Her Last Word

by Mary Burton

  “I hear you. It’s likely a rabbit hole, but I’ll check it out anyway.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve got a better chance of playing the lottery.”

  “But you still scratch the ticket, don’t you?”

  She muttered a curse. “The first lie out of that con’s mouth, you need to walk away, John.”

  “Great minds think alike.”

  INTERVIEW FILE #8

  EYEWITNESS TESTIMONY

  The worst evidence is eyewitness testimony. Many people believe the human brain functions like a recorder. However, psychologists have proven it’s simply not true. We humans, in fact, recreate rather than play back recollections. We piece together the puzzle of the past with fragmented facts, stresses, biases, hopes, and emotions. The Innocence Project researchers reported that of the convictions overturned through DNA testing, over 70 percent had been based on eyewitness testimony. We want to remember, but most of us suck at it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Friday, March 16, 2018; 7:45 p.m.

  When Adler reached his desk, he discovered a large dusty binder. A quick look at the spine and he saw the label: MASON, GINA, AUGUST 15, 2004.

  His office was in a small cubicle, offering him the illusion of privacy. Fluorescent lights hummed above his head and mingled with the buzz of conversations. There were a half-dozen detectives busy chasing leads. Others were on their computers tackling the everyday paperwork that cops had to slug through. How many nights had he wished to hell he could get away from this place when a homicide investigation ground on for days at a stretch?

  Now after the bombing, he was so damn glad to be back.

  He shrugged off his coat and draped it over his seat. Slowly he rolled up his sleeves and sat at his computer. He unwrapped a cold vending machine sandwich and took his first bite as he flipped the book open to Gina’s high school portrait, the same one Kaitlin had used for her presentation. Dark hair swept over a round face glowing with a summer tan. White pearls circled her neck. She was beaming with youth and excitement. Alive.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “I feel old.”

  He flipped through more pages and came upon a DVD. It read DETECTIVE JOSHUA NORTH INTERVIEWING KAITLIN ROE, OCTOBER 4, 2004. He popped it in his computer and took another bite of his meal.

  Kaitlin appeared, leaning back in a metal chair, her elbow resting on its arm. Her chin was raised, giving her a stoic expression. Detective North entered the room and dropped a file on the metal table. She flinched slightly, but recovered her composure.

  “You know what I think, Kaitlin,” he said. “I think you’re a liar. A really good one at that.”

  Adler checked the date. October 4, 2004. A little over two months into the investigation.

  Kaitlin folded her arms over her chest. “Aren’t I supposed to have a lawyer?”

  “You aren’t detained. You can leave anytime.”

  “Really?” She rose. “Then I’ll leave.”

  “I thought we were having a friendly conversation here.”

  She faced him. “You released my name to the press. I can’t go into a McDonald’s without someone asking what I did to Gina.”

  “We’ve tried to play nice with you, but you’ve not been cooperative.”

  “He was wearing a mask!”

  Despite her bravado, she was young and dealing with a seasoned homicide detective. North knew exactly how to push her buttons.

  “Tell me what you do remember,” North said.

  “I already have.”

  “One more time. I’m getting old, and I don’t remember so well.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “We were by the river.”

  “You, Gina, Erika, and Jennifer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “It was a celebration. The other girls were leaving for college soon.” Her fists clenched.

  “And you girls were drinking.”

  “Yes.”

  “We never found the bottle.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Kaitlin, at this stage underage drinking is the least of your worries.”

  “I threw it in the river. It floated away.”

  “Did you spike it with Ecstasy?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? I have your arrest records from Texas. You got yourself into some trouble, little lady. You strike me as someone who can get ahold of almost any substance.”

  “I didn’t spike the bottle.”

  North opened his file and seemed to read something. “You said you and Gina were walking to her house. That the other girls had left you.”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened next?”

  She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I was having trouble walking. I was drunk and kept tripping on my flip-flops. Gina got too far ahead of me, and I lost sight of her in the dark. That’s when I thought I sensed something wrong. I ran ahead and was right. I saw him standing next to Gina.”

  “Who?”

  “The man with the clown mask holding a knife to Gina’s neck.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  She closed her eyes. “He cut off her ear, and then he told me to run.”

  “And you ran?”

  Her answer wasn’t audible, and North asked her to repeat it.

  “I must have turned and run.”

  “How did her blood get on your T-shirt?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  If Adler had not been watching closely, he’d have missed Kaitlin’s hesitation. Was it guilt? Pain? Anger? A lie?

  “I know you’re lying, Kaitlin. I think you spiked the drink with narcotics. Maybe you wanted everyone to have a real good time. Maybe you wanted to mess with them. And you did. But the fun and games ended when something happened to Gina. Did she overdose?”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “It wasn’t like that!”

  “Okay, Gina didn’t overdose. But someone found you girls, and that cocktail is the reason all of you were so incapacitated and could barely walk, let alone defend yourselves. I’m amazed you all didn’t drown in the river.”

  She didn’t speak.

