“Read every word I could find on her disappearance. Tried to talk to people who knew her, but it was next to impossible. I was so young when she disappeared and I didn’t start to seriously take action until I was in my late teens. The police seemed disinterested. No one remembered. Not even my father.”
“You asked him about her disappearance?”
“Of course I did. Constantly. But when he was institutionalized they beat him. Whatever memories he had got knocked out of his brain. I hardly knew him as a little girl. I was fifteen when he got out. It was like talking to a stranger. He barely remembered me. He didn’t even live with me until I finished college and I had a little money. When his time was up they put him in a halfway house in Youngstown for six months. Then he lived in a rooming house and got a job as a night clerk at a third-rate hotel. If I wouldn’t have bought this house and brought him here to live with me he would either be dead or wandering the streets of Youngstown. As far as information about my mother or what happened to her he’s pretty useless. I used to show him pictures of her to try and trigger his memory… but nothing worked. Sometimes I find him gazing at her picture. I wonder if he’s doing it because a glint of memory has kicked in or if he’s trying to force himself to remember. What he does say sometimes is how pretty she is. He’ll be staring at her picture and just say, ‘Very pretty’ or ‘So pretty’ or variations on that. I keep pictures of her all over the house with the hope that it might spark his memory, but… it hasn’t. Would you like to see her picture?”
“Yes. I’d enjoy that.”
Gretchen stepped into the hallway we had passed through earlier and returned a few seconds later carrying a framed photograph which she handed to me. It was an 8 x 10 color print of a gorgeous brunette who bore an amazing resemblance to a young Kathleen Turner.
“This is she,” said Gretchen. “This is my mother.”
“She’s gorgeous. No. Beautiful.”
“It was taken on her thirtieth birthday.”
“Thirtieth?” I thought to myself. “She looks more like twenty.” To Gretchen, I said, “She looks much younger.”
“I know.” She smiled. “The handful of people I talked to who knew her all remarked about how young she looked. Everyone thought she was in high school. She was still getting carded at bars into her thirties.”
“This could be important,” I said. My heart began to pound. Gretchen looked at me, a confused look on her face. “This could be what Perry needs to dig deeper.”
“Why?”
“He and I were looking for similarities with Brandy, Alyssa and your mom. But the one thing that didn’t fit was your mother’s age. Brandy and Alyssa were both nineteen. Perry had your mother’s age listed at thirty-two when she disappeared. We assumed that because Brandy and Alyssa were young, the killer wouldn’t have gone after someone older.”
“Therefore no pattern.”
“Right. But since she appeared so youthful the killer must’ve assumed she was ten years younger.”
“Are you thinking he went after women who resembled each other? Because my mother and Brandy looked nothing alike.”
“Alyssa didn’t look like them either. It just seems that they all were young-looking and attractive. Red or brown hair. Shapely. Did your mom have a nice figure?”
“Yes.”
“So did Alyssa.”
“This area is filled with hundreds of young, attractive women with dark hair and nice bodies. Why would he single out these three? And there could be more victims. Before, during and after.”
“Let’s not concern ourselves with that. I want to tell Perry about your mother’s youthful appearance.”
As I reached for the phone Gretchen put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. She began to sob.
“Oh God,” she moaned. “If there’s anything to this theory… I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Chapter 21
I dialed the Dankworth Police Station. Lucy picked up immediately. “Dankworth Police. I need to talk to Perry. You know where he is?”
“Probably at home. I’ll patch you in.”
Within seconds Perry was answering his phone.
“It’s Del,” I said. “I just found out some key information about the case.”
“Glad somebody has.” He sounded depressed and tired.
“I’m at Gretchen Yearwoood’s. We’ve pinpointed the pattern you’ve been looking for.”
“And what pattern is that?”
“The age of the victims. Brandy Parker and Alyssa were both nineteen. But Virginia Thistle was thirty- two.”
“Right. So?”
“But she looked nineteen.” There was a long pause on Perry’s end. He was thinking and that was good. “If it was the same person killing these women he went after a certain age. And I want to add another wrinkle to the pattern.” I looked at Gretchen. “Imagine for a minute that Virginia Thistle wasn’t the first victim.” I waited a few seconds to let this sink in. “And imagine that the same guy has killed after Brandy and before Alyssa.”
“Alright. I’m imagining all this crap, but what am I supposed to do about a cold, hard fact or two?”
“Perry, maybe you can find one or two facts by going over all the missing person reports of girls in their late teens or early twenties for the last thirty years.”
“If I do that and I find nothing…then what?”
“Then…Jesus, Perry, do you always have to be so negative? I don’t know.”
“You’re Goddamn right you don’t know. But you think you know and it’s real easy to keep dropping these little tidbits on me. I want to see the picture of Virginia Thistle. Get your buns to the station. I’m going there now.” He slammed down the phone.
As I hung up Gretchen’s phone I said, “He wants to see the photograph of your mother. Can I borrow it?
“Sure.” She handed the framed photo to me. “What about Quilla? Should we be worried or not?”
“I don’t know. For now, maybe you should call her friends back in case she contacted any of them. And keep on trying Viper.” She nodded yes. “I’d better go, Gretchen.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
As we passed through the hallway that gave entranceway to the kitchen, I noticed the empty space on the wall where the picture I held in my right hand had hung. Despite the seriousness of what had transpired during the last few minutes, I felt an urge to connect with Gretchen on a different level. Something personal. It seemed obscene for me to ask her to go out, considering how Quilla’s disappearing had brought us together, but I had to say something.
“This is so odd.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“We’re surrounded by death and sadness and long term grief and…had we met under different circumstances I would’ve asked you out for dinner or a drink by now…but considering the forces that brought us together…even thinking about doing something normal seems tasteless.”
“I’d like to have dinner with you,” she said warmly as we stepped outside and walked to my car.
“Maybe once we know Quilla’s safe we can pick a night?”
“Sounds good.” She opened the driver’s side door of my car, then smiled awkwardly. “Since we met it seems that all we’ve done is talk about secrets — family and personal. Virtually everything’s out in the open. And maybe that’s good. There won’t be any skeletons in our closets.” I nodded in agreement. “That’s why I have to ask you this, Del: you were a kid when Alyssa vanished. Now you’re a grown man. After all these years are you still in love with her?”
“Quilla asked me that too. And I’ve thought about it a lot the last couple days. I think I’m in love with the
