Her Last Word Page 4

  “I can’t believe my project has any bearing on your case. Gina vanished fourteen years ago.”

  “How can you be certain they aren’t linked?”

  Kaitlin was sure. At least nearly. But she knew the doubt would eat away at her. Better to take her chances with this cop than carry more regret.

  He leaned in a fraction. “Can I take that silence as a yes? Or do I get a warrant?”

  Guys like him held all the cards. She could play hardball and stall, but she didn’t have the legal firepower or money to fight it. “I can drop off a disc at your office.”

  He fished a card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “I’d like it tomorrow.”

  She flicked the edge of the card, studying his name and Homicide Division. Cops were chameleons. They changed personas instantly. Savior. Tormenter. Two sides of the same coin. “Sure.”

  He looked around the studio, surveying windows, exits, and locks. “Have you noticed anyone following you?”

  “No.” The skin on her neck tightened. “Why, should I?”

  “You’re here by yourself?”

  Tension rippled over her body. “Yeah. The last guest left a few minutes before you arrived. I’ve a few chairs left to stack, and I’ll be done.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car, okay?” The question mark didn’t soften the directive.

  Her knee-jerk response was to refuse. The farther she stayed away from him, the better. But Jennifer’s death had rattled her. Already she replayed their interview and wondered what she’d missed. Jesus. Jennifer was dead. “Thank you.”

  Adler loaded the last chairs onto the stack as she collected her backpack, folded up the picture of Gina, and slid it into a portfolio case. She fished her mace and keys out of her bag. “I need to dump the trash.”

  He picked up the trash bag. “Let’s go.”

  “Right.”

  At the door, she shut off the lights and stared into a darkness ripe with an eerie weight now pressing on her chest. Anxious to leave, she snapped the door wider. A rush of cool air greeted her. She raised an unsteady hand, shoved the key in the heavy dead bolt, and locked it. She started toward the dumpster in the alley, but he stayed slightly in front while keeping her near the wall.

  He followed her across the street to the lot where her SUV was parked beside a dark cruiser.

  “Thanks for the escort.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I teach film at the university.”

  “You’ve a degree in film?”

  “A bachelor of arts and a master’s.”

  “How long have you taught?”

  Given another set of circumstances, he’d have sounded conversational. “About six months. Not a full professor. I’m an adjunct.”

  “And before that you said you worked for an ad agency in Texas?”

  “Yes. A sizable pay cut.”

  “Who’s financing this project?”

  “My savings. The university job. Frugality. I make it work.”

  He nodded, sizing her up. Light from a streetlamp cut across his angled face. “I expect Jennifer Ralston’s interview tape tomorrow.”

  “I said I’d drop it off.”

  She slid behind the wheel, and as she raised her key toward the ignition, her hand still shook. She sat for a moment and drew in a breath, willing her muscles to unwind.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She gripped the wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Jennifer really is dead?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It would be cruel to lie.” Adler didn’t look like the type that played games, but another cop had lied to her after Gina went missing, so she was wise to be cautious.

  “I would never do that,” he said.

  Gray eyes scrutinized her so closely it was hard not to look away.

  “You’ll keep me updated on Jennifer’s case?”

  “We will talk again.”

  She closed her door and turned the ignition. He patted the top of the car, and she pulled away. A glance in the rearview mirror captured him standing on the deserted street, staring at her like a hunter. And she was in his crosshairs.

  INTERVIEW FILE #4

  THE NIGHT GINA VANISHED

  Sunday, August 15, 2004

  We had gathered on the large rocks on the James River at Pony Pasture Rapids. I was witnessing a celebration. Gina, Erika, and Jennifer were heading off to college in less than a week, and this gathering was their private send-off. I felt privileged to be included because I was only a rising junior. This evening would never have been open to me if I’d not been Gina’s cousin.

