by Kate Gable
This is, of course, the worst-case scenario. These are the type of cases that are practically impossible to solve because there's very little evidence showing you who could've done it until the body shows up.
When the phrase the body rushes through my mind, I get goose bumps up and down my arms.
No, I can't think like that.
No, my sister cannot be the body. She cannot be the victim.
I cannot think, I cannot let myself think in those terms.
There must be something else here that I'm missing. I keep searching before going on to Snapchat and TikTok, the platforms that I'm least familiar with.
I decide to try my hand at Facebook. I don't even know if Violet has one anymore, except for to log into various other websites, but when I check it, I'm pleasantly surprised.
She does have one and she has recently been active. In fact, an hour before Kaylee and her mom dropped her off, she posted something.
"I'll see you soon."
I furrow my brow.
"I'll see you soon?"
The name that appears at the top is Briana Moody. I click on it, but there's no picture.
The profile seems blank. It either was blank all along or someone had recently deleted it and all of its contents.
I write down the name and repeat it a few times so it becomes familiar, like something I've known all along.
I find a few pictures of Violet from her Instagram that show her in the most natural way, hair down, no filters, and the normal amount of makeup that she typically wears.
I attach them to the missing poster that I then print out on the computer.
We're not supposed to use the printer for mass mailings, but I make twenty-five copies and then send the poster as a PDF to my mom's email.
I know that she doesn't check her messages often, so I text her, "Get these printed and distribute them all over town. I'll be up tonight or tomorrow morning and I'll help you."
I send the PDF to Captain Talarico as well and he surprises me by getting back to me right away with, "Thank you. Give me a call when you can."
I do so, immediately.
"That's a good poster that you made," he says.
His voice sounds gruff and harsh on the other end like he needs to clear his throat.
"Are you back in town?"
"No, I still have work to do here in LA, but I'll try to get back as soon as I can.”
I don't want him to abandon the investigation or just think that she left on her own, but at the same time, they are searching for her and I need them to know everything that they can.
"Briana Moody," I say.
"Is that supposed to mean anything?"
"I checked Violet’s Facebook and an hour before she got dropped off at home, she posted on Briana Moody's wall that she can't wait to see her soon. I don't know who she is. There’re no pictures. There's no other information. I can try to find her to see if she has an Instagram account or some other social media, but I basically don't even know who I'm looking for."
"Okay. Have you talked to Kaylee about it?"
"No, I haven't." I shake my head even though he can't see me.
I play with the little string on my desk lamp. It's one of those old-fashioned ones that used to be popular in law firms all around the country. I'm tempted to pull down on it and turn it on and off, but I don't want to bother my fellow desk mates.
"I'm going to ask people about that."
"Hmm."
"I guess try to find out who Briana Moody is. That's a big piece of evidence that could really help," he says.
"Were you able to find anything on her computer?"
He doesn't respond at first.
"Captain Talarico?"
"Um, yeah, we were able to find something," he says, taking time between words as if he is biting his tongue.
"What is it?” I ask.
15
Captain Talarico’s hiding something. Well, maybe not hiding, but definitely avoiding.
I press him again and again and finally he says, "Your sister’s computer had a lot of interesting information on it."
He pauses at the word interesting to cast some judgement, but I wait for him to continue. I need to know more.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there were a lot of images."
"What do you mean? Like pictures?"
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"Of her."
My heart sinks.
"Doing what?"
"A lot of things," he says.
I don't know him well. Actually, not at all and I can't tell if he's just trying to be polite or if this is actually making him uncomfortable.
"Please, you have to tell me what's going on."
“There are images. Mostly of other kids at her school. Many of them are quite artistic with filters, black and white and distorted. That kind of thing. Almost all of them are nude."
I ball up my fists.
“It’s not the best, but also pretty common."
Back when I was growing up, cameras weren’t so common and it took a lot of effort to snap nude photos of yourself.
That is not the case anymore. Now with cameras being installed onto every single iPhone, teenagers can take millions of pictures of themselves in all sorts of poses, dressed and undressed.
The department has had hundreds of cases involving young adults basically making underage pornography without even knowing it.
"These are a little different,” the captain says. “There are videos of a few different guys and a few different girls. We're still in the process of identifying everybody. I'm not sure if this is related to her disappearance or why she was keeping all of these images on her computer, but it's something that we need to go through."
"I'd like to see them," I say.
"Yes, of course. Maybe you can even help us identify some of the kids, but we cannot send them out. You have to come here. Chain of evidence, you know."
“Yes, of course," I say. "I'll be there tomorrow morning at the latest."
I stare at the phone after I hang up, not certain of what this means or what I have to do now. The way that he had talked about the videos makes me uneasy.
I haven't lived with Violet for years, but I never got the sense that she was the hard partying kind or a social butterfly or the kind of girl who uses her sexuality to get attention.
Violet always seemed to be the complete opposite of that. The videos and the fact that she has been storing them on her laptop are both concerns.
It could be something innocent or it could be something that comes back to haunt her.
Or it could have something to do with this case.
Teens don't realize that if you make a threat that you're going to release the video in order to get something that you want is called blackmail. Blackmail is against the law.
There's so much more that I don't know about my sister and suddenly I feel like I hardly knew her at all.
In order to take my mind off of Violet and all of these unknowns, I focus on what I do know. I turn my attention to Courtney Reynard’s preliminary medical examiner report, going through it carefully.
Evidence of strangulation
"Duh, of course," I say, thinking back to the rope and how that girl was hanging off that tree before the dog walker cut her down.
Evidence of blunt force trauma
This means that she must've been hit by something, but what and why?
I call the ME on the phone and I talk to her about her findings. Since she does a number of these every day, it takes her a little bit to find the report.
"So, you think that this is definitely not suicide?" I ask to confirm what I already suspect.
"No, definitely not. The blunt force trauma explains that the victim couldn’t have gotten herself onto that tree by herself. There's no ladder, right?"
“No.” I shake my head.
Dr. Laura Berinsky is sharp. Nothing gets past her.
"What do you
think happened?" I ask. "What does the evidence tell you?"
"The simplest explanation is probably someone hit her on the head, she lost consciousness, and he hung her. She was still alive when the hanging happened, so she suffocated. It took a long time."
"Really?" I ask with a gasp.
It hadn't occurred to me.
"I was so certain that she... I thought that maybe her neck snapped,” I suggest. “I heard that happens during a hanging."
"Yeah. That happens when you do a hanging properly like they used to for executions. But if you don't fall far enough, your neck doesn't snap. In this case, he just hung her by the noose and she suffocated.”
I put my hand over my mouth in shock. "How long do you think it took her to die?"
"I don't know. A few minutes, maybe five, seven. It took a while. I don't know if that guy stood there and watched her, but he's one sick creep."
I exhale and suddenly have a strong urge to take a shower.
"How could he have done that to her? Why?" I ask. The questions are more rhetorical than anything.
"I have no idea. That's your job, Kaitlyn,” she jokes.
"You know, on television, people like you seem to do all the work for me,” I say with a laugh.
She laughs and I hear her baby cry out in the background.
"How's Timothy doing?"
"Good, good. A bit colicky. These three-hour feedings are really getting to be a lot," Laura says. "I thought that he'd be sleeping more through the night now that he's almost five months, but no luck here. He's awake and ready to party and hungry all the time."
"I don't know how you do this, work full-time and take care of a baby by yourself.”
After years of bad luck with flaky men, she took matters into her own hands and got pregnant through a sperm donor.
"Hey, women do it all the time, right?"
"Let me know if you need any help whatsoever."
"With what? The case or my baby?”
I hesitate, considering my options. “I guess I’m more likely to solve the case but I’m available to babysit if you need me.”
"Yeah, no, I'm good.” She chuckles.
I can almost see her tossing her caramel hair and throwing her arms up in protest.
"Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” I ask sarcastically, pretending to be confused or insulted.
"You know exactly what it means. You and kids. I don't know, maybe it'll work out when you have your own, but I'm not using mine as a guinea pig."
We both laugh and I know that she's right.
"Okay. Well, if you have any other information for me, get in touch," I say and hang up.
Taking a break, I head to the vending machine for a bag of pretzels. This is my go-to snack whenever I need a little pick-me-up. I know that I should be eating something healthier like an apple, but in this line of work, you'll take any comfort that you can get. I'm just glad that I don't stuff my face full of Krispy Kreme donuts every morning like some people do.
After popping a few into my mouth and washing them down with ice cold water, my thoughts drift back to Laura. She is three years older than I am and yet I’m as far as I can get from entertaining the thought of having children of my own.
For many years, I never gave it any thought.
I was never one of those women who ever wanted children right from the start. I never planned a wedding. I never planned anything in my life except for going to college and then to the police academy.
Now I wonder if maybe I do want to have a child. Maybe it is time and maybe I should think about it before it's too late.
Of course, before I do that, I have to have a boyfriend, or do I?
Laura doesn't.
Laura got divorced two years ago from a man who told her three years into their marriage that he never wanted to have children.
So, she went to the sperm bank. She has a babysitter to help her out when she's working, but most of the time, she's on her own.
Can I do that?
Can I take care of a baby all on my own? I mean, of course it's physically possible and I know that lots of women do it and have done it over the years, but I just can't imagine myself in that position.
