Isabel's Run (38 page)

“Fuck that,” he said. “Why’s everyone so pissed at me, anyway? What’d I do?”

“Really?” I said. He’d have been better off following Mary’s advice and leaving. Now I was getting pissed, too. “You’re going to stand there and say ‘what’d I do’ when your stepdaughter is inside there, fighting for her life?” I said. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“Fuck you, buddy,” he said. “I don’t care what you think.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” I said. “But when all’s said and done, everyone knows you’re the reason Isabel’s lying in there on a hospital bed. Turns out, big strong guy like you—you’ve got a thing for little girls, right?”
Uh-oh
. Now I felt myself getting into the windup. This sensation usually signals my last chance to exercise restraint and control in emotional situations like these.

Fuck that. I was pissed.

So was he. His eyes were filled with anger now. Good.

“And Isabel was right there, right? Every night when you got home, right? You’re one sick bastard, big guy.” We stood staring at each other, each hating the other. I was aware that he was two inches taller than I was and maybe fifty pounds heavier.
Too bad.
That wasn’t going to help him. I spoke, more quietly this time. “I’m hoping you get busted soon, for your own good. Because if you don’t, you’re going to need to watch out for me. I know all about you. And I will never forget about this. Never. Meanwhile, do yourself a favor—maybe your last one. Take a hike. No one wants to see your sorry ass around here now. And you’re damn sure not getting anywhere near Isabel.”

How about that?
I was proud of my self-control.

“Is that right?” he said, puffing himself up even further. “Who’s going to stop me? You?” He nodded toward Toni. “Her?”

“They won’t need to.”

Everyone turned and looked at the new voice. Nancy Stewart had just walked out of the swinging doors that led to the recovery room. Tyrone Allison and two uniformed officers flanked her. Tyrone had a big white bandage taped to his scalp. At the same time, three hospital security guards rounded the corner and entered the room from the main entrance. “Tracey Allen Webber,” Nancy said, walking up to us. “My name is Lieutenant Nancy Stewart, Seattle Police Department Vice and High Risk Victims Unit.” She held up her badge. “I’m placing you under arrest for second-degree rape, statutory rape, child endangerment—and whatever else I can think of to charge you with.”

Tracey looked at her, stunned. “What?” he said. “That’s bullshit.”

“Nope,” she said, “It’s real. Why don’t you go ahead and turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

He stared at her but didn’t move.

“Now!” she said, using her command voice.

This time, he complied.

“Read him his rights, Ty,” she said, as she patted him down and put handcuffs on him. When Ty was through, she turned Tracey around.

“This is bullshit,” he said again. “I never touched her.”

“We’ve been talking to her for the past forty-five minutes,” Nancy said. “She’s a very sick girl, but she managed to tell us everything. Every sordid detail—right down to your so-called birthday present and her decision to run.”

Mary let out a sob. “You bastard!” she screamed.

“She’s lying,” Tracey said. “She’s sixteen years old. She’s full of stories.”

“Really?” Nancy walked right up to him. Nancy is maybe five four, and Webber is six four or so. Nancy stopped just far enough away so that she could look up at him. “You listen to me, you ignorant piece of human excrement,” she said. “That girl ran away from you—her stepfather—because you repeatedly raped her. You were supposed to be someone she could trust. Instead, you violated her in the worst way possible. So she ran. And she ended up with people who were at least as bad as you—maybe even worse, if that’s possible. When she refused to put herself on the street and sell her body for them, they beat her up. Donnie Martin beat her with a hose. He kicked her in the stomach over and over until she lost consciousness. He kicked her so hard, he ruptured her spleen.” She paused. She was steaming mad. “And he kicked her so hard that she lost the baby she was carrying.”

Oh my God. I glanced over at Mary. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Everyone else’s eyes, mine included, were wide open, stunned. The entire room was frozen.

“That’s right,” Nancy continued. “Little Isabel—all ninety-eight pounds of her—was almost three months pregnant. And for the last week, since Donnie Martin almost beat her to death, she’s been carrying a dead fetus in her body. And you know what that means, right?”

He looked at her with a dull expression.

“That means that we have a DNA source, asshole. We’re going to match up the DNA from the fetus to a sample that you’re going to give us. And what do you think we’re going to find? What do you think it’s going to tell us about who the father of that baby was? And since Isabel was three months pregnant yet only turned sixteen last month, it means she was underage at conception. Face it, buddy. You need to pack your bags. You’re going on a little trip.”

He stared at her for a moment more, and then he dropped his eyes. Julia put her arm around Mary as she sobbed openly while Tracey was led away.

MY MOM AND dad saw the news coverage that evening, and before we’d even left the hospital, my phone started ringing. They were worried about me—I had to work hard to convince my mom that I was alright. In the end, we agreed to move my birthday dinner to the following week. I needed a little downtime. I’m lucky. I have people who care—always have. I thought about this in contrast to poor Isabel. Obviously, not everyone’s as fortunate as I’ve been.

Toni stayed with me at my apartment that night after we left the hospital. We didn’t do much of anything—mostly just talked a little, drank a few beers, listened to music, and watched the boats out on the lake. Except for talking about our concern for Isabel, the other events of the day never even came up. But the quiet, the relaxation were just what I needed as I came to grips with the shooting of Donnie Martin. She stayed with me that night and held me tight, all night long.

The next day, Saturday, June 16, was my birthday. Right after my run, we packed the Jeep and hit the road early. We took the Edmonds-Kingston ferry and then shot across Highway 3 until it ran into US 101. We turned north and drove all the way around past Port Angeles. We found a quiet spot on the north shore of Lake Crescent in the Olympic National Park, where I set us up a little camp. We fixed lunch, and then I played guitar and fished the rest of the day. Toni kicked back and read a book until she got tired of that, and then she came and sat by me and watched me catch the same three little trout over and over.

