“The police already did that. I know my husband gave you the list for your investigation, but can’t you just compare notes with the detectives here, speed things up?”
“It doesn’t really work that way, and even if it did, I’d still want to talk to her friends. By the way, I couldn’t find anything having to do with social media on her laptop. Was she on Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat or anything like that?”
“Certainly not Snapchat. And she wasn’t allowed to use social media on the laptop because that was for schoolwork. We did allow her to have Facebook on the iPhone, but she never used it. I guess it’s become more of a grown-up thing.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not the social media type.” I smile.
She forces a smile in return.
“You said you have a son.”
“Yes. He’s in school. The school bus will be dropping him off at the corner soon.”
“Oh, school. I was wondering why he wasn’t here.”
I pull the yearbook from under my notepad. “Can I borrow this for a day or two?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be going, then.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
She walks me to the door, but before she opens it to let me out she says, “I know I keep saying thank you, but I really do mean it.”
“And I appreciate hearing it.”
The first thing I do when I get to my car is take a pill container out of my briefcase, but not the container with the blow. I need a couple of Valiums.
I chase them down with a swig of Jameson, out of a flask I carry in an inner pocket of my suit. The Valiums will take a bit of the edge off my desire for coke. Klonopin is good for that too, but doesn’t last as long. Since that big score, I’ve been using more than I normally do.
I’ll have to find some good grapefruit on the way home.
Thirty-one
Carrie Deighton lives in the same community, just a few blocks away. The home is of similar design, but there’s not much attention paid to the landscaping. Carrie’s mother opens the door. I introduce myself. At her request, I show my identification, and then she invites me in.
Carrie is in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool at a tall breakfast table. She closes a book she’s been reading.
Her mother offers me a barstool across from Carrie, and then sits next to her. I’d like to tell the mother I’d rather talk to her daughter alone, but I have a good feeling she’d say no, and that would diminish my credibility with her daughter. It is going to limit my line of questioning to something less personal, but I gotta go with what I got. I’m sure she hangs with certain boys. I’m equally sure she won’t share that kind of information when her mother is sitting next to her. It is definitely a handicap having a parent around when you need to conduct an interview.
Shit, I wasn’t even offered coffee, so what does that tell you?
“I appreciate you meeting with me, Carrie.”
“No problem,” she says.
I take out my notepad, flip to a new page.
“How long have you and Miriam been friends?”
“Since middle school.”
“Fifth grade,” the mother steps in.
“That’s a long time. In kid years, anyway.”
They don’t even crack a smile.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
She looks at her mother. “I told the other officers this. Why do I have to answer the same questions?”
Before the mother can answer I say, “Because I’m new to the case, and it’s better to hear it directly from you than read something on paper.”
The mother nods.
“What was the question again?” Carrie asks.
“When was the last time you talked to Miriam?”
“I don’t know exactly. It was summer vacation, though.”
“She was reported missing on July ninth,” I say. “That would’ve been a Friday.”
“It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago,” Carrie says.
“She told her parents she was going to the community pool here. Did you go there with her sometimes?”
“Yes. It was summer, so we went to the pool a lot.”
“Would you mind writing down the names of friends you guys went to the pool with or met there?”
She looks at her mother again.
“The police have all that information,” the mother says.
“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t. I don’t know why there should be a conflict here, Mrs. Deighton. It’s my job to try to find Miriam Gregory. I need your daughter’s help to do that; there are a lot of pieces to put together and a lot of time has passed. So will you help me try to put those pieces together?”
The mother places her hand on Carrie’s shoulder and nods.
“Thank you.” I tear off a sheet of paper and hand it to her, along with a pen. “Phone numbers, too, if you have them.”
She writes several names, looks up their phone numbers, and writes them down. All girls and all of them on the list I already have.
“Thank you very much, Carrie.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you know a girl by the name of Amanda?”
“I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t know her. It’s a big school.”
“What about Edgar?”
“I’ve heard his name, too, but don’t know him either.”