Page 48 of High Frequency

He seems to order a pack of smokes, and pulls a few bills from his pockets, paying in cash.

At seven thirty-eight he moves to the door to head back outside.

I pause the feed and return my attention to the outside view. Instead of play, I hit fast-forward to get to seven thirty-eight.

I watch as the man walks out and immediately turns right toward the car wash. Instead of going back to his truck around the outside of the car wash, he abruptly appears to dart into the second empty bay. Something clearly drew his attention.

When I catch a quick flash of yellow coming into view at the back of the first empty bay, disappearing again almost instantly, I shoot up straight in my chair. My heart is racing and my breath shallow, as I rewind to the point where the man exits the store. Instead of focusing on him this time, I zoom in on the first bay of the car wash and play it in slow motion.

There she is, the yellow coat is unmistakable; Nita. She appears to use the empty bay as a shortcut to get to the front door of the convenience store. I’m so focused on her, I don’t even see the guy coming up behind her until I see her suddenly lifted off her feet, a hand coming around to clasp over her mouth, and an arm grabbing her around the waist.

The next moment she’s gone, and so is the man with the green hat.

It’s a full five minutes before the truck moves.

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

The poor girl is fidgeting in her seat as she seems to mull over my question if she remembers hitching a ride, maybe getting into a truck.

For a moment I wonder if FaceTiming her was the right decision, but I wasn’t going to be able to drive out to Columbia Falls until after the weekend. I would really love to make a firm connection between the two girls.

If our perp is indeed this truck driver, Nita and Chelsea may not have been the only victims. There may have been more girls he picked up along his route.

“I…I’m not sure.”

I’m not sure is not no, but it still doesn’t really help me. I’m going to have to approach this another way.

“Chelsea, do you remember having a big argument with your parents?” I probe. “You were upset and left the house.”

Her eyes dart off-camera and she appears a little sheepish. I assume she’s looking at her mother or both her parents.

“I remember.”

Her voice is soft, but I’m hopeful when her response is sure.

“That’s good. So, you were upset and walked out the door. Did you turn right or left?”

“Right,” is her immediate answer.

“Why did you turn right?”

Something in her face changes. She seems to become more alert.

“Because of the Mountain Climber, the stop is up a few blocks.”

“The Mountain Climber?”

“The county bus,” she explains.

I send her a little encouraging smile.

“And you were planning to take the bus?”

“Yes, to the movies in Kalispell,” she says, more animated now as she appears to remember a bit more. “I thought I had money in my backpack, but I forgot I spent it on Subway for lunch the day before.”

That was more words strung together than I’d heard her speak before.

A deep frown appears between her eyebrows as she falls silent again.

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