Her Last Word
Page 27
She held up the VHS. “This time it’s more basic. Can I use your equipment later today and transfer this to a DVD or a thumb drive?”
Stephanie took the tape. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the time. Give me a day. This for the Gina project?”
“It is. It’s supposed to be a tape of Gina.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m no closer to finding Gina. I’ve also been reminded several times what a screwup I was in high school.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Cut yourself a break. Most of us were screwups in high school. What’s important now is that you’re trying to find Gina. That counts.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s too little and too late.”
“It’s not.”
Kaitlin smiled. “Thanks. I’ve got to go. My study session is starting, and I’m on borrowed time.”
Stephanie nodded. “I’ll email you when it’s ready.”
“I owe you.”
“I’d like to see Gina found, too.”
INTERVIEW FILE #10
MEET GINA MASON
Wednesday, September 3, 2003; 8:00 a.m.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004! Welcome to the Rebels’ soccer team—district finalists three years in a row!”
The DVD captures the seventeen-year-old with violet eyes and a one-hundred-watt smile as she tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear and throws a devilish grin. A high swipe of cheekbones and full lips give her a sexy look hard to miss. The camera likes her, and she likes the spotlight.
She claps her hands as her grin somehow gets three shades brighter. “Today, I want each teammate to say a little about herself.”
Eleven months later Gina would be gone.
Viewing the DVD is heartbreaking, but I watch it to the end and hit “Play” to start it again. As much as I want to sink back into grief, I don’t. I am here to give her a voice and bear witness to her fate. And until her full story is told, I will not rest.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004!”
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday, March 17, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
Flames roared around Adler, licking up the walls and skimming along the ceiling. The flesh on his back burned as he gripped his partner’s coat collar and pulled. With each jerk, Logan screamed, begging him to stop.
Adler’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. He’d hoped to rest his eyes for just a moment but must have drifted off for the last hour. He didn’t recognize the number, but clearing his throat, accepted the call. “Detective Adler.”
“John Adler?” The woman’s crisp voice cut through the haze.
He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping he could chase the sleep away. “That’s right.”
“Janet Yates at the rehab center. I have you as the emergency contact for Greg Logan.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, that’s right. Is he okay?”
“Not really. Since he and his wife split, he’s been unmotivated. A visit from you might help.”
“He and Suzanne split?”
“From what I understand, it wasn’t pretty.”
He shoved out a breath as he moved past paint cans and drop cloths to the coffee maker. “He’s getting physical therapy now?”
“Yes. We’re making adjustments to his prosthetic leg, and he’s frustrated.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect.”
Adler ran his fingers over the scars on his hand and reached for a mug and an espresso K-Cup on the makeshift counter. Five minutes later he had changed and, coffee in hand, headed out the door. Ten minutes later he pushed through the doors of the rehab center, showed his ID, and made his way to the ward. In the large room, multiple PT stations had a patient working out either alone or with a physical therapist. He spotted Logan standing between two parallel bars, balancing poorly on his prosthetic leg.
His military haircut had grown out and skimmed his ears, and his faded ARMY T-shirt was drenched in sweat. His muscled arms had grown in size while his face was leaner.
Adler understood a few things about feeling useless. After the explosion, he’d felt desperately inadequate when all he could hear were Logan’s repeated pleas for painkillers.
He watched as Logan struggled to draw his right foot forward. Sweat was dripping down his arms. His face twisted into a grimace. The physical therapist before him was in her late twenties, not much taller than five foot, and had tied her red hair into a thick ponytail. Her name tag read JANET.
When Logan stumbled and then cursed, Adler came around so he was standing in clear view. Logan caught a glimpse of his partner’s polished shoes and raised his gaze.
Gritting his teeth, Logan lifted his left leg and moved it forward a few inches. “Is that what you came to see?”
“If you’re looking for someone to hold your hand or tell you that you’re still pretty, I’m not your guy,” Adler said.
Logan tightened his grip around the parallel bars. “So you’re Suzanne’s stand-in now?”
