“Cease fire! Cease fire!” The Range Safety Officer’s voice thundered down the line just as the last shooter fired his final round of the stage. The electronic noise-canceling features in my headset were designed to muffle the sharp reports of gunshots while still allowing voice commands to come through loud and clear-not that Gunny Doug Owens needed any help getting his point across. Twenty-one years in the Marine Corps prior to joining the Seattle Police Department as head firearms instructor gave him a “command voice” that left no confusion, no ambiguity as to the meaning of his message. Like many of the tough old sergeants I’d known in the army, Gunny Owens didn’t so much speak when he was on the range; he barked. It reminded me of basic training at Fort Benning.
I lowered my Les Baer Thunder Ranch Model 1911.45-caliber semiauto to a forty-five degree angle, finger indexed along the barrel. Keeping it pointed downrange, I turned my head quickly in each direction, automatically scanning the area around me for new threats, just as Gunny barked out, “Weapons to low ready!”
He followed this up a second later with, “Unload and make safe!” The slide on my weapon had automatically locked open when I’d fired the last round. I pressed the magazine release button, and the empty magazine dropped out and fell to the ground.
“After inspection by a Range Safety Officer, holster your safe weapon.”
The RSO on my side of the line worked his way from shooter to shooter, checking their weapons as he went and tapping them on the shoulders when he was satisfied their weapons were completely empty, signifying it was okay to holster their weapon. I waited my turn as the gentle breeze cleared the smoke from the range.
When Gunny saw that the assistant RSOs on either side of the line had completed their inspections, he barked out “Line clear on the left?” The assistant RSO on my side of the line held up his hand in acknowledgment. “Line clear on the right?” The officer on the opposite end of the line did the same.
“Good,” Gunny said. “Ladies and gentlemen, the line is clear! You may remove your hearing protection. Retrieve your magazines, and let’s check targets.”
It was a beautiful morning on June 5, 2012. The temperature was in the high sixties, and the sky was partly cloudy. My partner, Antoinette “Toni” Blair, and I had just fired the last sequence in the Washington State Basic Law Enforcement Firearm Training course at the Seattle Police Athletic Association range in Tukwila, just south of Seattle. This is the same test issued to retired law enforcement officers annually and, other than Toni and me, the thirteen guys on the line were all retired police officers. Thanks to the Law Enforcement Officers Safety Act that Congress passed in 2004, successfully passing this test gave these retired officers the right to carry concealed weapons almost anywhere in the nation. Can you say instant extended police force? At no additional cost? Clearly, this was one of Congress’s smarter moves, if you ask me. Of course, Toni and I were not law enforcement officers, so passing the test wouldn’t give us the same privileges. But the practice kept us sharp, and it helped keep our insurance premiums low. And if, God forbid, we ever had to shoot anyone, regular documented training would probably help us legally. We were fortunate that my friends at Seattle PD allowed us to train with them and use the range.
I reached down and picked up my empty magazine, dusted it off, and put it in my pocket. Toni was two shooters to my left; I saw her do the same thing. At twenty-seven years old, she’d just had a birthday two weeks ago. She was dressed in camouflage-print fatigue-style pants that had no business looking as good as they did on her, green tactical boots, and a beige long-sleeved T-shirt that had an American flag and Made in the U.S.A. printed on it in big, bold red letters across the chest-just in case you were having trouble noticing the way she filled out the shirt (which, I suppose, would have been pretty good proof that you were legally blind). The other guys didn’t know it, but I knew that the long sleeves covered a full-sleeve tattoo on her left arm and a delicate little Celtic-weave tat on her right. Her thick, dark hair was covered with a backward-facing baseball cap, itself covered with her ear-protection headset. She wore yellow-tinted shooter’s glasses. She looked like a Victoria’s Secret model at a gun show-she was distracting as hell, and I was glad there was space between us. When we straightened up, she caught me looking and she smiled.
Oops. This wasn’t one of her “I love you” smiles or even one of her playful ones, for that matter. We’ve been friends for a long time-I’ve known her for more than five years. I’ve seen her use about twenty different smiles-she’s got one for every occasion. I know most of them pretty well, but as for this one, her meaning was quite clear. She was giving me the nasty, evil little grin that usually comes when we’re locked in competition. We both hate to lose, and shooting qualifications bring out our competitive natures. She looked pretty smug-must have fired another clean stage. I turned away and started walking downrange to inspect my target.
