Her Last Word(31)

She faced him. “You released my name to the press. I can’t go into a McDonald’s without someone asking what I did to Gina.”

“We’ve tried to play nice with you, but you’ve not been cooperative.”

“He was wearing a mask!”

Despite her bravado, she was young and dealing with a seasoned homicide detective. North knew exactly how to push her buttons.

“Tell me what you do remember,” North said.

“I already have.”

“One more time. I’m getting old, and I don’t remember so well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We were by the river.”

“You, Gina, Erika, and Jennifer.”

“That’s right.”

“Why were you there?”

“It was a celebration. The other girls were leaving for college soon.” Her fists clenched.

“And you girls were drinking.”

“Yes.”

“We never found the bottle.”

She didn’t answer.

“Kaitlin, at this stage underage drinking is the least of your worries.”

“I threw it in the river. It floated away.”

“Did you spike it with Ecstasy?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I have your arrest records from Texas. You got yourself into some trouble, little lady. You strike me as someone who can get ahold of almost any substance.”

“I didn’t spike the bottle.”

North opened his file and seemed to read something. “You said you and Gina were walking to her house. That the other girls had left you.”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I was having trouble walking. I was drunk and kept tripping on my flip-flops. Gina got too far ahead of me, and I lost sight of her in the dark. That’s when I thought I sensed something wrong. I ran ahead and was right. I saw him standing next to Gina.”

“Who?”

“The man with the clown mask holding a knife to Gina’s neck.”

“What did he say to you?”

She closed her eyes. “He cut off her ear, and then he told me to run.”

“And you ran?”

Her answer wasn’t audible, and North asked her to repeat it.

“I must have turned and run.”

“How did her blood get on your T-shirt?”

“I don’t remember.”

If Adler had not been watching closely, he’d have missed Kaitlin’s hesitation. Was it guilt? Pain? Anger? A lie?

“I know you’re lying, Kaitlin. I think you spiked the drink with narcotics. Maybe you wanted everyone to have a real good time. Maybe you wanted to mess with them. And you did. But the fun and games ended when something happened to Gina. Did she overdose?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Okay, Gina didn’t overdose. But someone found you girls, and that cocktail is the reason all of you were so incapacitated and could barely walk, let alone defend yourselves. I’m amazed you all didn’t drown in the river.”

She didn’t speak.

North was silent for a moment. “You know what I think?”

“I can’t wait.”

North smiled. “I think you and Hayward were working together. I think he told you to spike the lemonade so Gina and the other girls would be too messed up to resist anything he wanted to try. Hell, you’re twisted.”

“No!”

“He broke up with you, but you still loved him. I bet you’d have done anything to get with him.”

Kaitlin shook her head. “I didn’t hurt Gina.”

“Sweetie, you drugged her. Made her defenseless. Hell of a friend you are.”

Kaitlin’s expression crumpled as if she’d been slapped across the face. “I didn’t do it.”

“You’re complicit. Now all I have to do is prove it. And I will. Why don’t you save us both a lot of time and tell me. If you had a conscience, you’d feel better, too.”

Kaitlin rose. “I’m leaving.”

“I’m just clowning around,” he smirked.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Adler rewound the DVD and froze it on the last expression the camera caught of her face. Raw pain was carved in the lines around her eyes and mouth. But he’d seen murderers feel deep remorse. It was possible to love someone, kill them in a moment of rage, and then mourn their loss.

And now Kaitlin was back in Richmond hooking up with her old boyfriend. It had come full circle, and Hayward was right in the middle of it.



INTERVIEW FILE #9

THE GIRLS OF SUMMER—JENNIFER RALSTON

Thursday, February 22, 2018; 7:00 p.m.

Jennifer Ralston sits perched on the loft apartment stool, her booted heels locked behind the stool’s footrest. She looks around the city apartment, studying the exposed brick, unfinished dusty rafters, and tall framed windows overlooking the James River and the city’s north side. In her hands, she cradles an RVA mug filled with hot green tea. Though Gina paid the ultimate price, we each lost a piece of ourselves that night.

“Is the microphone rolling?” Jennifer looks at my recorder.