by Mary Burton
Adler studied the postcard. The time was underlined with three red lines.
He flipped the card over to see a black-and-white image of huge boulders in the rapids of the James River. The picture captured the rising sun illuminating a thick mist hovering above the river’s waters. He knew the location of the picture. It was Pony Pasture, a popular spot where people gathered on warm days to sun, swim, and drink.
“Kaitlin Roe.” Saying the name drew the memory closer to the surface. And then he remembered.
INTERVIEW FILE #3
MOTIVE FOR MURDER
Talk to a homicide detective about motive, and they’ll tell you there are three primary driving forces: sex, revenge, and money. Gina was a girl everyone liked. She lived a clean life. After she vanished, the police dug into her past expecting to find signs of risky behavior that had lured the killer to her. Revenge: Whom had she wronged? Money: Whom did she owe? Sex: Whose heart had she broken?
The police search turned up nothing in Gina’s behavior that signaled trouble. So they shifted their focus to the people who knew her. Cops understand that most murder victims know their killers, and the chance a random stranger is involved is almost nonexistent.
The spotlight landed on me. My past substance-abuse problem meant I was the likely troublemaker. The provocateur. For weeks, that spotlight didn’t move. The cops examined every aspect of my life, grilling me about my brother’s death, my troubles in Texas, and my poor academic performance at Saint Mathew’s. As much as they pushed and dug, they didn’t initially find any motive or evidence linking me to the crime. That connection would come six weeks later when a pawnshop owner called in a tip about an unrelated crime.
CHAPTER TWO
Thursday, March 15, 2018; 10:15 p.m.
The event hadn’t attracted the crush of interest Kaitlin had hoped for. Only seven people had shown up to hear her lecture. A few were her students angling for extra credit, and there was a retired couple interested in making their own podcast. One attendee confessed she had come for the free wine, crackers, and a night out away from the kids. No sign of Jennifer or her sister. That stung.
Still, she welcomed the chance to talk about her project. Saying it out loud made it feel real. Her podcast had yet to be realized beyond a handful of interviews, but announcing it publicly, if even to only a few people, meant she had to follow through with it.
Kaitlin walked her last guest, a student, to the front door. Remembering the flowers, she turned and picked them up and handed her the extravagant arrangement. “Enjoy.”
“Are you sure?” Amy’s short dark hair framed a round, serious face.
“Yes. And thank you for opening up the space. I can’t believe today of all days, I was running late.”
“Oh, no worries. Don’t you want to keep the flowers?”
Kaitlin glanced at the vase of white tulips that had been delivered to this room right before the start of her lecture. “Not my color.”
“Who sent them to you?”
“An anonymous admirer.” She had no card and no idea who would send them. It was unsettling. If she’d been alone when they’d arrived, she’d have pitched them. But she hadn’t been by herself, so the delicate flowers had stood front and center as she lectured.
“See you in the study session on Saturday,” Kaitlin said.
“I’ll be there.” Amy glanced toward the podium and an enlarged picture of Gina. “You never said why you’re digging into the Gina Mason case.”
Black shoulder-length hair swept over Gina’s smooth shoulders, and a V-neck drape set off a strand of white pearls likely handed down through generations. Dark eyes ignited with laughter, soon to be extinguished by a horrific future.
“She needs to be remembered, to be found and brought home.”
“Yeah, but why her? Why you?”
This was the piece of the documentary she’d not shared tonight. It was one thing to dictate into a recorder at home, but another to talk about it here. So she’d skirted her involvement in the case, telling herself it was better to appear objective. Soon, however, the story would demand more honesty and more vulnerability from her. “It’s a compelling story.”
Amy hesitated as more questions clearly bubbled below the surface. But Kaitlin checked her watch; the kid got the hint and let them go. “Right. Well, terrific story. I can’t wait to find out how it ends.”
“Me, too.”
Kaitlin opened the door, wished the girl a good night, and watched as she crossed the street to her small car. She waited until the little red vehicle’s lights popped on and the tires were rolling before she closed the door. She pulled down the shades over the big display windows and locked the dead bolt. She paused, then clicked it open and closed again. A habit she’d picked up after Gina’s disappearance.
She unpinned her hair and ran her fingers through thick blond strands accentuated with long dark roots. After kicking off her clogs, she knuckled her toes against the hard floor and massaged out the tension.
The room’s ceiling rose fifteen feet to accommodate the building’s pipes, and the HVAC ducts crossed overhead with industrial fixtures that cast a harsh light onto the concrete floor and unfinished brick walls. Outside, the rumble of a broken muffler mixed with the beat of an unrecognizable rap song as a car drifted past.
This location probably hadn’t been the best place to hold the event. Its semi-industrial address all but guaranteed most genteel people would not venture here after dark. However, Kaitlin was saving her money for the podcast, and free space was welcome.
She faced the enlarged high school senior picture of Gina mounted on a portable easel.
“I’ll find you,” Kaitlin whispered.
Outside, the shouts of young men reverberated on the other side of the door. She tensed and waited for them to pass. When it was silent again, she released the breath captured in her chest.
