Her Last Word
Page 34
“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 toward 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.
His gaze dropped to the dried pool of blood and a discarded gauze pad stained red. The blood was Kaitlin’s.
Anger rolled through him as he thought about her lying here clinging to her life.
When Adler had received the text from Novak about her stabbing, he’d driven directly to the hospital. His badge had gotten him onto her floor and access to her doctor, who’d told him the assailant’s knife had missed all the major organs but had nicked an artery. A few more minutes and she’d have bled out.
The doctor’s assessment reminded him of conversations he’d had with Logan’s doctors after the explosion. They’d said because Adler had used his belt as a tourniquet to bind his partner’s left leg, he’d bought Logan the critical minutes that saved his life.
Kaitlin and Logan were fighters, tenacious and driven. And although neither thought of themselves as defenseless, that’s what they were just now, and it was up to him to protect them both.
The sound of footsteps on the front porch sent his hand to his weapon as he turned to see Quinn. She wore jeans, a white blouse, a tailored black jacket, and midheeled boots.
He lowered his hand.
“Adler,” Quinn said. “I heard you were headed this way. Thought you could use a second set of eyes.”
“There’s not much to see.”
She tugged on latex gloves, stepped around the pool of blood, and moved past the two-story foyer into the living room and the bank of French doors that overlooked woods. “Pretty nice home.”
“Brad Crowley does well for himself. He’s a plastic surgeon who’s made a name doing nip and tucks.”
“Does Erika work?” she asked.
“She’s a homemaker.”
Quinn moved back toward him and studied the bloodstain. “I talked to a buddy of mine in county police. The security cameras across the street recorded Kaitlin visiting Erika on Friday morning.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“So she’s awake?”
“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 toward 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.
His gaze dropped to the dried pool of blood and a discarded gauze pad stained red. The blood was Kaitlin’s.
Anger rolled through him as he thought about her lying here clinging to her life.
When Adler had received the text from Novak about her stabbing, he’d driven directly to the hospital. His badge had gotten him onto her floor and access to her doctor, who’d told him the assailant’s knife had missed all the major organs but had nicked an artery. A few more minutes and she’d have bled out.
The doctor’s assessment reminded him of conversations he’d had with Logan’s doctors after the explosion. They’d said because Adler had used his belt as a tourniquet to bind his partner’s left leg, he’d bought Logan the critical minutes that saved his life.
Kaitlin and Logan were fighters, tenacious and driven. And although neither thought of themselves as defenseless, that’s what they were just now, and it was up to him to protect them both.
The sound of footsteps on the front porch sent his hand to his weapon as he turned to see Quinn. She wore jeans, a white blouse, a tailored black jacket, and midheeled boots.
He lowered his hand.
“Adler,” Quinn said. “I heard you were headed this way. Thought you could use a second set of eyes.”
“There’s not much to see.”
She tugged on latex gloves, stepped around the pool of blood, and moved past the two-story foyer into the living room and the bank of French doors that overlooked woods. “Pretty nice home.”
“Brad Crowley does well for himself. He’s a plastic surgeon who’s made a name doing nip and tucks.”
“Does Erika work?” she asked.
“She’s a homemaker.”
Quinn moved back toward him and studied the bloodstain. “I talked to a buddy of mine in county police. The security cameras across the street recorded Kaitlin visiting Erika on Friday morning.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“So she’s awake?”
