CHAPTER FIVE
Friday, March 16, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
The rain had stopped, but the air remained wet and raw. Adler parked in front of the two-story frame house at the corner of Libby and Grove Avenues. The tony area was just east of the University of Richmond, and it was home to several trendy restaurants, expensive clothing boutiques, and an exclusive school for girls.
Adler saw the discreet DOGWOOD HOMES sign, climbed the front steps, and pushed through the door to find a young man sitting behind a desk. Slicked-back hair accentuated a sharp jawline. He wore a crisp white shirt but no tie. His smile clicked on. “Can I help you?”
Adler removed his badge from his breast pocket. “I’m Detective John Adler. I’m looking for Mr. Larry Jenkins.”
“That’s me. I own the company.” His brow furrowed.
“I have a question about a property you’re representing.”
“Which one are you talking about?”
He rattled off Jennifer Ralston’s address. “In Church Hill.”
“I know the address well. Ms. Ralston signed the sales agreement a few days ago. The house is supposed to go on the market in a couple of weeks. What happened?”
“Right now I want to know who has access to the property.” If Adler explained there’d been a homicide, the whole dynamic of the conversation would change. Every word would be measured and weighted. Calculated.
“I do.”
“Anyone else?”
“I know Jennifer hired a stager a couple of weeks ago. There was also a painter to touch up the kitchen and a plumber to fix the downstairs sink in the bathroom. The gardeners aren’t scheduled to come until next week. Properties like hers go quickly, and the ones that are pristine will get multiple offers above asking price.”
“She’s not been in the house long. Why sell?”
“Why not ask her?”
“I’m asking you.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why do you care what I think?”
Adler raised a brow and leaned into his personal space, waiting for an answer. He could play this cat-and-mouse game in his sleep.
Jenkins relented and released a breath. “She said she didn’t like the city. She wanted to move to the suburbs. What’s really going on here?”
Adler let the silence linger between them, reminding Jenkins he ran this show. “She was murdered last night.”
Jenkins blinked for a moment as he processed the news. He slowly stood up but kept his hands on the desk to steady himself. “This is awful. Her sister must be devastated.”
“You know Ashley Ralston?”
He rubbed his temple. “I went to high school with Ashley. We graduated the same year.” His eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. Did you go to Saint Mathew’s?”
“I did, but a few years ahead of you.” Mention of Saint Mathew’s redirected his thoughts back to the Mason case. “So you would also have heard about Gina Mason.”
“Everyone at Saint Mathew’s knew about Gina. It’s a small school. There were just over sixty kids in the graduating class. The news hit everyone hard. At the ten-year reunion the class president had a moment of silence for her.”
“Were Jennifer and Gina good friends?”
Larry took his hands off the desk and stood more erect. “How does Gina relate to Jennifer’s death?”
“You just said everyone knew each other, and both these girls are dead. Just making sure I have all the pieces.”
“Sure, they were great friends.”
“Did you know a student named Kaitlin Roe?”
“Kaitlin? Sure. She was Gina’s cousin and a couple of years younger. Everyone at Saint M. knew about Kaitlin’s circumstances. It was a small community.” He fiddled with his watch. “Funny you should mention Kaitlin. She came by here last week.”
“Why?”
“She’s making a podcast about Gina. She’s on this mission to find the truth about her.”
“Why was she talking to you?”
“She’s talking to everyone in Gina’s class. She can’t guarantee what she’ll use.”
“How did you feel about the podcast?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like it will do much in the long run. But I guess it makes Kaitlin feel a little less guilty for leaving her cousin. I didn’t have any new information to tell her. Most likely my interview will end up on the cutting-room floor.”
“Were you there the night Gina vanished?”
“I was on vacation with my parents. I didn’t know what had happened for several days. It was a surreal time. Soon after, all the kids went to college. I guess life just kept moving forward.” He slowly came around the desk. “How did Jennifer die?”
“I can’t say right now.”
“And this happened last night?”
“It did.”
He twisted a gold cuff link. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“How many employees do you have?”
“It’s just me.”
“And you had a key to her house?”
“As did the housecleaning service.”
“Where is the key?”
“In a locked box.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” Jenkins moved to a metal cabinet mounted to the wall in a back office. He punched a number into an electronic keyless lock, and the door opened. There were several dozen sets hanging in the cabinet. He handed Jennifer’s key to Adler.
The key was labeled with the number twelve and a four-digit code. “What are these numbers?”
“The small number corresponds to her address logged in a separate location, and the four-digit number is her security passcode.”
“Who else has access to this cabinet?”
