The room becomes so silent that I can hear somebody’s footsteps in the room next door. Mary opens her mouth and closes it again.
“Jackson took me to the bathroom,” she says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that. Time felt very…unreal when I was down there.”
“Jackson has been dead for the last couple of days. He couldn’t have taken you to the bathroom.”
“I…I must have been dehydrated enough that I didn’t need to go,” she says.
“The doctors said you were dehydrated, but not that badly,” Lauren pushes off the desk and takes a step closer to Mary.
“I don’t know. I’ve spent a long time trying to block everything out.” Mary’s voice takes on a defensive edge. “Why don’t you try remembering everything when you’re kidnapped?”
“I have been kidnapped,” Lauren counters.
I swallow, remembering the whole time she was trapped with the PVP Killer.
“And I remember every single detail,” Lauren continues. “I remember how the house smelled like citrus, that he had a little black mole on the back of his hand under his index finger. I remember that I kept on thinking of ways I could escape by going through the bathroom window and trying to strategize ways I could get through it when the window wasn’t even large enough to fit my leg. I remember everything. That doesn’t mean every kidnapped person remembers everything, but I think you remember more than you’re letting on. I think that you had nothing but your mind to preoccupy you and you aren’t telling us something.”
My phone vibrates. I glance down at it.
Romano: We’ve finished going through some surveillance footage around the area of where Mary was being kept. No sign of Jackson.
“I hit my head when he was forcing me into his trunk,” Mary says. “It must have messed with my memory. I seriously don’t remember much.”
“Lauren,” I say. “I think Mary is just confused. We should get going.”
Lauren looks back at me. I catch her eye, giving her the slightest shake of my head.
“You’re right.” She turns back to Mary. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…still messed up about the time I was kidnapped. I’m trying to project my feelings onto you and I shouldn’t. I’m sorry. We’ll go and you can get some rest.”
“Thank you,” Mary murmurs.
I lead the way to the door and Lauren and I both leave the room. As we make our way back to the elevators, we’re silent. I pass by the elevators to the stairway, opening the door and letting Lauren in first. I step in after her, closing the door behind me.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“You tell me first. What was the text you got?”
“Romano says that the surveillance footage of some places around where Mary was taken doesn’t show any sign of Jackson. Don’t you think if he was holding someone captive there, he would have to buy food or something nearby?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I do think that. And I think we’ve been looking for the wrong person in that surveillance footage.”
“Who should we be looking for?”
“Mary.”
* * *
Lauren stares intently at our station’s TV, watching people go in and out of a convenience store. We’ve already watched an hour of the footage, so now I’m finding it much more fulfilling to watch her than the screen.
“Tell me your whole theory again,” I say. “But this time, slow down and don’t become distracted halfway through your speech.”
“Mary was never kidnapped,” she says, only giving me enough of her attention to speak. “She pretended to be kidnapped, but she wasn’t. Maybe she’s with the killer or something, I don’t know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense right now. It’s why she’s lying about what happened when she was kidnapped—she doesn’t remember the time of day because it wasn’t a big enough deal when she snuck out of the church—it’s why someone called us to give us the tip about where she is…she wanted to be found before the deadline she created for us ended. She says she was reading from what the kidnapper wrote down, but she could easily have faked that. She managed to be kidnapped without screaming or anything, and nobody noticed her being taken. It seems very convenient in a church filled with people and, of course, there’s the issue that she needed to go to the bathroom somewhere while she was supposedly chained to the heater pipe, and her story for that doesn’t make sense at all.”
“Why would she be stupid enough to stop at a gas station in an area she’s pretending that she was being held captive?”
“Arrogance. Not thinking it through. She won’t want to be seen in any populous area. Walking or driving anywhere could make it so anyone could recognize her. She’d want the shortest distance to get any necessities and this gas station is the closest thing to where any food is to the foreclosed house. In a grocery store, she’s more likely to be noticed since there’s more people around.”
“She couldn’t have stored up those necessities before she was pretending to be kidnapped?” I ask.
“You told me that her bodyguard said he was pretty much around her 24/7,” she says. “She only had a short amount of time away from him. She wouldn’t have spent it thinking about food.”
“But you haven’t seen her yet?”
“It’s four days of footage,” she says. “Give me some time. Though, if you are curious, there has been a couple having sex in their car while they’re parked in front of the store, a guy urinating on the gas pump—I suggest you don’t use the front right one—and a guy who is trying to be subtle while selling drugs, but I’m pretty certain that even the most naive housewife would know what he was doing.”
“Hey, don’t talk down about housewives,” I say. “When I worked in narcotics, housewives loved their ADHD medications and barbiturates. And back in 2008, there was a whole group of them attempting to cook meth. It’s the housewives you have to watch out for.”
