“He doesn’t have the more detailed records that would show the exact address where she made the purchase, but it’s something to go on. The department is working on getting me the surveillance camera footage, and hopefully I’ll have that in the next few hours.”
“You know if you need me at all, I’m here, right?” he says. “I’ll take one of my vacation days and come there to help you in any way you need me to.”
“You hang onto those days. We’re going to have a much better use for them. But, yes, if I need you for something, I’ll let you know.”
“You’re aren’t just going to run off and do everything by yourself,” he says.
It’s not really a question, not really a statement, and not really a request. It’s all of those things rolled together, and I know he’s worrying about me again.
“I’ve been doing all the investigating and legwork by myself so far,” I point out.
“You know what I mean.”
“Let’s just see what I can find out before we worry about my running off anywhere.”
The mall is as much of a hectic mess as I thought it would be this close to Christmas, in a shopping complex this size. Cars drive in every direction: some trying to find spots, others looking for specific stores, others lost within the parking lots and unable to find their way out to the street. People stream in and out of the exterior buildings, as well as the huge arched stone entrance that leads into the open-air portion of the mall. Some are laden with dozens of bags and packages, others cradle a single purchase as if they’re protecting it from the cold.
The file the police department gave me contains copies of crime scene and investigation photos, and the differences between this complex then and now are startlingly slight. All the decorations I see look fresh and neat, but also exactly as they did thirteen years ago, when the place was brand new. It’s as if the managers of the property have painstakingly maintained the exact same aesthetic from year to year.
I can understand the motive behind that. Christmas is such a nostalgic time. People have strong memories and respond to things that bring up those warm feelings. After thirteen years in business, this mall is now a tradition for shoppers in the area. Keeping their decorations the same means reminding customers of happy times and triggering that feeling of holiday spirit when the lights first go up.
Of course, that also means more shopping, more loyalty, and more of the hustle and bustle. But even the hustle and bustle itself seems to add to the holiday atmosphere. As I follow the train of cars going into the parking lots, I take in each of the decorations to try to orient myself so I can find the spot Carla where was parked.
An enormous lighted wreath on one side of the mall catches my eye. It was in one of the photos, and I know to drive down to the third spot from the end of the row, just outside the arc of illumination from the light post.
There’s a spot available a few places away, and I slide into it. The trek across the parking lot is going to be long, so I bundle up before climbing out of the car.
Paying attention to how long it’s taking and what I’m seeing along the way, I go through the parking lot and find my way to each of the stores Carla went to. Then I find each of the ones the credit card activity suggests Julia went to.
Two of them are right beside each other, and two others are within just a few steps. I stand in front of one of them, the store where Carla must have bought the ring that’s gone missing, and look around, imagining what she saw and what someone watching her would have seen.
Laughter and Christmas carols emanate from an adorable Santa’s workshop set up not far away. Children line up in their best outfits, with matching sweaters, to sit on Santa’s lap and get candy canes from the elf waiting at the end gate.
It makes me smile and I stand watching them for a few seconds.
The next morning I’m looking at the scene again, only this time as a series of stills from the surveillance footage, and the last thing I want to do is smile.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Professor Murillo doesn’t even try to look as if she’s not unhappy to see me when I knock on the door and she invites me into her office. She looks up, obviously expecting someone else, and almost rolls her eyes when she sees that it’s me.
“Hello, Emma. I thought we were finished talking,” she says.
“Tell me again you had no personal problem with Julia,” I demand.
Her expression becomes quizzical and she sets down the pen in her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“When we talked about Julia, you said the two of you didn’t really see eye-to-eye, and your personalities clashed. But that it was just an issue between a student and a teacher. You seemed pretty insistent that there were no personal issues between the two of you. I just want to make sure that is what you want me to believe.”
“Emma, I don’t understand why you find so much difficulty with the idea that Julia and I didn’t form a good relationship and might have had a few conflicts here and there. As I said, it was nothing more than classroom clashing. It happens to every single teacher. I had no personal issue with her because I did not know her personally.”
“Then explain this to me,” I declare, laying one of the still images from the surveillance camera flat on the desk in front of her.
She picks it up cautiously and looks down at it. “What’s this?”
“That is a still captured from surveillance footage
