“Right. We just don’t know. We don’t know why she would get out of her car. We don’t know why she would stay out. Like so many things about this case, it makes no sense.”
“So we don’t know why she got out or stayed out,” Merrick says. “But let’s talk about what we do know. We know that Randa was indulged by her dad.”
“Or . . . to frame it a different way,” Daniel says, “a father who has plenty of money trades in her current car for a new car every two years—to keep her safe and in something dependable. And who knows—maybe it’s good for his taxes. I’m just saying . . . it’s not like they’re luxury cars. Maybe he’s being more protective than indulgent.”
“Okay. Fair enough. Either way, it’s not typical.”
“It’s certainly not.”
“Other things we know . . .” Merrick says. “The car was found locked with most or all of Randa’s things in it—didn’t look like anything was stolen.”
“It had some strange things in it, which we’ll get to in a minute,” Daniel says, “but we need to ask what it means that it was found locked, with no signs of foul play and nothing appearing to be missing.”
“Her phone was missing,” Merrick says.
“Which we presume was on her person—probably in her pocket or maybe even her hand.”
“But her purse and wallet, some cash, and jewelry were still inside.”
“How much cash?” Daniel asks.
“Over a hundred bucks.”
“We know from receipts and even surveillance footage that Randa went to an ATM and withdrew most of the cash from her checking account before she left Pensacola.”
“Which was a little over four hundred dollars.”
“And we know she stopped at a few places along the way and bought gas and food and some other items.”
“About a hundred dollars’ worth of stuff,” Merrick says, “so where’s the other two hundred bucks?”'
“In her pocket instead of her purse,” Daniel says.
“Maybe. It’s yet another question, another mystery. It doesn’t appear to be a robbery but money is missing.”
“Everywhere you turn . . . there are unanswered questions. Some of them small and specific . . . but others strange and inexplicable.”
“Let’s talk about what was in Randa’s car,” Merrick says. “And let’s start with the books. Randa left most of her books back in her dorm room at UWF, so it’s interesting which ones she took.”
“I know we’re going to get to this on a later show,” Daniel says, “but I just want to mention now that most of the things in Randa’s room were boxed up—something people who are going to commit suicide often do so loved ones won’t have to do it. But, and this is a very big but, her stuff could’ve still been boxed up from returning from the holiday break.”
“But that’s not something you normally do, is it?” Merrick says. “Pack up all your stuff between fall and spring semesters. During summer, maybe, but not Christmas break.”
“No, not usually.”
“And we’ll get into that in a future episode,” Merrick says, “a very interesting episode, but for today let’s talk about the books she brought with her—Girl, Interrupted, A Bright Red Scream: Self-Mutilation and the Language of Pain, a Bible, The Virgin Suicides, and The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.”
“These books paint a certain picture,” Daniel says. “A bleak picture of a young woman undergoing a breakdown or feeling like she might be. And I’m not saying you can diagnose a person by what they read, but . . . the fact that these are all books of a certain kind, of teenage girls in crisis . . . I don’t think it’s unreasonable to surmise Randa Raffield was not in a good way.”
“Which leads to a couple of other items in the car,” Merrick says. “A length of water hose cut just long enough to fit from the exhaust pipe around to the window, and a roll of duct tape.”
“Was Randa Raffield suicidal?” Daniel asks. “And if she did kill herself out there—in the swamp or the bay—why wasn’t her body ever found?”
“And why is there so much evidence to indicate she was abducted and murdered,” Merrick says. “Next time, on In Search of Randa Raffield.”
11
“You think we can clear it?” Reggie asks.
“I do,” I say.
We are in the evidence closet, pulling the material from the Randa Raffield case—all of which fit in a single cardboard storage box.
When I open the box and see how little is inside, I say, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”
“Not much, is it?”
I carry the box to her office where the case files are waiting for us.
They are in a large black three-ring binder, which I place on the evidence box on the chair beside me across from her desk.
Rather than sitting behind her desk, she leans against the front edge of it, crossing her Roper boots.
“You sure about this?” she says, lifting a bottle of cold coffee from her desk and taking a sip.
“Absolutely,” I say. “I’m already obsessed with it.”
“Then I want you working it full-time,” she says. “Put the Remington James thing on the back burner and give me the Robin Wilson case back. I’m gonna see if FDLE will take it.”
“You wouldn’t rather us investigate it?”
She shrugs. “I’ll look at it again and let you know.”
I nod and she takes another swig of her cold mocha coffee drink.
Her phone rings and she puts her coffee down and steps around the desk to answer it. As she does, I lift the binder and begin to flip through it.
Glancing over the file lets me know what a solid job Merrick and Daniel have done in handling the details of the case on their show, and I wonder if Reggie let Merrick look at it.
There’s not a lot in the binder—a few reports, some statements, notes, and photographs.
Most of the pictures of the car are from the holding lot where it was towed—where it had been for two days. The pictures of the scene where Randa had vanished were mostly of the highway, shoulder, and surrounding woods—and were mostly useless.
