“Would people get in trouble if they have information but didn’t tell the police?”
“Not unless they lied to the police. If the police never asked someone a question, how would someone know they had answers the police might need?”
“Makes sense.”
“Now, I really only have one rule.”
“Anything you want. I just appreciate your time.”
“No personal questions.”
“Okay. And that’s it?”
“Yes. I’ll let you know if something else comes up.”
Regan was going to have to trust him. She didn’t have anything to hide, but she was private and planned to keep living that way.
“Tonight I’m going to reveal the fact that Candace didn’t drown in the lake.”
“How certain are you?”
“One hundred percent,” he said with confidence. “I might not know how to run a police investigation, or how to interview witnesses, but I know how to read a lab report. She drowned in a highly chlorinated body of water, most likely a swimming pool. They’re a dime a dozen, but it still tells me that someone intentionally moved her body to either cover up the crime or destroy evidence.”
“Or both.”
“Exactly. I also want to read the email on the air. The fact that Candace was on campus Sunday night gives us another point in the timeline, and that might jolt other memories.”
“I agree.”
“So I’m going to restructure what I planned, and instead of leading with forensics, I’m going to read the email and then ask you what you, as someone who has found missing persons, would ask.”
She agreed. “And your goal?”
“I need people to call. To trust me, to believe in what I’m doing. Three years is a long time, but I think people would remember the last time they saw a person who later died, right? If Candace went back to the sorority late Sunday night, why didn’t anyone see her? When did she leave? Maybe they thought it was a different day, maybe they got confused, or maybe the police never asked them. Or someone did see her but never told anyone.”
Very valid questions.
“I spent the afternoon at the library reading everything about Candace Swain’s murder. I’d like to know what you have. I might be able to help more than directing callers or offering advice.”
“You’d be willing to do that?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. I think Chrissy Swain needs to know what happened to her sister. I’ve met with survivors before. The year I worked in the courthouse, I sat in on dozens of trials. And the one thing that survivors have in common—other than loss and grief—is a sense of closure once they watch the justice system work. It works more often than not.”
“That would be—well, awesome! I mean it. If you have the time.”
I have nothing but time. But she didn’t say that.
“If you’re right, and Joseph Abernathy is not her killer, Candace’s killer is still at large.”
“I didn’t actually say that,” he said.
“But you don’t think he did it.”
Lucas shook his head. “I have doubts. Mostly about how he transported her body and why. If he was in a drunken rage and killed her, would he have the wherewithal to steal or borrow a car and dump her body? And while I know his disappearance is suspicious, I find it hard to believe he could disappear for three years. The police have his name and his picture, and he had a routine. How could a drunk elude authorities for so long?”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think he’s dead?”
“I guess I do,” he said. “I never thought about it that bluntly, but yeah, it seems the only explanation. A witness saw him jump into a freight car the Sunday Candace’s body was found. I’d like to talk to that witness, but the name wasn’t in the paper, and I couldn’t get the notes from the police report.”
“Then, you need to ask the right questions,” Regan said. “I can help there. You know a lot about this case, and if Candace’s killer is listening, that could put you in danger. I don’t want to light the match tonight and walk away. If we push—and especially if we start gathering better information about Candace’s missing days—I fear you’re putting a target on your back.”
He frowned. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. You know what the Marshals Service does, right? We don’t just track down fugitives and guard federal courthouses. We also protect witnesses. You need to be careful. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, call me and I’ll come. Is this where you keep all your notes?”
He shook his head. “Some things, but I have a timeline and all important documents at my apartment, off campus.” He looked at his phone. “We don’t really have time to go over there before the show, but maybe after, if you want.”
“That’s good for me if it’s good for you.”
“Yeah. Any help you can give I’d appreciate.”
She didn’t have anything else to do, and helping Lucas solve this murder—along with giving Candace’s family closure—gave her a purpose.
Which Regan really needed right now.
Nine
Regan had never been inside the campus recording studio before—she’d never had reason to be. While she didn’t have a lot of experience with radio or podcasts, the studio appeared state-of-the-art, small but well-appointed. Lucas’s partner, Lizzy, was a bundle of energy and came into the room drinking a Red Bull. Cute and petite, Lizzy might have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet.