"No." Tim shook his head.
"Can I ask who your two friends are?" the cop asked.
Tim turned back to Al and Animal, who had been listening with interest. Al turned on the charm, instantly transforming from snuff pornographer to a guy who looked like he might be a contractor or a cabinetmaker. "I'm Al Pressman," he said.
"And I'm Jeff," Animal said, turning on the charm as well. "Jeff Scott'
"How long have you been up here with Mr….?'
"Murray," Tim said. "Tim Murray"
"How long have you been with Mr. Murray today?" the cop asked.
"All day," Jeff answered.
"And you haven't noticed anything unusual?"
"No"
"Did the three of you come up for the weekend?"
"Yes," Al said. "We've been up here since late Saturday."
"Are you sure you haven't seen Debbie?" Neal asked frantically. Tim could see that the man was imploring them for help. His eyes were wide and frantic with panic. "She just walked out of the cabin. She left her car, her purse, everything at the cabin. I thought maybe she might have taken a walk by here or-"
"I haven't seen her all weekend," Tim said. He was feeling the pressure mount again.
The cop nodded. "Mr. Martinez says he called yesterday and his wife didn't answer the phone. And she never returned his calls."
"I was working this weekend," Neal said, pacing back and forth in front of the jeep. "I couldn't get off. We were going to meet up here today. And when I got here, she wasn't there!"
"What does she look like?" Al asked, his features masked with concern.
The officer described Debbie Martinez to them, and as he did, Al and Jeff frowned, shaking their heads. "No" Al said. "I haven't seen anybody looking like that. We haven't really been out much."
"Can I ask what's in the van?" the cop asked.
Tim felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.
"Camera equipment," Al said.
"Camera equipment?"'Ihe cop looked at him.
"My friends and I " Tim said, attempting to explain as his mind raced. "Wre're amateur filmmakers. We've been up here all weekend working on a film project'
The cop was looking at the van, as if trying to see through it. Tim felt the lead in his belly grow solid. He glanced at Al quickly and saw that Al was watching the cop, trying hard to look casual. Only Jeff bore the slightest trace of normalcy; he looked both concerned for Neal and curious as to why Debbie Martinez could disappear.
"When was the last time you saw Debbie Martinez?" the cop asked, turning back to Tim.
Tim shrugged, trying to come up with the right answer. "I don't know-few weeks ago maybe?'
And you two?" The cop nodded at Al and Animal.
"I've never seen her; Al said.
"I was up here a few weeks ago with Tim," Animal said. -That was the last time I saw her."
The cop turned to Neal, who was hugging himself in the brisk coolness of the Big Bear night. "Why don't we try the Harper place and Keene's shack down 772?'
"Okay." Neal headed to the passenger side without looking at Tim or the others.
"Sorry to have troubled you folks,' the officer said.
"No problem, Officer; Tim said.
Al lifted the last carrying case containing the camera as the officer started the Jeep's engine. The headlights popped on and the Jeep pulled away, heading down the road.
'That was a close one,' Tim breathed, watching the taillights recede.
"Don't just stand there watching them leave!" Al barked. "Help me pack this shit up and let's get the tuck out of here!"
And Tim turned to do just that.
They got the hell out of there.
Eighteen
Lisa had been feeling a little sick the past day or so, and this morning it had been worse. She was curled into her favorite chair by the sofa, trying to ignore the pain. Brad could tell there was something wrong, but every time he asked if she was all right she said she was fine.
It had been two weeks since what they were now referring to as "their vacation that went to hell." Since that time, both of them had been questioned numerous times by the LAPD, the San Bernardino County Sheriff's department, and the Ventura County Sheriffs Department, and Lisa had been examined at USC Medical Center. She had been taken to the hospital, where a thorough examination had been performed. Aside from a few bruises and scratches and dehydration, she was fine. The surprise she had hoped to tell Brad on their vacation was revealed that day, and Brad treated the news with a mixture of joy and relief. The medical personnel questioned her thoroughly about her attack, trying to determine if penetration occurred, and Lisa assured them that, no, they didn't rape her. They did other things to her, but they didn't rape her that way.
Brad was so happy she was alive that he seemed to brush off the story she told the police: She had been on her way to the Denny's near the motel when a van pulled up and she was grabbed. She was pulled into the van and somebody knocked her out with a rag drenched in chloroform. The next thing she knew, they were driving up to the mountains. They kept her in the van the entire weekend, slapping her around a little, forcing her to perform oral sex on them, and doing drugs, probably coke. Maybe it was crystal meth. Whatever it was, they were snorting it, it made them hyper, and it made them homy, but no matter how much they forced her to perform oral sex on them they never got hard. The first time she told this story, the detective nodded. "Speed freaks become impotent after a while. If they hadn't been, the attack probably would have been worse.'
She couldn't describe her assailants, no matter how much she was questioned. It had been dark, but she was certain there were four of them. They were big, they might have all been black, but they could have been Hispanic or Samoan or something. They were big and darkskinned, and some of them had kinky hair, and some of them were speaking a funny language that sounded like it could have been Spanish, it all happened so fast that she just didn't remember. They asked her repeatedly if Caleb Smith had anything to do with this, and at first her mind had drawn a blank until one of the detectives reminded her of the road-rage incident that had landed Brad in jail. She shook her head. 'No, it wasn't him. The van these guys were driving was white, with no windows. It wasn't Caleb Smith at all.
The detectives who had been questioning her traded glances with each other and said nothing.
She had been a nervous wreck throughout the whole ordeal, and after a while they eased off on the questioning. They had vague descriptions of suspects and a description of the van, and that went out over the bulletin. They tried questioning her more in the days that followed, but every time they did Lisa could offer them nothing new. Besides, every time they took her down that line of questioning, she would start crying, becoming hysterical. It was obvious to the detectives working the case that she had been emotionally traumatized by her abduction, and she was, only it wasn't the way they thought.
Her parents, who had flown out to Orange County from Iowa, had broken down and wept at the news that she had been found. Brad's parents had been equally happy-his mother had displayed her relief the same way both of Lisa's parents had. His dad took it the way he usually took good news; all the weight of stress and worry that he had been carrying seemed to ease off his shoulders, and he wandered around the hospital while Lisa was being examined, looking tired, then relieved, then happy for Brad, then worried again. "1 just hope she's going to be all right," he said when Brad asked how he was. Father and son traded smiles; Dad's looking a little bit more worn for the wear after being awake for the past two days.