Reggie finishes her call and looks up at me. “Lot of attention on this case. We need to tread carefully and protect our investigation. You and I are the only ones to see the file. I’m not sharing any info with Merrick or anyone else. I’m happy his podcast is doing so well. And I appreciate anything they’ve turned up, but it’s a one-way street. They share with us. We don’t share with them. It’s our case. Let’s solve it.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me know what you need. I’ll do anything I can to help. Any resources. Anything I can come up with. And you can drop that ma’am shit.”
I smile. “What happened to Randa’s car?”
“Processed for prints, DNA, etc. Photographed. Released to the dad. Title was in his name. From what I gather, he’s kept it just the way it was in hopes she’s still gonna show up someday, so if we need to take another look at it we might be able to—though what good it would do after all this time I can’t imagine.”
I nod.
“I looked through the case files,” she says. “Been listening to Merrick’s show. I think it’s pretty obvious what happened.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you know Randa was an athlete?”
I nod.
“A world-class swimmer,” she says. “On the swim team at UWF. Whether it was intentional or not I don’t know—’cause I’m not a mind reader—but I bet you anything, she drowned. She walked into the woods and through the Windmark construction site and wound up in the water. Maybe she was just trying to sober up, maybe she really was suicidal. Either way, I think the most likely scenario is that she drowned. But we can’t prove a negative. We need some evidence—anything that will prove to reasonable people what really happened.”
“And if she didn’t drown?” I ask.
“Then find the evil son of a bitch who took her and take him off the board.”
When I leave the sheriff’s department, I intend to drive to my office, which is in the investigations division behind the supervisor of elections office on Long Avenue. The investigations division and interview room are in a separate location because the small sheriff’s department offices behind the courthouse just doesn’t have room for us.
As soon as I’m in my car, I begin the next episode of the podcast.
“Today we’re joined by private investigator Cal Beckner,” Merrick says. “Welcome.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“We appreciate you being on the show,” Daniel says.
“Happy to help. I’ve invested a lot in this case over the years—and not just time.”
“How’d you first get involved in the case?” Merrick asks.
“I was hired by Randa’s mom, Lynn Raffield, oh I’d say . . . sometime in the second week of Randa going missing.”
“So you’ve been on the case since nearly the beginning,” Daniel says.
“Near about.”
“Are you still investigating the case now?” Merrick asks.
“I am. And I will be until it’s solved.”
“But you no longer work for the family, is that right?”
“That’s correct. I haven’t in a long time. I’m working this case pro bono because . . . well, I . . . just can’t let it go.”
“And why did Lynn Raffield let you go?” Merrick asks.
“You’d have to ask her to be absolutely certain, but . . . my guess is . . . she didn’t like what was in my reports and—”
“You focused on Randa’s background, right?” Daniel asks.
“I did. Usually the keys to understanding something like this—a young girl not where she’s supposed to be and winding up vanishing—are in the days and months and, to a lesser extent, years leading up to it.”
“And what did you find in Randa’s past?”
“A very troubled young woman,” Cal says. “Randa was by all accounts a sweet girl . . . pretty genuinely nice to everyone. A good and loyal friend. A good student. Good athlete. But she was . . . she struggled too.”
“With?” Daniel asks.
“Some drugs, but mostly alcohol. Binge drinking. Lots of parties.”
“Which is pretty common on college campuses these days, isn’t it?” Merrick says.
“Yes, it is. But I’d say Randa’s was even more excessive than the typical excessiveness found among most coeds these days.”
“There was a fair amount of alcohol found in her car at the time of her disappearance,” Daniel adds. “Now, none of it was open and most of it was in the trunk, so we’re not saying Randa was drinking and driving. We just don’t know. But . . . she had enough booze for a party.”
When I reach my office I keep driving, taking a right on 98. At the next light I take a left and drive down past the marina to park in front of the bay. Leaving the podcast running, I open the binder and begin to go over the case files page by page, picture by picture as I listen.
“Lynn Raffield, Randa’s mom, didn’t seem too surprised by her daughter’s drinking,” Cal says. “I think she knew about it or suspected. It was the other things I uncovered that I think led to her dismissing me.”
“Which were?” Merrick says.
“Some of it’s related to her drinking, but . . . some of it was . . . showed some . . . deeper issues and problems.”
“Like?” Daniel asks.
“Promiscuity.”
“Again,” Merrick says, “something pretty common on college campuses.”
“Not like this,” Cal says. “Randa had a boyfriend. Actually, as of New Year’s Eve of the year she went missing, a fiancé. Yet she continued to sleep around.”
“Should we say allegedly or something?” Daniel asks.
“I have evidence,” Cal says. “Now listen, I’m not trying to smear Randa or make anyone think differently of her. I like her. I really do. I uncovered so many good things about her. She was a sweet and kind person. But I’m sharing some of the things that I feel could’ve contributed to what ultimately happened to her. Which was what I was hired to do, and what I’ve continued doing all these years because I want her found. I want this mystery solved. I want this case closed. I want Jerry and Lynn and all Randa’s friends to have closure. And what I’m saying is . . . Randa wasn’t just promiscuous. She had a problem that went beyond that. She suffered from a condition, a compulsion. She was a sex addict.”
