The Girl and the Cursed Lake (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 12)

by A J Rivers

  “I don't know why they would,” she says. “Are you suggesting something?”

  I shake my head adamantly. “No. Not at all. I'm just trying to get a general idea of how many people were aware of that location, and how many different ways there were to access it. Thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  She starts away, and I stop her again, realizing I had only talked about Violet.

  “One more thing,” I say. “What about the other disappearances and murders? Can you tell me anything about them?”

  “Oh, I don't know anything about that,” she shrugs. “We were so caught up in my sons’ friends and activities and everything at that time, it's all sort of a blur. The summer of Violet's death changed a lot of things for us.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Laura leaves and I walk over to Detective Fitzgerald where he's sitting at one of the old picnic tables, staring out across the lake. I can't even imagine the thoughts going through his head.

  “Thank you for having her come here,” I tell him.

  “I hope she was helpful,” he says.

  “It sounds as if the two of you know each other well,” I say.

  “Not really,” the detective says. “I know of her, but only so far as talking to her about Violet’s disappearance. She was here a few times when I came back to investigate, but I only spoke to her a couple of times. She didn't have any information I could use.”

  “And her sons?" I ask.

  "What about them?"

  “I heard you never spoke to them," I say.

  “Honestly, I don't remember every single person I spoke to that day and in the months following. My team interviewed every person who was staying at the campground or was in the area that day. Only the ones who had information that seemed useful really stood out to me. Laura said both of her boys were in the search party with the officers; it just must be that they didn't have anything important to add. I think that she got very emotionally invested in the situation because she is so familiar with this area and it's so important to her.”

  “How about you?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's no secret that you were very emotionally invested in this case,” I say.

  “I still am,” he nods. “But I'm retired. There's not much I can do anymore but research and hope.”

  “Why this case?” I ask. “I know almost all of us in law enforcement have that one case that really sticks with us and affects us for a long time after it's over, or after we've stopped being a part of the investigation. Is this that one for you?”

  “I guess you could say it is,” the detective says. “It was hard on all of us who were involved in it. It's still hard on the guys who haven't retired. I know of several who take their free time every summer to come up here and watch over the campground and explore the woods, hoping they'll figure something out. But for me, there's a personal element to it. My granddaughter was kidnapped six months before Violet.”

  "From the park?" I ask.

  "No," he says, shaking his head. "She was at a grocery store with her mother. She was only three years old. There hasn't been a trace of her since. As you can imagine, I was still dealing with a lot of shock over that situation, and I'll admit working on Violet’s disappearance was extremely hard on me. I probably should have stepped back from it and not been a part of it, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I needed to fight for her the way I wanted to fight for my granddaughter.”

  “I have to be honest with you,” I say. “Dean didn't think you would be very open to my being here to investigate this case.”

  “Dean?” he frowns.

  I lock onto Dean’s eyes as he's sitting with Xavier and Ken Abbott. He comes over to me, and I gesture toward him.

  “I think you two have already met,” I say. “This is my cousin. Dean Steele.”

  “We have met,” the detective says, the bitterness in his voice telling me this isn't a happy reunion. “I had no idea he is your cousin.”

  “We didn't know we’re cousins, either, until fairly recently,” I say.

  The two men are glaring at each other, and I feel the pressure building up between them.

  “I didn't think I would see you around here again,” Detective Fitzgerald says.

  “I don't understand why not,” Dean replies. “I was just a witness who gave you information you could have used.”

  “Useless information,” the detective counters. “You know that as well as I do.” He turns his attention back to me. “I need to be going. I have the contact information for Violet’s parents if you'd like me to get in touch with them and ask them to meet with you. You could come down to the station and interview them.”

  “That would be fantastic,” I say. “I appreciate your help with this.”

  “We all have to be humble sometimes,” he says.

  His eyes slide over to Dean and hover there for a second before he walks away.

  “What the hell was that all about?” I ask once he's gone.

  “I told you he didn't believe me. Some of the other officers did, but never Fitzgerald. He was the first one to suggest I might have had something to do with Violet's death.”

  I don't like the way his voice shifted when he said that.

  “What's wrong, Dean?” I ask.

  He stares at me, and I can see thoughts moving around in his eyes. It's as though he's trying to figure out if he wants to say something.

  “How do I know where that cavern was?” he asks.

  I'm struck by the question. For a second the breath catches in my throat; I don't know if I should try to breathe it in again or push it out.

  “You were here,” I say. “You told me that. And you watched the investigation. At least part of it.”

  “My friends and I never went to that cavern,” he says. “I would remember being with them there.”

  “What are you saying, Dean?” I ask. He stares back at me without answering.

  The silence lasts for too long. Finally, I gesture over towards Xavier and Ken. “Let's go see what they're up to.”

