U Is For Undertow

19

Wednesday afternoon, April 13, 1988

Deborah Unruh agreed to meet me on the beach in front of the Edgewater Hotel. The spot she suggested was across from the hotel entrance, at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led down from the frontage road. It was a point she’d be passing in the course of her regular weekday walk, a loop that extended from her Montebello condominium to the wharf downtown. Avis Jent had called her on my behalf and after the preliminary chitchat, she’d summed up my mission as succinctly as I might have done in her place. Deborah didn’t seem to require much in the way of persuasion.

I arrived fifteen minutes early and parked on the narrow road that ran behind the hotel. I locked my shoulder bag in the trunk of my car and took a shortcut through the property. I crossed the frontage road and trotted down the stairs. A dense fog was rolling in, spreading a thick marine layer that blotted out the offshore islands, twenty-six miles away. The April air, mild to begin with, was changing its character. Erratic winds topped the waves, creating whitecaps in the chop. It was close to 3:00 by then, and I was already operating on sensory overload. I needed time to breathe and I hoped the bracing ocean air would clear my head. My usual morning jog didn’t bring me down this far. My circuit began and ended at the wharf, with its complicated history of good intentions gone wrong.

Coastal Santa Teresa, despite its many assets, wasn’t blessed with a natural harbor. Early trade by sea was inhibited because shipping companies, fearful of exposure to rough seas, were unwilling to risk their cargo when faced with the rocky shore. In 1872 a fifteen-hundred-foot wharf was finally constructed, allowing freighters and steamers to unload goods and passengers. Over the next fifty years, earthquakes, winter storms, and arsonists laid siege to the wharf, and while it was rebuilt time and time again, it failed to solve the problem of safe mooring for the swelling number of yachts and pleasure boats owned by its wealthy citizens and sometimes wealthier summer visitors.

In the early 1920s an informal engineering survey (which consisted of setting empty jugs and sacks of sawdust afloat at Horton Ravine beach and watching which way they drifted) indicated that locating an artificial harbor to the west of the town would be folly because prevailing currents would denude the beaches of sand and deposit it all directly into the proposed moorage basin, barring both ingress and egress. A $200,000 harbor bond issue was offered in support of this ill-conceived scheme, and voters approved the measure on May 4, 1927. Tons of rocks were barged from the islands and dumped just offshore, forming a thousand-foot breakwater. Thereafter, as predicted, 775 cubic yards of sand per day shifted to the inside aspect of the barrier, creating a sandbar of sufficient mass to choke the harbor entrance. It wasn’t long before the taxpayers were forced to buy a $250,000 dredge and a $127,000 tender in a perpetual effort to keep the harbor open, at an annual expenditure of $100,000. The sum has grown exponentially since then, with no permanent remedy in sight. All of this by way of improvement.

I did a few preliminary stretches, keeping an eye on the beach. Ten minutes later I caught sight of Deborah Unruh, approaching from my left. Avis Jent’s description hadn’t prepared me for how attractive she was. She was barefoot and the wind had buffeted her silver hair into a choppy halo. She had to be in her late sixties, looking trim and fit in black velour pants with a matching jacket that she’d left unzipped, showing a red cotton T-shirt. Her eyes were brown and her face was youthful, despite numerous soft lines that came into focus as she reached me. “Kinsey?”

“Hi, Deborah.” I reached out and the two of us shook hands. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

“Not a problem. I’m just happy I wasn’t asked to give up my afternoon walk. I usually go as far as the wharf and back if that’s doable for you.”

“Absolutely. What’s that, four miles round trip?”

“Close enough.”

I took a minute to pull off my running shoes and socks. The socks I stuffed in my jacket pockets. I tied my shoelaces together and hung my shoes around my neck, letting them dangle in back. I wasn’t crazy about the persistent bump-bumping between my shoulder blades as we trudged through the soft sand, but it was better than walking fully shod.

