“Nothing.”
Kozak was thinking as they watched the video.
“What about the person who came after her?” Carillo asked.
It was a person about six feet or so with a regular build. The age was difficult to determine. They wore jeans and a dark hoodie, with the hood lifted over a ballcap, obscuring their face.
“What about that person?” Bara said.
“Do you know them? Are they a regular?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Looks like they bought a can of soda,” Kozak said.
Bara looked at the footage.
“It was an energy drink.”
“They pay with cash or plastic?” Carillo asked.
Bara nodded to the screen: “Cash. You can see it.”
“All right. Thanks, Trevor.”
They had him wait out front, then Kozak and Carillo went back to look at the footage one more time.
“Watch. I’ll play it a little longer at the end because we missed something,” Kozak said, letting the video play out.
“There. Did you see that, Ned?”
“What?”
She replayed the sequence and slowed it.
“Look. Hoodie person at the counter turns their head.”
“I see that.”
“Ned, they’re watching Griffin leave the store.”
“All right. They’re watching.”
“Look to the top of the frame. You can just see her taillights.”
“Right.”
“It’s like they’re watching her leave to get the direction she’s driving.”
Twenty-Seven
Clarence, New York
Later that day, April Kent twisted the straps of her purse while waiting in the reception area of the state police barracks.
An investigator, Carillo, had contacted her about coming in for an interview to discuss the last time she’d seen Jenn.
April was anxious to help, but while driving to the public safety building in Clarence, her conscience gnawed at her. Now that she was here, looking at the framed portraits of police commanders, the memorial plaques and flags, reality pushed down on her.
This was stone-cold serious.
Yet, she was not sure if she should tell them what she knew about Jenn’s bruises. April hadn’t told anyone about them.
They were the result of playing football in her yard with Greg and Jake.
That’s what Jenn had said.
April wasn’t convinced that was true.
But if I report this to police, I’d be pointing a finger at Greg. And what if Jenn’s explanation is true?
April knew from her nursing experience, from seeing so many cases of abuse, that women were often afraid to report their partners; they stretched the truth, covered it up, made excuses like how Jenn had blamed it on roughhousing.
No, I can’t let this go. So much was wrong.
The backs of Greg’s hands were scraped. Jenn had bruises. She was missing, and they’d found her car in the woods.
What if Greg did hurt her? My silence would protect him.
“April Kent?”
A solidly built man in his fifties, with clipped gray hair, wearing a button-down-collar shirt, loosened tie, and a navy sport coat that looked off the rack from JCPenney, stood before her.
“Yes.”
“Ned Carillo. Thanks for coming in.” He extended his hand.
April walked with him to a private office, then at his direction took a seat before taking a breath.
Steeling herself, April decided to tell him everything.
Twenty-Eight
Buffalo, New York
At Tall Elm School, Thelma Clark in admin was working at making sure another school day ran smoothly.
But it was a struggle for her and her colleagues.
Jenn Griffin’s disappearance had permeated the office, the halls, and the classrooms like a dark fog, adding to the distress everyone was already feeling for Principal Bickersley. That Jake’s mom was missing was now all the staff could talk about, and all Thelma could think of. As cochair of the Parent School Support Committee, Jenn was involved in everything.
She fights the good fight; she’s part of our school family.
Swiping and tapping at her phone for the millionth time for updates, Thelma came to a news photo of the volunteers from the school, taken on the first day they helped search in Ripplewood Creek. There was Thelma with the group of teachers and support staff. And there was Porter Sellwin.
Sellwin.
Something was going on between Sellwin and Jenn.
A chime sounded the arrival of a message on her computer from Anita Overhauser with the advisory committee.
Hi, Thelma: Did we receive the forms for the information session on the new report cards?
Yes. They’re going out end of day, Thelma responded.
Thanks. You hear anything on Jenn?
No.
We can’t give up hope.
No, we can’t.
Thelma resumed updating attendance, excused students, tardies, and early dismissals before moving to new teacher requests.
“Hey, Thelma.”
Bert Cobb, the senior custodian, was at the counter.
“I wanted to bring you up to speed on the storage request,” he said.
Thelma went to the counter, leaning on it with him.
“Yes, for supplies.”
“We’re clearing the room behind the gym,” Bert said. “Got stuff in there that we don’t need. Be ready in a day or two. Are you okay?”
Thelma was touching a tissue to her eyes.
“I’m worried about Jenn. We should be out there searching.”
“We’ll get out there again and we’ll find her.”
“It’s just so terrible.”
“Got to keep the faith,” Bert said.
“Sure do,” Thelma said, changing the subject. “Is it true? You’re really leaving us, Bert? Really moving west?”
Nodding, he took out his phone to show her a picture of a cabin near mountains. “My buddy wants help with his fishing guide business. He’s renting me a place to get started.”
“Looks pretty there. Oh Bert, we’re going to miss you.”