was the case, Jennifer would have called the store to let her mother know what had happened. Maybe she was in an accident. Maybe she was seriously hurt and on her way to the hospital.
Or maybe, Tina thought, Jenny had gotten the dates mixed up. Or maybe she had simply forgotten. Jenny was very forgetful lately. She worked long hours and was always tired. Jenny was under a lot of stress – planning for the wedding and possibly having to find another job. An electrical fire had destroyed part of Sinclair, and in the midst of the chaos of moving patients to other hospitals, there was constant talk that Sinclair might be forced to close its doors.
Tina used the bridal store's phone and called her daughter at work. Her boss was still in his office and said Jennifer had left a few minutes before five.
Jennifer's fiance, Dr Michael Witherspoon, an oncologist, was home. They had recently bought a house in Peabody, close to where Jenny worked, and decided to move in together.
Tina had the correct date, Witherspoon said. Was there a problem?
Tina Sanders told her future son-in-law Jenny was late. She stayed at the store until eight, when it closed, and drove back home to Belham, telling herself there was a rational explanation for this. There was no reason to worry.
Dr Witherspoon didn't share his future mother-in-law's optimism. By midnight, and with still no word from Jennifer, he was sure something had happened. Pacing the rooms waiting for the door to open or the phone to ring, his imagination conjured up all sorts of grisly scenarios.
He also had another reason to worry: Jennifer was two months pregnant. She didn't want to tell anyone the news just yet – it was too early in the pregnancy, she insisted, and anything could happen. She knew of too many friends who had suffered miscarriages.
There was another reason Jennifer didn't want to tell her mother. Given her staunch Catholic background, Jennifer felt a measure of shame for getting pregnant before she was married.
Sinclair was a massive place, and Jennifer worked in a world of emergencies. The patients she treated were violent offenders. Sometimes they killed themselves or another patient. They attacked the staff. There had been an incident the previous year when a paranoid schizophrenic punched Jennifer in the face. The young man believed Jennifer was trying to poison him.
Witherspoon called the hospital's emergency line and asked to speak to someone in security. He explained the situation and asked the man on the other end of the line to look into the matter. The security guard called Witherspoon back an hour later.
'They found her car in the lot,' Tina Sanders told Darby. 'That's all they ever found of her.'
'Does Michael Witherspoon still live in Peabody?'
'No, he left… it must have been ten, fifteen years ago. Moved out to California, I think. We lost contact. He kept in touch with me in the beginning, those first few years, and then he came to me one day and said he couldn't live like this any more, not knowing, the stuff with the police.'
'What stuff with the police?'
'They thought he had something to do with Jenny's disappearance, but that was ridiculous. The man was devastated. They put him through hell. He wanted to get on with his life. I didn't blame him. You don't have that luxury as a parent.'
'Were you and Jenny close?'
'Of course we were.' The woman seemed insulted by the question. 'Growing up, it was just the two of us. Jenny's father was in the Marines, stationed in China. He wrote me one of those Dear Jane letters saying he fell in love with some Chink. I never heard from him again.
'I helped Jenny with all the wedding stuff, you know, going with her to look at dresses, picking out flowers. She was paying for the whole thing herself. Jenny was working a lot of overtime at the hospital to help pay for the cost of the wedding. God knows I couldn't help her, not on a waitress's salary.
'Michael's family was real rooty-toot; thought their shit didn't stink,' Tina Sanders said. 'Jenny didn't say this, mind you, but I think Michael's the one who pushed for the big wedding. His parents offered to pay, but Jenny said no. She was proud that way. She was going to pay for everything herself. She wanted a nice, simple wedding, not some fancy ballroom gala. Michael's parents weren't too happy about it. He was a nice guy. Kind of uppity, I guess, 'cause he was a doctor and all, but he treated Jenny real well.'
'What was Jennifer like?'
Tina Sanders clutched the cigarette box between her palms as she spoke.
'She was a good kid, obedient, did what she was told. I never had any problems with her. She had a real positive outlook on life, never complained, was real passionate about her job – she really believed she was helping people at McLean's. That's the first mental hospital she worked at. I don't know why she left. The patients were much better there, kind of easier to manage, she said. Jenny, she loved to help people. She shouldn't have taken that job at Sinclair.'
'Why do you say that?' Darby asked.
'During the last year, she became real moody and withdrawn. She didn't call as much. When we got together, she barely talked. She said she was having problems sleeping. She said it was the stress of the job plus working overtime to pay for the wedding, the talk of layoffs and the possibility of the hospital shutting down for good. I didn't know she was pregnant – that explained the mood swings.' The old woman rubbed a finger over the crucifix. 'She could have told me. I wouldn't have judged her for getting knocked up.'
'Did she normally keep secrets from you?'
'No. No, she didn't. We were close, like I said. Jenny not telling me about the pregnancy, it really bothered me for a while, but I understood. She wanted to get married in a Catholic church. Getting knocked up before you're actually married, well, I don't have to tell you how the Catholic Church frowns upon such matters.'
'Did your daughter ever talk about or mention a man with black eyes?'
'You mean like they were bruised or something?'
'I was referring to the actual colour of his eyes,' Darby said. 'This man, his eyes are completely black. He's tall, about six feet or so, has pale skin and dresses very well.'
'I don't know anyone like that.'
'Excuse me for a moment, Miss Sanders.'
42
Darby left the conference room and from her office retrieved the computer-printed photograph of Malcolm Fletcher, the one from the FBI website.
'Have you seen or met this man, Miss Sanders?'
'Is this the man who killed Jenny? Are you telling me you found him?'
'No, we haven't. Have you seen or met this man?'
'No.'
'Did Jenny ever tell you about meeting or seeing such a man?'
'If she did, I don't remember. Did you find her body?'
'We found this photograph in connection with another case,' Darby said. 'I'm sorry, but that's all I can tell you.'
'I don't understand. The man I spoke to specifically told me you had information on what happened to Jenny. He said you would tell me the truth.'
'I am telling you the truth.'
'It sounds to me like you got nothing. Why did he tell me to come all the way down here for this?'
'Miss Sanders, what you've told me is extremely helpful. I'm sure a detective will want to stop by and speak to you about your daughter. Will you be home later today?'
'What else do I have to do? You think I'm going dancing?' Tina Sanders reached for her walker. Darby stood to help but the woman waved her off. 'I can do it myself, thank you.'
'Has anyone else besides yourself touched this piece of paper?'
'No.'
