by H K Christie
I gave her a moment to compose herself. "How long did Willow suffer from anorexia?"
Gwen pulled a napkin from the center of the table and dabbed her eyes. "Gosh, years. I think it started when she was about thirteen, so maybe five years. She was in and out of clinics. Each new program she graduated from, we thought she was getting better and had gained weight, but each time she'd relapse."
"That must've been hard on your family. What about Willow's sister? Did she have any issues? Are you in contact with her?"
"No, Poppy didn't have an eating disorder, but she hated her dad. She's two years older than Willow. She was already out of the house by the time Willow left. We talk regularly. She lives nearby."
"Have you heard from Willow over the last four years?"
"No."
"Do you know if Poppy has heard from Willow?"
"No, she hasn't. She would've told me."
I don't know if that's true. Sisters, so I've heard, were better at keeping secrets than a best friend. "Do you still think she ran away?"
Gwen lowered her head, and blond hair covered her face. She sniffled and then raised her head and met my gaze. "No, looking back, I think it was stupid that I thought she was a runaway. Things were just so bad at home I assumed that she'd run off to Los Angeles to become an actress or at least get away from us or that stupid Carlos."
"Who is Carlos?"
"The devil, if you ask me. An on-again, off-again boyfriend of Willow’s. He's currently in prison for attempted murder. I don't know what she ever saw in him. He was controlling, and he was a jerk. I always wondered if he did something to her."
Sounds like Willow dated someone just like her father. I recalled from the file that they'd interviewed the boyfriend, the sister, the parents and a few of Willow's friends. The case had been investigated more than Layla's, but the conclusion was the same. After a few weeks of interviews, she was deemed a runaway. Despite the fact that Carlos, her boyfriend, didn't know where she'd gone, and neither did her best friend. Other than her parents and sister, the other witnesses were teens at the time and could have easily been covering for Willow if she had run to get away from Carlos and her turbulent home life.
To be fair to the original detective, usually the first forty-eight hours were the most critical in a missing person's case and after a few weeks, trails often turned ice cold. "What can you tell me about the last time you saw your daughter?"
"She was heading off to work. She worked at Macy's, at the mall, but what I learned from the detective was that she never showed up for work and she didn't quit."
"Did that seem strange to you at the time?"
"Yes, and no. I love Willow, but she played by her own rules. She cut school. She didn't do well in her classes and barely graduated. All she cared about was being an actress—a star. She wanted all the attention. Unfortunately, it seems like she got somebody's attention."
"Did Willow have an agent?"
Gwen cocked her head as if trying to figure out what I was asking.
"An agent for acting or modeling? Did she ever mention an agent or a photographer?" I asked.
"Not that I can think of. It was such a crazy time, though, and we weren't particularly close. We butted heads a lot. Whenever I asked her about her life, she'd say I should get mine in order before trying to mess up hers. She had a point," she said sadly.
"Is it just you in this big house?"
"Yes, I got it in the divorce settlement. I didn't want to sell it in case Willow came home."
"What do you do for work?"
"I'm a dental hygienist. I work here in town at a dentist's office."
Dental hygienists made good money. That explained how she could afford to keep the house. "Did you ever go back to the police and ask them to look into your daughter's disappearance—after you realized it was unlikely that she was runaway?"
"I called a few times to follow up, about a year after she was gone, and the detective I spoke to said there was nothing more they could do. They checked every lead, and the case was cold."
What an awful thing for them to tell her. At least Willow's mother tried to find her and tried to follow up, unlike Layla's mother, Daisy. "Did Willow have a car?"
"Yes, a blue Honda Civic. They never found it."
That was strange. It was difficult to get rid of a car—bodies were easier. "May I see her room?"
Gwen pushed back from the table. "I kept it exactly the way she left it." I followed Gwen Stevens down the hall and up the stairs.
Willow had definitely taken after her mother, physically. Blond, blue-eyed, thin, and classically attractive. She reached the room on the right. "This was Willow's room."
I entered and studied the space. A typical teenager's room with posters on the walls. A vanity with candid photographs and silly quotes. I stepped closer to the mirror with the photographs. "Are these Willow's friends?"
"Yes, those are her best friends, Casey and Michelle."
"What did they say about her disappearance?"
"They didn't believe that she ran away. They said Willow would've told them."
It was clear that a teenager shared information with only one group of people, and it wasn't their parents. It was their best friends and siblings. They would definitely be next on the interview list. "Are you still in contact with Casey and Michelle?"
"Casey is a sweetheart. She calls me every once in a while, and every year on Willow's birthday, she comes over and we have a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, Willow's favorite. Casey's a good girl. Michelle, I haven't heard from, but I hear she went to school in Sacramento."
"What were Willow's plans after graduation?"
"She didn't plan to go to college. She wanted to work at the mall until she got her big break. She wanted to move to Los Angeles. I guess part of me hoped that was what she did. The alternative is far worse."
I nodded as if I understood. I couldn't imagine if Zoey was to ever go missing. I'd be beside myself. Not knowing where my baby was for four years? I'd never stop looking for her until I brought her home.