“A sex addict,” Daniel says.
“Yes. Someone who engages in a compulsive behavior, in this case sex, in spite of the negative consequences and harmful effects.”
“And you’re saying Randa did that?”
“The night she said yes to her boyfriend’s proposal of marriage, she slept with another guy.”
I look up from the binder and out at the bay. If what he’s saying is true, it means her boyfriend is a bigger suspect than was first believed. So are the other people she was sleeping with—and their jealous partners.
“I don’t say this lightly,” Cal says. “And I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t have the evidence to back it up. This is a very serious condition and it makes me feel so bad for this sweet young girl.”
“Okay,” Daniel says. “Wow. I . . . I wasn’t expecting that. But . . . if it’s true, it could certainly have contributed to what happened to Randa.”
“It’s true. I have witness statements. Medical records.”
“Medical records?” Merrick asks.
“From the number of sexually transmitted diseases and abortions she had. I’ve also got statements from some of her partners, her friends, and even the school records where her swim coach was fired over his alleged affair with her. Again, I’m not saying any of this to make Randa look bad. Just the opposite. I think we should all feel bad for her. She was a special, unique, strong, smart young woman with some very serious issues. She was also a cutter.”
I think about the books and other items found in Randa’s car and the picture of the damaged and faulty young woman in crisis it painted.
“Let me say it again,” Cal says. “I think the world of Randa Raffield. She was beautiful. She was smart. She did very well at everything she did—made great grades and set records in swimming competitions. She was politically active. Socially aware. She was kind to people. A genuinely good person. But . . . beneath the outward perfection, she had some issues—issues that weren’t obvious or even visible, but they were very real and were having a big impact on her life, and I think contributed to what happened to her.”
“In what way?” Merrick asks.
“I think she was where she was because of these issues. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Why? She was getting away from something. Could’ve just been the pressure of her life . . . but it could’ve been a stalker—someone she slept with who became obsessed with her. Maybe she really did intend to kill herself. Maybe that’s why she was out there. And maybe she even did it. Or maybe she encountered someone who did it for her. Maybe she didn’t resist. I don’t know. We may never know what happened to Randa, but I hope we do—and not just to satisfy some morbid curiosity . . . but for her. For her.”
13
“Merrick and Daniel’s show really needs some female perspective,” Anna says. “I appreciate what they’re doing, but the show I just listened to had three middle-aged men talking about the mental state of a young woman.”
“I had the same thought,” I say.
It’s early afternoon and I’m on Highway 98 in Panama City, heading west toward Seaside to see Jerry Raffield.
“NSSI is done as much or more by well-accomplished and high-achieving young women as it is by troubled, fringe, falling-apart young women.”
“NSSI?” I ask.
“Non-suicidal self-injury,” she says. “The cutting they were discussing. Some studies say as many as one in five girls between age ten and eighteen do it. It’s not about suicide. It’s not for attention. Most
keep it a secret, do it where their clothes hide it. It’s a release, a rush, a way to exercise control, and gives a sense of euphoria—just like the compulsive sex would. It’s all about the brain, how it’s wired, its biochemistry. It’s about need and reward and punishment. I’m not surprised a high-achieving student-athlete like Randa did it—especially if she was as outwardly perfect and inwardly troubled as the private detective and others have indicated. Cutting, compulsive sex, perfectionism among these poor young women is like anorexia of the soul.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I’ve been interested in it as it relates to women’s issues a long time. Also from helping my niece with some of it a few years back.”
“Our daughters are lucky to have you for a mom,” I say.
“We’re gonna have to be so careful with them,” she says. “They’re gonna get so much fucked-up pressure from our fucked-up sexist culture, so many horrible messages about every aspect of their bodies and beings.”
“They’re getting the right messages from us,” I say.
“But the assumptions and . . . expectations and . . . conventions of an entire society . . . It’s a lot to overcome.”
“We’re up to the task,” I say. “Besides . . . our daughters have the best example imaginable in you.”
“I worry about them,” she says. “For them.”
“I know, but . . . don’t waste time on worry. And make sure you’re not putting undo pressure or perfectionism on your parenting.”
“I am,” she says. “See? It’s so . . . subtle and . . . insidious.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, and we fall silent a moment.
I can tell she’s thinking, figuring, processing.
“Speaking of subtle . . .” she says. “Don’t just take that PI’s word that Randa was a sex addict or a cutter or whatever else he’s saying.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I talked to him this morning. He’s agreed to give me copies of his files. Says they back up everything he said.”
“Even if they do, or seem to, it may be wrong—or his conclusions may be, but even they aren’t, they’re still only a small fraction of who she was, of her story.”
COLD BLOOD (a John Jordan Mystery Book 13) Page 6