What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(93)

“I’m sorry,” Childress said.

“My daughter will never know them. I don’t envy the position you’re in. But I wish I had another twenty-five years with them to create memories for my daughter.”





C H A P T E R 3 7

Two weeks after they met in Bill Jorgensen’s office, a Saturday that dawned a dark gray overcast with the threat of rain, the first in a series of news articles exploded across the front page of the Seattle Times, and the story pulled no punches. “Rogue Drug Task Force Terrorized Seattle.”

The story, touted as the first in a five-part investigative series, was accompanied by a sidebar on Lisa Childress’s disappearance and sudden return. The two stories took up nearly all of the front page and continued on inside pages. The interior pages included another sidebar, which Tracy had urged Anita Childress to push to have published that first day. It recounted Anita’s interview with Dr. Laghari about amnesia in general and specifically as it could have related to Melissa Childs. Anita had written the facts, but as with any good reporter, the story had a bent to it, and that bent insinuated Lisa Childress could remember some details of the attack in Seattle’s Industrial District. What Anita had left out of the article was that the possibility was unlikely, if not highly improbable.

Tracy and Del were both quoted in the front-page article, Del for what happened in 1995, and Tracy with respect to her hunt to find and locate the reporter’s lost mother. “It’s one of those one-in-a-million cases,” Tracy said in the article. “You start out thinking you’re never going to find the person, and certainly not alive, then when you do, you think there’s going to be a happy reunion among the family members, until you realize the person you’re talking to doesn’t remember her family or even who she once was. She just has these snippets of memories. And that is the cruelest fate of all, for the family. I hope Ms. Childress recovers her memory in full. What happened to her cost her, her parents, and her daughter twenty-four years. I hope they can find justice, in some form, for what has happened.”

The article discussed how the statute of limitations on the drug and other related charges had expired, and how the people who raided the Egregious walked away with upwards of $15 million. The article added, however, that no such statute existed with respect to the deaths of David Slocum or the two crewmen.

As anticipated, the outrage within Seattle and Puget Sound was palpable, and it would certainly get worse as the series of stories continued. The Times had issued a FOIA request for the names of the members of the Last Line, and the newspaper’s lawyers were already doing battle in court to obtain that information. The Times argued the members of the Last Line were no longer in any danger of being bribed or targeted for their work, and said that when their legal case successfully concluded, the newspaper would report those names. In opposition, lawyers argued that drug rings could still target the officers who served on that task force, especially if the task force was ripping them off, as insinuated if not specifically stated. The paper did not yet have a credible source that the drug money had infiltrated high levels of SPD or the Seattle government, but, again, the insinuation was unmistakable.

While the article identified Del, and said he eventually learned of the raid that his partner had concealed, the story did not yet mention Moss Gunderson by name. It correctly stated that Del had not received any money, and that he came forward when news broke that Lisa Childress was alive and could recall snippets of what had happened. It quoted Del as saying he was relieved to get twenty-five years of regret off his chest.

“I should have said something the moment it happened,” he had told the reporter. “It was wrong not to. I can’t blame my reluctance on my youth or my lack of experience, but I looked up to my partner and to others in the department. I trusted them. They breached that trust and the public trust they swore to uphold. I did also, and for that I will accept any punishment that comes my way.”

The article reported that Del had been suspended for pursuing information related to the story, and that he was speaking freely and honestly, though doing so could impact his career. “Sometimes the court of public opinion can be worse than the court of law,” Del was quoted as saying. “I believe that will be true in this case. When people can no longer trust you, when they no longer see you as honorable, what are you left with? Not a lot. Sometimes, in those circumstances, it’s harder to live with yourself than it is to live with what you did.”

As the battle raged, the mayor promised an internal investigation into what had happened. The United States Department of Justice Civil Rights Division had further promised an outside investigation. Tracy waited for one of the members of the Last Line to jump ship, and figured if it was going to happen, it would be when the Times revealed names, and everyone had lawyered up.

The Times did name the task force sergeant, Rick Tombs, and noted he was deceased.

Erring on the side of prudence, Tracy had urged Faz to push to have a patrol officer and police car park in front of Beverly Siegler’s home.

“Are you kidding?” Faz said. “Have you watched the news?

There must be a hundred reporters camped down the street, and a police helicopter has been keeping the skies over the house clear.”

Tracy and Dan, Del and Celia, Faz and Vera, Anita Childress, Beverly Siegler, Melissa Childs, and Bill Jorgensen met in the back room of Fazzio’s the Saturday night the story broke. They hadn’t come to the restaurant to celebrate as much as to decompress.