Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(66)
Hoping the policy had changed, Gina had gone online to the Bureau of Vital Statistics, Durham, North Carolina. She was hoping to download a copy of Stephenson’s death certificate. No luck. For a fee it could be mailed to her. I’ll pick it up in person, she said to herself as she jotted down the address.
She had spent the previous afternoon researching online private investigators. After speaking to Wesley Rigler, she was confident she had found one who could help her. Wes was in his early sixties. Before retiring two years earlier, he had been a lieutenant in the Durham Police Department.
Earlier that morning she had received a text from Andrew, Cathy Ryan’s brother.
Hi Gina, I know you’re busy and I don’t want to bother you. My mother keeps asking if there are any updates on what happened to Cathy. Is there anything you can share? Thanks. Andrew
No matter how many investigations she did, this was the part that made her feel the most conflicted. Whether it was the nursing home abuse, the fraternity branding, or other stories she had pursued, the victims or their families had shared very private and confidential information with her. They had bared their souls and opened themselves to further pain to give her the information she needed to press forward. Most of them wanted, expected, or demanded to be kept in the loop.
But experience had taught her that sharing everything she knew could create false hopes and in some cases jeopardize the investigation. It was a balancing act. Her response via text had been:
Andrew, I’m sorry to say I don’t have anything new on Cathy. I’ve spoken to another woman who had a bad experience at REL and have a lead on a third potential victim. Am grateful to you and your parents for your trust. Gina
She slipped her coat on, put her purse on top of her suitcase, and headed toward the elevator.
74
Gina used the electronic key to open the door of her room at the Durham Hotel on East Chapel Hill Street. Lisa had recommended it, saying her family had stayed there when they went down for her younger brother’s graduation from Duke.
Ordinarily, Gina would have used the two hours of flight time to organize her thoughts, to put together a plan to make the best use of her time on the ground. There was no worse feeling—it had happened to her before—than being on the return flight home and realizing she had failed to follow up on a potential lead.
She had ample reason to feel distracted. Much as she dreaded receiving a text or an email from Ted, going several days without hearing from him produced a different kind of hurt. More than ever before, she realized how much she loved him. She envisioned his arms around her as she explained that abruptly breaking up with him was the only thing she could do to protect him. He would think of something funny and sweet to say. Gina, do me a favor. In the future, stop protecting me!
And now, only silence. She found herself hoping that his work on the REL News IPO was keeping him so busy that he would have no time to move on, no opportunity to start getting interested in finding someone else. I’ll find a way to make it all work out, she promised herself.
Putting Ted out of her mind provided little respite. When her plane landed and she switched on her phone, there was a text from Lisa. Gina, sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. The apartment is still in both of your parents’ names. Let me know how I can help. Lisa
Gina was not surprised. She really couldn’t imagine her parents or her father having done that without telling her.
Before receiving the email about Paula Stephenson, Gina had hoped to spend time looking into Marian Callow’s background. She especially wanted to track down her stepsons, the ones who have their own lives, and hear their impressions of the woman who had married into their family.
She had said a silent prayer that things wouldn’t move too quickly in Florida. Getting engaged creates a momentum all its own. She remembered talking to a girlfriend who had a short-lived marriage. “Rings are bought, the church and reception hall booked, shopping for gowns, going over guest lists, rehearsal dinner, endless photos. The plans and events were like an avalanche going down the mountain. I knew on my wedding day I was marrying the wrong guy. I just felt powerless to stop it.”
The ring of her cell phone snapped Gina back to reality. It was the private investigator, Wes Rigler.
“Gina, I’m so sorry. My daughter has gone into labor two weeks early. I can’t meet you tonight, but if all goes well, I’ll be able to break free tomorrow afternoon. Is there anything I can help you with before I head to the hospital?”
“I want to talk to the funeral home that took care of Stephenson’s body. Would you be able to find out which one that was?”
“No, but I can make the search easy for you. When the medical examiner is finished with a body, it is shipped to a local funeral home. When the deceased is from out of town, they prep it and make arrangements for the body to be transported to the home the victim’s family wants to use. The City of Durham contracts with three funeral homes to provide this service. Have you got a pen?”
Gina scribbled down the names. “Thanks, Wes. I don’t want to take you away from your family.”
“Don’t worry. Once everything’s in good shape at the hospital, I’ll come join you wherever you are. Keep your phone on.”
“Will do. Good luck. First grandchild?”
“Numero uno. Can’t wait!”