The Target
Page 22
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
"I've been traveling from Aspen to Vail to Keystone and all the places in-between. Dillinger was my final try."
"You lucked out. As I said, if she hadn't needed clothes, I wouldn't have taken her to Dillinger. I'd been here at the cabin for nearly two weeks before I found Emma."
"Why were you here of all places?"
He shrugged, looking down at his coffee. "It got to be just too much," he said at last. "Just too much. The tabloids just wouldn't let up. The paparazzi were leaping out from behind my bushes to catch me unawares."
"They call you Judge Dredd."
"It's ridiculous, all of it." He started to curse, realized that Emma was staring up at him, and took a deep breath. "I took three months off and got away from everything-people, phones, TVs, everything. Then I found Emma." He leaned over and cupped Emma's chin in his palm. There was color in her cheeks. She looked little-kid beautiful, and healthy. "Why don't you go wash up and put on your jeans and a real bright shirt. Your mom and I will talk and decide what we should do."
She looked worried. "Mama, you won't try to shoot Ramsey again, will you?"
"I never drink a man's coffee then hurt him, honey. It's not done."
"Mama, you made a joke." Emma beamed at her.
"Yes, a good joke," Ramsey said. "Go, Emma."
He sat back in his chair and looked at the woman across from him. "Emma drew several pictures of you. In all of them you were smiling really big." But now she wasn't smiling. She was pale and thin and had the reddest hair he'd ever seen, all curly, just like Emma's drawings. Her eyes were a sort of green-grayish color, a bit tilted at the corners, sort of exotic. She didn't have any freckles, and she didn't look a thing like Emma.
"I've been calling her 'sweetheart.' I like Emma. It suits her."
"It was my grandmother's name."
She sat forward, intent, then suddenly jumped to her feet and began pacing the small kitchen, hyper now from the coffee, alert, and ready for answers. "How did you find Emma?"
"It was exactly eight days ago. I was out chopping logs when I heard this strange sound, you know, a sound I shouldn't have heard here. I tracked it down and found her unconscious in the woods. I spotted her only because she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt. I brought her back here and took care of her. She didn't speak until she yelled at you."
He saw the question in her eyes and slowly nodded. "Yes, she'd been beaten and sexually assaulted. There wasn't any sodomy that I could tell, but then again, I'm not a doctor. She's much better now, even though last night she had a nightmare." He stopped and shook his head. "It took her a good four days to trust me. She's a great kid."
Tears were running out of her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping off her lips. She sniffled. He handed her a napkin and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
"She's only six years old. She was kidnapped by a child molester and it was all my fault. If only-"
"Stop it, just stop it. I've known you for an hour and I know you didn't leave her unattended, wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her. Now, I don't want to hear any more of that crap." He sighed, knowing deep down that she'd probably never stop blaming herself for the rest of her life. "Believe me, I've never felt so helpless in my life. She's such a sweet little girl. She was terrified of me, a man, and I couldn't blame her at all. When she didn't speak, I became convinced she was mute."
He'd kept talking so she could get a hold on herself, which she finally did. He watched her shoulders square. "Maybe it was the trauma. Maybe she felt safer if she didn't say anything and didn't write down her name for me. Maybe she really couldn't speak until it became a matter of life and death. Would you have shot me?"
"In a heartbeat if you'd so much as moved a finger."
"I'm rather relieved that Emma remembered her voice. You've had a hard time of it. It must have been very difficult to go into all the towns and show her picture."
"No, everyone was very nice, all except for the local cops. Almost to the man, they treated me like a hysterical female, all patronizing and pats on the shoulder and leave it to them, the big macho guys. I nearly punched one guy out in Rutland. When I finally found your cabin, I thought a lot about what I was going to do. I know enough about how law enforcement works to realize that if I only captured the man who'd abducted her, he'd probably be out on bail at some point. Would he come after Emma again? Say the judge denied bail, they kept him in jail, then even convicted him. He'd probably get out sooner or later and then be out again to prey on other children or come after Emma again. I'd have to worry about him for the rest of my life. So would Emma, and that's worse. A child molester, a kidnapper. A monster like that doesn't deserve to live."
