I Know My First Name Is Steven (23 page)

Even with Timmy concealed at his cabin, Parnell continued his habit of having a beer at the Samoa Club every morning after work. Jim Bertain, the bar's owner, said, "He used to sit in here every morning and we would be talking about the White kid. We'd be wondering what happened to him, and Parnell suggested that maybe he got washed away in a creek."

Also while Timmy was at the cabin, another inter
esting yet confusing twist occurred when Dennis telephoned Damon and invited him to come to the cabin for the weekend, Damon's impression being that Dennis wanted to do
anything
to get Timmy out of his hair . . . or, perhaps, get someone else to take Timmy home. "I remember this clear. This was on a Thursday [February 28] that I talked to Dennis, and he wanted me to come spend the weekend. I knew that Timmy White was there because Sean had told me. I didn't want to have anything to do with it, cause, like, if for some reason Ken got the idea I knew, I'd be in big trouble."

Even though Damon declined the invitation, he phoned Dennis back the next night and told him about the $15,000 reward that was being offered for Timmy's safe return. He said that he then encouraged Dennis to take Timmy into Ukiah himself and claim the money, then reflected, "I should have gone out there 'cause he probably wanted me to help him return the kid. Then I could have got the $15,000 reward."

But even without Damon's encouragement Dennis had already made plans to return Timmy to Ukiah, his prime motivation having nothing to do with the reward. He has never directly admitted it, but Dennis's later actions and remarks point directly to a sibling rivalry centering on the attention Parnell was lavishing on Timmy. Dennis had been thwarted one evening by Parnell's failure to go to work, and other evenings by the persistent rain when he and Timmy got soaked to the skin.

However, Dennis had no way of knowing Parnell planned to kill him and then, with help from a teenage
acquaintance of Dennis, bury his body in a grave he and his accomplice had already dug along the upper, uninhabited reaches of the Garcia River. That done, Parnell would pull up stakes and move with Timmy to the cabin in Arkansas. But during the last two weeks of February 1980, the same winter rains made it impossible to access the remote upper reaches of the Garcia River, and delayed his plan.

As Saturday, March 1 dawned, Sergeant Marcheschi left southern California, driving north to follow up on yet another tip about Timmy's disappearance, this time a psychic in San Jose suggested by the F.B.I. As the sun came up Marcheschi departed Los Angeles in a repaired Ukiah Fire Department car he had picked up in L.A. and, as he drove, mentally reviewed the case, arriving in San Jose late that afternoon for his meeting with the psychic.

Recounted Marcheschi about the session, "She had Parnell's physical stature, hair, age, the fact that he had been an abused child and had served time for the same offense. Too, she described the cabin and that there were animals around it, but by that time both of us were mentally exhausted, and so I went to bed."

Chapter Nine

Nightfall, March 1, 1980

"Is my dad still alive?"

The sun set a little past six that Saturday. Because of the typical, rainy, wintery coastal weather, it was the first sunset that Dennis and Timmy had seen since Timmy's kidnapping on Valentine's Day. With the rainclouds gone, the dark pavement in front of the cramped old cabin reflected the glistening twilight, and with his dad almost ready to leave for work, Dennis was thinking of his plan to finally get Timmy back home.

The boys' dad, Ken, usually slept from late afternoon until nine at night, but today he had gone to sleep just after lunch and was up before sunset. For seven months he had been the graveyard shift desk clerk at The Palace Hotel in Ukiah, but tonight he would start his new position as the hotel's security guard. A punctual man, Ken was going to make certain that he arrived early enough to review his duties with the evening manager.

As was his habit, as soon as Ken awoke, he had a cup
of instant coffee Dennis had fixed him with superheated water from the kitchen tap. Now, several cups and chain-smoked Camels later, the boys' dad was ready to leave. Characteristically saying little to his sons, Kenneth Parnell went out the front door, climbed into his seven-year-old white-over-purple Ford Maverick, and drove off east and into the gathering dusk for his hour-long commute over the winding, twisting county road toward the Anderson Valley, Boonville, and Mendocino's county seat.

