“A few days from what the doctor said.”
“I don’t have a few days.” She struggled to sit again but immediately fell back in pain. “I don’t want to be here.”
“The surgeon stitched up your abdomen with over twenty stiches. No matter how antsy you feel, it’s going to have to wait.”
He was right. She’d been stabbed. Someone had tried to kill her.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said more softly, “I’ve been in your shoes. It sucks, but you’ve got to give your body time to heal before they’ll release you.”
She wanted to focus on anything other than herself. “You were hurt pretty bad recently.”
“Blown up and burned.” His blunt answer suggested he wasn’t interested in sharing details.
The more she thought about being in an unfamiliar location exposed to all sorts of people, the more unsettled she felt. Anyone could come into her room while she was sleeping, and given the shape she was in now, there was nothing she could do about it. There were no locks on her door.
“What about Erika? Have you found her?” she asked. “She could tell you what happened.”
“I spoke to the county police. There was no sign of Erika or her husband.”
“I interviewed her for my podcast in January. She was late because she’d waited until her husband left for work. She didn’t want him to know about the interview.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You get the vibe he might be abusive?”
“I don’t know.” She searched his face. “I saw her on Friday and told her about Jennifer. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Her phone isn’t transmitting a signal. Do you have any idea where she would go?”
“No.” Again she rummaged through splintered recollections, but still found nothing that would help her figure out what had happened during the lost hours. Frustrated, she pushed her fists into the sheets and was determined again to sit up. Screw the pain. She wouldn’t be sidelined, and she was going to remember. She tried to sit again. Immediately her body burned, and she hissed in a sharp breath as tears filled her eyes. “Damn it.”
He took her hand in his, and automatically she squeezed his fingers until she sat up. His calloused fingers brushed her palm, offering comfort she did not want.
When the agony mellowed to an ache, she realized how tightly she’d been gripping his hand. Feeling foolish, she pulled her fingers free. She met his gaze. “And here I thought you were an asshole,” she said.
“I get that a lot.”
A smile quirked the edges of her lips. “If it’s any consolation, so do I.”
He shook his head. “A dead woman, a missing woman, an AWOL husband, and the person at the center of it all has a hefty slice in her gut. You attract trouble like this all the time?”
“Not in a long time.” Fresh frustration quickly gained strength. “I need to remember who stabbed me. I don’t think he’s one and done. He’s coming for me.”
“You’ve been traumatized. Victims often don’t remember their attack initially.”
The label, victim, was another punch to the gut. After Gina, most saw her as a victim. People talked to her differently, some avoided her, and some believed she’d caused all her troubles. She’d have taken it better if Adler had called her a liar. “Fuck victim.”
“The stitches say otherwise.”
“Call me stupid. Foolish. Even naive. But don’t call me a victim.”
He studied her a long moment. He was a homicide detective who rooted among the lies for truths. Trained to unwind complicated evidence and piece them together into a coherent picture. “Like it or not, you’re officially a case, Kaitlin. And you’re probably right, he’s going to make another run at you.”
“You should be looking for Erika and Brad Crowley. I was at their place when this happened. They must have known something.”
“Slow down. What do you remember?”
“I do remember her text now. And I remember parking my car and walking toward the front door. I think the door was open. I thought Erika would be there, but I didn’t see her.”
“All I know is you were just inside, unconscious and bleeding. The responding officer called for backup and the paramedics. The house was searched, but no one was found.”
The image of her lying in her own blood added weight to what had happened. “I don’t remember.”
“Where else would Erika Crowley be?” Adler asked.
“I don’t know much about her. I had the impression she lived a pretty isolated life.”
“What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Only what she told me, which isn’t much. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in fourteen years. Hell, I didn’t know her well then.”
His silence, hefting too much weight, was a sure signal she wasn’t going to like what she heard.
“We need to find Erika and Brad,” she said.
“We aren’t doing anything. I’ll find them.”
A sudden wave of fatigue hit, stealing some of her fire. “I’m in the middle of all this.”
