Читать книгу Missing: The Oregon City Girls - Rick Watson - Страница 16
ОглавлениеMore weeks come and go. Despite over twenty-five hundred tips that have poured in from the ever increasing national publicity, none have proven fruitful. Linda begins to empathize with the FBI task force—many leads, but nothing to give her a viable suspect either.
Because private investigators get so involved in the murky behaviors that clash between perps and victims, they frequently are subpoenaed to put their observations up for public scrutiny. It’s amazing how precise language must be when testifying “under oath.” One misstatement of fact can sabotage an acquittal.
Linda O’Neal, at this moment, finds herself in just such a situation. Dressed in a black silk pantsuit and red scarf with pearls encircling her neck, she sits comfortably erect on the witness stand in a Multnomah County Courtroom. A young deputy District Attorney is cross-examining her. “Now Ms. O’Neal, can you tell the court again why you entered the scene on 24th Street that day in search of a car?”
Linda clears her throat and responds firmly and clearly. “No sir, I did not say that I went to the house on 24th Street looking for the defendant’s car. I said that I went to the house on 24th Street to talk to the defendant’s brother.”
The DA interrupts brashly. “And why did you feel it necessary to talk with him?”
“I was simply trying to get a lead on the location of the defendant during the time in question. I figured it was worth a shot to check his story, you know. And it was while I was waiting for Mr. Terry Morgan to answer his door that I kind of looked around. I watched a squirrel chasing a blue jay. I noticed several barrels of trash that were spilling over. I looked at the garage. I remember thinking that it sure could use some new paint. I noticed through the open garage door that I had a clear line of sight to the interior of the garage. I could clearly see a brown, Pontiac Le Mans station wagon parked inside. I could even see the rear license plate. It was…” Linda closes her eyes momentarily and then recites the sequence confidently. “Now since I had been looking for the defendant in this case, I knew that was the defendant’s car.”
“Did you confirm the car’s ownership with the resident?”
“Absolutely. When Mr. Morgan finally answered his door, I asked him about the car in the garage. And he readily told me it belonged to his brother, Peter. He said it had been there for several days, because it had broken down. I believe it had blown a head gasket and when they removed the cylinder head they discovered it was warped and needed to be shaved slightly. Anyway, after they took the head off the engine they took it to Allied Machine and left it there to be worked on. They were told it would take approximately three days. That head was dropped off on November 15. As I understand it, the crux of the case against Peter Morgan centers on supposedly airtight, eyewitness testimony that places him driving his Pontiac wagon to the convenience store. This armed robbery took place on November 17. It was physically impossible for that inoperable Pontiac to have been anywhere but where it was that day—in his brother’s garage.”
The flustered DA slams a file folder onto the table. “Your honor, I have nothing further to ask this witness.”
The female judge thanks Linda for her testimony and nods. “You’re free to go, Ma’am.”
The moment she steps into the cavernous hallway outside the courtroom Linda turns on her cell phone, which rings instantly. She begins her journey from the courthouse to the underground parking lot at the same time she answers the call. “Linda O’Neal Investigations. Oh hi, Ollie. What’s happening?”
His voice rises in excitement. “Linda, I’ve got some very bizarre results from that Virginia license plate. I really think you might be onto something. First of all, I ran a courthouse check and the house is owned by Barnaby Fairchild, a retired tax attorney. He currently resides in Palm Springs. He has three adult children, all in their forties. His middle son, Paul, has criminal history in several different states. He is a real roamer. Texas, Florida, New Jersey, Wisconsin, and most recently, he’d landed in Carson, Virginia. In fact, when I ran that tag, it came up with his last known address there in Virginia.”
Linda reaches the lobby and purchases a pack of gum from the burka-clad blind Arab woman behind the concession stand, as she always does, before continuing toward the parking lot. “Carson, Virginia. Hmm. Something about that rings a bell.” She stops and taps her forehead. “Yes, yes. I remember now, Carson, Virginia is where a pair of pre-teen girls mysteriously disappeared off their front porch last summer. One minute they were there, the next minute, poof! No witnesses, no crime scene.”