“Holy crap, Nichols!” Gunny yelled as he inspected the first shooter’s target. “You do know you’re supposed to be shooting target number one, right? You fired five rounds, but I only see three damn holes!” He turned and looked at the next target on the line. “You got any extra holes on your target?” he said to that target’s shooter. “Nope?” He turned back to the first unlucky guy. “Nichols, you had two rounds off the whole damn target! That’s pathetic. Ten points each-it’s going to cost you a twenty-point penalty.” He shook his head with disgust. “What’s worse, if this were real life, that means you’d be the proud owner of two.40-caliber projectiles flying through the air at 1,100 feet per second looking for something solid to hit besides their intended target.” He looked at the sheepish shooter. “You understand that’s bad, right?”
The man nodded. “Sorry, Gunny.”
“Yeah, you are,” Gunny nodded in agreement. “Looks like we’ll be seeing you back here this afternoon.”
Gunny moved down the line, examining each shooter’s target. His comments were usually short and to the point. “You pushed this one,” or “You flinched before you pulled the trigger here, see? Caused you to jerk low left.” The shooters-all experienced police officers with years and years of training-listened carefully. Gunny Owens was held in universal high esteem. He’d forgotten more about shooting than most of us would ever know.
He reached Toni’s target and stared at it for a second. “Holy hell, she’s doing it again!” he called out. The other shooters turned to look at Toni’s target. “This young lady,” he said, “-a civilian, I might add-qualifies on this very course every ninety days without fail. And I have never-I repeat never-seen her put a round outside the ten ring. Look at this shooting here. Y’all should do so well. Excellent! Well done, young lady.” Toni smiled demurely. “A solid 250,” Gunny said. “Perfect score.”
Gunny continued down the line until he reached my target. He examined it carefully, counting the number of holes. When he was finished, he turned to me. “Staff Sergeant Logan, did you yank one off the target?” Gunny liked to call me by my former military rank.
“Hell no, Gunny,” I said. “Look here.” I pointed to one of the bullet holes in the center of the target that was a bit more oblong than the others.
Gunny leaned forward and inspected the hole. “Oh, yeah,” he said, smiling. “I see. Same damn hole.” He stood up. “Folks, listen up! Another perfect score from the other civilian in the group.” He paused for a moment, and then he continued. “Although technically, I ain’t sure you can call him a civilian-he’s former U.S. Army 101st Airborne. It don’t happen often, but from time to time, the army turns out a damn fine shooter. Right, son?” That was about as high a compliment as an army grunt’s likely to get out of a marine (MARINE: “Muscle are Required-Intelligence Not Essential”).
“Hooah, Gunny!” I yelled out. You better believe it.
“Damn right,” he said, nodding his head sharply. He turned and continued his inspection.
After he finished with the last shooter, he returned to the center of the line. “Gentlemen, and Ms. Blair,” he said, “Y’all gather round.” When we’d formed in a group around him, he said, “One of y’all’s coming back this afternoon.” He turned to the offender. “That’s you, Nichols. I want you to practice with Officer Mendez here,” he pointed at one of his assistant RSOs, “right after lunch: 1300 hours. If you’re ready, you’ll get another shot at qualifying at 1400. We’ll see if you can keep all your rounds on your own target this time.” He looked at the rest of us. “As for the rest of you-you’ve all officially qualified. Congratulations.” The men nodded their heads quietly. They’d done this before and most were good-if not very good-shooters.
“Before you leave, though, we do have a dilemma,” Gunny continued. “We have a tie for top honors-two perfect scores.” Here we go, I thought. Same as last time. “And as some of you may know, I don’t like to end things with a tie. No closure that way. So what say we have ourselves a quick little tiebreaker shoot-out?”
“Yeah!” the men agreed enthusiastically.
“Good. Randy-do me a favor and throw a couple of clean targets on lanes three and four, would you? The rest of you, follow me.”
Gunny walked us back past the fifteen-yard marker where we’d fired the last sequence. He kept walking, past the twenty-five yard marker until he reached a marker that said thirty-five yards. “We’ll do it from here,” he said. “Make it interesting. A little over one hundred feet-a real test. Ms. Blair-you’re on number three. Staff Sergeant Logan-you’re on lane four. Everybody else: behind the line.” I looked downrange at the small targets. One hundred feet is a long pistol shot if you have something solid to brace against. Without a brace, it was really long.
