J. Jance - Long Time Gone

We reached my floor and stepped off the elevator. I was so full of righteous indignation that I could barely speak. In fact, it took all the self-control I could muster to manage the key and unlock the door. I held the door open for her and turned on the lights. She bolted for the window seat and wrapped herself in Beverly’s afghan. It enveloped her completely, like a gigantic, comforting cape.

A note had been slipped under my door saying there was a package waiting for me at the doorman’s desk. Tossing the note aside, I settled into my recliner and gave Heather plenty of space.

“How did it happen?” I asked. In the state I was in, that was all I trusted myself to say, but I was pretty sure I knew the answer. It’s been my experience that domestic-violence victims always assume that whatever befalls them is somehow their fault. Heather was only fifteen, but she was no exception to that rule.

“I shouldn’t have made him so mad,” Heather said.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “We argued,” she said. “As soon as we left the house and he told me where we were going, I told him I didn’t want to go. Dillon told me he had just talked to one of the detectives, a female detective…”

“Mel Soames,” I interjected.

Heather nodded. “That’s the one. Dillon said that she was planning on talking to me next, and I said I’d be glad to talk to her. But he wouldn’t bring me back, Uncle Beau. And he wouldn’t stop the car so I could get out. We argued all the way to Bellingham. When Dillon stopped for gas, I started to open the door and leave. That’s when he hit me.”

She touched her bruised lip tentatively as though still unable to believe what had happened. I remembered Dillon Middleton puffing out his chest and saying he’d be there for Heather no matter what-the arrogant little shit!

“So he backhanded you,” I said.

Heather nodded again. “And I stayed in the car the whole time he was getting gas. I couldn’t believe it had happened. But it had. I was seeing stars. My lip was bleeding. I was so…so shocked…that I couldn’t even move. I just sat there like I was frozen or something.”

“Did anybody see what happened or try to help you?”

“It was dark,” Heather said. “And there weren’t many cars at the gas station. I don’t think anyone noticed.”

“What happened then?”

“I was scared. I mean, Dillon’s been jealous sometimes-especially if I talked to another guy or something-but never anything like that. I knew I had to get away from him. I thought that maybe when he went inside to pay for the gas, I’d be able to jump out of the car and run for it, but he never went inside. Instead, he used one of those pay-at-pump things.”

“He used a credit card?” I asked.

“His mother’s,” Heather said with a nod. “She’s got plenty of money, and she doesn’t seem to mind how much he charges.”

Right, I thought. Give the kid everything he wants. As long as he stays out of her way and life, she can ship him money from a distance. That’s a surefire way to create a relatively useless human being. But credit-card trails are excellent when it comes to tracking down someone on the run.

“What gas station?” I asked.

“A Chevron, I think,” Heather replied. “But I don’t remember for sure.”

It took conscious effort on my part to keep from reaching for my notebook. “What happened after that?” I asked.

“We drove on up to Blaine. I sat as far away from him as I could. There was a long line at the border, waiting to get through customs. While we were stopped in line, I opened the door, jumped out, and ran away. He got out of line to come after me, but I managed to make it into one of the rest rooms in the park. I heard him calling for me, but I didn’t come out. When they came around to lock up the rest room for the night, I climbed up on one of the toilets so they didn’t see me. I stayed there the rest of the night and most of today. I didn’t start hitchhiking home until it was dark enough that people wouldn’t notice my face.”

The thought of Heather hitchhiking alone in the dark down the I-5 corridor made my blood run cold. She’s much too young to have lived through the era of a handsome psycho named Ted Bundy and to remember the awful things he did to the unfortunate young women who happened to cross his path. I remember Bundy’s crimes all too well.

“But is it true that detective is looking for me?” Heather was asking. “Does she really think I shot Rosemary?”

“She needs to talk to you,” I hedged. “But just because she wants to interview you doesn’t automatically mean you’re a suspect.”

“But I could be.”

“Whether you are or aren’t a suspect is really beside the point here, Heather,” I said. “What we need to do is call your folks and let them know you’re safe. They’re both worried sick.”

“No,” Heather said. “I don’t want to call them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll just tell me they told me so. Especially Dad. About Dillon, I mean. Dad told me Dillon was trouble the first time he met him. I thought he was just being…well…Dad. I mean, isn’t that what fathers usually do?”

“Just because your father was right is no reason not to call him,” I said. “Your parents need to know where you are. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go home. There’s that place down on First Avenue, the one that’s a shelter for homeless teenagers.”

“Heather,” I said, “you’re not homeless. You have two wonderful parents. They both love you. They want the best for you. That’s why they took such an instant dislike to Dillon. They didn’t think he had your best interests at heart. From where I’m standing, I’d say they were right to be concerned. But you can’t cut them out of your life. Parents are bound to be right some of the time.”

Heather began to cry. “But I’m embarrassed,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Because Dillon beat you up?” I asked. “Or is there some other reason?”

“You mean like am I pregnant or something?” she asked.

The thought had crossed my mind. “Yes,” I said.

“Well, I’m not!” Heather declared defiantly. “I’m on the pill, if you must know.”

Pill or no pill, I was relieved to hear she wasn’t pregnant.

“I’m guessing Amy didn’t get them for you,” I said.

“You’re right,” Heather said. “Molly got them for me. She said she didn’t want anything bad to happen.”

“How very thoughtful of her,” I said.

“I couldn’t talk to Dad about it,” Heather said. “He wouldn’t have understood.”

Neither did I.

“Well,” I said. “No matter what, we still have to call your parents. Whether or not you go home is up to you and them, but you have to let them know you’re safe. You owe them that much.”

“All right,” Heather conceded at last. “Go ahead and call.”

So I did. Ron picked up the phone on the first ring. That was hardly surprising. Had I been in his position, I would have been sitting by the telephone, too. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“Heather’s here with me,” I said. “She showed up a little while ago, and she’s fine.”

Ron’s answer took me aback. “No,” he said. “We still haven’t heard from her. We’re pretty worried.”

I thought maybe I hadn’t spoken clearly enough. Or maybe the call had broken up.

“I said, Heather’s here,” I repeated, speaking a little louder this time. “She’s fine. Do you want me to bring her home or do you or Amy want to come get her?”

“No,” he said. “That isn’t necessary. I appreciate the offer, but we’ve had about all the company we can stand.”