Oliver responds. “That’s right, you’ve got it! We learned a lot about that case from that child abduction hot sheet.1 That Carson case stood out like a sore thumb, for obvious reasons.”
“And now you can tie the Molalla guy to that area. Great work, Ollie.”
“And I’ve also got that rap sheet you ordered on Ward Weaver III, the one that lives in Oregon City. And you were right on! The death row Ward Weaver is Ward Weaver Jr. His nickname is Pete and he’s the father of the man who lives near Ashley and Miranda, Ward Weaver the third.”
“What did you dig up on the Oregon City Weaver, anything suspicious?”
“Maybe. He was raised mostly in northern California and Portland.2 Was in the Navy. Has a ton of kids. As far as criminal stuff, he was convicted in California on first-degree assault. Don’t have the details yet, but he may have served some time on that. Several years later, he was also charged with assault of a girlfriend that he later married. Those charges were dropped.”
Linda finally reaches her car, gets in and begins the slow drive to the exit before she continues the conversation. “Okay, it looks like we just may have a suspect or two in the making. Fax me everything you have and when I get home I’ll digest it all.”
When Linda arrives home, she finds the driveway empty and the house deserted. She turns on the TV just in time to catch Pinski Brown. “Folks, we have another update on the continuing story of the missing Oregon City girls, Ashley Pond and Miranda Gaddis. There is controversy over the recent discovery of a note purported to have been written by Ashley Pond.3 This note was found Sunday morning near the town of Fort Pierce, Florida. It had been carefully inserted inside a waterproof bag that had been sealed in a cardboard box. The words ‘Please Help’ in huge red letters were scribbled on the outside of the box. When police opened the box and pulled out the note, they found the following message written in cursive pencil on a sheet of lined binder paper. ‘My name is Ashley and I know my mom is crying, so please help me get away and home to my mom. I am thirteen years old and my friend Miranda is thirteen also and she is with me. Please help us get home fast. I love my mommy.’”
“Total bull,” Linda mutters.
Brown goes on to say that the FBI and the Oregon City Police reacted with skepticism, but also reveals that the FBI crime laboratory specialists will conduct tests in their headquarters in Washington DC. Among the tests will probably be handwriting and fingerprint analysis.
Brown adds how two new websites have gone online to provide a place where people can call with tips and other communications or make donations to the victims’ families. The site addresses scroll across the bottom of the screen. Brown then states, “It was announced today that the total amount in the reward fund for information leading to the return of the missing girls has now reached sixty thousand dollars. Because of the national publicity that this case has generated, FBI Task Force Director Charles Mathews announced today that the total number of tips and leads regarding the disappearance of the two girls has now surpassed three thousand. He said investigators are working around the clock to address the information provided in each one, but he added, ‘It’s going to take a lot of time to get through them all.’ Despite this flurry of activity, the sad fact remains, as of tonight, there are still no suspects and no crime scene.”
Linda turns the TV off and sits quietly for a few moments only to be interrupted by the shrill chirp of the nearby phone. She picks up. “Linda O’Neal Investigations. Can I help you?”
A tiny voice on the other side of the line utters a soft greeting. “It’s me, Suzie. Have you seen my mom today? She took off with Tony this afternoon and left me watching my brother and sister, but I have to go to play practice in an hour. And they aren’t back yet and they haven’t called.”
“I’m sorry, Suzie, I’ve been in court most of the day and I haven’t heard from anybody. I haven’t checked my voice mail yet, but I haven’t talked to your mom in over a week.”
“I wish she’d just come home when she says she will. It’s not fair.”
“I’m sure she’ll show up in time. You must be more trusting.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”
Linda senses an opportunity. “Suzie, can I ask you a question about Ashley?”
“I…I…guess so. But I already told you as much as I could remember.”
“Did Ashley ever confide in you about what happened between her and her biological dad?”