He waited until the targets were set and everybody was behind us. “Okay, you two,” he said. “I want you to load one round-and one round only-into a magazine. This will be a one shot, do-or-die competition. We’ll run you through one at a time. Who wants to go first?”
“I will,” Toni said quickly. I looked at her, and we locked eyes. She no doubt was trying to psych me out. Good luck with that.
“Ladies first, then,” Gunny said. “Oh, I forgot. We’ll use the electronic timer. You’ll start from the low ready position, two hand grip-or one hand if you want. Your choice of stances. When the timer beeps, you’re to raise your weapon and fire. You’ll have two seconds to get your shot off before the timer beeps again. If you go over, the timer will tell us, and you’ll be DQ’d. So don’t go over time.”
Two seconds! Two seconds was very fast from thirty-five yards. I glanced at Toni. If she was concerned, she didn’t show it. She was already concentrating on the target.
“You two ready?” We nodded.
“Okay, everyone. Hearing protection on!” Gunny reverted to command voice.
“Shooter number one, at this time, load and make ready!” Toni slapped a magazine into her Glock 23 and cycled the slide.
“Shooter, assume a low ready position!”
Toni crouched down, her weapon held before her pointed toward the ground at a forty-five degree angle.
“Shooter, watch your target!”
BEEP! The electronic timer sounded. Toni instantly raised her weapon, sighted, and one second later, fired. BOOM! followed nearly instantly by BEEP! as the timer sounded again. Toni had beaten the clock by a fraction of a second.
Everyone looked downrange and strained to see the bullet hole in the target. “One point eight seven seconds, and she’s in the bottle,” Gunny called out, “chin level, just a hair right of center. Seven points. That’s fine shooting from thirty-five yards, young lady. Especially in under two seconds.” The “bottle” is the broad, bottle-shaped area of the target that includes the upper torso and the neck up to the center of the head. Toni’s shot was very nearly right on the centerline in the “neck” of the bottle, but it fell midway between the four-inch diameter “ten” ring centered around the top of the target’s nose and the six-inch diameter “ten” ring centered around the target’s heart-in other words, just under the chin. It was an outstanding shot, but looking at Toni, I could tell right away she was not happy. She felt me staring, turned to me, and stuck her tongue out.
“The bad guy is definitely down,” Gunny said. “Probably for good, I’d say. But-with a score of seven,” he smiled with a nasty grin, “the door got left open for the staff sergeant just a hair. Ms. Blair, go ahead and unload and make safe.” Toni released her empty magazine and held her pistol up for inspection by one of the assistant RSOs. He patted her on the shoulder, and she holstered her weapon. The RSO turned to Gunny and raised his hand.
“The line is clear,” Gunny said. “Let’s see if shooter number two can take advantage.”
As I stepped up to the line, Toni said, “Check your fly, dude.” I smiled. Psych!
I was in a tough spot. This was going to be a difficult shot. I like to win as much as she does. Lord knows she would’ve liked nothing better than to beat me on the firing range. In four years, it had never happened before. If she won one, she’d be delighted. This could be a good thing. Maybe it was her time. Thinking about it made me consider maybe giving her one-pulling the shot on purpose. But if I did that, I still needed to make it close. She knows I’m a good shot, and if she suspected I’d thrown the round, she’d have my ass. I made my decision.
“Shooter number two, load and make ready!” I slapped the magazine with the single round into my sidearm, released the slide, and lowered the weapon to the low ready position.
“Shooter, watch your target!” I crouched and tightened my grip.
BEEP! All at once, the outside world seemed to recede. Everything switched to slow motion and all my training kicked in. As my arms came up to target, my right thumb pushed the safety lever to the off position. During the same motion, I took one deep breath, then held it. My arms steadied on the target. My eyes instantly found the front sight, and the front sight centered on the target’s head. With all my concentration, I focused on the front sight. Steady. Squeeze. BOOM! The round fired. BEEP! The timer sounded. I didn’t need to look.
