Her Last Word(16)

Adler offered a warm grin. “DNA. I want to clear you of this investigation as soon as possible.”

Jeremy looked relieved. “Sure, I guess.”

Quinn quickly snapped open the seal on the vial and removed the Q-tip. “Open.” She swabbed the insides of his mouth before replacing the Q-tip in the vial without saying a word.

Jeremy rubbed his hands through his hair. “Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Can you point to anything else that was bothering Jennifer?” Adler asked.

“Someone sent her flowers. They came with no notes. At first she thought they were from me. I assured her they weren’t, but I don’t know if she believed me.”

“Do you know which florist delivered them?” Quinn asked.

“No.”

“Where were they delivered?” Adler asked.

“To her home, I suppose,” Keller said.

“When you dated, what was she like?” Quinn asked.

“Driven. Quiet and moody at times. Other times fun.”

“Was she safety conscious?” Adler asked, remembering the three dead bolts on her front door.

“Yes. She said you could never be too careful.”

“Any reason why?”

“Once I showed up late. She’d started drinking without me and was a little tipsy. She was looking at old pictures and pointed to one taken when she was about sixteen. She was grinning from ear to ear in the picture. Jennifer said it was the picture of ‘the girl she’d been.’ She spoke about herself as if that girl had died.”

“Did she explain the comment?” Adler asked.

“No. We ended up in bed and distracted. It was an amazing night.”

“Can we see her cubicle?” Quinn asked.

“Sure.” Jeremy led them through the cubicles overlooking the woods behind the building.

There were three stacks of papers on her desk. Three pencils were lined up to the right, as if standing at attention and waiting for orders. On her wall were her diplomas and professional designations.

Adler sat at her desk and opened the middle and side drawers but found nothing that caught his attention. Behind the desk on the credenza were a potted cactus and a picture of a smiling Jennifer standing arm in arm with her sister, Ashley.

“Call us if you think of anything else, no matter how inconsequential,” Adler said.

“Absolutely.”

Jeremy escorted them to the reception area. Instead of leaving right away, Adler turned to the receptionist. “Did Jennifer ever receive any mail or deliveries that may have upset her?”

The receptionist glanced toward her boss, and when he nodded, she said, “She did receive a letter. She opened it in front of me and slammed it in the trash without saying a word.”

“Remember what was on the envelope and letter?” Adler asked.

“There was no return address. Plain white envelope. Handwritten. Block letters. I thought the sender had been a draftsman.”

“Postmark?”

“Richmond.”

“Good memory,” Adler said.

She shrugged. “Hand-addressed letters are out of the ordinary and stick out.”

Adler leaned toward her a fraction. “Did you look at the letter after she threw it in the trash?”

She looked sheepishly toward Jeremy.

“Tell them,” Jeremy said. “It’s all right.”

“Yes, I looked at it. I never look at personal information, but her reaction made me worry for her. It was just a hand-drawn heart.”

“In pen, pencil, ink?”

“Red ink,” she said.

“Any similar letters?” Adler asked.

“No.”

“See anyone suspicious hanging around?” Quinn asked.

“No.”

“Was she dating anyone else?” Adler asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Thanks,” Adler said. “Mr. Keller, we’ll be in touch.”

Outside, Quinn slid on her glasses with such deliberate slowness it was clear she was pissed. “Our victim has an ex-boyfriend, and a killer who had access to her house and lingered in her house for several hours before he killed her.”

“You think Keller killed Jennifer?”

“Stalkers generally have had some interaction with their victims before their behavior turns dangerous.”

“Fair point, but before we start chasing after Keller, I want to hear Jennifer’s interview with Kaitlin,” Adler said.



INTERVIEW FILE #5

THE FIRST FEW HOURS

Everyone who came in contact with Gina on her final day second-guessed their last words. Would it have made a difference? Should I have told her to stay home? Was it smart to drink by the river at night? What if I’d called a cab for us all? Was there someone lurking around I should have seen?

There were a few who for a long time maintained hope she was alive. Maybe she was being held somewhere. Maybe she had escaped, was suffering from amnesia, and didn’t remember. One reporter wrote an entire article about women who’d survived years of captivity, even suggesting Gina might be her abductor’s sex slave.

The survival rates for girls like Gina drop substantially after twenty-four hours. And if the victim is a child, the window of rescue narrows to the first three hours.