“You’re not using pronouns on purpose, Detective Locklear. Thank you for your official comments and confirming my theory about Hazel. Good night,” she said, and hung up.
Martin slammed the phone down. He could only hope the reporter was bluffing and would phone back once she made sure she’d have a front-page Sunday byline with a story including the additional information. But for now, he needed to act as though the whole world would know Hazel was out there to be found come Sunday morning and that whoever had her would feel the squeeze.
Martin returned to Eddie’s room and nearly shoved a piece of paper and a pen in his direction. “Write out every person in this town you think Hazel would willingly have had a conversation with.”
“Everything okay?” Eddie asked, taking the pen too slowly between his fingers.
“I just got off the phone with a writer at the AJC who’s put the Ama and Hazel connection together. She’s running the story Sunday. I couldn’t stop it. I believe Hazel is still in Tarson, Eddie. But after Sunday, there’s no telling where whoever has her might take her once the spotlight turns back on these woods.”
Eddie nodded, blinking rapidly, working his lips around a thought. “I… I don’t know that we need a list of who Hazel would’ve talked to,” he stammered, obviously feeling the sudden shifts in control and pressure. “There was a freshman girl she ate lunch with. Vivian? Violet? Something with a V. And one girl in the school chorus she would study with sometimes.”
“Anybody else?” Martin pressed.
“Well, there was the substitute music teacher. She adored him. He’s going to sound suspect the way I sounded suspect,” Eddie cautioned. “They were close, but nothing inappropriate, I can promise you that.”
“Why is he going to sound suspect?” Martin flipped his notebook to a clean sheet and grabbed another pen.
“Don’t let this sidetrack you again.”
“All I’m going to do is listen.”
“The music teacher’s name is Jonathon Walks,” Eddie started slowly. “He took Hazel under his wing, worked with her after class—always out in the open. He asked my permission. He saw her talent, recognized that she wasn’t using it to her full potential, and really brought it out of her. I don’t even think she knew what her voice was capable of until he showed her it was in there.”
“You’re protective of him. Why?”
“He brought Hazel back to life, Martin. After her mother died and we moved here, I felt like Hazel had slipped down this deep hole, and I was throwing everything I could in there to help her back out, but it wasn’t working. That teacher… he made the light come back on inside of her.”
“Just playing devil’s advocate here,” Martin started. “Manipulators generally target potential victims like Hazel—outsiders, kind hearts, loners…” He hesitated. “Broken homes.”
“Our home wasn’t broken,” Eddie said, and his jaw set.
“You know what I mean. Don’t take it personally. This is investigating. We’re digging. Building. Shifting pieces. It’s hard. It’s messy. It’s why we don’t usually involve the family on this side.”
Eddie closed his eyes and seemed to center himself. “It’s just, Jonathon seemed a little bit like a kindhearted loner, too. He kept to himself. He joined the search for Hazel. He walked every inch of Tarson Woods with me, even did some of the harder terrain on his own for me.” Eddie tapped his right leg. “I have a bum knee. Going up isn’t so bad. It’s the coming back down that gets me.”
“Okay, so hear me out.” Martin stood and wrote Jonathon Walks on the board. “We have a teacher—a temporary teacher—who takes a special interest in Hazel. Spends extra time with her. That’s often called ‘grooming.’ ”
“I know what it’s called.”
“Then Hazel disappears and Jonathon interjects himself into the investigation.”
“He just helped look for her. Hung flyers.”
“He saw everywhere police were looking. He’d know if they were close,” Martin countered.
“I hear you. But you think all these people might be connected to one person. What would he have to do with Ama or those two teenage boys from twenty years ago? He cared about my daughter. He looked for her because he cared. Is it so hard to believe someone else cared about Hazel besides me?”
“That’s fair. And, Mr. Stevens, a lot of people care about Hazel.” Martin frowned. “Here’s what I think we know. We are looking for a white man, someone who would blend in easily around here. Probably pushing forty, but not younger than thirty, if he’s connected to those boys. Physically fit; he’d have to be. Local. Each of these people knew the attacker.”
“Jonathon isn’t local. He moved here from Atlanta a couple years ago.”
“I’d still like to talk to him,” Martin said.
“He doesn’t work at the school anymore. The regular teacher, Mrs. Anderson, came back. He said he had a good temp job offer over in Dalton.”
“Did he move away?”
“I’m not sure where he was living. I never went to his house. Neither did Hazel.”
“Was it shortly after the investigation ended?”
“Maybe six months after Hazel disappeared. Jobs don’t come easy here, Martin. He had to go where the money was.”
“Sure,” Martin said absently as he wrote Jonathon’s name at the top of the paper, along with a note to check into his credentials and his last known address.
His gut was a seesaw on the possible lead. Jonathon Walks had all the markers for someone grooming a victim. But Eddie was right—he had nothing to do, that they knew of, with the early people on this list, and the only obvious connection to Ama was that they both lived in Atlanta at some point, a city with nearly half a million people.
Martin’s eyes flitted back to Toni Hargrove. Was he wrong to put her on this list? Was her presence throwing off his judgment? No, he decided. If nothing else, she would be a constant reminder to stay focused… and to stay sober.
“He gave me his number, though,” Eddie said. “If you want to talk to him, I can call.”
“Write it down for me,” Martin said, and spun the pad of paper to face Eddie. He wasn’t about to call Jonathon until he was absolutely sure of two things: if Jonathon was who he was looking for, and where he could be found.
If nothing else, Jonathon Walks was as solid a lead as he could expect—somewhere between a person of interest and a suspect—which also meant he had a place to start and something of value to report to Captain. Martin could only hope it was worth enough to buy him a little more time.
MICHAEL Chapter 46 | August 30, 2005 | Tarson, Georgia
“CLASS, THIS IS MR. WALKS. He’s a vocal coach at the Music Box. Some of you may remember him from Career Day. He’ll be stepping in for Mrs. Anderson through the end of the year while she’s on medical leave. I expect you to give him the same courtesy and effort you give any member of our staff,” Mrs. Brownlow, the school’s principal, instructs the group of teenagers.