“You okay?” I asked. “Sure you aren’t hurt?”
“What will they do to me?” she whispered.
“Do to you? What do you mean?”
“I mean, who will I live with?”
“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe your father, Mr. Ives. Or they may find someone for you to stay with while they sort things out. They’ll probably try to contact your…your dad, and I know they’ll try to find out where your mom is.”
She looked away from me, then started crying hard. She curled back into my shoulder. I tried to think of words that might soothe her, and decided just to let her cry. I don’t think she had any more real hope that her mom was alive than I did.
After a time, she quieted.
“Do you have kids?” she asked in a small voice.
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t you like them?”
“Oh no, I like them a lot. Why do you ask?”
She turned red. “Maybe they’d let me stay with you.”
I hugged her shoulders. “I would love to have you stay with us, but I don’t get to decide that. Besides, you might not like it-I have a husband, a friend, three dogs, and the fattest cat you ever saw living at my house. Here, I’ll show you.” I opened my wallet and flipped to the photos of Frank, Deke and Dunk, and Cody. “I don’t have pictures of our friend Ethan or of Altair yet. They’re just visiting.”
She asked questions about the animals and Frank. We only spent a few minutes doing this, but somehow it had a calming effect on both of us.
OVER the next several hours, the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, the Huntington Beach Police Department, and the Las Piernas Police Department all wanted to talk to us. So did a tremendous number of members of the media, although they didn’t get much more than footage of us leaving the LASD Palmdale Station. They made up for that by talking to neighbors in Huntington Beach (“very quiet,” “kept to themselves”) and getting aerial shots of an abandoned BMW and the removal of remains from the desert.
The bodies of Giles Fletcher and Bonnie Creci/Victoria Fletcher had been found half a mile from the border of the Angelus National Forest, a half-mile that kept the Park Service and the FBI off the list of our questioners.
Frank arrived with three passengers. I had expected Blake Ives and my attorney, Zeke Brennan, but I was amazed to also see Graydon Fletcher, who was hanging back a bit.
As he hugged me, Frank whispered, “You okay?”
I nodded.
“Don’t worry about Graydon.”
When Blake Ives was introduced to her, Carrie smiled uncertainly and said hello. When she saw Graydon, she ran to him, shouting, “Grandfather!” and burst into tears as she hugged him.
I had to admire Blake Ives. He was overjoyed to see her, weeping, in fact, but he didn’t push or make a scene. He patiently waited while Graydon comforted Carrie.
Graydon soothed her, and when she had calmed down again, he said, “Carrie, do you know who Mr. Ives is?”
She nodded.
“I’m so happy that he’s found you,” he said. “We all have lots of questions about how you were separated, and I know you’ve had an upsetting day. But he’s a good man who has been hoping to see you for so many years, and I wanted to come to let you know that no matter what else has happened today, this part of your life will be just fine. Meeting your father is a reason to rejoice.”
She looked back and forth between them, then said to Blake, “I read Ms. Kelly’s story about you in the paper. It’s…nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.
He took it and, although I could see it was killing him, refrained from doing more than gently shaking it for a moment.
He came down to eye level with her. “Carla-I mean, Carrie-do you want me to call you Carrie?”
She thought about it and said, “Does it hurt your feelings?”
“No,” he said softly.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind, Carrie’s what I’m used to hearing. I like the name Carla, but I might not remember you’re talking to me when you say it.”
“Carrie it is, then. I look forward to getting to know you again. Mr. Fletcher has been telling me about you on the way here. He’s right-we’re both so glad you’re all right and weren’t hurt too badly, and we both want to make sure you’re happy and safe-that’s what matters most to both of us, okay?”
“Thank you,” she said. She looked to Graydon. “Where’s Dad?” She blushed and said, “I mean…”
“It’s okay,” Blake said.
“I don’t know where he is, Carrie,” Graydon said. “I’m worried about him and your brothers and sister. I have a lot of questions to ask him, but mostly I’m worried.”
“Mom…”
“I’m sorry.”
That brought on the tears again. Somehow, in that upset, she let Blake comfort her, too.
A pair of Fletcher’s sons who were lawyers arrived, apparently on their own initiative. Graydon refused to follow their advice about not saying anything, and simply told them to be quiet or wait for him in the lobby. I guess he still held some power as the patriarch, because they shut up.
Graydon couldn’t explain-for her benefit, or to the various law enforcement officials who wanted to know-why Giles Fletcher had taken his niece and a newspaper reporter hostage. He couldn’t imagine any reason for Giles to harm Bonnie-whom he referred to as Victoria-or anyone else. He had been shocked, he said, when reading the morning paper to see the story about Blake lves. “I didn’t see the paper until late this morning, but I immediately recognized Victoria’s photo, and while I wasn’t quite so sure about Carrie, of course, I could see the resemblance. I-I wanted to talk to Roy. I’ve been leaving messages for him.”
“He didn’t go to your house?” Carrie asked.
“No, honey, he didn’t. Is that what he said he would be doing?”
“Yes.” Her forehead wrinkled in worry.
Carrie told the story of her morning, including some parts I hadn’t known. Except for her fear and a quality of innocence, one could easily forget she was a child-her vocabulary was beyond that of a number of adults I know, and so was her intelligence.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “I think Dad put a sedative or something like that in Mom’s drink.”
“Tell us more about this,” Graydon said, looking grim.
SO we heard about the Bloody Mary, the mortar and pestle, the pills. Joe Travers, the detective from Huntington Beach, was madly taking notes. Travers either had kids of his own or had questioned children before, because his manner with Carrie quickly won her over. I suppose the fact that no one was trying to stop her from being honest with him helped.
With Zeke Brennan’s able advice, I was able to be honest, too-I just didn’t tell anyone how much I’d wanted to kill Cleo. I was glad for Zeke’s guidance. People who make lawyer jokes should think about how well they’d do with trial by ordeal.
Graydon Fletcher said the name Cleo was familiar to him, although he had not seen her since she was a teenager. “I don’t know if it’s the same person,” he said. Then he pretty much described her exactly, in a younger form.
“Where could we find her?” the detective asked.
“I have no earthly idea. But I will ask my family members to cooperate completely with you.”
An urgent bulletin was issued regarding Roy Fletcher and the children who were with him. The Huntington Beach police were searching for photos. None were on the walls of Roy Fletcher’s home, but Carrie mentioned a digital camera. “Dad kept a few of our pictures on his computer,” she said, although she couldn’t provide a password. That frustrated her, but then she said, “Wait! My camera. Remember, Grandfather? You gave it to me the last time you came to see us. I took our pictures.” She described where it could be found in their room. “Genie might have taken it with her, though,” she cautioned, “when she put my things in the car.”