The Sorority Murder (Regan Merritt, #1)(15)

Lucas said, “No one came forward to tell authorities that they saw Candace, which is unusual. Where was she? Did she leave town? Why? If you know anything about Candace Swain’s whereabouts during the time she was missing, please call in. Together, we can put together a time frame and re-create her final days.”

He paused. “My producer, Lizzy Choi, has a call holding for us. The caller wishes to remain anonymous.”

He sounded very excited as he took the call.

“Hi, caller. You’re on the air live with Lucas Vega. You told Lizzy, my producer, that you think you saw Candace on Sunday afternoon, after the party. Can you explain?”

“Well, I really don’t know, but you said even if I think I saw her, to call in.” The caller was female, sounded nervous.

“That’s right.”

“And I went to your website and saw a picture of Candace and a picture of her car, and that’s when I thought maybe I had really seen her.”

“Great. When and where?”

“I, um, I’m only going by my memory, which is three years old. I only remember the day because I was driving back to campus on April 12 from Las Vegas, where my family lives. It was my sister’s sixteenth birthday that weekend, so I went home Friday, drove back Sunday afternoon. I stopped in Kingman for gas, then drove through Starbucks. I saw Candace Swain. Or I think I did. The only reason I noticed was because she was in a blue VW convertible Bug, and I loved the color. Then when I saw an NAU sticker on the window, I did a double take because, you know, I was a student. She was sitting in the driver’s seat in the parking lot of Starbucks. I think she might have been on the phone, but I just looked for a second. Maybe I’m wrong, but I really think it was her because of the car.”

“Could you tell if she was upset? Happy? Angry?”

“No. I mean, I wouldn’t have even remembered it if I didn’t remember the car.”

“Just to clarify, this was the Sunday after the Spring Fling.”

“Yes. The twelfth. Like I said, my sister’s birthday was the eleventh, so I know I got the day right.”

“Are you still a student at NAU?”

She laughed. “Yeah—fifth year. But I finally have enough credits to graduate.”

“And you didn’t say anything to her, didn’t hear what she was saying?”

“I was in my car at the drive-through. I just saw her as I was driving away. And I’m only thinking it was her because it looked like her—blonde, really pretty—and her car is distinctive.”

“Thank you for calling in.” He ended the call and said, “Kingman, Arizona. Two hours west of campus. If Candace was in Kingman Sunday afternoon, why? Was she visiting someone? Driving through, like our caller had been? Was she on her way back to campus or coming from campus? Who else might have seen her or her car?

“If our caller is accurate about the timing of her sighting, this means that Candace took her car from campus on Friday night and returned sometime Sunday evening. We know from NAUPD that her card key was used to enter the dorm at 11:10 p.m., though no one has come forward to say they saw her. When did she leave again? There are no cameras in the lot and parking is by permit, so there’s no tracking of when people come and go. They assumed that Candace’s car had been there all weekend because they had no witnesses who said otherwise. Did they even ask? If you know something and are worried, I will keep your confidence. Call or email me.” He recited his contact information again.

“The police issued a BOLO—or Be on the Lookout—for Joseph Abernathy as a person of interest,” Lucas said. He reminded listeners about Abernathy’s history. “A witness saw Abernathy hopping a train on Sunday morning—the morning that Candace’s body was found. Did you see Abernathy on or off campus?”

He rambled a bit, clearly expecting another call. He then went through the rest of the missing-person investigation, but it was a lot of repetition.

“We have a call,” Lucas said, trying not to sound excited. “Caller, you’re on with Lucas Vega. Do you have information about where Candace may have been the week she was missing?”

“No, but I know Joseph. I mean, I knew him.” The voice was male, older.

“How did you know Joseph?”

“I had a rough couple of months back then. Sunrise took me in. Lost my job and my house. My wife had died of cancer, and I had all these bills, and I was grieving and self-medicating. It was a fu—bad time,” he quickly corrected himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucas said.

“Joseph was a serious alcoholic. Half the time you couldn’t have a conversation with him. But when he was half-sober, he was a nice guy. He just couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. But I don’t think he did what the police think he did. He wasn’t a bad guy, just broken.”

“Did you see him that week?”

“I saw him sleeping down by the train tracks one night. I was doing community service. It was a way for me to give something back while I got clean. Cleaning up the roadways and stuff. And he was sleeping at a homeless encampment, just a place near the tracks. There’s a creek that goes through the area, maybe a hundred yards away. Trees and shelter and maybe five or six tents. Out of sight. It’s not there anymore, but three years ago it was. And Joseph was there, sleeping under a tree. I tried to convince him to come back to the shelter, but he told me to leave him alone. So I did.”