Chapter 16
SIERRA AND CAL left for Denver to catch a plane early in the morning on Sunday. She left from Connie’s house. A couple of hours after she left Connie decided, it being Sunday, he’d drive to Denver, too. But he was going to see his mother. He called her to let her know he’d be driving up from Timberlake. When he got there, he and Molly went to the door. Janie Chambers opened the front door and beamed.
“Well, now, who is this?” she asked, bending to pet Molly.
“Her name is Molly,” he said. “I’m dog sitting for a friend.”
“She’s beautiful. She’s very excited.”
“It was a longer drive than she’s used to, I think.”
Only then did Janie hug her son. “It’s been a while. I made us lunch. I’m sorry but Beaner said he couldn’t come over. He had some plans he didn’t think he should cancel. Just between you and me, I bet he’s going to be out on the lake with friends.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I wasn’t staging a family reunion or anything. I’ll catch up with him. But he’s okay?”
“He’s great, Connie. He’s so busy with work and school and friends that I hardly see him anymore. This house is just a stopping-off place for him. But come in the kitchen and tell me what you’ve been doing. Does your friend need a bowl of water?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Janie set down a bowl of water and Molly went after it greedily.
“Now she’s going to want to go out,” Connie said. “What’s up with work?” he politely asked while she fixed them a couple of drinks. She had coffee and got Connie a large cola.
Janie told him about some of the cases she was working on. She was an insurance adjuster; she surveyed accidents and other damage to try to put together estimates for their clients. Then she asked him about work and he told her about a few of their recent emergencies, fortunately all came out all right.
“Isn’t it funny the way we both ended up in professions that deal with accidents?” she asked. “Want to go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind?” she asked.
“There’s nothing specific,” he said. “The friend whose dog this is. It’s a girl. A woman.”
Janie smiled at him. “So, you’re seeing someone?”
“Yeah. Her name is Sierra. She’s awesome.”
“Um, Connie,” his mother said. “Why don’t you seem particularly happy about it?”
“Oh, I am,” he said. “I’ve never even known a girl like Sierra. Woman. She’s thirty so she’s not a girl, right?”
Janie laughed. “Some women get their undies in a twist about that. I might have even scolded you about that sort of thing when you were younger, but there are bigger fish to fry these days. If it’s any consolation, I go out with the girls every other Friday night. The youngest of us is forty-five.”
“Well, Sierra’s really something. I met her back in March. Several months ago. Hard to believe it’s almost fall. She’s the sister of a friend from Timberlake. She lives at Sully’s place and helps him out around the Crossing. Plus, she works at the diner in town a couple of days a week.”
“Tell me all about her,” Janie said.
“Well, she’s pretty, of course. But not flashy at all—she likes jeans and shorts and stuff like that. She’s probably the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She spent about six years in college. Part-time because she had to work. She’s funny. She’s always reading. She rescued Molly here from a jerk who was mistreating her. And... I don’t know...”
“Connie,” Janie urged gently.
“Listen, I’m probably in over my head already so advice is out the window. But I think she’s in trouble.”
“Oh no,” Janie said. “What kind of trouble?”
“She’s not coming right out with it. I mean, she’s been letting information about herself, her past, dribble out a little at a time, like she’s afraid one of these days I’m going to say I can’t deal with it. And she’s got some real challenging stuff, like her dad has been struggling with mental illness his whole life. Complicated, right? She got in some messes before she came to Colorado and she wanted me to know some personal stuff before we got, you know...”
“Yes, Conrad,” she said, smiling. “I know.”
“I guess you want to tell me to be careful here, right?”
She frowned and gave her head a slight shake. “What do you mean?”
“You and me, we both have had our issues with the opposite sex,” he said. “You had two lousy husbands and I had one train wreck of a fiancée. Obviously we can’t pick ’em all that well.” He laughed. “And the funny thing is, Sierra thinks she can’t pick ’em.”
“Well, obviously her luck is changing,” Janie said. “Now, Connie, are you going to blame me for your father and stepfather? Because I don’t think it was my fault. You know I had a lot of counseling. I might not have had the best psychic abilities but those men seemed very nice when I first met them before they became verbally and emotionally abusive. I did my best but I couldn’t stay with either one of them. And I’m sorry if that just makes you paranoid about relationships. It wouldn’t hurt you to get some counseling. I’ve had a few nice relationships since then.”
“What relationships? You didn’t have relationships,” he said.