“Just me. I planned to go out there today to put a lockbox on the front door with a key inside it. Should I still go?”
“No. It’s an active crime scene now.” Adler pocketed the key and handed him his business card. “Please call me if you think of anything else.”
Jenkins studied the card as if it held a clue about what just happened. “I should call Ashley. She must be so upset.”
“I’m sure she could use a friend now.”
Adler left, and fifteen minutes later when he pulled onto Jennifer Ralston’s street, it was quiet. The forensic van and cop cars had cleared away. No watchful neighbors or reporters lingering for now. He parked in front of her house, climbed the stairs, and broke the yellow crime scene tape seal.
As he entered the foyer, the security system chimed in the eerie stillness of the house. When he’d been here last night, the small space had been buzzing. There’d barely been enough space to move around.
He commonly returned to murder scenes after the chaos had cleared. It gave him the chance to process the observations made earlier and begin to imagine the scene from both the killer’s and victim’s perspectives.
Inside, he paused to tug on black latex gloves while he studied the high heels still undisturbed at the front entryway table. He examined the purse and keys as the foyer mirror tossed back his reflection. He looked ten years older since the bombing. He felt even older.
He imagined Jennifer would have looked in that mirror every day. Women tended to use mirrors, sometimes to admire but more often to critique. He looked away, seeing little point in either.
He moved to the kitchen and tested the back door. It was locked. He flipped the dead bolt, and as he opened the door, the alarm again chimed a warning. Why hadn’t the killer tripped the alarm? He closed and locked the door.
He opened several cabinets to find dishes perfectly stacked. In a utensil drawer, the forks, spoons, and knives were polished and arranged in neat stacks. On the counter was an arrangement of apples. All the stems were facing up. Complete order.
Opposite the counter was a nook area serving as a home office. There were several pictures pinned to a bulletin board above the desk. All featured a smiling Jennifer with her cat, a dark Siamese with a bent right ear.
A small laptop rested in the center, papers stacked uniformly on the left, unopened mail on the right. He flipped through the unopened mail to find several bills and a couple of pieces of junk mail. He sat and opened the small drawer. Pens, pencils, paper clips, and stamps. He wondered how she found the time to be so meticulous.
He pulled the drawer out a little farther and ran his hand along the back edge inside. The wood was smooth, empty, and then his fingertips brushed what felt like paper.
He removed a stack of five folded notecards bound by a rubber band. The author had used block lettering and bold black ink.
He read each note.
My Girl, you’re still a beautiful woman.
My Girl, would you like a ride to work?
My Girl, I think about you all the time.
My Girl, remember that last summer by the river?
My Girl, what is your biggest regret?
The contents of each note were benign enough. However, if the author were a stalker, the repeated anonymous messages signed only with a heart would have been menacing. The heart written in blood in the shower or the flowers under her bed proved it.
Adler checked, and Jennifer had not filed any police reports. If she had been worried about a stalker, she’d not reached out to the police.
He pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket and bagged the notes. He checked the remaining drawer, but it contained more office supplies. He opened the computer and discovered it was password protected by a six-character code.
He tried the year of Jennifer’s birth plus her initials. That didn’t work. He tried her address. Nope. Didn’t work. He typed in Morris. No success. Resigned, he decided he’d have to leave the encryption to the geeks in the tech department.
Next he inspected the refrigerator. Fully stocked with fresh vegetables and several bottles of sparkling wine. There was also a takeout container from a pub just around the corner. In the freezer, chocolate ice cream and a bottle of top-shelf vodka stared back at him.
In the living room, an old fireplace painted in black lacquer looked as if its flue had been sealed and was no longer functional. She had arranged candles in the base of the fireplace in a circular pattern, which he supposed was to create a mood. All staged. He moved to a small closet packed with winter coats and several styles of boots. On the top shelf was a box. He lifted the lid and inside found a scrapbook. He sat in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace and opened it. The pictures dated back several years.
He turned the pages slowly until he came to a collection taken on the boulders at the James River. He spotted Jennifer immediately and noticed all these pictures featured not only her, but also three other girls. He flipped over one of the pictures. The inscription read: Me, Erika, Kaitlin, and Gina. He focused on Kaitlin’s face. The rich sweep of mahogany hair warmed her face and mirrored the color and texture of Gina’s. They could have been sisters.
Both Kaitlin and Gina wore wide grins. However, Kaitlin’s eyes were tired, whereas Gina’s were bright. In another image the girls were standing on the boulders at Pony Pasture. Behind them, the river was low, leaving exposed large granite slabs for kids to sun themselves on warm days. Had these pictures been taken right before Gina vanished?
