THEY COULDN’T HAVE a funeral because the FBI wasn’t releasing the body yet. But the well-wishers and casseroles kept coming.
Susan had no idea what to do with herself. She couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a couple minutes. She’d go to her bedroom for something and forget why she was there. She’d turn on the stove and ten minutes later the pot would burn and set off the smoke alarm.
During that first week, she called Agent Pappas at least five times a day. He was still optimistic, but Susan began to fear they would never catch Amy’s killer. The FBI continued to suspect Frank, but they didn’t have enough evidence to pick him up again.
Pappas asked her all kinds of questions: “Have you had any negative interactions with customers at Molly’s?” “Who do you know that has ties to Granville?” “Have you had any problems with other parents at Amy’s school?”
One morning Pappas asked, “Do you know anybody who likes to camp out in lean-tos?” This question perplexed her, until he explained they’d discovered Amy’s fingerprints on an empty soda bottle inside a lean-to forty yards from where her body was found. The FBI speculated Amy was assaulted there and tried to fight off her attacker with the soda bottle. Then she ran, trying to escape. The FBI had found two sets of shoe prints, from Amy’s shoes and a grown-up’s shoes.
Susan, on the phone in the kitchen with Danny listening in, got excited about that. “If you have shoe prints, you can figure out what kind of shoe he was wearing!”
“I’m afraid the prints are too indistinct for that.”
Danny took the phone from Susan. “At least you’ll know his shoe size, right?”
“All we know is it’s somewhere between 9 and 11,” Pappas said, and the remnants of Susan’s excitement disappeared.
Pappas continued, “We’re starting to piece together the crime. We think Amy tripped and hit her forehead against a sharp rock fifteen yards away from the lean-to. That’s what caused the cut. Then the killer strangled her, probably right near the rock, and dragged her body off into the woods. He was trying to hide it, at least for a while.”
Images flooded Susan’s mind, unbidden: Amy, fighting back with nothing but a soda bottle. Running through the woods, looking over her shoulder and screaming, then tripping and falling, lying on the ground. Blood from the gash in her forehead streaming down her face and neck, covering her necklace beads in red. Holding up her little hands to try and fight off her attacker.
After Pappas told her the details of her daughter’s murder, she couldn’t get these pictures out of her head. It got harder to be alone. She needed people around to distract her.
But being with Danny didn’t help much, because the pain in his eyes made her feel her own anguish even more acutely. Being with Lenora had pretty much the same effect, plus there were all the layers of guilt and anger to deal with.
The visits from friends and neighbors helped a little at first, except nobody knew what to say, not really. They repeated the same things over and over, like “I can’t imagine how you must feel,” and “Amy’s in a better place.” She started to think they were all just stupid clichés, and that made her feel even worse.
Once somebody from the church said, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle,” and Susan started screaming about what a dumbass he was. There were several other people in the house at the time, but she didn’t care. “You think God doesn’t give you more than you can handle?” she shouted at him. “Are you fucking insane?”
Danny dealt with his grief by going fishing, usually by himself. He’d always needed a fair amount of alone time, especially when he was under stress. Also, she knew he wasn’t enjoying being around her now, the same way she found it hard being with him.
Lenora still came by Susan’s house, but she spent most of her time in the living room drinking, while Susan stayed in the kitchen. Finally, on Wednesday, three days after Amy was found, Susan called Molly and asked if she could come in to work.
“Are you sure you’re ready, honey?”
“I need to.”
So she came in for the lunch shift. But as soon as somebody asked for French fries she began to cry, remembering how much Amy had loved them. Molly took her into the back room and put her on the sofa, where she was able to cry all she wanted without worrying about disturbing the customers.
That sofa turned out to be the best place for her. She lay there all day for two days, hearing sounds from the diner and knowing she wasn’t all alone in the world, but she wouldn’t have to actually interact with people. Molly brought her tea and chocolate chip cookies, which was one of the few things she liked eating right now.