She was already moving toward the surf at a pace I might have found daunting if I hadn’t been faithful to my jogging routine. On the ocean, waves broke a dozen yards out, and once we reached the hard pack, the water rushed forward in an icy flurry, covering our feet with foam before sliding out again. The Pacific is cold and unforgiving. You can usually spot a few hardy souls swimming in its depths, but no one had braved it that day. Two sailboats tacked toward the islands and a speedboat, at full throttle, paralleled the shoreline, keeping a para-sailor aloft, attached by a towrope scarcely visible against the pale blue sky. Hang gliding and parasailing are second and third down on my list of the one thousand things I never want to do in life. The first is have another tetanus shot.

Deborah said, “I understand this whole business originated with Michael Sutton. What’s the nature of your relationship?”

“I wouldn’t call it a relationship,” I said. “I met him for the first time a week ago when he hired me for a day’s work.”

I sketched in the situation, starting with his appearance in my office and his story about the two pirates he’d seen in the woods. “They claimed they were digging for buried treasure, but he noticed a bundle on the ground nearby. A few weeks ago, he came across a reference to the Fitzhugh kidnapping and the penny dropped. Now he’s convinced he saw Mary Claire’s body wrapped for burial. The only snag is when the police excavated the site, they found a dead dog. According to the ID tag, his name was Ulf.”

She seemed taken aback. “Well, that’s bizarre. I can assure you he wasn’t ours.”

“I know. I drove to Puerto and talked to the man who owned him. He said he’d taken Ulf to Dr. McNally for hip dysplasia. X-rays revealed a nasty tumor instead and the vet recommended euthanasia. Someone removed the dog’s remains from a shed at the rear of the clinic and transported the body to your property, where they buried him.”

The look she turned on me was perplexed. “Pardon my skepticism, but it sounds like all of this is predicated on the notion that it was Mary Claire’s body he saw. What makes you so sure? It seems like folly to operate on the idea when all you have is his word for it.”

“Agreed. I’m not even sure we could say we had his word on it. Call it a hunch.”

“Call it anything you like, it’s still odd. If something went wrong in the course of the kidnapping and they had to dispose of her body, why would they bury her in our yard when Horton Ravine has acres of woods?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. If we’re lucky we’ll find answers. On the other hand, we may never know.”

“There’s a certain irony in here somewhere. I haven’t heard Michael’s name in years. His parents, Kip and Annabelle, were our best friends.”

I looked over at her with interest. “Really. Michael’s parents? When was this?”

“During that same period. We met at the country club when she was six months pregnant with him. They were the dearest people in the world. I lost Annabelle, Kip, and Patrick in a span of two years.”

“Avis told me your husband died in a plane crash,” I said. I was reluctant to bring up the subject of his death, but it seemed to me the conversation we were embarking on had better be rooted in reality. The fact that we were walking, with our attention directed outward, allowed a more intimate exchange than if we’d been chatting eye-to-eye over a cup of tea.

“Some days I think I’m reconciled, that I’ve dealt with the pain and it’s over and done. Other days the grief is just as fresh as it was the first moment I heard.”

“What were the circumstances?”

“Rain was just starting graduate school, working toward her master’s degree in social work at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee. This was the fall of 1985. She and Patrick drove out in her car, with all her stuff in a four-by-eight cargo trailer. His plan was to get her settled and then fly on to Atlanta for a business meeting. I’d have gone with him, but it made more sense for me to tend the home fires and let the two of them have the time together. The Midwest Express flight to Atlanta went down after takeoff. The right engine failed and then a whole series of things went haywire. I was here in California without any intuition whatever. It’s hard to realize your life can change so radically with no warning at all. When Rain phoned, she couldn’t even speak. I thought it was a crank call and nearly hung up on her.”

“I don’t know how anyone gets through something like that.”

“You do because you do. Because you have no choice. I had Rain to consider. I set my own pain aside and focused on helping her.”