We said our good-byes to Gunny Owens at 11:00 and jumped in my red Jeep for the drive back to our office. Our company is Logan Private Investigations-or Logan PI, as we like to call it. We have a small office on Westlake Avenue on Lake Union, right in the middle of Seattle, less than a mile from I-5. Unfortunately, the south end of Lake Union where we’re located was currently wrecked by construction. Microsoft cofounder Paul Allen had decided to single-handedly rebuild Seattle, and he was starting with the South Lake Union area. As a result, traffic was stop-and-go. Actually, more stop than go-it was going to take a while. I hit the play button on the MP3 player, and the sound of a very sweet piano started to flow from the speakers.
Toni listened carefully when the singer started. “Is that-is that Brandi Carlile?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I’ve never heard this before.”
“I know. That’s because it’s brand-new. It’s called Bear Creek. Just released today. This song is called ‘That Wasn’t Me.’”
She listened for a minute, tapping her foot to the beat. Then she said, “Awesome. I love it. She sounds like Adele.”
I considered this. “Yeah a little, maybe. On this song, anyway. Maybe a bit more country.”
We listened to the new music for a minute while we waited for the traffic to move. Toni’s cell phone rang, and I turned the music down.
“Okay,” she said into the phone. “Tell her to wait. We’re down by the park-only about a half mile away. As soon as traffic moves, we’ll be there.”
She hung up and turned to me. “That was Kenny. He says Kelli’s at the office.”
Kelli-Racquel Genevieve Blair-is Toni’s eighteen-year-old little sister. I hadn’t seen Kelli in a couple of months, although we’d been planning to go to her high school graduation the following week.
“He say what she wants?” I asked.
“She wants to talk. To you and me both.”
Curious.
Twenty-five minutes later, we walked into our office. No one was in the lobby, so we made our way toward the back, where we heard laughter coming from the office of Kenny Hale-our technology guru. I followed Toni into Kenny’s office. He was at his desk with Kelli sitting across from him.
“Hey, guys,” Kenny said when we entered.
“’Sup?” I said, looking from Kenny to Kelli. “Hey, Kelli.”
Kelli and Toni look the same but different. Bear with me-I haven’t lost my mind here. Toni’s tall-a solid five foot eight. Kelli’s a touch shorter-maybe five seven or so. Both girls have striking figures-something they inherited from their mom, I suppose (although I’m not sure I’m supposed to have noticed that). Both have thick, dark hair, although Kelli’s is long with no bangs and more of a brunette color, while Toni’s is more mid-length with long bangs and almost black. The biggest, most noticeable difference, though, is not their height or their hair, but their eyes. Toni’s eyes are a brilliant blue-the color of the Hope Diamond. Kelli’s are a deep emerald green. Both are beautiful. So, like I said-the girls look the same but definitely different.
“Hi, Danny,” she said. She turned to Toni. “Hey, sis.”
Toni walked over to Kelli. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, leaning forward and hugging her sister. She straightened up and eyed Kenny warily. “I see you’ve met Kenny.” Kelli probably missed the look. I didn’t.
“Yeah,” she said. “We’ve just been talking.”
Kenny’s a young guy-he just turned twenty-six a couple of months ago. He’s maybe five eight and a buck fifty soaking wet. He’s got an unruly mop of dark hair that he pushes over to one side. In fact, he looks just like what he is-the quintessential computer geek. When it comes to anything to do with computers, Kenny’s the real deal. He’s got aptitude and native talent that’s off the charts. He grew up with computers in ground zero of the computer world: Redmond, Washington. I’m not certain, but I’d be willing to bet his first toy was a laptop. Knowing Kenny, he probably took it apart, tricked it out some way, and then put it back together. He’s got to be one of the most brilliant PC dudes in the Pacific Northwest. His consulting services are in high demand-I’m sure he makes at least as much moonlighting for the big tech companies around here as he does from his Logan PI paycheck. Still, lucky for us, he likes the excitement of detective work. I say “lucky for us” because computer skills are a near prerequisite for PI firms these days.
Despite the fact that he’s no physical specimen, Kenny is surprisingly successful with the ladies. I have a theory about this. I think that like a lot of nerdy guys, he was probably teased in high school by the jocks and shunned by their pretty cheerleader girlfriends. Back then, geeks were people to be, if not outright, scorned, at least avoided. Now, seven or eight years down the road, presto-chango! Role reversal! Now the smart-guy propeller-heads like Kenny have all the money and run around in their Porsche Cayenne Turbos. Now it’s their turn to date the pretty girls while the majority of high school jocks (meaning all those who didn’t get Division I scholarships) work low-paying, manual labor jobs (if they can still find them). Kenny was simply playing his new role for all he was worth. It’s just a theory. Anyway, I like him. He’s a good guy with a good heart.
