Her Last Word
Page 48
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Knowing Gina, what do you think happened to her?”
Nadine folds a small sticky note and creases the edges until the paper frays. “I think Gina’s temper is what got her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I believe whoever took her thought he had a sweet, gentle girl. But she was a strong athlete who was a soccer goalie. I bet she landed a good kick or two and she hurt the guy. That set him off, and he killed her.” She shakes her head. “Breaks my heart to think about all the damage done by one sick person. My daddy used to say fear and self-pity don’t mend broken hearts. He said anger does because it motivates us to do the impossible.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, March 20, 2018; 9:00 a.m.
A cold front had blown into Richmond, chasing away any hint of spring they’d enjoyed a few days ago. It was thirty degrees when Adler arrived at the Main Street Station office complex.
Turning up the collar of his overcoat, he pushed into the marble lobby. A check of the directory told him Davenport was on the third floor. He rode the elevator and followed the signs to an open doorway at the end of the hall. There was no one at the receptionist desk, and the door behind it was closed. This gave him a moment to study the room’s rich Oriental carpet, the three overstuffed waiting chairs, and a stack of sleek magazines catering to the wealthy. He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Hello.”
“Yes, I’m here.” The door opened to a man wearing dark pleated pants, a white collared shirt, and blue tie. He was in his midthirties, had sandy-brown hair, and looked like a former jock carrying an extra thirty pounds. After he took a good look at Adler, he reached for a suit jacket and pulled it on.
“I’m Tom Davenport.” He smiled and extended his hand.
Adler shook it and then reached for his badge. “I’m Detective John Adler.”
“Detective.” The smile waned. “What can I do for you?”
“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”
“Sure. The conference room.”
Adler followed Davenport, and when he closed the door, Adler said, “I’m working a murder case. Jennifer Ralston.”
“I heard about that. We went to high school together, but I haven’t seen her for several years. May I ask why you’re here?”
“Gina Mason’s name has come up several times during this investigation. You dated Gina, didn’t you?”
Davenport slid a hand into his pocket. “I did.”
“She broke up with you?”
“That’s right. And yes, I was pissed at the time, but looking back I can see she was right. A clean break made the best sense.”
“Looking back as you say, it had to hurt like hell.”
“Sure. But as I told the cops fourteen years ago, I wasn’t angry enough to hurt her. I loved her and was devastated when she vanished.” He rattled change in his pocket. “Did Kaitlin Roe send you? She wanted to interview me for some project, but I hung up on her.”
“No, but why hang up?”
“I don’t need any more of her manipulative bullshit.”
“How so?”
“She was trouble. Gina and I were doing great, and then Kaitlin moved in with the Masons. She brought so much chaos with her. Gina felt obligated to spend more time with her cousin. I even tried to help where I could, but I got pushed out.”
“How is that Kaitlin’s fault?”
“Gina and I were fine before her.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have left Gina that night when she needed help. And now Kaitlin has some fleeting idea she’s going to fix all this, now?”
“It sounds like you’re still mad.”
“Not at Gina. But sure, I didn’t and still don’t trust Kaitlin Roe.” He shook his head as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I wish she’d been the one taken, not Gina.”
Davenport had known Jennifer, Erika, and Kaitlin, but Kaitlin had been certain she didn’t recognize her attacker’s voice. She’d spoken to Davenport recently, so she should have been able to identify him. “Did you know someone stabbed Kaitlin?”
His eyes widened with shock. “She’s dead?”
“No, she’ll recover.”
Davenport drew in what felt like a calculated breath.
“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?” Adler asked.
“With my wife and son.”
“And she can confirm this?”
“Yes, but why should she have to?” Davenport was growing angry.
“I’m just covering all the bases.”
“It sounds more like you think I’m a suspect. But then why shouldn’t you? Cops go for the low-hanging fruit, don’t they?” He sounded outraged, insulted, and afraid.
The original investigation had nearly cost him his future, and now he sounded scared this one would as well. “Should you be, Mr. Davenport?”
A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You cops raked me over the coals fourteen years ago. If you have any more questions, submit them to my lawyer.”