Then on Friday evening, as she was listening to the dinner shift, one week after Amy was taken, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Susan said, thinking it was Molly. But Agent Pappas walked in, followed by Danny. She sat up on the sofa.
Her eyes darted back and forth between them. “What’s going on?”
Danny sat down beside her. It was the closest they had been to each other in days. Susan had taken to sleeping in Amy’s room, both comforted and tortured by her smells.
“Agent Pappas picked me up at the office,” Danny said. He had just gone in to work today for the first time. “He has something to show us.”
Pappas brought over a folding chair and sat across from them. “I want to show you a picture of someone. Tell me if you recognize him.”
He reached inside a pocket of his blue sport jacket and took out a photograph. A mugshot, Susan realized. It showed a man around forty years old with a flat face, thick lips, and surly eyes that glowered at the camera.
Susan and Danny both stared at the man. Susan rubbed her head and thought hard, trying to place him. He did look a little familiar somehow, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. She said, “I don’t know.”
Danny shook his head slowly. “I don’t recognize him.”
Susan said, “Why are you asking about him?”
“Let me show you another picture,” Pappas said.
He pulled out another mugshot of the same man, in profile. Susan noticed a scar on his cheek just beneath his ragged sideburns. She didn’t recall seeing that scar before.
Danny said, “I’m sorry, I’m just not …”
Susan eyed the profile, blinking rapidly. It was so strange to think this random person she’d never met might be the man who had destroyed her life. “Is he the guy?”
Pappas said, “We don’t know yet.”
Danny said hopefully, “But you think he might be?”
Suddenly something flashed in Susan’s mind. “Show me that first picture again,” she said.
Pappas held it up, and this time it all came back to her: The morning of the murder. Susan and Amy getting in the Dodge Dart and riding off, passing the Homestead Motel on the corner. Out front, a man gets a toolbox out of his car. He looks up and eyes the Dodge Dart as it goes by. He has a flat, tired face—
This face. Susan was sure of it. She leaned forward and pointed at the mugshot, excited. “That guy was staying at the Homestead Motel. He watched me and Amy drive off to school that morning.”
Pappas raised his eyebrow. “That same morning?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very helpful to know. You’re right, he was staying at the Homestead. We got his name from their register.”
“Does he have an alibi?” Danny asked.
“Not from two o’clock on.”
Susan’s heart was pounding. She stared down at the mugshot. “Who is he?”
“His name is Curt Jansen. He’s a drifter type, in and out of trouble.” Pappas tapped the mugshot. “This is from Philadelphia, three months ago. He was trying to steal coins from a parking meter. Last month his ex-girlfriend in Worcester, Massachusetts, took out a protection order against him.”
Danny said, “I still don’t get why you think it’s him. I mean, besides that he doesn’t have an alibi.”
Pappas set the mugshot down on the table next to the sofa. He leaned back, twining his fingers together, and said, “We went to see him at the motel today. He has scabs on his left hand that are consistent with a child-sized mouth, missing one tooth, biting down on it hard. We didn’t find any foreign blood in Amy’s mouth, but she may have swallowed it.”
Oh God. Susan pictured it: His hands reach up to strangle Amy. She bites down so hard she draws blood …
She grabbed the mugshot off the table and stared. So this is him. This is the piece of shit who did it. “Where is he?”
“He’s in custody at the FBI office in Schenectady. I’m on my way down there.”
Danny looked just as stunned as she was. “When did this guy come to the Homestead?” he asked.
“Last Wednesday. His window faced out onto the backyard.”
Danny said, “Right near our driveway. So he watched Amy playing basketball …”
“Dancing on the porch …” Susan said.
“And going to school every morning. He got obsessed by her.”
“I’ll let you know what we find out,” Pappas said grimly, and stood up. “If he’s the one who did this to Amy …” His voice tightened. “… we’ll get him to talk.”