The Girl and the Black Christmas

by A J Rivers

  “I got the impression she was seeing somebody,” she tells me. “But as I told you, we didn’t sit around and have girl talk or anything. I never met anybody. Nobody ever came to the apartment. It just seemed as if there was somebody. If that makes sense. She would really suddenly get worked up and get dressed and do her makeup and hurry away. She was always busy, even though she was really on top of all of her classes. It looked as if there was always something she needed to be doing. There were a few times when I got the impression that she was meeting up with somebody or trying to get somewhere so she could see somebody.”

  “Just no idea who,” I comment.

  “No,” she shakes her head. “I wish I could be more help, but I’ve really got to go.”

  “You helped a lot. Thanks,” I say.

  Lynn jogs the rest of the way down the sidewalk and around the corner to where I assume her car is parked. I scan over the notes in Julia’s day planner again, then take out my own notebook and pen and write down Samantha Murray’s name. I don’t know what this means, but it’s something.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “Samantha Murray is an unsolved murder case from 17 years ago. She was strangled and left naked, wrapped in a blanket in an abandoned store just outside of campus,” I tell Sam on a video call. “There were clear strangulation marks on her body, but there was no sign of a weapon. Her friends said she was wearing a scarf when she left the party that night, but that scarf was never found.”

  Sam’s eyes widen on the screen. “And Julia had that scarf?”

  “Lynn says the one she had looked exactly like it. She was worried that Julia had it. I could see it in her eyes that she was really upset about it; it scared her to think that it was the same scarf,” I say.

  “But how are you supposed to find out if it was?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. She returned it to whoever lent it to her. And Lynn has no idea who that is. This was during one of those so-called visits,” I say.

  “And you still haven’t been able to find anybody who knows what those were?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, raking my fingers back through my hair and letting out a breath as I cross my legs under me on the couch. “I froze myself, walking around that campus for hours, talking to everybody I could think of. And then I went to every house and apartment and office and store where I might find anyone from thirteen years ago who might have known her. No new information.”

  “Did you find out anything at all? Anything that might be helpful?”

  “There are so many conflicting stories about her. There are some people who are not fully convinced she was in a relationship. Lynn is convinced that she was. Which makes sense, considering what she’s written in her book. But nobody knows who this man was. And then there are other people who really think that she made it up. Which doesn’t make sense, because why would she make something up but then not tell anybody the details about it? I also asked around about Jeremy and Corey, and so far, haven’t been able to find out anything about either one of them. Apparently, I really didn’t know her nearly as well as I thought I did,” I sigh.

  “What are you going to do next?” Sam asks.

  “I’m going to reach out to her high school and get any information I might be able to gather. Maybe I’ll be able to dig up one of those names. I’m trying to find out anything I can about the college she went to before this one. I want to know what she was doing there and why she left it.”

  “What about the calendar door?” he asks. “You were supposed to open it this morning. Did you forget?”

  “Damn it. I can’t believe I forgot that was today. Now I’ve already lost a day. That leaves only two to figure this one out.”

  “Remember, you already know the date. You know when the crime occurred. That should help to at least narrow down what happened,” he reminds me.

  “I’m going to get it now.” I go to the table where I left the wooden calendar and bring it back over to the sofa.

  Sitting down, I open the door and take out the slip of paper. Scanning the code, I wait for the letter to appear so I can read it to Sam.

  * * *

  Dear Santa,

  How do you do it every year? It’s so crowded and the people never seem to have any holiday spirit. I know someone who definitely didn’t. Now I’m gone, but so is the gift I chose. Maybe you can find it for me. I already checked the trunk, so that should save you some time.

  * * *

  “It sounds like Christmas shopping,” Sam says.

  “I know this case,” I say.

  “What? That fast?” Sam asks.

  I nod. “Yes. I know this case. I remember when it happened. Carla Viceroy. I want to say she was in her early thirties.” I minimize the video call window so I can pull up a search engine. Typing in Carla’s name, I find news articles about her murder. “Thirty-three. She was shopping at Towne Crossing Mall. It was new then. Do you remember? I guess you wouldn’t. News about openings of malls probably doesn’t travel all the way to Sherwood. But it was a big deal when it happened. It’s this huge combination open-area traditional mall, with some really high-end stores and some just normal ones, too. Tons of restaurants, a couple of playgrounds. It’s an entire experience. That Christmas, everybody wanted to go Christmas shopping there.”

  “Including Carla Viceroy,” Sam says.

  “Yes,” I say. “Her sister reported her missing after she didn’t come home from a planned shopping trip there. Really early the next morning, they found her car still in the parking lot. And she was in the trunk. She’d been stabbed.”

  “What about what she bought?” Sam asks. “The letter says the gifts she chose are gone now, too.”

