I was able to get in touch with all three of Miriam’s girlfriends. The parents were okay with my meeting with them. Well, except for one.
I’ll meet the first girl, Carrie Deighton, shortly after she gets home from school. She doesn’t live far from the Gregorys’ house, so I told her mother that I’d come over when I’m finished there. The second girlfriend on the list is Tamara Moore. Her parents agreed only to a phone interview, and I set it up for Wednesday at three thirty, when she gets home from school. And then there is Justine Durrell, also on Wednesday, but at four thirty.
We’ll see. I’m not expecting much, but there are times when some of these younger kids will more willingly offer up information to someone like me over their parents. But that experience of mine is based on my work with kids in DC who are little thugs, soon-to-be thugs, or wannabe thugs. There’s a big difference between them and these teenage girls. At least I’m thinking there is.
Strong wind gusts outside. What leaves are left on the few trees in my neighborhood are shaken free.
It’s still a few hours before rush hour, so I decide to take I-95 to the Lorton Road exit. It’s just a few minutes out of the way, but I know that area.
Lorton Prison used to be there. The department had a facility behind the prison where we’d go through civil defense and firearms training. There used to be cows roaming around behind the barbed wire that stretched along a dirt road leading to the facility. Back then it was farmland that surrounded the prison.
It’s been some years since that time. Now there’s a retirement community, and a high school on one side, and some sort of community arts center and a golf course on the other. The redbrick watchtowers and most of the housing units surrounded by tall brick walls still remain on a portion of land that the county hasn’t decided on what to do with yet. Maybe a future mall? I certainly wouldn’t shop there. Too much torment in that land.
Miriam Gregory’s home is located in a quiet community off Lee Chapel Road, in Burke, Virginia. It’s almost an hour outside of DC, but then I did take a longer route, so it could be less than an hour. A lot of pockets of small communities in this area, and it looks like a lot of land yet to be developed. That’d be a shame. I’d like to think nice wooded areas have a purpose, and I don’t mean for hiding bodies.
I can’t imagine how Amanda got herself involved with those Salvadoran boys in DC, but then this dude Edgar would be the one to talk to about that. Suburban life. It’s never been something I’ve desired. But maybe if I grew up in an environment like this, my life wouldn’t have turned out the way it did. Then again, probably would have. I might have gotten so bored I’d have turned to drugs sooner, maybe even have gotten myself locked up. You didn’t want to fuck with Fairfax County back then. They’d slam you for a joint. Not the case nowadays. It’s not even a slap on the wrist. Not even that.
I pull to the curb in front of their house, step out, and shoulder my briefcase.
Nice landscaped yard. A lot of fall colors. I walk up the driveway along the edge of their grass to a redbrick walkway lined with mums.
Elizabeth Gregory opens the front door before I even step up to the porch, as if she’s been waiting for me.
“Detective Marr, please come in.”
I still like being called detective even though I’m not one anymore, but I think she knows that and it’s meant as something respectful.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gregory.”
I follow her along a short hallway to the living room, where she invites me to sit on one of two matching armchairs across from a sofa and separated by a large wood coffee table. It is a well-ordered living room. I sit down, thinking she might want to talk before taking me to her daughter’s room.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No thank you.”
It is obvious she is taking some kind of sedative. She is too calm, but her face still gives away all the sleepless nights she’s been having.
She sits on the sofa, picks up a cup, and sips from it.
“Tea,” she informs me. “Chamomile. Would you like tea?”
“No, I’m good, Mrs. Gregory. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
“No, no, there isn’t, really. I think we covered everything. There is something, but I know it’s something you can’t answer. You seem like someone who would not have a problem speaking his mind.”
“Yes, that’s true, but then it would also depend on the question.”
“The police here always seem to have such rehearsed lines. I imagine there are only certain things they are allowed to say. I just really want—need—to know what you think, what the possibility is, based on your experience or whatever, that she is still…” She wipes away a tear. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Elizabeth. I don’t normally take on missing persons cases.”
She seems surprised.
“Now, it’s something most cops have experience investigating, so I know what to do, but it is not something I take on as a private investigator.”