Missing & Gone

by Shawn McGuire

  Aside from the triple moon symbol, two other things captured my attention. First, was the condition of the room. The desk chair was lying on its side, a backpack lay open on the floor, its contents spilled everywhere. A cell phone, presumably Jola’s, was in pieces next to the backpack. Second, there was a cable hanging from the USB port of the laptop.

  I called Randy and described the condition of the room to him.

  “If she’s anything like most other twenty-somethings,” I said, “she took the video with her phone. I’m guessing that she was in the middle of sending that video when someone broke in. Hopefully she was able to download it before her phone was destroyed.”

  “We’re going to need that warrant before we can look at her laptop,” Randy said. “I’ll put a rush on it. While I’m doing that, why don’t you go and see if any of the neighbors saw or heard anything.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I was about to knock on the door directly across the hallway from Jola’s place, when the door of the apartment to the right opened. A man—mid-twenties, shaggy brown hair, tattered Packers T-shirt—stuck his head out the door.

  “I’m Detective Jayne O’Shea with the Madison Police Department.” I held up my badge as evidence. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure.” He opened the door a little wider.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Omar Assad.”

  “Mr. Assad,” I began while jotting his name in my notebook, “do you know the two women who live in this apartment?”

  “Bethany and Jola? Sure, I know them.”

  I took out my phone and opened a picture I’d taken of the victim in the play structure tower. “Is this Ms. Castillo?”

  Omar’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Yes, that’s Bethany. What happened?”

  “I’m sorry to say, Ms. Castillo was found dead last night. How well did you know her?”

  “Not very.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out in all directions. “Is Jola in trouble, too?”

  “Jola Crane? Do you know her?”

  He nodded, obviously shocked by this news. “I know Jola pretty well. We’ve been in the nursing program together since freshman year. Is she okay?”

  “I’m actually here looking for Ms. Crane.” I gestured to my right. “Her apartment door was open when I got here, but she’s not inside. Did you hear anything last night? Noise or any kind of commotion coming from her apartment?”

  Omar looked sheepishly at the ground. “Yeah, I heard loud voices and noises.”

  “What kind of a loud noise?” That could mean anything from music turned up too loud to gunshot.

  “Like things being dropped or thrown. I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “You heard loud voices and things being thrown but didn’t think anything of it,” I repeated. “Why is that?”

  Again, he avoided looking at me. “Jola told me that Bethany was having a hard time lately. Bethany had a short temper and would yell sometimes, so I’ve gotten used to that.” He looked left and right as though making sure there was no one in the hallway to overhear our conversation. “Jola said that Bethany used to have men over and that she was into, you know, rough sex.”

  “So, you assumed that’s what you were hearing last night?”

  He nodded.

  “Did Ms. Crane ever say anything to you about Ms. Castillo having a drug problem?”

  He checked the hallway again. “She told me, in confidence, that Bethany had gotten addicted to OxyContin after a surgery she had early last year. I guess it was pretty bad for a while, but she’d been doing a lot better until a month or so ago. That’s when she got back into the drugs. Hard stuff I guess. Jola thought, maybe heroin.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened a month or so ago?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why did Miss Crane share this information with you?” I jotted more details about Bethany in my notebook.

  “She asked if I could help keep an eye on Bethany when Jola wasn’t in the apartment. It’s not like I was babysitting or anything like that. Jola just wanted me to be aware if anyone came over.”

  “You mean like dealers.”

  “Or maybe just someone who used. I think Jola was getting concerned for her own safety.”

  “Do you have any idea what might have happened with Ms. Castillo last night?”

  “Jola told me she’d been worried about Bethany and thought a little fun might help. I guess they were getting together with some friends.”

  “A party?”

  Omar shook his head. “Not like that, Jola wasn’t a partier. And she never would’ve taken an addict to a place where there might be temptations. Jola’s a good person, and she was sure she could help Bethany. Between her medical training and her do-gooder attitude, she was determined to help her stay clean and sober.”

  “When was the last time you saw either of them?”

  He closed his eyes as though trying to remember. “I saw Bethany yesterday morning. I think I saw Jola a few hours ago.”

  “What do you mean you think you saw her?”

  “It was after I heard the noises next door. I heard a man’s voice and then a woman’s. I couldn’t hear the words, just the tone. He sounded mad, and she sounded scared, so I didn’t think it was Bethany entertaining anyone. Next thing I knew, their apartment door slams open, and I hear someone running down the hallway.”

  “Do you know approximately what time that was?”

  “I know exactly, 2:27 in the morning. I know because I heard the noise and rolled over to look at the clock. It was really late, or early depending on your perspective.” He let out a groan of frustration. “I hear these noises coming from over there all the time. I have a test first class today.” He glanced at his watch. “Actually, I need to leave soon. My grades are right on the border. You know? I need to get a good grade on this one.”

  “Let me make sure I understand you,” I said. “Ms. Crane asks you to keep an eye out for possible drug activity in her apartment. You hear what sounds like a fight or an argument in the middle of the night and dismiss it as rough sex.”