Outwardly, Dennis was tranquil as he peered through the cabin window and saw his dad depart. But for several minutes he continued to stare contemplatively at the now-deserted road, lost in thought. . . thought about his own family in Merced, about the hell he had been through over the past seven years, about his determination that the same fate would not befall Timmy, about his fears of what lay ahead for him that night, and about his anger at his dad for the attention he had begun to give his new little brother.

Turning his attention to Timmy, Dennis watched as the grubby little boy sat cross-legged in the middle of Parnell's bed, "reading" his comic books. In some ways the teenager had begun to like the slight, now-brunet five-year-old and to care about his safety. Dennis was reasonably sure that Parnell had yet to make a sexual move on Timmy, but just the thought of it made the teenager shudder visibly.

Abruptly Dennis turned away from the approaching dark outside and went to the kitchen counter and made bologna sandwiches for their supper. He laid out the meal on the small kitchen table, along with bananas and milk, and called Timmy to come and eat.
Silently the two consumed what they knew without speaking would be their last meal at the remote one-room cabin they called home.

As he got up from the table, Dennis told Timmy to put on his gray-green jacket against the damp, chill breezes from the coast, and the teenager donned his dirty gray hooded sweatshirt. Dennis then went to the bureau which he shared with his father and pulled his Bowie knife from under the rumpled pile of clothes in his drawer, swiftly slipping its sheathed blade out of sight into his right boot. Then he knelt by his trembling Manchester Terrier, Queenie—his constant companion throughout his seven-year ordeal—and assured her that he would come back for her. Standing abruptly, Dennis took Timmy firmly by the hand and without looking back guided the boy out the front door and onto the tiny porch.

Closing the door behind him, Dennis scooped Timmy into his arms and briskly cut through the damp grass in front of the cabin before angling across the wet pavement toward the barn. A fleeting pang of fear hit the teenager as he passed the ranch house and for an instant thought about how angry Parnell would be if he should suddenly return home to find his sons out on the road, trying to escape. But Dennis had made up his mind to get Timmy back to his family and, well, he really didn't know what he would do then . . . but that decision would just have to wait. They had set out, and that was enough to worry about for now.

Remembering their previous attempts to hitchhike into Ukiah—with Timmy complaining about being cold, wet, and hungry—Dennis quickened his pace to
put as much distance as possible between them and the cabin before Timmy's inevitable, "Ohhhh! I want to go inside!"

Glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, his heart pounding loudly as it crept up his throat, Dennis felt he had walked for miles. However, they were only a quarter of a mile from the cabin, up the hill and around the bend. Again he looked back fearfully and was startled to see approaching headlights reflecting off the distant wet pavement. He froze in fear for a moment before setting Timmy down in front of him and haltingly sticking out his thumb. It took an eternity and seemed an apparition, but the car finally drew near and braked to a halt. Dennis grabbed Timmy's hand and excitedly ran to the passenger door. When he jerked it open, a smiling brown face illuminated by the dash greeted him with,
"Buenos noches!"
Confused but not hesitating at this stroke of luck, the boys climbed in. But once inside, Timmy was frightened, remarking later, "I thought that this guy was going to kidnap me, too!"

But Timmy nestled into the safety of Dennis's lap as his big brother-protector shut the door and their Samaritan drove them off toward Boonville and safety, Dennis feeling a deep sense of relief that they were finally on their way.

The Mexican national knew little English, and therefore communication with him was difficult, but Dennis did understand that he was following a friend who was having car trouble and, almost unbelievably, he was following his friend all the way into Ukiah!

As they twisted through the deep, brooding redwood forests east of the ranch, Dennis briefly ex
plained to the driver that he and his little brother were on their way from Point Arena to their home in Ukiah. The mahogany face nodded and smiled, whether in understanding or kindness Dennis did not know.

On through the pitch-black night they drove, following the confining road as it dropped down into a canyon and threaded itself across the high, narrow Rancheria Creek bridge before finally curling down the eastern side of the first coastal mountain range and entering the broad, clear-cut Anderson Valley.