Toni feels the same way, but to her, Kenny’s a target she can’t resist for some good-natured teasing. She teases him about his hair, his height, his weight, even his girlfriends. And he gives as good as he gets. He teases her about her hair, her height, her tattoos, and-until recently-her lack of boyfriends. Normally, there’s a good-natured banter between the two of them. Today, though, Toni’s little sister was here to talk about something, and no doubt, Toni wondered if Kenny had tried to put some kind of move on Kelli while they’d been waiting for us. I doubted this-Kenny goes out with younger women to be sure, but even Kenny has a lower age limit, which seems to be twenty-one or so. But what the hell. Toni’s the big sister, and it’s her job to be protective-thus, the stink eye. It continued, even as I led Kelli out of Kenny’s office to our conference room.
Kenny noticed. “What?” he mouthed silently, holding up his hands.
Toni glared at him for a second, then she turned and followed us. Message sent.
“So,” I said, when we entered the conference room. “Long time no see, Kelli. I haven’t seen you since your birthday.”
“I know,” she said. She looked at Toni then back at me. “You guys had just started going out. I’m so happy for both of you.”
Toni smiled. “Thanks, sis. We’re happy, too.”
“And now it’s time for graduation,” I said. “You all ready to go?”
“Sure am,” she said.
“You feel happy or sad?” I asked.
“Happy. Definitely happy.”
I smiled. “That’s good. What’re you going to do?”
“I’m going to U-Dub,” she said. “I start in the fall. I’ve already been admitted.”
“Cool!” I said. “Outstanding! Do you know what you want to study yet?”
“Yep. I’m thinking LSJ-same as you guys.” The University of Washington offers a four-year bachelor’s degree in something they call Law, Societies, and Justice. Basically, it’s a fancy name for a criminal justice degree. Toni and I met in early 2007 when we were seniors in the LSJ program. I was still in the army, finishing my last year as a CID special agent. It’s a good education if you want to make law enforcement your career.
“LSJ-that’s cool,” I said. “Are you thinking about police work?”
“Pre-law,” Kelli said. “I want to be a DA.”
I smiled. “Excellent. Somebody to put the bad guys away. You’ll make a great DA. Runs in your family, I think.”
Toni smiled.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” Kelli said.
“Well, that’s good,” I said. I leaned back in my chair. “So what brings you here today?”
Her mood sobered quickly. Where she’d been happy and smiling a moment before, she suddenly turned somber.
“I have a friend,” she said. “I think she’s in trouble.”
Toni eyed her suspiciously, not certain if Kelli was referring to herself when she said “a friend” and, if she was, trying to determine what she meant by “in trouble.” Pregnant maybe? Big sister switching back into protective mode, I suppose.
“What kind of trouble,” Toni said.
“I think my friend Isabel’s been kidnapped,” Kelli said.
Whoa! That came out of left field! Toni and I both looked at Kelli as we scrambled to catch up mentally. “What do you mean, you think she’s been kidnapped?” Toni said.
“Hold up for a second,” I said, raising my hand. “Don’t answer that just yet.” Both girls looked at me. “Since the conversation’s headed this direction, let me grab a couple of notepads, so we can take notes and do this the right way.”
Toni looked at me for a second, and then she said, “Good idea.”
I took a couple of steno pads from the credenza behind the conference room table. While I was up, I grabbed three bottles of water.
“Kelli, why don’t you start from the very beginning,” I said as I sat back down. “Go slow. Give us plenty of details. Everything you can remember.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Start by giving us Isabel’s personal data. What’s her full name?” I asked.
“Isabel Delgado.”
“Do you know if she has a middle name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Address?”
“She lives at 4268 192nd Street in Lynnwood.”
“Just around the corner from us?” Toni asked. Toni grew up in a home on 189th Street in Lynnwood-the same home where Kelli still lived with their mother.
“Yeah,” Kelli said. “Isabel is in chorus with me. I got to know her last year. She’s just a sophomore now, but I used to drive her to school since we live so close to each other.”
