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It’s strange to see someone having recorded my reaction, and I read it a few times as if trying to decipher my own behavior from back then. But I come up empty. Those days are so blurred in my head that I can’t pick anything apart.
My breathing quickens.
Why would I repress my own memories? What could I possibly have witnessed that was so traumatizing that I chose to forget about it?
I move on and see Aunt Angela’s statement, which is surprisingly long.
My eyes widen as I go through it and then Egerton’s notes.
‘…displaying nerves…claims that Lily Cooper had mentioned leaving a few times…doesn’t make eye contact...is alibied by her husband…insisting that the Lily Cooper has left of own accord…statement keeps changing.. suspicious behavior...investigate further…’
My heart is in turmoil as I recall the soft-spoken woman who’d tried her best to give me a loving home. However, as I scroll down, her name isn’t mentioned in the suspect list. But the name that is, takes me by surprise, making me sit up.
Samuel Jordon is a name I’m all too familiar with.
While Cameron had never been overly attached to his womanizing father who was also the town drunk, his unexpected suicide a few months after my mother’s disappearance had shaken my friend.
I never knew his father was a suspect in the case.
The section dedicated to him states that he stalked my mother and records public displays of indecency. There is no mention of a suicide note but it is clearly stated that he denied everything, and when he was taken into custody for obstructing the investigation, he hung himself in jail. His name was partially cleared afterwards.
Why kill himself? That sounds like an extreme step.
And why didn’t Cameron ever tell me? He must have known.
Troubled and trying to contain this strange guilt inside me whispering to me that my friend’s father’s death had something to do with my situation, I look at the next name on the page and my brow furrows.
Jet Stalinski?
The name doesn’t sound familiar but his picture is familiar. He used to come to the house. I remember because my mother introduced him to me. There’s not much written about him except that he went missing around the same time. Apparently, he was a constant visitor in town and his visits had grown more and more regular during that year. However, the day my mother went missing, so did he. His wallet and belongings were still in the motel room.
“Jet Stalinski?” Jace reads aloud from behind me. “He was a suspect?”
I stare at the man’s smiling picture, and reply, slowly, “It seems so. But he never resurfaced. Apparently, Egerton contacted the authorities but no one in his hometown had heard from him. It’s like he just vanished one day.”
“Like your mother.”
I echo his words, softly, “Like my mother…” I pause, “Only, why wouldn’t he take his wallet, his cards, his money? Everything was left behind.” I look up at Jace. “I met him. Not once but quite a few times. He had dinner at our house and he babysat me once.” My tone is confused. “We never met outside of the house, though. He was always so nice to me.”
“The police never mentioned him to you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember much. Some memories are crystal clear and some are just blurred. But if Egerton had asked me about him, he would have mentioned it in the report.”
I glimpse the testimony from Uncle Raymond and Egerton mentions how inconsolable he was. My heart goes out to my haggard uncle. Life has been so cruel to him, first ripping away his childhood friend and then his family.
How is he still so kind and together?
I make a mental note to go hug him when I see him next. He has been both a father and a mother to me.
I’m all the family he has left.
I sigh, closing the laptop. “Well, this was both informative and useless.” With an afterthought, I admit, “Not completely useless. I know more than I ever did. Plus, the forged passports; if I can find out who made them, it might give me a clue.”
“A clue to what?” Jace pushes the laptop behind as he leans against the table in front of me. “Halley, you’re doing exactly what your mother told you not to do.”
There’s concern in his voice and I feel irritated. “I’m not making it public that I’m looking into her death. I just want to know…” I get to my feet and start pacing, agitated. “This whole thing started because somebody killed Hashem. Even if that wasn’t enough, the money and these passports and the letter, what am I supposed to do? Look the other way?”