We didn’t say much—just relaxed. We were content to simply listen to the sounds of nature on the lake, punctuated by the occasional
whizzz
of my spinning reel.

Talk about therapeutic. I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate turning thirty.

By Sunday morning, thanks to the combination of Toni’s quiet nurturing and the majestic setting, most of the damage to my soul was healed. Donnie Martin’s shooting was safely tucked away in its proper place—sad, but necessary. Our thoughts and prayers were for Isabel. We packed up and hit the road after lunch and made it home by five.

Then, she left.

Not permanently, but she left. She went back to her apartment, and I went home to mine. After spending the past sixty hours with her, there was only one word to describe things around my place without her.

Empty.

* * * *

“Good morning, everyone,” I said Monday at eight o’clock. “Hope you all had a great weekend.”

We were assembled in the conference room for our staff meeting. Toni sat in her customary spot—at the opposite end of the table. She was completely dazzling this morning. She wore a long, pleated bright-yellow skirt with a royal blue sleeveless top that showed her tattoos in their full glory. Her four-inch heels made her almost as tall as me. She wore a deep-blue eye shadow that complemented her sparkling eyes. On each ear were three stud earrings—she didn’t wear any nose piercings today (sometimes she does). She was simply stunning. She could stop an Amtrak train today.

“Very nice weekend, indeed,” Richard said. “Maria and I took the ferry to Bainbridge. We had a pleasant Saturday afternoon on Main Street. What about you two?”

“We spent Saturday at Lake Crescent,” I said.

“I watched Danny fish,” Toni said.

“Sounds enjoyable,” Richard said. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or a touch sarcastic.

Toni cocked her head and thought for a second. “Actually, it was.”

Cool.

“We stayed home and kicked back,” Doc said.

I nodded. “Good deal. Where’s Kenny?” I asked. His customary chair across from Doc was empty.

“I’m here,” Kenny said, smiling, as he entered the conference room. He was carrying a pink box. “Sorry I’m late. I stopped off at Top Pot and got some donuts.”

Toni beamed. “Kenny!” she said, “Top Pot! What a nice thing to do. Did you get apple fritters?”

Kenny stopped, and the smile left his face. “I—I—,” I thought he was going to say, “I forgot,” when he suddenly smiled again. “Of course I did,” he said. “Gotcha!”

I don’t eat donuts, which is fine since Toni can eat enough for both of us. She loves apple fritters. She works out at the gym or at the Krav Maga studio three or four nights a week to maintain her conditioning and her figure. She waited eagerly as Kenny went to his seat and set the box on the table.

He reached to open the box when Toni suddenly said, “I’ll get it.” She shot out her hand and slid the box in front of her.

“Well, you don’t have to be pushy about it,” Kenny said, giving in.

Toni smiled as she unlatched the box and flipped the lid open, and then all hell broke loose.

Toni screamed and pushed back from the table so fast that her chair fell over backward when she stood up. She knocked her teacup over, and it spilled on the table and dripped onto the floor. I was sitting at the other end of the conference table and couldn’t see what was happening, so I jumped up as well. I could feel the adrenalin surging through my body. I moved to the side so that I could see over the lid into the box of donuts. At that moment, an enormous, black, hairy tarantula stepped gracefully across the top of an apple fritter to the edge of the box and stopped. It waved an arm in Toni’s direction as it looked for a place to take another step.

“Oh my God!” Toni said. Her eyes were wide open—she had a look of abject horror on her pale face as she stared at the spider. She tried to retreat further from the table, but her chair was blocking her way.

“What the—?” I started to say, when Kenny suddenly burst out laughing.

I looked at him, then at the spider, then back at him.

Toni glanced quickly at Kenny, then looked back at the spider, which was still in the same position, waving at her, apparently unable to figure out how to get down from the top of the box to the table.

“Did you—?” Toni sputtered.

Kenny laughed hysterically, nodding his head up and down. “I got you!” he managed to say, tears starting to run down his face.

“You got me?” she asked, incredulously. “You got me? You put a spider in the donuts?”

Kenny was still nodding. “I did,” he managed to say, stopping his laughing long enough to answer. “Still want an apple fritter?” He started laughing uncontrollably again. He was barely able to stand.

I looked over at Doc. He was doing his best not to laugh, but he looked like he was about to blow any second. Even Richard was chuckling to himself.

I relaxed and shook my head and started to laugh.

“You little bastard,” Toni said, regaining her senses, the start of a smile on her face.

“I got you,” Kenny said.

Toni kept a wary eye on the spider, but she nodded. “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “You win. This one.”

“What do you mean ‘this one’?” Kenny said. “I owed you. Now we’re even.”

Toni looked at him. “You think?”

“Yeah, we’re even.”

She smiled a wicked, nasty smile that probably should have scared him. “You’re right,” she said, with false sweetness. “We are even.” She looked up at him. “And you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Uh-oh for you, dude,” Doc said to Kenny. “I told you she’d be pissed—payback’s a bitch.”

I smiled. “What are you going to do with that thing now?” I asked.

Doc reached over and placed his hand flat in front of the spider. The tarantula, looking like he’d been standing on a curb waiting for a taxi, immediately stepped aboard.

“Eeww!” Toni said.

“Guess he’s tired of donuts,” Doc said. He looked at Kenny. “You still got the cage in your office?”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s get this crap cleaned up, and we’ll try this again at 8:15.”

* * * *

Fifteen minutes later, the spider was safely back in his cage in Doc’s office. Turns out he belonged to one of Pri’s nephews. Doc had been babysitting when Kenny came over and was inspired by the possibilities. He actually paid fifty dollars to
rent
the spider.