“How old is she?” I asked.
“She just turned sixteen last month,” Kelli said. “On May seventh.”
“Physical description?”
“She’s Hispanic. A little shorter than me, with long, straight, dark hair,” Kelli said.
“Her eyes?”
“I think they’re black.”
“What’s her build? Is she heavy or thin?”
“She’s medium-maybe a little bit thin,” Kelli said. “But she has a really good figure.”
I wrote the information down.
“So what’s happened?” I asked, looking up. “Why do you say you think she’s been kidnapped?”
Kelli looked down at the table and gathered her thoughts. Then she looked up at me. She pushed her long hair back away from her face.
“Isabel’s had it hard,” she started. Toni and I both looked at her. I suppose the questions must have been obvious in our faces.
“At home, I mean.” That made it a little clearer.
“She’s had it hard?” I asked. “Is she being abused?” I didn’t want to come off as insensitive, but I usually find it helpful to move right to the heart of the issue-eliminate ambiguities.
Kelli nodded. “She was,” she said softly.
“Sexually?”
Kelli nodded. “Yeah.”
“You said ‘she was,’” Toni said. “And now?”
“She ran away on her sixteenth birthday,” Kelli said. “She called me once and texted me a few times, but now I haven’t heard from her in more than a week. I think something’s happened.”
I looked at her, then said, “Isabel ran away to escape abuse at home; while she was gone, she contacted you, and now she’s gone silent?”
“Yeah. Nothing since her last text.”
I wrote a couple of notes on my pad and then looked back up at her. “Let’s break this into stages, okay? First, let’s talk about Isabel’s home life. Let me ask you a few questions to help fill us in.”
“Alright,” she said.
“Let’s start by getting right to the point. Do you know who abused her?”
“Yeah. She said it was her stepfather,” Kelli said.
“Do you know his name?”
“Mm-hm. It’s Tracey.”
“Last name?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I know Isabel kept her father’s name. Her stepfather’s is different.”
“That’s alright,” Toni said. “We can look it up. Did you ever meet this guy?”
Kelli nodded. “Yeah, a few times.”
“Tell us about him,” Toni said.
“I’d say he’s older-probably in his forties,” Kelli said. “He’s a mechanic, I think. He mostly wears a uniform. He’s always dirty and grungy.”
“Where have you seen him?” Toni asked.
“At Isabel’s house. Sometimes, I’d drop Isabel off from school late-say four o’clock or so. Izzy’s mom goes to work in the afternoons and sometimes her stepfather would already be home.”
“He works days then?” I asked. “And her mom works nights?”
“Yeah. I think her stepfather must get off in the late afternoon.”
“What’s he like?” I asked.
“He creeped me out,” Kelli said. She shuddered as she said it.
“How so?”
“The way he used to look at me,” she said. “He basically drooled.” She shuddered again. “Just the thought of him gives me the creeps.”
“Did he ever say anything? Ever try anything?” Toni asked.
“He never tried anything with me,” Kelli said. “But he used to say I was pretty. Once he even said I had a pretty figure.”
“Really? He said that?” I turned to Toni. “That’s a pretty inappropriate thing to say to a minor.”
Toni was not happy. “Yeah, you think?”
Kelli continued. “I know. I got to the point where I would just drop Izzy off at the curb. I couldn’t stand going in.” She stared at the wall for a second, then tears welled up in her eyes. “Izzy didn’t have a choice, though. Maybe if I’d have done something, she wouldn’t have had it so bad.”
I looked at her and shook my head. “Done what? What could you have done? Don’t second-guess yourself like that. Hell, if I did that, I’d be a wreck. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t even know anything was happening. And if what Isabel said is true, the only one who did anything wrong was her stepfather. Don’t forget that, alright?”
“Besides,” Toni said. “Look at it. Now that you’ve discovered a problem, what are you doing? You’re trying to get help-just like you should. Danny’s right. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Kelli sniffed. “I guess,” she said.
Toni handed her a tissue from the box on the credenza.
“You ready to keep going?” Toni asked
“Yeah,” Kelli said.
“You said you’ve known her since last year?” Toni asked.
“Yes,” Kelli said. “When she was a freshman.”
“Did you ever see anything with her-any sort of sign that she might have been in some sort of trouble?”
