Putting down the rib she had been nibbling, Allison said, “I still think Fairview killed Katie. He got scared that she was going to tell people about their relationship. People were willing to look the other way about his womanizing, but if they found out his latest was underage, that could have blown his career out of the water.”
“Yeah—but murder?” Cassidy asked skeptically. “That’s a bigger career-breaker than a little indiscretion. Even if people did find out about the abortion. And there are other suspects. Take Nancy Fairview—if she found out this girl was sleeping with her husband, she could have snapped. And what about Chambers? He was living out in the woods with his kid, afraid people were going to take her away. Maybe it’s not a coincidence that her body wasn’t far from where they lived.”
Nicole dropped one more bone onto the pile on her plate. “Hey, aren’t you the one who did the whole story about how noble Chambers was, looking after his kid, keeping her away from the influences of the street? Didn’t you help him get a whole brand-new shiny life?”
Cassidy shrugged. “I was just covering all the angles. Just because he was looking after his kid doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. In some ways, it makes it more likely.” She looked down at her plate. “People aren’t always what they seem.”
Allison said, “The problem is that Fairview’s lawyer will say that who-ever was growing the pot—whether it was Chambers or not—could have been the one who killed Katie. Or he’ll say it could even be someone we haven’t looked at yet—some kid who knows Katie here in Portland. Stone will say it’s possible they ran into each other while she was walking down Twenty-third, they went for a walk up the trail, and something went wrong, there was a fight, and he accidentally killed her.” She sighed. “The trouble with all the evidence is that it’s circumstantial. We have no eye-witnesses. No physical evidence. ‘Beyond a reasonable doubt’ is a high standard of proof. We don’t have a smoking gun.”
Tommy came over to take Nicole’s plate, empty of everything but bones.
“You’re all talking about that dead girl, right? That Katie Converse?”
They nodded.
“Well, have you looked at what happened to Janie Peterson?”
“Janie Peterson?” The name teased the edge of Allison’s memory.
“She grew up in my neighborhood,” Tommy said, “but I never knew her. After college, she came back to Portland and lived over by Good Sam. She went out to a movie with some friends about eight or nine years ago. One of them gave her a ride home. She asked if they could drop her off at Quality Pie, you know, that place that used to be on Lovejoy across from the hospital? She said she could walk to her apartment from there.”
“I remember that case, “ Allison said slowly.
Neither Cassidy nor Nicole had been living in Portland then.
“She was around my age,” Allison said. “They found her body months later, like in a creek or something, right?”
“Yup. A couple of folks who were canoeing found part of a leg. Eventually, they found the rest of her body scattered for miles along the creek. They had to use that DNA testing on it to see who she was. They never figured out how she died. Murder, suicide, some kind of accident—nobody knows.”
Cassidy said. “Three girls. All in Forest Park.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think it’s a serial killer?”
Tommy shrugged one shoulder and turned to go back to the kitchen.
“I’ll look up more about it tomorrow,” Nicole said. “But this doesn’t feel like a serial killer to me. These aren’t prostitutes or runaways. No signs of rape. And there’s way too long a gap in between. Serial killers kill and keep killing. They don’t take years off.”
“Maybe the guy was in prison for a while,” Cassidy said. “That would explain the gap.”
“It’s possible,” Allison said, but like Nicole, she didn’t feel it in her gut. She wouldn’t be surprised if Cassidy didn’t feel it either—she was probably just happy to be handed a way to refresh the story.
Allison’s phone began to vibrate across the table. The name on the display was familiar, but she still couldn’t place it.
“Allison Pierce.”
“It’s Mrs. Rangel.”
She had to think. Lily Rangel. Katie’s oldest friend.
“Hello, Mrs. Rangel, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Lily. She’s gone.”
Allison straightened up. “What do you mean, Lily’s gone?” She watched the other two women exchange glances.
“She never came home last night.”
“When did you last see her?”
“I dropped her off at a movie at Cinema Twenty-one. She was supposed to call me when it was over. But she never did. And whenever I call her, her cell phone goes straight to voice mail. Like it’s been turned off.”
Cinema Twenty-one was less than two dozen blocks from Forest Park.
But who said a killer had to stop at its borders?
SHAW RESIDENCE
January 17