Her Last Word(61)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Monday, March 19, 2018; 5:00 p.m.

Kaitlin could stand, and though she couldn’t cross the room quickly, it was now possible. Her limited mobility was frustrating, but she remained focused on the progress she’d made.

Now sitting up in bed, propped on pillows, she studied the list of people she’d yet to interview. At the top of the list was Steven Marcus, the reporter who covered Gina’s story. He was no longer with the paper but now operated a website and wrote freelance articles dedicated to solving cold cases. According to her research, his reporting had helped police across the country solve a dozen different crimes.

His last piece on Gina had appeared four years ago at the ten-year anniversary. Of all the reporters, he was the most prolific. Several of his articles on Gina had won literary awards.

With her laptop beside her and a pad and pencil close by, she dialed his number. He picked up on the third ring.

“Steven Marcus.” His voice was deep and clear.

She sat a little straighter. “Mr. Marcus, this is Kaitlin Roe. I am—”

“I know who you are,” he said. In the background a chair squeaked as if he had leaned forward. “Talk about a voice from the past. I don’t know how many times I left you messages when I was writing those earlier articles on Gina. You never called back.”

“I know.” Maybe an apology was warranted, but she couldn’t bring herself.

“And then you dropped off the radar. Where’d you go?”

“Texas, but I’m back in Richmond now.”

“So why the call?” Curiosity vibrated in the tone.

“I’m making a podcast about Gina’s disappearance. I’m hoping to draw attention back to her case.”

“Good luck. The more time passes, the harder it gets for people to care.”

“I’m hoping that’ll change. I’ve managed to stir the pot some, and it might lead to progress in the case.”

A dog barked in the background. “What kind of progress?”

“I can’t say right now.”

“You don’t return my calls whenever I did a story on Gina, but you want background from me now.”

“Yes. Shoe’s on the other foot now.”

Soft laughter rumbled through the phone. “You’ve got stones, Kaitlin.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s been fourteen years. I pitched a cold case article idea on her a few months ago and received no bites.”

“Why’re you still writing about her?” Kaitlin asked.

“Gina Mason had all the ingredients of a perfect life. Pretty. Smart. Ambitious. And then she was gone. When I first covered her, she was just another tragedy. But I never could forget her. When beautiful youth is ruined, it’s gripping. James Dean. Marilyn Monroe. Princess Diana. People still talk about them. I’d hoped to elevate Gina to that higher level.”

“Why?”

“I could ask you the same. Why do you suddenly care? You’ve been MIA for fourteen years.”

She decided to be candid. “I let her down,” she said. “I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most.”

Silence hung between them. “A lot of people would agree with you.”

“I know.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“I’d like to interview you. You covered her more than anyone. You know as much as the cops do.”

The dog’s bark blended with the laughter of children. “That’s true. Perhaps more. Though I bet you’ve scored interviews I couldn’t because of your inside track.”

“The last thing I feel like is an insider.”

“You were at ground zero. You saw the crime happen. Doesn’t get any more inside than that.”

“I’ll share if you share,” she said.

More silence and finally, “Sure, I’ll work with you. Right now, I’m on deadline. Let’s meet on Saturday?”

She felt her stitches pull as she shifted. “Sure. That actually would be perfect.”

“I can reach you at this number?” Marcus asked.

“Yes.”

“Looking forward to working with you, Kaitlin.”

“Me, too.”

She ended the call and lay back against the pillows. She felt more confident she would be able to travel with the police on Friday and see Marcus the following day. She had no choice. She might even have real news to share with Marcus.

A knock on her door had her closing her laptop. Anxious to leave the hospital, she was in no mood for a visitor, or worse a nurse poking and prodding her.

“Come in.”

Susan Saunders, her boss, poked her head around the door. She carried with her a vase full of white tulips and a grin. Her thick stock of gray hair was tied back with a headband, and she wore a black blousy dress, clogs, and a mixture of thin bracelets. “Good, you’re up. The nurses weren’t sure if you were awake.”

Kaitlin had asked Susan to pick up a few things at her apartment. She set her laptop aside. “I’m glad to see a friendly face.”

Susan set the vase by the bed and sat, balancing Kaitlin’s small knapsack on her lap.

Sitting up a little taller, Kaitlin studied the floral arrangement, remembering the flowers sent to Audrey Mason’s hospice room and her own lecture.