I needed to create a sense that I was closing in on Hines. Maybe the other media would start asking questions of him, too. The key would be to get inside Hines’ head and force him to react. And maybe, just maybe, someone would come forward with helpful information.
Meanwhile, I should expect the state attorney to come after me more aggressively. Hines’ attorneys had probably already begun drafting the civil lawsuit against me.
One thing that worked in my favor was the Herald’s front-page coverage and editorial would drive readers to my blog. Pensacola would want to see how I responded to Frost, Hines, and Wittman and their assaults on my newspaper and my character.
Before Daniels arrived, I emailed a public record request to the City of Pensacola to review all the proposals for the site work at the maritime park and any emails or memos regarding the bid. If Hines and Wittman had a source inside city hall, they would get phone calls.
By the time Stan Daniels walked into my office at 7:20 a.m. I was ready for him. He looked like old money when he sat down in my conference room. His suit cost more than four full-page ads in my paper. Hell, his Rolex might buy an entire issue. His smile and handshake were warm. Before he sat, he took his jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair.
It was time I rattled his cage.
“We’re doing a story on your sister’s disappearance,” I said. “I need you to tell me what you remember.”
Ever so slightly, Daniels stiffened. The smile in his eyes disappeared, replaced with something hard and ice-cold. He ignored my question.
“Walker, it’s old news that no one cares to read,” he said. “Aren’t your hands full with more urgent matters?”
I pressed him. “I’m tired of how this town covers up its past. What you remember might help defeat the petition effort.”
“How could it possibly help?” Daniels asked.
I opened to the prom pictures in the two yearbooks. Two very different proms. One photograph, just for the parents, had Celeste with four other girls in candy-colored dresses; the other prom photo was, “Let’s have our picture taken before we get drunk and end up in a pile on the beach.” With her golden hair piled up high and a violet, backless gown that matched her eyes, Celeste stood out in both photos.
I said, “Celeste went to both school’s senior proms—one with Hines, the other with Wittman. A freshman dating two popular seniors is unusual. I need to know more about her, Stan.”
“So you can drag another dead woman’s reputation through the mud?” Daniels asked. His cheeks reddened. I’d struck a nerve in the unflappable attorney.
“No, I believe we can find out what happened to her, but I need more information. Trust me. Someone out there knows the truth about her disappearance.”
Daniels slumped in his chair. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? After my legal career took off, I had private investigators dig, posted pictures in newspapers all over the country, even offered a $25,000 reward. Nothing.”
“What kind of person was she?”
“Beautiful, bright, full of life, and a wild force of nature. When she turned fifteen, she thought she could do anything she wanted, which drove my parents and the Sisters of Mercy crazy.”
Daniels got up and stood by the window, staring out, tapping into the buried memories of his kid sister. His aura of self-confidence had dissolved.
“It was a different era and mindset. The Vietnam War was winding down. People were so full of passion and rebellion and had the desire to change this city and make things better. Women were claiming their sexual freedom and demanding more than marriage and kids. And Celeste was ahead of her time.”
He sat back down and took a long sip of his coffee. I didn’t say a thing. Daniels had been transported to another time, a time before Rolexes and custom-tailored suits were a part of his life.
“She wore her dates with Bo and Jace like badges of honor. She wasn’t like other freshman girls who sat home watching David Cassidy in The Partridge Family on Friday nights. Celeste enjoyed going to the Firehouse Drive-In with upper classmen and was proud to be asked to both proms.”
Daniels turned and faced me. His face had softened.
“Bo was the sought-after football star at Washington High. He had already been awarded a college football scholarship to Florida State. Jace wasn’t a bad athlete either and was debating several college offers. Celeste enjoyed pitting them against each other and teased me about it. She loved how it put her on my level.”
Daniels seemed to like saying her name, something he might not have done for years.
He paused, picked up the Catholic High yearbook and thumbed through the pages, stopping every few pages. I left the conference room and him with his memories while I poured both of us more coffee.
I imagined his mind was tumbling with images . . . of the beach in early spring before tourist season when it was quiet . . . of a girl in bell-bottom jeans, laughing wildly like nothing bad was ever going to happen to her. . . . How could it ever? She was so full of life. Wild with the beach wind in her hair, driving down Pensacola Beach far too fast.
When I returned, Daniels seemed to have aged ten years. He said, “I went to both Bo and Jace when Celeste went missing. They knew nothing. Bo helped me search all over town for her. Jace seemed frantic when I told him she had disappeared.”
I said, “We didn’t see either of their names in the police report.”
“Bo’s grandfather made sure they didn’t appear anywhere,”
