One Last Scream

“There’s no alternate route?”

“Try to track down someone who knew Uncle Duane.”

“I’m giving that a shot right now,” George replied. “One of the articles I read mentioned he was buried in a cemetery in Salem, Oregon. I’m trying to track down whoever paid for the plot and the tombstone, if there is one. I figure this person must know Duane pretty well.”

“That’s good thinking,” she said. They headed toward a small parking lot.

“I called the cemetery office this morning,” George explained. “The guy there said they might be able to help me if I come down tomorrow and talk to him in person.”

“Sounds like someone wants his palm greased. Bring money.” Professor Kim took her key out of her purse and unlocked the driver door to her blue Geo. “Did you think I’d have some connection, a shortcut way of getting the lowdown on your niece’s biological parents?”

George gave her the briefcase. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for that.”

“Sorry, George,” Professor Kim said. She tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and then climbed behind the wheel.

“You were still a lot of help. Thanks.”

“Have a nice trip to Salem. And if you end up meeting that friend of Duane’s, would you find out something for me?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Find out why Duane waited until his sister was dead to go looking for the girl. Or maybe I should say to go hunting for the little girl. I have a feeling that’s closer to what he had in mind. Good luck, George.” She shut the door, started up the car and backed out of the parking spot.

George watched her drive away until the car disappeared around a curve in the winding road.

“Karen, I swear, I didn’t get back to town until this morning,” Amelia whispered.

They sat at the end of a beautiful long wood table. There were twenty matching tables in the Graduate Reading Room of UW’s Suzzallo Library arranged like pews in a church, ten on each side. The tall stained-glass windows, ornate hanging light fixtures, and cathedral ceiling inspired quiet meditation. Bookcases were pressed against the stone walls. There were at least sixty other students in the library, and only the slightest murmuring could be heard among them.

Amelia looked pretty in a lavender sweater and khakis. She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, and she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I was driving around Olympic National Park yesterday afternoon,” she told Karen in a hushed voice. “That’s as close to Seattle as I got. I ended up spending last night at a B amp; B in Port Angeles. I can show you the receipt if you don’t believe me. It’s in my other purse.”

“So, you don’t remember coming by my place yesterday?” Karen asked.

Amelia adamantly shook her head.

“We talked in the kitchen,” Karen said, trying to jog her memory. “Rufus was acting strange, growling at us.”

Amelia glanced down at the library table and frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“And you never met a Detective Koehler? The name isn’t even familiar?”

“No.”

“He gave you coffee, and took you for a drive….”

Amelia brought a hand up to her mouth, and stared back at Karen. “He gave me coffee?” she repeated.

Karen nodded. “Koehler’s tall and good-looking with pale-blond hair. He’s got a very cocky smile….”

“Are his eyes blue?” she asked.

“Yes,” Karen whispered, leaning forward.

“His eyes match the blue stripes in his shirt,” Amelia murmured, staring down at the tabletop.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I make him take it off and tear it into strips,” Amelia continued, almost in a trance. “He ties the pieces of his shirt onto branches in the forest. They’re markers. I–I’ll need to find my way back to the main trail after I kill him.”

Karen swallowed hard. She waited a moment before saying anything. “What forest, Amelia?”

She gazed at Karen. Her lip quivered. “This really happened, didn’t it? Oh, Jesus!”

A student one desk down loudly cleared his throat and scowled over his textbook at them.

“I need you to remember, Amelia,” Karen whispered. She stroked her arm. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to work this out. Do you remember where you where? What forest?”

“God, Karen, you must be right,” Amelia said, under her breath. “I don’t remember being at your house at all, but I was with him. We were driving for long time. He was worried about me spilling coffee in his new car. I remember keeping my purse shut and in my lap most of the time. I–I didn’t want him to see that I had a gun in there.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Karen, I don’t own a gun….”

“You mentioned Olympic National Park,” Karen pressed. “Was this forest anywhere around there?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No. Oh, God, Karen, this is so screwed up. How could I think I was in one place and be in another? I didn’t have anything to drink at all yesterday, I swear….”

“We’ll straighten all that out. Just try to remember where you went with Koehler.”

“Cougar Mountain Park, over in Issaquah,” she replied numbly. “It’s nowhere near where I thought I was. But I remember the signs for the park. We walked at least a mile before we veered off the trail.”

“They have a lot of hiking trails there. Do you recall which one it was? Did it have a name?”

Amelia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember where you parked, or the name of the road you took there? Anything?”

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment. “It was, um, Newcastle-Coal Creek Road,” Amelia whispered. “I remember the turnoff. We went to the fourth or fifth little parking area off that road. At the start of the trail, there’s a small sign with a cartoon of Dennis the Menace on it. I don’t remember what the sign said, but someone wrote on it. We-we were parked there for a while. He started touching me, and I–I hit him!” Her voice cracked. “God, I hit him with that gun.”

Several people shushed her. Karen quickly helped Amelia to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“And then later, in the forest, I shot him.” Amelia cried, clutching Karen’s arm. “He was begging for his life and I shot him in the head….”

People were staring as Karen hurried Amelia down the aisle between the rows of tables. By the time they stepped outside together, Amelia was sobbing and recounting-in fragments-what had happened in that forest. She’d left Koehler’s seminaked corpse where she’d shot him four times. She’d found her way back to the main trail, but didn’t remember removing any of the homemade markers from the branches and shrubs along the way. She’d taken Koehler’s car, and by then it had grown dark. She didn’t remember anything until she was back in Seattle, catching a bus in a sketchy neighborhood along Aurora Boulevard.

“I don’t understand it,” Amelia said, shaking her head over and over. They sat down on a park bench outside the library. “I woke up this morning at a B amp; B all the way over in Port Angeles. I could have sworn I spent all of yesterday there. Karen, if you saw me with this man yesterday, and I remember all these horrible things, then they must have really happened. Do you see what that means? I killed this guy. And I probably killed my parents and Aunt Ina and my brother-”

“We don’t know that yet,” Karen said, rubbing her back. “You could be wrong about what happened to Koehler. You can’t hold yourself accountable, not until I’ve looked into this further. Are you listening to me? You’re not responsible for killing anyone, Amelia. We’ll work this out together, but you’ll have to trust me.”

Amelia’s cell phone went off-a low hum. Wiping her eyes, she reached inside her purse and checked the caller ID. “It’s that policewoman again, the one you told me about,” she said, her voice raspy. “Same number as last time.”

“Don’t answer it. I don’t want you talking to her or anyone else until we figure out what really happened. Let her leave another message.” She patted Amelia’s arm. “Listen, I think it’s best you lay low and stay at my place tonight. But I need to check out your story first.”

“What, are you driving to Port Angeles?”

“No, Cougar Mountain Park.” She glanced up at the sky. “And I’d like to get there before dark.”

“You can’t go alone,” Amelia said. “I should go with you.”