by Elle Gray
The dorm room is a tale of two women. Ariel’s side is messy and unkempt. Her bed is unmade, the blankets and sheets twisted into knots. There’s a pillow on the floor that’s sitting on top of a pile of clothes. The desk at the foot of Ariel’s bed is cluttered with books, notebooks, pens, pencils, and cans of Monster energy drink—the drink of choice for potheads everywhere. The closet door on her side is standing open and I see shirts half-hanging off hangers and shoes tossed into a pile on the floor. Two of the four dresser drawers are half-open, with clothes hanging out of them as well.
But then, as if there is a clear line of demarcation that runs down the center of the room, the other side—Summer’s half of the room—is spotless. There isn’t a single hair out of place. The bed is neatly made, the corners crisp, the comforter perfectly smooth. The desk is organized and neat, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of dust anywhere. Summer’s walls are adorned with pictures of beautiful landscapes and inspirational sayings, while Ariel’s side is covered in a mishmash of posters of boy bands and old concert and music festival fliers—which I think are presumably shows she’s been to.
Ariel herself is a bit of a mess. Her long, dark hair is askew, standing out in a hundred different directions. I would have said she looks like she just got out of bed, but she’s obviously been up here smoking up already this morning. I guess much like Paula Kennedy, she’s got her own method of self-medicating.
She’s got pale skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and green eyes that seem as dull and lifeless as Paula’s had been. She won’t meet our eyes and pulls a pillow into her lap, hugging it to herself almost protectively.
Astra takes the chair at Ariel’s desk and I lean against Summer’s desk. Both of us are trying to give her a little space and make her feel comfortable. Or at least, not crowded. I know a lot of guys—local LEOs and Feds both—who use that tactic. But I’ve found that when you crowd a suspect, it can be intimidating and put somebody on the defensive right away. They’re more likely to shut down and not give you anything. But when you give them a little space and try to put them at their ease, it feels more like a conversation and less like an interrogation. You’re more likely to get something out of them that way.
“I understand you and Summer were close,” I start.
Ariel clutches the pillow to her tighter, still not meeting our eyes. She just nods vaguely and looks as if she’s fighting back her tears.
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Astra says.
“Thanks,” she mutters, though she still won’t look up.
“We already spoke to her mother, but we thought you might know some things—”
“I don’t know anything,” she interrupts.
“We understand she was popular,” I offer.
Ariel nods again. “Everybody loved her.”
“Do you know what she was doing the night she disappeared?”
“She was with Katie and Jordyn. They were out somewhere celebrating Riley’s birthday,” she replies.
“But not you?”
She shakes her head. “Riley and I weren’t friends. I think she’s snobby, pretentious, and fake as hell,” she says softly. “Riley didn’t like it when I said that to her face. So no, I wasn’t invited to the party.”
“Did it upset you that Summer was still friends with her?” Astra asks.
She shrugs. “A little, I guess. But I wasn’t going to make a scene about it. She’s entitled to have her own friends, just as I am,” she says. “That doesn’t mean we were any less close.”
It’s a very mature attitude for somebody so young. Most younger girls I’ve run across tend to think the opposite—that if you’re friends with somebody they don’t like, it means you can’t possibly be friends with them too. Younger girls sometimes form a black-and-white, either/or scenario in their heads. Ariel’s attitude is refreshing. She has wisdom uncommon in people her age.
“Can you give us the names of some of those friends she was out with?” I ask.
She nods and then does, rattling off the names of the girls who were out celebrating this Riley’s birthday the night she was taken. I jot them all down in my notebook. We’re going to need to speak with these girls as well.
“So, you don’t know of anybody she was having problems with?” Astra asks.
“No, there was literally nobody who had a problem with her. At least, not on campus. Like I said, she was adored around here,” she replies. “But you can ask her boyfriend. She hung out at his bar a lot, so maybe there was something down there.”
“Boyfriend?” Astra raises an eyebrow. “Summer’s mother was certain she wasn’t seeing anybody.”
Ariel glances up for the first time and looks Astra like she’s an idiot. “And I’m sure you told your parents everything when you were in school too, right?”
“What is her boyfriend’s name?” I ask. “And where does he work?”
“His name is Dylan Betts,” she answers. “He’s a bartender down at the Yellow Brick Road.”
A smile flickers across my lips. It’s a clever name that plays on Seattle’s “Emerald City” moniker. This is the point in the conversation where I feel like I’ve gotten all I’m going to get out of somebody and would typically ask them for an alibi. But I feel confident that Ariel is not our unsub. There’s no way she could have hauled Summer from the parking lot at McGeary Park to that pond. She’s small and wouldn’t have had the strength, and there’s no discernable motive I can see.
But we have to do our diligence.
“I hate to ask this,” Astra starts. “But where were you the night Summer went missing.”
She shakes her head. “I was here studying. All night. Alone,” she replies, her voice as warm as ice. “You can look at the logs at the security desk.”