He replaced the photo and turned the page. After the river pictures the book was blank. The memories ended.
Using his phone he took snapshots of the images. What were the chances Jennifer had narrowly avoided a kidnapping and then fourteen years later ended up murdered?
His phone rang. It was Kaitlin.
“I have that recording.” Her voice had a rusty edge that sounded seductive.
“I’m at Jennifer Ralston’s home now.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you. Wait for me.”
He found himself looking forward to seeing her. Given another set of circumstances, he’d have welcomed the prospect of pursuing her. “See you soon.”
Kaitlin grabbed her jacket and descended the stairs to her car parked in the lot. She drove up into Church Hill and found a spot a half block beyond Jennifer’s townhome.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and moved up the brick sidewalk toward the row house encircled by the yellow crime scene tape. As she stared up at it, Detective Adler strode out the front door. His expression was grim as he stripped off black latex gloves and came down the sidewalk toward her. She wasn’t the only one having a bad day.
“I went to see Randy Hayward,” she said.
“So he agreed to see you.”
“He called me out of the blue and asked to meet.”
“You gave him your number?”
Using a tactic from his playbook, she deflected his question. “He’s an important piece of the puzzle.”
“And?”
“And he said he knows how to find Gina.” She held up her hand before he could voice the rebuttal glistening in his narrowed eyes. “I know, he’s a thief, liar, and con man. But he said Gina’s attacker had cut her ear off. That detail was never mentioned in the press. The cops told me not to tell anyone, and I didn’t. Hayward also knew the earrings she wore were borrowed from me. He gave them to me as a gift.”
Adler’s glare was unnerving. “How long has he been in jail?”
“One month. He couldn’t have killed Jennifer.”
He didn’t respond.
“I know Gina wasn’t your case. But Hayward wants me to find someone whom he can deal with. I thought about you.”
He stared at her. “What does he want?”
“He wants to trade what he knows.”
“For a reduced sentence?”
“I suppose. He’s been in and out of the system for over a decade,” she said. “He knows how it works.”
“I’m not in a position to make a deal with him,” Adler said.
She wasn’t going to let Adler off that easy. “But you know who can?”
“Yes.” He tightened the fingers around the latex gloves. “It’s a hell of a long shot.”
“Isn’t it worth pursuing? Gina vanished in your jurisdiction, and there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“Assuming Gina is dead,” he said.
She cocked her head. “You think she’s alive?”
His jaw pulsed. “No.”
The flap of yellow crime scene tape caught her attention, and a glance past him reminded her how brutal Gina’s death had probably been.
Saying nothing, he opened his phone and held it up to her. It was a picture of her with Gina, Jennifer, and Erika. Her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.
“When was this taken?” he asked.
“The last night.”
“How do you know?”
“Gina is wearing the green dress, and I have on that white top. It’s what we both wore that night. Where did you get this? I’ve never seen it before.”
“It was in Jennifer’s photo album.”
“Ashley snapped several pictures of us when she dropped Jennifer off.” Feeling suddenly unsteady, she handed back his phone and fished in her backpack for the disc of Jennifer’s interview. She wasn’t planning on giving him every interview she’d done just yet because she didn’t fully trust him, but she needed his help with Randy. Give a little to get a little. “This is the interview I did with Jennifer.”
He tapped the disc against his hand. “Let me make some calls about Hayward. I won’t jump too quickly, because I don’t want him thinking he’s in control. He’s not.”
Urgency churned in her belly. “He really might know something about Gina, and maybe Jennifer.”
“He might. Might not. But he does know what you want, and he’s using it.”
Adler was right. Wanting led to vulnerability. “Detective, it’s our best option right now.”
“Okay, I’ll make some calls. He’s kept his secret fourteen years. He can keep it a little longer.”
“Any idea who killed Jennifer?”
“A few.” He made no attempt to share.
She nodded toward the security camera mounted on the house across the street. “There are cameras everywhere here. One of them must have captured something.”
The crooked smile again tugged the edge of his mouth. “I’ve done this before.”
“Right, sure.” She tightened the grip on the strap of her backpack. “Jennifer’s mother died about five years ago. And her father died when she was a kid. It was just Ashley and Jennifer.”
“You keep up, don’t you?”
“When it comes to the girls by the river I do.” She shook her head. “Have you requested Gina’s missing person file?”
“I have.”
She chose her next words carefully. “Be warned, it paints me in a bad light. I’m a different person than I was then. I made terrible mistakes. I can’t make them right, but I can help bring Gina home.”
“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.”