“And how did Katie act when she was telling you this?” Nicole asked.
“She just seemed sad, you know. She was thin, but it wasn’t pretty thin. It was like, bony. And then she showed me that gold bracelet he had given her. And how it had a 24K stamped on the inside, which means it’s the best kind.”
“Is there anything you’re not telling us, Lily?” Allison asked gently.
Chances were faint, but if this girl knew if Katie was hiding out, or that Katie was in some kind of trouble, they had to make sure she told them.
“Whatever you say can’t get you in trouble, and it can’t get Katie in trouble. We just need to find her. And nothing you say could surprise us. So if there’s something you’re holding back, please don’t.”
Lily hesitated, then said in a rush, “Well, who would it be that had an expensive car and took her expensive places and gave her expensive gifts? Who was famous? No one our age, that’s for sure. So I figured it was some old guy. And since she wouldn’t tell me who it was, I figured it was some old guy who’s married.”
“Did you ask Katie if that were true?” Allison asked.
Lily looked down at the toes of her high-top Converse. “Not exactly.”
“What did you say?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing really. Just that she better be careful.”
“And . . . ,” Nicole pressed.
“And I told her one thing I knew that she didn’t.”
“What’s that?”
Lily turned her head toward the doorway, listening for her mom. After hearing nothing, she spoke in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “A long time ago, I heard my mom talking to my dad about her mom. Katie’s mom. Only she’s not her real mom. Valerie’s her stepmom. Her real mom died from cancer when she was a baby. Everybody knows that. But what Katie didn’t know—what hardly anyone knows—is that her stepmom started out as her babysitter. Katie’s babysitter. And she ended up having sex with Katie’s dad after Katie’s mom died. Which is just so messed up. And she got pregnant and had to get married, and then had the baby, and that’s Whitney.”
Allison looked at Nicole. Even Nic, whose face rarely betrayed emotion, looked shocked. Allison was pretty sure her own mouth was hanging open.
“So I told Katie she had to be careful. I told her she didn’t want to screw up her life like Valerie had. I mean, my mom said something about her having to get married while she was still in high school. She didn’t even graduate. I don’t want to get married until I’m like thirty or something.” Lily said the word thirty as if it were synonymous with dead.
Allison asked, “How did Katie react when you told her this?”
“She was really mad. She says Valerie is always lecturing her about waiting until she gets married. She couldn’t believe Valerie was such a hypocrite.”
“So,” Nicole said, “what do you think happened to Katie?”
Lily took a deep breath, let it out. “Something bad. I think something bad happened.”
“You said Katie was sad, that she had lost weight,” Allison said. “Do you think she was depressed enough to kill herself?”
Lily pursed her lips and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “I keep thinking about that, but no. Not unless she thought she was going to lose everything.”
CITY CENTRAL HOTEL
December 20
It was hard to believe that it had been less than a week since she had first heard Katie’s name, Nic thought. Now she was more than just a missing girl—she was a project that had taken on a weight and momentum of its own. The Katie Converse task force had set up a command post in a hotel ballroom downtown. The huge room was filled with people from every branch of law enforcement as well as database experts, stenographers, dog handlers, search-and-rescue teams, topography experts, reconnaissance pilots, and media reps.
Half of the room was set up theater-style, with rows of chairs facing a head table and a whiteboard. At the rear of the room a table was piled with reports, documents, and copies of Katie’s photograph for investigators to take as needed. The walls were lined with photocopiers, computers, printers, and boxes of paper. Timelines, maps, photographs, and lists were tacked above. Nicole was at the back of the room, part of a group of FBI agents and cops at a table fielding telephoned tips.
“If you find her, send me something of hers, like her watch or a shoe. The murder weapon would be perfect,” a hotline caller told Nic.
The woman was a psychic, or so she had said. The same claim had been made by the last three people Nic had spoken with.
“I’m sure I could tell you who did it then.”
“We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you very much for your call,” Nic said.