He rose, leaned over the bed, and braced his hand on the headboard and the side rail, careful not to jostle the IV in her arm. “I’m aware, and believe me, I’ll not rest until I figure this out. We’ll talk about it later. In the meantime, you’re safe. I’ll make it my mission to find this guy.”
“No one could fourteen years ago.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Now, I’m in the game. So the rules have changed.”
Panic felt like weakness, but it was undeniable. “I can’t defend myself now.”
“You’re in a lockdown unit. No one can get in or out, so rest. You’re safe here.”
Safe. What the hell did that mean? She hadn’t felt safe in fourteen years. “And when I leave?”
“One step at a time.”
“I’ve never been good at the patience thing.”
“Rest,” he said.
She shook her head. “What about Hayward?”
“He has his deal. But he won’t lead us to Gina until you can be present.”
“Randy never makes anything easy. He likes his games.”
“He has a lot to lose; why play them now?”
“I have no idea.” She tried to sit up. “When are we going?”
“Soon.” He lifted his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Did he say where she is?”
“No. But nothing’s going to happen in Gina’s case until you’re better.”
He squeezed her hand before he left. When the door closed behind him, she forced herself to relax into the pillows. She stared at the white tiled ceiling a long moment before she closed her eyes, too exhausted and sore to fight.
INTERVIEW FILE #13
THE MEDIA FRENZY
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
“This is Steven Marcus with Channel Eleven news reporting from the Virginia State Police offices. Today, I’m here with Jennifer Connors, a public information officer, to discuss the case of Gina Mason. Eighteen-year-old Mason went missing three days ago.
“Ms. Connors, what can you tell us about the case?” Marcus asks.
The young reporter raises his microphone tow
ard the petite blonde, who looks directly into the camera. “State and federal agents and officers have been working with the City of Richmond Police. They’re currently running any and all leads and ask residents to call us if they have any information regarding Gina Mason.”
“What should residents be looking for?” the reporter asks.
“Gina went missing from Riverside Drive near Pony Pasture. If you were in the area the night of August 15 and noticed anything out of the ordinary, please call us. Has a friend, family member, or neighbor exhibited a change in mood or appearance? Was there an unknown car parked in the wrong place? Is there anyone fascinated or frustrated with the media coverage of the case?”
“And who should they call?” Marcus asks.
As the phone numbers of several jurisdictions flash on the bottom of the screen, Marcus looks into the camera. His brow is furrowed and his lips draw into a grim line. When he speaks again, his voice cracks with emotion. “If you know anything, please call.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sunday, March 18, 2018; 10:00 a.m.
Adler pulled up in front of the Crowleys’ white colonial located at the end of a cul-de-sac. The lawn was neatly manicured, and freshly mulched beds were filled with azaleas ready to bloom. A yard flag hanging on the mailbox read SPRING. The house’s wide front porch sported several rockers and yellow crime scene tape now tied between the posts.
He tried to imagine Kaitlin pulling up here. He’d bet she’d been anxious to interview Erika, given the fact that she’d left her class early and arrived here thirty minutes after she’d received Erika’s text.
Technically Kaitlin’s stabbing wasn’t his case. Her case wasn’t a homicide, and this county wasn’t his jurisdiction. But he refused to stand on the sidelines, so he’d called his counterparts in the county and asked for and received the all clear to poke around the crime scene.
He crossed the street and strode up the driveway, noticing the bushes by the front of the house. They were tall and thick and a good place for someone to hide. Up the front stairs, he studied the brass lock. There were no signs of forced entry. The door had to have been unlocked or perhaps open when Kaitlin arrived.
He pulled on latex gloves. Breaking the tape, he used the key he’d gotten from the forensic investigator and opened the front door. A flip of a switch in the foyer turned on the lights of a chandelier and cast a warm glow over a collection of art hanging on the walls. The faint scent of pine cleaner clung to polished floors now littered with dozens of footprints left by the responding officers, EMTs, and the forensic team.