The Fort (Aric Davis)

pulled the photo back into the car. The hand came back with a card, which the detective pressed into Scott’s hand. It said, “Detective Richard Van Endel” and had a phone number. “If you or your buddies come across anything in those woods, call this number. It’s my direct line.”
    “Do you think she’s back there?”
    “I think she’s somewhere, and there’s an old trail that leads from behind the screen of that movie theater.” Van Endel shrugged. “Just keep your eyes open.”
    “I will,” said Scott, as the window rolled up and the car started to move. He looked at the card in his cupped palm. Cool.

12
    Detective Van Endel sat in Dr. Andrea Martinez’s office. Martinez was a leggy Hispanic woman with ample breasts and a beautiful caramel skin tone. She was also a lesbian, not currently dating, and took judo twice a week. Those who thought she was just an arm piece waiting for the right arm were sadly mistaken, and discovered as much quickly. Dr. Martinez had been working with the Grand Rapids Police Department off and on for the past few years, and Van Endel valued her counsel more than just about anyone else’s. This was not the first case he had asked for her thoughts on, and it was not going to be the last.
    “So give me your first impression,” said Dr. Martinez. “Is she gone?”
    “She’s gone,” said Van Endel. “But there’s more to it than that. The kids I talked to are all telling the same story, but it feels rehearsed. Not to mention, I know the shit kids get into at that drive-in. Nothing like this has ever made anyone turn tail, from what I’ve heard. I mean, a little making out goes a little too far, girl’s friends help her get away from the guy, end of story.”
    “I wouldn’t treat attempted rape quite so flippantly, Dick,” said Dr. Martinez. “The number of unreported rapes in this country—in this county —is growing astronomically. There is no use debating that.” She smiled. “Especially with me.”
    “I’m not treating anything flippantly,” said Van Endel. “My point is that there’s probably something illegal happening at that drive-in almost every day involving teenagers, and I just don’t see this big of a group of them freaking out over one girl getting groped and then leaving without a friend. I know they said they went back for her, but I don’t think they did. I just don’t think we’re getting even half the real story.”
    “What do the drive-in employees say?”
    “I talked to the crew from last night. Pretty much worst-case scenario there. Gus Lembowski was sick, and he had a couple deadbeats running the projector and the food. I’m sure they barely accomplished either one. By the time I got there, the marijuana smoke had cleared out and they were out picking up garbage from last night.”
    “Details?”
    “They saw a bunch of teens come in like they do every night that they work. I asked if a large group left early, they said that they did. I asked if they could identify any of the vehicles or people in them, they said they couldn’t, not even the make of one single car. I asked if there were any fights, or other disturbances that stuck out to them, they said no.” He rolled his eyes. “Godzilla would have to have shown up to watch a movie for those two to take notice of it.”
    “So there’s no proof the kids were there or not, right?”
    “None. Which means I have to follow the drive-in as a lead, even though my gut tells me it’s a load of crap.”
    “What does your gut say?” Dr. Martinez asked. “To go sit at Riverside and wait for him to drop her off? Not to be a bother, but aside from there being a possible female victim, this doesn’t fit with our ideas about that guy, nor does it fit the MO of those crimes. You may just have to accept that you’re not going to get the whole story from the kids. Kids’ first response is to clam up when they’re lying, and they do the same thing when they’re nervous.”
    Van Endel stood, walked to the coffee carafe on a table near the window, and poured himself a cup. He took it black, so the absence of cream wasn’t a problem. He nodded to the coffee, and she shook her head.
    “They’re lying, not nervous,” said Van Endel, still standing. “I absolutely believe there were some beers and maybe even some grass tied in with what they were up to. That could even be the reason their story smells like rotten fish. God, if she really just did run off and I’m getting