Without Trace Read online

  **

  Javier Lucero called Claudia’s parents, but wasn’t able to get either of them. He then tried Arwain’s phone number, but reached her mom, Mrs. Jones.

  “They went on a LeapFrog bus to Newberg?” Mrs. Jones couldn’t understand.

  “Testing this theory they had about where Rosaria and somebody named Liza had to change buses.”

  “They told you? Why?”

  “Because I started this campus safety committee and they thought somebody ought to know what they were doing.”

  “Just not Mom, who would have said, ‘No’.”

  “I guess that’s what they thought. They didn’t call me when they were supposed to have arrived at the first stop in Tigard Transit Center off Pacific Highway. And by now, they should have arrived in Newberg, so I’m thinking something happened in Tigard.”

  “Or they forgot to call,” Mrs. Jones guessed.

  “But I’m pretty sure Claudia wouldn’t forget.”

  “Good friend?” Mrs. Jones asked.

  “Yes. Pretty good,” Javier said.

  “All right, Javier. I’ve got your number and I’m going to call around. See if I can roust the girls or figure out where they are.”

  “Good,” Javier said. “Meanwhile, I’ll watch for your call.”

  “Call me or I’ll call you if we hear anything,” Mrs. Jones said.

  “Right,” Javier said.

  What he didn’t say was that he was in his car and approaching the transit stop in Tigard, watching to see what happened as the busses came and went.

  **

  Near the warehouse area in Portland, Glyn pulled Grandma Willie’s walker out of the trunk of a taxi.

  Henry, the taxi driver took Willie’s handbag for safe keeping and glanced at her. “You sure about this, Wilhalmena?”

  “Just hover around that corner, Henry. We’ll be back in a jiff.”

  “I’m giving you five minutes.”

  “Ten,” she said. “I’m a shuffler, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Henry pulled his cab out into Second Avenue.

  Henry liked Grandma Willie because she never drove, and yet, excitement surrounded her. Also, she wrote checks to him whenever they used his taxi. He used the checks to put off his daughter who wanted to take his cab to the dump.

  “Why is this a good idea?” Glyn asked Grandma Willie, glancing at 199 SE 2nd Avenue.

  “Old lady is a good disguise. Attentive and not-so-argumentative grandson is almost as good.”

  “We’re not going in, you promised.”

  “Captain Reese needs an excuse to get a warrant,” she said, pushing down on the lock that kept her walker supportive. “Help me cross the street.”

  **

  Violeta and her father pulled up a half block behind Henry’s cab and watched Glyn get Willie’s walker out of the trunk.

  “Now what?” Papá asked. “They’re not going to the skate park.”

  Violeta shook her head. “I don’t know, Poppy. Seems like I should follow.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, not hard, but ready to hold her in the car. “You will not. I can’t lose you, too.”

  “Papá, without Rosie, we are falling apart. They are looking for Rosie.”

  “We are not crumbling yet, mi amor.”

  He looked at his phone and said, “I can’t get ahold of Glyn’s dad or his mom, or Arwain. I don’t get it. They’ve always answered my texts right away.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  An hour after they were grabbed and drugged, Arwain woke. She felt groggy, but she knew she’d been dumped into a bigger truck. She could smell the wet metal and the mold even as she smelled the fumes of a vehicle and heard the bigger motor. It changed gears to drive slowly backwards down what seemed like a steep incline.

  Our truck going down a driveway, maybe.

  She thought she heard no one else, but she waited.

  Finally, she whispered. “Claudia?”

  No one answered her. She tried to loosen the ties around her hands and twisted against the ties at her feet. Nothing seemed to move.

  Fear settled on her. It cooled the sweat of her shirt and roiled in her stomach.

  In a moment, she heard the truck door open, and boots, more than one pair. She closed her eyes, determined not let them know she was awake.

  “Why pack them in here? Why not take them directly south?” a wheedling voice asked.

  “ ‘Cause the boss says so.”

  “I’m taking the redhead. You get the pony-tail gal.”

