Vicious (3 page)

In horror and disgust, he knocked the stuffed animal out of the boy’s hand. The child shrieked even louder, and his father held him against his chest. He anxiously glanced at the dark woods around them. “Pam?” he screamed. “Sweetheart? Pam?”

The green scarf slipped out of Hannah’s grasp. Numbly, she stepped back and bumped into a tree. But she barely felt it. She couldn’t feel anything beyond the terrible sensation in her gut.

Most everyone in the Seattle area knew about the string of recent murders. Three women had disappeared in the last few months. Their ages varied, but they had one thing in common. They were all mothers, each one abducted in front of her son. In what was becoming an eerie calling card, their abductor always left behind a used toy for the child.

And each of the mothers was later found dead.

The local TV and newspapers had given this killer a name:
Mama’s Boy
.

People in the Seattle area were scared—especially women with young sons. But maybe Andy’s mother hadn’t been thinking when she’d taken her baby for a walk after dark. Didn’t her husband say they’d been quarreling? In the heat of anger, she must have grabbed her son and left the house in a hurry.

“Pam?” the man screamed over his son’s wailing. He kept rocking the baby in his arms. “Honey, can you hear me? Pam? Sweetheart…”

Hannah stood with her back against the tree. She listened to the man crying out and the baby’s screaming. She felt sick to her stomach. A cool wind whipped through her. Leaves scattered. Shuddering, Hannah stared down at the frayed, stuffed yellow giraffe, leaning against one of the wheels of the child’s empty stroller.

Hannah had an awful feeling that no matter how many times this man called out for her, Andy’s mother would never answer him.

Two days later, someone found Andy’s mother. The story made the front page of
The Seattle Times
on April 5, 1998:

The article went on to explain about the three others before Andy’s mother.

On November 8, 1997, an intruder attacked the first victim, Sarah Edgecombe, twenty-four, in her home in Auburn while she was giving her three-year-old son a bath. Her husband, Kyle, had stepped out for cigarettes. Returning home twenty minutes later, he discovered the traumatized young boy, shivering in the cold tub. In the boy’s bedroom, on his pillow, Kyle found a dilapidated teddy bear. Hikers spotted Sarah’s remains three days later in the woods at Seattle’s Discovery Park. Unfortunately, woodland scavengers had found her first. Police had to scour nearly a mile of the forest before they found all of her, and even then, it was mostly bones, picked near-clean. Sarah was the only one who had been dismembered.

After that, it seemed Mama’s Boy wanted his victims to be discovered—eventually.

Anita Breckinridge, forty-three, disappeared on December 29, 1997, in a Safeway supermarket two miles from her Lynnwood home, leaving her four-year-old son in the shopping cart’s child seat. The abandoned boy’s screams resonated through the store for ten minutes. In the cart, a store employee found an old Raggedy Andy doll. The boy’s father confirmed that it didn’t belong to his son. The following morning, a jogger noticed Anita’s nude corpse in a ditch near the Burke-Gilman Trail by Lake Union in Seattle. The jogger called 911 from her cell phone. “For a moment, when I saw that pale thing lying there in the gully, I thought it was a dead deer,” she said.

With his learner’s permit in his back pocket, fifteen-year-old Greg Sherwood drove his mother, Lila, forty-nine, to China Gardens in Ballard on March 22, 1998. It was raining that night. Greg parked in an alley behind the restaurant. He left the motor running and his mother in the front seat while he dashed into the restaurant to pick up their carryout order. Greg returned five minutes later with two bags of Chinese food. He found the car’s passenger door open, and the windshield wipers still moving and squeaking. One of his mother’s shoes was in a puddle by that door. In the passenger seat was an old G.I. Joe doll. Lila Sherwood’s body was discovered in a Dumpster behind a Texaco station in Issaquah the following morning.

The toys Mama’s Boy left behind were all used, slightly damaged, and untraceable.

Psychologists on the case speculated that the killer’s mother must have deserted him, and there was probably abuse, too. It would explain why this killer was acting out. Typically, they would have expected all of the victims’ children to have been the same specific age—the age the killer might have been when abandoned by his mother, or when he might have experienced a severe trauma.

But that just didn’t apply to Mama’s Boy—and his killing pattern. The oldest surviving child was fifteen, and the youngest, Andy Milford, was ten months old.

No one saw the man who had abducted Andy’s mother in the park that night.