Besides, I’ve never thought of myself as the motherly type. I guess I could blame my mom, right? Can't we just blame our parents for everything?
In this case, I don't know if she fits the bill. She's the one who's always been asking me about when I'm finally going to have a child.
I sit down at my desk again and open my laptop to read Laura’s report in more detail, but I can't focus.
I turn my attention to something else instead. I click on Facebook and look through my old friends' happy families. Some have big houses, others have pretty small apartments, but everyone is smiling and sharing their lives with the families they've created now.
That's what happens, right?
You get to a certain point and when someone asks, ‘how is so-and-so?’ the answer is always well, they're married, and they have children or at least a child.
I don't even have a plan.
I don't even have a pet.
I don't even have a plant.
Something about that makes me smirk and laugh. While I did recently get a fig tree, but whether or not it makes it long term, I have no idea. I have not had the best luck in growing plants and have them survive and thrive for more than a month or two.
Hostile home environment? Perhaps.
Then for some reason, I type his name into the search bar.
Luke Gavinson.
I know his last name now. I looked it up. FBI agent. He doesn't put that on his Facebook profile.
No, here are just pictures of him playing football, laughing with friends, and swimming in a pool.
I zoom in.
His abs glisten as he jumps out of the water to hit a ball over the net. I make the picture a little bit bigger to get a better visual.
Wow, I say to myself. I mean, I felt them under the clothes, but do they actually look like this?
Something inside of me stirs. It's that familiar feeling that reminds me that despite all of my cerebral thoughts, I'm an animal after all with urges, needs, and unfulfilled desires.
"Hey.” His voice startles me.
When Luke’s hand lands on my shoulder, I practically jump out of my seat, spilling and knocking over my open bottle of water.
"Oh my God. I'm so sorry,” he says, jumping up to pick up the bottle and clean up some of the damage.
The water floods all over, all around the laptop, but luckily he picks it up in time. Luke picks it up fast enough to prevent any major damage.
"You really scared me," I say in a huff, holding my stomach, trying to calm down my beating heart.
"Look at this," Luke says, staring at the screen. "You were looking me up."
My cheeks turn bright red.
I can feel the heat emanating from them and I want to do something to make all of this go away, but I can't.
He's standing right before me holding my open laptop to a zoomed in picture of his abs.
No, no, no. Make this go away.
"I don't know. I just looked you up and..." I mumble something, turning my face away from him.
He puts my laptop carefully on a nearby desk and grabs a roll of paper towels to help me clean up the puddle.
"You were looking me up," Luke says, smiling at the corner of his lips.
"Okay. So, I was looking you up,” I admit, rushing my words and rubbing every last drop of water from the table while avoiding eye contact.
"So, did you like what you saw?"
"If you're going to get a big head about it, then your abs are only going to carry you so far."
"You want to see them in real life?"
"No, I don't," I say, tugging on his shirt to pull it back down after he tries to raise it. "We're at work."
He looks around the room. We’re all alone.
The lights are dim and my lamp is one of the few ones
on.
I pull another sheet off of the roll and press it to the last of the water. He pulls his hand over mine and I feel how warm and comforting it is.
I let go of the paper towel and let our fingers intertwine.
I look up at him.
Then he presses his lips to mine. When my mouth opens, our breaths become one. He pulls me closer to him and I feel the hardness of his body against mine.
I stand on my tiptoes and I kiss him again and again. He kisses me back.
His hands make their way up and down my back. I suddenly feel incredibly safe and turned on all at once.
He buries his fingers in my hair, twirling around his fingers and sending shivers down my back.
We stand in this moment for as long as we can.
Then Luke pulls away and asks, "Do you want to come over?"
I nod and he kisses me again.
16
After a night of lovemaking, I wake up super early having barely had an hour and a half of shut eye. As soon as I lift my heavy eyelids, I see Luke’s face in front of me, eyes closed, relaxed, at peace.
I look at his lips and remember all of the places that they were last night and how that made me feel.
"Hey, you're awake," he says, startling me.
"Huh? Yeah, I guess.”
Luke leans over and gives me a little peck on my cheek.
"Last night was something," he says in that casual tone of his that makes me forget my own name.
"Yeah, it was," I say, pulling away but keeping the sheet tight around my body.
"What are you doing?"
His hands make their way up and down my body, first over the sheet, and then sliding underneath.
"No, I can't," I mumble.
"You can't or you don't want to?"
"I can't. I wish that I could."
I have a three-hour drive ahead of me if I want to get there before school starts to talk to Natalie.
When Luke pulls away from me, I watch the way the faint morning light emphasizes every muscle in his arms.
"You get a good look?" he asks, tilting his head back.
"I wasn't even looking at you," I lie through my teeth.
"Yeah, right…I actually have to head to the airport soon.”