The three figures in the front seat of the battered old Volkswagen square-back stared silently at the road ahead, Dennis alone glancing briefly to the left as they passed the Boonville Airport where he had once wanted to attend Anderson Valley High School's popular pilot training program. Reaching California 128, they turned right and drove into the sleepy agricultural community of Boonville, where the Mexican pulled up behind his friend's car across from The Horn of Zeese—Cup of Coffee—Restaurant . . . that odd little language, Dennis thought, that the Boonters (natives) used. Some of his friends could actually speak this odd language which their forefathers devised over a hundred years before to converse secredy when in the presence of outsiders.

As the boys sat mute in the car, waiting for their savior to finish checking his friend's car, Dennis became lost in a mental exercise as he reflected on his mission with Timmy, his fear of Parnell, what he was going to do once he had liberated Timmy, and his hidden Bowie knife—a
barlow,
the Boonters would call it—this making him a little
collar jumpy
(nervous). But
the
tweed
sitting on his lap was innocently ignorant of his big brother's trepidation about what lay ahead.

Suddenly Dennis's ruminations were cut short, for after only a few minutes—it had seemed an entire evening to him—the Mexican was back in the car and they were soon continuing through Boonville toward the road's intersection with California 253 to Ukiah.

With their turn south they were again traversing a twisting, curving road, albeit a bit wider and better paved, as they climbed another coastal range and left behind the peaceful farms of the Anderson Valley. As Dennis settled back in the front seat and comfortingly wrapped his arms around Timmy's waist—as much to meet his own emotional needs as Timmy's—a wave of genuine care, concern, and determination to succeed swept over him as he recalled his feelings of love for his own younger siblings.

Retracing the route in June 1984, Dennis said, "We got over the last hill going into Ukiah and it really scared me, because I was trying to think about what I would do when we got there. I thought, 'It's me against the world. I'm alone now. There's no one to turn to and no one to help me make the decisions.' The main object and most important thing was to get Timmy home safe and sound. I just didn't think about doing anything else then. I knew that I'd be on the run then, but I didn't want to even think about it.

"The only person that I had to talk to was Timmy, and I didn't want to do that in front of this guy. I didn't know for sure how much English he could understand or nothin'. But then we started up South State Street and into Ukiah, and Timmy turns his head and whispers to me that we're near his babysitter's, and that's
where he wants to go. So I told the guy to let us out by The Bottle Shoppe. Then Timmy and me walked over to where he said his babysitter lived, but nobody was home."

Timmy then told Dennis that he lived south of town, so they went back to South State Street and began trekking south. Once they reached the freeway, Timmy seemed totally lost, and Dennis became convinced that the five-year-old didn't know
where
he lived. They turned around and walked back north, stopping at a phone booth where the teenager looked up the address of the Ukiah Police Station. They continued north toward the police station and along the way double-checked Diane Crawford's home, but still no one was home.

At East Standley Street they turned east toward the police station, briefly passing along the southeast corner of The Palace Hotel as Dennis's heart jumped into his throat while he momentarily considered his options should Parnell see them. Dennis recalled, "Well, at that time I was thinking about using the knife on him if he came [at me]. I don't know if I would have or not, but that's what I was thinking at the time. I didn't think that he would have gone after Timmy. He would have tried and done something to me first. He wasn't afraid of me." Fortunately, the three did not meet.

Half a minute later Dennis and Timmy were safely across the street and hidden from The Palace Hotel by the surrounding two-story buildings and the narrowness of East Standley Street. . . and now they were only a block from their destination.

At the corner of the municipal parking lot, just west
of the police station, Dennis paused and hunkered down eye-to-eye with Timmy. Comfortingly he put his hands on the frightened five-year-old's shoulders and told him to go in the front door of the station and give his name to the first policeman he saw. Dennis assured him that the officer would see that he got home safely.

Inside the station, veteran Patrol Officer Bob Warner had just begun the graveyard shift. It was shortly after eleven, and he was talking to the dispatcher near the station's glass front door when he saw something strange. Recalled Warner, "I was getting ready to leave the station when I noticed a small boy come to the front door, push the door open, and then look back out toward the street, and turn around and run back out. He just started to come inside the door, and then he turned and went back out. Of course, being that time of night and seeing a small boy doing such things, I got a little curious as to what was going on; so I went out the front and I saw this young boy running across the parking lot. I noticed another, older boy walking westbound on Standley, just approaching Main Street. I was afraid that if I just took off running that the older boy would also run and we might not get either one.