The Fort (Aric Davis)

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—”
    “How close, Tim?” Van Endel asked. “Do your best to estimate, but if you’re not sure, just say you’re not sure, OK?”
    “All right. I guess we were about…fifty feet away from them when they stopped, then turned and started walking away from us—”
    “What direction?”
    “West, they went west, and then they were just gone.”
    “What was Molly wearing?”
    “Huh?”
    “When you saw Molly, how was she dressed? Were her clothes clean or dirty? Did she look as though she were dressed to go out with friends, or was she wearing everyday clothes?”
    “I don’t know. She was just dressed regular, I guess. Neither of them was wearing anything that really stuck out, just clothing.”
    Van Endel and Dr. Martinez shared a glance. Either Tim wasn’t supposed to notice or maybe it was meant to unsettle him. They don’t trust me, but I’m telling the truth.
    “Tim,” said Dr. Martinez, “I want you to close your eyes and picture Molly exactly as she was a few hours ago. Try to make a picture of her in your mind, and describe the picture to us.”
    “OK,” said Tim, his voice cracking slightly. He took a deep breath, then really tried to picture her. All that was coming was the rifle sights, and a stark image of the man screaming after being shot by Luke. Molly’s clothes weren’t there, she could have been wearing a ball gown for all Tim remembered.
    Sensing his frustration, or perhaps further probing him for information, Dr. Martinez said, “We know that this is going to be tough, Tim. But the thing is, we need you and your friends to help. Every little detail you can tell us, even a silly thing like what she was wearing, that stuff can help make a difference. I need you to concentrate and really think, OK?”
    “I am,” said Tim. He felt sick, and wondered if they could tell. It wasn’t like he’d felt in Scott’s house right after it had happened, but it was almost as bad. If I puke, will they let me go? He knew they wouldn’t, though; that might just lead to more questions. Finally, trying to get them off his back, and with his eyes squarely on the tape recorder, Tim said, “She wasn’t wearing anything that stuck out to me. Maybe it was just a shirt and shorts. I really don’t know.”
    Van Endel made a notepad appear in his hand from his pocket, then started flipping through it. Finally he stopped, tapping a finger on a page of the notebook. He smiled at Tim, an “aha” look in his eyes. “I’ve got it right here, from my conversation with Mrs. Peterson, Molly’s mom. She said that when she left the house at around six o’clock p.m. two nights ago, Molly was heavily made up in the face and was wearing a neon-pink pencil skirt, along with a shirt that hung off of one shoulder and said RATT . Does that sound like the regular clothes she was wearing this morning to you?”
    “No,” said Tim. “It doesn’t sound like what she was wearing at all.”
    “My notes with Mrs. Peterson also tell us a little bit about Molly’s hair,” said Van Endel. “I know that it was poufed up like some of the girls do these days. Did it look like that, or maybe like a hairdo like that might look after a couple days with no attention paid to it? Matted, maybe, or wild?”
    “I know it was Molly,” said Tim. “But not because of her hair or her clothes—I knew it was her because of her face.”
    “Can you describe the face of the man she was with?”
    “Detective,” said Tammy. “My son is clearly terrified. He saw a kidnapped girl this morning, and now he’s being made to feel as though he’s done something wrong. I would really appreciate if you’d back off on the tone a little bit. This is a