Riley placed the card back on the table between them.
“A week later, I went into her room to ask her something and she was frantically stuffing a Victoria’s Secret bag under her bed,” Lola said, her cheeks turning a faint pink. “I’m not naïve or a prude … obviously she and Liam were having sex. It can be weird to broach that subject with your mom. I get that. So maybe she was hiding the bag from me out of embarrassment. But between her asking about a photographer, this card, the lingerie, and the fact that Brynn had told Liam she had an anniversary gift for him … I think she set up a secret meeting with a photographer to get boudoir pictures taken. I talked to Liam a few times about it and that’s his best guess, too. Brynn apparently asked him a few times how he’d feel if she got sexy pictures taken of herself.”
This might have all sounded like a giant leap taken by a grieving mother to Riley, had there not already been a photography connection to the murders. The cameras that had come out of the storage unit had been well maintained by someone who clearly knew a lot about them, and even if the pictures had been paparazzi-like shots of women unaware they were being watched, they were quality photos taken by someone with talent. The picture of Shawna, her arms outstretched as young Malcolm ran toward her, was an achingly sad picture—not just because Riley, as the viewer, knew what fate had befallen Shawna, but because the photographer had managed to capture the love between mother and child in a way that didn’t feel like an accident.
All of a sudden, Riley’s sixth sense tingled and in the next moment, there was a fourth member at their table. Brynn sat beside her mother now, gazing at her profile. Riley’s eyes had involuntarily widened, she knew, but she was unable to move.
A dark hand swiped up and down in front of her face and she snapped out of her trance.
“Are you okay?” Carter asked.
Riley managed a nod. “Sorry. Did you ask me something?”
Lola cocked her head, studying Riley a moment. “I just asked Carter if he thought this John Anderson could be who pulled up behind Brynn in the parking lot that night. Maybe she was meeting him to pick up the pictures, or to pay for them—something—and then he forced her into the car?”
Brynn’s head shook back and forth in the corner of Riley’s eye. Riley looked over, and when they made eye contact, a voice sounded in her head.
Not John.
“Have you mentioned this to the police?” Carter asked.
Ruthie.
Brynn stared straight at her.
Ruthie.
The word was in Riley’s head, but she hadn’t seen Brynn’s mouth move. Not that ghosts had vocal chords left anyway. Riley idly sipped at her water, not sure what to do with a ghost in public.
Lola sighed, redirecting Riley’s attention. “Yes, I’ve called them. I’ve called with so many theories over the years, and called for updates, that I usually get a ‘thank you for the information; we’ll be in touch’ kind of response. I took a photocopy of the card to them, but I’m sure it’s just sitting in a file on someone’s desk.” She tapped the card with a manicured pointer finger, the polish a light pink. “I called the number and went to the website on the card, but neither one works anymore. I was running out of ideas, running out of hope, honestly, until I saw your article, Carter. I even hired a psychic.”
Riley choked on her water. Carter gave her a few solid pats on the back while she coughed up a lung. “Did you have any luck with the psychic?”
“Which one?” Lola asked, shaking her head and laughing. “There have been so many over the years. I’m probably just desperate at this point. But I was thinking you have more resources than I do, Carter, and maybe you could research John Anderson? Even if nothing comes of it, it feels like you’re doing more to figure out what happened than the police are. I understand they’re all busy, and they don’t have the manpower to work their current cases and also cold ones, but you could look him up, right? Researching stories and tracking down leads is what you do.”
Ruthie.
“I’d be happy to look into it.” Carter took a picture of the card, then handed it back to Lola.
Ruthie.
Ugh, fine! she wanted to scream at Brynn.
“Does the name Ruthie mean anything to you?” Riley asked abruptly.
Lola was so startled by the question that she managed to knock over her glass of water. Riley snatched up the business card before it was ruined, and Carter righted the glass, keeping half of the contents inside. While Riley and Carter quickly unwrapped their utensils to use the linen to mop up the water, Riley could feel Lola boring holes into the side of her head.
Not until the water had been wiped up, and the waiter had handed them newly wrapped utensils, did Riley hazard a glance Lola’s way.
“Why would you ask me that?” she asked in a whisper.
Shit. She hadn’t meant to get into this today, but Brynn had other plans. “Uhhh … well …”
“The source I mentioned earlier,” Carter cut in, “is Riley. She’s a psychic.”
Riley braced herself. Even if Lola had already been in contact with psychics before this, it didn’t mean she would appreciate being blindsided with this information.
Lola, however, pressed her hands to her mouth, her wide, watery eyes focused on Riley. A short, surprised sob issued from her. Slowly, she lowered her hands. “Ruthie was our springer spaniel. She passed away a few days ago.”
Movement made Riley’s attention shift back to Brynn. Ruthie. Then Brynn pressed her hand to her chest.
“Ruthie is with Brynn,” Riley said.
Lola just stared at her, head cocked. The hope pouring off the woman was almost tangible. But saying the family dog was with her deceased daughter wasn’t exactly a groundbreaking claim. It was something any psychic—even any fake psychic—could say with confidence. It was a nice, comforting sentiment, but it wasn’t proof.