Adler had read nothing overtly threatening in the notes written to Jennifer. Now at the state forensic department, Adler would have the opportunity to discuss the handwriting with the technician in charge of the case.
Adler rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made his way down the hall. The glass walls offered a peek into the scientists’ workstations, which were equipped with high-powered microscopes designed to analyze everything from bullet striations to automobile paint chips. Other work zones were outfitted with powerful computers built to analyze drug toxicity, DNA, and any other evidence left at the scene of a crime.
Down the hallway at a lone door, he pressed the intercom button and identified himself. The door latch opened with a click, and he pushed through the secured entrance to find Dana Tipton sitting at her desk peering into a microscope. A white lab coat covered her short frame, and her curly hair was twisted into a tight knot, accentuating large dark-rimmed glasses and sharp green eyes. She rose to shake his hand. “Detective Adler.”
“Dana, thanks for seeing me. I understand you had a chance to look at the notes from the Ralston homicide.”
“I did. I went through them late yesterday.” She carried a file to a light table. She spread out the five notes and clicked on the light. “I checked all for fingerprints. I was able to pull a partial print from the fifth note. It’s a right thumb. But there aren’t enough indicators to make a definitive identification.”
“How many?” Fingerprints had dozens of characteristics, but to make a conclusive identification, the technician needed to match at least six traits.
“I identified four indicators within the print. But I did submit the partial to AFIS. We’ll see what pops.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was administered by state police throughout the country and contained millions of criminal and civilian prints. If the owner of this fingerprint had a record or ever worked for the government, it was in the system.
“Okay. Anything else you can tell me?”
She adjusted her glasses. “I do have some ideas about the author.”
Handwriting analysis wasn’t an exact science, but it still could help. “Let’s have it.”
“Every letter begins with ‘My Girl.’ ‘My Girl, you’re still a beautiful woman. My Girl, would you like a ride to work?’ At first glance, the words could be considered an endearment, but ‘My Girl’ is written in bolder letters than the others. The author pressed down much harder when he wrote those words.”
Nadine folds a small sticky note and creases the edges until the paper frays. “I think Gina’s temper is what got her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I believe whoever took her thought he had a sweet, gentle girl. But she was a strong athlete who was a soccer goalie. I bet she landed a good kick or two and she hurt the guy. That set him off, and he killed her.” She shakes her head. “Breaks my heart to think about all the damage done by one sick person. My daddy used to say fear and self-pity don’t mend broken hearts. He said anger does because it motivates us to do the impossible.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, March 20, 2018; 9:00 a.m.
A cold front had blown into Richmond, chasing away any hint of spring they’d enjoyed a few days ago. It was thirty degrees when Adler arrived at the Main Street Station office complex.
Turning up the collar of his overcoat, he pushed into the marble lobby. A check of the directory told him Davenport was on the third floor. He rode the elevator and followed the signs to an open doorway at the end of the hall. There was no one at the receptionist desk, and the door behind it was closed. This gave him a moment to study the room’s rich Oriental carpet, the three overstuffed waiting chairs, and a stack of sleek magazines catering to the wealthy. He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Hello.”
“Yes, I’m here.” The door opened to a man wearing dark pleated pants, a white collared shirt, and blue tie. He was in his midthirties, had sandy-brown hair, and looked like a former jock carrying an extra thirty pounds. After he took a good look at Adler, he reached for a suit jacket and pulled it on.
“I’m Tom Davenport.” He smiled and extended his hand.
Adler shook it and then reached for his badge. “I’m Detective John Adler.”
“Detective.” The smile waned. “What can I do for you?”
“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”
“Sure. The conference room.”
Adler followed Davenport, and when he closed the door, Adler said, “I’m working a murder case. Jennifer Ralston.”
“I heard about that. We went to high school together, but I haven’t seen her for several years. May I ask why you’re here?”
“Gina Mason’s name has come up several times during this investigation. You dated Gina, didn’t you?”
Davenport slid a hand into his pocket. “I did.”
“She broke up with you?”
