As he noted the odometer ticking away, his chest started to tighten. “Come on,” he muttered nervously, “Come on.” She’d been able to drive farther than he calculated.
Then as he came around a tight ninety-degree left corner, there she was a quarter-mile ahead, parked on what there was of the right shoulder with her hazard lights flashing. Genevieve was already out of the car, leaning over and examining her right front tire as large raindrops started intermittently pelting his windshield.
Flicking on his high-beams, he gently slowed and powered down the passenger side window. He pulled up alongside her car, “Hey, I know you,” he greeted. “It’s Genevieve, right?”
“Yeah, hi. Hey, oh my gosh, how are you?”
“I’m fine, but I see your hazard lights flashing. What seems to be the problem?”
“My right front tire just blew out, if you can believe that.”
Genevieve looked up to the sky as the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed. The tree branches overhead swayed while the intensity of the rain escalated. “Hey, my house is just a few miles down the road. Could you give me a lift?”
“Sure. Jump on in.”
“Okay, let me just grab my purse,” she replied, reaching into her car, grabbing the purse, her phone and then using the key fob, she locked the car. She then slipped into the passenger seat. “Thanks so much,” she said as she jumped into his car.
CHAPTER 4
“I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE THINKING.
Will Braddock, Chief Detective of the Shepard County Sheriff Department turned his Chevy Tahoe left and took the long circular driveway that curved in front of the expansive two-story Lash house. He parked behind two other sheriff’s department Explorers.
He opened his truck door and was immediately greeted by a blast of the post noontime humidity of an eighty-eight-degree day. Braddock unfolded his lanky six-foot-four frame out onto the stone paver driveway. Jake Williams, simply know as “Steak,” his best detective, descended the steps of the front porch of the expansive two-story house. The house itself was centered on a sprawling piece of well-manicured property along the thickly forested northwestern shores of Big Pine Lake. As he got his bearings, Braddock noticed the leaves and branches scattered about the otherwise immaculately maintained grounds.
“Heck of a storm last night,” Steak observed. “I have two sizable branches down in my yard. How about you?”
Braddock shook his head, “Just lots of leaves and twigs, although I had to retrieve two of my Adirondack chairs for the firepit out of the lake. So, what do we have here?” he asked as he removed his sunglasses and slipped on his sharp tan houndstooth sport coat.
Steak flipped open his notebook, “Genevieve Lash, the Lash’s twenty-seven-year-old daughter, has not returned home from last night’s holiday festivities.”
Braddock nodded, reaching back into his truck for his own notepad and his cell phone, which he slipped into his inside sport coat pocket. He looked back to Steak. “Twenty-seven? Living here at her parent’s place?”
Steak nodded and then pointed past Braddock to a two-story white clapboard house with emerald green shutters set amongst a grouping of Norway Pines. “Miss Genevieve lives in that guesthouse that, I might add, is like twice the size of my own house. She isn’t there and the guesthouse was still locked this morning. Her black BMW 435i convertible is not here, either.”
“Twenty-seven-year-old rich girl,” Braddock mumbled, taking in the Lash’s expansive main two-story home. “I take it that it’s unusual she has not come home yet?”
“Not necessarily,” Steak replied. “I don’t know her well but know of her. Genevieve is a bit of a party girl, don’t you know. Mom and Dad said the same thing inside.”
“Again, so why are we here?”
“Because Genevieve isn’t answering her phone.”
“Again, so…”
“And Genevieve’s girlfriend, Tessie Joyner, showed up ninety minutes ago. Tessie was going to go boating with Genevieve but was surprised she wasn’t here since Genevieve dropped her off at home last night after they left Mannion’s at closing time. Tessie went up to the house to talk to the Lashes, who then got worried and called it in as a missing person.”
“And we’re looking for the car?”
“Yes, I have a bulletin out for it, but nothing as of yet.”
“What’s your read on this?” Braddock asked Steak as they started walking toward the steps. “Is she really missing?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s just as likely she’s shacking up somewhere. She’s not unattractive and has been known to…sleep around a bit.”
“I’ve seen the Lash name before around here. Big construction company, right?”
“Correct.”
“How are they to deal with?”
“Worried,” Steak answered. “And they’re rich, so they expect answers and don’t have a lot of patience.”
“Swell,” Braddock sighed and then followed Steak up the steps and inside the house. The Lashes and Tessie Joyner were waiting in the sitting room to the back of the house. Braddock was introduced to everyone and went right to work, starting with Tessie Joyner.
“You last saw her when?”
“About one-thirty a.m. when she dropped me off at my parents’ cabin.”
“And what was she doing after that?”
“Going home. That’s what she said she was doing. We were going to go out on the lake today and probably head over to the Wharf for drinks.”
“And last night, she didn’t have any plans after dropping you off?” Braddock asked, pen in hand.
“Not that she told me about.”
“You’re sure?”
“She didn’t say anything if she did.”
Steak looked at his phone, which was buzzing, and stepped out of the room. Braddock continued, “Would that be unusual for her not to say anything to you?”