A twenty-seven-year-old construction worker, Chad Schlund, was the one who had found her. The building site was for a proposed forty-unit luxury condominium, Greenlake Manor. A two-story-deep, giant hole had been excavated for the basement and underground garage. A black tarp covered most of the vast crater, and that was where Chad Schlund wandered off from his coworkers to have a cigarette break. The ground beneath the tarp was hard and flat. So when Chad stepped on something soft and mushy beneath the black plastic sheeting, he balked. He noticed a bulky lump in the tarp and figured a large raccoon or dog must have made its way under that plastic sheet and suffocated.

Chad almost moved on. He had only a few minutes left of his break. Already one of the tall cranes began to sweep across the grey horizon again, and his coworkers were lumbering back to their workstations. Chad figured he had time for only half a cigarette now. Yet he stopped, and with his foot, pushed back the loose piece of tarp. He stopped when he saw the woman’s hand sticking out from under the tarp’s folds. The skin was so pale, it was almost blue. And her fingernails were the color of cinnamon.

The Seattle Times
article on April 5, 1998, included a photo of Mama’s Boy’s fourth victim. The picture of Pamela Milford showed a pretty, fresh-faced woman with a big smile. Andy’s mother looked so full of hope. The picture had been taken around the time Pamela found out she was pregnant—back when her hair was still long.

Mount Vernon, Washington—ten years later

No Signal,
it said in the window on her cell phone. This was the second time she’d tried calling him.

Susan Blanchette shoved the phone back in her purse, then sipped her Diet Coke. She smiled at her toddler son in the booster seat across from her. “You’ve had enough French fries, Mattie,” she said gently. “I want you to work on your Arby’s Junior. Just a few bites and you’ll make your dear old mother very happy.”

Mattie dared to eat one last fry; then he adjusted the napkin tucked in the collar of his Huskies sweatshirt. He was a bit short and underweight for his age, but healthy—with pink cheeks, straight, light brown hair, and long-lashed blue eyes. Cautiously touching the top bun of his junior roast beef sandwich as if it were the shell of a snapping turtle, he frowned at her. It was a perturbed expression Susan used to see on his father from time to time. Now she only saw that look on Mattie.

It was 1:45. The drive up from Seattle had taken an hour, and Susan guessed they had another hour to go before reaching Cullen, a sleepy little resort town, where her fiancé had rented them a house on Skagit Bay. Allen was there right now—or at least he was supposed to be. Susan just wished she could get ahold of him.

She hoped Mattie might sleep the rest of the way in the car, after their late lunch. The Arby’s—by a casino off Interstate 5 near the Mount Vernon exit—wasn’t too crowded. She and Mattie took a table in the middle of the restaurant, one of those two-seaters attached to another two-seater. The Formica table and plastic chairs were the color of mustard.

Mattie still hadn’t taken a bite out of his Arby’s Junior. He held it in his hand, but paid more attention to the Woody doll in his other hand. He was skipping Woody across the adjoining tabletop. The slim cowboy doll from
Toy Story
had belonged to Mattie’s older brother and was becoming something like a security blanket for Mattie lately. For months now, the cartoon cowboy doll had never left his side, and it was starting to smell.

In a nearby booth, three guys in their early twenties had been leering at her—to the point at which it had almost become more irritating than flattering. But they looked as if they were about to leave, thank God.

Susan was tall and pretty and often passed for twenty-five. But she’d just checked herself in her compact mirror—between attempts to phone Allen—and under the restaurant’s glaring fluorescent lights, Susan thought she appeared tired, haggard, and every one of her thirty-four years. That table full of twentysomething guys must have been really hard up. She didn’t exactly look glamorous in her knock-around black V-neck pullover and jeans—even if the ensemble accentuated her trim figure. She had hazel eyes, a pale complexion, and wavy, shoulder-length, tawny brown hair. Lately, Susan had noticed the occasional wild grey strand, and she always yanked them out with trepidation (
pluck one, and five more will come to its funeral
). At this rate, Susan figured she’d be bald by her fortieth birthday.

With a shifty glance her way, Mattie put down his junior roast beef and reached for another fry.

“Don’t even think about it, kiddo,” she warned him. “You need to put a dent in that sandwich, and only then can you have some more fries. Now, c’mon, put Woody down and eat….”

With a sigh, Matt set Woody aside and lifted the top of the bun and peeked at the roast beef.

“They’re pretty great at that age, aren’t they?”

Susan glanced up at a handsome man in his mid thirties. He had black hair, parted to one side, and a heavy five-o’clock shadow. He gave her a cocky smile and then sat next to Mattie on the other tandem table. He set down his soda and started to unload his Arby’s bag.

Baffled, Susan gaped at him. Was this a pickup or something—in an
Arby’s,
for Pete’s sake? The restaurant was practically empty, and this character had decided to sit right next to her and her son.

“How old are you, little fella?” the man asked Mattie.

