by Mary Burton
“I do. I’ve reminded myself a dozen times in the last few hours. But he knew details no one else did.”
“What details?”
“I don’t think I can say,” Kaitlin said.
“Why not?”
“The police are looking into it.”
Mrs. Hayward tipped her head, holding back tears desperate to spill. Her lips trembled before she steadied herself and met Kaitlin’s gaze. “Don’t let him use Gina to get out of this latest charge. He used me more times than I can remember. I had hoped time in prison would make him a better man, but it’s made him even more evil.”
“Do you know about the current charges against him?”
“I keep track. If I hadn’t helped him after Gina vanished, there would have been less suffering in the world for all of us, you included.”
“What was he like around the time Gina vanished? Did he act more jumpy than usual?”
“He rarely slept then. I would hear him come in at all hours, and when he was here he was either watching television or pacing. I soon learned that meth could keep him up for a week or more. He spent a lot of time in the garden shed.”
“Did you ever look in the shed?”
“Yes. One day he left the house in such a rage. Randy was in one of his moods, and it scared me. I went to the shed, thinking I’d find his drugs. I was going to destroy them.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing. I remember feeling so relieved.” She twisted a pearl earring.
“Is the shed still there?”
“I had it demolished ten years ago.”
If Gina had been in the shed, the evidence was long gone. “I remember Randy was close to Derek Blackstone and Brad Crowley.”
Mrs. Hayward rose and moved to a Queen Anne desk, opened a bottom drawer, and removed a framed picture. She smoothed her hand over the image. “It was easy to love Randy then. He was so funny. So charming.” She looked up. “That little boy died a long time ago.” She handed the picture to Kaitlin. “Here he is with Brad and Derek. By the time Gina went missing, those two had moved on with their lives, whereas Randy was stealing my silver for drugs.”
Kaitlin studied the image of the three boys who were standing in front of a fifth-grade graduation banner. “They all went to Saint Mathew’s, didn’t they?”
“Yes. Graduated with Randy. Did you hear Brad became a plastic surgeon?”
“Yes. He married Erika Travis.”
“Does Erika seem . . . happy with Brad?”
“Hard to say. We only spoke briefly.”
“Derek is a very successful lawyer. He called me after Randy’s latest arrest. I didn’t answer the phone, but he left a message. He wanted me to know he would protect Randy.”
“How?”
“I supposed he’d act as his lawyer.” Instead of explaining more, she shifted the topic, saying, “I heard about Jennifer on the news. Terrible.”
“Yes.”
“Randy couldn’t have killed Jennifer.” The mother still couldn’t resist defending her son.
“No.” Kaitlin scribbled down the names of Randy’s friends. “Do you mind if I snap a picture of this?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Kaitlin took several pictures of the smiling boys with her phone. “Thank you, Mrs. Hayward. Do you want me to call if I find out anything?”
Her lips thinned. “No, child. I don’t want to know. Goodbye.”
Kaitlin had not revisited the spot by the river since she left Richmond fourteen years ago. Returning now was harder than she’d imagined. Her chest tightened and her hands trembled as she stood on the narrow road hugging the river just under Mrs. Hayward’s house.
The afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the rippling water lazily drifting past large rocks. The warmth of the sun took the edge off the cold and blustery air as she walked toward the outcropping of boulders that would be packed with sunbathers in only a few months. It looked so peaceful. So innocent.
She closed her eyes. The soothing sounds of nature grew silent in the wake of Gina’s screams. Her cries. And when she opened her eyes, for a brief second, she saw the menacing clown mask.
Every fiber in her demanded she run now.
Run, Kaitlin. Run.
Her fingers curled into fists.
Breathless, she retraced the same path she had walked with Gina. She hugged the shoulder of the narrow road, remembering as an occasional car came flying by full of kids not paying attention. With each step, she felt the pull of the past.
“You’re such a bitch, Gina. Can’t you wait up?”
