Regan asked, “How can you be sure that it was the Tuesday after she went missing?”
“I knew Candace, and she was supposed to meet with me and a couple others from our molecular biology class the night before. We were going to study because there was a huge test on Thursday and if you didn’t pass it, well, you probably wouldn’t pass the course, and we all needed it to graduate. We’d been meeting every Monday for the entire semester, and Candace really understood everything and could explain it in a way that helped. Anyway, she didn’t show and she didn’t answer her text messages, and I was kind of pissed. The next morning was Tuesday, and it was early. Cline Library had just opened, and I saw Candace walk out the side door, not the main door. She ignored me.”
“You and Candace studied together, so she would recognize you.”
“Yes. I mean, we didn’t hang out or anything, but we had a lot of classes together over the years, so we were friendly.”
“Go on,” Regan encouraged.
“The library had literally just opened. I was on my way to a morning lab. I live off campus, but it’s not far to walk. I always pass the library. It’s sort of a shortcut across campus for me. Candace had an oversize bag, like a big, bulky purse. She walked right by me without looking, even though I said hello. I’d wanted to ask where she was the night before, but she looked mad, and she totally ignored me.”
“Why did you think she was angry?”
“Her expression. Like she was furious about something, her mouth set, walking fast. She had on sunglasses, even though it was early, and she looked determined. She stomped down the path heading off campus. She was kind of a mess. Her hair sloppy, clothes all wrinkled. Every time I saw Candace she was always so put-together, you know?”
The more this student spoke, the more Regan believed her.
“What was she wearing?”
“I dunno. Just regular clothes.”
“Jeans? A dress? A sweatshirt?”
“I—” The caller sighed dramatically. “Jeez. I really don’t remember. Maybe a sweatshirt, but everyone wears sweatshirts, so I don’t know. Not a dress or skirt. Just casual.”
“And she came out of the library,” Regan prompted. “It had just opened, which would be about seven thirty, correct? You had a lab at seven thirty?”
“My lab was at eight, but I usually went early so I could grab coffee and food at the student union on my way. And I just had this idea that she’d done an all-nighter, but I remember thinking she couldn’t have done an all-nighter at the library. She never went to class looking like that. I had the feeling she’d spent the night at the library. Then I thought that was stupid, she was probably returning a book or something.”
There were security cameras at the library, but they didn’t cover the entire interior, and if someone didn’t want to be seen, they might be able to hide from Security until after closing.
Would there still be copies of those tapes, three years later? Regan doubted it. She could ask, find out how long they kept recordings.
Maybe the caller was mistaken about Candace staying overnight in the library, but Regan believed that the anonymous caller had definitely seen her Tuesday morning.
Lucas asked, “Did you talk to campus police at the time? FPD?”
“No,” the caller said. “I forgot about it. Really. And when I found out she was dead, I didn’t know she’d been missing all week. We didn’t have the same friend group, and we only had that one class together that year.”
“Are you still a student?” Regan asked.
“No, but I work in town. I don’t want to get into trouble, but my girlfriend says I won’t. That I didn’t know that what I saw might have been important. And when I listened tonight, and you talked about how we remember things, I was compelled to call. I don’t know how it helps, but I want to do what I can.”
“It helps,” Lucas said, “because it adds one more point on the timeline. Thank you.” He cut off the call and looked at the clock. “We’re nearly at our allotted time for the studio, but I want to remind our listeners that you might not know what is important and what is not. We now have three sightings of Candace Swain after she left the Sigma Rho party. She was in Kingman, Arizona, two hours from campus, on Sunday afternoon. She drove into the Mountain View parking lot at ten that night. And she was spotted outside Cline Library around seven thirty Tuesday morning. Who else saw her? When and where? Call or email.” He rattled off the number and email address.
Lizzy was frantically waving at them. “We have another caller,” Lucas said. He put the phone on speaker. “Hello, are you there?”
There was a long pause, and Regan thought maybe the caller had hung up.
Then a muffled, likely female voice said, “Maybe someone should find out what Taylor James and Candace were really fighting about at the party. Maybe not everyone who overheard the fight is telling the truth.”
The caller hung up.
Lucas seemed stunned. “Well, that sounds ominous. But without more information, it’s hard to know what to do with it. Right, Regan?”
“It’s interesting, but I agree, without more details the caller sounds like she wants to stir the pot.” Yet...Regan wasn’t so sure about that.
It was definitely worth looking into.
Ten
Lizzy signaled to Lucas through the window that they only had five more minutes. Lucas needed more—there had to be more people with information. “Regan,” he said, “you mentioned that the earlier caller was trying to ‘stir the pot.’ Is this common in investigations you’ve conducted? That people will make unfair or unsubstantiated accusations?”
“First, I didn’t conduct investigations. I was involved first in courthouse security and witness protection, then fugitive apprehension. But it’s true that in any criminal investigation, the police need to make assessments on the viability of statements, weighing the import of the information based on several factors, not just evidence—which, of course, is primary.”