Her Last Word(10)
“You have information, Kaitlin, and I need to see it.”
She stood and slid her palms over her jeans. “I don’t trust cops.”
He stood and towered over her as he shoved the notebook and pen in his breast pocket. “I picked up on that. But that isn’t an excuse to hold back information in a murder investigation.”
“I can’t believe my project has any bearing on your case. Gina vanished fourteen years ago.”
“How can you be certain they aren’t linked?”
Kaitlin was sure. At least nearly. But she knew the doubt would eat away at her. Better to take her chances with this cop than carry more regret.
He leaned in a fraction. “Can I take that silence as a yes? Or do I get a warrant?”
Guys like him held all the cards. She could play hardball and stall, but she didn’t have the legal firepower or money to fight it. “I can drop off a disc at your office.”
He fished a card from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “I’d like it tomorrow.”
She flicked the edge of the card, studying his name and Homicide Division. Cops were chameleons. They changed personas instantly. Savior. Tormenter. Two sides of the same coin. “Sure.”
He looked around the studio, surveying windows, exits, and locks. “Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No.” The skin on her neck tightened. “Why, should I?”
“You’re here by yourself?”
Tension rippled over her body. “Yeah. The last guest left a few minutes before you arrived. I’ve a few chairs left to stack, and I’ll be done.”
“I’ll walk you to your car, okay?” The question mark didn’t soften the directive.
Her knee-jerk response was to refuse. The farther she stayed away from him, the better. But Jennifer’s death had rattled her. Already she replayed their interview and wondered what she’d missed. Jesus. Jennifer was dead. “Thank you.”
Adler loaded the last chairs onto the stack as she collected her backpack, folded up the picture of Gina, and slid it into a portfolio case. She fished her mace and keys out of her bag. “I need to dump the trash.”
He picked up the trash bag. “Let’s go.”
“Right.”
At the door, she shut off the lights and stared into a darkness ripe with an eerie weight now pressing on her chest. Anxious to leave, she snapped the door wider. A rush of cool air greeted her. She raised an unsteady hand, shoved the key in the heavy dead bolt, and locked it. She started toward the dumpster in the alley, but he stayed slightly in front while keeping her near the wall.
He followed her across the street to the lot where her SUV was parked beside a dark cruiser.
“Thanks for the escort.”
“Where do you work?”
“I teach film at the university.”
“You’ve a degree in film?”
“A bachelor of arts and a master’s.”
“How long have you taught?”
Given another set of circumstances, he’d have sounded conversational. “About six months. Not a full professor. I’m an adjunct.”
“And before that you said you worked for an ad agency in Texas?”
“Yes. A sizable pay cut.”
“Who’s financing this project?”
“My savings. The university job. Frugality. I make it work.”
He nodded, sizing her up. Light from a streetlamp cut across his angled face. “I expect Jennifer Ralston’s interview tape tomorrow.”
“I said I’d drop it off.”
She slid behind the wheel, and as she raised her key toward the ignition, her hand still shook. She sat for a moment and drew in a breath, willing her muscles to unwind.
“You all right?” he asked.
She gripped the wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Jennifer really is dead?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It would be cruel to lie.” Adler didn’t look like the type that played games, but another cop had lied to her after Gina went missing, so she was wise to be cautious.
“I would never do that,” he said.
Gray eyes scrutinized her so closely it was hard not to look away.
“You’ll keep me updated on Jennifer’s case?”
“We will talk again.”
She closed her door and turned the ignition. He patted the top of the car, and she pulled away. A glance in the rearview mirror captured him standing on the deserted street, staring at her like a hunter. And she was in his crosshairs.
INTERVIEW FILE #4
THE NIGHT GINA VANISHED
Sunday, August 15, 2004
We had gathered on the large rocks on the James River at Pony Pasture Rapids. I was witnessing a celebration. Gina, Erika, and Jennifer were heading off to college in less than a week, and this gathering was their private send-off. I felt privileged to be included because I was only a rising junior. This evening would never have been open to me if I’d not been Gina’s cousin.
Pony Pasture is part of the James River Park System, with the Huguenot Bridge just upriver. Called by some the Redneck Riviera, it attracts thousands of sunbathers, swimmers, and kayakers daily during the summer. We’d arrived after sunset, officially trespassing and violating park rules when we hopscotched over the trail of massive boulders onto the river.