Finally we reached the fence. It was at least ten feet high. A pair of gates made of the same chain-link material as the fence bisected the road. A heavy chain bound the gates together, fastened with a padlock. Like the fence, the gates had metal pipes running the length of the top, middle, and bottom. To help the gates hold their shape, a fourth pipe went diagonally from corner to corner.
The chain-link was already a formidable barrier, but both the gates and the fence were topped with four strands of barbed wire.
“How are we going to get over that?” Just looking at the wicked inch-long barbs, I felt overwhelmed. I was shaking from the cold, the running, and the fear flooding my thoughts.
“Just start climbing!” Savannah ordered. “I’ll figure out what to do about the barbed wire.”
Raising my hands over my head, I hooked my fingers into the wires of one of the gates. I ignored how the movement made my wrist bleed more. But when I tried to put the toe of my shoe into the links, it didn’t fit. I kicked off my shoes and then stepped up with one foot and then the other. I looked down. I was now a whole ten inches above the ground.
Reaching up with one hand and then the next, I transferred to higher handholds. Now it was time to climb my feet up, too. Leaning back, I pulled out one foot and set it higher up. Slowly, I followed it with my second foot. But the wasted muscles in my arms were barely cooperating. They wobbled and shook every time I shifted my weight.
I looked down. For all the effort it was costing, I was still only a couple of feet above the ground.
And then from behind us, I heard a shout.
DANIEL DIAZ
I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. It sounded like even Savannah’s mom believed that her boyfriend, Tim, had taken her daughter. And what could be more damning than your own girlfriend believing that you were the bad guy?
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my dad and the other cops were taking all the puzzle pieces and forcing them together.
If Tim had taken Savannah, then it had to be because of their fight, because she had made him mad. In other words, the reason would be personal, rooted in their relationship. But if that was so, why would Tim also be following girls he didn’t know? I’d read about serial killers who started with a family member and then moved on to the wider world, but this was the opposite situation.
And there was something else. Someone else. Jenny Dowd, the girl who had disappeared from Island Tan in Beaverton ten months ago. One of the people I’d texted had reminded me about her. When I looked her up online, it turned out she looked like Savannah. And so did Courtney and Sara. It sounded like the girls at the middle school also had a similar look. All of them with long dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.
My dad had said that the totaled van with the license plate SVT 759 had ended up at All Autos salvage yard. Giving up on sleep, I got up and googled it. The pictures online showed hundreds of cars and trucks. Some looked new, others were stripped husks.
The Google reviews gave it an average of two and a half stars. It seemed like people loved the selection and hated the owner.
“This is not one of those places where you can pull your own parts. You can’t even go look at the vehicles you want parts from. The place was dead. Why couldn’t the guy at the counter have walked me back to see the condition of the vehicle that the part was coming off of? Possibly a company policy, but I didn’t see it stated anywhere. It’s a very small thing, but I won’t do business again there because of it.”
“While the selection was good, the owner … not so much. If I could rate it negative stars I would.”
“Owner was a real jerk. I wanted to go out and look at the vehicle, and he started screaming at me that it was his property and I needed to get off of it.”
Next to the last review was a photo of a man standing in front of a cinder-block building. One hand was raised in a fist, and the other was pointing at the viewer. He appeared to have been photographed in midrant. Just some middle-aged white guy with a bald head.
Even though the reviews didn’t give his name, suddenly I knew who he was.
A guy who did not want anyone on his property. A guy who would have access to all different kinds of beater cars. Who could probably fix cars even after they had been declared a total loss.
The guy who had been following girls.
The guy who had taken Savannah.
What if I woke my dad? Would he believe me if I tried to explain my thinking? He already seemed certain he knew the answer. And even if it was possible to convince him otherwise, how long would that take? It had been more than forty-eight hours since Savannah was taken.
So even if she was still alive, how long would that be true?
If Savannah was to have any kind of chance at all, it felt like I had to be the one to give it to her. I could go out there, look for the white van. Look for her. Even look for signs of a grave. If I didn’t find Savannah, I still might be able to find evidence to convince my dad.
My parents were in bed. But they always left their keys on hooks near the front door.
Moving through the house on tiptoe, I grabbed a flashlight and then the keys to my mom’s car.
Not failure, but low aim, is the crime. In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.
—BRUCE LEE
SAVANNAH TAYLOR
As Jenny slowly climbed higher, I tried to figure out how we could get over the barbed wire without getting hurt. Or at least not too hurt. While there were gaps on the sides of the gates where they connected to each other and the fence, they were only a couple of inches wide.
The barbed wire wasn’t completely taut. Some of the strands sagged in the middle. The kung fu sash in my backpack! I could throw it over the barbed wire and then pull the ends down and back. That might compress the wires enough for Jenny to climb over. And then she could do the same for me.
But even as I pictured it, I realized it wouldn’t work. After Jenny went over, the sash would still be on this side and she would be on the other.
What about the Bruce Lee book currently stuffed down Jenny’s shirt? Could we lay it on top of the barbed wire? But it wasn’t big enough, and it was too stiff. It would only protect us from the top strand. We needed something that would drape over all of them.
And then the solution hit me. We were surrounded by cars. Cars with floor mats. Ducking into the nearest car, I grabbed the floor mat from the front passenger side. Made of carpet with a rubbery backing, it folded easily when I tried to bend it.
But there was no way I could climb the fence while holding on to the mat. Not with a broken wrist. With my bad hand, I pulled the bottom of my coat away from my other layers, then shoved the mat under and up so that it covered my torso. The stiff top edge pressed against my throat, right where Sir had held the Taser. He would surely do much worse if he caught us. That thought made me hurry to the fence.
Jenny had only made it about three feet off the ground. In fact, she had stopped climbing and was simply clinging to the fence, trembling so hard I could see it from several feet away.
“Come on, Jenny. Keep going!” I grabbed the fence next to her with my good hand and tried to step up, but I couldn’t get any purchase. Seeing that Jenny had toed off her shoes, I did the same. Then I jumped as high as I could. Like a monkey, I grabbed with my toes as well as my right hand. The mat threatened to slide loose, but I clamped it against my torso with the elbow of my bad arm. And then I kept clambering.