The anger was expected, and Adler didn’t take it personally. No sane man went through this kind of shit without getting really pissed. “We’re all pulling for you.”
“Why are you here? I’m off the force. I’m just an ex-cop on full disability unless I want to ride a desk.”
Logan loved being a cop, and a future assigned to a desk job was almost unthinkable. Adler had barely been able to look at Logan when he’d told his former partner he was returning to homicide. “Do you want me to leave?”
Silence. Logan looked to Janet. “Did you call him?”
Adler shook his head. “Why don’t you worry about your job?”
“Job? Last I checked, I lost it.”
“Your job is to walk. And last I checked your detective’s skills are still intact.” Adler shifted his gaze to Janet. “Mind giving us a moment?”
“Sure,” she said. “I could use a coffee.”
Adler walked behind Logan and pushed his wheelchair up behind him. When Logan kept standing, Adler nudged the back of his legs. “Sit.”
Logan shoved out a breath and lowered himself. When he was seated, Adler pulled the wheelchair away from the bars and grabbed Logan’s jacket hanging nearby.
“Where are we going?”
“I need fresh air.” He pushed the wheelchair into the main lobby through the double automatic doors, and kept moving along the sidewalk still damp from the morning rain. They arrived at a secluded bench under a small tree. He sat while Logan locked the brake and tugged on his jacket.
“So is this a pep talk?” Logan asked as he shrugged on his jacket.
“God, no.”
“A welfare call?”
Adler shoved out a breath. “What happened in that house was shitty.” His throat tightened with anger. Up until now, he’d not been able to talk about the explosion. Now they had no choice. “I’ll never pretend otherwise.”
Logan drew in a slow, ragged breath. “Easy for you to say. You came out with hardly a scratch.”
Adler took the jab. He wanted Logan to vent. “You’re one hell of a cop, and you’ll return to the job.”
Logan stared toward the redbrick facade of the old section of the hospital. “Someone tell you this bullshit to motivate me?”
Stephanie took the tape. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve got the time. Give me a day. This for the Gina project?”
“It is. It’s supposed to be a tape of Gina.”
“How’s that going?”
“I’m no closer to finding Gina. I’ve also been reminded several times what a screwup I was in high school.”
Stephanie shrugged. “Cut yourself a break. Most of us were screwups in high school. What’s important now is that you’re trying to find Gina. That counts.”
“Sometimes it feels like it’s too little and too late.”
“It’s not.”
Kaitlin smiled. “Thanks. I’ve got to go. My study session is starting, and I’m on borrowed time.”
Stephanie nodded. “I’ll email you when it’s ready.”
“I owe you.”
“I’d like to see Gina found, too.”
INTERVIEW FILE #10
MEET GINA MASON
Wednesday, September 3, 2003; 8:00 a.m.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004! Welcome to the Rebels’ soccer team—district finalists three years in a row!”
The DVD captures the seventeen-year-old with violet eyes and a one-hundred-watt smile as she tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear and throws a devilish grin. A high swipe of cheekbones and full lips give her a sexy look hard to miss. The camera likes her, and she likes the spotlight.
She claps her hands as her grin somehow gets three shades brighter. “Today, I want each teammate to say a little about herself.”
Eleven months later Gina would be gone.
Viewing the DVD is heartbreaking, but I watch it to the end and hit “Play” to start it again. As much as I want to sink back into grief, I don’t. I am here to give her a voice and bear witness to her fate. And until her full story is told, I will not rest.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004!”
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday, March 17, 2018; 11:00 a.m.
Flames roared around Adler, licking up the walls and skimming along the ceiling. The flesh on his back burned as he gripped his partner’s coat collar and pulled. With each jerk, Logan screamed, begging him to stop.
Adler’s phone buzzed, startling him awake. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. He’d hoped to rest his eyes for just a moment but must have drifted off for the last hour. He didn’t recognize the number, but clearing his throat, accepted the call. “Detective Adler.”
