part0012

The Jamestown Police Department came up on the right. Clad in the same weathered cedar as everything else in town, the only distinction of the building from its residential neighbors was a large antenna mast towering above the roofline. That, and a sign along the roadway, marking the entrance to the lot.

As they made the turn, they were immediately met by a congregation of people waving handmade signs. Gwyn slowed. With little urgency, the group began to part for the Range Rover.

“Watch the people,” Christa said.

“Thanks. I know how to drive,” Gwyn snipped. “You think I don’t see them?”

“What is all this?” Blake asked from the back seat.

“It’s about the Police Chief,” Gwyn explained. “There’s a big scandal in town right now because someone found him passed out drunk in his police car a couple of nights ago.”

“Can we just get in there?” Christa’s impatience worsened by the second.

“I’m trying,” Gwyn crept through the hole the group had offered and snuck into an open parking spot. The moment the car stopped, Christa jumped out and headed for the entrance. Blake hurried to try to catch up to her.

As Blake entered the lobby, Christa was already at the desk, speaking to an officer.

“Sure thing,” the cop said. “I know Officer Alvarez was looking to speak with you, but he’s on the road right now. Let me call the Lieutenant. You can have a seat.”

Looking at Christa, he thought it would be safe to say that no sitting would be happening. Pacing in a tight circle, she pursed her lips as she exhaled and shook her hands at her sides as if they had fallen asleep and she was trying to bring the blood back to them.

Gwyn stood beside Blake. Unlike Christa’s outward display of nervous energy, Gwyn remained still and contemplative. Her gaze locked on Christa. Blake wondered what she was thinking. The answer came in a gesture.

Gwyn reached out, offering her hand. Christa took it, then wrapped her arms around her wife and began sobbing.

A gruff voice came from behind them. “Christa. Gwyn.”

Christa let go of Gwyn and hotfooted to the door where the man stood waiting. “Yes, that’s us.”

“I’m Chief Hopkins,” he said. “If you’ll follow me, I’d like to speak with you both.”

Christa looked back at Gwyn and then at Blake. “This is Blake. He’s a family friend. We’d like him to come too, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. Let’s find a place to sit.”

Hopkins led them further into the building.

The unfortunate target of the hate that gathered outside, Hopkins was not what Blake expected. Although, he wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly. A weaker, more pathetic character? A dumpy old man? Hopkins did not appear to be any of these things. Maybe he was a lush, but he had a commanding presence and a confident bearing. While first impressions weren’t everything, Blake tended to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him that this guy had been around the block.

At the end of the hall, they entered a cramped conference room. Aside from several framed pictures hanging on the wall, there was nothing in the room but a long table and eight chairs, which almost hit the walls when pulled out far enough to be able to sit. On the otherwise bare table sat one item. A Manila folder positioned square at the far end.

Hopkins wasn’t looking to “find a place to sit,” as he said. This was prepared. He was planning to tell them something. Show them something. Blake was afraid it could only be one thing.

“Please, take a seat.” Hopkins stood at the head of the table and waited for them to sit before doing so himself. He placed both of his hands on the folder. “I’m glad you came in. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you.”

“Is it her?” Christa said. “The girl in the water. Please, just tell me if it’s her.”

“Honestly,” Hopkins said, “we don’t know. That’s why we needed to see you.”

“I want to see her. Is she here? Where is she?” Christa said.

“The body is at the medical examiner’s office. But I have something here I want you to look at. In this folder, I have pictures of the clothing that the deceased was wearing. I’d like you all to look at them to see if you recognize it. Would you do that?”

“Yes. Of course,” Gwyn said.

Christa nodded in agreement.

Blake watched and waited.

“This is the shirt she was wearing,” He removed a letter sized printout and held it up so all three of them could see it.

The torn garment appeared to be unique. Dyed with a gradient, it was black at the top and transitioned to a teal color at the bottom. The teal section was printed with a series of black swirls. The wispy design was reminiscent of peacock feathers.

“That’s not Lucy’s,” Christa said. She turned to Gwyn. “Have you ever seen that?”

“I never bought her anything like that,” Gwyn said.

Hopkins exchanged the picture with another. “These were her shorts.”

“Maybe,” Christa said.

“Lucy has a bunch of pairs of khaki shorts. There’s no way to tell,” Gwyn added.

Hopkins held up the picture of the shirt a second time. “You’re sure she didn’t own this?”

“I’m definitely sure,” Christa said.

“Okay.” Hopkins tucked the pictures into the folder. “Did Lucy have any surgeries recently?”

“No,” Christa answered. “Why?”

“I’m just trying to piece a few things together. Bear with me. Was there anything wrong with her hands?”