  “Why her?” the first man’s voice asked. “She bites and kicks.”

  “Not with the drugs in her and not with those ropes on. Get her feet,” the second man said.

  Someone grabbed her hands. A moment later, her feet were yanked up by the rope. Her body hung low between two carriers, bumping along the metal floor for excruciating moments while her hands lost feeling and her ankles tore against the rope as they lowered her out of the truck.

  She heard a large garage door roll up and then the men carried her through what sounded like a medium sized space.

  Someone’s hip bumped the safety bar on a door. They pulled her through, hitting her ribs against the door jamb.

  “Damn,” grunted the guy at her feet. “Why aren’t girls lighter?”

  “Likes ‘em zaftig, I guess.”

  “Doesn’t look so zaftig.”

  “Solid muscle. That kind likes to fight. Some guys think that’s more fun.”

  “That other one don’t fight.”

  “She hasn’t had a chance, yet,” said the man at Arwain’s hands. “I knocked her out, first thing.”

  Get it over with, Arwain wanted to scream, but she had to listen and not interact with these hooligans. She wanted to learn as much as they might let out to an inert body.

  A moment later, her feet dropped. Her heels hit the floor hard, sending jagged messages to her brain. She clamped her mouth tight, not to cry out.

  Keys rattled, then metal scrunched into a keyhole and screeched to turn.

  “Stand back,” ordered the voice that had dropped her feet. “Here’s another friend for you.”

  “Stand back,” the other voice holding her hands said. “Get any closer, I’ll shoot your foot.”

  The man grabbed again at her ankle ropes. The men lifted her, wrenching her right shoulder.

  They swung once and tossed her. Two things she noticed as she hit the new floor hard. One, there was no mattress where she landed. Two, she had landed in a smaller space. It didn’t echo.

  “Can’t you untie them?”

  Trace? Arwain thought. She knew that was a boy’s voice, but she couldn’t be sure she recognized it under the strain and fear it projected.

  “You do it, buddy,” foot man said. “It’ll give you an excuse to play around.”

  “Yeah,” the other guy said, “’cept this one bites, so play with the other one.”

  The doorway clanged shut, the key turned, and the boots marched away.

  After they were completely gone, someone fell next to her on the floor and pulled at ropes on her wrists.

  “Arwain? Glyn’s sister?” the voice asked.

  “Ahhgh!”

  He backed off. She opened her eyes.

  “Trace?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Been looking for you,” she whispered.

  “Really? You?”

  “The whole band – a lot of people.”

  He stared at his hands. “That how they caught you? Looking for me?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Ar..”

  “Got drugs?” she asked.

  “Sweated em out. Rather have died.”

  “But you didn’t,” she said. “We’re also searching for a couple of girls.”

  “I heard ‘em bring in two girls four days ago, then they took ‘em out.”

  “Shit.”

  Trace looked startled. Arwain realized she didn’t much talk that wa
y. “I mean damn. I mean...”

  “You mean...”

  She rolled over and saw Claudia out cold and dribbling spit on the floor. “Shit!” she said.

  “She’s breathing. I took off her ropes and she mumbled something.”

  “Good. Got a blanket?”

  He stood and pulled a thin blanket from a cot and put it over Claudia.

  Arwain watched the rise and fall of Claudia’s rib cage, then asked Trace. “You hear any names in that other room?”

  “I heard ’em call one of the girls Liza. Don’t know the name of the other one.”

  Arwain came alert. “Did anybody say where they were taking them?”

  “ ‘Off to the trade,’ the guy said. She called him a shit hole pimp. She also called him Chuck and begged him to take her home.”

  “Like that’s going to happen.”

  After a moment, Trace spoke again. “Are we dead?”

  “Not yet. Get the ropes off my hands. But be careful. I think they messed up my shoulder.”

  Trace started working at the hemp with a kitchen knife, it seemed like a strand at a time, but she could feel them breaking. She looked at Claudia and realized he’d only gotten as far as her wrist ropes. Her ankles were still tied.

  “How long were those other girls here?”

