“Which,” Merrick says, “has caused some to suspect them—and not just because of that, but different things about them and the way they’ve acted. But those are just theories and rumors. No law enforcement agency has ever indicated Jerry and Lynn were suspects.”
“But here’s perhaps the strangest thing about them and why so many people familiar with the case say something is off about Jerry and Lynn,” Daniel says. “They had a very large life insurance policy on their daughter, who, we should remind everyone, was their only child.”
“And when could they collect on that policy?” Merrick asks.
“That’s where it gets very interesting,” Daniel says. “In most states, a missing person can be declared dead—I think the legal term is something like death in absentia—after seven years, though in some states it’s shorter. As short as four years, but for most it’s seven. It’s even shorter if the missing person was in a situation that involved what they call imminent peril—like a plane crash, a bad storm, or terrorist attack. But in the vast majority of cases, it’s seven years.”
“Are there a lot of these type cases?” Merrick asks.
“I believe estimates are that there have been somewhere between fifty thousand and one hundred thousand in the US.”
“And what has to happen for a missing person to be declared dead?” Merrick asks.
“An interested party, such as the parents in this case, has to petition the court to declare the missing person dead by assumption. There are several criteria that have to be met—such as the person’s absence has to be continuous and inexplicable. Like they didn’t just run away from money problems, impending indictment, or a bad relationship. There can have been no communication from the person. And a search for the person has to have taken place—a diligent search and investigation into the person’s whereabouts.”
“And were all of those criteria met?”
“Yes. Almost five years ago now.”
“And did Jerry and Lynn have their daughter declared dead?”
“No, they did not,” Daniel says. “Which begs the question, why have this huge life insurance policy on a child and then not collect on it when you’re legally entitled to?”
“Yeah, that is . . . Jerry and Lynn are interesting people. Wish we could talk to them. Wish they were still talking to anyone. But that’s not the end of the story, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” Daniel says. “Randa’s parents didn’t petition the court to have her declared dead, but someone else did. And we’ll talk about who on our next show.”
116
When I open my eyes the next morning, Anna is looking down at me, her big brown eyes bright and sparkling with desire.
“Feel like making love before you get ready for work?” she asks.
“Is that a trick question?”
“I woke you up a little early so we could.”
“How much early?” I ask.
“Just fifteen minutes.”
“Then we don’t have any time to waste.”
We didn’t waste any time in starting our day in the very best way possible.
Afterward, she walks in as I shower.
“How far’d you get last night?” she asks.
“On the podcast? Just another episode.”
“So you ended not knowing who petitioned the court to declare Randa dead? How could you go to sleep not knowing?”
“Actually think I fell asleep before the end of that episode. Not sure, but think the outro music and credits coming on woke me up.”
“Can I tell you? Can I tell you?”
“Who petitioned the court? Of course.”
She pulls back the shower curtain and sticks her head in.
“How long have you been up?” I ask.
“Which time? This last time since about five.”
“Sorry.”
“I love it. It’s my job. Plus, the chance to help you with this has me energized like a mofo.”
“So who petitioned the court?” I say.
“Scarlett George.”
“What is a Scarlett George?”
“A suspect, in my book,” she says.
“Who is she? Is it a she?”
“She is Lynn Raffield’s sister, Randa’s aunt. She’s estranged from the family—bet you anything there’s a story there. She wasn’t allowed around Randa. There’s all kinds of speculation about her online, but I’m just beginning to look through it.”
“Would you mind seeing what else is out there?” I ask. “Online, I mean. Blogs. Podcasts. Reddit groups.”
“Already on it. We’ll have a lot to talk about at dinner.”
“Thank you.”
“And I think I found a place for Daniel and Sam to stay.”
“Randa drove a 2004 deep green pearl Honda Accord EX sedan,” Merrick is saying. “She got it in the fall of 2004 as a gift from Jerry Raffield, her dad, so it was just a few months old the night she vanished.”
I’m driving south on 71 toward work, listening to another episode of Merrick and Daniel’s podcast, a sausage biscuit and Diet Coke my only companions.
“Today on the show we’re going to talk about Randa’s car and what was in it,” Daniel says.
“Daniel, has anyone, including your parents, ever just given you a brand new car?”
“No, Merrick, I’ve never had that particular experience. How about you?”
Merrick laughs. “No, me neither. So . . . not only is it an enormous gift and shows how indulgent Jerry could be, but from what we’ve gathered, Randa really didn’t need a new car when he got it for her.”
“She was driving a relatively new 2002 aspen green pearl Toyota Camry at the time, which he had also gotten her new, and there was nothing wrong with it.”
“What is it with this girl and green cars?” Merrick says.
“They’re not just both green. They’re practically the same car.”
“That’s true. They’re very, very similar cars. Easy to mistake for each other. So a few more points about the car. It was new. There was nothing wrong with it. It was drivable after the accident. So there was no need to call the police or a wrecker service.”
