14
EVA
Bad road conditions,snow falling harder and harder and early rush hour meant that we’ve only managed to see two of the ten people we have on our list to visit, and it’s almost six PM. None of the people we spoke to had much to tell us and one flat out refused to discuss it.
“We could try taking the bus,” I suggest as we’re waiting to make a left turn at a red light, which has turned green at least three times without us moving more than a car’s length. “Or walking even.”
Mark’s usually very antsy, to put it mildly, when he gets stuck in traffic, but today he seems very complacent about it.
“In this weather?” he says and leaves it at that.
“Well, your mother is coming in a couple of days for one thing, and the longer we take tracking this killer, the more likely it is that he’ll slip back into the lair he spends most of the year in.”
“All the articles will keep him engaged,” he says. “And my mother changed her mind about coming just yet. She says something’s come up.”
A bunch of thoughts clash inside my head at that news, starting with why he hasn’t told me this yet, why she’s being like that, and finally relief that we have some more time to put everything in order before she comes. But mostly, I’m just a little mad at her for doing this to Mark. This is at least the third time in the last two years that she postponed a visit that was practically agreed on.
“Did she say what?” I ask and he shrugs.
“Didn’t really ask,” he says. “She’ll come when she’s ready.”
He doesn’t want to talk about it, and I see no point forcing the issue.
My phone pings and I’m expecting to see another interview request, which have been raining in all day today. But it’s a text from my mom.
“She wants to know when we can have that thank you dinner with Milo’s mother now that he’s been released,” I say.
“We didn’t have much to do with that,” Mark says. “They simply didn’t have enough grounds to hold him. He’s still their prime suspect for Ana’s death though.”
“She’ll just insist…” I say, even though everything he just said makes perfect sense.
“We can do it tomorrow,” he says. “Or over the weekend.”
“Maybe Milo saw someone else by the river,” I say as I text my mom back.
Mark nods and finally makes the turn we’ve been trying to make for almost half an hour. But the traffic on the next road is just as congested.
At least we’re almost at our next destination now—a tiny gift shop on the edge of the city center and near the main train station. Parking is a nightmare and Mark doesn’t even hesitate before leaving the car double parked right in front of the store.
A petite woman with fiery red hair looks up as we enter, her eyes unfocused and the smile on her lips a little bland. She sets down her phone and stands up.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” she asks. “We have some lovely things for babies as well.”
I shake my head and Mark quickly introduces us, finishing with, “Are you Lea Musar?”
She nods, looking at us with wide eyes. “What is this about?”
“We have some questions about your step-sister, Tina,” I say.
She shudders and turns even paler, making the freckles covering her cheeks stand out darkly. In the reflection on the windows, which cover the entire side longer side of the store and look out onto the train station, she looks like a ghost.
“That was so long ago,” she says sadly. “Why do you want to talk about Tina?”
My logic as to the order of these interviews is pretty simple, and I think solid. The further back we go, the more meaningful all the connections we uncovered in the present will become.
“As we understand it, Tina was treated at the state psychiatric hospital for a few months about a year before she died,” I say and she nods. “Did she ever speak about the doctor who treated her there? A Dr. Kline.”
Lea nods right away. “She liked him. And his colleague Robert Lap. She wanted to get with both of them, if you know what I mean.”