by Gregg Olsen
“She’s not having sex, is she? Some boy at school we haven’t met?”
Roger shook his head and laughed. “No. No, she’s not having sex with some boy at school.”
“That’s what he told me,” Brit said to Kendall over the kitchen table.
“You think that’s important now,” the detective said.
Brit stood and turned away, looking out the window at the grassy lawn as a pair of Mexican landscapers prepared to mow and edge. Kendall wished she could afford some extra help. Her power mower was dead and all she had at her disposal was an old, very sad push-mower. No amount of reminding her that exercise after a long day behind a desk was good for her could convince her that the pain was worth the gain.
The Weed Eaters started and the two men moved in tandem, almost synchronized as they went back and forth over the edge of the lawn.
“You think it is important,” Kendall repeated.
Brit turned to face her. Dead eyed, unflinching.
“Yes, I do. I think so now. I mean, look, what kind of father and daughter have secrets that their mother cannot know about? When he said she wasn’t having sex with a boy at school, was he saying the truth, but leaving out the part that he was having sex with her?”
By then Brit Frazier was crumpling and reaching back to grip the edge of the sink so she wouldn’t fall.
Kendall went to her.
“Mrs. Frazier, please. Sit down. You’re making a very big leap here. You’re looking back into your life for a truth that might not exist, at the suggestion of a person you don’t know.”
“Pandora knows. I don’t need to know her. I trust her knowledge, her understanding.”
Kendall wanted to tell the grieving mother that putting such faith in Pandora was foolish. That there were other people she’d harmed along the way in her quest for stardom, attention, and followers.
“She called me this morning. You don’t know her. You don’t understand her gifts. I do.”
Kendall was surprised. She wondered why Pandora would call after the debacle that left everyone catching their breath and pointing accusatory fingers. The main reason that came to her mind just then was that Pandora was doing a little damage control.
Pandora wanted to make sure that Brit stayed on her side.
“What did she say to you?”
Tears rolled from Brit’s eyes to the tabletop. “She told me that Katy was in a better place and that it was good that I knew, that I could protect Naomi and that . . . and that—well, that you, Kendall Stark, you would find where my daughter’s body is so I can lay her to rest. That you, Kendall, that you could bring my husband to justice for the evil that he did to our little girl. That’s why you’re here. She told me that she’d send you.”
Send her?
Kendall couldn’t stand the manipulation. She could see it so plainly, but her eyes weren’t full of tears and there was no way that Brit had any clarity. She was being fed a hideous scenario and in her grief and in her compulsive need for answers, she was accepting it.
“I’m here because I was worried about you. I’m here because I’m going to investigate the case. I’m here because, like you, I want answers. But I can assure you I’m not here because Carol Kirkowski sent me.”
“Who is Carol?”
“That’s Pandora’s real name. Carol Kirkowski. She adopted Pandora for the TV show, Brit. I thought you knew.”
Brit, no longer crying, dabbed a napkin under her eyes, leaving a black smear of mascara.
“I don’t care what she used to call herself. She’s a miracle worker. And whether you like it or not, she’s sent you to me. Now, please. Help. Do your job. Pick up the pieces where that insufferable Detective Mayberry let us down four years ago. I expect and accept that my daughter is dead. I accept that my husband was raping her. That he killed her.”
“That’s a huge leap,” Kendall said, not sure what else she could say. The woman across from her was completely swayed by what the TV psychic had said.
“I’ll do my best, of course. I’d like to talk to Naomi.”
“Naomi was only a girl when her sister went missing,” Brit said. “Leave her out of it.”
“Don’t you want the truth? Sometimes sisters share things that they would never tell their parents.”
“You mean other secrets, ‘only between us’?”
Kendall got up and set her cup in the sink. The yard workers were attacking the laurel hedge that separated the Frazier place from the neighbors.
“Something along those lines,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It took some doing, but Alyssa Woodley and Scott Hilburn arrived at the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department for an interview. Kendall called Birdy to see if she wanted to sit in.
“Can’t. Up to my elbows in my work.”
Kendall didn’t like the image that came to mind.
“All right. Will fill you in.”
She hung up, went to the reception area where the couple waited, and led them down the hall to the interview room. It was immediately clear from the start that Alyssa was the leader of the pair.
“I want him sitting next to me,” she said when Kendall indicated the conference room where she was going to conduct the interview.
“That’s fine,” she said, making a note of Alyssa’s insistent demeanor.
Scott nodded and sat down.
“I’m glad you two made it over here. I was thinking that I’d have to hop the ferry and look for you on campus,” Kendall said.
“Well, we saved you the trouble,” Alyssa said.
“We’re glad to help,” Scott jumped in, staving off his girlfriend’s abrasive manner. “Katy was a good friend.”
Kendall nodded. “Yes, I know. She was your girlfriend at the time she went missing, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t serious,” Alyssa said.
“Excuse me, Alyssa, I was asking Scott.”
Alyssa made an irritated face.
“Yes, she was, but like Alyssa said, it wasn’t serious. Just a high school thing.”