“I’m four and a half years old,” Mattie replied, putting down his sandwich to show four fingers on his right hand. He also wiggled his left index finger—to emphasize the extra half year.

“And what’s your name?” the man asked him.

“Matthew Blanchette,” he answered proudly. “And I live at eight-fifteen East Prospect Drive in Seattle, Washington, USA.”

Taking out his sandwich, the man grinned at Susan. “Well, you certainly have him well-trained in case you’re ever separated. You folks are a long way from home.”

Susan tried to work up a smile. So far, the man hadn’t done anything inappropriate. And he was quite attractive. Yet he was just a little too friendly, a little too pushy.

He sipped his soda, winked at her, and then leaned close to Mattie. “I heard your mom trying to get you to eat your sandwich there,” he said in a stage whisper. “You should listen to her. That sandwich is packed with protein, and it’ll help you grow up big and strong—like me. Here, take a look at how big my hand is….” He put his hand up—palm out—almost inviting Mattie to press his little hand against it and compare.

Fascinated, Mattie did just that.

Susan nervously glanced around the restaurant and saw the twentysomething guys lumbering out of their booth. She’d figured if this man got any more familiar—and he had, he was already touching her son—she might have counted on these twenty-year-olds to run interference. One distressed look their way might have prompted one or all of them to get chivalrous and come over to her table. But instead, they were now filing out of the restaurant.

The man growled like a tiger and clamped Mattie’s tiny hand inside his own. Mattie squealed with delight. The stranger leaned in close to him and growled even more fiercely. Mattie shrieked with laughter.

Susan cleared her throat and winced a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t encourage him to make a lot of noise in restaurants and public places.” She turned to Mattie. “Remember what I’ve told you, honey? There are other people here, trying to enjoy a nice, quiet meal. You have to be considerate of them.” She reached across the table and gently pried his hand away from the man’s grasp.

“We were just having fun,” the man said—with a crooked smile and a slightly wounded look. He sat back in his chair. “C’mon,
Mommy
, don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Yeah, Mom. Don’t be a boil’s port,” her son chimed in.

Susan took Mattie’s sandwich and fries, quickly wrapped them up, and loaded them in the Arby’s bag. “It’s getting late, and we need to skedaddle,” she said, not looking at the man. “You can eat your sandwich in the car, honey. Don’t forget Woody. Say good-bye now.”

The man let out a stunned laugh. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean anything, I was just—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Susan said, getting to her feet. She managed to smile at him, then grabbed her purse and the Arby’s bag. “We just need to hit the road. It was awfully nice talking with you.” She took Mattie by the arm and helped him off his booster seat. “Say good-bye, Mattie,” she repeated.

“G’bye!” he called, waving at the stranger with his free hand.

The man stood up, but didn’t leave the table. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry. I was just…”

Susan kept walking, pulling Mattie along. But she realized they couldn’t make a clean getaway. They had a long drive ahead, and Mattie would need to use the restroom. She bypassed the glass door exit and headed toward the alcove where there was a wooden highchair along with several orange plastic booster seats in a stack. In the alcove, she bypassed the men’s room and started into the women’s lavatory.

“NOOOOOO!” Mattie screamed. In his latest mode of resistance, he stopped and tried to sit down on the dirty tiled floor. He was at that age when little boys start to realize places like this were only for
girls.
So getting him into a women’s room to pee or poop was a major ordeal lately. “No, I don’t want to go in there!” he protested loudly.

“What did I just tell you about making a lot of noise in restaurants?” Susan growled. She took him by the arm and pulled him up. She tried not to drop her purse, the bag of food, and her Diet Coke. With her hip she pushed open the women’s bathroom door, and then she peeked inside. “No one’s in there, honey,” she said with a sigh. “C’mon, the coast is clear. Let’s go….”

“NOOOOOOOO!” he screeched, resisting.

A shadow swept over the alcove, and Susan glanced up to see the stranger coming at them. “So—Mattie, you don’t want to go in the ladies’ bathroom?” he was saying. “Well, I don’t blame you, sport.” He grinned at Susan and started to reach out his hand for Mattie—his big, grown-up hand. “I’ll take him into the men’s room for you—”

“Would you please just…no, thank you!” Susan snapped at him. “We’re fine here!” She yanked Mattie into the lavatory, and felt cold Diet Coke spilling down the front of her sweater. It seeped through her T-shirt to her stomach. Mattie let out another wail of protest, but in he went. With her shoulder, Susan quickly pushed the door shut behind her—right in the man’s face.

She still had a firm grip on Mattie’s hand. Whining, he twisted around and tried to sit down on the restroom floor. He kept Woody firmly tucked under his other arm.

