We both listened to Kelly Rundles tell us that she couldn't get to her phone and to leave her a message. Jordan touched the screen on the phone and ended the call. He reached for a rolodex next to the phone and began flipping through the cards, his eyebrows bunched together in confusion.
“What?” I asked.
He found the card he was looking for and plucked it from the roll. He laid it next to the phone bill and spun them both in my direction. “The number I just called isn’t the number she’d given me to contact her.”
I could see in his face something that I felt often enough on my own. Any small incongruity, anything that looked like a tiny step forward provided you with a shot of adrenaline. The feeling that maybe all wasn’t lost, that maybe the answer was closer than you thought.
I looked at both numbers. “When did she give you the one in the rolodex?”
“When the school hired her.”
“Three years ago, right?”
He nodded.
“When was the last time you called her on this number?”
His expression sagged. “Probably a year ago. I generally reach her through the school.”
“She could’ve changed numbers in that time,” I said. “Changed cell providers maybe.”
“You can keep your number.”
I nodded. “Sure.”
I scanned the phone bill again, checking the times that Meredith had apparently called Kelly Rundles. They were all over the map. Morning, middle of the day, several after midnight.
“They were pretty close?” I asked. “Meredith and Kelly?”
Jordan hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Meredith really looked up to her. Kelly has far and away been the best coach Meredith has ever had.” He fought off what looked to me like a grimace. “We encouraged the relationship.”
“Look, this is something to take a look at,” I said quickly. “But it might not mean anything. All of these calls may be legit and she may have just not gotten you her new number. I’ll find out. But don’t start thinking that Kelly had anything to do with what’s going on with Meredith until we know something for certain.”
Jordan exhaled and stood, walking over to a window on the far side of the room. He stayed there motionless, his hands in his pockets, his back to me, staring out the glass.
“Ever get easier?” he finally asked.
“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”
“It’s not even that she’s gone,” he said. “It’s…”
“It’s the not knowing,” I said. “Not knowing what’s going on with her.”
He turned to me, his face pale, the skin drawn tightly around his eyes and mouth. “Yes. The not knowing. It’s…brutal.”
“It is.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like for you,” he said.
“And I hope you don’t have to.” I stood up, unwilling to get into a conversation about what it actually was like for me.
Jordan pulled his hands from his pockets but seemed unsure what to do with them. He settled for putting them awkwardly on his hips. “What should I be doing?”
“I’m going to head over to the school,” I said. “Get ready for the game.”
“Should I go with you?”
“No. Stay here. I want you to recreate the forty-eight hours before Meredith disappeared.”
“Recreate?”
“On paper,” I explained. “Everything you can remember from two days prior to her disappearing. Try to account for every second of each of those days. Nothing is too immaterial. What time you woke up, what you ate, exact conversations you had with her, what she was wearing. Every detail of every second, as best you can.”
He nodded slowly, probably already trying to line up details. “Alright.”
“I’ll call you after the game,” I said. “We can go over what you’ve got.”
I said goodbye and found my way back outside. The evening air was settling in, cooler than normal for that time of year. Fog hung at the edge of the sky and I could smell the dampness working itself down to the grass and the pavement.
The forty-eight hour diary was to keep Jordan busy. Most likely, it wouldn’t do a damn thing to help us find Meredith. But it would occupy him, give him a task, help him push forward, mute the pain of not knowing where she was for the moment.
Someone-I could no longer recall whom-had given me the same exercise during the first week of Elizabeth’s disappearance. I had scribbled furiously, recording every detail I could remember. It kept me busy, occupied, made me feel like I was doing something toward finding Elizabeth.
As I got into my car, I hoped that I could provide Jon Jordan with a better outcome for his efforts than I had received.
SEVENTY-TWO
Athletic Director Robert Stricker was standing near the entrance to the gym when I arrived at the high school. He raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight.”
“I told Kelly I’d be here,” I said. “You seen her yet?”
He tilted his head back toward the locker room. “She’s been here for awhile.” He held a hand up and waved at someone as they passed in behind us. “Anything on the Jordan girl?”
“Nothing right now.”
“Her father driving you nuts?”
“He’s just worried about his kid.”
Stricker nodded. “Understandable.”
“You think of anybody, anybody here at the school who might know something?” I asked him. “Someone who you saw her with that seemed out of the ordinary?”
“Why?”
“She just had some things going on in her life that were definitely not ordinary,” I explained. “I’m just wondering if there was a connection here or if it was all outside of school.”
“Not ordinary how?”
“I can’t really say right now,” I said.
He nodded, then shrugged his large shoulders. “I can’t recall seeing her with anyone other than her boyfriend and teammates. Pretty tight group, you know?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks. I’m gonna go find Kelly.”
“Good luck tonight.”
“You said she was in the locker room, right?”
He smiled. “I meant good luck with the game.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks.”
I saw Megan entering through the far door at the end of the hall and hustled to catch her before she entered the locker room. She saw me coming, gave a half-wave, took a step as if she was unsure of what to do, then waited on me.
“Hey, Coach,” she said.
“Hi Megan. You alright?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“Just asking.”
I wasn’t just asking. Megan was normally as laid back as was humanly possible while being awake. But her shoulders were bunched, there was no smile on her face and she was clutching her backpack like her hand was glued to it. The tension in her face, body and actions was tangible.
“You hear anything from Meredith?” I asked.
She looked down at her shoes and shook her head. “Nope.”
“You sure?”
Her head snapped up, her eyes now filled with something other than tension. “What? I mean, yes I’m sure. I haven’t seen her.”
“Talked to her?”
Color flushed in her face. “No. Why?”
Going through Meredith’s phone records had shown me more than a couple of unidentified phone numbers. Every day, without exception, Meredith and Megan spoke by phone and texted one another, to the point that it was unnecessary to count how many times. Sorting the calls and text messages by the hour would’ve been more effective. I knew they were good friends, but those phone records demonstrated how close they were. I was no longer buying the idea that Megan didn’t know what was going on in Meredith’s life.
“You told me the rumor about Meredith being a hooker,” I said. “Why?”
She pulled harder on the backpack and licked her lips. “Because I thought it might help.”
“No. You knew it wasn’t a rumor. Meredith was involved in prostitution and you knew.”
The pink in her cheeks glowed into a red. “Why would I do that?”
Goose bumps popped on the back of my neck, as I felt like I was getting close. “Because you wanted to help her. You didn’t want to come straight out with it and betray her. I get that. So you fed it to me as if it was a rumor so I’d look at it. I know what she was doing, Megan. And so do you.”