“Hurry up.”
“God, I hate you.”
Kaitlin was now a half mile from Pony Pasture and standing at the spot. Her heart pounded as fragmented memories rushed her from all sides.
The knife to Gina’s throat and then her ear. Gina’s screams. The blood. The seconds when she didn’t remember but must have stood in shock and utter denial that this could be happening. A memory of those missing moments reached out and teased her, but it quickly drifted away. Why couldn’t she remember?
A car drove by, and she sidestepped into a line of trees separating the river from the road. To steady herself on the sloping bank, she placed her hand on one of the trees. Its broken branch scratched her palm, and in an instant a memory emerged.
It was Gina’s abductor. “I told you I’d come for you, Gina.”
She closed her eyes and replayed the words that until now had remained locked in her subconscious. Was she remembering Randy’s voice? She focused, trying to trigger more memories. She waited. Listened. But instead, the sounds of the river and wind in the trees came back.
Frustrated, she headed back to her car. “I’ll make this right, Gina.”
Adler was still processing Kaitlin’s comments from their meeting as he dialed his phone. In the light of day, she had looked softer, not quite as tough as he’d first thought the night before. She had opened up to him a little, but still kept him at arm’s length.
Trey Ricker with the Commonwealth Attorney’s office didn’t pick up. Adler wasn’t surprised when it rolled to voicemail. “Trey, this is Adler. Got an idea to run past you about an inmate named Randy Hayward. Call me. Thanks.”
He checked his watch. The Gina Mason case file should be on his desk by morning. In the meantime, he had the grim task of attending Jennifer Ralston’s autopsy.
The drive along Broad Street from Church Hill into the heart of the city took less than ten minutes. He parked in front of the state medical examiner’s building on East Jackson Street and made his way into the gray granite office. The state offices usually were closing by now, but given the nature of this crime, the medical examiner assigned to the case had agreed to expedite the examination of Jennifer Ralston. He rode the elevator to the basement.
A weight had settled on his shoulders as he pictured Jennifer lying lifeless in her shower. It never got easier. He knew the day it did, he needed to pack it in.
Adler stripped off his jacket and pulled on a set of scrubs. He found Quinn already gowned up at the foot of a gurney holding a sheet-clad figure. At the head of the table was Dr. Tessa McGowan, one of the pathologists who worked for the state medical examiner’s office. Dr. McGowan was the newest to the team, but she’d quickly established herself as a top-notch professional. She stood a few inches over five foot and had a trim build kept fit by hiking and running. Black hair peeked out from her surgical cap, framing large expressive eyes. In her early thirties, she was also married to an agent with the state police.
“Detective Adler. We were just getting started,” Dr. McGowan said as she pulled on latex gloves.
“Sorry for the delay. I went by the murder scene again to revisit a few observations.”
Without looking at Quinn, he could tell she was expecting him to comment further. She would have to wait.
Dr. McGowan slid on protective eye gear and nodded to her assistant, a tall, slim man also gowned up. He pulled back the sheet to reveal
Jennifer Ralston’s pale nude body.
Adler mentally distanced himself. He couldn’t think of her as a person. Her body was evidence now and demanded his full attention. The remains would tell the story of her death and possibly her killer’s identity.
The victim’s head rested in a cradle, her chin slightly tipped up to expose her neck. This position showcased the wound slicing deep across the neck and traveling over the jugular. Her blond hair, brushed back, accentuated the pallid face sprinkled with a dozen freckles over the bridge of the nose. The jaw was slack, the lips a faint blue.
Dr. McGowan tugged the overhead microphone a couple of inches toward her and began the autopsy with an external examination. She noted the injuries to the neck and abdomen and inventoried specific details. The first were the tattoos, including a peace sign on the underside of her wrist, and on her left hip the letters GM encircled by a heart. GM had to mean Gina Mason, and the heart resembled the one he’d found on the notes and her shower wall. On the right knee was a faint two-inch scar.
