“Therefore no pattern.”
“Right. But since she appeared so youthful the killer must’ve assumed she was ten years younger.”
“Are you thinking he went after women who resembled each other? Because my mother and Brandy looked nothing alike.”
“Alyssa didn’t look like them either. It just seems that they all were young-looking and attractive. Red or brown hair. Shapely. Did your mom have a nice figure?”
“Yes.”
“So did Alyssa.”
“This area is filled with hundreds of young, attractive women with dark hair and nice bodies. Why would he single out these three? And there could be more victims. Before, during and after.”
“Let’s not concern ourselves with that. I want to tell Perry about your mother’s youthful appearance.”
As I reached for the phone Gretchen put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. She began to sob.
“Oh God,” she moaned. “If there’s anything to this theory… I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Chapter 21
I dialed the Dankworth Police Station. Lucy picked up immediately. “Dankworth Police. I need to talk to Perry. You know where he is?”
“Probably at home. I’ll patch you in.”
Within seconds Perry was answering his phone.
“It’s Del,” I said. “I just found out some key information about the case.”
“Glad somebody has.” He sounded depressed and tired.
“I’m at Gretchen Yearwoood’s. We’ve pinpointed the pattern you’ve been looking for.”
“And what pattern is that?”
“The age of the victims. Brandy Parker and Alyssa were both nineteen. But Virginia Thistle was thirty-two.”
“Right. So?”
“But she looked nineteen.” There was a long pause on Perry’s end. He was thinking and that was good. “If it was the same person killing these women he went after a certain age. And I want to add another wrinkle to the pattern.” I looked at Gretchen. “Imagine for a minute that Virginia Thistle wasn’t the first victim.” I waited a few seconds to let this sink in. “And imagine that the same guy has killed after Brandy and before Alyssa.”
“Alright. I’m imagining all this crap, but what am I supposed to do about a cold, hard fact or two?”
“Perry, maybe you can find one or two facts by going over all the missing person reports of girls in their late teens or early twenties for the last thirty years.”
“If I do that and I find nothing…then what?”
“Then…Jesus, Perry, do you always have to be so negative? I don’t know.”
“You’re Goddamn right you don’t know. But you think you know and it’s real easy to keep dropping these little tidbits on me. I want to see the picture of Virginia Thistle. Get your buns to the station. I’m going there now.” He slammed down the phone.
As I hung up Gretchen’s phone I said, “He wants to see the photograph of your mother. Can I borrow it?
“Sure.” She handed the framed photo to me. “What about Quilla? Should we be worried or not?”
“I don’t know. For now, maybe you should call her friends back in case she contacted any of them. And keep on trying Viper.” She nodded yes. “I’d better go, Gretchen.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
As we passed through the hallway that gave entranceway to the kitchen, I noticed the empty space on the wall where the picture I held in my right hand had hung. Despite the seriousness of what had transpired during the last few minutes, I felt an urge to connect with Gretchen on a different level. Something personal. It seemed obscene for me to ask her to go out, considering how Quilla’s disappearing had brought us together, but I had to say something.
“This is so odd.”
“How do you mean?” she asked.
“We’re surrounded by death and sadness and long term grief and…had we met under different circumstances I would’ve asked you out for dinner or a drink by now…but considering the forces that brought us together…even thinking about doing something normal seems tasteless.”
“I’d like to have dinner with you,” she said warmly as we stepped outside and walked to my car.
“Maybe once we know Quilla’s safe we can pick a night?”
“Sounds good.” She opened the driver’s side door of my car, then smiled awkwardly. “Since we met it seems that all we’ve done is talk about secrets — family and personal. Virtually everything’s out in the open. And maybe that’s good. There won’t be any skeletons in our closets.” I nodded in agreement. “That’s why I have to ask you this, Declass="underline" you were a kid when Alyssa vanished. Now you’re a grown man. After all these years are you still in love with her?”
“Quilla asked me that too. And I’ve thought about it a lot the last couple days. I think I’m in love with the promise of what I lost. It’s like my mother always loved James Dean. And he died so young…something like twenty-four. All that’s left of him are three movies. You watch them and you wonder what he would’ve accomplished if he’d lived. When I think about Alyssa it’s the same thing.”
“An incompleteness?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think you’re ever going to be complete until you find out what happened.” She sighed. “Me neither. Until then, we’re damaged goods. Maybe we won’t be all that good for each other.”
“We’re all a package deal,” I said.
She smiled. “You better scoot on out of here.”
“Yeah.” I got into the car. She closed the door. “I should warn you that Funeral Directors’ social lives are a lot like doctors. If I get a call during dinner…”
“I’m flexible,” she said. “Good-night, Del.”
“Good-night.”
I started the car and backed out, my headlights flashing on Gretchen for a fleeting moment. As I pulled away I beeped the horn. She waved back, a brilliant smile on her face. As I drove away, thinking of Gretchen, I realized that I hadn’t felt this happy in years. As I thought about Quilla, I realized I hadn’t felt this sad in years.
I had never been in the Dankworth Police Station at night. Oscar was sitting at the dispatcher’s desk, reading a Field & Stream and listening to an oldies station. Lyin’ Eyes by the Eagles was just ending. Oscar waved me over and quietly said, “What gives? Perry never comes in at night.”
“Why did he say he was here?”
“He didn’t. He just snarled at me and went into his office. On the other hand, he snarls at me most of the time.” I laughed. ”Why are you here, Del?”
“I’m helping Perry out on something, Oscar.”
Oscar nodded and went back to his magazine as I walked to Perry’s office. The door was closed. I knocked on it twice. From inside Perry snarled, “Come in.”
I opened the door. Perry was at the computer, typing. He was out of uniform, wearing a Cleveland Indians T-shirt. “Sit down. Want something? I have beer. Coke. Some other shit.”
“Nothing, thanks.” I sat down.
He didn’t look up from the monitor for about thirty seconds. It was as if I weren’t there. I was getting upset, so I said, “What are you doing?”
“What you asked me. Searching through thirty-plus years of missing person reports for young broads.”
I couldn’t believe he was acting so fast.
“Hold on. I’m printing something out.” He sat back in his chair. His eyes fell to the framed photograph of Virginia Thistle on my lap. “Lemme see the picture.” I handed it to him. He stared at it for several seconds. “This was taken when she was thirty?”