“So why did she?” Daniel says.
“She didn’t,” Merrick says.
“No, I know she didn’t make the calls. I’m saying why did she tell Roger Lamott she called a tow—but beyond that, why get out of a drivable car and stand on a dark highway at night when you could’ve kept driving?”
“Why not get back into it the moment Lamott pulls off and drives away?” Merrick says. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Unless,” Daniel says, “she was just so upset, so shaken up from the accident that she didn’t realize she could just drive away.”
“Or she was dazed and out of it because she smacked her head on the steering wheel or window or something and was just confused.”
“Right. We just don’t know. We don’t know why she would get out of her car. We don’t know why she would stay out. Like so many things about this case, it makes no sense.”
“So we don’t know why she got out or stayed out,” Merrick says. “But let’s talk about what we do know. We know that Randa was indulged by her dad.”
“Or . . . to frame it a different way,” Daniel says, “a father who has plenty of money trades in her current car for a new car every two years—to keep her safe and in something dependable. And who knows—maybe it’s good for his taxes. I’m just saying . . . it’s not like they’re luxury cars. Maybe he’s being more protective than indulgent.”
“Okay. Fair enough. Either way, it’s not typical.”
“It’s certainly not.”
“Other things we know . . .” Merrick says. “The car was found locked with most or all of Randa’s things in it—didn’t look like anything was stolen.”
“It had some strange things in it, which we’ll get to in a minute,” Daniel says, “but we need to ask what it means that it was found locked, with no signs of foul play and
nothing appearing to be missing.”
“Her phone was missing,” Merrick says.
“Which we presume was on her person—probably in her pocket or maybe even her hand.”
“But her purse and wallet, some cash, and jewelry were still inside.”
“How much cash?” Daniel asks.
“Over a hundred bucks.”
“We know from receipts and even surveillance footage that Randa went to an ATM and withdrew most of the cash from her checking account before she left Pensacola.”
“Which was a little over four hundred dollars.”
“And we know she stopped at a few places along the way and bought gas and food and some other items.”
“About a hundred dollars’ worth of stuff,” Merrick says, “so where’s the other two hundred bucks?”'
“In her pocket instead of her purse,” Daniel says.
“Maybe. It’s yet another question, another mystery. It doesn’t appear to be a robbery but money is missing.”
“Everywhere you turn . . . there are unanswered questions. Some of them small and specific . . . but others strange and inexplicable.”
“Let’s talk about what was in Randa’s car,” Merrick says. “And let’s start with the books. Randa left most of her books back in her dorm room at UWF, so it’s interesting which ones she took.”
“I know we’re going to get to this on a later show,” Daniel says, “but I just want to mention now that most of the things in Randa’s room were boxed up—something people who are going to commit suicide often do so loved ones won’t have to do it. But, and this is a very big but, her stuff could’ve still been boxed up from returning from the holiday break.”
“But that’s not something you normally do, is it?” Merrick says. “Pack up all your stuff between fall and spring semesters. During summer, maybe, but not Christmas break.”
“No, not usually.”
“And we’ll get into that in a future episode,” Merrick says, “a very interesting episode, but for today let’s talk about the books she brought with her—Girl, Interrupted, A Bright Red Scream: Self-Mutilation and the Language of Pain, a Bible, The Virgin Suicides, and The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.”
“These books paint a certain picture,” Daniel says. “A bleak picture of a young woman undergoing a breakdown or feeling like she might be. And I’m not saying you can diagnose a person by what they read, but . . . the fact that these are all books of a certain kind, of teenage girls in crisis . . . I don’t think it’s unreasonable to surmise Randa Raffield was not in a good way.”
“Which leads to a couple of other items in the car,” Merrick says. “A length of water hose cut just long enough to fit from the exhaust pipe around to the window, and a roll of duct tape.”
“Was Randa Raffield suicidal?” Daniel asks. “And if she did kill herself out there—in the swamp or the bay—why wasn’t her body ever found?”
“And why is there so much evidence to indicate she was abducted and murdered,” Merrick says. “Next time, on In Search of Randa Raffield.”
117
“You think we can clear it?” Reggie asks.
“I do,” I say.
We are in the evidence closet, pulling the material from the Randa Raffield case—all of which fit in a single cardboard storage box.
When I open the box and see how little is inside, I say, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”
“Not much, is it?”
I carry the box to her office where the case files are waiting for us.
They are in a large black three-ring binder, which I place on the evidence box on the chair beside me across from her desk.
Rather than sitting behind her desk, she leans against the front edge of it, crossing her Roper boots.
“You sure about this?” she says, lifting a bottle of cold coffee from her desk and taking a sip.
“Absolutely,” I say. “I’m already obsessed with it.”
“Then I want you working it full-time,” she says. “Put the Remington James thing on the back burner and give me the Robin Wilson case back. I’m gonna see if FDLE will take it.”