“Right. A high school thing,” Kendall repeated.
“What do you want to know?” Alyssa asked.
“I’m getting there. You must be on the debate team, Alyssa.”
“I’m not. Why would you say that?”
“Because you don’t let anyone get a word in edgewise.”
Alyssa looked at Scott. It was a hard, cold stare. “We came here to help and you’re treating us like criminals,” she said.
Kendall shook her head “No. No. I’m just following up on some things left unfinished by the investigation four years ago.”
“Okay. Whatever,” she said. “We need to catch a ferry in an hour.”
“There’s always another boat,” Kendall said. This girl was a piece of work. “But this shouldn’t take too long.” She locked her eyes on Alyssa, then looked down at her notes, the timeline of Katy’s disappearance.
“Part of my predecessor’s timeline doesn’t jibe with all of the interviews,” Kendall said.
“Like what?” Alyssa asked.
Kendall glanced at Scott, who was looking over at Alyssa.
“Scott, can you keep your focus on me?” Kendall asked. “I’d like you to answer.”
“Okay, answer what?” he said.
“Did you, Alyssa, Katy, and Tami have plans to do something after school the day she went missing?”
He shook his head. “I honestly don’t remember.”
Kendall didn’t like it when someone used the word honestly.
“My notes say that you originally said that you did have plans.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Can I say something?” Alyssa asked, in what was the first polite move she’d made since she plopped herself down in the chair across from Kendall.
“Yes. In a moment,” Kendall said. “Now, Scott, it was only four years ago. I bet that Katy’s disappearance was a very big
moment in your life. Surely you remember what happened that day.”
Scott looked at the table.
“I wish I could be helpful. It was a very big moment. I might have blocked stuff out of my mind.”
“Can I talk now?” Alyssa asked, though it was really more of an insistent demand.
“Sure, Alyssa. What do you remember?”
“I have an excellent memory,” she said. “I remember being interviewed by that doofus deputy Mayberry. That’s what I remember. He wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed and I doubt—I seriously doubt—that his notes were accurate.”
“Fine,” Kendall said. “Then tell me what you remember. What plans did you and Katy have?”
“None,” Alyssa said. “That’s what plans we had. Katy and I weren’t as close as we had been. We didn’t hang out that much anymore. I don’t know who she hung out with or what she did after school that day or any other day.”
“Really, Alyssa?” Kendall said. “You were best friends.”
Alyssa thought a moment. “We were. But things had cooled between us. High school relationships are so transitory anyway.”
“But you and Scott were high school friends and now you’re together, Alyssa.”
Alyssa’s eyes flashed. “That’s different,” she said. “We’re in love. True love never fades.”
Kendall thought about her own relationship with Steven. She wondered when she stopped believing what that twenty-year-old said.
“Why would Naomi say that her sister had plans with you, Tami, and Scott?”
“Naomi was a kid. Who knows why she’d say anything? Maybe to get attention. She was sick of all the family love heaped on her sister. I don’t blame her. Not really. Katy and I were close for a time, but I hated how everyone idolized her. God, every time she turned around they handed her an award. Not that she didn’t deserve it. Just hard, probably, for a kid sister to take.”
Kendall made a couple of notes. “Scott, what did Katy tell you about her family life?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She hated her mom. I hated mine at the time too. Naomi was clingy, but a good kid.”
“What about her dad? What did she say about him?”
“Nothing. She liked him.”
Alyssa cut in. “Is this about the stupid TV show that’s in town?” she asked.
“No,” Kendall said, which was kind of a lie. The truth was they were sitting there discussing a four-year-old missing persons case because of Spirit Hunters. “Why?”
“They keep calling us,” she said.
“Who does?”
“The whole bunch of them,” Alyssa said. “The producer Juliana Something, the cop who’s on the show, and the freaky chick who says she can talk to the dead. I don’t watch the show. I don’t believe in that crap. Not a bit.”
“What did they say to you?” Kendall asked Scott.
“Nothing. Alyssa talked to one of them.”
“Who was that?”
“The weirdo chick Pandora,” she said. “I talked to her.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted us to be on her show. Said that she knew the truth of what happened and that she was going to prove to the world who killed Katy.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. I didn’t buy her BS. Why would I?”
“Did she say anything else?”
Alyssa nodded. “Yeah, something about Katy’s dad knowing the truth. But nothing definitive. I mean, think about it. When those psychics make a prediction it’s always so stupid and vague, like a earthquake is going to happen next year and some people will die.”
“Fine. What do you think happened to Katy?” she asked, this time looking at Scott.
“I wouldn’t have an idea about what happened to her,” he said.
“Neither would I,” Alyssa said, standing up to leave. “Really, we have to go. I don’t want to wait for another boat back to Seattle.”
“Don’t either of you want to know what happened to Katy? It seems very odd to me that you’ve just moved on.”
Scott stood too. “You can’t live in the past, Detective Stark. It’ll swallow you whole if you do.”
Alyssa reached for his hand. “He’s right about that. Scott’s always right.”
