by Joanna Bell
"Nope."
"See?" Maria said, scratching at the back of one of her hands. "This whole thing is just weird. You met this guy in the same woods where those girls went missing? Is someone dragging them into some underground cave system nobody knows about or what? Hey Soph – do you have any hand lotion? My hands are dry from washing dishes all damned night."
"Beside the sink," I nodded towards the kitchen. "And sniffer dogs lose trails all the time. If they didn't, they'd find every missing person."
"But I thought that was because people got put into cars?" Maria asked, pumping a blob of lotion into her palm and massaging it into her hands. "The news says the dogs just totally lost any trails at all – it said they didn't even leave the woods. If those girls didn't leave the woods – and that guy you shot in the leg didn't, either – then where are they?"
"Those FBI agents have big mouths," I commented, knowing it must have been law enforcement leaking information about the investigation to the media. "Information gets twisted. It just turns into a big game of telephone if –"
"My grandma said a woman went missing from that same property back in the 80s."
"What?" I asked, certain Maria was mistaken – every law enforcement agency working the case had checked and re-checked the history of similar missing persons cases in the area. There had been a missing period in the records, a couple of years between 1982 and 1984 when a flood in the late 90s had destroyed the physical case files, but no one we'd spoken to had said anything about a girl going missing during that time period. "The 80s? Did she say when, exactly? Like, what year? The FBI already said they looked into any similar cases and couldn't find anything. They –"
"1983."
A frisson ran up my spine, even as I tried to stop it. "1983?" I repeated. "But – no, that can't be possible. That's not the 50s, Maria – someone would have remembered if a young woman went missing from those same woods in the 80s! Everyone in River Falls knows about this case, someone would have said something. I don't know what your grandma's remembering but it's not a kidnapping in River Falls in 1983. That didn't happen."
"No, it wasn't a kidnapping," Maria replied, chewing her bottom lip as she tried to remember. "At least, I don't think it was – it's like you said, someone would remember that. I'll ask my grandma again if you want – she made it sound like it was one of those things where the police says it's a runaway but the family thinks it's something else."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah – definitely ask your – actually, I wouldn't mind asking her myself if – ugh, never mind. I'm supposed to be off the case for now. Do you think she would mind talking to Dan?"
"Why don't you do it?" Maria prompted. "It doesn't have to be some official police thing, does it? My grandma knows you, it could just be a conversation with your best friend's family member, couldn't it?"
I tried hard not to let myself get over-excited about the possibility that another young woman had gone missing, in some capacity – even if it wasn't kidnapping or foul play – from the Renner property in the past. I'd seen the statistics – most of those cases of runaways that families insisted were kidnapping victims ended up being exactly what they seemed at first glance to be – runaways. Still, though. Still. The Renner property itself? If that was true, if Maria's grandma's memory was accurate, that was at least a mighty big coincidence. And we still didn't have any real proof that Paige Renner, her family, or Emma Wallis had been the victims of foul play themselves. From some angles, it looked like quite the opposite.
I nodded again. "Yeah. OK. Sure, I could just talk to your grandma as me – not as a cop. Hell, I'm going to have more free time than usual for a little while, aren't I?"
Maria smiled. "I'll talk to her tomorrow and message you, OK? Who knows, Soph, maybe you can crack this case on your own? Like one of those lady detectives on TV?"
'Don't say that," I rolled my eyes. "I really don't want to get my hopes up about any new information. It honestly would be very odd if the FBI didn't already know about this – and if they do, and if it means anything, I feel like they would already have figured it out."
"Well it can't hurt to try."
"You're right," I agreed. "It can't hurt."
Maria stayed for another hour or so. We didn't talk much more about the case, because I think she could sense I needed a distraction from it – not another reason to burrow my nose in even deeper. She told me about one of the new servers at Gina's, a handsome 24 year old with a nice ass and no girlfriend. We talked about him for a little while, giggling over the fact that we were now old enough to consider dating guys younger than us. I told her about Ashley's latest obsession – gemstones – and we ate too many tamales. By the time she left I was ready to crawl into my bed, not feeling even half as bad as I had earlier in the day.
Five
Sophie
"Are you hungry?" Maria's grandmother asked, before she even had time to shut the door behind us. "I made a cake for you, Sophie – would you like a slice of cake? Or I have some chicken soup? Look at you – so skinny! We need to fatten you up!"
I agreed to the cake – and the soup – because I knew Maria's grandmother, and I knew we weren't going to get anything out of her until she was satisfied that neither of us were on the verge of starving to death. We ate off little china saucers in the modest, spotless living room in the house where Juanita and Antonio Gomez had lived for the past 40 years.
"So Sophie was just wondering if you could tell her anything about that girl you told me about," Maria said eventually, when Juanita had determined our bellies were full enough. "Remember the one you told me about, in the 80s? I think you were friends with her or grandpa was –"
"Heather!" Juanita said at once, settling back into her chair. "Yes, Heather Renner. That must have been – what, 1982? No, 1983. Such a long time ago. You girls are still too young to know how fast time –"
I couldn't hold back. "Wait," I said, shaking my head because surely I hadn't heard right. "Did you just say Renner? Heather Renner? As in Paige Renner?"