“Okay, I had a few steadies along the way. You haven’t lived with me since my second divorce, remember. And I doubt Beaner would consider his mother’s dates to be interesting news. I’ve been seeing a very nice man for the last couple of years and Ted is a good, kind, respectful man and he makes me very happy. Believe me, my radar is on! I’m happy with Ted.”
“Ted?” Connie said. His mother was fifty-seven. “You’re just friends!”
Janie rolled her eyes. “I admit we’re not a very exciting couple, but we’re not dead yet. I’m just sorry I didn’t meet a man like Ted decades ago. But then Ted even confesses he probably wasn’t the best husband on record as a younger man.” She smiled. “I kind of like that he doesn’t blame his ex-wife for everything.”
“Why don’t you get married, then? Why don’t you live together?”
“Well, Connie, we might, now that you mention it. We talk about marriage sometimes. Maybe we’re a little set in our ways and Ted has his own kids and grandkids to look out for. He helps them all out a lot. I’ve been in this little house for sixteen years, since Beaner was in elementary school. I’m not sure I’m anxious to share my space with a boyfriend.”
“And I never lived here,” Connie said.
“I know. That was kind of hard for me, but I think you made a good decision. The Vadas family was such a great family for you. Not just Rafe, but his parents, too. I was struggling to get on my feet and glad you didn’t have to struggle, too. Can you imagine, changing schools your senior year? Plus, living with a recently divorced mother who was always an emotional wreck?”
“You weren’t,” he said. “You seemed relieved to be rid of that SOB.”
“I was that, too,” she said with a smile. “What’s this all got to do with your girl?”
He took a breath. “She scares me to death.”
“You?” she asked with a laugh. “You’re not afraid of anything. And that usually scares me!”
“I don’t want to make another mistake, but I think I’m too late. I don’t think I have it in me to back away from her now—I’m pretty sure I love her. And I have a bad track record.”
“Connie, it makes perfect sense for you to look at that last relationship and try to understand how you could’ve known it wasn’t right for you. Or maybe there was something to understand about Alyssa that you ignored, something that might’ve saved you making the wrong choice. But frankly, I think it was Alyssa who made the mistake.” She arched her eyebrows. “How’s that working out for her?”
“She keeps trying to make up. As recently as a couple of weeks ago. But, never...” He swallowed. “All those feelings are gone.”
“And you’re moving on.”
He thought for a second. “To what?” he asked. Really he was asking himself. It was the question he’d been struggling with. “When Alyssa broke the bond I was furious. I hated her. I hated him more, but I was the one who suffered. Chris Derringer sure didn’t seem to suffer. And he didn’t change his ways, either.” He laughed without humor. “Oh man, did I suffer. No one wanted to come anywhere near me—I was loaded for bear. I was humiliated and betrayed and half-insane. I was so angry. I got depressed. I got out of shape and gained twenty pounds or so... So much for the divorce diet!”
“I remember,” she said. “You always did take comfort in food. I can completely understand that you don’t want to go through something like that again.”
“But see, I wouldn’t. I don’t feel about Sierra the way I felt about Alyssa. In fact, if I were a real asshole I’d thank Alyssa for cutting me loose. When I broke up with Alyssa I didn’t want to die. I wanted to kill someone. It’s different with Sierra. She already feels so much a part of me, if I’m wrong and lose her, it would be so much worse. It would be like...”
He stopped himself. He was starting to feel like a wimp, like a weakling.
“You’ll do the right thing,” Janie said.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Whatever you do, Connie, it will be from the heart. If there’s one thing you have always been, it’s honest. Sometimes too honest for your own good, but absolutely honest.”
He was a little lost inside his head, hearing a conversation with himself that he wasn’t likely to ever share with his mother. When Alyssa left he had said to her, “What the fuck? Wasn’t I good to you?” If he somehow lost Sierra he would ask, “Didn’t I love you with everything I had?” With Alyssa it had been pride. Sierra felt like the other half of his heart. He would do anything for her. He’d do anything to save her.
“Be sure to tell her how you feel about her,” his mother said.
“It’s not like I didn’t love Alyssa,” he said in defense of his own scrambled-up brain. “I tried to make her happy.”
“I know,” she said. “Connie, hear me on this. Things tend to happen the way they’re supposed to. I tried very hard to make my marriages work. I did everything I knew how to do. It wasn’t enough or it wasn’t what was needed or it wasn’t meant to be, I don’t know. But I felt as though I’d failed. Now I feel as though everything went just as it was supposed to—I’m happy with my life.
