Girl, 11

by Amy Suiter Clarke

  New York was beyond anything he could have imagined, despite watching every movie and TV show set in the city that he could get his hands on. Nothing prepared him for the noise, for the constant light, for the lack of space or privacy. He shared a studio apartment with three other young men, contributing cash to the bowl for shared groceries for several weeks until he realized he was the only one doing so. After that, he bought his own instant noodles, which he hid under his mattress to keep them from the others’ sticky fingers, and fresh vegetables, which everyone else seemed to leave alone.

  DJ worked several odd jobs, lying about his age to get cash in hand as a bartender at night and carrying parcels on a messenger bike by day. Living with his nightmare roommates and saving every extra cent paid off when his acceptance letter finally arrived eighteen months later—he was going to Harvard, with just enough money in his account for the first year’s tuition and board. He left the apartment without notice, taking nothing but a duffel bag with his best clothes.

  Harvard was another new world. After nearly two years of being surrounded by cheap beer, marijuana smoke, and strung-out slackers, the academic community was like a salve that soothed a persistent itch. There were people who had the same passion for numbers that he did. People who knew equations and formulas he’d never heard of. Philosophy professors who would not deride his references to religion, but instead engaged him on them.

  After excelling in his first year, he qualified for scholarships and was able to drop to three work shifts a week. Every semester, he posted his perfect grades to Josiah. It was the only communication between them. DJ never received a response.

  He was well into his second year at Harvard when he met Loretta. She was doing the same degree as he, a joint concentration in math and physics—one of the few women doing so in 1990. DJ had never had much luck with women, having grown up in a house with only males and attending an all-boys Catholic school. The few times he’d allowed himself to be dragged out to a club in New York, his roommates had scoffed at his inability to score. He never drank, never tried to pick up women—simply watched as his roommates made fools of themselves on the prowl, bolstered by the liquor running through their veins. When they brought their conquests home, he lay in bed awake, listening to them move and groan in the dark of their apartment.

  But Loretta was different. As her name suggested, she had grown up old-fashioned, in a house with values and morals. She wore high-collared shirts buttoned to the top, skirts below the knee, and thick-heeled plain black shoes. Her reddish-brown hair fell around slender shoulders, thick bangs framing her blue eyes. The most intimidating thing about her was her brain, and DJ knew he was a match for it. So, he asked her to dinner one night, ready to blow his whole week’s worth of food budget to take her to the nicest restaurant within walking distance of the campus.

  He met her at her dorm and held his breath when she walked out the door. A pale pink blouse floated around her thin frame, her long black skirt swishing against her calves. She had her hair pinned back, exposing her neck and just the edge of her collarbone. She looked stunning, prepared, innocent—all for him. DJ held out his arm like he’d seen men do in movies, and Loretta linked hers through it with a shy smile.

  The dinner passed with an animated discussion about their classes and classmates, debates about the merits of string theory, and the necessary overview of their individual histories—which for DJ’s part, was heavily edited. By the time he walked her home, he was convinced she was the One.

  They began spending every spare moment together, preparing for exams and quizzing each other with flash cards. After a few months, he convinced her to quit her job at one of the college cafés so they could have more time together. That gave them several more hours each week, outside of classes and DJ’s after-hours security job on campus.

  By the time they entered their third year at Harvard, DJ was saving for a modest ring and looking for a place for them to live together. He sat down one night in October and wrote a letter to his father, the first in a long time. Fueled by half a bottle of scotch, he laid out all the ways Josiah had wronged him, everything DJ had done to prove himself. He told his father he had found a woman who loved him, a woman who was smart and pure and beautiful. Then he selected two photos to send with it: one of him and Loretta together, and another of just her—a yearbook photo that highlighted her gorgeous features and soft eyes.

  When she visited him for their date the next day, DJ left her for a moment to retrieve his coat, and when he turned around, she was standing by his desk with his letter in her hand.

  “What is this?” she asked, turning to him.

