JP Beaumont 11 - Failure To Appear (v5.0) Page 15

  “It turned out there was no contest. It had been a model search, and I was exactly what they were looking for; I fit the profile. They wanted a scared, desperate kid, reasonably good-looking, who would do almost anything to get away from home. It didn’t take long for them to figure out that my parents wouldn’t bat an eye if their underage daughter suddenly disappeared without a trace. And they wanted someone whose parents wouldn’t be above taking a bribe to keep quiet about what happened.”

  “Your father did that?” I asked. “He actually sold you to them for money?”

  Tanya looked me in the eye when she answered. “Why not? It meant one less mouth to feed, and it gave him a bundle of money my mother knew nothing about, money he used to play the ponies.”

  I’ve been in Homicide forever, seen things that would turn most people’s stomachs. I thought I had lost my ability to be shocked, but it turned out I hadn’t. Tanya’s story appalled me, shook me in a way that seeing a mere dead body never could. It almost made me ashamed to call myself a man.

  Maybe I was more susceptible right then because of what was happening with Kelly, but I couldn’t abide the idea that Tanya Dunseth’s own father had committed such unspeakable crimes against her; that he had sold her to the likes of Martin Shore and Daphne Lewis to do with as they wished. Although considering what he himself had been doing to her, even selling her into bondage to a kiddie-porn czar had been a favor, an inarguable improvement.

  I lost track of the conversation for a time, stopped listening because I was too outraged to hear more. I wanted to hop in the Porsche, drive straight to Walla Walla, and slam a balled fist into somebody’s sick, sallow face. How could a man do such a thing to his own child? How could anyone?

  When I came back to the conversation, Ralph Ames was still patiently asking questions. The process seemed even more difficult for him than it was for her. From time to time, his voice cracked under the strain of it, while Tanya continued to answer his questions in a quiet, steady voice barren of any emotion.

  It struck me as odd that Tanya’s disclosures seemed to have a far greater impact on her two male listeners than they had on her. It was as though in revisiting those scenes from her horrific childhood, she somehow conquered the demons that lived there. She emerged from the battle with a kind of newly minted poise that was more than slightly unnerving.

  “When did you meet up with Jacques and Elise?” Ralph asked.

  “I was around fifteen, a sophomore in high school.”

  Ralph frowned and looked at me. “Didn’t Denver Holloway say the girl in the film was younger than that?”

  “It was me, all right,” Tanya said. “I’m sure of it. I started taking birth-control pills when I was only eight. My father brought them to me. I don’t know if the pills fouled up my natural development or if I was just a late bloomer. I didn’t have my first period until I was fourteen. My second came a year later. My lack of boobs drove my father crazy. He was always pinching me there to see if I was growing. He kept telling me he wanted me to be a ‘real’ woman. I hoped I never would be.”

  “Birth-control pills for an eight-year-old?” I demanded. “How the hell did he get away with that? Where did he get them? Didn’t your mother notice?”

  “If she noticed, she didn’t care,” Tanya replied. “Besides, my father was a sneak. Each month, he’d give me the new package. I had to take all the pills out of their little foil wrappers and put them in a vitamin bottle. He told me that I had to take a pill every day or I’d end up with a baby that would be blind and deformed. He said he’d have to drown it in the pond the way he did kittens whenever our cat had any.”

  The story she told was so brutal and ugly I wanted to puke. Ralph rubbed his eyes and shook his head sadly. “I’m really sorry to put you through all this, Tanya, but once Detective Fraymore finds out about what you’ve told us, he’s going to be asking the exact same questions.”

  Tanya nodded. “I guess I knew he would,” she said. “Amber and I went for a walk this afternoon while you all were at the hospital. I realized then I’d have to tell somebody. If it was only me, I wouldn’t, but with Amber…” She paused and shrugged. “Well, I guess I have to face it sometime. And in a way, it’s easier than I thought. It’s like I’m two different people—the girl all those awful things happened to and somebody else, the person I am now. It’s like acting. If you live a role long enough, you start believing it, and none of what I told you ever happened. I shut it out of my mind, and it doesn’t exist.”