  Omar’s mouth fell open, but he said nothing.

  Point made, I moved on. “When you heard what sounded like someone running down the hallway, what did you do?”

  “When I heard their door slam, I got out of bed and came to check.” He gestured to the spot he was currently standing in. “By the time I got here, I saw the stairway door at the end of the hall closing.” He pointed past Jola’s apartment to the far right. “That’s when this guy came out of their apartment.”

  I pulled up the picture of Clive Birke on my phone and held it out to him. “Is this the guy you saw?”

  He studied the picture and only took a second or two to respond. “Yeah. That’s him.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “That hair.” He wiggled his fingers at the top of his own head indicating Birke’s spiked bangs.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “I didn’t talk to him, if that’s what you mean. He chased after whoever went through that door. Jola, I guess.”

  I wanted to ask him why he didn’t call the police to report a possible assault, but if people called the police every time their neighbors had an argument, Madison would need a police force three times its current size. At least he was curious enough to look and see what was going on. A lot of people wouldn’t even bother to do that.

  “Is Bethany really dead?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry to say she is.” I paused for a moment of respectful silence. “Do you know if it was Ms. Crane who was running down the hall this morning?”

  “No. I didn’t see who it was.” His voice broke. “If I would have known . . .”

  “You’ve actually been quite helpful.” I handed him my card. “You were able to identify Clive Birke for me and that helps us out a lot. If you see Ms. Crane, have her get in touch with me immediately.”

  He studie
d my card. “I will. I’m a little worried now. About Jola, I mean.” His face paled and he looked up at me. “Who else would I be worried about now, right?”

  While I waited for Randy to get back with the search warrant, I spoke with a couple other residents. One gave a statement that closely echoed Omar Assad’s. Another could identify the picture of Clive Birke as being a UW student but hadn’t seen him last night and didn’t know either Jola or Bethany. I was sitting on the floor in the hallway across from Jola’s apartment when Randy appeared at the end of the hall. He held a piece of paper out for me to see.

  “Got the warrant. Let’s start searching.”

  I headed straight for Jola’s computer, giving Randy the quick recap of what Omar Assad and the other neighbors had told me. I took a seat at her desk and wiggled the mouse. My shoulders slumped when a password prompt appeared, the cursor blinking tauntingly at me.

  “Great,” Randy said. “Let’s pack it up and bring it in. Hopefully the tech guys can crack into it quickly. We need that video.”

  I stared at the cursor and then looked up at the Triple Moon Goddess symbol hanging on the wall. “Let me try a few words first.”

  “You do realize the chances of you guessing a random stranger’s password, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I know a couple of things about her that might help. Two minutes, then we’ll bring it in.”

  “Two minutes.”

  While Randy started bagging the other items in Jola’s room, my fingers hovered over the keyboard. I thought of the things I’d heard my mother say about the Northwoods village for so many years. Usually, they were negative mutterings about the fortunetellers or Wiccans.

  I typed in triple moon and got no result. Then Triple Moon Goddess. Psychic. Crystal ball. I typed in witch, pentacle, blessed be. I tried every word or phrase I could think of relating to Whispering Pines with no luck. Just as I was about to give up and pack up the laptop, I tried Whispering Pines. The little circle started spinning.

  Randy shook his head and chuckled. “Unbelievable. Is the video—?”

  Before he could finish his question, the screen cleared and revealed a frozen image of a group of people. Part of me celebrated finding the video while another part mourned the fact that we were about to watch the last moments of a young woman’s life.

  The scene was of a gathering in a backyard, possibly one nearby the park where we had found Bethany’s body. The image was shaky but clear and we could easily see the faces of all the partygoers. I moved the mouse pointer to the white ‘play’ arrow and clicked.

  “Hanging out with the nursing crew,” said a voice, presumably Jola’s since it seemed to be coming from behind the camera.

  As music played semi-softly in the background, the camera panned right and left and then came center again where it zoomed in on a blonde at the back of the crowd. Bethany was sitting on a folding yard chair between two young men. I didn’t recognize the one on her left, but the man on her right was Clive Birke. They were laughing and drinking something out of red plastic cups but didn’t visibly appear to be high or even drunk. Omar Assad had stated that Jola wasn’t a party girl. The first fifteen seconds of this video supported that.

  As the camera watched, Bethany leaned forward, laughing at something one of the men had said. As she did, the man I didn’t recognize slapped hands with Clive, as though congratulating him on a well-told joke.

  The video image started to shake then, and it appeared that Jola was walking toward Bethany. As she got closer, Bethany put her hands over her face.

  “Jola,” Bethany whined. “Why are you always filming me?”

  “Because you always laugh when I point my camera at you,” the voice behind the camera said. “I like to see you laugh, you have a beautiful smile.”

  Bethany swatted a hand at the camera, and Clive leaned in closer to her.

  “She’s right you know,” Clive said. “Except, all of you is beautiful.”

