aguirre and her mother and father hovered. Javier Lucero, from their university safety committee sat in a chair near the door to Claudia’s room.

  Arwain knew Javier stayed out of Claudia’s room only because he feared her family wouldn’t welcome him.

  “You think they want to find some brown fellow loves their daughter?” he asked.

  Arwain cocked her head to one side. “Does Claudia even know that?”

  Javier pushed his shoes back and forth on the carpet. “Haven’t found the time ...”

  “You mean the courage?”

  He looked at Arwain. “Well, that too.”

  Suddenly, Violeta looked up. “Don’t waste any more time. When she comes out of this, you better be honest.”

  Javier nodded.

  Arwain stood up and said, “Come with me. Until later, you are our friend from the safety committee. Let them get to know you, first.”

  So, they went to Claudia’s room. Up to that point, Arwain’s visits to Claudia’s room included “How could you,” stares from Mr. Ash, Claudia’s father and Mrs. Jenkins, her grandmother. But Claudia’s mother asked it out loud.

  “Why did you two go on this fools’ errand? She’s never been that foolish before.”

  Arwain nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Ash. I should have told her no, when she offered to come.”

  Grandma stared at Javier, “Did you think this was a good idea?”

  Before he could answer, Arwain said, “Javier would have told us not to do it, so we didn’t tell him.”

  “Very smart young man,” Grandma said. Then she glanced around. “Where is that Doctor Gabriel?”

  Mr. Ash said, “Mother, she can’t be here on demand. She has other patients.”

  Grandma flapped her hand at him. “This girl took her on a dangerous search. Why is she not also unconscious?”

  Javier stood up and moved toward Claudia’s feet. Arwain stood next to him so whatever gesture he made would seem to come from both of them.

  Javier said, “Mrs. Ash, Arwain had the same drug in her, just less of it.”

  “Stupid to even be there,” Grandma said.

  “Mother,” Mr. Ash began, but Arwain interrupted. “Yes, it seems stupid now.” She reached out and touched Claudia’s toes through the sheets and blankets, a gesture she felt Javier wanted to make, so she did it for both of them.

  Arwain kept talking. “Neither of us thought it would be more than a bus ride – just as the girl we hoped to trace probably thought it was simply a ride to a new college life.”

  Finally, Claudia’s mother asked, “Who were you tracing?”

  “Her name is Rosaria Aguirre. She disappeared on her way to George Fox University in Newberg. We decided to take the same bus and see places where she might have gotten off – where she might have been kidnapped.”

  Claudia’s dad suddenly spoke. “Well, you found it.”

  The grandmother huffed, “Why aren’t you drugged?”

  “I was drugged, too, but I think they used more on her, or used the same container and had less left over for me.”

  The doctor moved into the room. She was a slender woman with jet dark hair and tired eyes. She looked like she ought to be relieved of some of the five patients that had been brought to her in the middle of the night.

  “Good morning,” she said, showing a slight trace of a Spanish accent. “I am Doctor Yolanda Gabriel. I am glad you are all together because I’ve been seeing very good signs for Claudia in my last two visits during the night.”

  Claudia’s dad gestured toward his inert daughter. “How is this a good sign?”

  “Her heart has slowed to a reasonable rate. Her blood pressure is down, close to normal. And her breathing is almost entirely on her own, although we’ll leave the tubes in until she awakens.”

  Claudia’s grandmother said, “Why is she not awake and this girl is up walking around.”

  Doctor Gabriel spoke to Arwain. “Your guess may be true. You had a lot less of the Ketalar than Claudia, but you had some. I told Nurse Tanner I wanted you checked every hour as well.”

  Arwain glanced toward her. “Mrs. Tanner has been checking me. About fifteen minutes ago. And Trace?”

  “Your friend Trace is holding his own,” Doctor Gabriel said. “Glyn, that’s your brother, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your brother had none of the drug, but lost a lot of
blood because of the gash on his leg. He’s sleeping, but your grandmother should go home.”

  Arwain nodded, “But she won’t. She feels guilty.”

  The doctor nodded. “I know. I’m hoping your taxi friend, Henry, is it? I’m hoping he can get her to go, but I want you still here to check on.”