“Okay, one group of housewives does not make them all dangerous criminals. It just makes them people that have way too much time on their hands, they’re in desperate need of money, or they’re used to a certain standard of living and they want to keep that standard when the economy is tanking.”
“Well, what do you think is Mary’s reasoning for doing something illegal?” I ask. “Personally, I find her rather hypocritical.”
“So, you finally agree with Jackson?”
“Well, she’s selling her music and image as a Christian while lying to the police and possibly being involved in a murder.”
“I agree that it’s hypocritical,” she says. “But that’s her personal hypocrisy and not a reflection of her religion.”
I rub my chin. “I know.”
“I’m just making sure you know,” she says.
“Do you think we’re crazy to stay together when our belief systems being so different?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I actually thought about this after talking to my grandma. She didn’t think we should be together because of our different beliefs. And I realized: the whole world has to function together with thousands of different religions. Various countries full of people who worship completely different gods manage to be friendly with each other and work together to make the world a better place. All through my life, I’ve befriended people of different religions or lack of religion, and our differences aren’t what dominated the relationships. Sometimes it made the relationship more interesting and I learned a lot from them, but it wasn’t the most important thing. The most important part was that we’re all humans, we all have these same emotions, the same desires of companionship and acceptance…we are all going to end up buried in the ground or turned into ashes in an urn. It’s so easy to see our differences in each other when it’s what we want to see. That’s why religion hasn’t come up until now between us because our similarities—our job, our need for justice, our grief over the loss of life—always overshadowed it. So, as long as you don�
��t mind my love of God, then I don’t mind your lack of religion.”
I reach forward, brushing my fingertips against her cheek. “I don’t mind. I love your passion about it. And I love you.”
She leans against my hand. “I love you too.”
As I lean in to kiss her, she suddenly jerks away. “Holy shit. I think this is her.”
I turn to the screen. Lauren has paused the video. The young woman—evident by her hourglass shape, but slightly hidden by a baggy hoodie and sweatpants—has blonde hair sticking out of her hood, but the one thing that makes me certain that it’s Mary is the red leather boots she’s wearing, matching the ones she was wearing when she was found in that basement.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“This will never be enough to convince a judge to get a warrant or even convince the Captain to allow us to pursue this,” she says. “Our only hope is to get her to confess, or to find solid evidence on why she faked her own kidnapping and how she’s connected to Gavin’s murder.”
“She’s a damn good actress. She even fooled the two of us until we questioned her further. I don’t think she’s going to confess and if we question her, she’s going to go running to her father, who will tell the Captain—”
“And he’ll be pissed that we continued to investigate,” she finishes. She stares at the image of Mary on the TV screen. “Let’s look through all of the evidence again. If we missed her this first time when we looked at the surveillance footage, then maybe we missed something in the evidence because we were under the assumption that she was just a victim.”
“And now she’s a person of interest.”
Lauren nods. “And now we know she’s someone with something to hide. We just need to find it.”
* * *
“Okay, other than Mary’s father, the person who seemed to know Mary best that we talked to is Jackson. They dated in senior year, she met some guy who made her more religious after her senior year—”
“And she became famous that summer too,” Lauren says. “She had released her first album during her senior year, but she had that one single, “Blurred Faces,” which went platinum.”
I say, “Maybe it’s someone in the music industry who made her more religious.”
“I don’t know,” Lauren says. “I don’t think those types of guys are super religious. When all they care about is profit, there’s not much room for God.”
“At the same time,” I say, “Jackson doesn’t seem like the best person to look to when it comes to giving a character reference on Mary. He was in love with her at one point—even as he was dying, he wanted to make sure she was okay—so maybe she hooked up with some guy at summer camp and Jackson was jealous, so he convinced himself that this guy brainwashed her…which would mean we don’t have any suspects.”
“No,” Lauren says, frowning. “The Seven Servants of God also said the same thing…they thought she had become religious enough that they stopped bothering her. We need to look at this more from a personal level. Whoever made her more religious…you would think they’re still important to her.”
“Maybe one of her bandmates?” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “No. I talked to them and they really didn’t seem to care that much. It’s not like they hoped she got hurt, but there wasn’t the emotional response you would expect if someone they loved was kidnapped. They just told me God would take care of her.”
“Maybe she and her religious boyfriend had a falling out, and he’s the one who kidnapped her…but then he let her go and she doesn’t want the public to know who her kidnapper is, so she pretended to still be in captivity?”
“You realize how convoluted that is, right?” she asks.
“We have a woman who was pretending to be kidnapped and two victims nailed to crosses,” I say. “I’m not really thinking whoever is behind this is a rational person with simple motives.”
“We should call that camp she went to,” she says. “Maybe they would know more.”
“That means we’d have to call Mary’s father, and if he realizes we’re still investigating…”
“Tobias. There could be a killer and kidnapper walking around. Are you seriously afraid of Mary’s father?”
