He asked, “So who’s lying? And why?” and half expected her to already know.
“Those are the million-dollar questions. My guess? Someone in the sorority knew a lot more than they told the cops. Whether it directly led to Candace’s murder, I don’t know. But someone may have helped her disappear. No car, no phone, didn’t use her credit cards—but records show she took out five hundred dollars on the day after the party, from an ATM in Flagstaff, the maximum allowed.”
“How do you know that?”
“Detective Young wrote it in a sort of shorthand I recognized because I was looking for it. She withdrew that money after hours, early Saturday morning, after she left the party. If someone was being frugal, they could easily live on five hundred for a week, longer if they had a free place to stay. To find out where that place was, I need to learn everything I can about Candace Swain.”
She tapped his list of questions. “By the way, it was smart of you to think about stolen vehicles. But more than stolen, I think someone may have loaned her a car. If we believe Abby that she saw Candace in Kingman, and the sister who saw her driving to campus on Sunday night, that suggests she left town after the party, returned, and then left again. But why not take her own car? Because of where she was going? Because her car was so recognizable? And if someone helped her that week, why didn’t they tell the police after Candace was found dead?”
“Because they killed her? Or they were scared? Intimidated?”
Regan shrugged. “Any or all of the above. Or they thought they would get in trouble because they lied to the police about not seeing Candace during the missing-person investigation. We need to find that person, and then I think we’ll break this case open.”
“So you don’t buy into the police theory that the homeless guy Abernathy killed her.”
“I can’t say. Would he have had the wherewithal to move her body, as you suggested? I don’t know enough yet.”
Lucas latched onto her comment.
Move the body.
So Regan believed him. That Candace was drowned elsewhere and dumped in the lake. Somehow, that gave Lucas confidence and hope—even if she didn’t explicitly state it.
“Have you talked to Taylor James?” Regan asked.
“You’re not taking that last caller seriously, are you?”
“Yes, I am. You’re not?”
“The police took witness statements from dozens of people who had been at the party. Three people said they heard the argument, their names are redacted in the report, but one I figured was Taylor. Two other statements were from people not in the sorority who saw Candace talking to Abernathy. We know that he had been run off campus at least twice, and he would be going to jail if caught again. So it makes sense that they would have a disagreement about whether to call the police.”
“I agree. But what if someone else at the party overheard the conversation? Maybe they didn’t think much about it at the time, but now, when they heard your podcast where you state that they were arguing about Abernathy and whether to call the police? And they know that is not completely accurate. Maybe they are just learning that the murder investigation is still open. It might have motivated them to call.”
“Then, why not give their name? Why hang up?”
“Because they don’t want to get in trouble with the sorority,” Regan suggested. “Any number of reasons. It’s worth looking into. Did you reach out to Taylor?”
“I couldn’t find her. She graduated, and I don’t know where she went after that.”
“I can find her,” Regan said. “Finding people is something I’m really good at.”
Twelve
Lucas Vega’s stupid murder podcast had drained her.
Vicky Ryan poured herself a glass of white wine and drank half of it in one gulp. She didn’t want to be drinking alone, but she was over twenty-one, and they were allowed to have alcohol on campus, and damn, she was alone and had a headache and didn’t know what to do with this stupid podcast that was causing friction among her sorority sisters.
Half the girls thought the idea was smart and didn’t like that the council had forbidden them from participating. The other half worried about the impact on the sorority and Candace’s reputation. And people on both sides thought the police should handle it.
But her roommate, Nicole, had made a good point the other night.
“It’s been three years and the police haven’t solved Candace’s murder. Maybe this could help.”
Nicole might be right, but Vicky was worried about some of her sisters who were truly upset listening to the podcast. Vicky tried to be fair and impartial, but it was hard. She had to protect the sorority’s reputation, and creating a safe space for the girls she was supposed to lead and protect was important to her. She couldn’t stop Nicole and others from listening, but she could prevent playing it in common areas.
A knock on her door had her groaning. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about the podcast. It had been the number one topic in the sorority for the last week, since Lucas Vega had aired the first episode last Tuesday night.
She opened the door and was surprised to find Rachel Wagner, their faculty advisor, standing there. She looked upset.
“Are you okay?” Vicky asked.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She opened the door wider, and Rachel walked in and stared out the window. It was dark, and Vicky could see her reflection in the glass. “Do you want some wine?”
“I’d love some, but no, thank you.” Rachel turned around. She didn’t look thirty-five. She was tall, model-pretty with silky blond hair and big brown eyes and could have passed for a student. She was one of Vicky’s favorite teachers as well because she knew what she was talking about and she had more open office hours than most. She was up for a professor slot in the biology department, after being an associate professor for the past six years.