  Arwain said, “I think if I stay here to look over everyone, then maybe Grandma will go home.”

  **

  Later that morning, Captain Reese described the scene at the truck to Susan, Merlyn and Willie.

  “Arwain tied off Glyn’s leg and kept yelling for help for Seneca while she held the tourniquet tight. Quite a daughter you’ve got there.”

  But then, of course, Captain Reese took Willie aside. “What the hell did you intend to do?”

  “Find you a reason for a warrant,” she huffed at him, a lot more defensive than she wanted to sound.

  “Well, you got a lot more than you bargained for.”

  She nodded, subdued.

  “But we got three kids back,” he said.

  She shook her head, “But not Rosaria and Liza.”

  “Not yet, but we’ve got a witness who knows where they were taking Arwain and Claudia.”

  She looked up.

  He went on. “A witness who may live, but not if we send him to jail, because he’ll be a dead man in there.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Officer Seneca awoke to find Arwain Jones hovering in the doorway to his room. From the way her curls stuck to her cheek, he guessed she’d had a rough night. He smiled at her.

  “Glyn?” he asked.

  “Still sleeping, but safe. Claudia has awakened for a few moments. Trace is ranting in his sleep but has good vitals. Grandma won’t go home, and you had major veins and nerves severed.”

  “Good vitals,” he said. “You’ve been learning doc talk.”

  She glanced at the ceiling and then at the monitor above his head. “Too much doc talk, in truth.”

  “And how are you?”

  “They put some Ketalar in me, but not enough.”

  “Ketalar? What’s that?”

  “Anesthesia.”

  “Oh yeah. My vet used it when Shep broke his leg.”

  “Shep? Don’t tell me he’s a sheep dog. A German shepherd?”

  “Nothing so fancy. A mongrel I found at the Humane Society. Face like a mischief monkey.”

  She actually took a step into his room. And she smiled. “How’s Shep’s leg now?”

  Uh-oh, he thought, then blurted, “What day is it?”

  That stopped her. She had to look at her watch. “I . . .I think it’s Wednesday.”

  He twisted around, looking at the bedside table. “I don’t suppose my phone is in sight.”

  She came fully into the room. “Bet it’s in your clothes locker here.” She opened the door. “Pants pocket?”

  “Briefcase,” he said.

  She found it. As soon as he had it turned on, he dialed his sister.

  She picked up on the third ring. Probably hunting under books on her desk. He wished his back would stop hammering at him. Sister found her phone.

  “Yo, Puck. Can you get my key and go feed Shep? I’m in the hospital.”

  There was huffing at her end. “Now you tell me? What hospital? What’s wrong? What’s...?”

  “Pookah, I need you to take care of Shep before you call anybody. He’s been alone for two days as far as I can figure out. I just woke up.”

  “Shep can go potty all he wants if you don’t come out with it. What hospital?”

  Officer Seneca looked up at Arwain. “What hospital are we?”

  “Emmanuel. North Portland.” She stepped out and then back in. “You’re in room 348. Ask at visitor information.”

  Seneca gave Puck directions for the dog and then finally said, “Thanks. He’s probably going nutso.”

  His little phone felt like an ingot of hot iron. The pain of holding any weight shot from his back to his arm.

  When he hung up, she said, “I’m not asking about Puck.”

  “Little sister. Troublemaker. It’s a ...”

  “Look, Sidney Oberon, I said I didn’t want to know.”

  “Okay, Arwain Titania. Can I get something for this pain?”

  “Be right back.” She swiveled on her left foot, which he now realized wore only a sock, and hiked herself out his door.

  He lay on his side, feeling ever greater stabs in his back, but still, he smiled. That girl was everything her grandmother had hinted. He wished to be done with this case and out of this hospital, taking her out to dinner.

  He admitted to himself how relieved he’d been when he pried open that van door and found her safe.

  **

  “We get that the van was headed to Chico, California,” Captain Reese said to Willie. “But no doubt that was just a rest stop on the way to Sacramento or San Francisco. We’ve got officers in all those bigger cities watching for white vans with that logo. Hiltown Moving and Storage.”

  “They’re going over film from the streets?”

  “And other records,” Reese said.

  “The driver, Peterson, he isn’t helping?”