Joyner gave that question as moment’s thought, “If she had plans later with a guy, I’d have known. She’d have said something to me or I would have been able to tell.”
“And?”
“I don’t think she did and even if she did…” Joyner looked to Lash’s parents and hesitated.
“Tessie,” Braddock pressed. “Even if she did…”
“Gen isn’t the kind to stay and cuddle if she goes home with someone. She’s generally the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.” She looked to her friend’s parents. “Sorry.”
Braddock turned to the parents. “I’m sure you’ve tried to call your daughter?”
“Yes,” Jerry Lash replied. “Several times. We still are. No answer, it just goes to voicemail.”
“And no word of any kind from her? Neither of you have any messages, voice or text, from her?”
“No,” Dorothy Lash replied. “Not a peep.”
“Do you track her phone at all with a locator app?”
“No,” her mother replied. “She is twenty-seven.”
“And her cell number is?”
Dorothy Lash recited it, giving Braddock the provider as well.
“So, Detective, what happens now? Are you searching for her?” Jerry Lash pressed.
“Yes. We’re looking for the car, for starters and…” Braddock glanced left and out to the hallway. Steak was urgently waving for him. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute,” Braddock said to the Lashes and Joyner and stepped into the hallway.
“We found the car,” Steak reported.
“Where?”
“A little under three miles away, parked along the south side of County 163 with a flat right front tire.”
“And Genevieve?”
“Not there.”
Braddock accelerated along County Road 163, the road tunnel-like under the dense canopy of trees lining the roadsides. The road ran for a twisting and turning fifteen miles east from the H-Four to State Highway 6. It was one of many in the intersecting web of county roads, paved and gravel, used to reach the cabins on the scattered mass of
small and mid-sized lakes northeast of Manchester.
Approaching from the east, Braddock pulled past the BMW and the two sheriff’s deputy SUVs parked behind it before completing a U-turn and then parking. Steak pulled the same maneuver, pulling in behind him.
Stepping out of his Tahoe, Braddock pulled a BMW key fob out of his pocket the Lashes gave him and pressed the unlock button. The BMW’s locks popped open. “That confirms it’s hers.”
Steak handed a pair of latex gloves to Braddock, who then did a quick inspection walk around the front of the vehicle and immediately observed the right flat front tire. The tire was a mangled jumble detached from yet wrapped around the rim. He walked back to the driver’s side door, and with his left index finger slowly lifted the latch and gently pulled it open. He slipped off his sunglasses and leaned down, his hands on his knees, peering inside. There was no purse or cell phone or any other items visible beyond the empty water bottle in the center console cupholder and a white cell phone cord plugged into the port in the dashboard.
“It’s pretty clean,” Braddock reported as he stood up and once again walked around the front of the car to the other side and crouched down to reinspect the tire. The blown tire, as did the car itself, looked new; there was more than enough tread. In fact, as he took a quick look at all the tires, they appeared of the same vintage with plenty of tread and still some of the bright sheen of newness. “The tire is a complete blowout, totally off the rim.”
“Sure is,” Steak agreed.
Braddock stepped back and examined the area around the car, including the narrow ribbon of gravel along the shoulder and the knee-high mix of wild grass, cattails and buckthorn along the roadside. The grass was not matted down in a manner suggestive of any sort of a struggle, although the storm might have washed away any evidence of that. At the back of the car, Steak popped the trunk and Braddock joined him to inspect it.
“It doesn’t look like she tried to access the spare tire,” Braddock remarked, seeing the tire, jack and tire iron secured under the trunk’s fabric mat. He stepped back from the trunk, crossed him arms and gazed upon the car, deep in thought.
“What do you think, boss?” Steak asked, looking at Braddock.
“I think she has a flat tire in the middle of the night and now she’s unreachable. We had the storm last night. It hit around one-thirty, maybe one forty-five a.m., right?”
Steak nodded.
“Genevieve drops Joyner off. She’s driving home along 163 here, which is a bit of an odd selection for late at night. I’d have taken the Double Deuce to get her myself.”
“163 is probably shorter.”
“Yeah, maybe, but with all the winding and twisting, the deer out and about crossing the road, it’s a far riskier one, too. Especially because her tire goes flat and apparently rapidly. It doesn’t appear she tried to change it. So where does she go?”
“There’s not much around here,” Steak observed.
“Nor,” Braddock answered, “would there be much traffic at that time of night along here.”
“It was the Fourth of July last night, though. People were out and about. Maybe someone picked her up.”
“And took her where?”
Steak shook his head. “I don’t know, boss.”
With his hands on his hips, Braddock did a quick three-sixty look around, evaluating their location. There were no cabins or homes along this specific stretch of road. To either side there were marshy wetlands surrounded by dense forest. There were perhaps two driveway entrances he could see, one well to the west and another two hundred yards to the east, marked by a barely visible mailbox.
As he silently evaluated the scene a sense of dread percolated inside him. “She hasn’t been seen in twelve hours. We’re way behind.” He called the two deputies over and directed them to start a canvass. “One of you go west, the other east and check the places we can see from here and then work your way farther down.”
