The Lies I Told(17)

“That’s right. Officially an adult, I suppose.”

He leaned back, threaded his fingers together, and rested them on his chest. “I don’t have anything new for you, Marisa. No new leads.”

“But the case is still open. It’s not cold.”

“It’s active for another two weeks. Then all bets are off.”

“So much for my birthday wish.”

“Believe me, I don’t like leaving the job knowing this case is open. Always stings when a young person like Clare dies.”

Whoever killed Clare had stripped her body naked and laid it in the James River. Later, the medical examiner would report she’d been strangled. (It takes at least six minutes to strangle a person to death. Six. Minutes.)

The waters of the James River and a heavy rain had stripped away any DNA on her body except for Kurt’s. After the case shifted away from him, it basically stalled. With no additional DNA, if the offender had a record, there was no way to find him. Television crime dramas led most to believe each crime scene had traces of some evidence that would miraculously crack the case. Not true.

Witnesses had seen Clare leave Jo-Jo’s house alone, but no one could remember whether she’d walked the five blocks to our home, gotten or been forced into a car, or been pulled into another neighborhood house. One guy thought he’d seen someone approach her, but he’d been too drunk to absorb any details. There’d been an extensive search of the area homes as well as their security cameras. There’d been no trace of Clare.

Some said my sister had been drinking. Others couldn’t be sure. A few said she’d looked pissed. Almost everyone, given how she was dressed and her sour mood, assumed she was me.

“Seems after all this time, someone might have said something,” I said. “I’ve heard that can happen when time passes. Relationships break up and an ex spills a secret. Someone’s conscience gets the better of them. Even an inmate hears something.”

“All possible scenarios but no lucky break like that in this case. Unfortunately, many cases do not get solved.”

I rejected the finality of his statement. Someone, somewhere, knew what had happened. Someone had seen something. “If you’re retiring, could I see your case file?”

“Your sister’s case is still open, which means I can’t show it to you.”

“But you’re leaving.”

“I’ll give the files to another younger cop. He or she will follow up. You’ll likely get a call.”

It wouldn’t be the same. Richards had lived and worked this case for thirteen years. There was no way he could convey all he knew to another detective. “When?”

“In the next year.”

Another year. Another year of freedom for a killer. More missed opportunities to collect perishable evidence. “The new cop won’t have the history or interest in the case like you did.”

He drew in a breath. His chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “I can’t give you the files.”

I sat silent, perched on the edge of my seat, my fingers still gripping the strap of my camera bag. “What about a copy of your notes? I remember you wrote down everything I said when you interviewed me. You always had that big folio in your hand.”

He regarded me but, instead of answering, shifted to another topic. “Tell me about your car accident.”

“What’s there to say?”

“Paramedics thought you had drugs in your system.”

“You’re keeping tabs on me?”

“Everyone here knows I care about your sister’s case and you’d visited about eighteen months ago. I received a call from the officer who responded to your scene.”

I’d thought Clare’s case and my visits had dangled at the very end of this department’s priority list. It hadn’t occurred to me I was on anyone’s radar other than Richards’s. “I don’t know why they made that assessment. I didn’t take anything.”

He said nothing, didn’t arch a brow, smirk, or cock his head. Reading his expressions had always been a challenge. He played his cards very close to the vest.

Still, I felt his disappointment. “You’ve heard I lost about ten days’ worth of memories, right?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I still don’t know what happened during the days leading up to the accident, but I know I wasn’t using. I’ve been totally clean for a year.”

“Slips happen, Marisa. It’s fairly common, in fact. No harm, no foul. Looks like you’re back on the wagon.”

“I never fell off of it,” I said clearly.

“Why’re you so special?”

“I’m not. But I know right before the missing days, I was committed to my upcoming show. I was excited about work, life. It’d been a long time since I’d felt that good.”

“The pictures in your art show focused on the spot where Clare’s body was found. That’s working shit out in my book. Digging into an old wound.”

“I thought taking the pictures would tell me something I’d never seen before. I hoped something would reach out to me or someone else who knew something but hadn’t come forward would.”

“Have they done that?”

“Not yet.”