Help me out, Brynn.
Just as with Shawna at the campsite, an image flashed in Riley’s head like a lit-up billboard on the side of a pitch-black highway. “She’s … showing me a bouncing balloon? A pink balloon. Sorry, I don’t know what that means.”
Lola’s eyes had gone wide. “That was their favorite game. Brynn would toss her a balloon and Ruthie would knock it back to her with her nose. We found out she liked the game during my niece’s fifth birthday party—we covered the backyard in pink balloons for her. After that, we always had a package of balloons around. Ruthie wouldn’t play with toys for very long, but she’d play with a balloon for hours.
“She and that dog were inseparable. Ruthie was almost a year old when Brynn went missing. That dog had slept with her every night. When she went missing, Ruthie started sleeping by the front door as if she were waiting for Brynn to come home. One night, Ruthie started howling as if she were in horrible pain. My husband and I woke up and ran to the front room, sure someone had broken in and hurt the dog. But Ruthie just lay there, head thrown back, howling at the ceiling. Ten minutes later, the police called us with the news that they’d found Brynn.”
Riley’s eyes welled. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you. Especially since they haven’t caught the person who did this.”
It took Lola a moment to reply, clearly doing her best not to break down in public. “Knowing those two are together … that brings me more comfort than I can possibly tell you.” Blowing out a long, slow breath, Lola said, “So how exactly do you fit into all this?”
Riley gave her the condensed version. “I’m just trying to follow the clues they’re giving me. Brynn says the person who did this wasn’t John, but I do think your photography theory is valid.”
Lola nodded, a bit of her composure returning. “Can you ask her something for me?”
“Actually, just say it,” Riley said, eyeing the spot where Brynn still sat, now fully turned toward her mother. “She can hear you.”
“Was that you on Christmas?” Lola asked.
Riley, though she was sitting, felt arms wra
p around her from behind. She should have been completely freaked out, but a deep sense of comfort immediately overrode the panic. Brow furrowed, Riley said, “She hugged you.”
Tears slid down Lola’s face, and she nodded. Reaching across the table, she held a palm up to Riley. Riley slipped her hand into hers. “Thank you.”
Riley could only manage a nod, as Lola’s desire to burst into tears and ugly sob in the fetal position had slammed into Riley when their hands touched, so now Riley was resisting the same urge as Lola. Brynn smiled softly, then disappeared.
Carter cleared his throat, like maybe he, too, was working through a strong emotion or two. “We can’t guarantee anything, but Riley and I are both looking into this from every angle we can—both on this plane, and the next.”
“I’m happy to help however I can,” Lola said, letting Riley go.
“For now, we think it’s best to keep Riley’s involvement in this under wraps,” Carter said.
“Your secret is safe with me.” After a long pause, Lola said, “I keep thinking about your article, Carter. The idea that other women were victims to the same monster who took Brynn, but that they didn’t get the coverage they needed because a connection between the cases wasn’t made?” She shook her head. “It makes me sick. As horrific as all this has been, somehow there was a sense of closure when they found her. At least I knew. But the idea of other mothers having no idea what happened to their girls for years … for decades?” She shook her head again. “I know it won’t lessen anyone’s pain, but if down the road we need more media coverage, I’m ready to throw money in any direction necessary.”
“That’s a lovely offer,” Carter said.
After Riley’s $25 Cobb salad, a half hour of idle chitchat, and a long hug goodbye, she and Carter headed for his car. He carried a to-go box of his half-eaten $35 roast beef sandwich.
A few minutes into the drive back to Santa Fe where they’d left her car, Carter asked, “Did you really see Brynn?” His tone was more awestruck than doubtful.
“Yes. She popped into the chair right next to her mom.”
“Wow,” he said. “You knew her dog’s name and that she liked to play with balloons—how random is that? And that Brynn had given Lola a phantom hug on Christmas.” He laughed softly to himself. “That was wild.”
“Glad you believe me now,” she said, but there was no malice in her tone.
When he pulled up next to her car in the mall parking lot, he said, “Oh, I forgot to mention that I’m taking the wife and kid on a little vacation this coming weekend. I’ll still have my phone on me so you can get a hold of me if anything comes up, but I won’t be in town. I’m not saying that meeting you and having my foundations shaken to their core had anything to do with it, but I’ve been thinking about how short life is, you know? Anything can happen. I want to be better about making time for the family.”
“I’m glad I could provide you with an existential crisis,” she said, laughing. “Have a good trip, if I don’t talk to you before then.”
She got out of his car and into her own.
On her drive back, she didn’t ponder her own mortality or her place in the universe. There was only one very simple thought in her head that carried her home and through her six-hour shift: Time to find John Anderson.
CHAPTER 22
That night, after a scalding shower and scarfing down a bag of pork buns, Riley studied the picture of John Anderson’s business card Carter had texted her. She knew there had been nothing on the back of it, but she wished she had the card in hand now so she could have the tactile sensation of it under her fingertips. Maybe it would have triggered a psychic reaction if she had more time with it in a quiet location, rather than a busy restaurant. Putting her pointer finger and thumb together on the phone’s screen, she drew them away from each other, enlarging the photo. Using her finger, she moved the picture to the left, then the right. Nothing of note popped out at her that she hadn’t already seen.