  “What about your parents?” I asked. “Do they? Still exist, I mean?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

  “Jeremy and Kelly told me that your parents died in a house fire when you were small, that you ran away from your guardian.”

  “No,” she replied quietly. “That’s a lie. I made it up because it was easier to pretend they were dead than to accept them for what they really were. Over in eastern Washington, in the town of Goldendale, there was a girl about my age whose parents did die that way—in a house fire. I remember reading about it in the newspaper and wishing it could have been my parents who died instead of hers. I wanted to be her so much that finally I was. I stole her story and turned it into mine.”

  “You’re not from Goldendale at all?”

  “No. Walla Walla. My father was a guard at the prison. My mother cooked in the school cafeteria.”

  “What are their names?”

  Tanya’s story had led her through a landscape teeming with emotional land mines, yet through it all she had maintained her composure. Now a note of genuine alarm crept into her voice.

  “Do you have to bring them into this? I don’t want anything to do with them—nothing. I don’t even want them to know I’m still alive.”

  “Someone will have to contact them,” I said. “If we don’t, Fraymore will. As soon as he tumbles to the Daphne Lewis/Martin Shore connection, he’s going to be on your case. Believe me, his questions are going to be a hell of a lot tougher than Ralph’s.”

  Tanya seemed to consider my words before she answered. “Roger and Willy,” she said finally. “Their names are Roger and Willy Tompkins.”

  “Would they still be in Walla Walla?”

  “Probably.” Tanya nodded. “I don’t think they’d ever leave.”

  “And your name?” I asked. “The official one on your birth certificate?”

  “Roseann Charlene Tompkins,” Tanya answered. “I always hated it. My father chose the name, and I couldn’t wait to get rid of it.”

  We had been sitting on the picnic bench for far too long. Ralph Ames stood up and rubbed his back. “How did that happen?” he asked. “What was the chronology that took you from Roseann Tompkins to Tanya Dunseth?”

  “Some kids run away to join the circus. I ran away to make movies. I stayed with Elise and Jacques for two years. It worked for me. Eventually, I did get to be an actress. Except when we were making a movie, they left me alone. I had a place to live, enough food to eat, books to read. Nobody bothered me.”

  “You made more than one movie? How many?”

  Tanya shook her head. “I don’t know. Ten maybe? But if Fraymore recognized Martin Shore, then he has the very first one.”

  “Why? How do you know?”

  “Because that’s the only one where Jacques didn’t wear a mask. I guess he was afraid someone might recognize him.”

  “No wonder,” I put in. “He was a cop.”

  “A cop?” Tanya echoed, her eyes widening. “Really?”

  “He got drummed off the force in Yakima when they found out he was distributing pornography. I don’t think anyone ever realized he was making the flicks and starring in them as well.”

  Suddenly, surprisingly, Tanya Dunseth started to giggle. Within moments she dissolved into semi-hysterical laughter.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked when she was finally able to talk again. “What’s so funny?”

  “You mean all that time he was really a cop?” she
asked, wiping tears from her eyes and gasping for breath.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Why does that make you laugh?”

  “Whenever we were doing it, I always pretended I was making it with the Lone Ranger,” Tanya answered. “I don’t know why that made me feel better. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I am.”

  “You were a survivor,” Ralph cut in. “Playing games like that with your tormentor is a well known survival technique. Don’t ever fault yourself for it. It’s what they teach POWs to do in order to maintain their sanity. You stayed with them for two years?”

  Tanya nodded. “One day they gave me five thousand dollars and told me to leave town. I don’t know why. Maybe they were about to be raided. I bought a bus ticket and came here.”

  “To Ashland? Why?”

