Forgotten in Death(50)

Yes, Eve thought, she understood that. She’d lived that.

“After he went to work, she stuffed her purse with whatever money was in the house. She got in the car—she had one for running errands, and he kept track of her mileage. She drove and drove and drove. She didn’t remember how far, until she ran out of gas. Then she left the car and started walking. She didn’t remember much of that, either.

“Anyway, a woman in a pickup came by, stopped, saw the state she was in. Alva got hysterical when the woman wanted to take her to the doctor or the sheriff, so didn’t. She took her home—a ranch—and she fixed her up as best she could. She was afraid to stay, so the woman gave her a hat, sunshades to hide the eye, packed food for her, and drove her for an hour or so to a bus station. She remembers changing buses in Missouri. She had family, but—”

“I know about that. I’ve spoken to her brother.”

“Then you know what he did, how he had her brother beaten, her sister raped, and used that to keep her in line. She wasn’t thinking when she left, or she wouldn’t have. She didn’t go to them when she started thinking again because he’d find her and hurt them. In any case, a couple days later, she ended up in Dayton. She didn’t have much money left. As fate would have it, she was sitting on a bench, not sure what to do, and I walked by. She was only a few blocks from the shelter. I knew what I was looking at. I’d seen it too many times.”

She paused to drink again. “So I sat down beside her, and I told her I could help her, that I had a place she’d be safe. She was exhausted, every part of her. She went along with me like a little puppy. She was badly damaged, Dallas. Not just physically.”

“I know it.”

“So damaged, but she had this sweetness. When she healed up—her hands—she pitched in. Nobody had to tell her to help with the washing or the cooking, or give a tired mother a break and rock a baby. One of our ladies did origami, and she took right to it. Loved sitting there making little animals and flowers.”

“She kept up with that.”

“Did she? I’m glad. It gave her some joy. Are you going to ding me about the ID?”

“No. I’m not recording this, and it won’t go in the file, not that part of it. You can record what I say next as insurance.”

Allysa pursed her lips, leaned forward to manually go to record. “Okay.”

“You won’t be charged or prosecuted for any fraudulent identification you’ve generated, assisted in generating, have knowledge of, possess equipment for. None of that information will go beyond this room. If I break my word on that, you have the means to bring me up on charges.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because she deserves justice. Because the ones who hurt her, last night, years ago? Those sons of fucks need to pay. I’m going to see they do.”

For a long moment, Allysa said nothing. Then she gave one short nod. “I believe you, and I’m deleting the recording. Trust for trust. She was here six, seven months, and she knew enough about the shelter to know we always needed the room for the next. When she was ready, I made her the ID, worked with her on the background. I had some contacts and I got her a job in housekeeping at a resort in West Virginia. Pretty place, nice country, good, honest work. She’d check in pretty regular. She was happy. She was never going to be all the way right again, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“He’d broken something in her, and it just couldn’t mend all the way through. But she was happy, productive, safe. And one day she called, full panic. She was on the run. They had a big law-and-order-type convention at the resort. She saw him. I calmed her down as best I could, but she’d already bolted, sure he’d found her, he’d come for her, and begged me to wipe her ID again. I told her she could come back here, or I’d make arrangements at another shelter for her, but she just said she had to run. And that was that. I never heard from her again.”

“Do you have any documentation of her injuries when she came to your shelter?”

Allysa’s lips spread in a thin smile. “You really will go after the fucker. Yeah, we’d have photos and a medical report. We had—and have—a doctor who comes to the shelter when and if a guest is too afraid for a hospital or health center.”

“I’d appreciate a copy.”

“I’ll dig it out when I’m at work. I’ll go in early. If you need it sooner, I’ll go in tonight.”

“The morning’s fine. Do you remember if Alva kept a notebook?”

“Alva and her famous notebooks. Yeah, she did. She told me how she started keeping one when she was a kid. Law-and-order thing, mostly a record of sibling infractions, or classmates. Around here, she modified it. She called them her Support Reports. When somebody needed a hug or somebody else to listen. When somebody went out of their way to help with a kid or some of the domestic work, that kind of thing.

“Damn it.” Allysa paused, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Another second.”

“Take your time.”

She dropped her hands, took another drink. “She hid them away during her marriage because she kept a record of what he said she did wrong—a lot of guilt there, a lot of self-blame we tried to work through. And she kept a record of the hits, the breaks, the rapes.”