  “Maybe two days.”

  “Damn.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Grandma Willie pushed her walker down a long driveway as if, even in the dark, she knew where she was headed.

  Suddenly, lights turned on at the front of each storage shed. Glyn pulled Grandma Willie close to the wall of the third shed.

  “Grandma, movement turns these lights on. And if we’re seen, there’s no outlet here. No escape.”

  “Look between these little storage buildings and see what’s there besides weeds.”

  Glyn didn’t want to turn on a flashlight and announce their location. So, he walked between buildings, right to left and finally whispered. “Here, we can get to the back.”

  **

  Javier Lucero fidgeted with the team list for soccer at University of Portland. He laid it near the membership list of the U of P safety committee, and started to dial the home number for Claudia Ash. Then he punched the red phone symbol on this phone to hang up.

  He knew he had an accent. He knew Claudia’s family . . . reputed to be pretty suspicious about Hispanics in America. He knew he would get no help if he dialed the number he wanted to dial. But Claudia’s phone hadn’t answered for over an hour. He had to have help.

  So, he sent his fingers farther down the soccer list and dialed the number for Susan and Merlyn Jones. He hoped he’d found the right way to break his news. Arwain was in whatever had happened, just as much as his Claudia.

  “Hello?”

  Mrs. Jones, this is Javier Lucero.”

  Silence. The pounding of his heart.

  And then she said, “Javier from U of P? Soccer?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m the one who called you earlier.”

  “Are you all right?”

  His heart stopped its noise. Stopped cold.

  “Mrs. Jones, I’m fine, but worried because Arwain and Claudia never arrived at George Fox.”

  “Let me get off and call the Papá. They are close there, to the Tigard Station.”

  Javier said, “I am in the Tigard Transit Station watching for them. What car?”

  “Subaru, green, GBS 059.”

  “I saw it. Drove in. Waited. Drove out again five minutes ago.”

  “Stay.”

  “I’m staying. White Prius. Old, Grey. 9Q 56789.”

  “Talk to you soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Violeta and her father knocked on the window of Henry’s taxi on Northeast 2nd Avenue in Portland.

  He rolled the window down. “Hey Vi, what cha doin’ out here?”

  “My question exactly,” Violeta said. “Do you think we should follow Mrs. Stamps into the driveway? She’s not very fast.”

  Henry Crick opened his door. “Been thinking the same thing.” He rolled out, cranked up his window and locked the door. “But I think we should stick to the back of these little storage places.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mr. Aguirre said. “There’s a truck turning into the driveway where she went.”

  “Hunker down this side of my cab,” Henry whispered.

  **

  Grandma Willie pushed her walker over at a fast clip. They slipped between two storage buildings just as car lights turned into the driveway.

  “Whew,” Grandma Willie whispered.

  “That’s a truck,” Glyn whispered. “Lights at eye level for me.”

  They both hugged the wall with their backs. The truck drove by. After it passed, Grandma Willie started to push further back between the buildings.

  Glyn said, “I want to know what that big truck is doing here.

  “Don’t let them see you,” Grandma hissed.

  He whispered, “See what’s back behind these sheds, and then meet me here.”

  She nodded and picked up her folded walker, trudging off between the two sheds toward the back. Glyn shook his head, thinking he might have to pick Grandma up out of the tall grass when her legs gave out.

  He inched out into the driveway again, checking for any other trucks coming his way. Finding the way clear, he followed the truck, avoiding the little entry lights and hugging close to the sheds as he moved.

  As he came to the last shed, he saw that the truck had gone down a steep driveway into the basement of a taller and older building. A lamp above the entry to the basement showed him that the asphalt on the drive shone smooth and un-pitted.

  “The new digs by Larson Lumber’s rentable backhoe,” Glyn whispered to himself.

  The door to the basement rolled up at that moment. Glyn backed into the shadows of a nearby pillar, listening to the two men who came out.

  “Quit your whining,” grumbled the smaller of the two men.

  The other held up his left hand. “She bit me. See the blood?”

