by Tim Kizer
“What kind of car did the woman drive?”
“A white Nissan Altima.”
“Do you remember the license plate number?”
“No.”
“Was it a California license plate?”
“Yeah.”
“What time did Melissa come to the Scripps Ranch Park?”
“Two o’clock.”
“What did she wear?”
“Denim shorts and… a black tank top.”
Melissa had worn denim shorts and a black tank top when she was murdered.
“Will you take a lie detector test? We’ll ask you only two questions: Did you kill Melissa and do you know who killed her? We won’t ask you about your activities on the Internet.”
After a silence, Dixon said, “All right, I’ll take it.”
2
Could Michelle Keener be the woman who had come with Melissa to the park?
Michelle was forty-seven, and Hagan doubted anyone could mistake her for a woman in her thirties. Nevertheless, he called Michelle Keener and asked her if she’d driven Melissa to the Scripps Ranch Park on the day of her murder.
“No, I didn’t,” Michelle replied.
“Do any of your friends own a white Nissan Altima?”
“No.”
Chapter 22
1
Kevin Munroe called Alice on Wednesday morning, July 26.
“Hi, it’s Kevin,” he said. “Is this Alice?”
“Yes.”
Alice was pleased Munroe was contacting her only two days after they met. It meant that he was more than casually interested in her.
Mata Hari would have been proud of her.
“It’s Kevin from Carmine’s. Remember me?”
“Yes. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Would you like to meet for a coffee sometime?”
“Sure.”
“How about tonight at seven?”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Let me think about it.”
She didn’t agree to meet Munroe for a coffee right away because she thought that might seem suspicious.
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you around five.”
She called Munroe when her workday was over.
“Okay, Kevin, let’s meet tonight,” she said.
“Great! Where do you want to meet?”
“The Starbucks on Colorado and Bonnie in Pasadena.”
“Colorado and Bonnie. Got it. Seven o’clock?”
“Yes, seven o’clock.”
2
Alice was about to take a shower when her phone rang. It was an unknown number.
Jeb, she thought.
She accepted the call.
“Hi, Alice. This is Jeb.”
“Hello. I met Kevin Munroe last Monday.”
“Great. How did it go?”
“It went well. We exchanged phone numbers.”
“Very good. Do you like him?”
“He’s an FBI agent.”
“I know.”
“What do you want from him?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“I won’t do anything illegal.”
“I’m not going to ask you to do anything illegal, Alice. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Is anyone going to get hurt?”
“No. No one’s going to get hurt, I promise.”
“He called me today. He wants to meet for a coffee tonight.”
“Great. Are you free tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then meet with him.”
“All right.”
“Don’t tell Kevin about me. Don’t tell anyone about me.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Alice.” Jeb hung up.
3
Kevin Munroe was at the Starbucks when Alice arrived there. He sat at a table by the window facing Colorado Boulevard with a cup of coffee in front of him. He had on black pants and a white shirt. He waved to Alice, and she waved back.
“Did you come here right from work?” Alice asked after ordering her coffee.
“Yes, I did,” Munroe said. “Do you live in Pasadena?”
“Yes.”
He was an FBI agent. He probably knew her address.
Maybe he’s too honest to use government resources to find out where I live.
“It’s a beautiful place. I live in Culver City.”
“How long have you worked for the FBI?”
“Nine years.”
“Have you caught any serial killers?”
“No. I’m in the White-Collar Crime Division.”
“Sounds like a boring job.”
“Well… yeah, most of the time it is quite boring.” Munroe smiled. “If you could live at any time in history, when would it be?”
“I’d choose the present.”
“Me, too. I think we’re lucky we live now and not in the eighteenth or sixteenth century. People must have been really miserable five hundred years ago. No electricity, no running water, no TV, no cars. I bet they all had terrible B.O. And they probably had to work fifteen hours a day. We’re very, very lucky, Alice.”
“Yeah.” Alice nodded.
“You know what the life expectancy was in the eighteenth century?”
“What was it?”
“Thirty-seven years. I guess only rich people lived to be old in those times.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t. You still want to play Ping-Pong this Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like trivia nights?”
“I love them, but I haven’t done it in ages.”
“My buddies and I went to a trivia night at a bar in West Hollywood a few months ago. We finished second.”
He was an honest guy: he could have said they had won first place. He knew she wouldn’t bother to check.
“Not bad. What was the name of the bar?”
“The Surly Goat.”
They chatted for another half hour, and then Alice went home.
Chapter 23
1
At two in the afternoon on Wednesday, Hagan received a report on the lie detector test taken by Henry Dixon, who had been released on bail the day before. Dixon had been asked the same relevant questions as Anita Caruso: “Did you murder Melissa Keener?,” “Do you know who murdered Melissa Keener?,” and “Were you present when Melissa Keener was murdered?” Dixon had given negative answers to all three questions, and the examiner had concluded that he had told the truth.