“Tell me the time frame. I heard about Michael’s accusations against his parents.”

“The lawsuit was settled in 1981. By then, Kip and Annabelle were crippled by the strain. Between the public outcry and the drain on their emotions, they were whipped. Let’s not even talk about the thousands of dollars in legal fees it cost them. Annabelle died in the summer of 1983, and Kip six months later.”

“They must have been a mess after what he put them through.”

“You have no idea. The four of us talked about it for hours on end and there was just no way out. Suing his therapist was their only hope of putting a stop to it. Even when it was over, the bad feelings remained. Some people were convinced he was actually abused, even after Marty Osborne as good as admitted the whole of it was her doing. The general attitude seemed to be that if Kip and Annabelle were accused, there must be a grain of truth to it. Both drank. I’m not saying they were alcoholics, but they hit the bottle pretty hard at times. Patrick and I were in much the same boat. We called it ‘social’ drinking, but we were social every chance we got. When this came up, they couldn’t suck down the martinis fast enough, and that set tongues to wagging on top of everything else. At the club, feelings ran so high, the four of us resigned. That’s how bad it got. I still run into people who refuse to make eye contact. They know Patrick and I were loyal, which apparently put us on the same dung heap as the Suttons, like we were somehow guilty by association.”

“Diana told me Michael recanted.”

She shook her head in disgust. “That was the last straw. I wanted to kill the little shit. Patrick and I were incensed, absolutely livid. Not that it made a whit of difference. Kip and Annabelle were both gone by then and the damage was done.”

“Diana says her mother drowned.”

Deborah gestured toward the surf. “She was swimming a few hundred yards offshore when she got caught in the undertow. She must have used up all her strength trying to fight her way back. In the end, the ocean took her.” She was quiet for a moment and all I could hear was the chunking of sand under our feet as we walked. “I wouldn’t mind a touch of justice for Michael, some small sign he was getting back his own. I look at the lives he destroyed and it seems unfair that he gets to enjoy the same sun that shines down on the rest of us. That may sound monstrous, but I don’t care.”

“I can understand how you feel,” I said. “It’s not about vengeance. It’s about balance, the sense that good and evil are in a state of equilibrium. At the same time, I have to admit I like the kid. I think he should be held accountable for the harm he did, but he’s paid a price like everyone else.”

“Not enough of one.” She broke off, impatiently. “Let’s change the subject. It doesn’t do any good to dwell on it,” she said, and then glanced over at me. “You wanted information about Rain’s abduction. How much did Avis tell you?”

“Nothing. She said the story was yours, which is why she set this up. I do know you had a son and you ended up raising his child.”

“Rain is the good part. She’s the love of my life. At the time we took custody, I was forty-four years old, way past the point of parenting a newborn, but there she was. The birth itself was hard and Shelly ended up having a C-section. She had absolutely no interest in mothering the child. Rain was a fussy baby and didn’t nurse well. I suspect Shelly was suffering from postpartum depression. I wasn’t entirely unsympathetic, but I was seriously concerned she’d harm the child. My worries were pointless, as it turned out. She and Greg and the boy vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Rain behind.”

“How old was she?”

“Five days. After the initial shock wore off, we realized how totally blessed we were. I still laugh when I think about all those PTA meetings. Which I ran, by the way. All the other moms were in their twenties. I’d been chairing committees for years and I couldn’t help myself. They’d start floundering and I’d take over. That was another reason we were so close to Kip and Annabelle. They had four kids underfoot and suddenly we had one, too.” She smiled. “Sorry to run on like this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “How long was it before you saw Greg and Shelly again?”

“Four years. June of 1967. I thought they were gone for good. I should have known better.”

“Why did they come back?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t for love of Rain or the two of us. Patrick’s father had left forty thousand dollars in a trust fund for Greg. He wasn’t entitled to the money until he turned thirty, but he wanted it right then. Patrick and I refused to knuckle under to his demands. He and Shelly were furious, and I was terrified they’d retaliate by taking Rain.”

