Rachel’s heart pounded with anger. She hated that he’d dug into her personal life. She was a very private person. But she should have expected it. “So now you believe me?”
His food came, and he waited for the waiter to leave before speaking again. “I’m beginning to. But the fake birth certificate makes no sense. And the fact that you disappeared the same day as the murder of the little girl is a strange coincidence.” He took a bite of his burger and a swig of beer.
“I’ll give you that,” she said. “I can’t figure that out either.”
“Well, and the fact that I swore I saw you that day and your own father identified the body as his daughter. It’s baffling.”
“I don’t understand that either,” Rachel said. She imagined her father going to the morgue to identify her body. It must have been traumatizing for him. “Maybe he misidentified me because he was so upset.”
Jeremy shook his head. “I’ve read those files over and over again. They state he recognized your clothes and hair. He was sure it was you.”
Rachel had been sipping her Coke while he spoke. She stopped and frowned at him. “I don’t get how, though. I left the house early that morning before he even woke up. My dad was always gone trucking, so I’m sure he barely knew what type of clothes I owned. And how could he not have known the difference between my face and the other girl’s face?”
Jeremy set his burger down. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?” she asked.
He lowered his voice. “The girl’s face was unrecognizable. It had been bashed in with a rock so many times, the skull was broken into fragments. There was no way of identifying her from her features.”
Rachel’s stomach lurched. She fell back against the booth, her mind picturing the mutilated girl lying on the ground by the river. “I had no idea,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry I had to tell you. It was a horrific crime. I’m sure it was heart-wrenching for your father to see it,” Jeremy said.
Rachel swallowed hard, trying not to be sick. Her poor father, thinking she was the little girl with her head smashed in. It had to have broken his heart. “So that’s why he misidentified me.”
“Maybe,” Jeremy said, eating his burger again. “But it doesn’t explain why no one reported a missing child. If it wasn’t Rachel Parnell, someone would have come forward to say their daughter was missing.”
Rachel nodded. That was true. None of this made sense. And the thoughts in her mind were too horrible to contemplate. Would her aunt and uncle have been able to pull off such a gruesome murder to make it look like she was dead? Rachel shook that thought away. No. They would never have killed another child just so they could have her.
“Is there any chance I could look at those case files? And the evidence?” Rachel asked. Maybe she could piece together what had happened if she saw everything.
Jeremy contemplated her question. “Maybe. But only if we can determine that you are who you say you are first.”
Rachel sighed. “And how are we going to do that?”
He grinned. “We may not have had DNA when you were eight, but we have it now. Since your brother is in prison, his DNA is in CODIS, so we can match his to yours. That is if you really want to prove you’re related.”
Her brows rose. “CODIS?”
“Yeah. The Combined DNA Index System. Prisoners who have committed a felony in California have their DNA submitted automatically.”
She smiled. “Let’s do it.”
***
Rachel didn’t sleep well that night. She wasn’t worried about the DNA results—she was one-hundred percent certain it would prove her relationship to Keith. What bothered her was being on the first floor of the motel with a door directly out to the parking lot. Earlier that evening, she’d glanced out the window while closing the drapes and had seen an older four-door car sitting out on the street. Someone was sitting in it. Then, right before bed, she saw it was still there—and so was the driver. An eerie feeling had washed over her. Was Jeremy having her followed? And if so, why?
She also couldn’t get over her discomfort with Jeremy. In her mind, he was still that fourteen-year-old boy who’d followed Keith around. Even though it seemed he was trying to help her and might possibly be on her side, she still didn’t trust him. She just didn’t have a good reason why.
Before going to bed, Rachel had pulled out her computer and searched Jeremy Mitchell’s name. She hadn’t found much. He had no social media footprint. She did find that he’d graduated from Sacramento State University with a Criminal Justice degree, and then another article where he’d been hired by the Casita Police Department. That was several years ago. He’d worked his way up to Chief of Police. She supposed being a police officer, he wouldn’t want to be on Facebook or other social media sites. It made sense. But his lack of presence online bothered her.
Finally, exhausted from her long day, she slept.
At ten the next morning, Rachel met Jeremy at the local medical clinic downtown to have her DNA taken. He was there as a witness to verify it was her DNA they’d extracted and would send in.
After the nurse swabbed the inside of Rachel’s cheek, it was placed in a container, and both the nurse and Jeremy initialed it.
“Is that it?” Rachel asked.
“That’s it,” Jeremy said. “We’ll overnight it to the laboratory and see if we can put a rush on it. I’ll call ahead and say it’s for a murder case. Hopefully, we’ll hear from them soon.”
The two walked outside into the sunshine. Jeremy was wearing his dark blue uniform, and his silver badge gleamed in the sunlight. “How soon?” Rachel asked, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Could be a few days. It could be two weeks. It depends on how busy they are.”
“What? I can’t stay here that long. I have work to get back to and a home to take care of.”