“That’s right. And yes, I was pissed at the time, but looking back I can see she was right. A clean break made the best sense.”
“Looking back as you say, it had to hurt like hell.”
“Sure. But as I told the cops fourteen years ago, I wasn’t angry enough to hurt her. I loved her and was devastated when she vanished.” He rattled change in his pocket. “Did Kaitlin Roe send you? She wanted to interview me for some project, but I hung up on her.”
“No, but why hang up?”
“I don’t need any more of her manipulative bullshit.”
“How so?”
“She was trouble. Gina and I were doing great, and then Kaitlin moved in with the Masons. She brought so much chaos with her. Gina felt obligated to spend more time with her cousin. I even tried to help where I could, but I got pushed out.”
“How is that Kaitlin’s fault?”
“Gina and I were fine before her.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have left Gina that night when she needed help. And now Kaitlin has some fleeting idea she’s going to fix all this, now?”
“It sounds like you’re still mad.”
“Not at Gina. But sure, I didn’t and still don’t trust Kaitlin Roe.” He shook his head as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I wish she’d been the one taken, not Gina.”
Davenport had known Jennifer, Erika, and Kaitlin, but Kaitlin had been certain she didn’t recognize her attacker’s voice. She’d spoken to Davenport recently, so she should have been able to identify him. “Did you know someone stabbed Kaitlin?”
His eyes widened with shock. “She’s dead?”
“No, she’ll recover.”
Davenport drew in what felt like a calculated breath.
“Where were you on Saturday afternoon?” Adler asked.
“With my wife and son.”
“And she can confirm this?”
“Yes, but why should she have to?” Davenport was growing angry.
“I’m just covering all the bases.”
“It sounds more like you think I’m a suspect. But then why shouldn’t you? Cops go for the low-hanging fruit, don’t they?” He sounded outraged, insulted, and afraid.
The original investigation had nearly cost him his future, and now he sounded scared this one would as well. “Should you be, Mr. Davenport?”
A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You cops raked me over the coals fourteen years ago. If you have any more questions, submit them to my lawyer.”
Adler had read nothing overtly threatening in the notes written to Jennifer. Now at the state forensic department, Adler would have the opportunity to discuss the handwriting with the technician in charge of the case.
Adler rode the elevator to the fifth floor and made his way down the hall. The glass walls offered a peek into the scientists’ workstations, which were equipped with high-powered microscopes designed to analyze everything from bullet striations to automobile paint chips. Other work zones were outfitted with powerful computers built to analyze drug toxicity, DNA, and any other evidence left at the scene of a crime.
Down the hallway at a lone door, he pressed the intercom button and identified himself. The door latch opened with a click, and he pushed through the secured entrance to find Dana Tipton sitting at her desk peering into a microscope. A white lab coat covered her short frame, and her curly hair was twisted into a tight knot, accentuating large dark-rimmed glasses and sharp green eyes. She rose to shake his hand. “Detective Adler.”
“Dana, thanks for seeing me. I understand you had a chance to look at the notes from the Ralston homicide.”
“I did. I went through them late yesterday.” She carried a file to a light table. She spread out the five notes and clicked on the light. “I checked all for fingerprints. I was able to pull a partial print from the fifth note. It’s a right thumb. But there aren’t enough indicators to make a definitive identification.”
“How many?” Fingerprints had dozens of characteristics, but to make a conclusive identification, the technician needed to match at least six traits.
“I identified four indicators within the print. But I did submit the partial to AFIS. We’ll see what pops.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was administered by state police throughout the country and contained millions of criminal and civilian prints. If the owner of this fingerprint had a record or ever worked for the government, it was in the system.
“Okay. Anything else you can tell me?”
She adjusted her glasses. “I do have some ideas about the author.”
Handwriting analysis wasn’t an exact science, but it still could help. “Let’s have it.”
“Every letter begins with ‘My Girl.’ ‘My Girl, you’re still a beautiful woman. My Girl, would you like a ride to work?’ At first glance, the words could be considered an endearment, but ‘My Girl’ is written in bolder letters than the others. The author pressed down much harder when he wrote those words.”