  North was silent for a moment. “You know what I think?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  North smiled. “I think you and Hayward were working together. I think he told you to spike the lemonade so Gina and the other girls would be too messed up to resist anything he wanted to try. Hell, you’re twisted.”

  “No!”

  “He broke up with you, but you still loved him. I bet you’d have done anything to get with him.”

  Kaitlin shook her head. “I didn’t hurt Gina.”

  “Sweetie, you drugged her. Made her defenseless. Hell of a friend you are.”

  Kaitlin’s expression crumpled as if she’d been slapped across the face. “I didn’t do it.”

  “You’re complicit. Now all I have to do is prove it. And I will. Why don’t you save us both a lot of time and tell me. If you had a conscience, you’d feel better, too.”

  Kaitlin rose. “I’m leaving.”

  “I’m just clowning around,” he smirked.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Adler rewound the DVD and froze it on the last expression the camera caught of her face. Raw pain was carved in the lines around her eyes and mouth. But he’d seen murderers feel deep remorse. It was possible to love someone, kill them in a moment of rage, and then mourn their loss.

  And now Kaitlin was back in Richmond hooking up with her old boyfriend. It had come full circle, and Hayward was right in the middle of it.

  INTERVIEW FILE #9

  THE GIRLS OF SUMMER—JENNIFER RALSTON

  Thursday, February 22, 2018; 7:00 p.m.

  Jennifer Ralston sits perched on the loft apartment stool, her booted heels locked behind the stool’s footrest. She looks around the city apartment, studying the exposed brick, unfinished dusty rafters, and tall framed windows overlooking the James River and the city
’s north side. In her hands, she cradles an RVA mug filled with hot green tea. Though Gina paid the ultimate price, we each lost a piece of ourselves that night.

  “Is the microphone rolling?” Jennifer looks at my recorder.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it cold in here, or is it me?”

  “I know this room can be drafty. Can I get you a blanket?” I start to get up.

  “I’m fine. I’m always chilled. A quirk, I guess.”

  “Why are you always cold?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t felt warm or safe since Gina’s disappearance. I probably should have gotten counseling, but my mother thought seeing a shrink was a sign of weakness. I’m an adult now and know what Mom said is BS. And I’m not weak.”

  “No, you’re not.” I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way.

  “Did you get help?”

  “I did. But only last year.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  “I wish I knew. I packed my life with activity to dull the pain. To forget. I finally realized if I didn’t drop the baggage, it would consume me.”

  “So you decided to undertake your own investigation as a catharsis?”

  “That’s right.” Pages flip in my notebook. “Jennifer, what do you remember about Gina?”

  Jennifer’s laugh is lighter. “The usual. Nicest girl. So popular. Always a kind word. I used to joke if you looked perfect up in the dictionary, you’d see her face.”

  “What were we talking about that night?”

  “You should know. You didn’t drink at first.”

  The point of me coming to Virginia was to get sober. I was just trying to keep it together. Not drink. But the temptation was too great. And in all honesty, I didn’t like sobriety and all the memories it didn’t suppress.

  “Teenage girls. We must have been talking about boys.”

  “I suppose. That night is still a blur for me. Whatever we were drinking was loaded.”

  I hesitate. “You and Erika told the cops I brought the spiked lemonade.”

  I see her visibly stiffen, and she doesn’t respond.

  “I’m not trying to get anyone into trouble. I just want to find Gina.”

  A long silence. Finally she answers.

  “Yeah, I brought it.”

  “It made sense to blame me. I was the most likely to, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Did you spike it with Ecstasy?”

  “No! I didn’t. And I don’t know who did.”

  I believe Jennifer on this one, happy at least one lie about me has been dispelled. But I don’t dwell. This isn’t about me. “You called your sister to come pick you up, right?”

  “That’s right. I could barely walk. So Ashley drove down to the river and picked me up. Erika hopped in the back with me at the last second.”

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  “Lying in the backseat of the car. My sister was pissed.”

  “At you?”

  “Someone else.” Jennifer looks confident about this. “I think she was arguing with someone on the phone.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I assumed it was her boyfriend, because they fought a lot. But I passed out and didn’t wake up until the next morning. I was in my own bed and wearing the clothes I had on from the night before, but I have no memory of arriving home. The cops were at our house, and all hell was about to break loose.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Saturday, March 17, 2018; 5:45 a.m.

  Near-freezing rain dripped on the windshield as he parked across from Erika Travis Crowley’s big white house. This upscale neighborhood didn’t really stir until about six thirty, and a rain-delayed Saturday slowed them all the more.

  However, Erika kept to a rigid, eerily predictable schedule. She didn’t leave her house very often, but on Saturdays she exited her front door at exactly the same time and made the three-mile drive to the small yoga studio. She found comfort in keeping her world contained. Her house was her fortress from the truth. She’d betrayed Gina.

  A check of his watch showed it was almost showtime.

  Killing Jennifer had been exhilarating, and his body still buzzed with adrenaline. He readily accepted it was his job to dish out her punishment, but he’d not expected to enjoy it so much.

  It was smarter to wait before he dealt with Erika and Kaitlin, but the morning rain was too perfect to pass up. Rain washed away so many sins. Better to deal with them now. He’d punish Erika accordingly, and for Kaitlin he had a special windowless room.

