As she zipped up the pouch, the room’s heavy silence was shattered by footsteps and heated voices echoing from downstairs and then a very loud, “I want to see the police! If I have to sit any longer in that damned car, I’m going to go insane!”
Peering down the stairs, Adler spotted a young woman dressed in jeans, a gray silk top, and a tailored black jacket. She wore her brown hair in a tight ponytail that accentuated dark-framed glasses.
Her gaze locked on Adler. “I need a cop who can give me answers.”
Adler glanced back and motioned to Jessica to halt. “Let me get her out of the house first.”
“Of course,” Jessica said.
He descended the stairs and escorted the woman outside, away from her sister’s body and the ME’s technicians. “I’m Detective John Adler.”
“Is Jennifer really dead? I saw all the blood, but I was afraid to touch her.”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s gone.”
She ran a shaking hand over her head. “I can’t believe I was too terrified to touch my own sister.”
“I know it was tough for you.” Adler led her down the sidewalk several paces and angled her so she couldn’t see the front steps of her sister’s home. “No one would blame you for being afraid and upset. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Ashley Ralston. I live in Rocketts Landing. We were supposed to go to a lecture tonight. Jesus, I told her to be careful. I told her to call the cops again, but she said she had it handled.” Her tone reflected frustration, grief, and shock.
“Why did you want your sister to call the cops again?”
Confusion and annoyance knotted her brows. “Because she had a vibe someone was watching her. She was certain it was a stalker.”
“What made your sister believe she was being watched?” Adler kept his voice calm, almost monotone, hoping she’d hear his steadiness. His life might be a chaotic cluster with his return to work, the renovation of a new home, and keeping up with Logan’s recovery, but he could still be her momentary life raft.
She drew in a deep breath. “No specific issues she could put her finger on except the cat.”
“Cat?”
“Jennifer came home a couple of weeks ago and Morris was missing.”
“Maybe she accidently let him out.”
“That’s what she thought at first, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that the last time she saw Morris he was sunning himself on the sofa in the front room. He did that every morning. Jennifer searched for hours and put up flyers all over the neighborhood, but no one ever contacted her.”
“Was there anything else bothering your sister?”
“The feeling you get when someone has been in your house, but you can’t prove it.” Ashley shoved out a breath. “She said the other day she hadn’t had the feeling in a few days. She thought maybe it was work stress. Too much caffeine.” Tears filled her eyes, and she pressed her fingertips against closed lids. When she looked up, the tears fell down her cheeks. “How did Jennifer die?”
“We’re still collecting evidence,” Adler deflected. “Did she receive any letters or communication giving her reason to worry?”
“She said no, but I’m not sure. It was like she was always trying to convince herself this problem couldn’t be real in the face of everything else she had going on.”
“What else was happening in her life?”
“She had trouble at work, and this house was way too expensive for her to maintain.” She brushed away a tear. “And she kept telling me she was over the breakup but, again, I wasn’t convinced.”
“A breakup. Who had she been dating?” Quinn asked as she joined them on the sidewalk.
Ashley dragged the back of her hand over her nose. “She saw a guy from work for a while. He ended it months ago, but she still missed him.”
“How did it end?” Quinn pressed.
“As far as breakups go, it was benign. Jennifer said it was smarter to keep the sex out of the office.”
“What’s the guy’s name?” Adler asked.
“Jeremy Keller. He’s one of the partners at her company, Keller and Mayberry.”
Adler pulled out a black leather notebook. “What’s your address and phone number?”
She recited the information.
From a pocket in the notebook cover, he pulled out a business card. “What type of cat was Morris?”
“A purebred Siamese. He has a chip.”
“Okay. I want you to call me directly if you recall anything else. I’ll likely have more questions for you later.”
She took the card and absently flicked the edge with her finger. “Sure. Thank you.”
“You said you live in Rocketts Landing?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you drive?”
“No, I Ubered over.”
“I’ll have an officer take you home.”
As she turned to leave, Adler asked almost as an afterthought, “What was the lecture you were planning to attend tonight?”
“A local communications professor was speaking. We went to high school with her. She’s making some kind of documentary or podcast about a classmate of Jennifer’s who went missing fourteen years ago. I’m not really sure about the particulars of this lecture. It could be anything, knowing Kaitlin. She always did march to her own drum.”
“What’s Kaitlin’s last name?”
“Roe.” She pulled out her phone. “I have the address. Jennifer texted it to me.”
Adler scribbled the name Roe.
“It’s a warehouse studio just across the river in the Manchester district.” She rattled off the address and time. “She’s probably still there. There was a reception after her talk. Until ten, I think. What does Kaitlin have to do with Jennifer?”
“Maybe nothing. Trying to piece together her last day.”
“Jesus, it’s her last day.” She tipped back her head, but the tears rolled along her cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He motioned to the patrolman who’d approached. “This officer will take you home.”
She looked up at the house. “I can’t leave my sister.”
“We’ll look after her,” Adler said. “I promise.”
She wiped away another tear and allowed the officer to escort her to the waiting patrol car. She didn’t take her eyes off Adler as the car drove away.
Quinn handed him a printed postcard encased in a plastic evidence bag as the medical technicians carried the stretcher onto the porch and down the steps toward the waiting van. “It’s a handmade invitation to a lecture scheduled for tonight,” she said.
Adler studied the postcard. The time was underlined with three red lines.
He flipped the card over to see a black-and-white image of huge boulders in the rapids of the James River. The picture captured the rising sun illuminating a thick mist hovering above the river’s waters. He knew the location of the picture. It was Pony Pasture, a popular spot where people gathered on warm days to sun, swim, and drink.
“Kaitlin Roe.” Saying the name drew the memory closer to the surface. And then he remembered.
INTERVIEW FILE #3
MOTIVE FOR MURDER
Talk to a homicide detective about motive, and they’ll tell you there are three primary driving forces: sex, revenge, and money. Gina was a girl everyone liked. She lived a clean life. After she vanished, the police dug into her past expecting to find signs of risky behavior that had lured the killer to her. Revenge: Whom had she wronged? Money: Whom did she owe? Sex: Whose heart had she broken?
The police search turned up nothing in Gina’s behavior that signaled trouble. So they shifted their focus to the people who knew her. Cops understand that most murder victims know their killers, and the chance a random stranger is involved is almost nonexistent.
The spotlight landed on me. My past substance-abuse problem meant I was the likely troublemaker. The provocateur. For weeks, that spotlight didn’t move. The cops examined every aspect of my life, grilling me about my brother’s death, my troubles in Texas, and my poor academic performance at Saint Mathew’s. As much as they pushed and dug, they didn’t initially find any motive or evidence linking me to the crime. That connection would come six weeks later when a pawnshop owner called in a tip about an unrelated crime.
CHAPTER TWO