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“Your name does have a tendency to come up.”
“With whom?”
“Larry Jenkins.”
“Yeah, I talked to him last week. He wasn’t helpful. He remembered me and was more interested in making cracks about my high school days. I was as infamous at Saint Mathew’s as Gina was famous.”
He ran his hand down his red silk tie. “Why did Jennifer leave the river early that night?”
“She was hammered. She could barely stand up.”
“Where did she live?”
“About a half mile from Pony Pasture, not far from Gina. Knew the area like the back of her hand.”
“Did she see anything? Did she have any new information for you?”
“No.”
“How did she get home?”
“Ashley, her sister, picked her up.”
“So Ashley was also there?”
“Ashley dropped her sister off and then later returned to get her. I remember the Ralston family car pulling up. Jennifer said she didn’t remember anything after getting in the car.”
“And you saw Ashley?”
“I assumed it was Ashley.” She frowned. “I can’t say for sure, but Jennifer confirmed it was her sister when I interviewed her.”
“Have you spoken to Ashley since you returned? Did you interview her?”
“No. I haven’t gotten to her yet.”
He studied her. “Does this tape include all your interviews?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Honesty was her new policy thanks to AA. She didn’t like it. Old habits died hard. “Because you’re a cop. And I don’t trust cops.”
“Why not?”
“Go back and read the case files. Watch my interviews with Detective North. He pretended to be on my side. And then he leaked my name to the press and denied it because I was a minor. My life turned to shit after that.”
“He leaned on you.”
“He was certain I knew more than I did. He thought the media would tear the truth out of me.”
“And?”
“Can’t get blood out of a turnip.”
Adler seemed to weigh and measure all her answers. He didn’t trust her either. Smart man. “I would have done the same thing.”
“When you work out something with Hayward, let me know.”
“When? You speak as if it’s a done deal.”
“Detective Adler, you strike me as the kind of guy who moves fast.”
Not rising to the bait, he asked, “Hayward will get a visit from me before any deal is proposed. Where are you parked?”
“Up there.”
“I’ll walk you to your car, again.”
The words were polite, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t asking but telling. Though she bristled, she fought the urge to argue. He’d said he’d look into it. And, despite her better judgment, she believed him. Acceptance allowed her to ease her white-knuckle grip on control.
He slowed his pace as he walked her to her car. The afternoon air was soft, and a delicate breeze from the river rustled the budding branches. It could have been a moment easily enjoyed if only they weren’t a half block from a murder scene, he weren’t a cop, and she weren’t paranoid.
He waited as she opened the door to her car and slid into the seat. She closed the door and quickly turned on the engine while rolling her window down.
“Whoever did this to Jennifer could be watching,” he said, leaning close to her so only she could hear.
“Why would anyone be watching? She’s dead.”
“He was keeping tabs on her.”
“She had a stalker?”
“Maybe. This kind of guy gets his rocks off not only following his victim, but also monitoring the cops during an investigation. I suggest you be careful.”
She’d spent the last fourteen years being careful because she feared the unseen. And she was damn tired of hiding. “I’ll keep it in mind. But I’m making my podcast. I need to make it, now more than ever.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer right away. “You really want to know?”
“Do I look like I’m being polite?”
“No.”
“I’m not.”
“Whatever happened to Gina sent ripples through so many families. None of us—Jennifer, Erika, or me, our families and friends—were ever the same after she vanished. Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”
“That’s your only motivation?”
“You think I’m holding back?”
“I don’t see the other interview tapes.”
“When you get Gina’s case file, can I read it?”
He shook his head, no hints of apology in his expression. “You’re on the wrong side of the blue line.”
“I’m aware.”
He patted the top of her car. “In the meantime, suspend your podcast interviews until I can figure out what or if anything links Jennifer’s murder to Gina’s disappearance.”
Smiling, she shook her head. She wasn’t stopping, and if anything she was more motivated than ever to find Gina. “I’ll take it under consideration, Detective.”
INTERVIEW FILE #7
ONCE A LAWMAN, ALWAYS A LAWMAN
Thursday, February 15, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
ONCE A LAWMAN, ALWAYS A LAWMAN. The saying is burned into driftwood and hangs over retired missing-persons detective Joshua North’s bed at the Oak Croft Retirement Center. The room is bathed in beige except for a lone bouquet of wilting red, white, and blue balloons in a corner. A piece of untouched chocolate cake, sporting a tilting, unlit candle, sits on the small table beside Detective North’s recliner. It’s his seventy-eighth birthday.
As he does every day, he insists on shaving and donning his khakis and pressed white shirt that is now his unofficial “uniform.” It’s important he proves to himself he’s the same man who retired from the department thirteen years ago. A year after Gina Mason vanished.
Time has mellowed some of my anger toward this man. But in full disclosure, I will never forgive what he did. I balance my own slice of cake, trying not to notice his hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. It’s easier to hold on to anger when I picture him taller and stronger. Like the cake, this man had seen better days.
“Thank you for seeing me.” I steady the dessert plate on my knees.
I first met North in the emergency room fourteen years ago. I was still intoxicated and so agitated by the trauma of seeing Gina taken, I could barely sit still. When he pushed open the curtain of my examination cubicle, I felt protected. I needed help, and I thought it was him. He found people. He could end this nightmare.
I could easily underestimate him now, until I look behind the thick silver-rimmed glasses and see sharp blue eyes staring back.
“I haven’t seen you in a long time. Kaitlin Roe, right?”
“You remember me.”
“Your hair is different. A little older, but I remember you and Gina Mason. Her kind of case haunts cops.” His eyes never leave me. “What have you been up to?”
“College. Film degree. Thought I’d move to LA and make films but was hired by a Dallas PR firm to make commercials. Life got comfortable. Time passed.”
All true. What I don’t mention are the panic attacks, the drinking, and finally a desperate outreach to AA.
“Why are you doing this interview?”
“I want to find Gina. Maybe if someone hears my podcast, they’ll remember something and speak up.”
“Don’t be so sure everyone’s going to be happy about this project. Politicians, cops, the people who became obsessed with her—none of ’em want you digging up the past.”
“I couldn’t care less. It’s time.”
Police searches went on for months after Gina vanished. There were hundreds of tips that led nowhere. Some were cruel hoaxes, others were cases of mistaken identity, and even a few psychics called. Gina’s mother was still visiting psychics and tarot-card readers until her death. The media produced first-,
fifth-, and tenth-anniversary stories. But all the leads and exposure took the case nowhere.
“I lost track of the man-hours I invested. We all busted our butts trying to find her. Have you recently talked to the cops?”
