Her Last Word

by Mary Burton

  “Sure.” She settles her small black purse in her lap and fiddles with the gold latch. “How did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard.”

  “Really? I don’t like the idea of being so easy to locate.”

  “I understand.” I’ve grown paranoid over the years about my address and online profile and taken steps to hide it all.

  “Do you mind if I jump right in?” I flip a page in a thick worn spiral notebook. I’ve filled two of these in the last couple of weeks.

  “I can’t promise I’ll answer any of your questions.” She sounds unapologetic.

  “Fair enough.” I uncap my pen, always worried the recorder will fail or I’ll miss a key detail. “As I said on the phone, I’m creating a podcast about Gina. What can you tell me about her?”

  “I was jealous of her.” She tries to smile and soften the confession, but it hangs between us. “We all wanted to be her, and all the guys we dated wished they were with her.”

  “How do you know what the boys were thinking?”

  “My high school boyfriend confessed to it. Brad. He’s my husband now.”

  “Brad liked Gina?”

  “Yes. I know he loved me, but he was hot for her. He slipped and called me Gina once when we were doing it.” She tucked a blond strand behind her ear.

  “Did Brad ever talk to you about Gina?”

  “Sure.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Other than her being hot, he thought she was stuck up and that she believed she was better than everyone else.”

  “Did you tell this to the cops?”

  “I never mentioned Brad’s name to the cops.”

  “Why not?”

  “Loyalty. I knew he didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened. He was a horny teenager who could be insecure sometimes.”

  “So why are you telling me now?”

  She shrugged. “I found out he’s fucking his secretary. Loyalty is a two-way street.”

  Cold-case experts will admit spurned lovers are an excellent source for fresh case details. I don’t speak, letting the silence prod her to say more.

  “Want to know a secret?” Erika says.

  “I love secrets.”

  She leaned in. “Brad gave me the Ecstasy the night Gina was taken. He told me it would loosen us all up.”

  Hearing her speak so easily about the drugs is jarring, but I stay focused. “You ever talk about Gina’s case with Brad after she went missing?”

  “I tried. He never wanted to talk about Gina.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  She’d said Brad hadn’t been involved in Gina’s case, but something in me tells me to press again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I think. “I get the feeling that Brad had something to do with Gina’s disappearance?”

  She is silent, as if she realizes she might have said too much. “No, no, of course not,” she adds quickly.

  “You sound very sure.”

  “I am.”

  “When’s the last time he saw Randy Hayward?”

  She sits straighter. “He called from prison. Said he was about to get out and needed money. Brad, of course, obliged. They’ve been friends since kindergarten.”

  “The cops questioned Randy soon after Gina went missing. Do you think he knew something?”

  “The cops dropped the charges because they couldn’t prove anything.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Do you think he knew more than he was saying?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Did Derek and Brad help him cover up something?”

  Instead of answering she checks her watch. “God, look at the time. I have to go.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Saturday, March 17, 2018; 1:40 p.m.

  Adler and Quinn showed their badges at the front desk of the Richmond city jail and made their way to a set of opening double doors as the guard on the other side saw them approach. They surrendered their phones and weapons into one of the secured lockers and waited for the next set of doors to open. Minutes later both were sitting in an interview room.

  Hayward was brought in, and the instant he saw them he smiled. Cuffs rattled as he straddled the chair and sat. Adler introduced Quinn and himself.

  “I’ve communicated with Trey Ricker in the Commonwealth Attorney’s office. Your attorney has contacted him, and they’re working on a deal as we speak. If you need confirmation, call Derek Blackstone,” Adler said. “He’ll give you the details. Once the deal is done we go directly to Gina.”

  Hayward’s grin was sly. “I know where she is,” Hayward said. “Sometimes I get my lefts and rights mixed up. But once I see where I’m going, I’ll figure it out. It’s only been a few months since I saw her.”

  Both said nothing.