  Pony Pasture is part of the James River Park System, with the Huguenot Bridge just upriver. Called by some the Redneck Riviera, it attracts thousands of sunbathers, swimmers, and kayakers daily during the summer. We’d arrived after sunset, officially trespassing and violating park rules when we hopscotched over the trail of massive boulders onto the river.

  The sultry evening began simply with a few laughs, and then Jennifer had produced a plastic quart bottle of lemonade spiked with vodka. I knew when the nectar came to me I should have passed. I hadn’t had a drink in almost eleven months. I had promised my mother I’d get my life together. But I was naive enough to think I could stop at one drink. So I took a sip. The cool, sweet liquid slid over my tongue, quenching one thirst and igniting another. Shortly after, the bottle was half-full and we were drunk. My head spun. I’d never had so much fun in my life.

  Then Jennifer wobbled to her feet. She had to go because her grandparents were coming into town early the next day. She called her sister, Ashley, for a ride. Soon, at least I think it was soon, a blue sedan pulled up and headlights flashed. Jennifer and then Erika got in the car and left. Gina and I were alone.

  We inspected the jug, now nearly empty. Time to call it a night; we began to walk toward my aunt’s home a half mile down the road. We’d not gone more than a few hundred yards when I had the first suspicion someone was watching us. It was the creepy sensation you get at the base of your skull that sends shivers down your spine. When I looked up, Gina was ten yards ahead of me. Not a big deal, but there was no moon that night. I ignored the fear, attributing it to the booze. I barked at Gina to wait. She told me to hurry. My flip-flop snagged on the gravel road. I stumbled and called out to her. I heard nothing in the pitch blackness. In only a few seconds, I caught up. She was bracing, her face white, and her lips drawn tight with fear. Standing beside her was a man in dark clothing wearing a clown mask. He was holding a large knife to her neck.

  No one spoke for a moment. He told me to run.

  My mind was blurred by the booze. I remember staggering and trying to stand straight. I wanted to run. I was so afraid. And then Gina began to scream. I focused and saw the large jagged blade pressing against her cheek and blood running down her neck and chest. I stumbled forward and saw Gina’s ear on the ground, her silver earring still looped through the pierced lobe. He’d sliced off her ear.

  “Run or I’ll kill her.” The clown raised the severed ear as if it were a trophy. “One, two . . .”

  I don’t remember what I did next or how much more time passed before I turned and ran.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thursday, March 15, 2018; 11:15 p.m.

  Adler watched Kaitlin Roe drive away. He couldn’t get a full read on her. She was nervous and edgy, but he sensed a resolve. Her blond strands blended into long dark roots, drawing attention to her angled face and sharp brown eyes. Her green V-necked sweater was full and loose, but when she’d moved, the fabric had clung to a tight body and full breasts. She’d filled out the worn jeans nicely.

  When she’d first tried to meet him months ago, he and Logan had been responding to a call. The explosion happened a day later, and his promise to call Kaitlin Roe back was forgotten.

  There was no forgetting her now. In fact, getting her out of his head wouldn’t be easy. As he drove back to the homicide scene, he ran a search on Kaitlin Roe. There
were no charges pending against her in Virginia. There’d been a speeding ticket in Montgomery County last year, which she’d paid.

  An Internet search of Lyn Tyler pulled up references to her advertising job in Dallas. She wasn’t listed on the staff page, but when he clicked on prior events, he found a variety of pictures featuring her at corporate functions. If he hadn’t been looking for her, he might have missed her. Her hair was fully blond, and the makeup she wore made her look too perfect. In one cocktail setting, a blue sequined dress skimmed her trim body, and tall heels made her already-long legs look, well, pretty damn stunning. In another image her dress was black and fitted, and she was holding a crystal award while surrounded closely by several older men. Kaitlin was grinning at the camera while the others were enraptured by her.

  This version of Kaitlin would have turned his head when he was a younger man. But he preferred the woman who’d demanded a meeting with him and whom he’d found tonight in the deserted meeting space stacking chairs. She was interesting. She had dropped whatever mask the Texas Kaitlin had been wearing, and didn’t seem to care what he or anyone thought.

