And Then There Was One (32 page)

Pamela fingered the lump forming on the back of Evan’s head and then took him in her arms. The television still running in the background, Evan told her the story of Marge and Spanky. It came out in staccato fragments. She did not interrupt.

“Met when we worked at Ford — I’d been a bookkeeper going to night school for my accounting degree — she worked on the assembly line — she was raising an illegitimate son — we married — I adopted Samuel — the boy was a brat — thought he was just spoiled — Marge quit working — got pregnant —”

Here Evan started to cry, and Pamela led him to the sofa where they sat hand in hand. Evan told of the twin’s birth. How ecstatic he’d been, how the identical babies were rays of pure sunshine. He had to stop to blow his nose. “Marge and I both adored our daughters, little Jennie and little Jessie. So much that, I guess, we stopped paying enough attention to Spanky. That’s what the kids in kindergarten started calling Samuel once his last name got changed to mine. I guess we didn’t notice how much more hostile the boy had become. You know what the kid did?”

Pamela shook her head and pulled Evan tighter to her.

“Marge had a cat from the time I first knew her. Anyway, the cat had a litter of kittens and when we woke up one morning, all the kittens were dead in their basket. The necks had been snapped.”

“My God, Evan,” Pamela breathed and drew back. Pamela loved all animals. They had a cat. And three dogs.

“Marge loved that cat and was heartbroken about the kittens. We both knew that Spanky had done it, but neither of us brought it up. We just buried the kittens. Pretended it hadn’t happened.”

Pamela sank back against Evan and he went on. “A few months later we were at my family’s place on Elk Lake. I was fishing in the rowboat. Marge was making cupcakes or something in the oven and went in just for a moment to check on them. All three kids were outside. When Marge came back out, the babies were in the water, their
stroller overturned.” Evan’s chest started to heave as waves of sobs made the rest of the story halting as he described Marge’s frantic efforts to resuscitate the babies. How he found her drenched and shaking. How Marge refused to leave the bodies until finally the undertakers called for a doctor to give her something to knock her out.

“Spanky?” Pamela asked.

“When Marge left in the ambulance, I found Spanky in the twins’ bedroom, slamming their baby dolls against the wall. I tried to get to him to calm him down. He kept screaming, ‘She’s
my
mama!’ At that moment, I knew. Spanky had pushed their stroller to the edge of the dock and tipped it over. Logically, there could be no other explanation.”

“Was there an investigation?” Pamela asked.

“Yes, the local authorities did investigate. Ultimately, they ruled the twins’ death accidental. Their position: that Spanky innocently pushed the stroller onto the dock and didn’t know how to work the braking mechanism. I’m sure they had their suspicions, but with Marge and me so tragically distraught, the Grand Traverse district attorney did not want to charge a seven-year-old with homicide.”

“So what now?” Pamela asked.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” Evan said. “Pamela, I’m very sorry to bring this all on you. And the boys.”

“Evan, I can’t believe that you kept this from me for all these years,” Pamela said, edging away from him. “Why? You couldn’t trust me?”

“I don’t know,” Evan said, massaging his head as if the answer might come. “Shame that I let that boy kill my babies? That I hadn’t done anything to protect them? God, Pamela, I still wake up and think of my baby daughters, drowning in that cold lake.”

Pamela had moved back close to Evan. He didn’t want to cry, but all those memories. How could he make Pamela understand?

“Marge is a good-hearted woman,” he said, wiping a lone tear from each eye. “We both fell apart after the babies’ funeral. We were tearing each other up.”

“That’s when you divorced?” Pamela’s voice lost the momentary hard edge, and Evan wanted to tell her everything. If only it wasn’t too late. If he lost her, the boys —

“Yes. Marge got the house. All of our savings in lieu of alimony or child support. I made a clean break. I was lost and miserable until I met you. Pamela, I don’t deserve you.”

“Evan, I can’t deny that I’m hurt that you never told me this, but I’m not going to question your motives.” She lifted his head up out of his hands. “I love you. We’re a team and we can face anything together.”

“I guess you know now why I’ve always seemed overprotective with Craig and Tim.” Evan knew that Pamela thought it odd that he watched over his sons more closely than most dads. “I just wish I’d told you before. I wanted to, but it never seemed the right time.”

“The boys will be fine. What you have to think about are those missing little girls. Why would Marge and Spanky, who’s no longer a kid, have kidnapped them?”