  “It’s nothing! What are you doing reading my private letters?”

  She drew back as if slapped, glaring at him. “I saw my picture, so I looked to see why it was there. Your letter was so . . . mean, DJ. I’ve never known you to be so cruel.”

  He took a step toward her, getting close enough to see the tiny muscles around her lips tremble. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea what my life has been like. Now, let’s go.”

  But instead of going with him to the movies as planned, Loretta whirled around on her short heel and stalked out of his apartment.

  It was the biggest fight they’d ever had. His friends advised him to let her cool off and she would come to him, but after three days, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He went to her dorm with a dozen roses and told her he’d thrown away the letter, which wasn’t completely true. He had “thrown” it in the mailbox. Eventually, she relented and let him inside.

  Their relationship changed after that. When he saw her, DJ’s stomach dipped and rolled, but not from infatuation the way it had when they first met. Now it was pure anxiety. He found himself following her on campus, hiding behind trees and buildings to observe the way she interacted with other men. Was she being unfaithful? Why did she look at him that way? Was she getting ready to leave him? He tried to talk to her about it, but when he told her he felt that things had changed between them, she dismissed it.

  Like him, Loretta was planning to go to graduate school and was researching programs at the same time as doing her coursework. She started to put off dates, claiming to be swamped with assignments. Every time he asked which universities she was looking at for grad study, she avoided the question. DJ could see her whole life formulating in front of her, and he was becoming less and less sure that he would be a part of it.

  On Loretta’s twenty-first birthday, DJ stood outside a restaurant on the Charles River that her parents had booked for the celebration, with sweat trickling between his shoulder blades and the lump of a ring box in his pocket. Through the glass, golden light illuminated thirty or so people milling about with drinks in hand. Serving staff weaved between them, balancing trays laden with finger food. Loretta’s mother had organized everything, but DJ had advised on her favorite foods. Apparently, her tastes had changed since she left her parents’ home in South Boston nearly four years before, and he was proud that he knew things about their daughter that they did not.

  With a swipe across his upper lip to clear away the sweat, DJ reached out and opened the restaurant door. Loretta greeted him in a vivid red dress. It was so unlike her, so much more alluring than her usual clothing, that the air left his lungs for a moment.

  “New dress?” he murmured, placing a kiss on her cheek.

  “Yes, you like it?” Her fingers pressed into his shoulder as they embraced.

  “It’s a bit . . . much,” he said, before he could think better of it. Loretta blinked, stunned, and then he was swept away by her father.

  “Does she know?” Loretta’s father asked. He’d given DJ permission to ask for his daughter’s hand only two days ago, on the condition that he would support whatever graduate school she chose to attend. DJ had been nervous asking, not just for the obvious reasons but because he suspected Loretta had been planning to break up with him. Obviously, she hadn’t expressed any such plans to her parents—a
fact which made him wonder if he was imagining her distance in recent weeks.

  DJ shook his head. “It’s a surprise. I was thinking I would ask her when the cake is served, after we’ve all sung but before she blows out the candles. I want a photograph of the light dancing in her eyes when she says yes.”

  Loretta’s father chuckled. “You really are something, aren’t you?”

  Not knowing whether that was a compliment or an insult, DJ could only nod. “Sir.”

  The next hour passed in a blur of food, wine, and pointless conversation. Every single member of Loretta’s family who lived within a hundred miles seemed to have come out for her birthday, and he spoke to each of them. They were to be his family soon too, so it was just as well they got to know him.

  Then, at last, his moment arrived, and suddenly DJ felt like he was unprepared. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Loretta since she’d walked away hurt by his comment on her dress, and now he was unsure whether she would welcome a proposal when they were in the middle of a tiff. Although, what better way to say I’m sorry than with a diamond engagement ring, however quaint the stone might be? DJ threw his shoulders back, straightening up as the cake was wheeled out. It was a six-layer masterpiece, and Loretta’s mother looked even more excited than her daughter as the group of partygoers began to sing.

