Next Girl to Die

by Dea Poirier

  “No, it’s fine.”

  I nod and open my notepad. “How often did Madeline sneak out?”

  She chews her lip. “Almost every night. She’s been doing it for a couple years, since Mom left.” Tears well in her eyes as she looks down. “For a while, after she started, it scared me so bad. I thought she was going to leave me, just like Mom did.”

  “Why? What was she doing?”

  “I don’t know; meeting friends, I guess.” There’s an edge to her voice. She clearly wishes she had known what Madeline had been up to.

  “So you never followed her?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m afraid of heights, and Dad would have killed me if he knew.”

  “Was she dating anyone?”

  She nods. “She had a boyfriend. I don’t know who it was, though. But I heard them talking. She’d talk to someone before she snuck out.”

  “What made you think it was a boyfriend?”

  “She’d always say she loved him before hanging up.”

  I note that. I’ll need to talk to Madeline’s friends to figure out who she was seeing. It takes me a few minutes to wrap up with Allie and get a list of Madeline’s other friends for questioning. As I head out of the house and back toward downtown, I email the list of friends to Jason so he can get started on setting up interviews.

  The sun flickers between the branches as I walk down Main Street, dotting the ground in front of me in dancing rays of light. My stomach growls in protest. I should have eaten breakfast, but this is going to be the kind of day with little reprieve. I’ll grab a muffin, check in about the security footage, and then see if Sergeant Michaels has made any headway with the cell phone.

  There are only a few people downtown, and they’re staring toward the park. I shouldn’t be surprised. Rumors ripple here, spreading faster than the plague. Word of Madeline’s death has likely spread through the entire town already. Everyone in line at the post office turns to look at me as I pass, and I still feel the burn of their eyes as I make my second appearance of the day at the café.

  “Hi, Detective Calderwood,” Morgan chirps from behind the counter.

  I’m not sure if the coffee is keeping her chipper or if she’s always this way. Seeing how I’ve made myself this new friend, I may as well use it to my advantage.

  “What can I get you?” she asks as she leans her hip against the counter.

  “Coffee and a muffin, and I was hoping you had that security footage for me.”

  “Yep, I’ve got it in the back for you.” She pours coffee into a paper cup for me. “What kind of muffin, Detective?”

  “Apple. And it’s Claire, please.” Unless I’m formally interviewing someone, I hate feeling like I’m lording my title over them. I want her to see me as a regular person, as someone she’d normally talk to in this town—otherwise, I might not be able to get information out of her.

  She passes me the coffee and a small paper bag. I lean against the counter, picking bits off the top of the muffin. For a moment, she disappears into the back, and then she reappears with several SD cards in her hand.

  “Thank you. I appreciate you getting these to me so quickly,” I say as she passes them across the counter.

  “No problem. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “Can you get me the footage from the night Emma died as well?”

  “I can.” She hesitates. “I think she’s got the backup of those off-site, so it might take a couple days.”

  “That’s great. The sooner the better, but I understand that it could take time.”

  I grab my coffee, say my thanks to Morgan, and head out of the café.

  “Hey, Claire,” Noah calls. He’s two shops down, walking in my direction. His worn leather jacket is open, showing a faded T-shirt beneath. His dirty-blond hair is shaggy and half in his eyes. There’s a frigid wind whipping through the streets, and I feel like he must be freezing with the way he’s dressed.

  “Noah.” I offer him a tight-lipped smile. After this morning, I have no desire to be cordial.

  “Rough morning?” he asks.

  Made longer by you, I want to snap, but instead I clench my jaw. “Rough, long morning,” I say, sipping my coffee.

  “Can I buy you a refill?” he offers with a charming smile.

  “No, thanks.” I take a few steps toward the station, hoping Noah will continue on his way, but he follows.

  “Detective,” he says, making me turn toward him again. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and looks down. “So can I get a comment about what happened?”

  A smile born of frustration blooms on my lips, because I knew this was coming. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation. We’re following up on leads. If anyone has information, we ask that they come forward and talk to the police,” I say as I start to walk again.

  “Can you give me anything off the record?” he asks as he catches up to me. His arm circles mine, pulling on me to slow my pace. I wrench my arm from his and take a step back, creating a distinct space between us. My heart pounds as I glower at him.

  “Noah, you know I can’t make a comment on or off the record about an ongoing investigation.” I’m starting to sound like a broken record. My words are harsher than they need to be, but right now I don’t care.

  “Maybe Mayor Clark will see the importance of this investigation now,” he says in a way that makes a warning bloom in the back of my mind.

  Did he have something to do with this? Did he do something so that the mayor would take the investigation into Emma’s death more seriously?

  “Where were you last night?” I ask without skipping a beat.

  He furrows his brows and rocks back on his heels. “Okay, I can see how that sounded. That’s not what I meant. It’s not like I wanted her dead.”

  “I’m hearing a lot of things, and none of them are the answer to my question.”

  He maintains eye contact and says, “I was in my hotel room all night.”

  At least that’s a good sign. That’s something I can easily confirm.

  “After you figure out that I’m not involved in this, do you want to grab lunch?” he asks. “No work-related questions.”