  “Scared out of his wits. Watched enough television to know what a sieve a hospital can be.”

  “May I talk to him?” she asked.

  “Not on your life. And it’s your life I’m thinking of, not our liability. Forget the sweet old lady act. Stay away from these buzzards.”

  She said, “What about Hiltown Moving?”

  “Being audited, and under surveillance.”

  “And the Ketalar?” she asked.

  “Willie, you are done. Gave me enough of a heart attack to find you at that storage place.”

  “My guys ...” she started.

  “Your gangster-writers?”

  “My gentlemen suggested follow the drug source.”

  “And they are correct. We are trying to see where Ketalar is besides hospitals.”

  Willie said, “Elmore’s Vet.”

  “We can’t get a warrant to check there. You know that already.”

  “You know, a hospital pharmacy could also be the source,” she said.

  “True. But you are to stop helping me.”

  “I help Rosaria and Liza. The longer they are in the claws of Hiltown Moving, the worse their lives.”

  “If you think you know something, you call me. No haring off to prove it first.”

  Willie merely looked at him. He leaned down into her face. “I know you heard me.”

  “I heard you,” she said.

  **

  That afternoon, Henry Crick sat in his taxi and spoke to Willie and the dog in her arms. They intended to check out the place where Ketalar seemed to be most available – the Elmore’s Vet Service.

  Henry groused at her. “Whose damned dog is that?”

  “My friend, Vivian.”

  He frowned, one hand on the puppy’s head. “You’re going to allow them to give this dog drugs?

  “I plead poverty and promise to come back with the money.”

  Henry turned off the engine. “I’m coming in with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lifted the basket for the little guy. Until today, she hadn’t much use for little yarkers like this. Several of her friends felt it necessary to carry something cuddly, but she’d always thought they could do better with a stuffed toy – less demanding and quieter.

  However, this little guy was quiet. He sat in the basket and shivered as if everything around him were a fearsome monster. He made her feel protective.

  She was pretty certain this trembling little fluff accounted for Henry Crick’s wish to come into the veterinarian’s lair. It had nothing to do with taking care of Wilhalmena Stamps.

  The bell over the door was expected. What surprised Willie was the lack of pets and their owners. Elmore’s was the biggest veterinarian in the northeast section of town, so she had assumed a full waiting room.

  Possibly, sh
e thought, 10 a.m. was in the middle of work for pet owners with jobs. But what about retirees? She’d assumed that at least fifty percent of retired people acted like her friend Vivian. They needed something to hug. It seemed that way in Holly Hill.

  A tall, blond young man came to the front desk, looking as if he’d been up all night.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  Willie ignored his lack of training in customer service and moved straight to her problem. “Our Chewbacca has been tossing his cookies,” Willie said.

  “Yeah? That’s what they do,” the young man said.

  She persisted, “I think he’s eaten something poisonous.”

  He gazed at her. “Dogs are always eating things they shouldn’t. Let’s get the doc out here to take a look.”

  As the young man walked slowly into some back room, Willie glanced at Henry.

  “Maybe he loves cats,” Henry said.

  “Or snakes.” Willie glanced around the room. The vet had no dog scale, such as she used to see back in her doggy days when Susan and her brothers were children. The wall had two photos of dogs and three of cats, all of them crooked, possibly moved by doggy investigations.

  The bell over the door rang again. A man in a suit walked in without a pet.

  The young man returned to the front without a doctor. He said, “Yo?” to the newcomer.

  The man in the suit glanced toward Willie, Henry and Chewbacca and then said, “I’m just here to pick up my prescription.”

  The young man reached down below the counter and brought up a package. “Mr. Martin,” he said, handing over the package. Mr. Martin took the package and didn’t even reach in a pocket for money or plastic. He walked out the door.

  Willie said, “What about the vet?”

  The young man looked at her blankly. “Oh yeah. He’ll be here.”

  In a moment, a door from the back slammed and then the swinging door to the back of the shop swung out, propelling a vet out of the backroom.

  Willie noted the pens in his pocket and the name tag.

  “Doctor Vanly,” she said, “My Chewbacca has been throwing up.”

  The doctor smiled and said, “Well, let’s take a look at this little fellow.”