“Why was Greg so insistent on the money?”

“I couldn’t see the urgency myself. They told us they wanted to buy a farm so they could establish a commune. Their claim was they’d paid a thousand dollars down and needed the balance by the end of the month. Patrick asked to see the contract, but Greg said there wasn’t one; it was a gentlemen’s agreement. Patrick thought it was hogwash, and so did I.”

“Had they lived in a commune?”

“Not that I ever heard, though by then they were full-blown hippies. Greg was calling himself Creed and she was Destiny. Shawn was Sky Dancer. The plan was to be self-sufficient, farming the land. Others would join them-at least in their fevered imaginations. They’d share the chores and pool their money, which I guess would go into an account to pay expenses. They thought Patrick should advance the funds, but he wouldn’t budge. Neither of us liked Shelly anyway. She was poor white trash, arrogant, foulmouthed. Shawn was born out of wedlock, just as Rain was.”

“When was Rain abducted?”

“Tuesday, July 11. There’d been a series of blowups. Lots of screaming and yelling and hysterics. The uproar finally died down and we thought they’d backed off. Then suddenly, on the sixth, they disappeared. It was the same as the first time around-no note, no good-byes, no here’s where we’ll be. Five days after they decamped Rain was ‘kidnapped.’ I put the word in quotes because we knew it was them.”

“You’re saying they snatched Rain to force the issue?”

“More like they were getting even, making us suffer because we hadn’t done as they asked,” she said. “It wasn’t a sophisticated plan, but they were stoned all the time and that’s how their minds worked. Anyway, they didn’t demand the entire forty thousand. They asked for fifteen, which I guess was their way of being clever. I’m sorry for all the editorializing. I should probably stick to the facts.”

“Actually, I find it helpful to know what was going on in your mind. How’d they pull it off?”

“That was largely dumb luck. Rain was out in the backyard, playing in her sandbox. I’d given her some cookie cutters and a rolling pin. She had her bucket and shovel and she’d pour water on the sand, flatten it, and then cut out cookie shapes. The phone rang; some fellow taking a survey. He asked ten or fifteen questions that I answered. I wasn’t much interested, but it seemed harmless enough. By the time I looked out the back door to check on her, she was gone. Later she told me a man came with a yellow kitten and said she could play with it at his house. Don’t ask me to go through that part of it blow-by-blow. It was horrendous when it happened and it’s horrendous every time I think of it. Those first hours, I thought I’d die. I can’t revisit the trauma. It gives me heart palpitations even now. Look at that. My hands have started to sweat.”

“Understood,” I said. “I’m assuming the man on the phone wasn’t Greg or you’d have recognized his voice.”

“I’m not so sure. He’d already left and he was gone for good as far as I knew. I didn’t expect to hear from him so it wasn’t his voice I was listening for.”

“If it wasn’t Greg on the phone, there must have been someone else involved. Another guy.”

“So it would seem. Greg certainly could have picked her up and taken her without a fuss.”

“When did you first realize she’d been kidnapped?”

“Another phone call came in.”

“The same guy or someone else?”

“He sounded the same to me. I called Patrick in L.A. and he was home ninety minutes later, breaking every speed law. I was a basket case. I didn’t care who’d taken her or what it cost as long as Rain came back to us alive.”

“You called the police?”

“Later. Not at that point.”

“Why?”

“Because the man on the phone said they’d kill her if we did.”

“ ‘They’d kill her.’ Plural?”

“It might have been a figure of speech. Maybe they wanted us to picture a gang of thugs. Who knows?”

“But you were convinced her life was at stake.”

