2:27 A.M.
Griffin and Twitchell came to the door of Randi Friedman’s apartment. The hallway smelled like roasted garlic with a faint whiff of either incense or pot, and despite the late hour, music played loud enough to reach them through her neighbor’s door. A strumming acoustic guitar and a wailing singer’s voice. Griffin tried to place it. Was it Lantern Black, Lynn Frazier’s band?
Twitchell knocked, a staccato rapping against the wooden door. The two partners hadn’t said anything else to each other since they’d talked on the sidewalk. Like an old married couple, they knew how to give each other space. Twitchell knocked again, and Griffin waited beside him, her hands resting on her hips.
The door swung open, and Randi Friedman, a fortyish woman with straight red hair, let out a sigh of relief when she saw Twitchell’s badge held in the air between them. “Thank God,” she said.
“Can we come in?” Twitchell asked.
She stepped back and let them enter the apartment, which was sparse and modern in both its furniture and décor. Randi wore form-fitting black jeans and a black T-shirt. Her nails were neatly manicured, her eyes lively, animated by both fear and intelligence.
“I thought you wanted to go where Todd is,” she said.
“We might,” Twitchell said. “But we wanted to talk to you first. I just checked in over there, and everything’s under control. For now.”
“I’ve been calling and texting Todd, but he won’t answer.” She threw her hands in the air and let them drop to her side. Then she lifted her thumb to her mouth and started chewing on a piece of loose skin. “This all feels like a nightmare. I wish you’d just find that girl and be done with all of this. She’s been gone all day.”
“That’s what we want to do,” Twitchell said.
Griffin walked over to Randi and placed a hand gently on her back. The woman offered no protest but allowed herself to be guided to a chair. She sat down, her body collapsing into the cushions. Without asking, Griffin went out to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. Her second time doing that tonight. She felt a sting of anger and frustration thinking of the trip to Tiffany Flowers’s residence. Did Twitchell really think that was all for nothing? Reddick too?
She remained standing while Twitchell sat on the end of the couch closer to Randi. She decided to let him ask the questions and take the lead. She’d play nice supportive female cop, the role everyone appeared to want her in.
“You called in earlier and said you had some kind of information about your husband,” Twitchell said. “Something that might be relevant to the Felicity Frazier case. Can you tell us what that is?”
She took a moment, as though choosing her words carefully. Or perhaps she was simply reluctant to say them. “Well, you know he’s a registered sex offender, right?”
“We know that,” Twitchell said.
She sounded apologetic. “It all stems from something he did when he was in his twenties. He never tried to hide it from me. He made a mistake and got involved with an underage girl. A teenager. He told me all about it when we first met.” She looked at Griffin. “You understand. You meet a guy and he’s honest about his life and his past, and you think you have some kind of prize. Right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” Twitchell said. “So you knew about his record as a sex offender. What does this have to do with Felicity Frazier?”
“Todd and I split up over a year ago. We weren’t such a great match to begin with, but then I found out that the thing that got him in trouble in his twenties hadn’t really gone away.”
“Meaning what?” Twitchell asked, although both cops knew what it meant.
“He had pornography on his computer. Child pornography. Pictures of younger kids. I saw it one day when I got on his laptop for something else.” She shivered. The look on her face became distant as she no doubt recalled the images from the computer. “I couldn’t believe what I saw. I guess I should have known. People don’t get over those things. Hell, I took enough psychology classes in college. It was my minor. I guess I just thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.”
“So you split up over a year ago because of this. Did you tell the police about the images?” Twitchell asked.
“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to be done with him.” She looked at both of them, her eyes downcast. “I know I should have.”
The living room window shook as a gust of wind kicked up. Griffin thought she heard a distant rumble of thunder.
“It’s okay,” Twitchell said. “We’re not really worried about that. What is the connection to Felicity Frazier?”
“I used to work with Erica. At the credit union. I was a loan officer before I changed careers. I went back to school and became a physical therapist. Better pay, and I actually felt like I was helping people instead of just trying to take their money. But we all got to know one another a little when I worked there. Todd and me and Erica. We hung out a few times. And Felicity was there sometimes too. She was just a little kid, so she’d be off in her room while we all talked or played cards or watched a movie.” Again her face grew distant. “We never had kids, Todd and I. It was fun to be around one sometimes, to kind of imagine what it would have been like. I have nieces and nephews, but they live in Alabama.”
“Did something unusual happen between your ex-husband and Felicity during one of these times you spent together?” Griffin asked.
“I don’t know.” She looked down at her lap, where her hands rested on her thighs. She tapped her feet, nervous energy leaking out. “I know he talked to her alone once or twice. You know, he’d go to the bathroom and stop in her room or something. Just talk, as far as I know. Maybe a little odd for a grown man to talk to a kid in her room, but not so unusual.”
“It might be unusual, given his past,” Twitchell said.
“Right,” Randi said.
“And was that it?” Twitchell asked. “He knows Felicity and Erica and has this interest in child pornography, so you think he might have done something to Felicity?”
She tapped her feet, chewed at the loose skin again. “No, that’s not even the whole story. That’s not it by far.”