Killing Beauty

One I didn’t hear the girl until she was right behind me and only then because she whispered hoarsely, “Help me. I’ve been kidnapped.” I had just finished hiking the Mystic Trail and was headed up to the small parking lot, the one away from the trailhead. The creek on my left was heavy with snow melt and louder than usual. Old Doug firs towered over me on all sides, and I felt as though I was still in the wild even as I walked up a paved road; straight above, the sky was clear and milky blue for the first time in weeks. I was giddy to be out of doors without being drenched by Pacific Northwest spring rain—so giddy I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on around me, which was odd because you know the saying, “Once a cop, always a cop.” I quickly turned around and saw a child standing inches from me, female, about eleven years old, white, four and a half feet tall, seventy pounds, with nearly shoulder length blond hair and terrified blue eyes, wearing yellow shorts, red top, white socks, and blue running shoes. She was holding her left hand out to me. “Please,” she said. “Before they come back.” Later I wondered why I did what I did. It was foolish. It was dangerous. I knew my ex would say it was arrogance: I thought because I was a cop I could do anything. It wasn’t that. For one thing, I wasn’t a cop any longer. I looked into her eyes. I was a parent. In spite of what my son might think—or even what I might think sometimes—I did have maternal instincts. I knew this girl was terrified, and I had to help her. I had to save her. So I grabbed her hand, and we ran to my car. I unlocked it, opened the back door, and said, “Get in.” The girl quickly slid into the backseat. Later when I was questioned about this—and I was questioned, again and again—I was asked, “Didn’t it occur to you that you could be charged with kidnapping?” “No, it didn’t,” I said. Again and again. The girl said she was in trouble. What else was I supposed to do? “Something else,” was what my ex said. So maybe I wasn’t thinking. I was running on instinct. Maybe I missed being a cop, missed being able to save people, help people. Missed not thinking about my own crap. Who knows? My heart was racing, my adrenaline was pumping. “Get down,” I said. “Behind the seat.” She did as I instructed. I put the backseat blanket over her and then shut the door. I glanced around. Didn’t see anyone. Didn’t think anyone from the parking lot could see me. I noticed a folded sheet of paper on my windshield. I pulled it out from beneath the wiper—it was some kind of religious tract—and tossed it inside the car. Then I got in and started the engine. “Are they here on the trail?” I asked. “The kidnappers.” “Yes,” she said, her voice muffled. “Two men.” “Stay down,” I said. “I’m going to drive through the parking lot.” “No!” she said. “We have to leave.” “Don’t worry,” I said. I leaned over and opened the glove box. My phone was on top of my gun—I couldn’t get any service here, but I could take a few pics. I grabbed the phone and then turned the car around and slowly drove into the parking lot. I saw several people coming down the trail toward the lot. A man, a woman, two children. They were laughing and talking. Beyond them, a young man and woman walked together, holding hands. Beyond them were others, but they were too far away for me to discern any features. I quickly and surreptitiously took photos of the license plates of the cars in the parking lot. I drove out of the lot, down the road, and out onto I-84, heading east. “You can get up now,” I said. “Put on your seat belt.” In the rearview mirror, I saw the blanket rise, then a small hand pulled it away, and I saw the girl again. She glanced around, clear-eyed and attentive. I heard the seat belt click into place. At first glance, she didn’t appear to be overly traumatized. Most children were less accustomed to hiding their emotions than adults, so trauma was usually easier to spot in kids. Maybe she had gotten away before they could hurt her. Or something else was going on. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Danella Green,” she said. “My mom said if I was ever in trouble, I should find a woman with bear in her eyes. I could tell you had bear in your whole body. Bears will take care of their cubs no matter what. I knew you’d help me. You’ll help me, right? You can take me to my mom.” She said all of this quickly. She was breathing up high in her chest: She was starting to panic. Now that she thought she might be safe, the shock was setting in. I had seen this reaction many times. “Danella,” I said, “your mom was right. You were right. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Breathe. It’s OK. My name is Kate Kelly, by the way.” Her face relaxed a bit. “I used to be a cop,” I said, hoping to reassure her. She looked panicked again. “No police,” she said, sounding terrified. “They said they’d kill my mom if I contacted the police. Please, take me to our house in Beauty Falls.” We were headed in the right direction. “Tell me what happened.” “Three days ago, these men came to our house,” she said. “They argued with my mother. They wanted her to do something. She said she wouldn’t, so they took me. They grabbed me. They said if I didn’t come quietly, they’d hurt my mother. Said it would all be over by Wednesday morning.” Today was Saturday. “What would be all over?