“You just follow your heart,” she said to him. “You’ll do the right thing.” Then she laughed. “There’s no stopping you anyway. You’re hell-bent.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “I am,” he admitted. “She was kind of mean to me at first. She doesn’t put up with much. I think when she rescued the dog, she had me.” On cue, Molly put her head on his thigh, ready for reassurance. “She’d never really had a dog before. She lived on a farm and said there were dogs but they weren’t really pets. They were farm dogs. Not the same thing. But this dog... Sierra reads to the damn dog. And the dog loves it.”
“You can tell a lot about a person by things like that.”
“I think she’s in trouble,” he said again. “She went back to Michigan to straighten out something to do with an accident. She wouldn’t give me the details but she took her brother with her and he’s a lawyer, so I think it’s sticky. I want to protect her if I can. I want to be there for her if she needs me. I don’t want to let her down. I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll know,” she said. “Listen to that inside voice. You’ll know.”
“I better go,” he said, starting to rise.
“Sit down, Connie,” she said. “You just got here. We’re going to have lunch.”
He left a couple of hours later. He took a picture of Molly and texted it to Sierra, but she didn’t respond. Later he texted a selfie with Molly and said, We miss you. Nothing. The next day he drove out to the Crossing and asked Sully if he’d heard from either Sierra or Cal and he said he hadn’t, but Maggie said they’d made it to Detroit safely. He wanted to ask Maggie for more details but used all his willpower not to—Maggie was getting very pregnant and he didn’t want to act like they should be worried. But he left Sierra a voice mail. “I hope everything is all right. Call me if you need me.”
Nothing.
* * *
It seemed as though there’d been a lot of tension surrounding Sierra’s and Cal’s preparation to leave town. Maggie bit her lower lip a lot and looked at them with worry. Sully was morose and frowning. Moody suggested she locate meetings in the area and pack her inspirational books. And Connie was a little too cheerful as if he was making a real effort.
“Why is everyone acting so strangely?” Sierra asked Cal.
“Maggie, because she knows how hard it must be to face this event from your past. The rest of them sense it’s something more serious than a little car accident. We pick up each other’s vibes.”
“I better get a handle on that,” she said. “I don’t want the police picking up any vibes.”
“Don’t worry about it. The only one you’ve got going on is terror and it’s all right if they know you’re afraid.”
They checked in to a nice Westin and Cal took her out to dinner in a classy restaurant, which she just couldn’t appreciate under the circumstances. In fact, she was too gnarled up inside to even respond to Connie’s texts. Monday morning, donned in her hand-me-down dress and new pumps, they headed for the police department. They had an appointment with a detective who was assigned the case.
They met with two detectives in plainclothes in an office. Detective Swenson was young, maybe thirty-five and the other, Detective Lundquist, looked like he should retire—he had to be in his sixties with silver hair and a grandfatherly paunch. It was the younger man who questioned her. The questions began slowly and were disarmingly superficial. Full name? Date of birth? Where were you on April 22, 2015? Who were you with? His full name and address? Who were your friends? Their full names?
Sierra didn’t know where Derek Cox lived; there weren’t too many friends during that time. She gave information about her roommate, her last address, a couple of people from work, several people she knew by their first names only because they were regulars at her favorite bar, Charlie’s.
“Can we please get to the reason you wanted to interview Ms. Jones?” Cal suggested firmly.
“Why weren’t you at your favorite pub that night, the night of the twenty-second? You were seen at Flynn’s, is that right?”
“I was avoiding Derek Cox. He was pestering me and I thought he was following me. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“But you were with him that night?”
“He was there. He was everywhere I went, it seemed like. I wanted to turn and leave, but he saw me and I didn’t want him to follow me into the parking lot. I didn’t sit with him. I picked a place in the corner, near the bar, alone.”
“And you didn’t talk to him?”
She shook her head and the detective said, “Verbal answers for the tape, please.”
“No, I didn’t talk to him. I almost left but I didn’t want to leave alone because I was nervous and that night I didn’t seem to know the people there. I mean, I knew the bartender, the waitress, but not the customers. I thought he might follow me out. I told you, I felt he was stalking me. But after about an hour he came over to the table and sat down and tried to make conversation.”
“And you were drinking that night?”
