For Haley. Gina gathered her strength to try. She tried to dig into the rocky ground with her good hand, feeling fingernails break. She had to gain some kind of purchase. She pulled her good leg into position and pushed off, shoving herself forward.
She expected to feel pain, terrible, blinding pain. She felt nothing. It was as if her brain had become unplugged from her body. She was so weak, so very weak, but she was free of the pain.
Marissa grabbed her arm again and pulled. Gina moved her good leg and pushed. She gained maybe a foot.
The process was repeated again and again with rest breaks in between. With each effort she felt weaker and weaker until she couldn’t pull her good leg up more than a few inches, and she couldn’t move herself any farther than that.
She didn’t want to die. She couldn’t die. She was the only one who knew the story.
66
“I don’t know what more I can tell you guys,” Mark Foster said, following Mendez and Hicks back to the interview rooms. “I don’t feel like I can be that much of a help.”
“It’s like I told you over the phone, Mr. Foster,” Hicks said. “We’re trying to establish a really detailed outline of Ms. Fordham’s life in the week or so leading up to her murder.”
“Things that might seem insignificant to you could fill in the puzzle for us,” Mendez said. He opened the door to room two and motioned Foster in.
Everyone took a seat at the small table. Foster looked around, seeming a little uneasy.
“I’ve never been in this situation,” he admitted. “All I know is what I’ve seen on television.”
“We’re not going to shine a light in your face or bring in a big dude with brass knuckles,” Mendez assured him. “Unless we don’t like your answers.”
They all laughed politely.
Foster was in his uniform of khaki pants and blue oxford shirt, but had added a sweater vest to the ensemble, and a blue blazer to ward off the chill of the day. He looked too warm now.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Mendez asked. “It’s a rotten day out there.”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” Foster said, drying the raindrops off his wire-rimmed glasses with a handkerchief. “I saw on the news you’re looking for Gina Kemmer. Have you found her yet?”
“No. Nothing yet. You were friends with her, right?”
“Yes.”
“You spoke with her the day she went missing,” Hicks said.
Foster’s eyes opened and widened. “What? When?”
“Wednesday. Late afternoon.”
“Uh ...” Foster’s wheels were spinning as he searched his memory—a little frantically, Mendez thought. “Wednesday ... Oh, yeah. I was really busy that day. Gina called. She wanted to talk about a memorial for Marissa. I didn’t have time to get into it.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Sunday night. She had some friends over. You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?”
“We don’t know,” Mendez said. “I spoke with her the afternoon she went missing. She seemed extremely upset.”
“Well, losing Marissa that way ... ,” Foster said. “They were like sisters. She was hysterical when I first spoke to her after the news broke.”
“Did she mention anything—any reason she thought someone would have wanted to harm Ms. Fordham?” Hicks asked.
“No. My God, we were both in a state of shock. You don’t think the killer would have gone after her too, do you?”
Mendez lifted a shoulder. “It’s possible.”
Foster shook his head. “I can’t imagine the kind of mind that does something like that. People are saying she was stabbed seventy-two times and her body was mutilated. That’s insane. That person has to be insane, right?”
“That’s not our call to make,” Mendez said. “We just catch them and lock them up.”
“I hope you’re close to catching this one.”
“You said the last time you saw Marissa was in Los Olivos—”
“Actually, that’s not right. I saw her a week before she died at the Licosto Winery. They were having their fall festival. Great wine. Chefs from all around the area. Marissa was there with Haley. How is Haley?”
“She’s doing well,” Hicks said. “We’re hoping she’ll be able to identify the killer for us.”
“That’s a lot to put on a four-year-old child.”
“She’s our only living witness.”
Foster shook his head, troubled by the thought.
“Did anything seem to be bothering Marissa that day?” Mendez asked.
“Marissa let things roll off her back,” Foster said. “She’d had a little set-to with Mrs. Bordain that morning, but she just shrugged it off.”
“What was that about?”
“Something ridiculous,” he said. “I know Milo pretty well from working on the summer music festival committee. She’s a force to be reckoned with but she always believes she’s got the best of intentions. I always say whenever two or more are gathered Milo will form a committee and organize something.”
“She’s manipulative,” Mendez said.
“It never occurs to her that other people have opinions different from her own,” Foster said. “She’s got all her people in her circle and she wants them to do what she wants them to do. Marissa was the exact opposite. She would go along with the program most of the time, but she’d put her foot down and say no every once in a while just to let Milo know she could.”
“Can you give us a ‘for instance’?” Hicks asked.
“Sure. For instance, Milo is very politically inclined. She and Bruce are big contributors to their party. She wanted Marissa to appear and participate in a fund-raiser for a candidate. She had Marissa’s dress chosen, the appointments made for the hairdresser, the whole thing. But Marissa didn’t share the same political views as the Bordains, and she refused to do it. Milo didn’t speak to her for two weeks.”
“Was that a difficult spot for Marissa to be in? Having to please her sponsor?” Mendez asked.
“Not within the bounds of reason. But Milo isn’t always reasonable. She’s spoiled. She wants things her way or she’ll pick up her Barbie dolls and go home.”
“What about Darren Bordain?” Hicks asked.