  “I visit whenever I can,” Hayward said.

  “Can you give me a general idea of the location?” Quinn asked.

  “You mean like a teaser in a movie trailer?” Hayward asked.

  “Yeah, a teaser,” she said softly.

  Hayward didn’t speak right away, then said, “She’s at least twenty miles from where she was taken.”

  A twenty-mile radius left a lot of territory.

  “What do you remember about the night she was abducted?”

  “Gina was wearing a green dress, and Kaitlin was wearing a tight, sexy white top.”

  Adler had been a cop long enough not to react to guys like Hayward, but there were some times when it took everything in him not to show his hand. “What else do you remember?”

  “Kaitlin was scared, but she fought like a wildcat. Tried to save her precious cousin, but she didn’t.”

  For a moment neither Adler nor Quinn spoke.

  “Is Gina dead?” Adler asked.

  Hayward wagged his finger. “I can’t be telling you any more. Not until my buddy, Mr. Blackstone, seals the deal.”

  “We’ll be back,” Adler said.

  “I’m counting on it. And bring Kaitlin, too,” Hayward said.

  “She’s not a part of this,” Adler snapped.

  “She is now. If not for her, I’d never have gotten the idea to play my Gina card. No Kaitlin, no talk.”

  Adler now wanted Gina Mason found almost as much as Kaitlin. “I’ll talk to Ricker and Kaitlin. It’s not up to me.”

  “Give it the old college try, Detective. Hate for Gina to spend eternity lost to the world.”

  Outside, Adler removed his phone. He wasn’t sure how Ricker would react to Hayward’s newest condition.

  “This sucks,” Quinn said.

  “I know.”

  “You think Ricker will allow Kaitlin to attend? He’s a hard-ass.”

  “He will, if I press it.”

  Twenty minutes later, while Quinn followed up on a warrant, Adler pushed through the front doors of police headquarters and made his way to the captain’s office. He knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Adler found his new captain, Tobias Novak, standing behind his desk. He sported a clean-cut, Joe Friday kind of look, though the suit and strands of white hair didn’t jibe with a much younger face. Standing beside the desk was Trey Ricker.

  Ricker’s dark tailored suit accentuated his tall, muscled frame kept trim by running. Light-blond hair was brushed off an angled face. “Adler. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thanks, Trey.”

  Adler and Ricker had grown up in the shadow of the Country Club of Virginia. They both came from old money, and both had attended Saint Mathew’s from K through twelve as well as the University of Virginia undergrad and law schools. Adler’s plan had always been to go into the law. And he had. He just took a different route.

  Ricker’s grip was strong, and his gaze didn’t skirt away. “Hayward’s attorney called me a few minutes ago and informed me he wants Kaitlin Roe there.”

  “What do you think?”

  Ricker cracked the knuckle of his thumb. �
�I hate dealing with this piece of shit, but if it will seal the deal, fine.”

  Novak’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s an attorney like Blackstone bothering with Hayward?”

  “They grew up together,” Adler said.

  Ricker nodded. “Both went to Saint Mathew’s a few years behind Adler and me.” Looking at Adler, he asked, “You know the school is having their big fund-raiser this afternoon?”

  “I already sent my check in,” Adler said.

  “A little bird told me Blackstone is going to be there,” Ricker said.

  “Interesting. Sounds like an opportunity for me to get better acquainted.”

  “Small, small world,” Ricker said.

  Novak cleared his throat as he glanced at a file on his desk. “Adler, do you really think there is a connection between the Ralston murder and the Mason missing person’s case?”

  He still had no evidence other than the two victims ran in the same circles. Soon, he’d have to come up with more than a gut feeling. “I do.”

  “What do we know about Kaitlin Roe?” Novak asked.

  “Cops interviewed her multiple times. She was no Girl Scout in high school, a fact she readily admits. She moved back to Dallas, finished school, and took a job in the corporate world.”