Dr. McGowan then reviewed a series of X-rays with the detectives. “She does have an old spiral fracture on her right wrist. It healed years ago but is likely attributable to someone or something twisting her arm so badly it broke.”
“Any estimate on how long ago?” Adler asked.
“A dozen years perhaps.” Dr. McGowan noted Jennifer Ralston by all appearances had been a healthy thirty-two-year-old woman.
Quinn shifted her stance but gave no other signal that the autopsy might have been bothering her.
Dr. McGowan peered up at the detective but said nothing. “Victim was stabbed five times. Three to her abdomen, once on her left forearm, which appears to be a defensive wound, and finally the strike that killed her, a slice through the jugular.”
“The arterial blood spray on her shower walls supports the theory her heart was pumping when he inflicted the neck wound,” Adler said.
“If you note the angles of the cuts, they all appear to slice downward.” She curled her fingers into a fist and made a downward motion, simulating a knife strike. “Her killer was likely taller, or she may have fallen to the floor before the wounds were inflicted.”
“She’s what, five foot seven?” Adler asked.
“And a half,” Dr. McGowan noted.
“She could have been sitting in the shower to shave her legs,” Quinn said.
Adler arched a brow but didn’t comment.
Quinn shrugged. “You try standing in a shower stall and shaving your legs. I dare you.”
Dr. McGowan smiled. “Walk away, Detective Adler.”
“Not touching it,” he surrendered.
For anyone not in law enforcement, this gallows humor sounded callous. But humor helped cops blow off steam and mentally process the violence.
“No indication of drug use.” Dr. McGowan grew serious again as she held up one of the victim’s pale arms. “However, if you notice, there’s faint scarring on the inside of her left bicep. As I go over the body I’ll look for more scars like this.”
“She’s a cutter?” Quinn asked.
Dr. McGowan pointed out several more identical cuts on the inside of the left thigh. “I’d say she was at one time. These folks typically injure areas that won’t impede their daily activities too much. They also choose areas easily covered by clothing so they can hide their habit. She must have decided the arms were too obvious. She also chose her left side exclusively. I assume she was right-handed.”
“Cutting is supposed to relieve stress,” Adler said.
“I spoke to the physician’s assistant who prescribed the meds we found in her medicine cabinet,” Quinn said. “The NP said Jennifer was visibly upset when they met in January.”
“Did she say why Jennifer was upset?” Adler asked.
“Jennifer said she had bad taste in men. Had just gone through a breakup.”
“Wasn’t that Jeremy Keller last year?”
“I asked her, but I sensed this was a new guy,” Quinn said. “The new guy didn’t have a name.”
Dr. McGowan positioned the body for a vaginal swab and examination. Adler didn’t avert his gaze but found anger bubbling as he thought about the methodical stripping away of her dignity.
After the exam was complete, Dr. McGowan said, “There are no signs of pregnancy. There’re also no traces of vaginal bruising or semen. She hasn’t had intercourse recently.”
That confirmed what Adler had hoped was true. “She hadn’t been raped.”
“Still believe this was sexually motivated?” Quinn asked Adler.
“The excitement for stalkers comes from watching,” he said. “As far as they’re concerned, they already share an intimate connection with their victim. And now only he shares her last moments alive.”
“But most stalkers don’t take it this far,” Quinn said. “What was the trigger that ramped up the violence?”
It could be an imagined slight, job loss, or even something as simple as a wrong order in a restaurant. “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective. What about DNA?” Adler asked.
“The lab is testing the tulips left under the bed,” Quinn said. “The chances are slim, but he might have arranged them before he put on his gloves and suit.”
Dr. McGowan rolled the body to its side. “Swirl tattoo at the base of the spine, and more razor-thin scars on the underside of the left thigh. These cuts are still red and look fresh. I’d say these were done in the last six months.”