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Danella said. “The kidnapping, I guess. They said they’d take me back to my mom Wednesday if all went well.” “Where’s your mom work?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Danella said. “She was at a place in Portland, but then she left. We moved to Beauty Falls a few weeks ago.” “Does she work in Beauty Falls?” I asked. Danella looked like she was going to cry. Too many questions. “I don’t know,” she said. “She hadn’t shown me yet. She usually takes me to her work place. Please, can you go to our house?” I had to take her to the police, whether she liked it or not. I didn’t have any choice. I knew the sheriff, Nate Gunderson. He was an old friend. Well, not exactly a friend, but we knew one another. Behind us, I saw a car getting onto the expressway from the Mystic Trail exit. “What kind of car did your kidnappers have?” I asked. “Um, I don’t know,” Danella said. “Sure, you do,” I said. “Get down again.” I saw the renewed panic in her eyes. “You’re OK,” I said. “I’m being careful.” She disappeared from my sight. “Close your eyes and remember the car.” A moment later, I heard her muffled voice. “Red car. Four doors. It’s too big. It creaks when they get into it.” “Good, Danella. Good detail.” The car behind me was blue. Another car was coming up behind that one, could have come from the Mystic Trail exit, too. We were too far past the exit now for me to know. It was a red car. Crap. Had they seen us? “Do they have weapons?” I asked. The red car was coming up fast behind me. Couldn’t tell the make or model right away. “One of them had a gun,” she said. “Maybe the other one did, too. I only saw the one in its holster, around his chest.” The car looked like an Impala, mid-90s. Basically it was a cop car painted red. If these were the kidnappers, they apparently weren’t worried about laying low. This was a memorable car. A memorable car that was right on my tail. Normally that would piss me off and I’d tap my brakes. But I didn’t do that. I was tempted to speed up, but my six cylinder Hyundai wasn’t going to outrun an eight cylinder Impala. So I maintained my speed. Suddenly the car swerved left to pass me. I felt my heart in my throat. That was unusual. I’d been working white collar crime for several years before I left the police force, so I hadn’t been in many physically dangerous situations for a while, but still. Had I forgotten how to stay calm? Naw. My heart had always felt like it was in my throat when I was in danger. The red car was suddenly beside us. I glanced over. Looked like two people inside. Could only see the man in the passenger seat. Appeared to be in his mid-thirties, wore a dirty baseball cap and a flannel shirt. He looked straight ahead, and he was talking. I guessed whoever they were they didn’t care about me and whatever was in my car. Good. My heart went back into my chest. The car sped past me and was soon out of sight as the highway wound along the curves of the Columbia River. “You can get up, Danella,” I said. Her head popped up again, visible in my rearview mirror. I locked all the car doors. Danella wouldn’t be able to get out on her own now, in case she decided she didn’t like what I was doing. “Does anyone ever call you Danny or Nellie?” I asked. Danella nodded. “Can I call you Danny?” She nodded again. She had tears in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “Danny, I gotta take you to the police,” I said. “I know the sheriff in Beauty Falls. He’s a good guy.” OK, he was a jerk I had dated a couple of times when we were teens—including one particular night I didn’t want to think about right now. Every time I saw him, I remembered that night. I thought of Amanda, Sylvie, Doug, and Andy. Andy who was still in prison for what he had done to Amanda. “The police are in on it,” Danella said. “Herman and Mitchell weren’t worried at all about keeping it a secret because they said they were friends with the police.” “Herman and Mitchell?” I said. “They told you their names?” “Sure,” she said. “I had to call them something. They said they knew the police, and the police wouldn’t do anything if I went to them for help.” “Were they talking about any police in particular?” I was trying to figure out details—see if Danella was being truthful or not. “No,” she said. She sounded exasperated. “Did they hurt you?” I asked. I took the exit for Cascade Locks. Danella shook her head. “No. They haven’t touched me, if that’s what you mean. They fed me. They even got me my favorite snack, the Bigfoot Fruit Leathers. They said they were keeping me as security until my mom did something for them.” “Do you know what they wanted her to do?” Danella shook her head. “Can’t you take me to my mother? Then we can all go to the police.” I drove up to the bridge toll booth and gave a ticket to the ticket taker. “Have a nice day,” the ticket taker said, grinning. She waved to Danella. I glanced up and saw a video camera on the top of the booth, aimed directly at us. Crap, crap, crap. I had forgotten about the cameras. Now I was on video with a kidnapped child in the backseat. No matter. I’d be turning her over to the sheriff in about five minutes.