Astra nods. “Sorry, I had to ask though. It’s just procedure.”
She nods as if she understands but her expression is one of annoyance, bordering on being offended. I get to my feet and Astra follows suit. I step forward and pull a card out of my inner pocket and hand it to her.
“My cell phone number is on the back,” I tell her. “If you think of anything else or just need to talk, give me a call.”
She offers me a weak smile, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Thanks,” she says, her voice choked with her grief.
“We’re very sorry about your friend,” I say, then Astra and I take our leave.
Eight
Baxter’s Coffee House, Student Union, University of Washington; Seattle, WA
“You were right,” Astra says.
“Of course, I was,” I reply. “What about this time?”
“That Summer had a life her mom didn’t know about.”
“I’m sure you had the same thought.”
She shrugs. “I guess I like to think that somewhere out there, some kids really are one hundred percent honest with their families. I mean, I was that kid. I told my folks everything, and I kind of want to believe I’m not the only one,” she tells me.
“Seriously? You told them everything?”
She nods. “I did. Still do.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Not in the least.”
That’s something I never knew about her. It’s honestly a shock. But I still can’t believe that she told her parents everything. Nobody does that. I look over at her and arch an eyebrow.
“You even told them about the string of men you used to bring home?” I ask.
“Of course,” she replies. “Sex wasn’t the forbidden topic in our home it is in some others. My parents encouraged me to be open about it. And to explore my own sexuality and—”
“Oh my God, stop,” I say with a laugh. “As much as I loved my folks, I can’t imagine telling them about the men I’ve slept with.”
“That’s the problem in this country. People are so uptight about sex and there’s such a taboo about it that it’s no wonder we deal with some of the freaks and deviants we do,” she
states.
“Well, I think there’s a lot more that goes into it than that, but point taken.”
Astra holds the door to the student union open for me and we slip inside. It took some doing, but we were finally able to track down a couple of the girls Ariel had mentioned—Katie Greer and Jordyn Kirkson. They’re sitting in the campus coffee house, and when we walked up, we found them huddled over a tablet, whispering and giggling to each other like a couple of schoolgirls.
Katie has smooth, caramel-colored skin, dark, wavy hair, and eyes the color of milk chocolate. Jordyn’s hair is the color of copper and her blue eyes are set in an oval-shaped face that looks perpetually young. Without invitation, Astra and I pull out the chairs and take a seat across from them. Both of the girls look up suddenly, sour expressions on their faces.
“Excuse you,” Katie snaps.
Astra and I badge them, and though the girls exchange glances, they both look wholly unimpressed. They both wear the same expression of annoyance on their faces. It’s so uniform and synchronized, it’s hard to believe they haven’t practiced it. The one thing I don’t see much of on either of their faces is grief. To look at them, you’d never be able to tell one of their good friends was just brutally murdered.
“SSA Wilder and Special Agent Russo,” I start. “We wanted to talk to you about Summer Kennedy. Your friend.”
At that, they both shift in their seats, seeming to be uncomfortable. Katie brushes a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear and looks at me, a small frown creasing her full lips.
“What can we do for you?” she asks, her voice soft.
“First, we heard you were partying the night she was taken,” Astra says. “We need to know where that was.”
“We were down at a place called the Sidecar,” she replies. “We were celebrating Riley’s birthday.”
“We heard,” Astra nods. “Was Summer’s boyfriend there?”
“Dylan?” Jordyn gasps. “God, no. He wasn’t invited.”
“And why is that?” I ask.
“He’s like—old,” Jordyn replies. “If we wanted to hang out with old guys, we would have gone to one of the old guy bars.”
“Old?” I ask. “How old are we talking?”
“I don’t know. Thirty, I guess?”
It takes all the willpower in me to not reach across the table and slap the taste out of Jordyn’s mouth. As if she’s picking up on my vibe, I see Astra doing her best to stifle the smile that’s flickering across her lips. I glare at her balefully for a moment before turning back to the girls. I run a hand through my hair, giving myself a moment to dispose myself of the urge to throttle the girl across from me.
The bit of information she gave us is interesting, albeit a little bit creepy. The fact that he’s substantially older than her could be a reason she didn’t tell her mom about him. It also could provide a motive. I admit, it seems a little thin, but like I always say, it only has to make sense to the killer.
“All right. So, he’s a little bit older,” I say. “It was just the four of you, then?”
Katie shakes her head. “No, there were some others there too. Riley’s friends, mainly.”
“And what time did Summer leave the party?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I think it was around nine or nine-thirty,” Jordyn tells us. “She said she needed to study for a test or something.”
“Personally, I think she was going to see Dylan,” Katie adds, her voice dripping with disgust.
“Why do you say that?” Astra asks.
“She was totally hung up on him,” Jordyn says. “It was like her life revolved around him or something. It was kind of gross.”
“What is Dylan like?” I ask.
Katie shrugs. “Like I said, he’s old.”