Maybe once she finished the podcast, the university would cut her a deal and have her lecture on their dime. Or better, she’d pick up a corporate sponsor. Maybe one day, she’d make other podcasts. Find other missing girls like Gina.
She grabbed the trash bag from a metal can and began collecting the discarded plastic cups of wine and crumpled napkins. She had the space until midnight, enough time to clean and close up. Rolling her shoulders, she worked the tension from the muscles knotting her back. When she’d gathered the trash and tied off the bag, she started stacking the chairs and placing them on the cart.
Kaitlin thought again about Jennifer, who had assured her she would attend tonight. She pulled her phone from her pocket and switched the ringer on as she checked for any texts or voicemail. Nothing from Jennifer.
Kaitlin had already interviewed Jennifer once, but had wanted to set up a second session with her tonight. She texted Jennifer: Missed you tonight. Hope all is well.
A knock on the window startled her. She gripped the phone in her hand and took an instinctive step back. Her heart in her throat, she quickly slipped her shoes back on.
A fist pounded on the front door. “Ms. Roe? This is Detective John Adler.”
Detective John Adler? She recognized the name and the deep, gravelly voice. She’d visited the city’s homicide department several months ago, expecting to talk to someone about Gina. Adler and his partner had been on their way out. The detective had been tall and smartly dressed in a dark suit that fit his trim body well. He’d also been brusque. He’d had no time to talk to her.
“I know you’re in there. I see the light and the movement. Open the door, I’d like to talk to you.”
Her grip on her phone tightened as she walked toward the door. Long fingers hovered over the dead bolt. “How do I know you’re Detective Adler?”
“I’ll hold my badge up to the window,” he said.
The statement carried a tone of finality as if his proposed solution answered all her questions. When metal clinked against glass, she reached for the shade and peeked. The gold shield read Detective in bold letters.
On the other side of the fold was the name John T. Adler.
“Why are you here?” she persisted. “It’s been months since I came by your office.” She’d heard about the fire and knew he’d been on leave. Given the pictures she’d seen of the burned-out house, she was amazed he’d survived, let alone returned to the job.
“Jennifer Ralston.”
That answer caught her a little bit by surprise. “Did Jennifer send you?”
“I’m not having this conversation through a door.” An edge sharpened each word.
Jennifer hadn’t shown for the lecture, but a cop had. Not good.
She unlocked the door and cracked it slightly. Detective Adler wore a well-cut dark suit, white shirt, and a red tie, just as he had that first time she’d seen him at the station. Black hair was peppered with gray and brushed away from chiseled features. The fire had driven the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper, adding more interest to a face already hard to forget.
“What about Jennifer?” she asked.
“May I come in, Kaitlin?”
She opened the door and stepped back. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“I understand you were giving a lecture on the Gina Mason disappearance.” He held up the invitation for tonight’s event between two fingers, waving it like a challenge.
This was the second time he hadn’t answered her question about Jennifer. Cops were good at dodging answers. She’d tried to interview him as well as several law enforcement officers who’d worked Gina’s case, but so far, only silence from the blue wall.
“Did Jennifer mention my name to the police? Is my research upsetting you or someone who worked the original investigation?”
“Can we sit?” Another question to answer a question.
She stepped aside but kept the door ajar. As he walked into the space, she noted the faint scent of an expensive aftershave with a woodsy citrus base. His gaze swept every corner and exit.
“Do you have a personal stake in the Gina Mason case?” he asked.
“If you’d bothered to return my call, I could have explained it to you months ago.”
“I’m asking now. What’s your connection to Gina Mason?”
He didn’t apologize or explain why he’d blown her off. She automatically bristled. She wasn’t crazy about cops or their questions. But making an issue out of this inquiry would only lead to more questions. “I was with her the night she vanished.”
“You were a witness?”
“Yes. I tried to tell you that, but you were in a rush to leave the station.”
He studied Gina’s poster. “This is Gina?”
She was losing patience. Cops didn’t ask questions unless they had a good idea of the answer. But for some reason, he wanted to play dumb. “Don’t tell me you decided to finally follow up on my visit and have a lead in the Gina Mason case?”
“As I mentioned when you cornered me several months ago, I was working in the robbery division when she went missing. Our division arrested a guy who later became a suspect in the case. Refresh my memory about the night she vanished.”
“We were walking along Riverside Drive near her parents’ house. A man came out of the woods. He took Gina and told me to run. You arrested Randy Hayward a few months later for stealing from his mother. He got seven years in prison for that and another drug-related charge.”
Memories appeared to click in Adler. “Hayward was caught fencing his mother’s stolen silver a few weeks after Gina disappeared. But Mrs. Hayward reported the robbery the night Gina vanished, placing Randy near Gina and you that night,” he said. “Though he was within walking distance of the crime scene, the cops were never able to make a case against him. There was no physical evidence linking him to Gina.”
She nodded. “His mother hired a good attorney. Cops never got a confession. But most of the cops believed he was involved in the crime.”
His rigid jaw pulsed at the joint. “Why did you invite Jennifer to this lecture?”
