“What if Bollman assisted Greg that night?” LeBrie asked. “They were together in the bar in Depew. We’ve seen the photos. Then Bollman sent him that text. How tall is she, Ned?”
Carillo looked at his notes: “Five nine and a half.”
“Bollman could’ve moved the Corolla into Blueripple,” LeBrie said.
Freely began nodding big nods. “You’ve got Bollman throwing herself at Greg, got her willing to offer him money for his business. And there’s the insurance policy.”
FBI agent James Goldman was studying the notes on his laptop and tapping his pen to the side of it, then said: “Let’s consider Jennifer Griffin’s movements and actions in the time leading up to her disappearance.”
Goldman went over how in the months before she went missing, Griffin altered her routine. She shortened her yoga classes, she began visiting a psychologist. But after investigators painstakingly scrutinized the family’s expenses they found that $100 a week from her salary was unaccounted for.
“Have we asked her employer, Crystallo View Optical, about the money?” Goldman said. “They could enlighten us.”
Kozak patted her notebook. “On our to-do list.”
“Because,” Goldman said, “taken together, these aspects could point to something, or nothing, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Did she have a gambling problem?” Letto asked. “Or maybe she was buying drugs with the money?”
“We found no evidence of either,” Kozak said.
“Did Greg reveal Jennifer was seeing a psychologist?” Letto asked.
“No,” Kozak said.
“From the case notes,” Deakman said, “it appears he didn’t know.”
“It’s possible,” LeBrie said, “Jennifer discovered Greg’s relationship with Bollman and sought counseling?”
“Right. She could’ve discovered Greg was cheating on her with Bollman, staged her own disappearance,” Letto said.
Freely shook his head. “Like in the movies? I don’t think so.”
“Been known to happen,” Letto said.
“Could be that Greg was abusing her and she was saving getaway money,” Deakman said. “Or that she actually ran off and is in hiding, surviving on the cash she stashed?”
“Would she leave her son?” Carillo said. “It doesn’t fit. Look how rooted she is, with Jake, with her friends, the school, the community.”
“It would be good to know what was going on in her head before this happened,” Goldman said.
For nearly an hour, they challenged each other’s theories and suppositions before Becker glanced at the time.
“All right, I think we’re done here,” he said. “This is good, but it’s crucial we keep an open mind to all possible scenarios. If history has shown us anything, it’s that there are too many cases where investigations were laser-focused on the wrong subject. We rule out nothing and no one. Until then, we follow the evidence, wherever it points. Thanks, everyone.”
Detectives, agents, investigators, and deputies collected their belongings. Navigating through patches of parting conversations, Kozak left the room, battling to clear her mind. By the time she’d returned to her desk, her phone vibrated with a text message.
This is Dr. Stuart Maynart. You wanted to talk to me about one of my clients. May I suggest we meet in my office at 2:00 p.m.?
Forty-Five
Buffalo, New York
Later that morning, Rhonda Baker, a dispatcher at the 911 call center in the Erie County Public Safety Campus in downtown Buffalo, sipped coffee.
Her job was stressful.
Every minute of every shift she faced tragedy, aiding people at the worst moments of their lives—what could be their last moments. The margin for error didn’t exist for her.
But after nearly six years at her job, Baker remained calm and focused. Her meditation exercises had helped her deal with the horrible incidents she’d been through—the heart-wrenching screams and cries for help that haunted her. Baker embraced the fact that today she’d been assigned to handle nonemergency calls.
So far, the calls had concerned a stolen snowblower, a dumpster fire, and, “my drunken idiot neighbor’s dog won’t shut up.”
Sitting before the large computer monitors horseshoed at her workstation, Baker contemplated her upcoming break and getting more coffee when her console lights illuminated, signaling an incoming call.
Key information related to the call appeared on her screen.
“Erie County Call Center. How can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m calling to um—um...” The female caller’s voice trailed to nothing, then she came back. “No, this call’s a mistake. I’m sorry I—”
“Wait. It’s okay. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Baker read the basic information on her screen. The call was originating from a landline in Cardinal Hill. She had the address and names of the two adult residents, Laila Price and Darrell Price.
“I don’t know if I can. This is hard. Maybe it’s nothing.”
Baker absorbed the caller’s tone, her emotion, her hesitation.
“Sometimes it helps to talk to someone to sort things out, right?”
“Um, right.”
“Listen, my name’s Rhonda. Let’s start with you telling me your name, all right?” Baker needed to verify the caller’s identity.
Dropping her voice, the caller said, “Laila.”
“Thanks, Laila, and your last name?”
“Do you need it?”
“It helps me.”
“Price.”
“Good. I just need a few more little things.” Baker’s keyboard clicked softly as she worked, verifying Laila’s address and phone number then continuing. “Laila, I need to ask you some questions and I need you to answer yes or no. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
Baker glanced at her screen. The police, medical, and fire agencies that served the caller’s location were there. If she needed to send police, it would be District 2 deputies.
“Are you under any threat by someone in your residence right now?”
“No.”
“Do you require any assistance from fire, police, or paramedics right now?”
“No.”
“Are you safe right now?”