The Fort (11 page)

The next few seconds felt like forever to Hooper. Amy standing first, the 1911 in her shaking hands, the barrel huge and pointed at his face. Next, his arm wrapped around her leg, yanking it and sending her hurtling to the floor. Then he was climbing over her body, fighting with her for a few seconds before recovering the gun.

The world came back into focus then, with Amy sitting before him and him back on his feet, the gun in his hand, steady. He picked up the bag from the fuck store and dumped out the contents before her, her eyes bulging at what was inside.

“Take off those clothes,” he said. “Do it right now—you’ve worn out all of my patience.”

Amy got to her feet and stripped out of the wet and ill-fitting clothing, leaving the lumpy pile of shirt and shorts sitting on the basement floor. Hooper couldn’t help but look at her body for a second, before reminding himself that time was finite. As if to highlight this, Hooper could hear sirens.
I never unloaded the car. If they look in it I’m fucked.

He pushed the bad thought aside. One thing after the other, that was how it had to be. He kicked at the ball gag. “Put it on now.” She did, but too slowly, and Hooper punched the gun into her stomach, hard. She doubled up and then stood, the ball in place, her eyes watering.

“Sit against that pole,” said Hooper, pointing at the pole where he had first secured her with rope. She did, and Hooper kicked the handcuffs behind her. He set the 1911 down and fastened the handcuffs on her wrists one after the other, behind the pole and as tight as they could go. Finally, with her somewhat secure, Hooper tucked the gun into his waistband.

He bound her legs together with the longer, chained cuffs meant for ankles, and placed the collar around her neck. “They might come to the door, and you can try and yell and make all the noise you want. If you do, however, I’m going to shoot the cop, come down here and fuck you, slit your throat, and then kill myself. Do you understand?”

She nodded, eyes wide.
She’ll be docile as a lamb once the last little bit of fight is out of her
, Hooper thought as he shut off the light and went up the stairs.

The first thing to do was get rid of the restraints she’d broken free from, and it took Hooper all of about five seconds to see how
she’d gotten out. He knew the kitchen chairs were old, but it looked like all she’d had to do was tip over, and the thing had come apart into five or six pieces. It had to have happened right before he’d walked in, thank God. She’d only had time to put on the clothes he’d left in the hamper from the day before, and then walk to the slider to escape. Hooper guessed she’d been free for maybe sixty seconds, maximum, when he’d walked into the house. It didn’t get much closer than that. Hooper filled his arms with chair, straps, and rope and walked to the attached garage.

The garage door was still open, the garage lights blazing. The surprise of the light shocked Hooper. He felt like an idiot. Of course it was open—he had walked in through the front of the house. He dropped the mess of wood and bindings by the trash, then walked to the door and closed it quickly, so that it bounced once on the pavement before settling. With a look over his shoulder at the boards in the car, Hooper left to get the rest of the ruined chair.

Once it was all in the garage—the noise of sirens getting louder and more constant—Hooper walked to the bedroom and finally stripped off the wet clothes. He was considering the bathroom when a knock at the door made his blood run cold. He jumped into a pair of jeans, attempted to quickly dry his still-wet hair with a towel, and walked to the door clad in only blue jeans, the 1911 stuck in the back of his pants.

He answered the door casually, trying to look a little shocked when he saw the cop. “What’s going on, Officer?” Hooper asked the guy in the uniform, a man about his own age, wearing sunglasses despite the dark clouds, as well as a thick mustache.

“We’re looking for this girl,” said the cop, who held out a school picture of Amy for him. “She went missing a couple of days ago from the drive-in, and we just got a report that someone saw her in the woods behind your house with a white male.”

The drive-in. Her friends are still telling the lie
, Hooper thought with suppressed joy. If she hadn’t tried to escape, he’d be in the
clear. “I haven’t seen her, Officer,” said Hooper, hoping he hadn’t botched things with his delayed response.

“I’m not surprised to hear that, Mr.—”

“Hooper. Matt Hooper. And I’m glad you’re not surprised, but can I ask why? I’m a white male. I live alone here. I’m sure you fellas want to find that girl in your picture.”