  When the song was done and Loretta stepped up to blow out the candles, DJ raised his wineglass with a trembling hand and tapped his fork on the side, drawing everyone’s attention. Loretta paused and turned to look at him, her expression unreadable.

  Every eye in the room on him, DJ cleared his throat. This was the largest group of people he’d ever spoken to, outside of presentations in class, and it occurred to him that he should have prepared note cards. Or would that have been too impersonal? No matter—it was too late now.

  “Hello, everyone. Um, as you may know, I’m DJ, Loretta’s boyfriend.” After his eyes swept the crowd, he looked back at Loretta again. Her cheeks were flaming red. She didn’t like being the center of attention any more than he did. “Um, I met Loretta outside our quantum mechanics class over a year and a half ago, and I knew there was something special about her.” The audience murmured pleasantly, spurring DJ on. “I’ve never met someone before who seems to understand the way my mind works, and who so deeply engages with the things that interest me too. Loretta is pure and wholesome from the inside out, and I’m lucky to call her my girl.”

  He paused and looked at her again. Her eyes glowed like dark embers in the candlelight.

  “Loretta, I knew from the moment I met you that I would be a fool to let you get away. We spend every moment we can spare together, but for me, it’s still not enough.” DJ put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ring box.

  A few gasps and scattered squeals of delight echoed around the room. Loretta’s lips parted as DJ crossed the floor to stand in front of her, and then dropped to one knee.

  “Loretta, will you marry me?” He opened the box and held it up to her, a humble offering.

  For a moment, her mouth stayed open in shock. It’s okay, he thought. This just caught her off guard. Could it be she didn’t want a public proposal? He pushed that thought away. Women loved big romantic gestures, and besides, he wanted everyone to know how much he loved her, how proud he was to be with her.

  Then Loretta bit her bottom lip, and he realized tears had gathered in her eyes. Tears of sadness, not excitement. DJ’s stomach dropped, as if yanked by a new gravitational force.

  “DJ, I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes darted around the room, looking at all the people gathered behind him. DJ felt their eyes burning into his back, felt the pain of their embarrassment for him, the same way he’d felt it from his friends when his father showed up to school drunk and screamed for him until he came outside. “I . . . I don’t think we should get married.”

  The hand holding the ring box slowly sank until it rested by his side. Unable to meet her gaze, he looked at the ground. “W—why? I thought we were happy.”

  “Can we talk about this outside?”

  Rage welled up in his chest, giving him the energy to face her. “Outside? You didn’t seem to mind humiliating me in front of everyone; why take me outside now?”

  Loretta’s chin lifted in that defiant way it always did when they argued, and the light from the almost melted candles danced across her cheeks. “Fine! You want to know why I don’t want to marry you? Because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being another accomplishment of yours. You don’t think I know how you talk about me to your friends? In your letters to your father? Like I’m some prize you won. ‘Smart, pure, and beautiful’—like I’m a figurine of a person, not a real woman. But I am real, and I’m more than just a trophy for your wall.”

  “I never thought of you that way!” he protested, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders. He was rougher than he intended, and Loretta cried out, backing away from him with an emotion he’d never seen in her eyes before: fear. Then her father was there, along with her brother and several other male friends, pushing him away and out the door. In a haze of shouts and clumsy shoves, DJ was deposited on the sidewalk on his hands and knees.

  After catching his breath, he sat back on his haunches and looked at the ring box still in his hand. He lifted his eyes to see through the windows, watching as Loretta’s family and friends surrounded her crying form, offering her hugs and cake and drinks. Then he tilted his head back and screamed.

  30

  Elle

  January 18, 2020

  It didn’t take much convincing to get Mitchell University’s weekend security team to confirm they knew a janitor named Eduardo Mendez. They gave Sam a phone number and he called it several times, but there was no answer. Sam left a few voicemails, but Elle wasn’t holding her breath that they would hear back. Eduardo was supposed to start his shift at six that evening, so they agreed to kill a few hours until they could pay him a visit.

