Edmond and Susan returned to the Internet café. He started looking for information about the owners of Poppengale Manufacturing. The owners were Robert and Mary Poppengale, and they had lived in the Portland area for a long time. They still owned several properties nearby, even though they spent most of their time in Singapore now.
Edmond went to the Multnomah County tax assessors website, and started searching for properties belonging to one or both Poppengales. Most of these properties were either in Portland itself, or in nearby suburbs, like Beaverton, but none of them seemed to be likely places to hold a kidnap victim. It was much too risky. How would Mark explain Lena to the neighbors, if they happened to see him carry or drag her into the house? He couldn’t chance being spotted bringing her into whatever building where he was keeping her; he would need a location with a certain amount of isolation.
Edmond expanded his search, and started searching neighboring counties. In Clackamas County, he spotted a cabin near Mount Hood. That seemed perfect. He pointed it out to Susan. “I’m not sure I have enough gas to make it that far,” she intoned. The sound of her voice made it clear that she was anxious to go check it out, but she was legitimately afraid of becoming stranded.
“I’ll buy you some gas,” Edmond answered. Susan nodded, and Edmond typed the address into Mapquest. Once Mapquest calculated the directions, they printed them out, and they left.
At the gas station, Edmond whistled. “Since when does gasoline cost that much?” Susan glanced at the sign, and then back at Edmond with a puzzled look on her face.
“What do you mean? Is gas less than $4.47.9 in Chicago?”
Edmond looked at her for a long time. “Maybe not. I don’t know for sure. The last time I bought gas, I paid $1.36.9.”
It was Susan’s turn to stare. “That must have been a long time ago.”
Edmond nodded. “Seems like a lifetime ago,” he said softly, looking back at the sign in amazement. He tried not to get caught up in nostalgia; the last time he bought gas was just a few hours before the accident. Everything in his life had changed that day.
Soon they were on I-84 headed east. Following the directions, they exited the Interstate, and followed state route 35 south, and eventually came to a local blacktop, which led to a winding lane, and then a dirt road. “There are no tire marks on the dirt road,” Edmond pointed out.
“Maybe he came a different way.”
“Why? because he was afraid of leaving tire marks?” Edmond shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Still, we’ve come this far, we should go ahead and check it out.” Susan turned onto the dirt road, and they continued on until they reached the cabin, but, as Edmond had expected, the cabin showed no signs of being lived in, or even having been visited in recent history. “It must be nice to be able to afford to pay property taxes on buildings that you never use,” Edmond growled, frustration evident on his face.
“So, this is a dead end.” Susan half asked.
Edmond nodded. “For us it is, anyway. I’m afraid we need to go back, and check other counties.” Susan turned the car around, and retraced her car’s tire marks back to the lane.
Edmond went to the Multnomah County tax assessors website, and started searching for properties belonging to one or both Poppengales. Most of these properties were either in Portland itself, or in nearby suburbs, like Beaverton, but none of them seemed to be likely places to hold a kidnap victim. It was much too risky. How would Mark explain Lena to the neighbors, if they happened to see him carry or drag her into the house? He couldn’t chance being spotted bringing her into whatever building where he was keeping her; he would need a location with a certain amount of isolation.
Edmond expanded his search, and started searching neighboring counties. In Clackamas County, he spotted a cabin near Mount Hood. That seemed perfect. He pointed it out to Susan. “I’m not sure I have enough gas to make it that far,” she intoned. The sound of her voice made it clear that she was anxious to go check it out, but she was legitimately afraid of becoming stranded.
“I’ll buy you some gas,” Edmond answered. Susan nodded, and Edmond typed the address into Mapquest. Once Mapquest calculated the directions, they printed them out, and they left.
At the gas station, Edmond whistled. “Since when does gasoline cost that much?” Susan glanced at the sign, and then back at Edmond with a puzzled look on her face.
“What do you mean? Is gas less than $4.47.9 in Chicago?”
Edmond looked at her for a long time. “Maybe not. I don’t know for sure. The last time I bought gas, I paid $1.36.9.”
It was Susan’s turn to stare. “That must have been a long time ago.”
Edmond nodded. “Seems like a lifetime ago,” he said softly, looking back at the sign in amazement. He tried not to get caught up in nostalgia; the last time he bought gas was just a few hours before the accident. Everything in his life had changed that day.
Soon they were on I-84 headed east. Following the directions, they exited the Interstate, and followed state route 35 south, and eventually came to a local blacktop, which led to a winding lane, and then a dirt road. “There are no tire marks on the dirt road,” Edmond pointed out.
“Maybe he came a different way.”
“Why? because he was afraid of leaving tire marks?” Edmond shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Still, we’ve come this far, we should go ahead and check it out.” Susan turned onto the dirt road, and they continued on until they reached the cabin, but, as Edmond had expected, the cabin showed no signs of being lived in, or even having been visited in recent history. “It must be nice to be able to afford to pay property taxes on buildings that you never use,” Edmond growled, frustration evident on his face.
“So, this is a dead end.” Susan half asked.
Edmond nodded. “For us it is, anyway. I’m afraid we need to go back, and check other counties.” Susan turned the car around, and retraced her car’s tire marks back to the lane.
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