  “I always read about Ashland, even when I was little. I knew they did plays here. It seemed like the place to go if I wanted to be an actress. I gave myself a brand-new name—Tanya O’Brien, came here, got my GED, and started taking drama classes at Southern Oregon State College. And I started trying to work my way into the Festival. I did everything—sold tickets, mopped floors, worked the concession stands, sewed costumes. It took a while, but finally I started getting parts.”

  “That’s when you met your former husband?”

  “I didn’t realize it at the time, but Bob was just like my father—mean. He had a bachelor of fine arts. I didn’t. When I started getting parts, it made him crazy and meaner. When I got my first speaking part, he beat me up the night before the opening. I went onstage the next night wearing a pound of makeup. Then, when he found out I was pregnant, he beat me up again and left town. At first, I felt deserted, but when I had time to think about it, I was relieved he was gone. It was the best thing that could have happened for me or for Amber.”

  Ralph stopped pacing. “Have you ever told anyone else about this?” he asked quietly.

  “No.”

  “Not a roommate or a friend? Not even your ex-husband?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Do you have any enemies?”

  “Other than my father and my ex-husband? No.”

  “And you don’t know of anyone else here in Ashland, maybe someone else here at the Festival, who might share your…” Ames stumbled. “…your, uh…unfortunate background…someone else who may have her own grudge against these two and who is systematically trying to shift the blame to you?”

  Tanya shook her head. “No. I get along great with everybody. Ask anyone. No one here ever gave me any trouble.”

  It wasn’t difficult to understand Ames’ line of questioning. The idea of Shore having another victim inside the Festival had already crossed my mind. I added my own twist. “By the way, where is your ex?” I asked.

  “He jumped off the 1-5 route. He burned out and isn’t doing West Coast theaters anymore. For a long time now, I haven’t heard anything about him, and I don’t want to know.”

  “He doesn’t pay child support?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  I’ll admit, with someone like Robert Dunseth, asking about child support was strictly a rhetorical question.

  Ralph shook his head. “I don’t think it would be him, anyway, Beau. It has to be someone with a grudge against all three—Tanya, Daphne, and Martin Shore. Did Martin Shore try to contact you once he got to town?”

  Tanya shook her head. “Not that I know of. I never received any messages, either at work or here at home.”

  “What about Daphne?”

  “No. I never saw her until the party.”

  “Where did you go after you left the Members’ Lounge?” I asked.

  “Detective Fraymore wanted to know the same thing.”

  “I’m sure he did. What did you tell him?”

  “I went home.”

  “How?”

  “I walked.”

  “All the way to the farm? It’s a long way—several miles.”

  “Not that far. Besides, I was upset. I needed to think.”

  “Did anybody see you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “So you don’t have any kind of alibi for when Martin Shore was killed?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Did Gordon Fraymore ask you about that?” She nodded. “Did he ask the same question about any other time period?”

  Since I couldn’t very well come out and ask Fraymore the question directly, I was trying, in a roundabout fashion, to establish an approximate time of death for Daphne Lewis.

  Tanya shook her head. “He only asked me about Saturday night. And I told him the same thing I just told you.”

  Out front, Sunshine resumed her hoarse barking. A car engine switched off, but I didn’t pay much attention, until the back screen door slammed open. An agitated James Renthrow appeared in the doorway.

  “There you are, Tanya. They’re coming. I heard them talking about it on the police scanner on my way over.”

  “Who’s coming?” Tanya asked.

  “The cops,” Renthrow answered breathlessly. “Detective Fraymore and the rest. They’re coming to Live Oak Farm right now. It sounds like they’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”

  The other shoe had fallen. It was only because of James Renthrow’s electronic eavesdropping that we had even a moment’s advance warning.

  With a stricken expression on her face, Tanya turned to Ralph. “Are you really my attorney, Mr. Ames? You’re right. I do think I need one. What am I supposed to do now? Will you come with me?”

  Ralph nodded. “I’ll come to the station, but not in the same car. When Detective Fraymore shows up, go with him quietly, without any protest or fuss. They’ll read you your rights. Whatever you do, answer no questions. After they book you, you’ll be allowed one phone call.”