  I cringed. Not just at the words that came out of his mouth, but at the way he said it. Kind of slimy, like that guy in the bar who thinks he’s so cool and keeps asking you to dance, even though you’ve told him no six times.

  “It’s getting late, Beth,” Jola said. “We have early classes tomorrow. Why don’t we head home?”

  Clive leaned in and whispered something to Bethany the camera couldn’t pick up. Bethany looked at him and then straight at Jola and put her hand over her mouth in a way that said, “Oh, you should hear what he just said.”

  “Go on home,” Bethany said, still staring at the camera. “I’ll be home in a little while.”

  Even sitting here watching the video on the laptop, I could feel the tension instantly rise between the two roommates. Jola’s hand appeared from behind the camera, motioning for Bethany to come over to her. Jola moved the cell phone to cover the lens, but kept recording, the audio picking up everything they said.

  “I don’t think you should stay with this guy. I’ve heard stuff about him and none of it’s good. Come on home with me now.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Bethany said. “You know it’s been weeks.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. I brought you here because you’ve been so stressed out. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to hang out with this guy.”

  “Ladies,” a male voice said. “What’s going on?”

  Jola turned the camera again, but only so it was pointed up at herself and the people surrounding her. Bethany was to her left and Clive to her right.

  “We’re just discussing heading home,” Jola said in a breezy way.

  “And I was just telling my dear roommate,” Bethany said, “that I’m not quite ready to go back yet.”

  Clive turned to look at Jola. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe. I’ve got classes tomorrow, too, so we won’t be here that long.”

  Jola’s hand appeared again, this time to grab Clive’s arm and pull him to the side.

  “I’m not going to candy coat things with you,” Jola said. “Bethany has some . . . troubles, and I know what your history is.”

  “You heard wrong, honey,” Clive insisted. “I’m done with that stuff.”

  A few seconds passed where neither of them spoke, and then Jola issued a warning.

  “I’m telling you, Bethany has problems, and I’ll do anything to make sure she stays out of trouble. If she’s not home soon, safe and in this same condition, I’ll call the cops and send them after you.”

  Even from the awkward camera angle, I could see Clive’s jaw clench. Then he nodded down at her phone. “You recording this?”

  “Every word. But if Bethany comes home safe and sound, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Deal?”

  Clive didn’t respond verbally, but instead held out a fist for Jola to bump. She did and then went back to Bethany to give her a big hug and to tell her that she’d see her at home soon.

  I looked at Randy. “Verbal threat. One that Mr. Birke didn’t seem to take very well.”

  “My question is, what made her issue that threat?”

  “I want to watch the video again,” I said. “Something must’ve happened that sent off warning signs to Jola.”

  Randy’s cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Detective Ketchum. . . Okay, we’ll be right there.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “That was the station. They just brought in Clive Birke.”

  ***

  Before going into the holding room to interview Birke, Randy and I watched the video again. When I got to the point where Jola zoomed in on Bethany, I backed it up and slowed it down.

  “What do you see?” Randy asked.

  “Right there.” I tapped Birke’s image on the screen. “Whoever that guy is on the other side of Bethany, he just slips something to Birke. Did you see that?”

  “You’re right. Whatever it is, it’s bright white.”

  “Like maybe Fentanyl?”

  “You’re reading my mind. Let’s go t
alk to the boy.”

  I walked down the hall to the interview room and had barely entered when Birke was on us.

  “You want to tell me why I’m here?” he demanded.

  “A female student from the University died in a city park last night,” Randy said.

  “So?” Birke scowled at him. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  I open the laptop that I brought into the room with me. “I’ve got a video here with you in a starring role.”

  His eyes went dark and he tilted his chin and a cocky way. “I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” I asked. “How about I play it for you? Maybe that would spark your memory. A young woman named Jola Crane is the videographer. Her roommate was Bethany Castillo.”

  “Either of those names ring a bell with you?” Randy asked.

  Birke crossed his arms and looked away. “You charging me with something? Because unless you are, you need to let me go.”

  “In the video,” I said, “you swore to Jola that you would make sure Bethany got home safe and sound.”

  “Bethany is the young woman we found dead at the city park,” Randy said, “and you look good for her death. Until we, or you, come up with something that clears you, we’re holding you on suspected murder charges.”

  Neither Randy nor I said anything else, just stood and left the room.

  “We need to find Jola,” I said.

  “Any idea where to start?”

  “Remember the phone call I got from my grandmother’s friend?”

  Randy groaned. “You want to go traipsing through the woods, don’t you?”

  “Glad you have such an open mind.”

  ***

  Randy pulled into the small parking lot that served the Frautschi Point Preserve. I got out of the car and stared into the woods and then turned to look across the street at Jola’s apartment building. My vision tunneled, and I imagined a twenty-something nursing student, with a close-cropped Afro and medium-brown skin, running across the lawn at approximately two-thirty in the morning. My eyes followed the invisible path her feet would have left in the grass before stopping right where I stood.