He looked to Steak. “Get back to the Lash’s. Ask Joyner if there were any problems with this car last night. She didn’t mention any earlier, but we didn’t ask, either.”
“What do I tell the parents?”
“The truth. We found her car. It was abandoned and there is no sign of her. They’re going to panic. It might be a good idea if they get some family and friends around them for support. I fear they’re going to need it. Also, we need to have someone there in case the phone rings.”
“Ransom?”
“Right now, that’s the best-case scenario right now. The old man is loaded, so it’s at least possible. That also gives the parents some hope.”
“What are you doing?” Steak asked.
“I’m going to call the sheriff and loop him in. We need to get with the phone company to track her phone somehow and I’m going to get a BCA forensic team out here.”
“Okay,” Steak answered and started toward his truck, but then stopped and looked back to Braddock, troubled. “You know, Will, we have an abandoned car along an isolated stretch of road. A flat right front tire. An attractive woman missing and it’s…”
“July fifth,” Braddock replied.
CHAPTER 5
“THIS IS AN INVITATION.”
New York City, July 6th
T ori checked her watch and approved of her pace, just under seven minutes a mile, which would keep her Monday morning run to around forty-five minutes. She’d run a good long loop south through Manhattan’s Battery Park and now back along the Esplanade, the Hudson River to her left. There were just a few blocks left on the way back to her condo building, the Mason Tower, the tip top of which was visible to her right. She turned right onto Albany Street, ran another half-block and came to a stop, breathing heavily, checking her Fitbit for her running time. Satisfied with the results she reached behind for the bottle of water in her waistpack and while taking a long drink, slowly walked the remaining hundred feet to the long green awning marking the entry into her building.
Her condo was a block off the Hudson. It was a mere ten minutes from the FBI field office and it was Manhattan. Yet almost daily she questioned the wisdom selling her old studio unit in Brooklyn for the hugely expensive upgrade. She was on the road so often she never really felt like she lived in it. The numerous unpacked boxes and the lack of any sort of personal touch or décor were evidence of that. She had a comfortable sofa, a stylish weathered trunk for a coffee table, a modest flat-screen television, a top-of-the-line and well-stocked wine refrigerator, three closets full of expensive clothes and an old writer’s desk straining under stacks of case documents. That was pretty much it. With her father’s life insurance, monthly pension death benefit and proceeds from the sale of his house eighteen years ago, not to mention her own salary, she was quite secure financially. Nevertheless, she cringed at the monthly mortgage payment for a condo she barely seemed to live in.
“It’s an investment, dearie,” her neighbor Ms. Mumford said to her one night when Tori openly lamented the purchase while they chatted in the hallway. “Manhattan real estate only goes one direction, honey, and that’s up. And these days, way up. Consider it a retirement annuity. You’ll clean up when you sell.”
As she walked in the front entryway Arthur, the building doorman, greeted her. “Agent Hunter, you’ve been gone so much that your mailbox is stuffed full. We have overflow for you in the office. Let me get it for you.”
A moment later, Arthur came back out of the office with a small stack of mail. “It even has today’s mail right on the top.”
“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll come back down and clean out my box.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tori took the elevator up to the eighth floor and, with her mail pinned between her left arm and chin, she reached for the unit key in the tiny pocket in her running shorts, unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open. She stepped forward and stumbled over the threshold, lost her balance and the mail flew out of her arms, spreading all over the floor.
“Cripes!”
Exasperated, Tori dropped down to her knees and started pulling all the pieces of mail together, finding miscellaneous bills, junk mail, a donation solicitation for BC, her latest Vanity Fair and Vogue magazines, and then a yellow envelope that she flipped over to see that it was addressed to her. There was no return address, but the postmark was for Manchester.
Tori exhaled. She hadn’t received a piece of mail from Minnesota, let alone Manchester, in years. Pushing herself up from the floor she went to her desk and reached for her letter opener. She sliced the top open and then reached inside and pulled out a single piece of paper, a newspaper article.
“What the…?”
The piece of paper was a photocopy of the front page of the Manchester Chronicle, dated July 5, 1999 and the headline read: Hunter Girl Missing. In the lower left-hand corner was a sticky note with a typed message in Times New Roman font that read: Check the Manchester Chronicle. It will look familiar.
She’d seen the clipping before, although it had been years. A copy of it was stored in a box in the closet. “It will look…familiar.”
Tori went to her desk and powered up her laptop. She typed ManchesterChronicle.com into the search bar. On the home page the first headline was blunt: Genevieve Lash Missing. The sub-headline read: On Twentieth Anniversary of Jessica Hunter Disappearance. As Tori scanned the article on the website, she learned that Genevieve Lash was last seen leaving Mannion’s On the Lake at closing time early on the morning of July fifth. In his press conference, Shepard County Sheriff Cal Lund reported that Lash’s car was found abandoned and locked along the side of a county road with a flat right front tire.
“Cal…” Tori murmured.
Lund stated there were no signs of foul play at the scene. A search of the wetlands surrounding the area where the vehicle was discovered turned up nothing. “We have no evidence at this time indicating what happened to Genevieve Lash or where she is.”
Silenced Girls Page 4