  “I’m all set, Noah.” Thankfully when I turn this time, he doesn’t follow. I huddle beneath my coat as I close the distance between me and the station.

  When I walk through the doors of the station, the air is thick with the aroma of coffee. I pass through the bull pen toward Jason’s desk, where he’s got several folders open on top, taking up the majority of the desktop. For a couple of minutes I check in with him about the interviews, adding a few more names to his list. I know it’ll take him a while to get through everyone, since Madeline was friends with nearly every kid at the high school. Then I move over to Vince to ask him to check on Noah’s alibi.

  I close the door to my office and pop the first SD card into the slot, and the computer chimes in response. The footage appears on the screen, and my heart races. The shot of downtown isn’t great; it’s a bit grainy, the contrast too high, like an old black-and-white movie. I eye the progress bar. It starts at midnight the night before I assume Madeline was killed. I fast-forward through the day. I slow down when it’s just after seven p.m. The sun sets, and slowly everyone trickles out of downtown. A few cars parked on the sides of Main Street roll away. For a few hours, it’s nearly abandoned. But around nine p.m., a group of fishermen head to the bar, leaving an hour later. It isn’t until midnight that I see anyone again.

  A woman with a slender build walks down the street, sticking to the shadows. Though I strain my eyes against the darkness on the screen, I can’t make out her face. I’ll need one of the guys to glance at it—maybe they’ll recognize her. Not long after the woman passes the camera, she heads back in the opposite direction. Paul, the mayor’s brother, passes at 12:45 a.m. and a teenage boy with long dark hair about twenty minutes after that. But neither of them ever passes by again. A dark car rolls down Main Street just a
s my rental car trundles past. I remember this car; at the time I thought it looked similar to my mother’s. But what would my mother be doing downtown around one a.m.? I make a note to have one of the guys check who owns Jags on the island.

  I peek my head out the door and call Sergeant Michaels over.

  “Do you recognize this woman or this kid?” I show him the footage.

  He squints at the screen. “That’s Margo Lane, I’m pretty sure. And that’s definitely Ryder Warren.”

  “They were both downtown around the time Madeline was killed, along with Paul Clark.”

  He furrows his brows at that. “I don’t know what Margo was doing downtown. As far as I know, she never really leaves the house anymore. I’m not surprised Ryder was there, though. From time to time on patrol we pick up teens who are lingering downtown. The guys have driven him home a few times.”

  “Who was on patrol last night?”

  “Vince. But he didn’t end up spending much time downtown. There’ve been a couple break-ins near Calderwood Neck. He was there trying to see if he could find out who’s been causing problems.” He shakes his head and crosses his arms. “After Emma, I should have just had him stay near the park.”

  Calderwood Neck is in the northernmost part of the island, as far from downtown as you can get. My ancestors lived on that section of the island with the Carver family, or so I’m told. There’s also a Calderwood Point, and many other parts of the island are named after the founding families. When we studied local geography in elementary school, I always got singled out because two parts of the island were named after my family—while the other founding families had one.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You couldn’t have known that was going to happen again.”

  “You better believe it’s not happening again this time, though. Allen, Vince, and Marshall are going to be switching off staking out the park.”

  If this is a serial killer, which my gut tells me it might be, staking out the park isn’t going to scare them off. They’ll just start dropping bodies somewhere else on the island. There are plenty of secluded places a killer could choose.

  Jason pops his head around the door and warns me that two of Madeline’s friends are stopping by for interviews soon. That’s faster than I expected. I finish up with Sergeant Michaels and meet Jenna Arey in the interrogation room. I’d just interview her in my office, but it’s not set up for recording.

  On my way to the interrogation room, I stop back by Vince’s desk. I’ve already piled enough on Jason as it is.

  “Claire,” he says when I approach, his white mustache quirking with what I imagine is a smile underneath.

  “After you check on that alibi—”

  “I already called. They verified that he was there. They never saw him leave,” he says.

  I nod. “Thank you. Could you also check for me to see who on the island owns a Jaguar?”

  “Of course. I’ll have a list for you by tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I continue through the bull pen to find Jenna.

  Jenna’s face is blank. She’s still got the dead-eyed stare of shock, her green irises practically drowning in white. Her long brown hair, nearly blonde toward the ends, is messy and falling half in her face. She’s built small for her age, making her look a few years younger than Madeline and Emma.

  “Thanks for coming in so quickly, Jenna. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She crosses her arms on top of the metal table in front of her. She doesn’t say anything but just nods instead.

  “How close were you to Emma and Madeline?”

  “We were really close. We all went to church together. We were in the choir group. There were six of us.”

  “What can you tell me about them?”

  “Emma had some issues, but she was super nice. She was always willing to help. She volunteered with Madeline at the hospital all the time.”

  “Did you ever volunteer with Madeline at the hospital?” I ask and take a sip of my coffee.

  She shakes her head, and her eyes tighten. “I can’t do blood. It makes me pass out. Hospitals give me the creeps.” Her lips twist for a moment, and she drops her voice. “I know helping people is the right thing to do, but I just hate sick people.”