  Next he called the police records division and asked for the Gina Mason investigation book. Maybe there was a connection between Jennifer’s and Gina’s deaths.

  At the murder scene, he found Quinn sitting in her car. The forensic team was still inside the townhome processing evidence.

  He tapped on Quinn’s window, and she reluctantly set aside a thermos of coffee and climbed out of the car. “Ready to knock on a few doors?” he asked.

  She rolled her shoulders. “Ready to wake up the good citizens.”

  He checked his watch. Eleven thirty. Yeah, they were going to disturb a few people, but the earliest hours in a murder investigation were the most critical. Now was the time to talk to anyone and everyone.

  “So how did it go with Kaitlin Roe?” Quinn asked.

  He outlined the details of her project. “She says she did an interview with Jennifer Ralston. I’ve requested it from her and the Gina Mason files from records.”

  “How did Ms. Roe react to the news of Ms. Ralston’s death?”

  “She was upset, but held it together. I suspect she’s had some practice hiding her emotions.”

  “I suppose cops make her nervous.”

  He thought back to when he’d first seen her. She’d appeared tense, but he’d been too focused on another case to find out why. “She came by the police station in December. She caught Logan and me outside the station as we were headed to a call. She wanted to talk about a cold case. It was a day before the explosion, and I forgot about her until tonight.”

  “In your defense, you did get blown up.”

  “Yeah.” Thinking about Kaitlin now, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten her.

  Quinn burrowed her hands in her pockets. “Let’s get this party started.”

  They started with the row house standing five feet from Jennifer Ralston’s home. Adler rang the bell, paused, then banged hard on the black lacquered door for nearly thirty seconds before lights clicked on in an upstairs room. Curtains fluttered, and then the door opened to a guy in his midtwenties. He was wearing sweats and an inside-out sweatshirt. His expression was annoyed until he glanced at Adler’s face next to the badges he and Quinn held up.

  “Jennifer Ralston was murdered tonight in her home,” Adler said. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  His eyes widened as the words sunk in. “Shit. I mean, sure, ask me anything.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Ah, my name is Mike Noonan.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and another young man came down. He was dressed in athletic shorts and a torn Brew Thru shirt and carried a bat.

  Adler held up his badge, his other hand sliding to his weapon, watching until the second man lowered the bat and leaned it against the wall.

  “Hey, sorry,” the second man said. “What gives? I have to be up at five.”

  Adler explained the situation. “What’s your name?”

  “Thompson,” he said. “Chuck Thompson.”

  Adler scribbled the name. “How did Jennifer appear to you lately?”

  Chuck glanced at Mike. “I rarely saw her.”

  Mike’s brows knotted. “She’s been kind of skittish lately. I said hello to her the other day, and she flinched. Dropped her groceries. Her apples rolled down the sidewalk, and I chased after a couple. I apologized. She tried to laugh it off, but her hands were shaking.”

  “Did you ask her what was wrong?” Adler asked.

  “I did. But she looked embarrassed. Said it was no big deal.”

  Chuck rubbed the dark stubble on his cheek. “She was always a fanatic about closing her curtains and locking her doors. I figured city living was scaring her. Some people love it, while others just can’t get comfortable with it.”

  Quinn looked confused. “How so?”

  “You know, they can’t tune out all the street sounds. Someone drags a trash can along the alleyway, and it sounds like they’re in the next room. There’s only about an arm’s length between the houses. Like I said, it’s not for everyone.”

  “And you don’t think Jennifer liked it?” Quinn asked.

  “She was raised in the burbs. Took her months to learn to parallel park,” Chuck said.

  “But she stayed,” Adler countered.

  “She planned to sell. She’s been fixing up the place for weeks. Jennifer said she wanted out.”

  “When did she plan to put the house on the market?” he asked.