“Jennifer was one of the last girls to see Gina alive. There were four of us hanging out by the river the night Gina vanished. Jennifer was one of them. I interviewed her for my podcast.” His grim expression didn’t fit with a man looking into a cold case. “Detective, I’m still not sure why you’re here. Are you here about Gina’s case?”
Some of his edginess softened. “I’ve come from the scene of a homicide. Jennifer Ralston was murdered.”
The blood rushed from her head, leaving her lightheaded and nauseated. Her throat constricted with the rush of emotion. She fought the urge to throw up. “Jennifer? Are you sure it’s Jennifer? I spoke to her five or six hours ago.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” His deep, steady voice left no doubt. “She was found in her home. How did you know her?”
Did. Past tense. Shit, this couldn’t be real. Kaitlin ran a trembling hand through her hair, and he pulled up one of the chairs. She sat and crossed her arms, trying to hold her grief and shock at bay until she got her bearings. “I’ve known her since high school,” she whispered.
“I am sorry. This can’t be easy for you.”
“No.” The swirl of disbelief, anger, and sadness mirrored what she’d experienced after Gina was taken.
“Why are you asking about Gina now?” His tone was softer, kinder, as he pulled up a second chair and sat across from her.
She moistened her lips. This was one of those times she wished she still drank. “Gina was never found. She needs closure.”
“But why you? Is this some kind of artist’s way of pointing out how the cops failed to close this case?”
“They did fail,” she said, cutting her eyes toward Adler.
Less than a foot separated them as he studied her like a puzzle with too many missing pieces. “That’s the reason you decided to open this fourteen-year-old cold case?”
“You need more, Detective Adler?”
“I’ve been a homicide detective too long not to know when there’s more, Kaitlin.”
She blew out a breath, wrestling with her temper and the guilt she’d carried since the night Gina vanished. Lying or avoiding the question might stall him, but it wouldn’t erase what she’d done. “Gina’s kidnapper told me to run. I could have stayed and fought him. I could have tried to save my cousin, but I didn’t. And she’s gone.”
Absently he rubbed the scar on his right hand as he studied her. There might have been a slight softening of the gaze. “Why were you living with your aunt and uncle in high school?”
“My brother killed himself a few years before that. I got into drugs to numb the pain. I started to spiral down fast. My mother thought rehab and a fresh start in Virginia would save me.”
He didn’t speak, letting the silence push her to finish her explanation.
“After I returned to Texas, I thought I was getting on with my life. I was doing well for myself. None of my new friends knew about what had happened here. And then I went to a costume party.” She felt ridiculous articulating the answer.
He looked at her with genuine interest and no hints of judgment. “What does a party have to do with this?”
Despite herself, she could almost imagine he was here to help and they were on the same team. “This time two years ago, I ran the film division of an ad agency. The firm was having a Halloween party.” Telling him what happened was awkward. “It was a costume party, and one of the guys in accounting showed up wearing a clown mask. It had a big grin, a round red nose, arching eyebrows, and orange hair.” She blew out a breath. “The instant I saw it, my chest tightened and I freaked out.”
He was listening very closely.
“The man who took Gina was wearing a clown mask just like that one. There are probably thousands like it in the world. But this one triggered a panic attack.” The episode couldn’t be backpedaled or whitewashed. The skeletons in her closet wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
“And you decided to make a podcast.”
He made it sound so simple. “First, I started by
going back to AA. Without the booze to dull my feelings, I started really thinking about Gina again. I realized what happened fourteen years ago hadn’t left me. I quit my job and moved back to Richmond.”
He removed a notebook and Montblanc from his breast pocket. “Where did you work?”
“Hayes Morgan Advertising Agency.” She hesitated to add information but knew honesty now might help her gain his trust. “When I worked there I went by the name Lyn Tyler.”
He wrote down the name in heavy, bold block letters. “Why change your name?”
“After Gina vanished, I came under media scrutiny. There were a lot of unwanted calls that didn’t let up until I moved back to Texas. I finally started using a different name.”
“So you have what amounts to a panic attack and decide to return to Virginia. You said you spoke to Jennifer. Have you interviewed anyone else?”
“Other than Jennifer—Erika Crowley, anyone who knew Gina, and the now-retired detective assigned to her case. I’m still trying to get an interview with Randy Hayward, but he’s in your city jail facing murder charges and won’t see me.”
He made notes as she spoke and then lifted his gaze to hers. “I need copies of all your interviews, starting with Jennifer’s.”
“The audio files are raw and unedited. I’m not ready to share them yet.”
“I’m investigating a murder. Are you saying you’re refusing to cooperate?” In an instant, challenge stripped away any gentleness in his tone.
Renewed anger crushed whatever connection she’d imagined between them. “So far I’ve gotten no help from you or any other cops. I left a dozen messages with the missing person and homicide departments. And you’re accusing me of not cooperating?”
“You have information, Kaitlin, and I need to see it.”
She stood and slid her palms over her jeans. “I don’t trust cops.”
He stood and towered over her as he shoved the notebook and pen in his breast pocket. “I picked up on that. But that isn’t an excuse to hold back information in a murder investigation.”