  I don't like the way the conversation is sitting in my stomach, and I try to push it away as I walk over and sit next to Xavier.

  “What's going on?" I ask, feeling protective of Xavier.

  “We were talking about equipment,” Xavier says.

  “It's incredible what some of these things can capture,” Ken says. “Like the footage Elsie’s camera captured the night she disappeared. She heard singing. Nobody else was around here. The campground was emptier than it is right now. But in the background of her camera feed, there is very distinct singing. You can't hear the words, but there's a tune and the voice changes volume a couple of times. It's not a radio mechanical. This is a human voice singing.”

  “And you find that significant?” I ask.

  “It might be,” he shrugs.

  “You know what actually may be significant?” I ask. “There have been a few times now when I've heard you talk about a curse on this land, or how all of this doesn't revolve just around four years. What does that mean?”

  “The deaths in this park didn't start with Violet Montgomery,” he says.

  “Of course, they didn't,” I say. “Families lived on this mountain for hundreds of years.”

  “That's not what I'm talking about,” he shakes his head.

  “Dismal Creek,” Xavier chimes in.

  “Arrow Lake,” Dean corrects him.

  Xavier shakes his head. “No. Dismal Creek. It's an area of the park. Not much out there. But there are very famous hiking trails and shelters for hikers. Decades ago, two hikers were murdered in one of the hiking huts. The shooter was captured and put in prison. At the end of his sentence, he came right back to the park. He ended up shooting two more people. But they survived. He even told them a scary campfire story about himself before he did it. Which I find pretty impre
ssive. He's a reprehensible human being, but I give him credit for theatrical value.”

  “There's no lack of that around here,” I say, looking pointedly at Ken.

  “Say what you want about me,” he protests. “I didn't make up the stories of this area. Dismal Creek is one of them, but that's miles from here. I'm talking about right here at Arrow Lake. The deaths and the disappearances didn't start with Violet. Look into it. And tell me what you think about a curse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “How were none of those cases mentioned as possibly being linked to the rest of the Arrow Lake disappearances and murders?” Sam asks later that night as I sit in the small patch of floor where I found the best reception.

  “I mean, some of the links are pretty tangential. A lot of these people are either just suspected of being somewhere near Sherando Ridge, or there are other theories as to what might have happened to them. The ones who were definitely here were a little bit further away from the campground itself, or there are no conclusive dates as to when they disappeared. There were a few deaths that seem suspicious but could have also been animal attacks. It's not always easy to make links between cases.”

  “I know that,” Sam replies. “It just seems that if there was a pattern of this type of situation, they would be paying better attention. They would have traced other incidents.”

  “I agree,” I tell him. “And it seems they've started.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asks.

  “I talked to Detective Fitzgerald a little more after looking into these cases, and he let me know that the station just received a call from another family reporting that they believe their daughter might have been killed in the area.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently their daughter went missing five years ago, and there's been no sign of her. No word from her. When her mother heard about the investigation and the bag of bones, it reminded her that before her disappearance, her daughter talked about possibly coming here with her friends.”

  “But she didn't know if she actually disappeared from here?”

  “Apparently not,” I say. “According to the report, she went out with a cell phone and didn't come back. The police took the girl to be a runaway, but the parents don't think she ran away.”

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “That I have a lot more to look into,” I sigh. “Remember, those bones aren’t even proven to have actually existed. They were just talked about by a couple of paranormal investigators. No photographic evidence. They weren't on camera. As far as we know, they just made them up.”

  “But if they didn't…” Sam says.

  “Then, I don't know. It means somebody was out in the woods that night and moved them. But the question is, why were they there? Did whoever had them want them found? Or was moving them a frantic effort to cover them up?”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “The guy Adrian Slatton who was staying in the cabin next to the Montgomery house is going to be at the station. We're going to ask him about the photography project he did. Evidently, it had a lot to do with the history of the area. I want to know if he knows anything about all of these mysterious deaths. Then we get to talk to Carrie and Travis Montgomery. Violet's parents.”

  “Oh, wow," Sam whistles. “That's going to be a fun conversation.”

  “Somehow, I don't think so," I say.

  “I miss you,” he says.

  “I miss you, too. Are you going to be able to come up here?" I ask.

  "Hopefully I will in the next couple of days.”

  "Good. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Goodnight.”

  “We divorced four years ago,” Travis says.

  “Okay,” I nod. “Did that have to do with your daughter going missing?”

  “No,” he says. “Actually, the opposite. Carrie and I got so much closer after losing Violet. All we had left was each other, and we clung to that. I guess it just wasn't enough to sustain everything.”

  “I heard somebody else mention there was some tension between you two that summer. Can you remember why somebody would say that?” I ask.

