Page 20 of The Lies I Told
Opening the door, he waited for me to pass. “Business is good?”
“Can’t complain.”
I followed him up two flights of stairs, doing my best not to huff and puff, and then through a familiar maze of cubicles. Like him, the place was more careworn, but not much had changed in the last thirteen years. He led me to the same cubicle I’d sat in as a teenager. The desk was still covered with stacks of files, pink message slips, and large yellow pads covered in notes written in block letters. I glanced at the pictures of his three kids, who’d morphed from young teenagers to late twenties. No wedding band on his ring finger these days.
“Where was the wedding?” he asked.
“At the courthouse. Very casual. Nice to see a couple not focused on all the bells and whistles.”
“My first wedding was like that. Big family event, friends on my wife’s side I didn’t know. Second one was smaller but still had about fifty people. Next time, it’s going to be just the two of us.”
“Next time?”
“Getting married at the end of the summer. Hoping now that I’m not working unmanageable schedules, I’ll have a chance.”
“Fingers crossed.”
He motioned toward a worn plastic seat next to his desk as he sat in the swivel chair. “Happy belated birthday.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember a lot about your sister’s case. Thirty now, right?”
“That’s right. Officially an adult, I suppose.”
He leaned back, threaded his fingers together, and rested them on his chest. “I don’t have anything new for you, Marisa. No new leads.”
“But the case is still open. It’s not cold.”
“It’s active for another two weeks. Then all bets are off.”
“So much for my birthday wish.”
“Believe me, I don’t like leaving the job knowing this case is open. Always stings when a young person like Clare dies.”
Whoever killed Clare had stripped her body naked and laid it in the James River. Later, the medical examiner would report she’d been strangled. (It takes at least six minutes to strangle a person to death. Six. Minutes.)
The waters of the James River and a heavy rain had stripped away any DNA on her body except for Kurt’s. After the case shifted away from him, it basically stalled. With no additional DNA, if the offender had a record, there was no way to find him. Television crime dramas led most to believe each crime scene had traces of some evidence that would miraculously crack the case. Not true.
Witnesses had seen Clare leave Jo-Jo’s house alone, but no one could remember whether she’d walked the five blocks to our home, gotten or been forced into a car, or been pulled into another neighborhood house. One guy thought he’d seen someone approach her, but he’d been too drunk to absorb any details. There’d been an extensive search of the area homes as well as their security cameras. There’d been no trace of Clare.
Some said my sister had been drinking. Others couldn’t be sure. A few said she’d looked pissed. Almost everyone, given how she was dressed and her sour mood, assumed she was me.
“Seems after all this time, someone might have said something,” I said. “I’ve heard that can happen when time passes. Relationshipsbreak up and an ex spills a secret. Someone’s conscience gets the better of them. Even an inmate hears something.”
“All possible scenarios but no lucky break like that in this case. Unfortunately, many cases do not get solved.”
I rejected the finality of his statement. Someone, somewhere, knew what had happened. Someone had seensomething. “If you’re retiring, could I see your case file?”
“Your sister’s case is still open, which means I can’t show it to you.”
“But you’re leaving.”
“I’ll give the files to another younger cop. He or she will follow up. You’ll likely get a call.”
It wouldn’t be the same. Richards had lived and worked this case for thirteen years. There was no way he could convey all he knew to another detective. “When?”
“In the next year.”