“I can’t believe Marge would do that. She’s not a
criminal
.”

“Let’s think about it. So she got the house, the same house where she kept the kidnapped girls? Whatever happened to that cottage in Northern Michigan? After your mother died, I remember something about it in the will. But we’ve never been there.”

“Something about the title, a trust that specified that it had to remain in the family. I suppose my sister in Chicago still spends the month of August there. As for me, I never want to see that place as long as I live.”

“But what about Marge?” asked Pamela. “Suppose she goes up there?”

“She has no legal right to be there,” Evan said, “but she does know that it’s vacant most of the time.”

“Do you think you should call the FBI in the States. What if — ?”

“I just don’t know. It’s too late tonight.” Evan glanced at the ancient movie now playing on the television. “Let’s sleep on it. My head is reeling. We can decide in the morning.”

Sammie Monroe Safe. Alex Still Missing.
Breaking News, Saturday Afternoon, June 20

Agents Camry and Streeter accompanied Sammie to Children’s Hospital. Along the way, Streeter called Scott and Katie, a bittersweet call. He told them that Sammie was safe, if filthy. Before they could ask, he added, “Alex is still missing.”

“Is Sammie really okay?” asked Katie. “I mean, psychologically?” Her voice faltered, and Streeter knew why. Just before they’d got the call that Sammie had been found on that dirt road, he had shared with the Monroes, Samuel Spansky’s suspected sordid background. “She wasn’t — abused?”

“She’s favoring one arm and she has scrapes and bruises and she needs a bath, but nothing else. Neglect maybe, being kept in a basement, but let’s not speculate.”

“I’m calling Dr. Reynolds to help with her. This may be my field, but with my own daughters, I’m helpless and incompetent.”

“That would be a good idea. How is Jackie? Sammie keeps asking about her, but I’ve been evasive.”

“The same. Still not communicating, but maybe seeing Sammie —”

“Sammie should be there in a half an hour.”

“Please find Alex,” Scott’s voice. He must have grabbed the phone. “Katie and I
have
to have all three of our daughters.”

The media was held back by the Detroit police as Katie and Scott sprinted toward Sammie, racing each other to sweep her up into their arms when she arrived at the ambulance bay near the emergency
room. Scott prevailed, but Katie’s hands were all over Sammie’s smelly, stained body as he carried her inside. All three were talking at once, until finally the nurses had to pry Sammie out of her parents’ grasp.

Over and over Sammie had asked about Jackie, but in the chaos of reunion, her questions went unanswered. Hospital and FBI personnel swarmed her, nudging Scott and Katie back to photograph Sammie from every angle. Then they took samples of the grit embedded in her skin and the debris covering her. The forensic experts worked efficiently, explaining to Sammie what they were doing and why. All the while Sammie answered their questions about the woman and the man who must have taken Alex somewhere else. She didn’t know where. They didn’t stop until she started to cry, and both Katie and Scott pushed everybody back.

At the suggestion of Dr. Reynolds, the hospital had arranged to keep Sammie under surveillance in Jackie’s room. Katie wanted to take her there immediately, but she was overruled. What the FBI needed from Sammie as the highest possible priority was any scrap of information that might lead to Alex. Sammie understood that and with each parent holding one of her hands, she told them how she and Alex had been lured out of the movie, how they had been kept in the basement, how they’d only seen the woman who they knew as Maggie until the big man — Maggie’s son — Spanky — came down into the basement last night, how she got away, hiding all night long in that stinking trash can.

Once the FBI finished questioning her, the nursing staff removed Sammie’s filthy clothes, bagged them, and treated the worst of her scrapes and scratches. She was then sent to radiology for a shoulder X-ray, Katie at her side, Scott returning to Jackie.

When they returned from radiology, the spiked-hair pediatrician on call was waiting outside Jackie’s room, conferring with Susan Reynolds, reviewing the sexual abuse protocol, reassuring her that he’d be thorough, yet gentle and rapid, and that this was forensically necessary. Susan repeated this for Katie who reluctantly let this too-young pediatrician take Sammie into the treatment room, watching her disappear behind the examination curtains.

True to his promise, the cool doctor bounced out of the examining cubicle, Sammie in hand. She didn’t look traumatized at all.

“Mom, I need a bath,” she said. “I stink. I can still feel those horrible white things crawling all over me. What if some are still in my hair?”