“Let’s put it this way: we weren’t in a position to argue the point. I wasn’t going to take the chance and neither was Patrick. He was convinced Shelly and Greg were behind the scheme, but that didn’t mean Rain was safe. We had no idea how far they’d take it. Patrick withdrew the money from four different banks. He managed to stall delivery while he made a quick trip to the plant to photocopy the bills. It was a time-consuming job and he had to do it while the office staff was gone for the night. While he was about it, he marked the back of each with a fluorescent marker he used when he exported inventory. The bills looked fine, but the kidnappers might have been suspicious.”

“Were the marks visible?”

“Under a black light, sure. Every kid seemed to have one in those days. If my guess is right, they’d have worried about putting that many marked bills in circulation, which can’t be as simple as it seems.”

“Couldn’t they have passed the bills in small lots? Maybe not locally, but somewhere else. Seems like Los Angeles would have been the natural choice.”

“Yes, but what fun would fifteen thousand dollars be if it was spread out like that? Patrick notified the local banks about the marked bills when Mary Claire was kidnapped. None of the money ever surfaced as far as we know.”

“Avis referred to Rain as the ‘practice child.’ ”

“Of course. She was their rehearsal for Mary Claire. If you know anything about her disappearance, you’ll recognize the… what do they call it… the MO. We didn’t believe they’d harm Rain, but we were frantic they’d refuse to return her. She was ours. We’d formally adopted her, but if they absconded with her, we’d have no way of getting her back. They had no permanent address, no phone, no employment.” She shrugged. “We did as we were told. We received another call, telling us where to drop the ransom.”

“Which was where?”

“Near the back entrance to the Ravine. One of them kept me on the phone while Patrick drove over with the gym bag and tossed it out on the side of the road. Then he came home. The other kidnapper must have picked up the money and counted it, making sure the entire amount was there. They told us to wait an hour and then we’d find her in the park off Little Pony Road. She was asleep on a picnic table, covered with a blanket, so they weren’t entirely heartless. I don’t know what would have happened if they’d realized Patrick marked the bills before we had her back in our keeping.”

“She’d been drugged?”

“Clearly. She wasn’t completely out, but she was groggy. She was fine once the sedative wore off, whatever it was. She’d been properly looked after. Fed well, at any rate, and she was clean. We had her examined and there was no evidence of sexual abuse. Thank god for that.”

“What did she tell you about what went on?”

“Nothing coherent, bits and pieces. She was four-not what you’d call a reliable witness. The only thing she was upset about was that she didn’t get to keep the kitten. Aside from that, she wasn’t traumatized. No nightmares and no psychological problems in the aftermath. We were thankful she came out of it unscathed. To Patrick’s way of thinking, this was further support of his conviction that Greg and Shelly had a hand in it.”

“If the two of them took her, wouldn’t Rain have said so?”

Deborah shook her head. “One of the kidnappers wore fake glasses with a big plastic nose attached and the other dressed like Santa Claus. We’d taken her to see Santa on two previous occasions so she was used to seeing him. He made her promise to be a good girl and she was.”

“Here’s what I don’t get. If they’d already picked up the fifteen thousand, why kidnap a second child?”

“I can tell you Patrick’s theory. When Mary Claire was taken the ransom demand was twenty-five thousand dollars. Add twenty-five to the fifteen we paid for Rain’s return and you’re looking at forty thousand dollars, which is what Greg and Shelly wanted in the first place. That’s hardly proof, but I can’t believe the total was a coincidence.”

“It does seem like an odd amount. Too bad they weren’t satisfied with what they got the first time around,” I said. I let a short silence fall while I thought about what she’d told me. “How soon after Rain’s abduction was Mary Claire kidnapped?”

“A week or so. By then we had the house on the market and we were looking at places in gated communities down south. The minute we heard about Mary Claire, we went to the police and told the detectives everything we knew. The FBI had been called into it by then. We gave them Greg and Shelly’s names and descriptions, plus a description of the school bus along with the license plate number. None of this ever made the papers. They did put out an APB, but there was never any sign of them.”

“Have you heard from them since?”