  Rather than driving across town to get back to the station, Elle suggested they set up shop in a diner while they waited. She was relieved when Sam agreed, although Ayaan could call him at any moment to check in and realize what Elle was doing. Once they settled in a booth with two black coffees, Sam pulled his laptop out and started looking into Eduardo’s background—low-level criminal record, mostly petty crimes and a few misdemeanor robberies—but he’d avoided trouble for the last six months, at least.

  After a while, Sam pushed his stuff to the side and they ordered an early dinner. Grief and guilt turned Elle’s stomach when she thought about Natalie, but she picked at her sandwich anyway. It was the first thing she’d eaten since the day before.

  She was halfway through her food when Sam set his fork down, spine straightening. “Leo Toca was a janitor at Mitchell University.”

  “Wha—?” Elle asked around a mouthful of turkey club.

  “Leo Toca. I knew there was a reason that job sounded familiar. He and Eduardo must have worked together.”

  Elle wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin and picked up her phone. “That’s right, I remember seeing that when I was looking at Leo’s social media.” She went to his profile, turning the screen to show Sam. “He and Eduardo are Facebook friends.”

  “Maybe that’s why Eduardo knew to bring the van to Duane’s shop.”

  “Maybe.” Elle studied his profile picture—a young Latino man with a soft smile and glittering brown eyes, laughing at the camera with one hand out, like he was trying to stop the photographer from capturing the moment.

  Sam took a long drink of coffee. “So, you think Eduardo is the guy who took Amanda?”

  Elle shook her head. “He doesn’t fit the description, if he looks anything like his Facebook photo. If nothing else, Danika said the man was pale, and Eduardo has medium-brown skin. And it doesn’t look like he’s bald. But if that van he brought in was used to abduct Amanda, then he has to know something about it. And if he knows Leo, maybe he has information on who might have kil
led him.”

  “Even more reason to visit him, then,” Sam said, shoving the last bite of food in his mouth.

  “Definitely.” Elle stared out the window, trying to think about what the connection between the two cases might mean. It wasn’t just a possible tie between Amanda’s kidnapping and the chop shop—Leo himself might have known the guy who brought the van in. But he was already dead before Amanda was kidnapped. As much as she hated coincidences, this might just be one.

  She tried to focus, make the pieces form together in her head, but something kept bothering her. Finally, she asked, “Hey, Sam? What made you change your mind? About me?”

  His full lips pursed in thought, and then one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “I listened to your podcast.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Even though she had thousands of listeners, it embarrassed her to know that this detective was one of them. It felt intimate.

  “You have good instincts. You ask good questions. And it seems like you actually are helping people. Ayaan is the best commander in the precinct. Don’t tell my commander I said that. But if she trusts you, then I guess I trust you too.”

  Shame heated Elle’s face and snatched the breath from her chest. After a moment, all she could mumble was, “Thanks.” His respect felt good, but it wouldn’t last. Soon enough, he would find out that Ayaan had kicked her off the case. He would know she lied, even if it was just a lie of omission, and he would look back on this moment as a betrayal.

  Unless . . . unless they could come up with a lead big enough to make it all worth it. She was the one who had realized the van was headed for Duane’s shop, after all.

  After the darkness descended outside, they got back in Sam’s vehicle and drove toward Mitchell. Red brake lights lit up Elle’s face as cars inched by, threading through the city streets. People passed them on the sidewalks, hustling in tight, quick strides with their coats zipped to the throat. A horn beeped, and the sound of a young woman’s laughter pierced the night. Elle glanced down the block at a line of young people waiting for a theater to open its doors, no doubt after rush seats for the seven o’clock show. Even on the coldest weekends, Minneapolis had an active night life. It was impossible not to think about Beverly Anderson, leaving her friends behind on a night like this twenty-four years ago. The man responsible for ending her life was still free.