He shrugged. “You could go home and wait.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. She wondered if he was purposely trying to get rid of her. “I’ll have to think about what I can do. I suppose I could do some of my work here. It’s all online. I can’t afford to fly back and forth.”
“It’s your call,” Jeremy said, sounding like he didn’t care.
“Don’t you want to learn the identity of the little girl who was killed?” Rachel asked, incensed.
Jeremy stood with his legs planted apart, his hands on his hips. “As far as I’m concerned, Rachel Parnell is in that grave until you can prove who you are. If the DNA comes back proving you’re her, then I’ll start an investigation. Until then, I can’t do anything.”
“You’re impossible,” Rachel said, angrily. “I thought you were trying to help me find the truth. But all you’re doing is hiding the truth. I’ll investigate on my own.” She spun around and stormed away from him, heading to her car. Once inside, she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Jeremy was no longer on the sidewalk. He really didn’t care about this case.
After a moment, Rachel calmed down and looked up and down the street. The dark car that had sat outside her motel last night was nowhere in sight. Maybe it had been her imagination. Being back in this small town was making her jittery.
Rachel drove the block down to City Hall and parked. She wanted to pick up the birth certificate Gladys had found. As she walked into the old building, she wondered if the library had old newspaper articles on the murder case so she could do some digging of her own.
“Hi, Gladys,” Rachel said, smiling as the older woman ambled to the window. Today, Gladys’s pantsuit was dark green. Her glasses were hanging around her neck, and she wore a heavy gold necklace that was popular in the 1990s.
“Hello, dear,” Gladys said, giving her a smile. “Here is a copy of your real birth certificate. I’m sorry I couldn’t find any new information for you.”
“That’s okay,” Rachel said, taking the envelope. “Do I owe you for this?”
She shook her head. “Normally, yes. But in this case, it’s on the
house.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate you trying to help me.”
Gladys turned her head from side to side as if looking for someone. Then she said softly to Rachel. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? I believe it’s coffee break time.”
This intrigued Rachel. “Sure.”
The older woman walked back to her desk and picked up her large purse. She walked out of the office door, locking it behind her. “Let’s go across the street to the café where there aren’t any big ears.”
Rachel followed her, slightly amused. At first, she’d thought Gladys was much older. But now, Rachel realized she was middle-aged. Her hair was cut short and dyed dark red. She wore carefully applied makeup and red nail polish. Rachel actually had trouble keeping pace with her as she hurried across the street.
Rachel remembered the little café from when she was young. It still looked the same—a fifties-style diner with a long counter lined with stools and Formica tables with red padded chairs strewn about. The floor was still the old black and white checked tile.
Gladys picked a table in the back, away from the few patrons already there. It was between breakfast and lunch, so the little café was enjoying a lull.
“Hey, Gladys,” the waitress said as she approached the table. She looked curiously at Rachel but only asked, “What can I get you girls?”
“Just coffee for me,” Gladys said. Rachel ordered a Coke, and the waitress headed back behind the counter.
“She’s an old friend of mine, but I don’t want her to hear what I have to say,” Gladys whispered. After their coffee and soda arrived, they were finally alone.
“It’s been thirty-five years,” Gladys said softly as she broke open two sugar packets and poured them into her coffee. “I can share what I know from the trial.”
Rachel watched Gladys with interest. This was a nice turn of events. If she could get information from Gladys, she wouldn’t have to go digging through old microfiche in the library. “I’d like to hear anything you can tell me,” she said.
“I was a young woman when that trial happened. In my early twenties. I lived alone in a small apartment and had just started working as a file clerk at City Hall. Then that terrible murder happened, and the entire town was turned upside-down,” Gladys said, shaking her head. She looked up at Rachel. “You were very young then, so you probably didn’t know. But that summer, there were three murders before the little girl was killed. Three women at separate times were raped and murdered in their own homes. It was ghastly. And it scared everyone, especially women who lived alone, like me.”
Rachel thought back to the summer her aunt and uncle took her away. She remembered a little about those murders. Her mother always had the television on, and Rachel had heard the reports on the news. She remembered one of the women had lived only two blocks from them. Keith had worked for her, mowing her lawn a few times.
“I remember hearing a little about them,” she told Gladys. “But what do they have to do with the little girl’s murder?”
“After your father identified the body, the first person everyone thought of was your brother. Teachers reported they’d seen the bruises he’d given you over the years, and other people had witnessed how he treated you in the park. He was always frightening someone or pulling pranks around town. And he was sixteen. Old enough to be dangerous.”
“He’d always been mean to me, but I never felt he’d try to kill me,” Rachel said.
“Well, that’s not how some people in town saw it. The police had been called with complaints against him in the past. And then, there were the murdered women.”
Rachel frowned. “What are you saying?”
Gladys took a sip of her coffee and then fiddled with the spoon. “His behavior was erratic. Even teachers at the high school said he was unstable. Many believed he might be behind your murder, and possibly the other murders as well.”
Rachel sat back, stunned. “Keith was no angel but a murderer? I don’t believe it. What proof did they have?”