“Don’t you have pictures of the body?” Gwyn interrupted. Blake could hear the agitation building in her voice. “Instead of ridiculous questions, if we could just look at her, we’d know for sure.”

“I’m afraid that won’t help. The girl we found, her face was... damaged.”

Blake had made it a point to stay quiet. His primary goal was to provide moral support and observe. But as was often the case, he couldn’t help himself.

“I know you’re trying to spare us the shock of seeing her like that,” Blake said. “But these two women need to know if their daughter is alive or dead. You need to show them the pictures.”

“I agree with you,” Hopkins said. “The trouble is, the girl’s face was severely damaged by a boat propeller. And when I say damaged, I mean completely gone. Beyond any recognition. On top of that, most of her hair had to be cut off because it had gotten wrapped around the propeller shaft. That’s why I—”

“Wait,” Christa said. “Wrapped around? How long was her hair?”

“I’d say about shoulder length, maybe longer,” Hopkins said.

Christa burst into something of a cross between sobbing and giggling.

Gwyn took Christa’s hand and held it to her lips. She closed her eyes, squeezing tears past her lashes and down her cheeks.

“Lucy cut her hair off a few weeks ago. Not herself, the salon did it. Even though we told her not to. She came home looking like an elf. It was no more than two inches long on top. Shorter in the back.” Christa sniffled. Two strands of saliva spanned her top and bottom lip as she smiled. “I was so mad at her. I’ve never been so happy that she didn’t listen to us.”

“Another detail Alvarez neglected to report,” Hopkins said to no one in particular. He stood. “Thank you for coming in. I’m glad we were able to clear that up. Let me assure you that my officers are doing everything they can to find Lucy. She’s been entered into the national database as a missing person, so if any law enforcement agency has contact with her, we’ll know about it.

Hopkins walked to the door, signaling that it was time for them to leave.

Christa and Gwyn stood. They shared an embrace.

Blake felt the surge of relief himself. He could only imagine how the two women were feeling.

Hopkins opened the door. A younger man, wearing the Jamestown black and red uniform, stood patiently in the hallway. Blake noticed the lieutenant’s bars on his shoulders.

“I need a moment, sir,” Fuller said.

“Sure, we’re all set here.” As an afterthought, Hopkins made the obligatory introduction. “Lieutenant Fuller, this is Lucy’s family. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that we were able to rule her out.”

“Very good news,” Fuller said.

“Thank you so much, Chief Hopkins.” Christa walked by Hopkins and into the hallway. Gwyn and Blake followed suit. As soon as they cleared the threshold, Fuller moved into the room.

“You know where you’re going, right?” Hopkins said. “Straight down the hall, left at the end.”

“Got it,” Blake said.

Hopkins swung the door to the conference room. It creaked to a stop, three-quarters closed.

“You go ahead,” Blake said, “I’ll meet you at the car.”

They did so without question.

Blake moved to the conference room door and rested his back against the door jamb. He listened closely.

“Another one?” Hopkins said.

“Her name is Zoe Morris. Her parents are in the interview room now. The mother said she thought Zoe was sleeping in. Mom went to check on her and found her missing. The bed was made like she never slept in it. They think maybe she snuck out last night and never came home.”

“I don’t like this, Charlie. It doesn’t smell like a coincidence.”

With that, the door flung open, taking Blake by surprise. He spun around, coming face to face with Hopkins.

“Sorry to bother you,” Blake said. “I was coming back to see if you needed help with anything. Maybe I can be of assistance.”

Hopkins chuckled. “How about you leave the police work to the police, Mr…. “

“Right.” Hopkins turned and walked away. “Charlie, see Mr. Brier out, please.”

Blake made his way to the exit with Fuller in tow. As he stepped outside and worked his way through the protesters, he had an idea. If there was a connection between Lucy and Zoe Morris, he needed to know. If he couldn’t get the information from Hopkins, he’d go right to the source. Zoe’s parents. All he would have to do is blend into the group for a bit and wait for a man and a woman to come out of the building together. It was possible they could help each other get to the bottom of this.

Blake knocked on the window of the Range Rover. Christa pressed the button to roll it down.

“You two head back. I’m going to stay here for a bit. Check out the area.”

Christa‘s face scrunched. “There’s nothing over here but the golf course across the street and the toll plaza for the Newport bridge. Get in, we’ll take you wherever you want.”

Blake didn’t want to tell them that another girl had gone missing. It would only serve to worry them. As it stood, Lucy had merely run off with her boyfriend. But, then again, what if there was an obvious connection between the girls? What if they were friends? That would be significant. He decided he would have to fill them in.

“Does the name Zoe Morris ring a bell?” he asked.

“Her parents are inside now, reporting her missing. I wanted to wait and see if they’d speak with me.”