I continued to search her room. "Do you know if there's anything missing?"
"After she left, I went through her things to find clues to where she'd run off to. She had taken all her makeup, some clothes, and some shoes."
Just like Layla. "Was it normal for Willow to pack a bag to go to work?"
"Not really. Sometimes she would take an extra set of clothes if she was going out after work."
I pulled down a few purses from the closet. "Do you mind if I look through these?"
"Go ahead."
I sifted through her purses and her backpack before starting in on her dresser. I slid open the top drawer and lifted a pile of T-shirts and was startled by Willow's face staring back at me. A headshot. I lifted it and turned around to Gwen. "When did she have this taken?"
Gwen walked toward me and took the photo from my hands. "I don't know. I mean, it looks like it was right around the time that she left."
Sometimes I wished I was wrong, but the connections were there. That was not a good thing, at least not for Willow and not for Layla. "Do you mind if I keep this, I'll return it to you after the investigation?"
"Yes, that's fine."
I continued to search Willow's room but found nothing out of place. The only thing that seemed to be a secret was the headshot. Before I left, I asked Gwen to give me a list of all of Willow's friends' first and last names. They were included in the case file, but it never hurt to double-check. And it sounded like I'd have to go to the prison to question the boyfriend. If this was an isolated case, he'd be the first person I would talk to, but I had a hunch he was simply a red herring.
I exited Willow's family home and sat in the front seat of my car, contemplating what I had discovered. Far too many coincidences. Both had spent time at Delta Hospital's eating disorder clinic. Both had recent headshots that their parents had never seen before. Both had blond hair, blue eyes, and were aspiring actresses. No
t to mention, they lived about twenty minutes from one another. If someone took Layla, I'd bet money they also took Willow. Or the two girls knew each other and ran off together? Maybe their time at the clinic overlapped? My phone buzzed. I fished it out of my bag and answered. "Hello, this is Martina."
"It's Vincent."
"Oh, hi, Vincent, did you find anything good?"
Vincent was one researcher at the CoCo County Sheriff's Department. I gave him a list of names to research. I crossed my fingers and hoped he found me something useful. "I did a search on your agent, Jordan Starr. There's absolutely no record of an agent named Jordan Starr in California, or the rest of the United States. It was likely an alias."
I wasn't surprised, but I was disappointed. "Thank you for your speedy turnaround. Hirsch said you were good." I now believed him.
"That's not all I have."
"What else do you have?"
"I searched the marriage records for Daisy Carmichael. She is married to Roger Carmichael. No record of any separation or divorce proceedings and no missing person’s report. It's as if Roger disappeared ten years ago without a trace. No credit cards. No rental agreements. No property ownership other than the home Daisy Carmichael and her boys are living in right now."
"What you're saying is he vanished off the face of the earth?"
"It appears so."
"What about employment records?"
"Before he disappeared, he worked at a refinery in Martinez. He was terminated a few weeks after he disappeared, likely because he didn't show up."
I had my suspicions of where Roger Carmichael was, or at least his current state of being. It would explain why Daisy Carmichael was cagey and had avoided law enforcement. If she had gotten rid of Roger, I couldn't say I'd blame her. "Thanks, Vincent, that was helpful. Have you seen Hirsch around the station?"
"I saw him in passing. He was headed over to the autopsy suite to meet with Dr. Scribner."
"Okay, I'll talk to you later." I'd have to give Hirsch a call and let him know what we found so far.
"Good luck, Martina."
I had a feeling I needed it. Jordan Starr was turning out to be a ghost, or more likely, a predator.
8
Martina
I called the parents of Raquel Woodson three times that day, leaving messages each time. No returned phone calls. Maybe they were in shock that we were reopening Raquel's case? That or they just simply didn't want to have anything to do with the sheriff's department. If that were the case, why? Frustrated by the lack of response, I had decided to show up at their house and see who was home. I made a left onto the winding road lined with spruce and oak trees and recalled Raquel's face, not only from the photos in her file but from the news four years before, when she'd first gone missing. Unlike the other two girls, Willow and Layla, the family insisted she had not run away and that something bad must've happened to her.
Raquel was a star lacrosse player in high school and was supposed to attend UCLA to study drama in the fall. Although the backgrounds were different, something told me Raquel's story wouldn't be too different from Willow and Layla's. I pulled up in front of the white, two-story, colonial-style home. Some might call it a mansion.
I exited my vehicle and shut the door. It wasn't terribly common to see a home with white columns and a circular driveway in California, but it was among the wealthier neighborhoods. Money could get you anything you wanted; well, almost anything you wanted. So far, the Woodson's money hadn't gotten them their daughter, Raquel, back.
I trekked up the driveway and knocked loudly on the door and then stepped back. I didn't know if I'd be greeted by a housekeeper or one of the family members. The door opened and a woman wearing slacks and a blue silk blouse with her blond hair up in a French twist and perfectly applied makeup asked, "May I help you?"
"Yes, are you Blair Woodson?"
"Yes, and you are?"