“I wasn’t drunk,” she said. “I’d had a couple of glasses of wine and it hit me really hard. All of a sudden I was losing focus, getting really woozy, thinking about a cab, thinking about a cup of coffee and a cab.”
“Did you usually do that? Drink coffee, call a cab?”
“I didn’t usually get drunk on two glasses of wine! He drugged me. He must have put something in my wine because I hadn’t had that much to drink.” She smiled sadly. “I could really hold my liquor.”
“Can you still? Hold your liquor?”
“I haven’t had a drink in over a year,” she said. “I’m in AA now. In recovery.”
“How about your drug use?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Cal said. “You’re not on trial. These questions are supposed to pertain to a felony hit-and-run involving your car. Whether you ever took drugs is not relevant. That you didn’t take drugs that night is relevant.”
“It’s okay. I rarely did drugs. A little pot here and there. And ecstasy once—I didn’t like it. I admit that when the dentist gave me a Valium I loved it so I didn’t do it again. No, I wasn’t a druggie. Liquor was good enough to take me down.”
“But back then, that night and before that night, you were drinking heavily?”
“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t think so, but...yes.”
“Could you have stopped somewhere before going to Flynn’s? Maybe had a couple of glasses of wine or drinks somewhere else first?”
Again she shook her head. Then she said, “Not that I can recall.”
They asked her to look at a video. It was footage from a convenience store gas pump. A man got out of the car, put gas in the tank, smiled and then laughed at something. He got back into the car on the driver’s side. The image was blurry but she knew it was him.
She was clearly sitting in the passenger seat. Of her car. The license plate was visible on the tape as the car pulled out.
“That’s him. That’s my car. I don’t remember that. I don’t remember a gas station. I don’t remember stopping for gas. I only remember brief snatches. He must have taken me out of the bar to my car.”
“Describe the day and night as you remember it,” the detective instructed.
She went through it, moment by moment, explaining again and again that she was moving in and out of consciousness, that he had abducted her, he had stolen her car, somehow got her in it, took her back to her house, to her garage where he assaulted her.
“And when you hit the victim...?”
“I didn’t know what happened. We hit something. I remember I got agitated and Derek looked to see what we hit. I think he hit me or I passed out again. I never saw anyone.”
“Your car was damaged...the front right bumper and side.”
“Could’ve been a rock or a branch or a—Look, I didn’t know what it was. And even if I had, I was in no condition to help.”
They made her retrace her movements for the past year and five months over and over again. Her fleeing to Iowa, her entry into rehab, her work history, her move to Colorado. Several times Cal suggested she didn’t have to answer questions that didn’t pertain to the accident for which she was being questioned. Almost every time she answered anyway, trying to give them what they wanted, what they needed.
They brought lunch, right when she was in the thick of it and she couldn’t have eaten if her life depended on it.
“I’m about to end this interview,” Cal said. “Let’s move this along quickly.”
“It’s probably in the best interest of your client to be patient for these questions and get it all behind her.”
“The client is also my sister,” he said, scowling.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I need it to be over. If it can ever be over.”
“I put a call in to the sexual assault unit,” the detective said. “We have to establish whether there was another crime.”
She looked through a bunch of pictures and bingo, there he was. She identified him and they told her he had a record; quite a few felony arrests for everything from robbery to battery to sexual assault.
She told them he had given her the creeps but he didn’t fit her image of a career criminal; he was so clean-cut, so preppy. After she’d spent a little time with him she knew he was wrong. She never anticipated how wrong.
The sexual assault sergeant introduced himself simply as Charles. He asked her to explain how she knew he was a deviant or maybe just explain why she was dead set against seeing him. So she told them about that one night he was invited inside, how enraged he was with his dysfunction, how difficult it was for him to successfully complete intercourse.
As far as they could determine, his name was actually Craig Dixon. They showed her an artist’s rendering too, a pencil sketch. “That’s him,” she said. “Why do you have this?”
“He’s committed other crimes. He has other victims.”
They asked her seven times where he was. Seven times she told them she had no idea, that she ran from him, that she feared him.
Charles was incredibly tall with giant feet that made her think of Goofy, the Disney character. He folded his legs uncomfortably under the desk. Detective Lundquist left the office briefly, while the remaining two detectives questioned her. “You know it’s best if we locate him and bring him in,” Charles said.
“If I could help you do that, I would. But I don’t know where he is.”