“You wouldn’t rather us investigate it?”
She shrugs. “I’ll look at it again and let you know.”
I nod and she takes another swig of her cold mocha coffee drink.
Her phone rings and she puts her coffee down and steps around the desk to answer it. As she does, I lift the binder and begin to flip through it.
Glancing over the file lets me know what a solid job Merrick and Daniel have done in handling the details of the case on their show, and I wonder if Reggie let Merrick look at it.
There’s not a lot in the binder—a few reports, some statements, notes, and photographs.
Most of the pictures of the car are from the holding lot where it was towed—where it had been for two days. The pictures of the scene where Randa had vanished were mostly of the highway, shoulder, and surrounding woods—and were mostly useless.
Reggie finishes her call and looks up at me. “Lot of attention on this case. We need to tread carefully and protect our investigation. You and I are the only ones to see the file. I’m not sharing any info with Merrick or anyone else. I’m happy his podcast is doing so well. And I appreciate anything they’ve turned up, but it’s a one-way street. They share with us. We don’t share with them. It’s our case. Let’s solve it.”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me know what you need. I’ll do anything I can to help. Any resources. Anything I can come up with. And you can drop that ma’am shit.”
I smile. “What happened to Randa’s car?”
“Processed for prints, DNA, etc. Photographed. Released to the dad. Title was in his name. From what I gather, he’s kept it just the way it was in hopes she’s still gonna show up someday, so if we need to take another look at it we might be able to—though what good it would do after all this time I can’t imagine.”
I nod.
“I looked through the case files,” she says. “Been listening to Merrick’s show. I think it’s pretty obvious what happened.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you know Randa was an athlete?”
I nod.
“A world-class swimmer,” she says. “On the swim team at UWF. Whether it was intentional or not I don’t know—’cause I’m not a mind reader—but I bet you anything, she drowned. She walked into the woods and through the Windmark construction site and wound up in the water. Maybe she was just trying to sober up, maybe she really was suicidal. Either way, I think the most likely scenario is that she drowned. But we can’t prove a negative. We need some evidence—anything that will prove to reasonable people what really happened.”
“And if she didn’t drown?” I ask.
“Then find the evil son of a bitch who took her and take him off the board.”
118
When I leave the sheriff’s department, I intend to drive to my office, which is in the investigations division behind the supervisor of elections office on Long Avenue. The investigations division and interview room are in a separate location because the small sheriff’s department offices behind the courthouse just doesn’t have room for us.
As soon as I’m in my car, I begin the next episode of the podcast.
“Today we’re joined by private investigator Cal Beckner,” Merrick says. “Welcome.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“We appreciate you being on the show,” Daniel says.
“Happy to help. I’ve invested a lot in this case over the years—and not just time.”
“How’d you first get involved in the case?” Merrick asks.
“I was hired by Randa’s mom, Lynn Raffield, oh I’d say . . . sometime in the second week of Randa going missing.”
“So you’ve been on the case since nearly the beginning,” Daniel says.
“Near about.”
“Are you still investigating the case now?” Merrick asks.
> “I am. And I will be until it’s solved.”
“But you no longer work for the family, is that right?”
“That’s correct. I haven’t in a long time. I’m working this case pro bono because . . . well, I . . . just can’t let it go.”
“And why did Lynn Raffield let you go?” Merrick asks.
“You’d have to ask her to be absolutely certain, but . . . my guess is . . . she didn’t like what was in my reports and—”
“You focused on Randa’s background, right?” Daniel asks.
“I did. Usually the keys to understanding something like this—a young girl not where she’s supposed to be and winding up vanishing—are in the days and months and, to a lesser extent, years leading up to it.”
“And what did you find in Randa’s past?”
“A very troubled young woman,” Cal says. “Randa was by all accounts a sweet girl . . . pretty genuinely nice to everyone. A good and loyal friend. A good student. Good athlete. But she was . . . she struggled too.”
“With?” Daniel asks.
“Some drugs, but mostly alcohol. Binge drinking. Lots of parties.”
“Which is pretty common on college campuses these days, isn’t it?” Merrick says.
“Yes, it is. But I’d say Randa’s was even more excessive than the typical excessiveness found among most coeds these days.”
“There was a fair amount of alcohol found in her car at the time of her disappearance,” Daniel adds. “Now, none of it was open and most of it was in the trunk, so we’re not saying Randa was drinking and driving. We just don’t know. But . . . she had enough booze for a party.”
When I reach my office I keep driving, taking a right on 98. At the next light I take a left and drive down past the marina to park in front of the bay. Leaving the podcast running, I open the binder and begin to go over the case files page by page, picture by picture as I listen.
“Lynn Raffield, Randa’s mom, didn’t seem too surprised by her daughter’s drinking,” Cal says. “I think she knew about it or suspected. It was the other things I uncovered that I think led to her dismissing me.”
True Crime Fiction Page 47