  “Yeah. She had already gone shopping when she was killed. There was surveillance video of her going into various stores, and then they found a receipt with her in the trunk. But they were never able to recover the gifts.”

  “Receipt? Like the one they found where Angeline went missing,” Sam notes.

  “You’re right. There’s a link between those two cases,” I nod, writing it down in my notebook.

  “How did you already know what case I was talking about?” Sam asks. “You didn’t even have to look it up.”

  “As I said, I remember it. It was horrific. Then because Julia disappeared less than two weeks after Carla was murdered, I went to the police about it. I thought they needed to look into the possibility that Carla’s murder and Julia’s disappearance were connected.”

  “What did they say?”

  I press my lips together in a tight, bitter smile as I remember going into that police station, scared, anxious, and angry that so far no one had listened to me. I went to the police with all the belief in the world that they would be the ones to step up. They hadn’t gotten involved in Julia’s disappearance yet but I thought that was because they didn’t know about it. Her parents hadn’t reported her missing. The University hadn’t reported her missing.

  But surely if I explained what was going on, they would understand. If I pointed out how close the mall was to campus and that the incidents had happened within two weeks of each other, they would make the connection. That had to be enough to make them at least look into it.

  “They said that there was no indication that Julia and Carla had anything to do with each other. They were more than ten years apart in age. One was last seen at the mall, one was last seen on campus. There was no evidence they knew each other or any of the same people. Carla was found murdered in her car, Julia packed up her things and apparently just left. They weren’t linked. I insisted they pay more attention to Julia’s disappearance and at least acknowledge that something was unusual about it.”

  “How did they react to that?”

  “They said that my own father’s disappearance was still so fresh in my mind, my thoughts were compromised. That I was overwhelmed and jumpy, and ready to see crimes and foul play everywhere. Essentially, I was too sensitive and traumatized to be looking into anythi
ng with any logic or validity,” I say.

  “Damn,” Sam mutters.

  “That’s a much nicer way of reacting to it than I did.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I think it’s time I pay them a little visit again.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It wasn’t too long ago that Sam told me he was proud of me for finally being willing to ask for help when I need it. Well, this is definitely a situation when I need it. The pressure of time is on my shoulders, especially now that I realize I was late opening the calendar door and I’ve already lost time.

  Knowing about Carla’s case from the very beginning gives me an advantage, but there’s little more to go on than that. I have to get the police involved. They have information I don’t, and those details are going to be critical to having any chance of finding out what happened to the purchases she made.

  Flashing my FBI badge and giving a call to Sam helps to grease the wheels a little. I don’t actually know which of those made more of an impact, but at this point, I don’t really care. I need access to the information, and I need boots on the ground if the necessity arises. This isn’t time for arrogance or the need to feel that I’d made everything happen.

  If they were more willing to speak to me because I’m in the Bureau and they recognize my name from that, fantastic. If it’s because I was already pushy about this years ago, that’s great, too. And if it’s because they respect Sam as a sheriff and a fellow member of law enforcement on that level, then that’s also great. Whatever it takes, I need what they have access to.

  It takes some time, but I finally leave the department with copies of Carla’s file. Some of the documents are redacted and would require a court order to provide full information, but I can work with what I have.

  My phone is ringing as I get into the car and I crank the engine over before answering it.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Emma Griffin?” the man on the other end of the line asks.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hello, Miss Griffin. This is Ralph Peterson from Larsonville College.”

  “Yes, thank you for getting back with me. I don’t know how much you know about the situation, but I’m willing to catch you up,” I say.

  “Actually, I am well-versed in the situation with Julia Meyer,” he tells me.

  “You are?” I ask, surprised.

  Putting my phone on speaker and popping it into its holder on the dashboard, I drive away from the police station back toward campus.

  “Yes,” he says. “Actually, I was working at the school back then. I’m a part of the student relations department.”

  “I’m not familiar with that term,” I say.

  “It was a fairly new initiative at the time, and cutting-edge in comparison with many other colleges. Essentially, the department acts as a human resources office for our students. When there are conflicts regarding interactions between students, or students and staff, this department gets involved. This is a small college. Not like U of A, where I understand Ms. Meyer eventually transferred. We go for a more family feel, and there tends to be a sense that everybody knows everybody. As you can imagine, it’s important to us to maintain that feeling and protect all of our students as well as our staff,” he says.

  “I understand there are privacy concerns, and you will need to keep confidentiality, but I would appreciate any insights you can give me,” I say.

  “Yes, we do keep these situations in the strictest confidence. I cannot discuss any specifics with you. However, I do have someone who is willing to speak with you about it. Considering Julia is not able to give her side of the situation, he is the only one who can appropriately answer your questions and give you any information that might be available,” Ralph tells me.

