“Same here, and with everything happening, it’s a bad time to go.”
They both glanced through the glass walls of the office at the man approaching. Bert mumbled: “Here comes trouble.”
“There’s someone I wish would be leaving,” Thelma said.
Porter Sellwin.
Looking every bit the school board honcho in his navy suit, tall, with a tanned face and styled hair, he entered the office.
“Hi, Bert. Hi, Thelma.” He looked at Thelma. “Is Viv in?”
Vivian White was the vice-principal, currently in charge because Principal Eugene Bickersley was at Sloan Kettering in New York City.
“Yes. I’ll see if she’s free to see you.”
“Oh, she’ll be free to see me.” Sellwin flashed his politician’s smile and winked. “By the way, have you guys sent out an email to all the school families expressing our support and prayers for Jenn?”
“We’re waiting for Vivian to sign off and she’s been very—”
“Don’t wait. Get moving on it. Send it to me first. Viv will agree with my approval. Now, how’s Eugene doing?”
“Latest word from the hospital in New York was no changes.”
“All right. Keep me posted.” Sellwin then opened the principal’s office door, switched on his grin as he stepped inside. “Hi, Viv, I dropped in to—” Sellwin shut the door.
Bert looked at Thelma. “Ain’t he a piece of work?”
“He’s a piece of something, all right,” Thelma said, then her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. Please don’t tell anyone I said that, Bert.”
“I can keep a secret.” He smiled. “Gotta go.”
Thelma watched Bert leave.
Keeping secrets is a part of my job, too, she thought, returning to her desk and her curiosity about Sellwin and Jenn.
Thelma had only a suspicion that something had happened between Sellwin and Jenn—something disturbing.
It was in the days before Principal Bickersley went to New York City to undergo treatment that the issue—or what she believed was an issue—between them had surfaced.
Jenn came into the office to see Principal Bickersley, privately. Jenn had been crying. Less than five minutes after Jenn had left, Sellwin, looking angry, tense, also met privately with the principal in his office.
Thelma thought hard.
I have no idea what transpired between Jenn and that man but whatever it was, it was not good.
Twenty-Nine
Batavia, New York
Some twenty miles west of the Tall Elm School, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 floated in the vehicle analysis garage of the Forensic Identification Unit.
Investigator Serena Krol loved the music for its celebration of life, for how universal love triumphs over the agony of war. It also helped her focus on processing Jennifer Griffin’s Toyota for evidence.
Krol had started her work at the scene where the Corolla was discovered. She continued after it was transported to Troop A’s forensic building in Batavia. She was an expert at her work, having grown up devouring H. G. Wells, Jules Verne, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which fed her passion for science, forensics, and her successful pursuit of several degrees before joining the New York State Police.
At the scene, in Blueripple Woods, Krol and the other investigators went through the car meticulously. They also examined the environment, the condition of the surrounding undergrowth, and the forest. They took tire impressions and looked for foot impressions both around the car and where Jennifer Griffin’s purse was located. When the scene work was completed, the car was covered, loaded onto a flatbed, and transferred to the garage.
So far, not everything collected from the scene had been fully analyzed. A lot of work remained: processing the soil samples, and the casts for the impressions, some of which were not ideal.
The car itself was mechanically sound. The fuel tank was three-quarters full. The tires were all inflated properly, not worn. The service history was up to date. There were no issues with the vehicle.
At the garage, Krol had wriggled into a set of fresh disposable coveralls—the hooded white bunny suit, she called it. Then she put on foot covers and tugged on gloves.
The Toyota’s exterior and interior were processed for any latent prints left by any potential suspect. Krol moved between the car and her workstation as she collected then logged, made notes, and passed along for further analysis every item found in the Toyota, including the remote garage door opener, sunglasses, tissues, a charging cord, and the owner’s manual. From the trunk, she collected the spare, a small supply of tools, a plastic jug of windshield-washing fluid, and reusable canvas tote bags.
The car’s interior was neat and orderly.
Krol inspected the floor, the seats, the door side panels, and the ceiling for any traces of fibers or hairs. Then she vacuumed the carpet and interior. Her colleagues applied luminol spray to detect any trace amounts of blood.
Nothing of any consequence had emerged from all of their work so far.
Krol and the investigators examined Jennifer Griffin’s purse and its contents, her wallet, cash, credit and bank cards, cataloging every item and preparing them to be processed for latents, as well. She knew other members of the forensic team were still examining every piece of digital material extracted from Jennifer Griffin’s phone and her computer.
Taking a moment to drink some coffee, Krol leaned against her worktable and stared at the Toyota. She’d missed something. In keeping with her procedure, nothing in the car had been moved or adjusted. Still, something had been overlooked.
Krol turned to her laptop, tapped out a few commands and Jennifer Griffin’s driver’s license filled her screen, showing her height as five feet three inches.
Krol had a lot of room while working on the driver’s-side floor.
Why was that?
With the answer dawning on her, Krol got into the car behind the wheel and discovered she had ample legroom to reach the pedals. In fact, she had to strain to reach them. Krol was five feet five inches tall.
The seat had been pushed back.
Krol double-checked all file notes on the car. No one from the forensic team had moved or readjusted anything in the Corolla.
Whoever moved the seat was the last person to operate the car.
Krol then called on other investigators to suit up and sit at the wheel, colleagues of different heights. Each time, Krol scrutinized their placement, recorded their height then made calculations on her laptop.
Krol had the height range of a suspect.
Thirty