  As he spoke, Ames pulled a scrap of paper from his wallet and scribbled something on it. “Here’s the number of Beau’s car phone. Memorize it. When they allow you that one call, dial that number. I’ll be waiting outside. Again, I’m your attorney. You’re not to answer any questions without my being present, understand?”

  Tanya nodded. “What about Amber?”

  “Don’t worry,” Ralph said. “We’ll take care of her. If nothing else, Beau can pack up her things and take her back to Oak Hill for the time being. Someone there will know what to do. Beau probably does himself. He’s just rusty.”

  But Tanya Dunseth wasn’t looking for temporary measures. “I’m not talking about just tonight,” she said urgently, clutching desperately at Ralph’s arm. “Promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I go to jail or prison, you won’t let my parents get Amber. No matter what. I’d rather she were dead.”

  “Believe me,” Ralph Ames declared. “I’ll see to it.” He turned to me. “Give me the keys to the 928, Beau. Tanya and I will go down the road and head off your friend Fraymore before he has a chance to come into the yard.”

  “What about me?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I come along?”

  “Not on your life,” Ralph answered. “I have the protection of professional privilege. You don’t. I don’t want Gordon Fraymore knowing you were privy to this entire conversation. Maybe this good man here…” Ralph waved distractedly in Romeo’s direction. “What is your name, sir?”

  “Renthrow,” Romeo answered. “James Renthrow.”

  “Well, then,” Ralph said, “maybe Mr. Renthrow will be kind enough to give you and the baby a ride into town. Come on, Tanya. Hurry.”

  With that, Take-Charge-Ralph led an uncomplaining Tanya away. Moments later, the engine of the Porsche roared to life, and they were gone.

  Romeo turned to me. “What now?” he asked.

  “We do as we’re told,” I answered. “We find a diaper bag and pack same.”

  One of Tanya’s housemates, the deep brown one I had seen baking herself to a cinder on the front seat of the old Chrysler, directed us to Tanya’s upstairs room. There, with Romeo’s help, I pulled
together what looked like a relatively complete baby kit. For overnight or longer.

  After that, we woke Amber up and carried her out to James Renthrow’s fire-engine-red VW Bug with the proper Shakespearean vanity plate of 2BRNOT2B. His scanner was still tuned to police frequencies when we got in the car, but there was nothing on the air about the arrest of Tanya Dunseth.

  “Nice of you to take care of Amber this way,” James Renthrow said, in his melodic sounding accent, as we headed for Oak Hill. “Not everyone would take in somebody’s baby like that, especially with Kelly so badly hurt and all. You seem to have more than enough to worry about on your own.”

  It seemed like that to me as well. “Most people don’t have friends like Ralph Ames,” I returned darkly.

  I admit to being moderately grumpy when I said it. I was glad someone had noticed and appreciated it, even if it was only Romeo. With Kelly still hanging in limbo, I did have certain troubles of my own. Not only that, I was more than slightly bent out of shape by Ralph’s high-handed attitude. He took off in my car, leaving me stranded and having to beg rides from total strangers. Then, of course, there was Amber.

  It was easy for Ralph to wave his wand magnanimously and say he’d take care of something when, in actual fact, some other poor chump was the one who’d be left holding the bag.

  To say nothing of the baby.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Again I found Alex waiting on the front porch. She met us at the car to give me a quick update. Karen Louise was fine. Kelly had been moved from Recovery to a private room where her condition had been upgraded to serious but stable. She had not regained consciousness. In other words, we still weren’t out of the woods.

  Inside, the Oak Hill B & B was alive with activity. Bed-and-Breakfast establishments don’t usually supply evening meals, but this wasn’t a usual circumstance. Florence made pot after pot of coffee, regular and decaf. She served that along with plates heaped high with salvaged wedding cake to an informal gathering that threatened to last all night. Most drop-by visitors were friends of Kelly and Jeremy’s, people who had expected to attend a wedding. They came instead to express dismay and to glean progress reports on Kelly and the baby.