"I left a few messages for you. My name is Martina Monroe, and I'm working with the CoCo County Sheriff's Department. We reopened Raquel's file, and I'm the lead investigator trying to figure out what happened to your daughter. Do you mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?"
Blair let out a sigh. "I suppose."
They say you never know how you will react in a stressful situation like the death of a spouse or a missing child, but chilly toward the person trying to help you didn't seem right. She led me into the sitting room on the left and motioned for me to sit on the couch. It was ivory, as were the carpeting and walls. She sat on the sofa across from me. "So, what is it you'd like to know? The detectives and reporters have asked me everything about a dozen times, and they found no trace of Raquel. What makes you think you can?"
"We may have new information that could help find Raquel."
"Oh really? Do tell. We had hired our own private investigator. One of the best. He couldn't find anything. What makes you think you could do a better job?"
The apparent hostility may actually be frustration and grief. If the authorities couldn't find my missing daughter, I'd be cranky too. Cranky? No, I'd be fighting mad—but I also wouldn't leave it to them to find her. "Well, first, I'm sorry for your situation. And chances are your PI wasn't the best. I work with the very best investigators at Drakos Security & Investigations, and none of my colleagues worked your case. As I mentioned, there is additional information that has come to light since your daughter's case went cold. After my initial search through some of the old files, I found a pattern. I think there is a connection between Raquel and two other missing women."
Mrs. Woodson's piercing blue eyes stared across at me. It looked like I finally had her interest. "The other girls went missing from Antioch and from Grapton Hill. They disappeared in July and August of the same year Raquel went missing. All three, eighteen years old, blond hair, blue eyes, and aspiring actresses." I explained.
Mrs. Woodson clutched onto the pearls around her neck. "You're serious?"
I nodded. "Yes."
She stood up and hurried down the hall. "Allen, come down here."
I heard the creaking of the steps and then muffled voices. Presumably Mrs. Woodson explaining to her husband the information I just told her. Mrs. Woodson and a man with dark hair and fair skin emerged.
I stood up and extended my hand. It was clear a soft touch wasn't what the Woodsons needed. They wanted to see strength and confidence. "Mr. Woodson, my name is Martina Monroe. I'm a private investigator with Drakos Security & Investigations contracted through the sheriff's department to help find your daughter."
He shook my hand. "My wife says there may be other cases, just like Raquel's?"
"That's what I'm investigating. I believe that there's a connection, but I need to know more about Raquel. I'm fairly certain the other two are linked."
He knitted his brow as if considering his next move. "Please sit. We'll answer your questions."
They sat across from me, staring, as if waiting for me to speak.
"Raquel's file said that she was headed to UCLA in the fall and that she was going to be studying drama. Unlike the other girls, your family didn't believe that she was a runaway. Can you tell me more about why."
Mr. Woodson let out a breath. "Raquel had everything going for her. There was no reason for her to run away. She had nothing to run away from. We financially supported her. She had been accepted to her first-choice school—she had everything she could ever want."
"Was Raquel interested in any modeling or commercial acting?"
"Yes, she was, but she agreed that first she would get her degree and then pursue movies and film. In exchange, we said we'd support her in the pursuit."
And they didn't think she had a motive to run away? Teenagers weren't exactly famous for their patience. "And there was no indication that she may have gone back on that promise and found an agent on her own?" I asked.
Mr. Woodson replied. "She wouldn't have done that. I know my daughter."
That kind of certainty could be very dangerous
. "Your wife says you hired a private investigator, and they didn't come up with anything new that the police hadn't already discovered?"
"Like the detective, he said she vanished without a trace. We couldn't even find her car."
Just like Willow. "I know that you have probably gone through this a hundred times, but could you walk me through that last day you saw Raquel? It could be helpful."
Mrs. Woodson said, "She left early that morning around seven AM. She said she had some errands to run before her trip. Her and her closest girlfriends were going to Hawaii. It was one of their graduation presents. She was supposed to meet them at the airport at three PM but she never showed."
"Do you know what errands she was running?"
"She said she had a few things to pick up—beach gear—and a few things to take care of. To be honest, I was busy that morning, planning a dinner I was hosting that night. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now..."
"She left at seven AM, but she wasn't supposed to be at the airport until three PM. Which airport was she flying out of?"
"SFO."
SFO was an hour's drive from their home. Raquel had left the house nearly seven hours earlier than she needed to. What errands would she need to leave at 7:00 AM for? Something wasn't adding up. Retail outlets weren't likely open for a few hours after that.
"Did she have a boyfriend?"
Mr. Woodson shook his head. "No, she didn't."
"Mr. Woodson, were you home that morning?"
"No. I was at the office. I work in the city and typically leave the house around five AM."
Raquel probably knew that. "Have either of you heard of somebody named Jordan Starr? He's a talent agent."
They both shook their heads. "Did your daughter have any headshots taken recently?"
"Just her senior portraits, but they weren't headshots per se." Mrs. Woodson explained.
It wasn't exactly a strikeout. Neither Willow nor Layla's parents knew she had an agent or had headshots taken. "Did Raquel have any issues with her mental health, like maybe an eating disorder?"