  “Alright,” I say. “Who is he? How can I get in touch with him?”

  “His name is Corey Matteo. I’ve already given him your contact information, and you should be hearing from him soon.”

  “It was bullshit,” I tell Bellamy that night. She came over for dinner and to spend some time one-on-one, because we haven’t had the chance in a while. “The entire thing. She got railroaded and left school because of rumors.”

  Bellamy takes a sip of peppermint tea and sets the cup down again. She’s been downing cups of the fragrant brew all night. She says it has the dual benefits of being both seasonal and good for settling her stomach.

  “I don’t understand what happened. She was at that college for such a short time. What possibly could have happened?” she asks.

  “Corey Matteo was the other half of the situation. According to him, Julia was a really sweet, friendly girl right from the beginning. He was part of the tour when she came to look at the campus and seemed really eager to get involved at the school. He said she wasn’t overly flirty or anything like that. Just excited to start college. Then he saw her again when she came for orientation, and there was something different about her. Not necessarily in a bad way. Just that she was a little bit distracted. As if she wanted to rush through the orientation and other activities so that she could go do something else.”

  “Does he know what?” Bellamy asks.

  “No,” I say. “Then the semester started and that was it for their interactions, according to him. He wasn’t the TA of any of the classes that she was taking and they didn’t get together socially. They ran into each other a couple of times, obviously. It’s a really small campus. It’s not unusual for people to see each other throughout the day even unintentionally. But then the rumors started. People started saying that she was implying they were together, and that people had heard she was forcing herself into his life.”

  “But that wasn’t his experience?”

  “Not really,” I tell her. “He said he noticed that sometimes they were eating at the same time, or she’d show up in study halls or at groups he was leading. But so did a bunch of other people. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything obvious. But the rumors got worse and worse. It ended up escalating to the point that the administration called him in to question his ethics.”

  “What did Julia have to say about any of this while it was going on?” Bellamy asks.

  She leans back against the arm of the couch and rests her hand on her stomach. I smile. There’s nothing there. Not even a tiny bump. But there will be soon. I’m sure she can tell the difference in herself. It’s amazing to think that in all this chaos and horror, something so peaceful and beautiful is happening.

  “Again, it was just his side of the story, so he doesn’t know everything she said in her interviews. But what he does know is that she denied ever spreading those rumors or doing anything to try to get close to him. She didn’t know who was saying those things about her, or why they would be. The only thing she would admit to was that she thought Corey was attractive, but that was the end of it. By the time she came back for the orientation, she was seeing someone.”

  “Who?”

  “He doesn’t know. In the end, the rumors got so bad and the campus was so miserable for her, she ended up leaving.”

  “Do you really think that’s what happened?” Bellamy asks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “That seems like a pretty extreme reason to leave a school. I can understand rumors and being uncomfortable these people are talking about you. Especially on a small campus. But if you deny them, and the person who you are supposedly stalking says that he’s seen no evidence of it, what is there to run from? It just seems as if there’s something else in play that maybe even he doesn’t know about.”

  “In the day planner, it mentions that she saw him and that she had no words. I wonder what she meant by that,” I point out.

  “Maybe she knows that because of her his reputation got dragged out into the public sphere, too. Maybe she wasn’t afraid of him or upset about his being around. She is just uncomfortable knowing what he went through,” Bellamy suggests.

  “What’s really interes
ting is one of her professors, Professor Murillo, had very similar rumors going on about her, at around the time Julia disappeared. That she was sleeping with one of her TA’s. I asked her about it, and she wasn’t particularly pleased that I would bring it up, but she denied it. I don’t know how they could be linked since it happened at two different schools with two different guys, but it’s interesting.”

  “It definitely is that. Have you made any other headway on the Carla Viceroy murder?” Bellamy asks.

  “The receipts and other records they were able to get show that she bought a ring, a book, a pair of pajamas, and something from a kitchen goods store. Nothing traceable.”

  “Looks as though you were set up,” Bellamy says. I let out a sigh and nod. “What’s next?”

  “I am still trying to figure out who Jeremy is. I’m hoping the information her old high school sends me will help with that. Tomorrow I’m meeting with Professor Harris to go over the research his criminal justice club did for some of the other murders in the area to see if I can find any links.”

  “Criminal justice club, the web-sleuth thing Lydia was a part of. When did people start deciding they could solve crimes and it would be a fun hobby?” Bellamy asks.

  “I don’t know. But right now, I will take an armchair homicide detective if it will straighten out some of these question marks.”

  She looks at me strangely. “Into what, exactly?”

  “Exclamation points,” I offer, demonstrating by curling one of my fingers over so it looks like a question mark, then popping it up straight.