“We have a room waiting for you with a shower,” the nurse said. “I’ll take you up there as soon as your parents talk to the cute doctor here.”

The pediatrician motioned for Katie to follow him into the hall. Katie’s heart sank, expecting the worst even though his bouncy step and crooked smile made him look like he had the world on a string.

“Susan, you better come, too,” she suggested.

“Here are the shoulder X-rays,” the pediatrician explained. He pulled a film out of an envelope and slapped it against the light. “Negative. Based on the description of the trauma and her symptoms, she might have had a dislocation with the humerus slipping spontaneously back in place.” He looked over at Sammie sitting in a wheelchair and winked at her. “Sammie sure did perk up when I told her she’d still have a baseball career. Like her dad. You know, she’s quite a kid. Ingenious how she got in and out of that hiding place.”

“Were there any other injuries?” Katie asked, holding her breath.

“Good news,” the pediatrician said, tucking the X-ray back in its jacket. “ No evidence whatsoever of abuse. She denies anyone touching her inappropriately. Of course, Dr. Reynolds may want to go over that with her, but I don’t believe that your daughter was a victim of sexual or physical abuse. All her injuries seem related to her escape. You’ve seen the scrapes and scratches.”

“Thank you, God,” Katie breathed.

“Okay, Sammie, we’re going to get you cleaned up now,” Susan said, motioning for a nurse. “That sound good?”

“Then what?” Sammie asked, her hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair. “Why won’t you tell me?”

Katie’s heart plunged at the stricken look on Sammie’s face.
What about psychological damage
? She had so underestimated what had been going on with Jackie, and now Sammie looked so terribly disturbed. Just a few moments ago she had seemed okay, but now —

“What’s wrong, Sammie?” Katie and Scott asked at once.

“Mom, Dad, you gotta tell me. Where is Jackie? Is she
dead
?”

Katie looked first to Scott and then to Susan for help. Sammie had
been through so much. She’d kept asking about Jackie. No one must have told her. How would she react to Jackie’s catatonia?

Susan nodded her head for Katie to respond.

“Jackie’s here. In the hospital. We’re going to take you to see her. Just as soon as we get you cleaned up and smelling good. But she is sick —”

“Then that horrible Maggie woman was telling us the truth. Jackie did get sick in the movie. Alex and I didn’t believe her. Jackie didn’t look sick to us.”

“She wasn’t sick then, Sammie. The woman did lie to you,” Scott explained. “But she got sick later.”

“I want to see her right now.” Sammie started to get up out of the wheelchair. “Before I get a shower.”

Katie looked to Susan for guidance.

“You know what?” Susan said. “You’re going to be just the medicine Jackie needs. But really, you stink. Shower first, then Jackie. I promise.”

“Okay,” Sammie said, “just let’s hurry.”

Hunt Intensifies for Marge Spansky, Alleged Abductor of Monroe Triplets.
— International News, Saturday, June 20

Spanky awoke after a restless sleep, alone in the double bed. After Ma had fallen asleep, he’d gone out, found the swampy area she had described, and pushed the car as far as he could into the muck, and covered it with branches. The site was about a fifteen-minute walk from the log cabin and he made his way back with the aid of a flashlight. Not that he needed it, Spanky had a flawless sense of direction, but it did prove useful. About half way back, parked under a weeping willow toward the back of a dark, secluded cottage, Spanky spotted an aging panel van with one flat tire. He crept close enough to the house to peer into the windows and inspect the front porch. He saw no signs of recent residents. No windows open, no trash in the container, no footprints around the front door. Spanky passed up the van, but he’d return in the morning with his toolbox and air pump. There wasn’t a vehicle that Spanky could not fix.

During the night, the temperature had dipped into the low fifties, and he’d shivered on and off all night under the thin bed covers. Twice he’d gotten up and traveled from the master bedroom, across the living-dining area to the guest room where Ma slept with Precious pressed tightly to her bosom in one of two twin beds. As much as he’d wanted to pry the girl off his mother and take her to his bed, he’d opted not to upset the silence of the night. The drive from Detroit to Northern Michigan had sapped everybody’s energy. Besides, he needed time to think. He’d have to make his move today. Once he made that ransom call, the cops would know where to start looking. But he
figured it would take some time for them to get organized, and by then he’d be far enough away.