by Mary Burton
A dog barked in the background. “What kind of progress?”
“I can’t say right now.”
“You don’t return my calls whenever I did a story on Gina, but you want background from me now.”
“Yes. Shoe’s on the other foot now.”
Soft laughter rumbled through the phone. “You’ve got stones, Kaitlin.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“It’s been fourteen years. I pitched a cold case article idea on her a few months ago and received no bites.”
“Why’re you still writing about her?” Kaitlin asked.
“Gina Mason had all the ingredients of a perfect life. Pretty. Smart. Ambitious. And then she was gone. When I first covered her, she was just another tragedy. But I never could forget her. When beautiful youth is ruined, it’s gripping. James Dean. Marilyn Monroe. Princess Diana. People still talk about them. I’d hoped to elevate Gina to that higher level.”
“Why?”
“I could ask you the same. Why do you suddenly care? You’ve been MIA for fourteen years.”
She decided to be candid. “I let her down,” she said. “I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most.”
Silence hung between them. “A lot of people would agree with you.”
“I know.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I’d like to interview you. You covered her more than anyone. You know as much as the cops do.”
The dog’s bark blended with the laughter of children. “That’s true. Perhaps more. Though I bet you’ve scored interviews I couldn’t because of your inside track.”
“The last thing I feel like is an insider.”
“You were at ground zero. You saw the crime happen. Doesn’t get any more inside than that.”
“I’ll share if you share,” she said.
More silence and finally, “Sure, I’ll work with you. Right now, I’m on deadline. Let’s meet on Saturday?”
She felt her stitches pull as she shifted. “Sure. That actually would be perfect.”
“I can reach you at this number?” Marcus asked.
“Yes.”
“Looking forward to working with you, Kaitlin.”
“Me, too.”
She ended the call and lay back against the pillows. She felt more confident she would be able to travel with the police on Friday and see Marcus the following day. She had no choice. She might even have real news to share with Marcus.
A knock on her door had her closing her laptop. Anxious to leave the hospital, she was in no mood for a visitor, or worse a nurse poking and prodding her.
“Come in.”
Susan Saunders, her boss, poked her head around the door. She carried with her a vase full of white tulips and a grin. Her thick stock of gray hair was tied back with a headband, and she wore a black blousy dress, clogs, and a mixture of thin bracelets. “Good, you’re up. The nurses weren’t sure if you were awake.”
Kaitlin had asked Susan to pick up a few things at her apartment. She set her laptop aside. “I’m glad to see a friendly face.”
Susan set the vase by the bed and sat, balancing Kaitlin’s small knapsack on her lap.
Sitting up a little taller, Kaitlin studied the floral arrangement, remembering the flowers sent to Audrey Mason’s hospice room and her own lecture.
“How are you feeling?” Susan asked.
Kaitlin looked away from the flowers. “Good. I’m on the mend and ready to leave.”
“Do the police have any leads in your case?” She leaned in a fraction.
“The cops are on it. It’ll be fine.” Drawn back to the flowers, she studied the blossoms. “Where did you get these?”
“They were delivered to the office. I thought I’d bring them along because they’re so lovely.”
“Was there a card?”
“No, the delivery man said they were for you.”
Kaitlin frowned. The flowers delivered to her aunt and to her lecture room also had no cards attached.
“What’s wrong?” Susan said. “You look worried.”
She smiled, but her mind didn’t settle. “Nothing’s wrong. I expected there would be a card.”
Susan studied the flowers. “The news is reporting the woman stabbed in Church Hill might have had a stalker.”
Kaitlin touched one of the soft flower petals. “That’s what I heard.”
“You’re so careful about giving out your phone number and contact information. Even the faculty picture of you doesn’t really look like you.”
“I’ve always been a stickler for privacy. It’s nothing.”
Susan moved the bouquet to the windowsill. Sunlight caught the flowers, creating shadows among the delicate petals.
Susan returned to the edge of the bed. “You think the guy who stabbed you sent the flowers, don’t you?” she asked.
“No,” she said too quickly. This conversation dug into her worries. “Do me one more favor and give these flowers to the nurses. They’re so kind. I want them to enjoy them.”
“Okay.” Susan looked suddenly nervous. “Don’t worry about your class, I’ve got Lexi covering it.”
“There’s not much to cover. The kids should’ve turned in their interview films to me on Sunday, and then they’re on break. I should be up and running when they get back.”
“There’s no rush.”
Kaitlin detected an underlying meaning. “I can do my job, Susan.”
Susan fiddled with a silver bracelet. “I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”
“And if I say I’m fine, and I’ll be back in a week?”
Susan released the bracelet and then fumbled with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Then I would say take the rest of the semester off. Give yourself a chance to heal and for the police to catch the guy who did this to you.”
Embers of resentment simmered.
“They’ll catch the guy who stabbed me. You have nothing to worry about.” The statement was meant to convince herself as well as Susan.
“I know. I’ve already spoken to Detective Adler, and we discussed your case.”
“Detective Adler came to see you?” She hated being discussed.