“Have either of you been in touch with Tami?”
“No. Why would we? She’s a druggie.”
“Yes, but she was your close friend.”
“Like I’ve said, that was ages ago,” Alyssa said. “We have moved on from high school. I haven’t talked to Tami in years. My mom says she had a kid and got married. I’m glad about that, but I don’t care about the past. Tami’s the past.”
“Yeah, she’s the past,” Scott. “Like Alyssa says.”
Birdy Waterman, thankfully, was no longer elbow deep in an autopsy when Kendall Stark arrived at her upstairs office over the morgue to tell her about the interview with Alyssa Woodley and Scott Hilburn.
“Did I miss anything?” Birdy asked.
“A better show than Spirit Hunters,” Kendall said. “Although when I think about it just about any show is better than Spirit Hunters.”
Birdy smiled. “Tell me.”
“I think they both know more than they are saying—or more than she lets him say.”
“She’s the boss then,” Birdy said.
“At one point he talked about not letting the past get in the way of living, that if you do, it can swallow you whole. I had a visual of an anaconda named Alyssa disengaging her jaw and eating him. So yeah, she’s in charge.”
“Say anything about Mr. Frazier?” Birdy asked.
“Nope,” Kendall said. “Not really. Talked about how Katy hated her mother, and her kid sister was a pest. They also mentioned they’d been hassled by the folks from Spirit Hunters.”
“Who hasn’t?” Birdy said. “It seems they certainly are on the case.”
“I know. I’m going to talk to the third prong of that friendship, Tami Overton. I’m also thinking that I might need to make a trip east of the mountains.”
“Who’s there?”
“Mayberry,” Kendall said. “I really need to find out what went wrong with his investigation. Between you and me, this really does smack of gross incompetence. Katy was no runaway.”
“But what if her father molested her? That would be good reason to run away.”
“I know, but I left the door wide open for Alyssa or Scott to say something about it and they never did. I would have thought that if Katy confided in anyone it would have been one of those two.”
“Maybe Tami?” Birdy suggested. “Sometimes you make the most private disclosures to those who are close, but not close enough to throw it in your face every time you see them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lynn Overton had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She and her daughter hadn’t had the best relationship over the years, but it had improved, and with the birth of Tami’s son, Jax, there had been a genuine connection for reconciliation that while tenuous at first, was growing stronger, little by little. When Tami didn’t answer her phone, she figured that the battery had died and she decided to drive over to see how things were going. She knew the ghost show had interviewed Tami. She’d had her own interview with Kendall Stark of the Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department and there was no doubt that old wounds, old hurts, had been reopened by the TV show that had zipped into Port Orchard to film an episode.
Lynn worried about the show, the attention that it would bring. She’d cautioned Tami on the phone about appearing on Spirit Hunters and Tami seemed to be listening. It was a rare phone call, the kind that made her fingers tremble whenever she attempted one.
“I don’t know that I want, or that I can do it,” Tami said when they talked the night before.
“Then don’t. He’s telling you not to.”
“Mom, don’t get all Jesus on me. I have enough baggage from all of that.”
Lynn wasn’t sure what her daughter was saying and
in that moment, she decided that she’d not press her for any details. After Katy’s disappearance everything had gone dark for Tami. It was as if her grief over the shocking mystery of what happened to her friend had sucked her into a whirlpool and nearly drowned her. It was only a miracle—and, Lynn thought, God’s power to heal—that saved her from becoming another statistic.
She got in her late-model dark blue Volvo and backed out of the driveway, turning on the Christian music radio station that brought her great comfort. The station was playing a song by Mandisa, a gospel/pop singer she’d loved on one of the seasons of American Idol. Mandisa’s soaring vocals always brought her closer to God. She drove along Long Lake to Mullenix and then on to Highway 16. Lynn always liked the drive over the Purdy Spit’s venerable bridge to the neighborhood that her daughter and her family called home.
She’d been there only three times before, but each time felt like a step closer. A baby step. A chance to be a mother to a girl who needed one, an opportunity to be a better grandmother than she was a mother to Tami.
“I failed her. I am to blame,” was the brokenhearted mother’s mantra. When she told friends that Tami’s drug use had been her fault, none could see it.
“You loved her. You were proud of her. You did everything you could to help her get on firm footing,” they’d say.
She’d nod in agreement, but those words felt empty when she looked at the damage all around her. Her husband left her. Her child was a drug addict, a dropout, and a girl of questionable morals. Everything she’d dreamed about when she first held Tami in that hospital room had just turned to nothingness.
Joe, Tami’s husband, worked double shifts at an oyster farm not far from their house. Only Tami’s old cabriolet was parked in the carport of the tidy red and white rental house tucked into the corner of a neighborhood with an overabundance of speed bumps and cyclone fencing.
She parked and went to knock on the door.
No answer.
The curtains were drawn, and Lynn tried to peer between the slits of the fabric that she recognized as an old sheet set that her daughter had cut and trimmed with gimp for a set of country-style curtains.