  “That was early in our relationship,” he says. “We had a four-year-old child, but we hadn't actually been together even a year yet.”

  “I don't understand,” I say.

  “We had a one-night stand,” Travis says bluntly. “It wasn’t meant to be anything or go anywhere. I was leaving for a huge job opportunity when it happened. Don't get me wrong, Carrie was amazing then. She was beautiful and funny. We hit it off as soon as we met, and it was as if we had known each other forever. But we stayed friends. Then, right before I left, we were more than friends for one night. It was a great memory to take with me, but I figured that was it for Carrie and me. Until I came back to town and discovered she and I had a daughter.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That would be quite the shock. And I imagine would put a lot of pressure on a relationship that was still new, in the greater scheme of things.”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “It's as though we were trying to figure out who each other was, within not only our relationship but with our daughter. Sometimes it seemed as if Carrie was almost jealous of the time I spent with Violet.”

  “And were you jealous of her, too?”

  “Yeah, in a way, I guess I was. It's not as if I could really be mad at her for not telling me she was pregnant. Again, we weren't in a relationship. No matter how it seemed, we barely knew each other. We’d only been friends for a couple of months, and she didn't know how to get in touch with me. And I didn't get in touch with her. I couldn't really be all that angry. But it still bothered me to find out that I not only had a daughter, but that she was four years old. I had missed everything. And I was determined not to miss anything else.”

  “What can you remember about that day?” I ask. “Anything that stands out to you? Any detail that might have popped into your mind over the years that could turn around how we see the situation?”

  “I don't know,” Travis says. “I've gone over this story a thousand times before. We had breakfast pretty early. I remember we had oatmeal because that was something I used to cook over a fire when I camped when I was younger. I tried to put strawberries in Violet’s, but I found out she was allergic to them. It upset me that I didn't even know something like that about my own daughter. So, that might have been some of the tension that people said they noticed.”

  “Okay,” I note. “It's a good start. What else? What did you do after breakfast?”

  “Violet wanted to get in the water. So, we got in our suits and went down to the lake. We canoed for a little bit, then we swam. Then it was time for lunch, so we went back up to the cabin and changed clothes. This is where the stories diverge. I thought Carrie had Violet with her and was going to rinse her off, but Carrie said she thought Violet was with me, getting things ready to cook lunch.”

  “When was the last time you are absolutely sure you saw your daughter?” I ask.

  “Going into the cabin after we swam,” he says.

  “And did you hear anything?”

  “You mean the scream?” Travis asks. He shakes his head. “I didn't hear that.”

  “You were outside, and you didn't hear a scream?” I ask.

  “That's right,” he says.

  “Okay. Thank you for your time. If I have any other questions, do you mind if I get in touch with you?”

  “Of course, not,” he says. “I've been waiting sixteen years to find out who took my daughter from me. I'll do anything I can to help. Just as I always have.”

  “Thank you,” I say again.

  I want my interview with Carrie to do something more for me, but it doesn't. She seems more hurt by the divorce than Travis does, but what she shares with me about Violet’s disappearance lines right up with what her ex said.

  Just like him, she isn't theatrical. She doesn't go into any crazy theories or try to justify any of her actions. She's o
bviously upset, still shattered over the loss of her little girl, but she seems to have let go of the anger. As Travis offered, she says I can call her again if I have more questions to ask, and expresses how deeply she wants a resolution so she can move on.

  I leave the conference room and meet up with Dean and Xavier outside the police station.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  “The project was pretty incredible,” Dean admits. “It showed a ton of the park and told the history of the people who were there. It also touched on some of the deaths and mysteries surrounding the park.”

  “That seems fairly morbid for somebody to do right after a little girl died,” I say. “Didn't Adrian say he was there at the park working on that project?”

  “He was,” Dean says. “But they had planned it long before anything happened to her. They worked with a local historian who showed him around. He has photos of all kinds of areas around the park, including some of the old homesteads and graves.”

  “That is pretty impressive,” I admit. “But nothing else? He didn't have anything else to add?”

  “We didn't actually get to talk to him,” Dean says. “He wasn't in town. But he's made statement after statement over the years and they've all been consistent.”

  “Well,” I say on a heavy exhale. “I'm exhausted. Let's go grab something to eat.”

  “I think I'm just going to go back to the cabin,” Dean says.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Come talk to me when you get there.”

  I find Dean in what used to be at the office area of the ranger's house. He has papers spread out in front of him, and I notice he's holding his journal.

  "Hey," I say, walking into the office.

  "Where's Xavier?" he asks.

  "Playing with his paranormal toys again," I joke. "He's fine. What's going on? What are you looking at?"

  "The case files," he says.

  "Did you find anything?" I ask.

  He nods.

  "I was there."

  "I know," I say. "You were a witness and almost a victim."