“Yes.” Susan looked sheepish. “He wanted to know if there were people who wanted to hurt you. I told them I didn’t know of anyone. Everyone I know thinks you’re great.”
Susan was killing her with kindness, but Kaitlin sensed more. “If you’re firing me, have the backbone to say the words.”
“I didn’t say I was firing you. You need to rest, and then we will reevaluate in a few months.”
“I have a signed contract for the summer session. So you better find good cause, or you’re opening yourself up to a lawsuit.”
Susan’s lips thinned. “That’s drastic.”
Kaitlin tipped her head back. “Susan, you’re looking out for yourself and the university. I get it. But honestly, it gets a little old when the victim gets the shaft and everyone piles on.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
Kaitlin refused to have this discussion. “Don’t forget the flowers.”
Susan’s lips pursed into a wan smile. She took the vase, holding it slightly away from her, and then left the room without looking back.
Kaitlin gripped her remote control, resisting the urge to toss it across the room. She tapped her index finger on the “On/Off” button, knowing the last thing she wanted to do was watch a stupid game show.
She closed her eyes and immediately assessed her situation. She had money in savings, which was enough for the next few months of rent but not enough for the lawsuit she’d just threatened Susan with. She had time and a place to heal. She would soon work out her next move.
Anxious to get her life back, she tossed off her covers. Drawing in a breath, she pulled her legs over the side of the bed. Fire burned in her belly. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to return to her work. Her life.
She took a step a little too quickly. She
hissed in a breath as sharp pain gripped her. “This is bullshit.”
Like it or not, she needed more time. For now, she was trapped.
INTERVIEW FILE #17
GINA’S BOYFRIEND, TOM DAVENPORT
Friday, February 16, 2018
“Tom Davenport.” His voice is deep, crisp, and sounds annoyed over my speakerphone.
“Tom, this is Kaitlin Roe.” Davenport dated Gina the spring semester of her senior year. They were king and queen of the prom and voted Most Likely to Be Amazing. Everyone thought they’d be together forever. Until Gina broke up with Tom six weeks before she vanished. She told me that their relationship didn’t make sense anymore. She was going to Duke and Tom was attending Virginia Tech. Time to enjoy their new lives at college.
“Who?” Papers shuffle in the background.
“Kaitlin Roe. From Saint Mathew’s High School. I was Gina Mason’s cousin.”
Silence settles between us. Then he mutters a curse. “What do you want?”
“I’m making a podcast. I’m trying to find Gina.”
A chair squeaks in the background.
“She vanished fourteen years ago.”
“But no one has found her. I’m hoping a podcast will draw attention back to her case.”
He laughs, but the sound is bitter, not joyous. “That’s kinda rich, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“You hated her.”
Gina was everything I wasn’t in high school. And admiration and resentment are a razor’s edge apart. “I’m trying to make it right.”
He swears again. “You can’t make it right.”
“I can try to find her.”
“The time to fix this was fourteen years ago, before you abandoned Gina.”
The line goes dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Monday, March 19, 2018; 7:00 p.m.
Adler returned to his desk, a large fresh coffee in hand, to find a stack of surveillance footage of the Jennifer Ralston residence. On the top was a note from Quinn. For your viewing pleasure. Footage supplied by two homeowners near Ralston residence. I’ve been summoned to the forensic department on another case. Q.
He loosened his tie and sat. Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his coffee and selected the first disc. He hit “Play,” and a rear view of Ralston’s residence appeared. Judging by the angle, the camera was mounted on the house across the alley.
The footage covered the nine days before Jennifer’s murder. He fast-forwarded to Thursday, March 15, the day of the murder. He chose seven a.m. as a starting point.
Several cars passed down the alley, and then Jennifer Ralston appeared at 7:30 a.m. walking out her back door with a bag of trash. She was dressed in a dark skirt, a white shirt, and the pumps that still sat in her entryway. A purse dangled from her arm. Jennifer hesitated on her doorstep, glancing left and then right, before she locked her door and made her way through the yard to the alley. She tossed her trash into the dumpster and then entered her garage. A minute later the garage door opened, and she backed out. The garage door closed.
He scanned the footage covering the hours after she left for work, searching for the moment her killer arrived. At the 3:02 p.m. mark, he saw a man dressed in coveralls and a hat open her back gate. The logo on his back read COMMONWEALTH PLUMBERS, and he was carrying an oversize toolbox. He moved quickly as if he knew where he was going and disappeared inside the gate, out of camera view for several seconds. Then he stood at her back door, opened it with a key, and entered the security code before closing the door.
Adler started viewing the video frame by frame. At 3:07, a shadow passed in front of the second-floor bedroom window and then vanished.
Energy surged through him. He fast-forwarded the tape to 6:00 p.m., the approximate time of Jennifer’s death. The lights in the house clicked on minutes after six, and the camera caught Jennifer through the kitchen window standing at the sink with a glass. She refilled it and then left the kitchen.
At 6:30 p.m., the back door opened. The man who had entered at 3:02 was now exiting with the same clothes and gear. He was in no rush. The killer had been in the residence for just over three hours waiting for Jennifer. He was a pro.