“You should have seen me picking up my prom date. Her father was a janitor and he still terrified me. Men are protective of their children and this one happens to be a Captain.”
“Do you want me to call him?” she asks.
“No, no, I’ll do it,” I say, picking up the phone. I dial the number and hold the phone up to my ear. “I’ll take on his wrath…for you.”
“Great. Ask him who her high school friends were, too. They could probably tell us more about what she was doing and who she met at that camp.”
It rings twice.
“This is Captain Thomas Fitzgerald,” he answers.
“Hi, Captain, this is Detective Rodriguez. I have a question about your daughter and I know this is going to sound completely irrelevant, but I—”
“Why are you asking about my daughter?” he demands. “The case is closed. Her kidnapper is dead. What more do you need to know?”
“Uh…well, we need to know the name of the camp Mary went to after her senior year in high school.”
“Excuse me?” he spits out. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Look, Captain, I’m sorry, but it’s a really simple question and it’s just to tie up some loose ends,” I say.
He huffs and I know he’s deciding whether to be professional and answer me or begin shouting like he absolutely wants to do.
“It was called Children of Light,” he says. “And I’m confident that you won’t try to drag them into anything because they’re an esteemed camp. It helped Mary immensely. She came back completely devoted to Jesus.”
“I will be sure to remember that,” I say. “Thank you, Captain Fitzgerald.”
“You’re welcome, Detective.”
“One more question: do you know the names of her high school friends?”
“Uh…there was a Kayleigh Wise….and a Jennifer…May? Or something like that.”
I jot down the names. “Thank you so much, Captain. Have a good afternoon.”
“Goodbye.”
I set the phone back into the cradle and hand Lauren the two names.
“That went better than expected,” Lauren says. “What’s the camp called?”
“Children of Light. Sounds like a horror film where all of the children are possessed by aliens.”
“I wouldn’t have named any Christian camp with the word light,” she says, “considering the fact that Lucifer means ‘light bringer.’”
I type “Children of Light Christian camp” into an internet search engine and find their number and dial it. As I wait for someone to answer, Lauren searches the names of Mary’s high school friends. Nobody answers at the camp, so I hang up. A minute later, Lauren stands up.
“I have the addresses of the friends. Do you want to come ask them about their now famous friend?”
“I’m going to stay here and keep calling this camp,” I say. “It’s probably better if it’s you questioning the friends. They might say more.”
“Good point.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lauren
Kayleigh Wise has thick black hair pulled into a braid that trails all of the way to her backside. She’s also not too pleased to be talking about Mary Fitzgerald, but she still lets me sit at her dining room table. As she sits across from me, she gives a half-hearted attempt to look like she’s paying attention.
“So, you and Mary were great friends,” I say, jotting some notes down. “But you don’t sound overly enthusiastic about her.”
Kayleigh rolls her eyes. “Mary and I were great friends…but then the summer after senior year she turned into a big, huge bitch that only cared about herself and preaching about Jesus.”
“You mentioned that you went to that camp with her—the Children of Light…
you two were bunkmates? Do you know what changed her?”
“Um, I’m sorry to ask…but I thought you guys had found Mary and her kidnapper had already died from poisoning himself,” she says.
“We’re tying up loose ends.”
“I don’t know what changed her,” she says. “I think she fell in love with this guy there, but I never saw him and she never said his name.”
“Does that mean she told you she was in love with some anonymous guy?”
“No, she never told me anything. But she was always missing at random times, sometimes she snuck out at night. She was always weirdly happy. I did ask her about it one time. She said he was an older guy, but she insisted they weren’t messing around.”
“You didn’t believe it was platonic?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I think it would be weird for her to go crazy for a guy she wasn’t at least kissing, and weirder still for an older guy to be friends with a younger girl without expecting sex, but I suppose it could have been. That just doesn’t make sense to me. She did talk a lot more about God every time after seeing him, though, so I suppose they could have been chaste…still, regardless how he felt about her, it seemed to me that she would have done anything to impress him.”
Even allow him to kidnap her or help in a murder?
“Do you know if she stayed in contact with him after the summer?”
“I don’t know how long they stayed in contact. Mary pretty much stopped hanging out with all of us during camp. She said she was busy recording her first album, but honestly, I think she felt like she was better than us and, not just musically. As they say, she was holier than thou.”
“I see,” I say, continuing to write.
“And she acts all humble on TV, but come on. She loves to flaunt her money,” she says. “She’s always wearing these boots that must put her at least a couple grand back, and she inherited her grandparent’s farm, which she has no need for, so you would think that she would give it to one of her cousins or sell it to someone who would actually make money off it, but no. She keeps it. I’m sure she has some future plans for it that will never actually happen.”
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