The cop pointed to Hooper’s chest, to the tattoo he’d gotten in Saigon of a bulldog’s head with a banner, holding the number 1969. “I was there a year or so after you were, Mr. Hooper. Lost some good friends over there.”

“I hear that,” said Hooper. His knee was starting to shake, and Hooper could feel blood pooling under his foot. If the cop had placed his hand on his chest and shoved, Hooper would have fallen over like a stack of bricks.

But the cop just grinned. “Well, I’m going to get back to looking for bad guys, Mr. Hooper,” he said. “Probably a snipe hunt, but you never know. Have yourself a nice afternoon.”

“You too, Officer,” said Hooper, before the cop turned and Hooper shut the door. He slipped the lock, took two steps by dragging his hurt leg, and then collapsed to the floor, shaking violently.

23

Tim, Scott, and Luke were driven to the police station in the back of a squad car. Uniformed cops were scurrying about like overweight relatives at an all-you-can-eat buffet. They were visibly shaken, walking through yards with guns out, talking to other possible witnesses, and generally disrupting a summer afternoon in the worst possible way. It had stopped raining by the time the boys left the house, but the streets and sidewalks were still wet. Once they were at the police station, the three boys were led out of the car, past the lobby, and to a small room with a mirror and no window. Officer Summers gave them a wave when he left them, and Detective Van Endel entered the room before the door could swing shut, along with a woman wearing a suit.

“All right, guys,” said Van Endel. “Just so we’re all formally introduced, I’m Detective Van Endel, and this is Dr. Martinez. She’s a children’s therapist that I’ve worked with for a long time, and she’s here to talk to you because she’s the best, and I all but begged her to get down here. Before we start, I want you to know that we were able to get ahold of Tim and Scott’s parents. Luke, one of the officers spoke to your sister Alisha, and she said she can get your mom. Sounds like she’s with friends. Now, the point
of me telling you this is that I need to talk to you guys, but I’m not supposed to do that without a parent here.” Another officer opened the door, interrupting Van Endel, and then set a VHS camcorder on a tripod down in front of them. “It’s all set for you, Detective,” said the other cop before leaving.

“As I was saying,” said Van Endel, “I’m bending the rules talking to you guys right now, but according to what Scott said on the phone, you guys saw Molly Peterson with a gun in her back, being forcibly taken through the woods. Because time is so important in this sort of situation, I need to talk to you guys about some small details to help out the police on the scene, and then when your folks get here we can go over the details.” Van Endel grimaced, as though the next part were particularly distasteful. “But if you guys are going to help me, I need to videotape the whole thing, and I need to ask you if you’re willing to talk to me, also on tape. So if you guys feel comfortable, and you’re willing to say as much on tape, we can start looking for Molly that much sooner.”

“We’ll do it,” said Tim. “I know I will, anyways. Molly needs our help.”

Van Endel nodded, then stood. “You guys in too?” Scott and Luke both said yes at the same time. “OK, then,” said Van Endel, who removed a lens cap, then pushed a button on the camera, making a red light come on below the lens. “I’m Detective Richard Van Endel, here with Dr. Andrea Martinez, and the reason we’re recording this is so we have a record showing that the young men we’re talking to were not coerced into talking with us. Am I correct in stating that you want to discuss this matter, gentlemen?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“All right, excellent. What did you guys see on the state land behind your houses?”

Tim, Scott, and Luke exchanged a look, and Tim said, “We were in the fort that we built, just screwing around with Scott’s air
rifle, when Luke saw Molly walking in the woods. We all looked where he was pointing, and we saw Molly walking with a guy right behind her. They were super close together. When they got closer, we could see that he had a gun.”

“Where is this fort?”

“In the middle of three pines. We built it out of some old deck wood. My dad’s putting in a patio.”

“All right. Will my officers have trouble finding it?”

“No,” said Luke. “They shouldn’t.”