“So what do you think?” Valdez asked after reading the report.
“He probably didn’t kill the girl,” Hagan replied.
Valdez cracked his knuckles and said, “I have trouble believing this scumbag. If it were up to me, I’d cut his balls off and feed them to him.”
“How old is your daughter? Thirteen?”
“Yes.”
“Is she on Facebook?”
Valdez nodded.
“Do you check her Facebook messages?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Speaking of balls,” said Detective Edgar Guzman, whose desk was across the aisle from Hagan’s. “There’s a restaurant in El Monte that serves bull testicle soup. I heard it’s good.” He grinned.
“Have you ever tried deep-fried bull balls?” Valdez asked Guzman.
“No.”
“They’re not bad. I used to eat them when I lived in Colorado. They call them Rocky Mountain Oysters.”
“Have you ever been to Japan?” Guzman said to Valdez. “They eat the strangest shit there. Fish sperm, for example. They eat fish sperm!”
Suddenly, Hagan remembered something. He took the transcript of his latest interview with Henry Dixon from the desk drawer and reread the part where Dixon described the woman who had come with Melissa to the Scripps Ranch Community Park.
&nb
sp; The woman had driven a white Nissan Altima.
Alice Cannon drove a white Nissan Altima.
White, around thirty, slim body, short brown hair. About five feet eight. Alice fit the description.
Could that woman be Alice Cannon?
Alice had learned that her daughter hadn’t died thirteen years ago on June 28, the day after Melissa’s murder. She couldn’t be that woman.
On the other hand, it was possible that Alice had known her daughter was alive before June 28. It was possible she had known where Melissa lived.
Could Alice be Melissa’s killer? Yes. She was strong enough to stab and bludgeon the girl to death.
Hagan printed out Alice’s picture and pictures of five brown-haired women in their thirties that he had found on the Internet, then called Henry Dixon and arranged to meet with him at his place at six o’clock.
2
Hagan took the pictures from the folder and laid them out on the coffee table. “Henry, I want you to look at these photos and tell me if you see the woman who came with Melissa to the Scripps Ranch Community Park on June twenty-seventh.”
Dixon stared at the pictures for about fifteen seconds, then pointed at Alice’s photograph and said, “It was her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Who is she?”
“Thanks for your help, Henry.”
Hagan gathered the photographs and put them in the folder.
“I passed the lie detector test,” Dixon said.
“I know.”
“Am I still a suspect?”
“No, you’re not.”
Had Alice Cannon met Melissa on June 27?
Why had she met the girl?
Perhaps she had met Melissa to tell her she was her biological mother.
Alice and Melissa might have called or texted each other. He should search Melissa’s phone records for Alice’s number.
Alice knew that Henry Dixon was a suspect in Melissa’s case. She might have tracked him down and talked to him. Maybe that was why Dixon had picked out her photograph?
No, he wouldn’t have done that: he couldn’t have been sure Alice had had no alibi for two p.m. on June 27.
At six-thirty Hagan called Michelle Keener.
“Did Melissa ever mention meeting her biological mother?” he asked.
“No, she didn’t,” Michelle said. “Did she meet her biological mother?”
“I don’t know. When did you move to San Diego?”
“Six years ago.”
“Did you meet or hear from Alice Cannon between your move to San Diego and Melissa’s murder?”
“You mean Melissa’s biological mother? No, we didn’t. She’s a little odd, isn’t she?”
Hagan said nothing.
“Have you figured out who killed our daughter yet?”
“No, we haven’t.”
“Have you made any progress at all?”
“We’ve made some progress.”
Chapter 24
1
Half an hour after her date with Kevin Munroe Alice called Detective Hagan and asked if he had talked to Joanna Styles.
“She didn’t see anything illegal going on at Cradle Of Life when she worked there,” Hagan said.
“LaCross must have kept her out of the loop.”
Or maybe LaCross had had no idea Melissa was abducted, and honestly believed the woman in that video, the look-alike, was Melissa’s birth mother. It had been hard not to believe that: the woman had a driver’s license in Melissa’s birth mother’s name.
“Yeah,” Hagan said.
“That’s a bummer.”
If LaCross hadn’t been in cahoots with Melissa’s abductors, she might never find out who had stolen her daughter.
“Have you found enough evidence to arrest that Henry Dixon guy?”
“No. Have you met him?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“By the way, he passed a lie detector test.”
It seemed that the police’s only suspect had been cleared.
Let’s hope Jeb really knows who killed Melissa.
Alice’s phone rang moments after she hung up. An unknown number.
Jeb.
“Hi, Alice. It’s Jeb.”
