The Trapped Girl (Tracy Crosswhite #4)(47)

“I’d like it better if it came with air-conditioning.”

Tracy spotted an athletic-looking woman in a white tank top, dolphin shorts, and running shoes jogging toward them while pushing a blue stroller with one hand. She slowed as she approached.

“Hi, are you Detective Crosswhite?” She didn’t look or sound the least bit out of breath.

Tracy introduced Kins.

Berg looked like a runner—with bony shoulders; lean, sinewy muscles; and a runner’s tan. Tracy had been expecting someone younger, given that Berg said she had a newborn, but the crow’s-feet at the corners of Berg’s eyes indicated she was more likely late thirties to early forties—Tracy’s age.

“Sorry to do this to you,” Berg said, leaning down to peek into the stroller, “but she’s off on her sleep cycles and this seems to be the only way to get her to nap in the afternoon.”

“Not a problem,” Tracy said. Tracy looked beneath the canopy that provided the baby shade. The little girl lay wrapped in a pink blanket and wore a light-blue beanie. “How old is she?”

“Five months yesterday,” Berg said.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. We named her Jessica. She’s my angel.”

Tracy smiled at the tiny face beneath the beanie and it stirred her own memories. She’d always imagined she’d have children. She’d imagined that she’d live next door to Sarah and they’d raise their kids together. “Do you have other children?” she asked.

“No,” Berg said, still smiling at her daughter. “I was more into building my insurance practice and making a living. I met my husband a couple years ago. It took a while before we decided to pull the trigger. Now, I don’t know what my life would be like without her. Do you have kids?”

“No,” Tracy said.

“Wedded to your job, I’d imagine.”

“Something like that,” Tracy said. She’d been wedded to finding out who had killed Sarah and it had come at a cost. She’d lost a husband, left a career teaching in Cedar Grove to join the Seattle Police Department, and rarely dated. For years she’d spent most nights going over manuscripts and pieces of evidence related to her sister’s disappearance, until she’d hit a dead end, and reluctantly boxed up her work. By then she was in her midthirties and her dating prospects seemed to be cops or prosecutors, and she wasn’t interested in bringing her work home any more than she already did.

“I know that feeling,” Berg said. As if on cue, Jessica made a noise and Berg added, “We better get moving. Seems to be the only thing that puts her to sleep.”

They walked the pavement, Tracy at Berg’s side, Kins following a step behind.

“I’m still in shock,” Berg said. “This was horrible the first time; I mean when we thought Andrea died two months ago. Now, finding out she was alive? I don’t know what to think.” She looked to Tracy. “So, she’s dead? She really is the woman found in that crab pot?”

“That appears to be the case,” Tracy said, stepping to the side as two runners approached and passed.

Berg shook her head. “My emotions are all screwed up.”

“I take it from your response that you hadn’t heard from Andrea,” Tracy said.

“No. Not a word.”

“How long did she work as your assistant?”

“About two, two and a half years. She left for about seven months, when she and her husband opened their business. When it failed, she came back.”

“Was it strictly a professional relationship?” Tracy asked.

Berg nodded. “Andrea was quite a bit younger, and there was that natural demarcation between employer and employee, but we’d occasionally go out to lunch, that sort of thing. I kind of decided that she needed someone. You know she lost her parents at a very young age.”

“We know,” Tracy said.

“It was tragic. She didn’t talk about it, but it came out in her interview and I looked it up. Her parents died in a car accident on Christmas Eve. A drunk driver hit them. From what I understand, Andrea was trapped in the car. I tried to be there for her when she needed me.”

“What kind of person was she?” Tracy asked.

“Andrea was quiet, but not necessarily shy. People thought she was shy because she read a lot. That was my first impression too.”

“What did she read?” Tracy asked.

“Novels,” Berg said. “She had paperbacks stacked all over her desk, novels on her phone and her Kindle. She read all the time, but when you got to know her you realized she wasn’t shy. She just preferred not to be the center of attention. She liked to stay on the periphery. Does that make sense?”

“Can you give me an example?” Tracy said.

Berg gave the question some thought. “We had a function at the company—a birthday party for someone. I caught Andrea sitting back and taking everything in, you know? If you didn’t know her, you might get the impression she was disinterested, but if you watched her closely, you’d see these little grins, or frowns, maybe a subtle eye roll. It was never blatant or disrespectful, just enough that I knew she was paying attention.”

“Was she intelligent?” Tracy asked.

“Very,” Berg said, nodding.