"You lucked out. As I said, if she hadn't needed clothes, I wouldn't have taken her to Dillinger. I'd been here at the cabin for nearly two weeks before I found Emma."
"Why were you here of all places?"
He shrugged, looking down at his coffee. "It got to be just too much," he said at last. "Just too much. The tabloids just wouldn't let up. The paparazzi were leaping out from behind my bushes to catch me unawares."
"They call you Judge Dredd."
"It's ridiculous, all of it." He started to curse, realized that Emma was staring up at him, and took a deep breath. "I took three months off and got away from everything-people, phones, TVs, everything. Then I found Emma." He leaned over and cupped Emma's chin in his palm. There was color in her cheeks. She looked little-kid beautiful, and healthy. "Why don't you go wash up and put on your jeans and a real bright shirt. Your mom and I will talk and decide what we should do."
She looked worried. "Mama, you won't try to shoot Ramsey again, will you?"
"I never drink a man's coffee then hurt him, honey. It's not done."
"Mama, you made a joke." Emma beamed at her.
"Yes, a good joke," Ramsey said. "Go, Emma."
He sat back in his chair and looked at the woman across from him. "Emma drew several pictures of you. In all of them you were smiling really big." But now she wasn't smiling. She was pale and thin and had the reddest hair he'd ever seen, all curly, just like Emma's drawings. Her eyes were a sort of green-grayish color, a bit tilted at the corners, sort of exotic. She didn't have any freckles, and she didn't look a thing like Emma.
"I've been calling her 'sweetheart.' I like Emma. It suits her."
"It was my grandmother's name."
She sat forward, intent, then suddenly jumped to her feet and began pacing the small kitchen, hyper now from the coffee, alert, and ready for answers. "How did you find Emma?"
"It was exactly eight days ago. I was out chopping logs when I heard this strange sound, you know, a sound I shouldn't have heard here. I tracked it down and found her unconscious in the woods. I spotted her only because she was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt. I brought her back here and took care of her. She didn't speak until she yelled at you."
He saw the question in her eyes and slowly nodded. "Yes, she'd been beaten and sexually assaulted. There wasn't any sodomy that I could tell, but then again, I'm not a doctor. She's much better now, even though last night she had a nightmare." He stopped and shook his head. "It took her a good four days to trust me. She's a great kid."
Tears were running out of her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping off her lips. She sniffled. He handed her a napkin and she blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
"She's only six years old. She was kidnapped by a child molester and it was all my fault. If only-"
"Stop it, just stop it. I've known you for an hour and I know you didn't leave her unattended, wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her. Now, I don't want to hear any more of that crap." He sighed, knowing deep down that she'd probably never stop blaming herself for the rest of her life. "Believe me, I've never felt so helpless in my life. She's such a sweet little girl. She was terrified of me, a man, and I couldn't blame her at all. When she didn't speak, I became convinced she was mute."
He'd kept talking so she could get a hold on herself, which she finally did. He watched her shoulders square. "Maybe it was the trauma. Maybe she felt safer if she didn't say anything and didn't write down her name for me. Maybe she really couldn't speak until it became a matter of life and death. Would you have shot me?"
"In a heartbeat if you'd so much as moved a finger."
"I'm rather relieved that Emma remembered her voice. You've had a hard time of it. It must have been very difficult to go into all the towns and show her picture."
"No, everyone was very nice, all except for the local cops. Almost to the man, they treated me like a hysterical female, all patronizing and pats on the shoulder and leave it to them, the big macho guys. I nearly punched one guy out in Rutland. When I finally found your cabin, I thought a lot about what I was going to do. I know enough about how law enforcement works to realize that if I only captured the man who'd abducted her, he'd probably be out on bail at some point. Would he come after Emma again? Say the judge denied bail, they kept him in jail, then even convicted him. He'd probably get out sooner or later and then be out again to prey on other children or come after Emma again. I'd have to worry about him for the rest of my life. So would Emma, and that's worse. A child molester, a kidnapper. A monster like that doesn't deserve to live."
