INTERVIEW FILE #11
LOYALTY LOST—ERIKA TRAVIS CROWLEY
Saturday, January 6, 2018; 8:15 a.m.
It’s a few minutes after eight in the morning. The coffee shop is buzzing with patrons anxious for their morning jolt of java. The aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon make the room feel warm and cozy and a haven against the cold January temperature. The barista wears a black, short-sleeved T-shirt that exposes his forearm, tattooed with a sea-horse in aqua waves.
I sit in the rear corner of the shop, my latte nearly finished. I have a ten a.m. class, and I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for Erika Travis Crowley, who promised to be here at eight sharp. In high school, I remember she’d always been late.
The bells jingle above the door, announcing a customer, and I look up again, hopeful to see Erika. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard lumbers toward the cashier as he types on his phone. He glances at me and moves on to get his coffee.
I’m about to check my phone for a possible message from Erika when the door pushes open with purpose. I look over to see a polished blonde wearing a brown coat, jeans, heels, and dark sunglasses that don’t quite fit the time of day. It’s been fourteen years, but I recognize Erika instantly.
I rise and wave my hand. The movement catches Erika’s attention, and she studies me a beat, trying to reconcile her memories of me with the woman she sees now.
She glances from side to side, then hurries across to the small round table in the corner. She pulls off her glasses. “Kaitlin?”
“It’s me.” I sound cheerier than I feel.
We exchange a brief, if not awkward, handshake, and she sits. “I’m sorry I’m late. My husband was delayed leaving for work, and I wasn’t interested in explaining where I was going, so I waited until he left.” Her husband is Brad Crowley. He’d been a few years ahead of us at Saint Mathew’s, and I still picture a serious, stern man with plans to be a surgeon.
“Thank you for seeing me. I ordered you a coffee, but I’m afraid it’s cold.”
“That’s fine. I’m so wired. Just thinking about this interview has set my nerves on edge. I haven’t been able to sleep for days. I worry now it was a mistake.”
No one so far has been comfortable talking about Gina Mason. She still is sorely missed, and it still hurts.
“This doesn’t have to be a formal interview or anything. Why don’t we just talk?”
“Sure.” She settles her small black purse in her lap and fiddles with the gold latch. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“Really? I don’t like the idea of being so easy to locate.”
“I understand.” I’ve grown paranoid over the years about my address and online profile and taken steps to hide it all.
“Do you mind if I jump right in?” I flip a page in a thick worn spiral notebook. I’ve filled two of these in the last couple of weeks.
“I can’t promise I’ll answer any of your questions.” She sounds unapologetic.
“Fair enough.” I uncap my pen, always worried the recorder will fail or I’ll miss a key detail. “As I said on the phone, I’m creating a podcast about Gina. What can you tell me about her?”
“I was jealous of her.” She tries to smile and soften the confession, but it hangs between us. “We all wanted to be her, and all the guys we dated wished they were with her.”
“How do you know what the boys were thinking?”
“My high school boyfriend confessed to it. Brad. He’s my husband now.”
“Brad liked Gina?”
“Yes. I know he loved me, but he was hot for her. He slipped and called me Gina once when we were doing it.” She tucked a blond strand behind her ear.
“Did Brad ever talk to you about Gina?”
“Sure.”
“What did he say?”
“Other than her being hot, he thought she was stuck up and that she believed she was better than everyone else.”
“Did you tell this to the cops?”
“I never mentioned Brad’s name to the cops.”
“Why not?”
“Loyalty. I knew he didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened. He was a horny teenager who could be insecure sometimes.”
“So why are you telling me now?”
She shrugged. “I found out he’s fucking his secretary. Loyalty is a two-way street.”
Cold-case experts will admit spurned lovers are an excellent source for fresh case details. I don’t speak, letting the silence prod her to say more.
“Want to know a secret?” Erika says.
“I love secrets.”
She leaned in. “Brad gave me the Ecstasy the night Gina was taken. He told me it would loosen us all up.”
Hearing her speak so easily about the drugs is jarring, but I stay focused. “You ever talk about Gina’s case with Brad after she went missing?”
“I tried. He never wanted to talk about Gina.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
She’d said Brad hadn’t been involved in Gina’s case, but something in me tells me to press again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I think. “I get the feeling that Brad had something to do with Gina’s disappearance?”
She is silent, as if she realizes she might have said too much. “No, no, of course not,” she adds quickly.
“You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
“When’s the last time he saw Randy Hayward?”
She sits straighter. “He called from prison. Said he was about to get out and needed money. Brad, of course, obliged. They’ve been friends since kindergarten.”
“The cops questioned Randy soon after Gina went missing. Do you think he knew something?”
“The cops dropped the charges because they couldn’t prove anything.”
“That’s not what I asked. Do you think he knew more than he was saying?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Did Derek and Brad help him cover up something?”
Instead of answering she checks her watch. “God, look at the time. I have to go.”