"Holly Lindstrom. Age seventeen." That was followed by her south Minneapolis address.
"What were you doing just before you were kidnapped?"
"I heard about the Lucia Killer-that's what everybody's calling him now. That's all people are talking about. We even had an assembly at school. They passed out flyers. Told us to be careful. Always walk with other kids. Adults, if possible. All that stuff, but it didn't seem real. I mean, we've had assemblies about other things. Drinking and driving. Drugs. AIDS. I never felt like any of them had anything to do with me. I mean, I heard that one of the girls who was killed was a runaway, and another was kind of a whore."
Her mother had warned her. Her father had warned her. "When you get off work, have the manager walk you to your car," they'd instructed. She'd promised, but only to lessen her parents' worry. She'd never had any intention of asking her boss to go with her. How uncool.
"I was at work," she explained to the FBI agent. "I work at a convenience store. Come and Get It. Stupid name, I know. My friends always tease me about it. They're always asking if I work at a pet store. Sorry." She looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were white. "I have a bad habit of getting off the subject. What did you say your name was?"
"Cantrell. Agent Mary Cantrell."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
"That's okay. Take your time. We aren't in any hurry."
Holly took a deep breath and continued. "When I get off work it's usually dark. For some reason, I felt kind of creeped out and I actually thought about asking my boss to walk me to my car, but he was busy. A customer had… like… run into one of the gas pumps, and it was all crazy. It was late and I wanted to get home. I have a test tomorrow-well, today- and needed to study. My car was just a block away, around the corner. It was no big deal. Or I didn't think so, anyway."
She tugged a chunk of straight blond hair across her cheek and pulled it into her mouth. She gnawed on ends that were already wet, then let go. She was addicted to hair chewing. Also to eyebrow plucking. Not with tweezers-with her fingers.
"When I unlocked the car," she continued, "somebody grabbed me from behind. I thought it was one of my friends playing a trick on me. I yelled, mad. And then… the guy-he stuck a gun in my side and told me he'd kill me if I didn't shut up. After that I didn't say anything else. He, like… got in the backseat and told me to, like… drive away."
"Did you see him? See his face?"
"No. I was afraid to turn around. One time…when I was waiting for a light to change… I looked in the mirror, but it was dark in the backseat."
"Then what happened?"
"He made me drive to this deserted place where his car was parked."
"Did you know where you were? Did you recognize the area?"
She shook her head. "I was too scared. All I was thinking about was dying. I knew this was the guy, the Lucia guy, and I knew he was going to kill me. The only thing I remember is that we pulled up behind these huge cement things. You know, those things you see by railroad tracks."
"Grain elevators?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure. I'm a townie. I don't know anything about that stuff."
"Did you go over any railroad tracks to get there?"
"I don't remember. I think. Oh, I don't know. Sorry."
"That's okay. Then what happened?"
"He taped my mouth and hands and made me get in the trunk of his car."
"Did you see the vehicle?"
"It was dark, really dark. But the trunk was big. It wasn't any little compact thing, that's for sure."
"When he was taping your mouth, did you see him at all? Even a little bit?"
"I could kinda make out a dark shape, and maybe a lighter area that would have been his face, but that's all."
"Did you get a sense of how tall he was?"
She thought a moment. "For some reason, I thought he was taller than me. Maybe close to six feet."
"How about his voice? A lot of times we can get a sense of how large a person is by the voice. Was his voice deep? Or high-pitched?"
"I don't know. I was too scared to notice. Maybe average. I don't know."
"What about an accent? Or possibly poor grammar? Did he sound like someone who was well educated?"
She gave it some thought. "I didn't notice anything weird about the way he talked, but like I said, I was scared. And he didn't say much. A few commands like, Drive. Turn right. Pull up there. Get out of the car. I was so scared that a couple of times I didn't hear him, and he got mad and yelled it again." Holly suddenly felt like crying. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I can't remember anything when it just happened a few hours ago. I feel so stupid. I'm not helping at all, am I?"
"You're helping immensely. You've already told me that he's most likely white, fairly tall, no strong accent, and drives a large car-a car that may have left tracks near a grain elevator. Don't feel bad about not being able to answer my questions. Don't apologize for being human and responding like ninety-eight percent of the population. It's a documented fact that when a person's heart rate reaches a high level, it becomes almost impossible to hear and even more impossible to comprehend what we're hearing. I'm going to continue to ask questions, but please don't worry if you can't supply an answer. Just be proud of yourself for having the guts and initiative to get away from him. That's something no one else has been able to do, because unfortunately it's also human nature to become passive when presented with such a situation. We tend to freeze and wait when facing the unknown. You didn't allow yourself to freeze-which is why you're alive. You are an amazingly strong individual," the agent told her sincerely. "And just the fact that you got away is going to help us catch this guy."
Her words of encouragement assuaged some of Holly's tenseness and made her fear recede. She had gotten away. That was pretty damn impressive.
Agent Cantrell glanced through the notes the police had taken, then up at Holly. "I know it may be impossible to answer this, but did you get any sense of how far you may have ridden in the trunk before he stopped to check on you?"
The mental block Holly had subconsciously erected when she'd been speaking with the police evaporated. All at once she was able to put herself back there, in the trunk.
"It smelled so bad," she whispered. "Like something rotten. Like something dead." She picked at the green scrubs she was wearing. "I'd let you smell my shirt, but the crime scene people took it. They picked things out of my hair too. And cut my fingernails-in case there was any evidence under my nails."
"They're very efficient."
"It was the Lucia Killer, wasn't it?"
"We don't know. The only way to substantiate that theory would be to link him to the other crimes."
Holly knew they couldn't assume the guy was the Lucia Killer without facts. She'd already been told that. It seemed stupid, when everybody was thinking it was him. "They asked if they needed to get a rape kit, and I told them no. I don't think they believed me at first until I yelled and cried. Anyway, I started thinking that maybe there was a dead person in there with me. In the trunk. The more I thought about it, the sicker I felt. Pretty soon I started gagging and even threw up. It shot out my nose or I would have choked to death. A little later the car stopped and the trunk flew open. The guy made some weird sound, like maybe he was upset or scared or something; then he pulled the tape off my mouth and put a hand over my face. Right away I wanted to scream, but then I realized he was checking to see if I was breathing." She paused, thinking about how she'd tricked him. "I love to swim. I swim all the time. I can hold my breath, like, forever-so I held it. He slammed the trunk and took off. We drove for a long time. Or it seemed like a long time. Then he stopped and opened the trunk again. This time he cut the tape from my wrists and pulled me out."