January 6
Cassidy was not the kind of woman who belonged on an ATV. She realized this as they bounced and jutted over roots and stones. She had one arm around Andy’s waist, and with the other she held tight to his camera. More equipment was strapped on behind her.
As they cut through the forest, following a faint path only Andy could see, wet bushes slapped at her denim-covered legs. Mud flecked her face. So much for her carefully applied makeup. Overhead, she heard the sound of a helicopter. Whatever channel it was, they were going to be kicking themselves when they saw that Cassidy had gotten the story first—again.
Twenty minutes later, she was doing her stand-up. They had to hurry to get the tape back to the studio in time for the noon news. More than that, Cassidy had to show Jerry that she was still bringing him scoop after scoop. There was no way she was just going to lie down and let Madeline McCormick walk all over her.
“It was a lonely life,” Cassidy told the camera lens, “but a simple one. And for a fifty-five-year-old Vietnam vet named Tim Chambers, it was the only life he thought he could have and still keep his daughter with him.
“Portland police say Chambers and his ten-year-old daughter have lived here, deep in Forest Park, for years. Not in a tent, but in an elaborate camp dug into a steep hillside.”
She swept out her arm as Andy panned the camp. “They had a shelter, a rope swing, and a tilled vegetable garden. And this creek was where they got the water to clean and cook with.”
Leaning down, she dipped her fingers into the water, which was bone-chillingly cold. “They placed rocks around this small pool to collect water and store perishable foods.”
Straightening up, Cassidy gestured behind her. “They lived inside this shelter.”
As Andy followed her, she walked over and pulled open the door.
“The father taught his daughter using the encyclopedia you see here.” She pointed at a red plastic shopping basket that held a stack of old World Book encyclopedias. “They slept in sleeping bags on these two cots.”
Despite her puffy down coat, it was only through force of will that Cassidy was keeping her teeth from chattering.
The camera panned around the tiny space. In addition to the cots, there were a makeshift table, a large metal pot, a handsaw, and an old wooden apple crate that now held canned goods.
“Authorities say the two went into the city once a week to stop by the bank, attend church, buy groceries, and pick up a few odds and ends at Goodwill.”
Cassidy could not imagine it. Nicole had said something about a “pit toilet,” whatever that was, and she just hoped they didn’t stumble over it.
“Police were amazed to find them clean, well fed, and healthy. To be certain the girl was not being maltreated, authorities split up the two and questioned them separately. They say the girl is well-spoken beyond her years. They were also examined by a doctor and evaluated by state welfare workers. They fingerprinted both of them and did a thorough national background check. Everything was negative. Tim Chambers receives only a small disability check for post-traumatic stress disorder related to his service in Vietnam. He told authorities he chose to bring his daughter to the woods rather than subject her to the streets or risk being separated from her if he went to social services.
“Chambers has reportedly told authorities that he knew Katie Converse’s body was nearby, but was worried that if he alerted anyone about it, he would lose his home—as he has. Is he a suspect? Authorities aren’t saying, but they haven’t charged him with anything and have released him from custody. They do say they aren’t sure what will happen to them next, but there is some speculation that Tim’s fears could come true—and that he and his daughter will end up separated.”
She looked into the camera, her expression serious and determined. “I’m Cassidy Shaw, reporting from deep inside Forest Park.”
LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL
January 8
The Lincoln High School auditorium looked like it had been decorated for the prom, not for a girl’s funeral. Bunches of purple balloons trailing purple crepe paper streamers hung from the walls. Nic remembered the Converses telling her that purple was Katie’s favorite color. The closed casket sitting on stage, however, was white and gold, draped in white roses.
When Wayne had told Nic about the plans for the funeral, he said, “Valerie chose not to see the body.”
She and Allison had tried to talk him out of viewing his daughter’s remains too, but Nic had heard that he had disregarded their advice.