Brynn’s mother had said that John Anderson’s site was down, but Riley remembered what Jonah had said about nothing on the internet ever truly going away. She poked around online for a while, and then stumbled on a site called the Wayback Machine. It was an internet archive site that had started back in 1996, keeping an archive of the internet in digital form. There were over 475 billion web pages archived. She clicked the “WEB” tab at the top of the screen and then typed John Anderson’s website into the search bar. It produced a listing.
http://andersonphotog.net
rangefinderanders 1996 – 2012
97 capture(s) from 2000 to 2016
There were several other numbers listed with the display that Riley didn’t remotely understand. To the left of the stats was a small screenshot of a site with a soft gray background, some text, and at least three thumbnails of pictures. When she clicked the site’s screenshot, she got an error message. She wasn’t sure if that was because the site in question was no longer active and therefore all that remained was this screenshot, or if her lack of a Wayback Machine account limited what she could see. She copied and pasted the link address into a separate search page just to be sure. A bar along the top stated that “http://andersonphotog.net” didn’t exist and that the domain might be available for purchase.
While debating on whether it was worth it to cough up a couple of bucks to get full access to the site, she stared at the few lines of text that were provided along with the website address. She conducted a few searches of random keywords. From what she could tell, the line of italicized text that came after a website’s URL was often a piece of information about the owner of the website or the company associated with it.
Rangefinderanders. What the hell was that?
Typing that into her search bar, she got a few results of a “rangefinderanders” leaving grumpy, one-star restaurant reviews, mostly about poor service and overpriced food. One of which was Epicurean Subs, where she and Nina had met with Amy Velasco. Her heart rate doubled. Did John Anderson live in Albuquerque? She checked the locations of the other reviews. Two more were local places, and a third was in Santa Fe.
She did a quick search of “rangefinder” and wasn’t surprised to learn that it was a type of 35mm film camera.
Scanning the reviews again, she found that they’d all been posted in the last few years, one of them only a month ago. So the guy was still alive—and grouchy as all get out, if the reviews were a reflection of his usual attitude. She recalled the way she’d been kicked and punched after touching the bomber jacket in Marty’s Thrift N Save. The blood on the jacket hadn’t been the result of his beating from several months ago, since the jacket couldn’t have been on him and in the storage unit at the same time. Had his grouchiness gotten him into trouble on multiple occasions? Maybe he’d gotten into an altercation about the ratio of chicken to vegetables on one of his sandwiches, and had sent it back to be remade. Every once in a while, a customer would come into The Laughing Tiger who would send a dish back multiple times if it wasn’t made to their specifications.
Riley liked the idea of him complaining about the price of his gourmet sandwich, and getting popped in the mouth because of it.
Wondering if John Anderson used his handle in other places on the internet, she typed “rangefinderanders reddit” into her browser. The results proved the guy was active on the site, so she did a search on Reddit for his profile. Unsurprisingly, he posted and replied to several subreddit threads related to photography and cameras.
After an hour of getting sucked into countless threads, she found a buried post from him that had been put up recently.
Any of you from Albuquerque?
Due to circumstances beyond my control, a small collection of my cameras got sold off. Any chance someone has seen a Canon AE-1, Minolta SRT-101, or Samoca 35 LE in a thrift shop or on eBay lately? I’d gladly buy them back. They were my dad’s and they’re the last things I have left of him.
Someone had replied just two days ago asking, An
y luck, bud?
Rangefinderanders hadn’t replied.
Riley fumbled to call Detective Howard, unsurprisingly getting his voicemail, given the hour. “Hi. It’s Riley. I think I found something.”
She figured the vague message would get him to call her back sooner.
He did so the next morning. “I’m almost scared to ask what you’ve found.”
“Would you have time to talk to me sometime soon? I have a bunch of information about Brynn and Shawna’s case that now involves a third woman. Her name is Emery Dawson. If they’re really all connected, that means this crosses state lines. I think I found the owner of the camera that had been used to photograph Shawna and Emery.”
He was quiet for a beat. “I’m not sure you took a breath during any of that. This sounds like an in-person kind of conversation.”
“Preferably,” she said. “Before I do something stupid, I’d like the expertise of a very distinguished detective.”
She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “Whoever said flattery won’t get you far in life didn’t know what he was talking about. Give me a few days, all right? Things are hectic here at the moment. Just remember that I’m technically always on call, so I can’t guarantee I won’t end up issuing a rain check.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Thank you. I know you’re busy.”
“I’ll be in touch soon. I’m looking forward to what you’ve found out, and also feeling deeply apprehensive.”
“That tracks.”
When she hung up, she eyed her screen where the message from rangefinderanders was still pulled up. An image popped into her mind of rangefinderanders sitting in front of his own computer, staring at a screen filled with Riley’s information. Her gaze flicked to a window, then her front door, wondering if he was out there somewhere.
Shuttered Secrets Page 28