  “Are there any other people that you can think of that Emma and Madeline both spent time with together? Was there anywhere the two of them went together often?”

  She stares at her hands for a long time before she says a word. “I mean, there were lots of people at school. Our other friends. But not, like, anyone outside of that group, that I can think of.” Her teeth graze against her bottom lip, then dig into the flesh there. “I just can’t believe they’re dead. I keep thinking one of them is going to text me.”

  “I know how tough it is. It’s a huge shock to lose someone. Especially when you’re very close.”

  She looks down and sniffles. I can tell she needs a moment, so I take the opportunity to write down some notes. When it seems like she’s ready again, I ask, “Was Madeline dating anyone?”

  She shrugs. “No, not that I know of. Emma and I thought maybe she was going out with someone, though.”

  “Why did you both think that?”

  “She was missing church occasionally.” She bites her lip again. “We’d all sneak out sometimes, and she just kept coming up with more and more reasons that she couldn’t meet with us. But it’s not like she’d gotten in trouble or anything.”

  “So during those times that she wasn’t with you while you were sneaking out, what did you and Emma think she was doing?” I can connect the dots just fine, but I need her to say it. I don’t want to put words in her mouth.

  “We thought she was meeting up with a guy and ditching us. She did it before when she dated Blake Smith last year. After they broke up, though, she swore she’d never be like that again.”

  “Did she tell you when she was dating Blake or only after they’d broken up?”

  “She told us while they were dating.”

  “Is there anyone you can think of that she’d date but keep a secret?” There has to be a connection here. If she was secretly dating someone, her friends would have suspicions about who it could be. Everyone’s favorite pastime on this island is speculating.

  “We thought maybe it was Liam. They’d always been weird together. But Liam said he doesn’t swing that way. The only other thing we thought is that she was dating a fisherman or something because she was at the docks a lot, and she always said how much she liked older guys.”

  I’m not sure this path is going to take me anywhere. If Madeline was at the docks a lot, though, I’ll be looking into why that was. Was Madeline sending me in the wrong direction by claiming Emma was going to the docks? The docks have always had a dangerous allure for teens. There’s a long tradition of fishermen providing teens with contraband. As long as it’s not hard drugs, I’m not going to bust them for it. We’ve had a couple of mayors try to crack down on it, but it never goes anywhere. So far, it’s been one of those things that the town lets slide. Their black market trade brings in money but not much of the crime you’d normally expect. “Was there anyone at school, anyone at church that Madeline or Emma had trouble with? Fights with anyone?”

  She shakes her head. “Honestly, no. I don’t know anyone who didn’t love Madeline. Emma had a few problems with Ashley and Tara. The three of them have always hated each other, though.” Based on the strength it’d take to strangle Madeline and Emma, along with the size of the handprints on their necks, it’s highly unlikely a teenage girl did this. I jot down the names all the same.

  “Is there anything else you think I should know?”

  Her eyes well with tears unexpectedly. I nudge a box of tissues toward her. She refuses to take one. “No matter what people say about them, they didn’t deserve this.”

  I raise a brow at that. “What people say about them? What do you mean?” All I’ve heard are mostly good things about Emma and Madeline,
how much everyone liked them.

  She shakes her head and stands suddenly. “I’ve got to get going. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”

  Part of me thinks she might be referring to Emma’s drug problems, but what about Madeline? Was she just sneaking out, or was there more to Madeline than there seems?

  CHAPTER 7

  When I get back to my desk, Vince pops his head in my office. His gray hair is a little rough today, falling across his forehead and sticking up in the back. Though he has the blue shirt of his uniform tucked into his pants, it has so many creases and folds that I’d guess the shirt was three sizes too big for him.

  “Detective, do you have a minute?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I say, motioning toward the one empty chair in front of my desk. I haven’t gotten around to cleaning the files off the other.

  “I looked into the owners of Jaguars for you,” he says, his voice much graver than I expect.

  “And?”

  “The only Jag on the island is registered to your mother.”

  That’s what I was expecting, but I had to be sure. What was she doing downtown at one a.m.? “Thank you, Vince.” I try to mentally prepare myself for that conversation with my mother.

  “Is there anything else you need right now? I was about to grab lunch with my wife. Jason and his husband are coming with us to the Haven if you want anything.”

  “While you’re out, after your lunch, could you please stop by the docks and see if anyone remembers Madeline and Emma being out there shortly before their deaths? I’ve had a few people mention it to me.”

  He nods. “Of course. Did you want anything to eat?” he asks.

  I’ve been far more concerned with the case than I have been with food. “I’m all set. Thanks, Vince. Have a good time.”

  After Vince leaves, I turn on my computer, and there’s an email waiting with the details of Madeline’s phone records. Despite combing the park and surrounding beach multiple times, we haven’t been able to find her phone. I glance through the files. The phone company sent the logs of incoming and outgoing calls and text messages and the location data for the GPS pings of the phone. The last place her phone pinged was on the water, halfway between the island and the coast, at 1:30 a.m. Whoever killed her could have taken her out on a boat and tossed her phone overboard.