  The front door snapped open. Black yoga pants and a fitted blue top covered by a snug gray jacket silhouetted a body kept ruthlessly in shape. Socks and clogs warmed her feet. Blond hair was tied into a sleek ponytail reminiscent of her times as part of the Glittering Trio at Saint Mathew’s. Gina, Jennifer, and Erika had been at the peak of the school’s social pecking order, and they knew it.

  As he inched lower, the torn vinyl on the seat rubbed against his T-shirt. The magnetic sign on the side of the truck read TURNER PLUMBING. The letters were in red, a color easily remembered if anyone were watching. He’d stolen the truck and would soon ditch it.

  Erika’s Mercedes pulled out of the driveway, and he followed. He watched her race through a yellow light and then turn abruptly at the corner ahead.

  He stayed several car lengths behind, careful to keep her in his sights. He knew where she was going, but today it was important he be there when she arrived.

  He watched her pull into a parking spot near the back entrance of the yoga studio. Repeated observation revealed she preferred this spot because she could slip inside through the back door. That was Erika. She didn’t like to interact with people much anymore.

  He slid into the space beside Erika, parking within inches of the passenger side of her car. He opened his door and smacked it hard into the sleek, polished navy-blue finish, leaving an angry white scratch.

  She glanced up, alarmed. For a second, she just sat there staring at him. And then she ducked her head against the rain and hurried around the car. Keys clutched in her hand, she studied the jagged white mark in the side door of her car as the rain dripped on her hair and shoulders.

  “What have you done?” Her voice was high pitched and rippling with stress. “My husband is going to have a fit when he sees this.”

  Tugging a ball cap forward, he slid out of the car and made a show of studying the scratch. “Wow, did I make that?”

  “Yes, you did. What the hell, why weren’t you thinking?” She folded her arms over her chest, her teeth already chattering a little. As she looked toward the studio door, her shoulders tensed. The clock was ticking, and she was going to be late for class.

  “I’ve a rag and some rubbing compound. I bet once I’m done with it, you’ll never know there was a scratch.” He moved to the back of the truck and opened the camper top.

  Her jaw clenched as she shook her head and ran her finger over the jagged surface before following him. “You can’t buff a deep mark out. It’ll have to go to a body shop.”

  “Naw, I can fix it right up.” He grinned as he rummaged for a tool in a dented red toolbox.

  “You can’t just rub it out!”

  A car pulled into the parking lot, but the female driver barely tossed them a glance as she rushed through the rain into the building, a green yoga mat tucked under her arm.

  She was inches away now. Mad. Spouting frustration. Closer. Closer. And then she ducked her head under the raised camper top. They were nose to nose.

  Erika’s demeanor changed. “Is this some kind of a joke? I told you we’d meet later.”

  He slid his hand into his pocket, removed a syringe, and plunged it into her arm. “No joke, baby.”

  She flinched and recoiled, dropping her keys onto the wet parking lot. “What the hell?” Already her words were slurring.

  “I’m changing the plan. You’re going to help me get Kaitlin.” He picked up her keys and hi
t the trunk release on her car.

  Her knees buckled as she tried to steady herself against the truck.

  He wrapped his arm around her and shuffled her toward the open trunk of her car. Her response was an incoherent mess, but it didn’t matter.

  Not now.

  He drove twenty minutes north to the deserted parking lot of a closed gas station on Route 1. Weeds sprouted from the cracks in the asphalt, and the windows of the garage were covered in brown paper. He drove around back and parked next to his truck. Moving quickly, he opened the car trunk and truck’s camper top.

  Erika lay on her side in the trunk, her body curled into a fetal position. It would be hours before the drugs were out of her system. He quickly lifted and placed her body in the back of the truck, then taped her wrists and ankles before he covered her with a tarp.

  The drive to his house took a half hour. He was careful to watch his speed and put his blinker on each time he switched lanes.

  When he pulled up to his home, he pressed the garage door button, and when it opened he carefully drove into the clean, neatly organized space. The door closed behind him.

  Out of the cab, he walked to the back and opened the camper top. Now that they were alone, he had the time to admire her. He pushed back a lock of her blond hair. Her soft perfume wafted around her. She was beautiful. She’d kept her body fit and trim, and she was always dressed to perfection.

  Now he was going to strip that perfection away. Like Jennifer, it was time to be punished. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house and downstairs to a darkened basement room. He’d been in this room so many times getting it ready for her, he didn’t need light to know where to step or where to lay her. He knelt and settled her body on the cold floor.

  He kissed her on the cheek, wishing he had time to linger. “It’s time to pay for your crimes.”

  She appeared to frown, but she didn’t open her eyes. He left her unconscious, locking the door behind him.

  Normally Saint Mathew’s wouldn’t be open on a Saturday. But today was Saint Patrick’s Day and also one of the school’s biggest fund-raisers, which was scheduled for this afternoon. When Kaitlin had called the principal, Dr. Williams had agreed to meet her at the school before the hectic day began.