“Is it possible you got drunk and you and your boyfriend ran down a cyclist and left him by the side of the road, critically injured?”
“No,” she said much more calmly than she felt. “He’s not nor was he ever my boyfriend. I’m telling you, I didn’t even know where he lived. We had one official date and he was stalking me after that. I’m afraid of him.”
“Have you seen him at all since that night?”
“I think I see him a lot, but it’s just my nerves. It always turns out it’s not him. It must not be him—he hasn’t bothered me at all. Why would he come all the way to Colorado if he didn’t intend to hurt me again?”
“Wait? Colorado?”
“I thought I saw him in a mall in Colorado Springs, but he didn’t see me. He finally turned and I don’t think it was him. His nose was too big.”
The sergeant fished out a more mug shot—profile and forward—that was newer than the photo and the pencil sketch.
“Oh God,” she said.
“Is this the man you saw in Colorado?”
“Maybe it was. He was kind of far away. But I followed him for a while because I thought it might be him and I had to know. But I was on crutches. I had a sprained ankle. I wasn’t moving very fast.”
“He didn’t approach you?”
“No. And he was gone before I could verify it was him. The story of my life—seeing my nightmare over and over and never being sure.”
“Did he say anything that night? Anything memorable?”
“I asked him what he hit while we were driving and he said, ‘Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t driving. You were driving.’ But I wasn’t. I couldn’t have driven if my life depended on it.”
“I believe that’s enough for today,” Cal said. “Ms. Jones is not under arrest and doesn’t have to—”
“We could arrest you for obstruction,” the detective said. “You were with him in the car and it was 1.7 miles from that gas station that the cyclist was hit. He might’ve died but for the fortuitous presence of a passerby with medical knowledge who came along less than a minute later.”
“Obstruction from a girl who was drugged and raped? That will never get by a judge,” Cal said. “Her head is clearly lolling on the tape and he gets behind the wheel.”
“I have medical records,” she said. “I didn’t report it to the police but I went to a clinic. I was bruised and injured and afraid of disease. I had showered but they did a rape exam anyway. Since the police weren’t involved they didn’t have evidence. But they have records. It was the Macmillan Women’s Clinic.”
The detective looked at his watch. “We’ve been at this all day and it just occurred to you to mention medical records?”
“I talked all day! I answered all your humiliating questions in front of my brother!” She looked at him. “Cal, I’ve had enough.”
“We’re done here. We won’t be answering any more questions without a warrant. You pretty much squeezed her dry. If you have any more questions, we’ll be in Colorado.”
He took Sierra’s elbow to lead her away.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “My turn. You’ve been looking for him? For the hit-and-run?”
“Among other things,” the detective said. “You’re going to have to be very cautious, ma’am. Craig Dixon is a dangerous man.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
“Rape, for one thing.”
“But I don’t want to testify against him! He terrifies me! And if for any reason he isn’t put in prison...”
“Let’s worry about that when we have him in custody,” the sergeant said. “For now, my advice is, caution.”
“Well, he was certainly right about one thing,” she said. “I’ll never forget him.”
The detectives sat stone-still and silent. The sergeant from the sexual assault unit leaned forward. “What were his exact words, please?”
“He said, ‘You’ll never forget me now.’ And then he walked away.”
The men looked at each other. “That’s a wrap. You can go. Make sure we’re able to reach one or both of you. If you change cell numbers, please contact us. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Cal led her away. “You all right?”
She shrugged. “A little beat up. Why were they so hard on me if they know he’s the bad guy?”
“They had to be convinced you weren’t a co-suspect in that hit-and-run but, more important, they want to know if you can lead them to their suspect.”
“Lead them! Don’t they understand I’d be running in the other direction?”
“I’m pretty sure they understand that now. I wondered why this much energy was being spent trying to find him for a hit-and-run when the victim has made a full recovery. Sierra, the man has obviously raped other women. They connected the dots—found his face on that hit-and-run film. They might never have found him if there hadn’t been a felony hit-and-run. That tape would never have been viewed in the first place if there hadn’t been a crime and investigation. That’s why they were looking for you. They tied your car to their suspect. I have a feeling, based on what you’ve said and their questions, they’re looking for a predator. A serial rapist. Or worse.”
She couldn’t speak. Finally she said, “Won’t the other victims bring him to justice?” she asked.
“And what if they can’t?” Cal said.
“Can’t?” she repeated shakily. “Dear God.”