She shook her head. “Other than her creep-job stepfather, no.”
“No bruises-no cuts-nothing like that?”
She shook her head again. “No, nothing. Not that I ever saw, anyway.”
We paused, and then I said, “Did you guys hang out other than at school?”
“Yeah, sometimes. We’d go to the mall sometimes.”
“Alderwood Mall?”
“Yeah. It’s right by our house.”
“Anything else?”
“We went to the movies a few times, too.”
“When did she tell you about what happened at her house? About her stepfather?”
Kelli sniffled. “Not until after she left.”
Toni and I both scribbled on our notepads. After a few seconds, Toni said, “Tell us about Isabel leaving home.”
“Okay. I called her on her birthday, but she didn’t answer, so I sent her a text. She called me back later the same day. She was like ‘Kelli-I ran away.’”
“And then she told you what happened?”
Kelli nodded. She started to cry again. “She said it was because her stepfather raped her,” she said.
“She said that?” I asked. “In those words?”
Kelli’s face was red with anguish. “Yes,” she said. Toni got up and put her arm around her sister as Kelli sobbed quietly into her tissue.
A couple of minute later, she composed herself and continued. “She said she wasn’t going to put up with him anymore, so she ran away. I offered to come and pick her up, but she wouldn’t tell me where she was-at least not then. I think she was afraid that if I knew, I might rat her out accidentally. I told her she could come stay with us, but she said that she didn’t want us to get in trouble. She thought that her mom or her stepfather would come over looking for her. She made me promise not to say anything to anybody.”
“Did they?” I asked. “Did her parents come looking for her?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“So she’s been gone a month, and they haven’t even come looking? Do you think that her mom or her stepfather would have come to ask you if you knew anything?” Toni asked.
“Sure,” Kelli said. “They know about me. They know Izzy and I are good friends.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
Kelli opened her purse and pulled out her phone. She opened the text message window.
“A couple of days after she called, she sends me a text.” She handed me the phone. Toni leaned over, and we both read it.
Isabel Delgado 5/9/12 7:32 PM
Met a cool girl named Crystal at the mall. Staying with her and her boyfriend Donnie for now. IOK.:^) LYLAS
“I don’t know much about texting. IOK stands for ‘I’m okay’?” I asked.
“Yes,” Toni said.
“How about LYLAS?”
That one stumped Toni. Kelli said, “It means ‘Love you like a sister.’” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “Now scroll down,” she said. I did. The next message was one day later.
Isabel Delgado 5/10/12 4:56 PM
Went shopping for clothes-Crystal loaned me $$. Looking good!:^) LYLAS
“Again,” she said. “A week later.”
I scrolled down again.
Isabel Delgado 5/18/12 11:24 PM
Kicking it with Donnie’s friend Mikey. He’s the bomb, and we’re into each other.:^) LYLAS
“And then the last one,” she said. “A week ago.”
I scrolled down again.
Isabel Delgado 5/28/ 12 5:17 PM
Kelli-2G2BT.:(LYLAS
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“2G2BT? It means ‘too good to be true.’”
“Too good to be true and a little frowny-face thing,” I said. “I wonder what she meant by that?”
“Something must have happened,” Toni said. “Something she didn’t like, by the sound of it.”
“Seems that way,” I said. I thought for a second. “It’s amazing how four little text messages can tell a story like that.” I punched the intercom button and called Kenny into the conference room. When he arrived, I asked Kelli, “Do you mind if I get Kenny to pull copies of your text messages off your phone?”
“No,” she said. “That’d be okay.”
“And can you give us Isabel’s cell phone number?”
“Yeah,” she said. She read the number off, and all three of us wrote it down.
Kenny left with the phone. I turned to Toni. “What do you think?”
She thought for a second and then said, “Sounds like we need to find Isabel.”
I nodded. “I agree,” I said. “The sooner, the better.”
Kelli smiled, tears flowing again. “Thanks, you guys. Thank you so much.”
I smiled at her. “We’ll find her.” I thought for a second. “But if we do,” I said, “where will we take her? We can’t very well take her back to her home.”
“First things first,” Toni said. “Let’s focus on finding her for now. Then we’ll worry about where to take her.”
I nodded. “Good plan. Let’s do it.”
So we started hunting for Isabel.