  “So, put a band aid on it.”

  “It went right in there. You can even see the shape of her upper teeth.”

  “Dream on it then,” the tall guy said.

  Glyn texted Grandma Willie. One guy said some girl bit the driver. Means he’s got girls. Hope it’s Rosaria.

  Glyn then watched the men carefully, collecting their descriptions. If some girl bit this guy, he probably deserved it, and Glyn wanted to be able to identify both of them later on.

  He catalogued into his phone as they ambled to their truck.

  Five foot three or so, my chest, barely. Black hair, stringy ponytail, boots with metal toes, Carhart pants and Filson red-black jacket. Dark eyebrows, one eyebrow turns up at the left outer corner. Light eyes, maybe blue or green.

  Other guy. Taller, maybe five eleven, same work boots, blond, cleaner, eyes far apart and some dark color. No eyebrows that can be seen. Nose crooked, like boxer damage.

  The guys swung into the truck, put it in gear and backed up the driveway toward the corner of Glyn’s shed. Glyn rolled around the corner to the far side and stood still, glad of his dark clothes as the lights flashed on the wall across from him. The truck lights then turned to take the truck away.

  He came out from behind the shed long enough to see that the license plate was missing, but the truck had a clear Chevrolet cross sign and a name on the back door: Hiltown Storage and Transfer.

  “Dang,” he whispered. “That’s the company that rented the backhoe. What did that guy mean about teeth marks?”

  Some girl had been fighting him.

  Rosaria.

  He started to call Captain Reese. Just then, the truck stopped near the shed where he’d left Grandma Willie.

  Glyn tensed. The truck began to back up. Had they seen her. Seen him?

  He stood behind the shed again and opened his phone, dialing the cell that Captain Reese had given Grandma Willie.

 
A sleepy voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “Glyn Jones here. I think I’ve found where they hide the missing girls. Got a pen?”

  “Yep. They close? That why you whisper?”

  Glyn was thankful Reese understood the need to be brief and quiet.

  “Yes,” Glyn said. “199 SE 2nd Avenue. Come to the end of the driveway. Driveway recently dug down to a basement. Bring help.”

  “Willie there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be right there. Stay hidden.”

  Glyn turned off the ring sounds, closed the phone and pocketed it, glancing around for any kind of weapon he might use.

  At least, he thought, they don’t seem to have spotted Grandma.

  The truck didn’t veer toward him, but went right down the driveway again, backwards.

  Glyn realized his phone was his weapon. He opened it up and began filming the next activity,

  The tall man got out of the driver’s seat and called to the other side of the truck. “I’m not driving this package all the way to Chico. And this time, you get to carry the bitch.”

  “This is stupid,” the short guy said. “We just dumped ‘em in here, now he wants them out again?”

  The door to the basement began its noisy rise as the two men stomped down the incline on opposite sides of the truck.

  They ducked inside and disappeared.

  Glyn ran back down the driveway to Grandma Willie’s shed.

  “Gran, they have the girls, and they went back to get them again.”

  His grandmother came out of the grasses carrying her walker.

  Glyn said, “You gotta stop Henry from coming in here because Cap Reese is coming with police cars.”

  Grandma turned left down the driveway, leaving her walker, and ran about as fast as he had ever seen anybody run on stubby legs and carrying sixty pounds of extra weight.

  Over her shoulder, she rasped, “Stay out of sight. Disable the truck.”

  He stared around him, thinking, Disable? How? Then he grabbed up the walker and ran back to the truck, listened for the two men and heard no voices. He dropped the walker on its side in front of the front left tire and tried the door to the cab.

  They hadn’t left the keys inside. He ran to the back of the truck where the two doors had been left open and he climbed in, searching for anything he might use. Nothing appeared, except a pile of old blankets. He grabbed one, hopped out again and slid into the opening of the garage, found the switch that let the door down and pushed it. Inside the garage, he still didn’t hear any voices, so when the door was closed, he dropped the blanket in the dark over the laser that allowed the door to go up and down.