“Hello.”
“Did you meet with Kevin yet?”
“Yes. We met at seven and talked for about fifty minutes.”
“He likes you, doesn’t he?”
“I guess.”
“Nice. Well, Alice, the wait is over. You still want to know who killed your daughter, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to take Kevin to a restaurant this Saturday. I want him to stay there from six to eight p.m. I’ll give you Melissa’s killer’s name if you successfully fulfill this task.”
Jeb had promised to tell her the killer’s name if she made friends with Kevin Munroe. Had he forgotten that?
She wasn’t going to argue with Jeb, since taking Munroe to a restaurant was easy and not illegal.
“What restaurant should I take him to?”
“Providence on Colorado and Madison in Pasadena.”
Alice had been to Providence once, with her mother. It was a fancy restaurant with elegant furnishings, high-quality linens, and fine cutlery.
“Why do you want me to do that?”
“The less you know the better. If Kevin asks you to come with him to his place after dinner, I want you to go with him.”
“What if he tries to make out with me?”
“Do whatever you want. It’s up to you.”
“When are you going to tell me who killed Melissa?”
“This Saturday at ten p.m. Don’t forget, Alice: I want Kevin to stay at the restaurant from six to eight o’clock.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Alice.” Jeb terminated the call.
Alice dialed Munroe’s number. Munroe answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Alice. What’s up?”
“Are you free this Saturday night?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Would you like to go to a restaurant?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a restaurant called Providence on Colorado Boulevard. It’s very nice. Let’s go there.”
“Sounds good. What time?”
“Six.”
“So we’re not hanging out this Friday?”
“No.”
“How far is the restaurant from your place?”
“About four miles.”
“I’ll pick you up at five-forty. What’s your address?”
Alice told Munroe her address.
“See you this Saturday,” Munroe said.
“Bye, Kevin.”
“Bye.”
What would she tell David?
She’d tell him she had a girls’ night out with her coworkers.
Alice found Providence’s number on the Internet, then called the restaurant and made a reservation.
Chapter 25
1
On Thursday, Hagan showed Adam Linder Alice Cannon’s picture and asked if he had ever seen her.
“No, I haven’t,” the boy said.
“Did you know that Melissa was adopted?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Melissa ever mention meeting her biological mother?”
Adam shook his head. “No.”
Dylan Downing had never seen Alice Cannon, either. He had known that Melissa was adopted. When Hagan asked if Melissa had ever mentioned meeting her biological mother to him, Dylan nodded and said, “Yes, she did. She met her a few times.”
“When?”
“In June.”
“Did Melissa tell you her biological mother’s name?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Alice.”
“Did Melissa show you Alice’s picture?”
“No.”
“Did Alice want Melissa to live with her?”
“I don’t know. We never talked about that.”
Was the woman Melissa referred to a
s her biological mother Alice Cannon or Alice’s look-alike who knew Alice was Melissa’s birth mother?
Why would Alice’s look-alike meet with Melissa?
A better question would be why did he even entertain the possibility that the woman might be Alice’s look-alike?
Hagan checked Melissa’s phone records from January to June and found no calls from or to Alice Cannon. He found no messages from or to Alice, either. There were no messages from or to Alice in Melissa’s Facebook inbox. Hagan searched Melissa’s email for Alice’s email address and name and got no hits.
Alice might have used a burner phone to communicate with the girl. On June 27, Melissa had received two calls from a disposable number with a Los Angeles area code, whose owner they had been unable to determine. The first call had come at 9:31 a.m. and the second at 1:22 p.m. That disposable phone might belong to Alice. Melissa had gotten calls from that number before June 27, too: on June 11 and 18; she’d never received any texts from it. The phone had been activated last April, and the only person it had been used to communicate with was Melissa. It had been off since June 27.
Hagan searched Alice’s text, email, and Facebook messages and found nothing indicating that she’d met or murdered Melissa.
Chapter 26
1
On Saturday, Munroe picked Alice up at half past five. On the way to the restaurant, they talked about their favorite singers and concerts they had attended. Munroe told Alice he had gotten Elton John’s autograph at his show in Los Angeles in 2010.
When Alice and Munroe entered the restaurant, they were greeted by a hostess, a young skinny woman with long black hair.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.
“Yes,” Alice said. “It’s under Cannon.”
Alice’s phone rang. It was Jeb.
“Are you at the restaurant?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Jeb hung up.
“Follow me, please,” the hostess said, and escorted Alice and Munroe to their table.
Soft jazz music was playing in the background, the lighting was subdued and intimate. Alice ordered pan-seared scallops and a kale salad, and Munroe ordered a strip steak and a green salad.
“Is this your favorite restaurant?” Munroe asked.
“My favorite restaurant is Applebee’s,” Alice said.