“John Adler?” The woman’s crisp voice cut through the haze.
He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes, hoping he could chase the sleep away. “That’s right.”
“Janet Yates at the rehab center. I have you as the emergency contact for Greg Logan.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes, that’s right. Is he okay?”
“Not really. Since he and his wife split, he’s been unmotivated. A visit from you might help.”
“He and Suzanne split?”
“From what I understand, it wasn’t pretty.”
He shoved out a breath as he moved past paint cans and drop cloths to the coffee maker. “He’s getting physical therapy now?”
“Yes. We’re making adjustments to his prosthetic leg, and he’s frustrated.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect.”
Adler ran his fingers over the scars on his hand and reached for a mug and an espresso K-Cup on the makeshift counter. Five minutes later he had changed and, coffee in hand, headed out the door. Ten minutes later he pushed through the doors of the rehab center, showed his ID, and made his way to the ward. In the large room, multiple PT stations had a patient working out either alone or with a physical therapist. He spotted Logan standing between two parallel bars, balancing poorly on his prosthetic leg.
His military haircut had grown out and skimmed his ears, and his faded ARMY T-shirt was drenched in sweat. His muscled arms had grown in size while his face was leaner.
Adler understood a few things about feeling useless. After the explosion, he’d felt desperately inadequate when all he could hear were Logan’s repeated pleas for painkillers.
He watched as Logan struggled to draw his right foot forward. Sweat was dripping down his arms. His face twisted into a grimace. The physical therapist before him was in her late twenties, not much taller than five foot, and had tied her red hair into a thick ponytail. Her name tag read JANET.
When Logan stumbled and then cursed, Adler came around so he was standing in clear view. Logan caught a glimpse of his partner’s polished shoes and raised his gaze.
Gritting his teeth, Logan lifted his left leg and moved it forward a few inches. “Is that what you came to see?”
“If you’re looking for someone to hold your hand or tell you that you’re still pretty, I’m not your guy,” Adler said.
Logan tightened his grip around the parallel bars. “So you’re Suzanne’s stand-in now?”
The anger was expected, and Adler didn’t take it personally. No sane man went through this kind of shit without getting really pissed. “We’re all pulling for you.”
“Why are you here? I’m off the force. I’m just an ex-cop on full disability unless I want to ride a desk.”
Logan loved being a cop, and a future assigned to a desk job was almost unthinkable. Adler had barely been able to look at Logan when he’d told his former partner he was returning to homicide. “Do you want me to leave?”
Silence. Logan looked to Janet. “Did you call him?”
Adler shook his head. “Why don’t you worry about your job?”
“Job? Last I checked, I lost it.”
“Your job is to walk. And last I checked your detective’s skills are still intact.” Adler shifted his gaze to Janet. “Mind giving us a moment?”
“Sure,” she said. “I could use a coffee.”
Adler walked behind Logan and pushed his wheelchair up behind him. When Logan kept standing, Adler nudged the back of his legs. “Sit.”
Logan shoved out a breath and lowered himself. When he was seated, Adler pulled the wheelchair away from the bars and grabbed Logan’s jacket hanging nearby.
“Where are we going?”
“I need fresh air.” He pushed the wheelchair into the main lobby through the double automatic doors, and kept moving along the sidewalk still damp from the morning rain. They arrived at a secluded bench under a small tree. He sat while Logan locked the brake and tugged on his jacket.
“So is this a pep talk?” Logan asked as he shrugged on his jacket.
“God, no.”
“A welfare call?”
Adler shoved out a breath. “What happened in that house was shitty.” His throat tightened with anger. Up until now, he’d not been able to talk about the explosion. Now they had no choice. “I’ll never pretend otherwise.”
Logan drew in a slow, ragged breath. “Easy for you to say. You came out with hardly a scratch.”
Adler took the jab. He wanted Logan to vent. “You’re one hell of a cop, and you’ll return to the job.”
Logan stared toward the redbrick facade of the old section of the hospital. “Someone tell you this bullshit to motivate me?”