“I’ll get some paper in a minute, and you can try and draw me a map. What direction were you facing when you saw her?”

“South,” said Scott. “They came from the south, and then walked west. We lost sight of them in the trees up there. They were moving pretty quickly, and we were all pretty freaked out about being seen.”

“And that would have been closest to your house, Scott?” Dr. Martinez asked with a smile.

“Sort of, kind of between the different ways that Tim and I would walk home.”

“And that was the last you saw of them?”

“Yes,” said Scott, and Tim and Luke nodded. “Then it started raining and that was it. They were gone.” Van Endel turned off the record button. “All right, thanks, guys. That’ll get us a good enough start on the search. I’m going to need to speak to you all again once your parents get here, and some of that might get stressful as we go over the finer details, especially if we don’t have anyone in custody yet, but I want you to know that I really appreciate how brave you guys have been so far, and we’ll be back soon.”

Tim was sitting alone in an interrogation room when his mom burst in and nearly bowled him over in an enthusiastic embrace. Then she pushed him away and inspected him for damage.
Finding none, she said, “What happened? I want every detail. Have they been nice to you? They told us one of the detectives had to interview you before we were here, and if he did anything wrong, I want to know about it.” Tim smiled at her, and then at his dad, who had entered the room behind her. “It’s fine, you guys. Detective Van Endel has been really nice, and there’s a doctor lady too, she—”

“I knew it!” Tammy said. “I knew that’s who they were going to have talking to them. We are going to watch that tape, Stanley. They’re crazy if they think I’m not calling my lawyer the second we get out of here.”

“Tammy,” said Stan. “Calm down. Tim is doing fine. Let’s see what the detective has to say, and we’ll go from there. Does that sound good, Tim?”

“That sounds fine, and, Mom, Dad’s right. Detective Van Endel and Dr. Martinez were really nice. We were the ones who called
them
, remember. They have to ask us questions. They only talked to us so that they had a better chance of helping Molly and catching the guy who kidnapped her. I just hope she’s OK. Do they know anything yet?”

“Not that we know of,” said Stan. “But that’s what everyone is hoping, that she gets home safe and sound. She got darn lucky you guys built that fort. You’ve never spent so much time in the woods before. I’m just glad that guy didn’t see you. If he did, it could have been really bad.”

“Yeah,” said Tim, trying to keep his composure.
Get it together. If this was Van Endel, he’d know you were lying about something.
“I’m just hopeful, if he did see us, that all he saw was some dumb old tree fort.”

The door opened, and Van Endel walked in with the doctor. Van Endel shook hands with Tim’s parents, then said, “This is Dr. Martinez. She’s a children’s therapist who assists us when we need to talk to children who have been through some sort of trauma.”

She shook all of their hands, one after the other, even Tim’s, and then sat next to the detective. “I know Tim’s not hurt physically, and that all three of the boys seem to be doing fine,” she said. “I’m just here to make sure everyone is doing as well as they say they are.”

“We’re glad to have you, Dr. Martinez,” said Tammy, but all of a sudden, Tim wasn’t sure he was glad at all. Was she really here for him, or for Van Endel? Was he worried they were going to lie, or convinced that they already had been?

“I’m going to be recording everything we say,” said Van Endel. “Just in case any of this gets used in court, we’ll have an early template to work with.” He laid a tape recorder on the table and hit record. “Detective Van Endel,” he said. “July first, 1987, eleven o’clock a.m., speaking with Tim Benchley and his parents, Tammy and Stanley Benchley. Tim, why don’t we start with everything you remember, starting with what happened right before you saw Molly and the man.”

“All right,” said Tim. “Luke, Scott, and I were sitting in the tree fort we built. We were shooting Scott’s air rifle and arguing a little bit over taking turns.” He smiled. “We all have one, but neither Luke or I brought ours with us today. No real reason why, we just didn’t. Anyways, I was about to shoot at a target when Luke told me to stop. Then he pointed at Molly and a guy walking behind her, only really closely. Molly looked really upset, and when they were close to us—”