“I think she tried to. She didn’t really come out and say ‘Hey, this is what’s going on.’ I remember a couple of years ago she came to me and started crying. And I was like, ‘Okay, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?’ She wanted to tell me, but she just goes, ‘Nothing, nothing.’ And I was like, ‘Okay, you’re not going to cry this hard just because of nothing.’ But she wouldn’t tell me anything. And then later we find out what her dad had been doing to her all the time, so I think she was trying to tell me about it, but she just couldn’t get it out. I think she was too scared to come out and be like ‘this is what’s happening to me.’”
That last statement hits Linda hard, unleashing previously buried feelings dating back to her own childhood. Until this moment she had blocked her memories of certain incidents. Terror and sadness rush through her body like ice water. She remembers how she asked herself: why would anyone believe her word over an adult male’s? After all, adults had all the power. Her mind revolves and her panicked heart races. She recalls the twelve-year-old Linda sitting on an adult man’s lap, locked in an open mouth kiss. She never told on him; he said it was a secret. Suddenly, she remembers she’s on the phone with Suzie. Holding back tears, Linda says, “Um, sweetie, were there any things she did tell you about?”
The girl pauses at the sudden change in Linda’s voice, but isn’t sure that she should ask. “Well, yeah…she eventually told me what her dad did to her. I remember we were upstairs. I asked her if she was okay about everything that happened…And then she just starts telling me about like when her dad had done all these awful things and also exactly the things he did to her.”
Linda hugs herself and forces her voice to be even and calm. “What about her mom? Did Ashley tell her mom about what happened?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think she did. Not right away anyway, cause of all the problems with her mom. But, me and her were really close then; I think I would have known before her mom. She told me that she was really upset, but that she was scared to tell anyone.”
“I know these things are really hard to share. Thank you for talking to me about it.” Linda pauses and her mind turns to someone else she’d been thinking about, “By the way, did Ashley ever tell you about anything Ward Weaver might have done to her?”
“She never really told me anything about him and I know that’s funny, because she was over at his house so much, especially last year. I do remember her saying…no, I think it was her mom who told me that he was the one that took her on vacation with him or whatever. She even had keys to his house for a while. But anyway, something awful happened when they got back from that vacation and when she told her mom about it her mom just says like, ‘Well don’t go over there any more.’ Like that would take care of it. And Ashley says, ‘Well, duh!’ She was really mad at her mom. She told me her mom ‘just didn’t get it.’”
“Okay honey, I’ll let you go. Be brave, and if I hear from your mom or dad I’ll tell them to get back right away.”
“Oh, wait! Linda, I hear a car. Yes, yes! They just drove up! Everything’s fine now! Do you need to talk to them?”
“No, that’s okay. And good luck, Suzie.”
After Linda hangs up, she paces around the house, reviewing all she’s found out and trying to put a perspective on so many details that are tumbling in her mind. She remembers Oliver’s briefing and rushes to her fax machine. It has run completely out of paper. But a treasure-trove of documents lies in a wrinkled stack all full of many new avenues to pursue. She will now be able to create her own “Persons of Interest” list.
She turns to Paul Fairchild, the mysterious Molalla man with the Virginia license plates. He was from the same location where two girls had evaporated into thin air. Was it a coincidence?
And what about Ashley’s father, Wesley Roettger? He had been charged with forty counts of child rape and sodomy. Yet he was allowed to plea bargain down to one count of attempted unlawful penetration of a minor and received no jail time. Why?
Linda decides that there are basically four avenues of investigation to seriously pursue. First, the Molalla man. Second, Ashley’s birth dad and the reasons that he was allowed to plea bargain down to probation with no jail time. Third, Ward Weaver and the allegations that Ashley made against him. And fourth, the real story behind the supposedly helpful Internet sites that have popped up. Suddenly, a dark thought crosses her mind. Could the kidnapper be using an Internet site to keep track of what people knew and if the officials were getting close?
Linda is determined to discover what really happened to the Oregon City girls. And after watching the sadness of her extended family, Miranda’s mother and the widening sphere of fearful parents in the community, she knows it better be soon. It’s late at night and she’s exhausted, but sleep is getting harder to come by—visions of another missing girl chase it away.