Juanita rubbed her chin slowly. "Yes, Heather Renner. She was a cousin to Paige Renner's father, I think. Maybe an aunt?"
I nodded, as a low buzz of excitement started up inside me. A relative of Paige Renner went missing in 1983? From the same property?!
"Or maybe she was cousin to the grandmother? I don't remember. I just know she was in some kind of trouble and her parents sent her out here to River Falls to stay with family for a little while – and we became friends. She was younger than me, and she had no children, no husband. I felt sorry for her at first, the little lost girl from the city. But she wasn't so bad – just a little wild with the boys and the parties. She used to babysit the kids sometimes."
I sat on the sofa, nearly rocking back and forth with the effort of holding back the urge to pepper Maria's sweet grandmother with questions about this Heather Renner – who as far as I knew had not shown up in any of the numerous investigations run by various law enforcement agencies into Paige Renner's background. How was that possible?
"So you're sure she was related to the Renners?" I asked.
"Oh yes, she definitely was. She lived at the house – you know the one they always show on TV now? Lived there with the Renners, in their spare room."
I leaned in a little closer, trying to keep all signs of irritation out of my voice and expression. "I'm so glad you're telling me all this," I said, smiling through only slightly gritted teeth, "but Juanita, is there a reason you didn't go to the police? This is the biggest missing persons case the northeast has ever seen – maybe even the –"
Maria put a gentle hand on my knee at that point, and when I looked up at her she gave me an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I understood the gesture for what it was – a kind reminder to back off. My best friend is nothing if not protective of those she loves. But Juanita Gomez seemed happy to talk about it – with us, anyway. She gave me a little shrug and pressed her fingertip into a few of the crumbs left on her plate.<
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"I barely remember it myself," she said. "And she's not a missing person – the police said she ran away. I'm probably the only person in this town who even remembers Heather Renner, Sophie. It was so long ago, you understand – I suppose I just didn't see what it could have to do with what's happening right now."
"You didn't see what a missing member of the Renner family could have to do with the fact that all the Renners have now gone missing?" I asked, and before I could continue, Maria put her hand up.
"You're here as my friend," she told me quietly. "But my grandmother is busy, and she gets tired easily these days. Please, Sophie, I didn't invite you here to interrogate anyone."
Maria is about as sweet as people come. She has long, dark hair, an infectious giggle and an easy, feminine manner that seems to put everyone at ease. But she's no pushover, and I could see from the look on her face that if I kept it up I was going to find myself led back out to the car and sent nicely on my way.
"OK," I mumbled. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Gomez. This case is very difficult and very frustrating for me – but that doesn't mean it's OK to take it out on you."
Juanita waved her hand in the air and laughed. "Oh don't worry about me, girl. I birthed 5 babies without pain relief, I've seen much worse than Sophie Foster with a few questions. The thing is, over the years I just came to believe that what the police said back then was true. Heather was just the type to run away. She was impulsive, boy-crazy. It would have been just like her to take off with some handsome stranger who caught her eye at the bar."
I was still a new police officer at that time, still learning the ins and outs of questioning people, reading people, seeing things they think they're keeping hidden. But even I could see that Juanita Gomez had some doubts.
"Do you believe that?" I prompted. "Are you sure?"
Juanita looked at her granddaughter. "Maria, dear, can you get me a cup of coffee? There should be a pot in the kitchen, just put it in the microwave if –"
"Grandma!" Maria scolded. "I can just make a fresh pot – you're not young and poor anymore, you know, you don't have to microwave your –"
But before she could finish, the elder Gomez grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it her with a laugh. "Girl, you better stop lecturing me about how I take my coffee! You and your brothers need to stop pestering me about every little thing – and don't skimp on the sugar! 3 teaspoons, I'll be able to tell if it's less."
Maria skipped out of the way of the pillow but took the hint and disappeared into the kitchen.
Juanita's eyes, once a rich, dark brown, had faded with age and the beginnings of cataracts. She looked over at me while Maria was in the kitchen and shook her head. "Look at you, Sophie. All grown up now and a mother yourself – I don't know how you do it. I remember you two having sleepovers here when you were little girls, dancing around in front of the mirror and singing along to that terrible music you used to listen to. You've done well for yourself, you know that? You've done well for your daughter. I'm sure she's very proud of you."
I surprised myself then by immediately becoming emotional. Maria's grandma reached out and patted my hand as I croaked out a 'thank you' and then Maria herself came back with the coffees, and the subject returned to the past.
Juanita sipped her coffee before carefully placing the cup on the table beside her and appearing to be lost in thought. "I don't know what I think," she said when she finally spoke. "I haven't thought about Heather Renner for a long time. And I'm not saying I think something bad happened to her or anything like that – I've got no reason to do that. But I do remember the timing was strange. She'd met someone, you know. A man. Not just another one of her bar boyfriends, but a real man. She was even talking about settling down with him, if you can believe that."
"And this man," I asked. "Did you meet him? Do you remember his name?"
