Read Nowhere Land: A Stephan Raszer Investigation for Free Online

“I
understand,” said Raszer. “Did she manage to escape?”
         “No. Not
. . . in the way you are thinking. The fourth boy, the one who gave the story
to the police, backed out. He ran into the woods while the others pinned her on
the trunk. He testified that while the first boy was assaulting her, a black
car came up on the left and stopped. It came out of nowhere, he said. Out of
the fog. Three men in dark business suits got out. One of them pulled the boy
off her; another picked up Katy and tossed her into the backseat. He stayed
with her. The other men threw the boys against the trunk and . . . snapped
their necks. One, two, three .”Now, finally, Raszer’s unexpected guest
looked him in the eye. “I don’t know, Mr. Raszer, if my daughter met with
avenging angels or with a fate even worse than what those hooligans had in
mind.”
         “And the
boy, the witness . . . was he able to describe her abductors, or rescuers, or
whatever they were?”
         “All he
could or would say was that they wore dark suits and had dark hair. For all
intents, they were without faces.”
         “What
about voices?” Raszer asked. “Accents, a foreign language?”
         “No.
They didn’t speak.”
         “Any
indication whatsoever that Katy knew them?”
         “The boy
couldn’t say. It happened too fast.”
         “And the
car? I don’t suppose he got a plate, but what about make and model?”
         “It was
a Lincoln Continental,” said Endicott.
         “A
Lincoln. On a fire road at thirty-six hundred feet.”
         “The
police have nothing. Nothing . . . after a full year. My daughter is a face on
a milk carton.”
         Raszer
squinted, a habit whenever something didn’t fit. The tic, along with his
tight-lipped smile, lapis lazuli eyes, and a certain impishness of face,
accounted for the fact that even strangers sometimes mentioned his resemblance
to Steve McQueen.
         “If this
were solely an abduction,” he said, “that wouldn’t surprise me. L.A. County has
the most undernourished investigative force in the country. If your child is
missing, you might as well be in Somalia. But we’re also talking about a rape
and a triple homicide.” He turned to Monica. “What’s been on the wires over the
past year? Why hasn’t there been more noise about this story?”
         Monica
leaned forward, a strand of streaked hair falling over her right eye. She blew
it away with a practiced blast. “The boys’ parents”—she glanced at Endicott—”if
I’m not mistaken, Mr. Endicott, were all Jehovah’s Witnesses. The local press,
even Fox News, camped out up there for a few weeks, but they got nothing. No
interviews, no public statements. And because the assailants were . . .
deceased, there were no charges filed, except against the organizers of the
rave.”
         Endicott
kept his eyes on Raszer. “We are a close community,” he said quietly, “and we
take care of our own. This—this event—was a grievous wound. None of us wished
to pour salt in it. The Overseers addressed the matter. Twelve young men and
women were disfellowshipped, along with two parents who had prior knowledge of
the . . . the rave , and said nothing.
The bodies of the three . . . the bodies were cremated. We closed the books and
we closed our doors, and waited for the plague to pass over.” He sighed deeply
and clutched his chest. “The only one left outside was my Katy.”
         The
blood was quickly draining from Silas Endicott’s face. Raszer telegraphed a
look of concern to Monica and, after a beat, pushed back from the table.
         “Let’s
get some air, Mr. Endicott,” he said, standing. “Bring your tea. I have a deck
out back. Covered.” He came around the table and took Endicott’s arm, and this
time, the proud man did not refuse the assistance. “Brij,” he called to his
daughter as they reached the door. “How about you and Monica