He thought about the picture of the smiling girl with her friends by the river and how the album ended abruptly. He recalled Kaitlin saying so many people weren’t the same after Gina.
“Several of the fingernails on her right hand are broken,” the doctor said, inspecting French manicured nails. “These appear to be defensive wounds.”
“Perhaps there will be DNA under the nails,” Quinn said.
“There was a scratch on Jeremy’s arm,” Adler noted.
“And we didn’t see his entire body,” Quinn said.
Dr. McGowan inspected the remaining fingernails closely, scraped out samples from under two of them, and handed both off to her assistant. “You might have DNA to test.”
She selected a scalpel from the instrument tray and pressed the tip against the pale skin at the base of the breastbone. With practiced skill, she slid the knife tip between and then under the breasts. She then sliced straight down to the abdomen, creating a Y-incision. Carefully the flesh was pulled away, exposing the ribs. She reached for bolt cutters and snapped each rib until the cage released and then set the cutters aside.
“The heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys all appear to be in excellent shape,” she said. “All the stab wounds missed vital organs. All these injuries were survivable.”
She removed the organs and set each on the scale for weight and measurement. Once they were catalogued, she dissected the stomach and examined the contents. “The victim ate within hours of dying so the food isn’t completely digested. Victim’s last meal appears to be chicken and salad, which are partially digested, so I estimate lunch was her last meal. She also ingested wine.”
“There was an open bottle in the kitchen. It was half-full,” Adler said.
“She had about ten ounces,” Dr. McGowan said.
“She pours a glass in the kitchen, consumes most of it, and then refills.”
“The cork was not in the bottle,” Quinn said. “She was planning to drink more.”
“Liquid courage to listen to Kaitlin’s presentation?” Adler said, almost to himself.
Dr. McGowan repacked the organs in the body and sutured the chest cavity. She then made incisions on the side of her victim’s neck to expose the jugular. A clean cut had severed it. “As I suspected, this was the lethal wound. Once the killer severed this artery, she would have bled out in a matter of minutes. It explains the massive amount of blood loss as well as the arterial spray on the shower walls.”
No one spoke for a moment, before Adler asked, “Anything el
se you can tell us about her or her killer?”
“I’ll run toxicology screens, which will take a few weeks. The nail samples will be sent to the state forensic lab.”
“Thanks, Dr. McGowan,” Quinn said.
Adler nodded his thanks, turned from the body, and left the room. As he stripped off his gown, a primal urge rose up in him. He looked forward to hunting down this son of a bitch.
Quinn pushed through the double doors. “You look as pissed as I feel.”
He pulled out his phone and showed her the picture of the four girls by the river. “Found this in an album hidden in her house.”
Quinn frowned as she studied the image. “I barely remember this case. I was working as a summer lifeguard, and my mother heard about it. It freaked her out so badly she called me at work. Told me the world was full of wackos.” She shook her head. “Always listen to Mother.”
“Didn’t you say once your mom was part of the reason you became a cop?”
They’d known each other almost a year, but Quinn never discussed her mother. “Partly.”
Adler picked up on the awkward reply and pivoted. “There were notes that appear to be communication from a stalker.”
“But Ashley said there were no notes,” Quinn said.
“They were hidden in a drawer.”
“What do they say?”
“Nothing threatening. All beginning with ‘My Girl’ and each signed with a heart. I should have the Gina Mason files first thing in the morning. I’ll check through them and see if there’s anything that ties back to the Ralston case.”
“Do you really think the two cases are connected?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t have any evidence, but it’s just too damn odd that a young girl is taken and likely murdered, and then one of the three girls to see her last is brutally stabbed.”
“Someone doubled back to kill her after fourteen years?” She shook her head. “That is one heck of a long shot.”
“I know.” Adler then updated his partner on Kaitlin’s visit to Hayward. “He says he can tell us where Gina is. He may have proof.”
“He’s manipulating Kaitlin, and she’s too naive or emotionally attached to know otherwise.”