Her Last Word(56)

She struck the door until her hands bled and screamed until her throat was raw.

“Hi, I’m Gina Mason, Saint Mathew’s class of 2004! Welcome to the Rebels’ soccer team—district finalists three years in a row!”

Exhausted and dizzy, she pressed her palms to her ears and lowered herself to the floor. “Stop it!”

She wrapped her arms around her knees as she tipped her head back against cement. She’d been walled in. It felt like a tomb.

Meanwhile, Gina’s voice played over and over.



INTERVIEW FILE #15

FALSE LEADS

Five days after Gina’s disappearance, the police opened a tip line. Within hours, a trickle of leads turned into a flood. At one point during the investigation, the police department had two officers dedicated to the tip line.

Some tipsters thought they’d spotted Gina alive and well living in southwest Virginia. Others swore the disturbed soil on their farm property was her shallow grave. One woman was convinced Gina was working in a convenience store in Arlington, Virginia, and had amnesia.

The cops followed up on all credible leads. Law enforcement searched vacant lots, farmers’ fields, and abandoned buildings not only in the Richmond area but also throughout Virginia and into the mid-Atlantic region. In the end, none of the information panned out.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Monday, March 19, 2018; 10:00 a.m.

Quinn had found the names of the two girls who had been sexually assaulted two years before Gina vanished. One of the victims, Lily Jackson, had moved to California, but the other, Maureen Campbell, worked as a cop in the state police’s vice unit. She discovered it was Agent Campbell’s day off and arranged to meet her in her Goochland home, forty-five minutes west of Richmond.

Minutes later, Adler and Quinn were in his car driving west, and within the hour he was parking in front of a small brick house on a large wooded lot. The grass around the house was cut, and the trim around the door and windows sported a fresh coat of white paint. They made their way to the front door, and he knocked.

Footsteps in the home moved toward the door. There was a hesitation, and he sensed they were being studied through the peephole. He stepped back and rested his hands on his hips while moving his jacket back slightly so his badge was in view.

The door opened to an attractive woman with long dark hair, a fit body, and green eyes that shifted from wary to somewhat welcoming. “Detective Quinn?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, and this is my partner, Detective John Adler. Thanks for seeing us, Agent Campbell.”

“It’s Maureen.” She unlatched the screened door and pushed it open. “Your timing is good. I was about to open the paint cans when you called. It’s my first day off in a few weeks, and I’m determined to paint the living room.”

“Sorry to disturb your plans,” Adler said.

Maureen laughed. “No, any excuse to not paint is a good excuse.”

In the living room, there was a couch, a couple of chairs, and a navy-blue rug covering polished wood floors. All her pictures tilted against a wall in a neat stack.

Maureen sat and motioned for them to do the same.

“Have you been here long?” Adler asked as he took one of the chairs.

“Two years, but work has kept me on the go. There’s been little time to fix up the place. My unit and I infiltrated a human trafficking ring and just busted three guys controlling twenty girls.”

“That’s a hell of a win,” Quinn said.

“It is, but it’ll be a long way back for the girls.” She cleared her throat. “Can I get you coffee?”

Both declined.

“We’ll cut to the chase, if that works for you,” Quinn said.

“Absolutely.”

Quinn flipped open a notebook. “When you were sixteen a man broke into your parents’ home and sexually assaulted you?”

Maureen lifted her chin a fraction. “That’s correct. My parents had gone out for the evening and left me home alone. I’d fallen asleep on the couch and woke up to find a man standing over me. He had a knife pressed to my throat.”

“You said that your attacker was wearing panty hose over his face,” she continued.

“Yes. He kept his face covered. I later met with a police sketch artist, but the image wasn’t helpful.”

“Can you tell us what happened next?” Quinn asked.

Maureen shifted and then settled. “He dragged me to my room, tied me to my bed, and for approximately two hours raped me.”

“Was he concerned that your parents might return?” Adler asked.

“I told him they’d be home any second, but he laughed. He said he’d been watching the house and knew Wednesday nights were their movie nights and they never returned home before eleven.” She raised her fingers to the base of her throat. “Several times he put his hands around my neck and squeezed, but he seemed to grow tired.”

“He underestimated how hard it is to strangle someone,” Quinn said.

Maureen nodded. “Yes, I think that is exactly it. If I had to bet, I’d say I was one of his first victims.”

“Any other reason to support that theory?” Adler asked.

“Even though he said he knew no one was coming to help me, he was nervous. His hands shook as he was tying mine to the headboard. And once a car passed by outside and he stopped, put his hand over my mouth, and waited until the street was silent again.”