Gladys spoke softly. “When the police went to question your family, which is normal in a case like that, they saw that Keith had scratches on his face. Fresh scratches. The little girl had fought back. There was skin under her fingernails from clawing at the person who’d killed her.”
Rachel contemplated this new information. She remembered all too clearly the day before she left. Her brother had grabbed her in a chokehold, and she’d scratched his face to try to get away. Her father had stopped Keith. He’d been capable of cruelty, yes, but not murder.
“I was the one who scratched him,” she told Gladys. “He grabbed me at home, and I fought back. He thought it was funny to scare me that way.”
Gladys looked thoughtful. “I’d always wondered about that. Those scratches were the most tangible evidence they had, and that was what made the jury vote guilty. But what bothered me was how convenient those scratches were. Wouldn’t he have tried to hide them or run away if he’d been guilty? But there was more. The underlying fear that if he’d murdered the little girl, he might have murdered those three women. That was in the back of all of our minds.”
“Is that why you voted a guilty verdict? Because you thought he might also have been the serial rapist?” Rachel asked.
Gladys shook her head. “No. I voted guilty because of the evidence. It was clearly against him. And I’m still not sure it was the wrong verdict. After all, even if you are who you say you are, there is still a dead girl in that grave. Someone killed her.”
Rachel nodded. “That’s true. And someone killed those women, but it may not have been the same person.”
“I agree. But the murders stopped after your brother was in custody. So, everyone concluded he was probably guilty of those too,” Gladys said.
Rachel pondered that. Could her brother have been the one terrorizing women that summer? It was frightening just thinking about it.
“I’d better get back to work.” Gladys dropped a couple of dollars on the table, and the two women walked outside. “If you have any questions about the trial, please feel free to ask me. I want this mystery unraveled just as much as you do. I sent a young boy to jail for life. I felt it was the right thing to do all those years ago, but now I don’t know. I’m happy to help in any way.”
Rachel nodded. “Thank you for your help. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” She turned toward her car, but Gladys stopped her.
“One more thing, dear. Be careful who you trust. Very careful. There are some people in this town I wouldn’t want to be caught in a dark alley with, if you know what I mean.” Glady headed back into City Hall.
Rachel knew exactly who Gladys was talking about.
Chapter Six
It was still early after Rachel left Gladys, so she decided to drive to the cemetery on the north edge of town. It was a quick drive—the city was that small—and as she pulled up through the old arched stone gate, goosebumps rippled over her flesh. Rachel had no idea why. She wasn’t generally afraid of cemeteries. But knowing she was going to walk over her own grave gave her the creeps.
The graveyard was surprisingly large for such a small town. Casita had been settled in 1880 and incorporated as a town in 1890, so many people had lived and died there over the decades. The cemetery was also one of the only places in town where the land rolled and dipped in small hills and valleys. Trees were everywhere, shading the headstones. Surprisingly, it was a peaceful, beautiful place among the surrounding flat farmland. But then, Rachel suspected that was the point. Rest in peace.
Not knowing exactly where the grave was, Rachel parked in the newer section of the cemetery where the headstones were placed level in the ground instead of upright. She stepped out of her car, thankful she’d worn jeans and flats, and started walking carefully among the graves. Names from her past came back to her. Alma Greer, her first-grade teacher. Marty Rathe, the man who’d driven the big, white ice-cream truck up and down the neighborhoods for years. Rachel stopped and frowned w
hen she saw the name of a young man who’d died on September 11, 2001. Raymond Alvarez. She remembered going to school with a boy of the same name. He would have been twenty-four when he’d died. Her heart clenched when she realized he must have died in the Twin Towers attack on 9/11. It broke her heart knowing a long-ago classmate lost his life there.
Moving on, Rachel heard a twig snap behind her, and she quickly turned. No one was there. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly chilled. Get a grip, Rachel silently admonished herself. You’re the only person here.
After a time, a familiar name appeared on a headstone, and she stopped in her tracks. “Rachel Parnell. Born: July 7, 1977. Died: August 22, 1985. Beloved Daughter.” Rachel’s heart swelled at the last words on the headstone. She knew they’d been put there by her father. She’d never doubted his love for her. She suddenly felt terrible that her father had thought she’d been dead all these years. But hadn’t she written to him that first year she’d lived with her aunt and uncle? And he’d never answered. Not once.
A thought hit her. Had her aunt even mailed the letters? If her aunt had known people believed Rachel was dead, she wouldn’t have sent them. There were so many unanswered questions.
Tall trees surrounded her grave, and the shade felt good in the heat of the morning. Rachel glanced at the headstones that bordered her grave. None had her father’s name on them, which was a relief. She thought if he’d died, he’d be buried next to her. The fact that his name hadn’t been listed with her mother’s name at their address bothered her. She wondered if he was still in town.
Suddenly, Rachel heard a crunching sound behind her. She spun and saw a figure move quickly behind a thick oak tree. Her blood pumped furiously. She hadn’t imagined it—someone was following her.
The Truth About Rachel Page 5
