“What can you remember about that day?” I ask. “Anything that stands out to you? Any detail that might have popped into your mind over the years that could turn around how we see the situation?”
“I don't know,” Travis says. “I've gone over this story a thousand times before. We had breakfast pretty early. I remember we had oatmeal because that was something I used to cook over a fire when I camped when I was younger. I tried to put strawberries in Violet’s, but I found out she was allergic to them. It upset me that I didn't even know something like that about my own daughter. So, that might have been some of the tension that people said they noticed.”
“Okay,” I note. “It's a good start. What else? What did you do after breakfast?”
“Violet wanted to get in the water. So, we got in our suits and went down to the lake. We canoed for a little bit, then we swam. Then it was time for lunch, so we went back up to the cabin and changed clothes. This is where the stories diverge. I thought Carrie had Violet with her and was going to rinse her off, but Carrie said she thought Violet was with me, getting things ready to cook lunch.”
“When was the last time you are absolutely sure you saw your daughter?” I ask.
“Going into the cabin after we swam,” he says.
“And did you hear anything?”
“You mean the scream?” Travis asks. He shakes his head. “I didn't hear that.”
“You were outside, and you didn't hear a scream?” I ask.
“That's right,” he says.
“Okay. Thank you for your time. If I have any other questions, do you mind if I get in touch with you?”
“Of course, not,” he says. “I've been waiting sixteen years to find out who took my daughter from me. I'll do anything I can to help. Just as I always have.”
“Thank you,” I say again.
I want my interview with Carrie to do something more for me, but it doesn't. She seems more hurt by the divorce than Travis does, but what she shares with me about Violet’s disappearance lines right up with what her ex said.
Just like him, she isn't theatrical. She doesn't go into any crazy theories or try to justify any of her actions. She's obviously upset, still shattered over the loss of her little girl, but she seems to have let go of the anger. As Travis offered, she says I can call her again if I have more questions to ask, and expresses how deeply she wants a resolution so she can move on.
I leave the conference room and meet up with Dean and Xavier outside the police station.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“The project was pretty incredible,” Dean admits. “It showed a ton of the park and told the history of the people who were there. It also touched on some of the deaths and mysteries surrounding the park.”
“That seems fairly morbid for somebody to do right after a little girl died,” I say. “Didn't Adrian say he was there at the park working on that project?”
“He was,” Dean says. “But they had planned it long before anything happened to her. They worked with a local historian who showed him around. He has photos of all kinds of areas around the park, including some of the old homesteads and graves.”
“That is pretty impressive,” I admit. “But nothing else? He didn't have anything else to add?”
“We didn't actually get to talk to him,” Dean says. “He wasn't in town. But he's made statement after statement over the years and they've all been consistent.”
“Well,” I say on a heavy exhale. “I'm exhausted. Let's go grab something to eat.”
“I think I'm just going to go back to the cabin,” Dean says.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Come talk to me when you get there.”
I find Dean in what used to be at the office area of the ranger's house. He has papers spread out in front of him, and I notice he's holding his journal.
"Hey," I say, walking into the office.
"Where's Xavier?" he asks.
"Playing with his paranormal toys again," I joke. "He's fine. What's going on? What are you looking at?"
"The case files," he says.
"Did you find anything?" I ask.
He nods.
"I was there."
"I know," I say. "You were a witness and almost a victim."
"No, Emma. I was there. Each one of those four years."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I slowly sink down into the chair across the desk from him.
“You were here?” I ask.
“Every year,” he says. “I was either here at the campground or at the park. The year Violet died and each of the three years after it.”
“How is that not in the case files?” I ask.
“Because I never came forward,” he says. “They already didn't believe me when I told them what I knew the first year. They suspected me of being involved right from the beginning.”
“Not all of them,” I say.
“No, but enough of them. I was there, but I found out about the disappearances and deaths after and realized I couldn't remember what was going on for parts of those days. I knew I was there. I knew what I did before and after. At least for the most part. But I can't remember hearing about anybody going missing. Or seeing any police. It's all blank.”
“Dean,” I say calmly and quietly, but he isn't going to stop.
“Emma, could I have done this?”
“Don't ask something that ridiculous,” I say.
“It's not ridiculous,” he snaps. “Maybe the detective was onto something when he was suspecting me. He could see something in me.”
“That's not in you,” I tell him. “Dean—"
“I am Jonah's
