“They all ordered hamburgers and fries. The girls ordered shakes. The mother advised the oldest girl she should order something less fattening. The girl argued that she wanted to eat what everyone else was eating. When her mother insisted that she eat something else, the girl’s eyes filled with tears and she said she didn’t want anything to eat,” Helen continued.
“So, she didn’t eat anything?”
“I told the mother I could make her a tuna sandwich, but she said no, it might make the girl sick.” Helen poured two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee.
“How much would you say the girl weighed?” Robert interrupted.
“She was on the chubby side but not overly fat,” Helen remarked dryly. “The girl reacted with extreme embarrassment. The father glared at the mother.”
“Why?” Robert stopped writing, and his pen remained poised above the notebook.
Helen fidgeted with her cup, then said, “I don’t know if it means anything at all. But I know how parents act in a certain situation, and I might be way off base, but I think the girl was pregnant.”
Robert was surprised. It was the last thing he expected. “Why do you think that?
Another long pause, and Robert thought she wasn’t going to answer him, but she continued. “When a woman is first pregnant, the smell of tuna can make her sick. I know because it made me sick and that was how my parents acted when they found out I was pregnant at seventeen. This girl looked younger.”
“She is only fourteen.” Robert wrote it all down in his notebook. If this were true, it would be was a bomb explosion in the investigation.
“If she was pregnant, my guess is the parents didn’t know she was seeing a boy. Check movie houses close by or a park. Guys will usually play the game until they get what they want and then get the girl home as fast as they can.” Her hard words spoke volumes, and Robert didn’t respond to the comment.
Helen recovered. “Sorry, it still hurts. Also look for gifts, little trinkets that he gave her to gain her confidence that he had feelings for her. Did she keep a diary?”
“We didn’t find one.”
Helen frowned. “Girls like her usually keep a diary; it might be hidden in her room. Check a loose floorboard or in the closet.”
Robert made another note. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of this, but then he was a guy.
“Anything else you remember about the family?”
“The two younger girls bought postcards, then they paid and left.”
“Did you talk to them or overhear anything that they said?”
“One of the girls said they had been on a drive looking for ferns and Christmas greens.”
“Did you see them leave the parking lot?”
“No. I took their money at the cash register, and then I cleared their table.” She was apologetic.
Robert continued to make notes in his book and ask questions at the same time.
“You are talented, aren’t you?” Helen spoke in a whisper after Robert asked the last question.
“Why?”
“You talk and write at the same time. I know servers who can’t do that. Some can’t even listen and write at the same time.”
Robert laughed. “I’ve run into a few of those. Who else was in here at that same time? Do you remember anything about the other customers?”
Helen drummed her nails on the tabletop. “There was a trucker at the counter and two men in a booth.”
“Why do you remember those three men?” He put his hand over her tapping fingers, stilling the action, then removed it.
She smiled. “The trucker comes in here all the time, as he has a regular route this way. The other two aren’t regulars, but one of them has been in a few times. He just got out of jail in California. They got smart with me and said that I should go across the river to work at The Palace, as I could make more money.”
Robert was aware of the place in question. The Palace, a known house of ill repute, was run by a prominent member of the syndicate.
“You said one of those men came in before. If you knew he was just out of jail, do you know his name?”
“Lutz. John Lutz. His family has a place somewhere east of here. They come in now and then for dinner or lunch. The owner here, knows him and his family.”
“Do you know what car they were driving?”
“I don’t know cars.”
“Tell me what it looked like,” Robert prompted.
“It was old, white, had four doors, and lots of dents. That is all I can tell you. Like I said I don’t know cars.”
“Helen, thank you for all your help. You’ll be available—”
“Just call, anytime,” she interrupted softly. “Anytime.”
“Thanks again.”
After both men paid for their coffee, Jake met Robert at the car. “You made quite an impression on the little waitress. Did you ask her for a date?”
“No. This is an investigation; I don’t mix business with pleasure. Besides, I think Helen has a child.”
“And why does that make a difference?” Jake stood next to the open door, facing Robert across the car hood.
“I am not ready for a family again. I don’t want to date someone who might want more than just a casual friendship.”
Jake didn’t respond but got in the car and shut the door.
Robert turned the key and started the engine, but he just sat staring at the lengthening shadows for a moment and asked, “Which way did they go from here?”
Chapter 5
The media reported on the missing Stevens family story like piranhas on raw meat. Every day, an article about the Stevens family and where the police centered their investigation appeared on the front page. A map of the Columbia River from Portland to The Dalles showed the locations where the family purchased gas and ate dinner. Places, where the family might have disappeared into the river, had been indicated. Every reporter had a theory. Not only did the leads come to the police station, but the papers printed the ones they received.
The love-hate relationship between the police and the media continued, as leads were to be turned over to the police as soon as they were received. Not all of them were sent directly; some reporters followed up on their own. The police had to work harder to get accurate information and then follow up. One never knew if the breaking lead would come to the department or not.
The public didn’t always trust the police department. Organized crime had infiltrated the department so deep that almost every cop on the force took payoffs. When a reporter splashed the story in a small, local paper with pictures, it had caused a public uproar. The governor had been forced to order a thorough investigation. A clean sweep of the entire Portland Police Bureau resulted in officers being fired, demoted, or forced to retire.
Although Arnie Gilmore was his boss, the two had become more than links in the chain of command. Arnie had stood up for Robert when the department passed through the cleanup a few years ago.
Robert sat across from his superior and waited for him to divulge whatever seemed to bother him. Arnie rustled some papers, then arranged the stapler, pen holder, and notepad before speaking.
“How is the case of the missing Stevens family going?”
“Fine. We’re following up on leads and tracking down anyone who might have had contact with them.” Robert crossed his legs and let his arm rest on the chair’s armrest.
Arnie’s brows furrowed, “What have you heard from the son?”
Robert shrugged. “Ask Stan.”
“I thought you were making that call?” Arnie looked surprised.
Robert made a dismissive gesture, “Not that I know of. Do you want me to follow up on that too?”
Arnie gave a brief shake of his head. “Let me ask Stan. Do you know anything about the son?”