  “Until now.” Novak shook his head. “Hayward is facing the death penalty, and Kaitlin shows up to plead his case?”

  The urge to defend Kaitlin was quick and unexpected. “Kaitlin is sober now and wants to make this right. Regardless of her motives, this is the first break in this case in fourteen years. I’d like to take a run at this.”

  “Hayward couldn’t have killed Jennifer Ralston,” Ricker said.

  “No.”

  Novak shut his file as his expression radiated frustration. “The media is going to love this one.”

  “He’s right,” Ricker said.

  “Ricker, when did you worry about the press?” Adler asked.

  Early in their careers, they’d had this conversation several times over a beer. What came first, the case or the career? Neither wanted to be the guy who put politics above a case.

  Annoyed, Ricker shoved his hand in his pocket. “If Hayward can’t hold up his end, I’m going to make it my personal mission to bury him.”

  “You’ll have to get in line behind me,” Adler said.

  A muscle pulsed in Ricker’s jaw. “And Kaitlin Roe can be present if she stays behind the yellow crime scene tape.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ll call Blackstone and work out the details,” Ricker said.

  Adler left Ricker and Novak, knowing this was a fragile victory. If Hayward were manipulating them, this was going to cost him political capital that he’d planned to use to help Logan. Not to mention, it would cost Ricker more, who’d stuck his neck out for him.

  Quinn came up on his flank as he moved through the bullpen. When she read his expression she smiled. “So, it’s still Let’s Make a Deal?”

  “It is.”

  “Good.”

  He checked his watch. “Saint Mathew’s is having an alumni fund-raiser starting right about now.”

  “And we care why?”

  “Because Blackstone is supposed to be there.”

  “It won’t look too good if we just show up.”

  “If an alumnus shows, it wouldn’t raise a brow.”

  She cocked her head. “Well, my mama and daddy couldn’t afford private school.”

  He shrugged. “Mine could.”

  “You’re a Saint M.’s kid?”

  “I am.”

  She laughed as she followed him to his car. “Jesus, Adler. You always gave off the rich-boy vibe, but I figured it was an act.”

  He slid behind the wheel. “Maybe you’ll make some new friends.”

  She clicked her seat belt. “Not likely.”

  It took less than twenty minutes to drive to the school and find street parking a block away.

  Out of the car, Quinn tugged up the collar of her shirt. “Do I look preppy enough?”

  “You’re a natural.”

  The parking lot was already full, and he could hear Irish music drifting from the sculpture garden. He dreaded events like this. His parents had dragged him to his fair share.

  He adjusted his tie and buttoned his jacket, and they climbed the front steps and strode toward a table.

  His grin froze when he recognized his ex-wife sitting at the table. Their divorce had been her idea, but he hadn’t contested it. She’d thought she was marrying a future governor or senator, not a career cop. “Veronica.”

  Her smile instantly warmed and she rose, touching her now-pregnant belly with her left hand, which sported a diamond-studded wedding band. “John, how are you?”

  He thought about all the times they’d talked about having children. When the time came to get pregnant, she’d asked him about leaving the police department and starting a “real” career. He’d found a reason not to quit, and she’d found a reason not to get pregnant. This went on for several years until a year ago, when she’d asked him for a divorce. “I’m great. How are you?”

  She laughed. “I’m married.”

  “Congratulations. When’s the baby due?”

  Her smile turned extra bright. “Less than a month.”

  Their divorce had been final seven months ago. “I wish you the best.”

  Quinn stuck out her hand. “I’m Detective Quinn, his partner.”

  Veronica smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d make it today,” Veronica said to Adler.

  “I thought I’d drop by.”

  Quinn filled out a name tag for herself and him. He peeled off the back of the tag and affixed it to his coat.

  “Good seeing you, Veronica.”

  More people approached the table, providing them with a smooth exit.

  “You look pretty cool about seeing your ex-wife,” Quinn said.