“That’s enough out of you, young man,” Susan barked, pulling him up. “Now, get in here….” Guiding him toward the open door to a toilet stall, she made sure the toilet was flushed. Why in the world some people didn’t flush after using a public toilet was beyond her. This one was clean. “Do you think you might have to go number two?” she asked.

Pouting, he shook his head.

Susan took his Woody doll and then lifted the toilet seat for him. “All right, you know what to do,” she said briskly. She left him standing in front of the toilet. “And I don’t want any more screaming or crying. I’ve just about had it, mister.”

“You’re mean!” Mattie retorted.

“Yes, you have the meanest mother in the world,” Susan shot back. She retreated toward the sink and unloaded Woody, her wet purse, and the wet bag of food on the orange Formica countertop. The half-crushed drink container was only a quarter-full now, and the plastic lid had come undone. “Shit,” she muttered.

“You said a swear!” Mattie called from the stall.

Someone knocked on the women’s room door. “Hey, you know,” the man said loudly. “I was just trying to help!”

Leaning over the sink, Susan took a deep breath. “Yes, thank you!” she called back. “We’re fine in here! You can go now, thank you!”

She waited for a response. But there was none. She tossed the soggy bag of food and what was left of her drink into the trash. With a paper towel, she dabbed the front of her pullover. Then she shoved Woody inside her purse. Maybe she’d overreacted with that man. But the guy had unnerved her. And she wasn’t about to entrust her son to this stranger. Her older sister, Judy, claimed she was way overprotective with Matt. Maybe that was true, but she had good reason to be—considering what had happened eighteen months ago. Susan still hadn’t completely recovered from it. She doubted that she ever would.

She paused to listen for a tinkling noise in the stall. Nothing.

“Sweetheart?” she said, eying the dirty mirror over the sink. Behind her, Susan could only see Mattie’s red Converse All Stars and the cuffs of his jeans beneath the stall’s partition. It looked like he was still standing in front of the toilet. But obviously, nothing was happening.

“Honey, can’t you tinkle?” she said. “C’mon, I know you can’t rush these things, but give it a try. We still have a long drive ahead.” She turned the water on full blast in the sink. It was a trick she’d picked up in nursing school. She always used to turn on the faucet in the bathroom when a bladder-shy patient had a problem providing a urine sample. There was something about the sound of running water that helped prod them along. In her early twenties, Susan had been on the staff at Harborview Medical Center, a very stressful job. After she’d married and had Mattie’s older brother, Michael, she’d kept up her nursing credentials part-time, consulting for an insurance company. She’d been able to work out of her home—and look after her babies. Of course, Susan hadn’t realized it then, but that was the best time of her life. She should have savored every minute.

Now Susan was a single mother with one child, and working full time again—for a dermatologist in Ballard. Fridays at Dr. Chang’s office were half days. She usually spent those free afternoons at home, grabbing a nap or just doing absolutely nothing (and loving it) for those two hours alone before picking up Mattie at Yellowbrick Road Day Care. She cherished her Friday afternoon routine and had been a bit reluctant to give it up today. But Allen had been so insistent they take this weekend getaway to Cullen.

So—instead of napping on the sofa right now with the soft Pottery Barn throw blanket over her and Joni Mitchell on the CD player, she was in an Arby’s bathroom, seventy miles from home, doused with Diet Coke and despised by her toddler son. No doubt, she’d also offended that slightly creepy wannabe Good Samaritan, too. Well, tough.

Susan stepped over to the stall and found Mattie standing in front of the toilet with his pants up and fastened. He was idly playing with the toilet paper dispenser. All this time, Susan had thought he’d had a shy bladder. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered, leaning over him. “You aren’t even trying!” Susan unfastened his jeans and yanked them down; then she pulled down his underpants. “Now, tinkle, okay?”

Nothing.

Susan hovered behind him with the stall door open. “C’mon, sweetie, give it a try,” she said, more gently. “Listen to the water in the sink. I know you hate being in the ladies’ room. As soon as you go, we’ll get out of here.” But nothing was happening. At times like this, the kid really needed his dad.

Susan was about to throw in the towel and pull up his pants. That was when she heard the restroom door yawn open. A woman with her little girl had just stepped into the lavatory. Mattie saw them, too. He let out a shriek, and then so did the frightened little girl. Their screams reverberated within the tiled walls of the small bathroom. Mattie kept crying—screeching angrily—while Susan fastened his pants back up and led him toward the restroom door. All the while, she apologized to the woman and her startled daughter. Mattie continued to scream and squirm as she hustled him toward the restaurant exit. Susan figured everyone in the Arby’s probably thought she was kidnapping him.