They entered the home, walking past forensic investigators who were placing yellow markers around the blood spatter, where Dan Asher’s body was removed from moments ago. Once they reached the hallway, they turned to a door just past the kitchen and Tara turned the knob in her gloved hand.
The stairs creaked as they descended, the room opening up into a musty, dark unfinished basement. There were no windows. The room was dimly lit and bare except for a computer and television, and a wall of newspaper clippings. Tara and Warren moved closer, as they both peered at each clipping on the wall.
“Looks like he’s been keeping tabs on this whole investigation,” Warren said as they stared at the dates, all from last year, when Alyssa went missing, to now. He must’ve had every newspaper clipping ever printed regarding the case on the wall. It made Tara shudder. Some were developments in the case, others were pleas for details on the missing victims. But then her eyes fell on another—one that was old and faded. She leaned in closer, squinting to make out the date on the article. The lettering was almost too faded, but she could just make out the two and the three zeros. It was from the year 2000, twenty years ago.
A young girl, who looked to be the same age of the victims, stared back at Tara. It looked like a yearbook picture. She was posed and smiling—just a headshot. Tara began to read
The Newbury Police are asking for your help in finding a teenage girl that had gone missing Friday night at approximately 7:30, on her walk home from volleyball practice at Newbury High. Leslie Asher was expected home soon after but never arrived.
Tara pulled her eyes away from the paper. “Asher,” she said under her breath. It was the same last name as the killer. She had gone missing in an almost identical way. Was he recreating a personal tragedy? Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned to Warren, but he was fixated on something else.
A pocketed folder was flipped open in front of him, papers pulled out as he scattered them across the desk, looking at each one intently.
“What is it?” Tara asked.
She looked down at the papers as well. They were hand-written notes—bullet points—each one a detail of the case. Next to some in red ink he wrote Don’t report yet, and then others he had crossed out the same wording and recorded a date for when that information was released.
But Tara followed Warren’s gaze to a detail marked at the bottom of one page. Dewey Beach: Sofia Hernandez was scribbled across it. But it wasn’t the place or name that caused him to stare. It was what was written next to it. Scribbled in red ink it read Ben Ford’s memory card. DO NOT REPORT.
Tara pulled back, and so did Warren as they both shared a glance. It was clear now: he had planted the memory card. But there was another realization that sat heavy in the room.
And then Warren spoke. “He was creating this story all along, intentionally.”
Chapter Thirty Two
Tara and Warren sat across from Reinhardt in his office at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. It was now late in the afternoon. It had been a long day, but one that they were all proud of, and Reinhardt had a smile from ear to ear, but Tara still sat at the edge of her seat.
They now knew that Dan Asher had created the news stories, most likely to further his career. They knew that he did indeed frame Ben Ford. But there was one piece to the puzzle that Tara still didn’t fully understand—the news clipping of Leslie Asher—and she knew that Reinhardt had called them in to tell them what he now knew.
“First and foremost, how’s your back?” Reinhardt asked as he looked at Tara.
“Not too bad,” she replied. After she left Dan Asher’s home, she had gone to the hospital and gotten her stitches. They would dissolve in about a week, she was told.
Reinhardt nodded and then sat back in his chair, placing his hands at the base of his neck. He shook his head. “No one would’ve ever suspected this guy,” he said. He leaned forward again, slapping a piece of paper on his desk and reading it. “Local reporter for the past three years, very well liked and respected at work and in the town.” He shook his head again. “His career really took off when he covered this case. He was the main reporter covering it, and well, it was a huge story. Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”
Tara and Warren nodded in unison. Reinhardt was hinting at exactly what they had already concluded—that he had created the story to further his career. It sent a shiver down Tara’s spine at how he was there all along—in plain sight. And it had occurred to her just how dangerous he actually was. He was charming, likeable, and intelligent. He had been at crime scenes, watching them, on TV, getting a thrill out of spinning his own narrative. He had been pulling the strings the whole time, and Tara knew he could’ve easily gone undetected.
“And the girl?” Tara finally asked. Leslie Asher was still in the forefront of her mind.
He sighed as he reached for a file on his desk before pulling out a missing person report and placing it in front of them.
“We found her file. Leslie Asher was Dan Asher’s older sister.”
But what does it mean?
“Sixteen years old,” Reinhardt continued. “Her body was found weeks later gagged and buried in the backyard of her volleyball coach.”
Tara shared a glance with Warren as she tried to force