I sigh and grit my teeth, giving myself a five-count before I look up at her again. “Aside from that. What is he like?”
She shrugs. “I only met him a couple of times, but he seemed kind of creepy to me. I mean, I think you’d have to be, to date somebody that much younger than you,” she replies with a giggle.
“He’s a musician,” Jordyn adds.
“A failed musician,” Katie clarifies. “It’s not like he’s got a band out there touring or anything.”
“What else can you tell us about him?” I ask.
“Not much. I mean, like I said, I only met him a couple of times,” Katie replies.
It’s a dry well, so I drop the line of questioning about this Dylan character. They obviously can’t see past his status as a senior citizen to provide anything useful.
“So, you said Summer left about nine or nine-thirty?” I ask.
Jordyn nods. “That’s what I said.”
“And how did she leave? Did she drive? Did somebody drive her back to the dorms?”
The girls look at each other, then turn back to us, shaking their heads at the same time.
“No idea. She said goodbye to us and then she was gone,” Katie says.
“So, you didn’t see her leave with anybody?” I press.
“I would have said so if I did,” Katie snaps.
“I’m sorry, is there some reason for the attitude?” Astra fires back. “We’re here trying to solve the murder of your friend, but y’all are acting like you have somewhere better to be.”
“Actually, I do,” Katie says. “I have to get to class.”
“You’ll stay right where you are until we’re done,” I tell her.
“Am I under arrest?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at me.
I sit back in my chair and stare at her. “Let me guess. You’re pre-law.”
“And people say the Feds are idiots,” she replies. “For what it’s worth, I never believed that for a second.”
Her arrogance and condescension are irritating. I’m sure they’ll be terrific traits when she settles into her career, but right now, they’re annoying.
“So, if there’s nothing else,” Katie says as she gets to her feet.
“Do you even care that Summer was murdered?” I growl. “I thought you were friends.”
“We were. But it’s not like we were besties or anything,” she chirps, then turns to Jordyn. “Coming?”
Jordyn looks at us for a long moment then turns to Katie. “I’m going to stick around for a minute and talk to these agents,” she tells. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Katie scoffs and shakes her head. “Whatever.”
We watch her storm off in silence for a moment then turn back to Jordyn, who’s squirming in her seat, the discomfort on her face more than clear. But there’s something else I see. Now that Katie is gone, Jordyn seems more open. Her expression has changed, shifting from that Mean Girl sneer to something that looks almost bereft.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Jordyn’s lips compress into a tight line. “That’s just Katie being Katie,” she replies. “Her personality is… forceful. And sometimes, it’s hard to break out of her orbit.”
“You should try harder, because hanging out with her is making you look just like her. It’s hard to tell where she ends and you begin,” Astra tells her.
Jordyn looks down at the surface of the table, her face etched with something like contrition. She finally raises her gaze and it’s not hard to see the grief in her eyes.
“I was good friends with Summer, and this is tearing me up,” she says softly.
“So why do you act like you don’t care?” Astra asks.
“Because in this world, you do as Katie wants you to, or you find yourself ostracized from everybody. Cut off from all of your friends,” she tells us. “Katie is the kind of girl who can make or break you socially. I’ve seen her destroy people and I don’t want to be next. But at the same time, I don’t want Summer’s killer to get away. I liked her a lot, and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
I sometimes forget what it’s like to be so young and so concerned with social standing. And I’m sure Jordyn is going to pay a price for talk
ing to us since talking to the cops isn’t cool. Judging by the look on Astra’s face, she’s thinking along the same lines.
“So, is there anything you can tell us about Dylan?” Astra asks gently.
She shakes her head. “I really did only meet him a couple of times. And yeah, he’s older than Summer is—was. But I thought he seemed like a decent guy,” she says. “He seemed to really care about her. And she, of course, was wild about him. Said she was in love. I don’t know about that, but she was really into him.”
“Okay, that’s good, Jordyn,” I nod. “So, you said you didn’t see her leave with anybody?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. I wasn’t really paying attention,” she says. “Plus… I’d had a few. I just know she said goodbye and that was it.”
“Did you notice anybody watching her?” Astra asks. “Or anybody who seemed off or out of place?”
She screwed up her face as she thought about it but shook her head. “No, I didn’t notice anybody. Nobody was watching her that I saw.”
“Was she having trouble with anybody on campus?” Astra asks. “Anybody giving her a hard time or anything?”
“Not that I know of. As far as I know, everybody loved her. She really was a good person. She bent over backward for people and I’m just sick that this happened to her,” Jordyn tells us, her eyes welling with tears.
I purse my lips and try to think of any other questions I can ask but come up empty. It’s like I thought before—this is a dry well. But at least we have confirmation of a boyfriend. That gives us an angle to pursue.
“You’re going to catch who did this, aren’t you?” she asks.
“We’re going to do our best.”
As Astra and I get to our feet, I see Jordyn look down, but not before I see the tears start to spill down her cheeks.
