Lucas had other notes, including the name of the detective in charge of the case, the dates of key media reports. On April 20, the FPD had issued a statement that Abernathy was a person of interest.
Lucas also had Post-it notes on the days he’d talked to—or tried to talk to—Detective Young. There was a list of all the Sigma Rho girls living at the sorority at the time; another list was of all the sorority girls today. Twelve names were highlighted, and Regan asked why.
“They were all members of the sorority when Candace was killed, are still there. Ten are seniors, two are fourth-year students in a five-year program,” Lucas explained.
“I think your Concerned Sister might be one of those girls,” Regan said. “Though, it may be a member of a different sorority. They used to socialize together, at least when I was here.”
“They still do. They all closed ranks.”
He also had questions written on sticky notes.
Did Candace have a second phone?
How can someone go completely off-grid for seven days? (Sunday through Saturday.)
Was Candace hiding? Scared? A witness to a crime? Why didn’t she go to the police?
What did Candace know?
What were Candace and Taylor really arguing about?
Check into stolen cars from week of Candace’s disappearance.
Lucas’s eyes drifted back to his note What did Candace know?
He needed more evidence before he revealed on his podcast the real reason he thought Candace had been killed. But so far that evidence hadn’t come in.
Real reason? He actually didn’t know why. He just didn’t believe that a drunk drifter had killed her.
He wasn’t ready to explain exactly why he had picked this cold case, either, why he was obsessed with Candace’s murder. It hit way too close to home.
Lucas picked up the file that held a copy of Candace’s autopsy and handed it to Regan. He’d compiled the file when he interned at the medical examiner’s office over the summer. He shouldn’t have made copies, but was relieved that Regan hadn’t questioned him about it. She read the report, flipped through to his notes about the water found in Candace’s lungs and his analysis that it couldn’t have come from Hope Springs. Then she looked at the police report. A lot had been redacted, such as the names of witnesses who had been interviewed. He’d received the report through FOIA, but because it was an open case they wouldn’t share everything.
Antsy, Lucas sat on his chair. “Um, do you want anything? Water? Coke?”
“No, thank you.”
Regan read through the witness statements. Though the names were redacted, he’d written who he thought they were. Tyler Diaz, Candace’s longtime boyfriend from campus, hadn’t been at the party, and he hadn’t seen her since the Wednesday before. Richie Traverton said she had come into McCarthy’s the Sunday before the party when he was working and she had stayed until closing. They talked, and he drove her back to campus then went home. That was the last he’d seen her, he said. She’d called him on Friday night after the party at 12:27 a.m. and left a message that she wanted to talk, but he was working, and when he called her back at two, she didn’t answer. The calls were confirmed by both her phone records and Richie’s.
In fact, Lucas had a copy of Candace’s phone records, thanks to her sister. Chrissy Swain had all her sister’s passwords, which had also helped him confirm that Candace hadn’t been on social media after the Friday-night party, nor did she use her phone after leaving a message for Richie. That’s why Lucas thought she might have had a second phone—maybe a burner that was never found.
Knowing now from a caller that Candace might have been seen on that Sunday after the party, her whereabouts Saturday didn’t seem to be as important, Lucas thought. She’d been angry, maybe decided to leave campus, get away for the weekend, and come back on Sunday night.
Then she left her car in the parking garage and disappeared. The only thing in the autopsy report that stood out to him, besides the water in her lungs, was that her stomach was empty and that she had probably eaten approximately eight hours before she was killed. Which would mean a late lunch or early dinner. Where did she eat? With whom?
Were people even telling the truth? Why would they lie?
He picked up a pen and added to the timeline the information they’d learned about Candace being seen at the library. He added question marks. He wanted to believe the two callers, but he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe the guy who saw her Monday night was calling either to mess with him—like the plethora of nasty emails he’d been getting—or had seen her at an earlier date.
“Why are you nervous, Lucas?” Regan asked without looking at him.
“I’m not. I guess I’m trying to look at this through your eyes.”
“You have good stuff here, quality research. I think you should have shared all of this on your podcast. It might have jump-started more of a conversation.”
“I plan to. I have the podcasts sketched out while also leaving it open-ended so people will call in with clues.”
“I get that. I’m looking at this as a whole. And there’s an obvious answer.”
“Which is?”
“Someone lied to the police. Your information is incomplete. You have documentation from newspapers, and the original report that indicates they spoke to her two boyfriends, her roommate Annie, Taylor James from the sorority, others from Sigma Rho, a senior who said he saw her talking to the homeless guy the evening of the party. But they must have also spoken to people on and off campus, especially after her body was found. A missing-person investigation is different than a homicide investigation. I’m really good with missing persons, it’s what I did for years. I found people who didn’t want to be found. And nine times out of ten someone lied to me about what they knew. Sometimes lies of omission, other times they lied to my face.”
He was surprised he hadn’t thought of that. But then again, he was a college student, and Regan Merritt was a thirty-five-year-old trained law-enforcement officer.