She shook her head. "No, I never did meet him. I remember that because it was so strange – Heather was usually so eager to show off her handsome young men – but that one? She was real cagey about him. I even asked her once if he was in prison. As for his name – nothing comes to mind right now."
"And was he?" I asked. "In prison?"
"No," Juanita said, taking another sip of coffee. "At least Heather insisted he wasn't. She sure talked about him a lot, though – how tall and handsome and strong he was, how sweet he was on her. It was right around then that she went missing, and all the police – and I think even her own family, eventually – just thought it was obvious she'd gone off with this boyfriend of hers."
"But you don't think that's what happened?"
"I don't know," Mrs. Gomez answered thoughtfully. "I don't know, Sophie. I do know that no matter what kind of life she was living at the time, Heather Renner was a good person at heart. Family oriented, even. She wanted a husband and babies and a white picket fence – even if she didn't want it right then. It didn't make sense that she would disappear like that, not to me. So yes, I do think it's possible that someone took her. It's just that no one was interested at the time – no one who could do anything about it, anyway."
We stayed at Maria's grandparents' house until I had to leave to pick Ashley up from school, and I spent the whole drive there in a state of uncertainty. Should I have told anyone about Heather Renner? Well, I should have, but it definitely hadn't slipped my mind that I was on thin ice at work, and a juicy new piece of the puzzle in a case that seemed to lack almost all pieces, juicy or not, could help me get back into Jerry Sawchuk's good graces. Maybe I could do a little more investigating on my own time, though, try to find out a little more about Heather Renner so I had more for my boss when I finally did tell him? Maybe Juanita Gomez wasn't the only one who remembered her?
I knew one thing, though. I knew that the fact that another young Renner woman had gone missing 35 years before Paige wasn't likely to be a coincidence.
The next day, after dropping Ashley off at school and running an errand for my mom, I dropped into the River Falls Library to see if I could find any information on Heather Renner. The police records had been destroyed in the flood, the internet hadn't thrown up anything promising the night before – although some newspapers did have archives stretching back to the early 80s online, the River Falls Tribune was not one of them – so I thought the library might have something for me. And as it turned out, it did.
The one member of the small library staff old enough to have been an adult in 1983 had no memory of a young woman going missing, but she did show me how to operate the microfiche machine and I spent most of the day there, scrolling through old newspapers, skimming headlines and articles, looking for anything relevant. It was a strange feeling, sitting in 2018 with my smart-phone in my pocket and the entire internet at my fingertips, reading about my hometown as it had been before I was born. There was a lot of sports news, game results, lists of new graduates from the high school and who might or might not be off to college on a football or a hockey scholarship. There was not much news about crime – not beyond minor disturbances or vandalism of the sort that every small town with any significant population of young men has always had to deal with.
By two in the afternoon, my eyes were beginning to blur. Juanita Gomez was only mostly sure Heather Renner had gone missing in 1983, and she didn't remember the time of year, so I'd started from the beginning – January 1st. I was near the end of August when a headline suddenly jumped out at my tired eyes:
Young River Falls Woman Missing
It was dated August 27th and the article was very brief, no more than 300 words. It named Heather Renner, though, and used the word 'troubled' to describe her before ending the article with a phone number encouraging anyone who had any information to call.
Two weeks later, in early September, 1983, her name appeared in another article. That time, the newspaper was covering an announcement from the River Falls Police Department that Heather Renner had been determined to be a runaway, not a missing person.
And that was that. I returned
to the library the next day and skimmed the rest of the papers up until January 1984, when police department records existed again, and found no more mentions of the young Renner woman.
"What happened to you, Heather?" I whispered at the screen, splashed with the black and white print of a newspaper page from 25 years ago. Was the young woman whose face I could barely make out – beyond being able to tell she was blonde and pretty – in the blurred photo now sitting on some front porch in California or Oregon or Texas, maybe knitting booties for her grandbaby, or bitching affectionately at her tall, weather-beaten, but still handsome husband? Or had Heather Renner never made it out of her early 20s? Were her bones already in the ground, forgotten by everyone but her family – and Juanita Gomez?
I didn't know. And it was during the drive home, ruminating on my not-knowing, that my phone rang and I picked it up to hear Marla Leigh from the FBI on the other end.
"Sophie!" She said brightly, as I dutifully pulled over into a strip-mall parking lot to take the call. "I hear you've been placed on leave."
Well don't beat around the bush, I thought, before responding more diplomatically. "Yes, I have. My boss thinks I'm getting a little too, uh, invested in this case."
"Too invested, huh?" Marla chuckled. "Used to be police chiefs wanted their officers to be invested. It's too damn bad you're stuck on some podunk little force, Sophie. I like you – and I see some real potential in you."
"Um," I said hesitantly, because I couldn't quite tell if Marla was being serious or not. "Uh, I – do you?"
I cringed down in my seat, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment – perfect, just what I needed, to come off like a flustered kid in front of a woman I respected and looked up to.
"Yes," she replied. "You're quick, Foster, and you can think for yourself. I like that. You're smarter than your boss, too."
I won't lie, it did my ego good – especially under the circumstances – to hear such things. But before I could respond, Marla continued.