  “In April, I think,” Mike offered. “She signed a realtor about a month ago. They were waiting for warmer weather. The neighborhood looks its best in the spring.”

  “Ever see anyone watching her house?” Quinn asked.

  “Anyone linger?” Adler added.

  “I work twelve hours a day,” Mike said. “I’m barely home myself.”

  Chuck shook his head. “I mean, there are a few houses on the street getting renovated, so we see all kinds of new faces around here these days. It would be easy for a stranger to blend in right now.”

  Mike shook his head. “Her cat went missing two weeks ago. She was crying when she knocked on my door.”

  “Did she find it?” Adler asked. Ashley Ralston had told him all this earlier in the evening, but he always confirmed witness statements.

  “If she did, she didn’t tell me,” Mike said.

  “Did she date anyone in particular?” Quinn asked.

  “There was Jeremy,” Chuck said. “He was around for a few months, and then he stopped coming by.”

  “Does Jeremy have a last name?” Adler asked, again double-checking Ashley’s answers.

  “Keller,” Chuck said. “He’s an engineer in her firm. I did see him around a few weeks ago. He was ringing her doorbell, but she didn’t answer. It was late. I figured it was a dry booty call.”

  They’d confirmed Ashley’s information and tossed in an extra tidbit about Jeremy. “Okay. Thanks.” He handed the two men his card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mike said.

  Chuck nodded. “Absolutely.”

  The detectives left the two standing in their doorway as they moved to the next row house. By four, they’d spoken to six neighbors. Most had seen the flashing lights but hadn’t been alarmed. Another burglary, most assumed. All were taken aback by the news of her death. A few noted she’d grown jumpy recently, and a couple emphasized she’d appeared to improve in the last couple of days. One woman swore she saw a man lurking in the bushes across the street in the park and said she had called the police. A patrol car arrived, but the officer found no one.

  Of the six homes they’d visited in the last few hours, four reported having cameras and promised footage. In the minutes before sunrise, they walked down the uneven brick sidewalk back toward the Ralston crime scene. It was still lit up, and technicians continued to process
the scene. They’d only be getting in the way if they entered now.

  “I want to have a look at the alley.” Adler moved to the wooden gate that led to the side alley. The lock on the gate had been cut.

  Quinn rubbed her hands together. “A uniform cut it for me so I could search the backyard.”

  As he pushed through the wooden gate, several bells on the other side clanged and clattered. “They look new. Early warning system?”

  “She was fortifying her house.”

  The backyard was narrow and long. At the opposite end was the small garage he’d seen earlier. He found the garage door locked but the side window unlocked. Adler opened the window. He shone his flashlight into a space that was barely large enough for one car. Hanging from the sidewalls were lawn chairs, Christmas lights, autumn wreaths, and Halloween decorations. The kind of crap that was cool a handful of days but was useless the rest of the year.

  “Where’s her car?” All signs suggested Jennifer had entered her front door.

  “It’s a blue Honda parked several spaces down. I searched it and found nothing out of the ordinary. I suspect she found a spot out front and took it.”

  To the right of the garage was a gate leading into the alley that ran between Twenty-First and Twenty-Second Streets. There were two dumpsters in the alley. “What day is trash pickup?”

  “Thursday. The forensic team already checked the dumpsters. They were recently emptied, and the few bags present didn’t contain any evidence.”

  “We need to expand the radius. The guy might have parked a couple of blocks away.”

  “I’ve already asked the uniforms to canvas the area dumpsters tonight.”

  “Good deal.” He strode back toward the large brick patio bordering the back door. There were several planters filled with fresh dirt and winter pansies.

  Two orange flags marked areas where two fresh footprints had been noted by the first responder. The forensic investigator had photographed the impressions and then taken plaster castings of each. The casts had already been transported to the lab, but it would be another seventy-two hours before they fully hardened. Preliminary accounts described it as a man’s tennis shoe, size ten or eleven.