  “I am.”

  “Not that it’s my business, but how long were you two married?”

  “Ten years.”

  “Long time.”

  “Yes, it was.” Seeing Veronica and this school reminded him of the life he didn’t recognize anymore. They walked down the hall and stepped out the side door into the garden. At least thirty well-dressed people had gathered for the celebration. He scanned the crowd, easily spotting Blackstone.

  “My high school reunions aren’t this nice,” Quinn said. “Best we got is a rented back room in a restaurant.”

  Seeing an opening, Adler motioned to Quinn, and they moved toward Blackstone, whose back was turned.

  “Blackstone,” Adler said.

  The attorney turned, and the smile anchored in place didn’t flinch. He extended his hand. “Detectives.”

  Adler matched Blackstone’s firm grip. “I’m not wearing that hat now. I’m an alumnus.”

  “I’d heard something about that.”

  Adler hesitated a beat and released his hold. The attorney kept files on his opponents, and Adler imagined if he wasn’t on Blackstone’s list, he would be soon. “I hear Hayward came around the school often after he dropped out of college.”

  Blackstone adjusted a gold cuff link. “I thought this wasn’t about work.”

  His smile widened. “I’m talking about a fellow alumnus visiting his old school.”

  Blackstone sipped his wine and grinned. “Right.”

  “What does Hayward have on you? A professional like you doesn’t stick with a guy who’s career poison.”

  Blackstone didn’t blink. “I value friendship much like you do. I hear you’re helping out a fellow cop injured in the line of duty.”

  Adler felt Quinn’s gaze shift to him. “My guy’s not a drug-addicted murderer.”

  Dark eyes hardened. “True friendship isn’t always easy or convenient.”

  “Or maybe he has something on you.” Adler studied his expression carefully. Blackstone was a master at hiding emot
ions, but a subtle tension tightening the edges of his smile tipped his hand. “Something that you just don’t want the world to know about.”

  Blackstone looked relaxed, like the poker player holding all aces. “You’re reading more into this than you should.”

  Adler smiled as Blackstone turned and walked toward the dais. He would figure out whatever else Hayward was hiding and nail him.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Quinn said.

  Blackstone’s deep voice followed them through the garden and through a side entrance. As Adler strode out of the school, his phone dinged with a text from Novak. He halted midstride when he read it. Shit.

  Kaitlin Roe has been stabbed.

  INTERVIEW FILE #12

  A RELUCTANT SAVIOR—JACK HUDSON

  Thursday, March 1, 2018; 1:00 p.m.

  When I explain the purpose of my podcast to Jack Hudson, he’s reluctant to talk to me, even though it’s been fourteen years since I showed up on his doorstep drunk, terrified, and begging him to call 911. It’s hard to blame him. My unexpected arrival propelled him into the spotlight and all the crap that comes with it.

  Mr. Hudson is now in his late sixties, but he remains lean and fit. We sit at his kitchen table beside a large window that overlooks the bare trees and the river. “As soon as you said your name, I knew who you were. The media was camped out in front of my house for weeks. I hated that. I caught a few looking in my windows, and one went through the mail in my mailbox.”

  The blunt assessment feels like an accusation. But atonement isn’t easy.

  “I am sorry.” Silence lingers. He doesn’t accept my apology. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

  He huffs out a breath. “It was a warm night. High humidity. I had gone to bed early. You woke me up out of a dead sleep. Startled the hell out of me.”

  “Did you hear anything before I showed up?”

  “As I told the cops, I went to bed early. I didn’t hear anything.”

  Looking out his window, I can hear the rapids. How did he not hear me scream? “Do you remember Gina?”

  “Sure. She was a sweet kid. I’d watched her grow up. She shouldn’t have died so young.” His cat jumps up on the table, and he strokes her head before gently placing her on the floor. “She wouldn’t have died if any one of the girls had shown any common sense.”