“I am coming back for you. You deserve to be punished.” Kaitlin’s clouded vision caught the glint of the knife’s blade rising as her alarm blared.
Kaitlin’s eyes popped open as an alarm went off in the hospital somewhere. She tried to sit. Pain tugged at her, but she expected it this time and gritting her teeth, pushed up into a sitting position. The blaring noise in the hallway stopped. Sweat dampened her hairline and between her shoulders and breasts. Her heart beat fast.
She eased back against the pillows. She slowly closed her eyes and breathed in and out while trying to slow her heart rate. But she couldn’t stop replaying his words. “I am coming back for you. You deserve to be punished.” Recollection danced just out of reach like a forgotten tune refusing to be remembered.
A knock on her door just after eight pulled her away from her laptop. “Come in.”
It was Detective Adler. His tie was loose, and thick stubble now darkened his chin. She was glad to see him. She shouldn’t have been, but there was no denying that having him close calmed her.
“What was that noise?” she asked.
“Fire alarm went off. It was a false alarm.” He studied her face.
She drew in a breath. She was annoyed she’d been rocked with fear. “You look about as bad as I feel,” she said.
“No rest for the wicked.” He held up a bag, tossing her a boyish grin. “Brought sorbet.”
Despite inner warnings to stay clear of him, she asked, “What kind?”
“Strawberry and chocolate.”
She straightened. She was relieved her body didn’t protest. “The nurses believe I’ll heal faster if they tempt me with Jell-O and beef broth.”
“Sorbet will do the trick.”
She watched with unwanted excitement as he pulled up a chair and dug out the containers. She chose chocolate, and he handed it to her along with a lime-green plastic spoon.
“You’re allowed to eat this, right?” he asked.
She pried off the top, savored the sight of the creamy swirls. “The doctors said soft foods. I think this qualifies.”
He peeled off his container top. “How’re you feeling?”
She took her first spoonful. The cool, rich chocolate was the best she’d ever eaten. “Better now.”
“You’re lucky.”
She ate a second bite, the rich taste making her feel optimistic. “I suppose I am.”
He cocked a brow. “You’re listening to your doctors?”
“Generally speaking. I freaked out a nurse when I tried to walk down the hallway this morning. She wasn’t happy. Made me promise to stay in bed.”
He chuckled and took several bites of sorbet. He raised his gaze to her as if he were seeing her in a different light. “I didn’t realize your hair was so curly.”
She resisted the urge to touch a curl. She saw something in his eyes that sent nervous energy running through her body. “I call it my ‘mountain woman’ look. Detective, if you haven’t noticed, I’m in a lockdown ward. No beauty contests here.”
“I like the curls. And your natural color. Why did you dye your hair blond?”
“Other than blondes have more fun? Hiding, I think. When I returned to Texas I decided I needed to look different. Didn’t want to see Gina when I looked in the mirror.”
He was silent. “Keep the brown. It’s you.”
“Might as well. If I thought the hair color was helping me hide, I was wrong.”
But she was vain enough to enjoy his compliment. She also wished she weren’t dressed in a shapeless hospital gown when he looked so sharp and commanding.
Her belly tightened, so she shifted positions. Without hesitating, Adler set down his sorbet and grabbed her elbow. She felt the rough skin of his scarred palm as he steadied her while he resettled
the pillow behind her. “In a week I’ll be running track and jumping hurdles.”
“You ever run track before?” He pulled the blanket up.
“No, but I could if I wanted to. And I just might take up running.”
“That I’d like to see.”
She considered telling Adler about her dream. The detective had quiet strength that calmed her anxious nerves. And right now he felt like a man she could trust.
“Forensic came back with some preliminary information,” Adler said. “They did find your thumbprint on the Crowleys’ front door latch. You let yourself into the house.”
“Have you found Erika?”
“No. And her phone is not emitting a signal.”
His blunt assessment didn’t bode well for Erika. “What about her husband?”
“Brad Crowley came by the station. He says he’s also searching for his wife. And he’s hired a lawyer.”
“Are you following him?” she asked.
“I have no cause.”
“He knows more than he’s saying.”
“He’s on my radar,” Adler said. “But I don’t think he knows where Erika is.”
“How could he not?”
“I honestly don’t think he’s smart enough to have pulled it off.”
She took another bite of sorbet, but suddenly found the flavor too sweet. “You went to see Susan.”
His spoon hovered above his carton. “I did. I’m trying to figure you out.”
“I’m very simple. I’m trying to find Gina.”
“So am I.”
She was doing her job. He was doing his. And as long as their priorities aligned, they’d be fine. “You know my life story, so I think you could throw me a detail or two about yours.”
He dropped his gaze to his sorbet and dug out a full spoon. “Forty-one, divorced, no kids.”
“Married to the job?”
“It was supposed to be a stepping stone into politics, but I discovered I liked it and am good at it. My ex had a different vision for my future.”
“She wanted you to go into politics.”
“She has her sights set high.”
“It must have been painful when you two split.”
“Not as bad as it should have been.”