“Not a peep,” she said. “I saw Shawn when Patrick died. He spotted the obituary in the paper and drove down for the funeral.”

“Drove down from where?”

“Belicia,” she said, mentioning a little town an hour and a half north of us. “He was calling himself Shawn again, using Dancer as his last name. He looked wonderful. Tall and handsome. He has a shop up there where he builds furniture. He showed me photographs and the pieces are beautiful. He also does custom cabinetwork.”

“You think he’d talk to me?”

“I don’t see why not. You’re welcome to use my name, or I can call him if you like.”

“When you saw him at the funeral, did you ask about Greg and Shelly?”

“Briefly. He told me both of them were gone. To tell you the truth, I didn’t care that much. As far as I was concerned, Greg had been dead to me since the summer of ’sixty-seven. We parted from them on bad terms, and anything that happened to them afterward was irrelevant. Except for the business with Rain, of course.”

It bothered me that much of what she’d told me ran counter to my intuitions. “I’m sorry to keep harping on Mary Claire, but I have trouble believing they’d resort to snatching her. That’s hard-core for a pair who weren’t seasoned criminals.”

“Look. I know what you’re getting at and I agree. I can’t imagine Greg doing any of this even under Shelly’s influence, but Patrick felt if they were desperate enough to take Rain, they wouldn’t be all that scrupulous about trying again. We paid without hesitation. If the plan worked once, why not twice?”

“I wonder how they fixed on Mary Claire? Did you know the Fitzhughs?”

“To speak to. We didn’t socialize with them, but we were all members of the Horton Ravine Country Club.”

“But the Fitzhughs said they’d pay, didn’t they? I mean, they agreed to the ransom the same way you did.”

“They also notified the police, which they were told not to do. The kidnappers must have figured it out.”

“But how?”

“I have no idea. Maybe they sensed their luck had turned. Somehow they understood if they picked up the money, they’d be caught, so they left it where it was.”

I said, “If they decided to forfeit the ransom, why not just hit the road? Why kill the child?”

“I can’t believe they meant to hurt her. Greg might have been stupid and greedy, but he’d never harm a child. Not even Shelly could have talked him into going that far. To be fair, I’ve questioned whether she was capable of anything so heinous. Patrick thought it was totally in character. As for the hole being dug on our property… whatever the intention… Greg and Shelly could have chosen the location, thinking it was safe. To my way of thinking, the similarities between Rain’s abduction and Mary Claire’s are too obvious to discount.”

I said, “The one obvious difference is the introduction of a ransom note during the second kidnapping. As I understand it, when Rain was taken, the contact was strictly by phone.”

Deborah slowed and I was surprised to see we’d almost reached the wharf by then. I’d been so focused on the conversation I hadn’t been aware of the walk itself. By now the fog had fully enveloped us and the air was so saturated with mist that my sweatshirt was damp. I could see beads of moisture in Deborah’s hair, a veil of diamonds.

I was quiet, running the information in a quick loop, and I found myself itchy with misgivings. “Something’s off. You and the Suttons were good friends. If Greg was one of the two guys digging in the woods, Michael would have recognized him.”

“That’s true. On the other hand, Greg and Shelly had their druggie pals who kept them supplied with dope. They sat out in the bus and smoked so much weed, I could have gotten high myself. I realize now I should have turned them in to the police, but I was still hoping the problem would go away of its own accord.”

“Did you meet their friends?”

“I never laid eyes on them. They’d park around the corner and approach on foot, which allowed them to bypass the house and go straight to the cabana where the bus was parked. One of them had a motor scooter. I remember that because every time he left, I could hear it puttering down the street.”

“I wish I could make sense of it.”

“You and me both,” she said. “Oh, before I forget. Rain’s driving up from L.A. for a few days. She took over the family business after Patrick died. I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you what she remembers. It isn’t much, but you might pick up a useful tidbit.”

“That’s great. I’ll call and set something up.”