Greg could see the screen from the kitchen and while putting groceries away, he paused when a news anchor said: “...and now, some dramatic pictures from our affiliate in Cleveland, where one woman was killed and several people injured, after a tanker truck exploded in a multicar pileup on Interstate...”
The screen filled with footage focused on a rising pillar of fire on a freeway, amid gridlock and a sea of emergency lights.
“That looks bad,” Vince said before the newscast broke for a commercial.
“Where’s Jake?” Greg asked.
“In the backyard with his drone.” Vince nodded. They saw him through the glass doors to the patio. Vince shut the TV off then joined Greg in the kitchen. “You hear anything?”
It had become a routine question in their lives, punctuating the beginnings of nearly every conversation.
“No, Dad. You?”
That’s when Greg noticed Vince had a slip of paper in his hand and was sliding on his glasses to study it.
“Yeah, Nicole Pitcher, one of the teachers at Jake’s school, called on the landline. She wants you to get back to her about a new fundraiser for the reward offered on the website.”
Greg glanced at the message then put it in his pocket.
“Thanks, I’ll call later.”
“Want me to stay?”
“No, we’re good. Thanks for helping, Dad.”
“Day by day, son,” Vince said. “That’s how we hold on.”
Greg nodded, they hugged, then Jake came inside with his drone and said goodbye to his grandfather.
For the rest of the evening, Greg and Jake watched a Star Wars movie in the man cave. When it ended, Greg hugged Jake.
“Want to try sleeping in your own bed again tonight?”
“Okay, but did you remember at the grocery store to get more candles for Mom’s chime?”
“Yes.”
“Can we start it for a little bit? Please?”
Greg knew how much it meant to him.
“Go get it, and put it on the kitchen table.”
Jake ran upstairs with Greg walking wearily behind him.
Greg had kept the chime on Jenn’s desk. It seemed the best place given how Jake wanted to light it every night.
Carrying the chime with such care it bordered on reverence, Jake set it on the kitchen table. Greg opened the new box of candles, inserted them, then lit the wicks, and, because Jake insisted, he shut off all the lights.
They watched the three angels, spinning above the flickering flames, captivating them with the delicate ringing.
The angels twirled in the twinkling carousel, pulling Greg back weeks ago to the time when Kozak and Carillo came to him as if they’d discovered a new development in the case. They were tight-lipped and cryptic, asking again if anything about Jenn had seemed out of the ordinary in the months before she’d vanished.
“Anything new, or sudden?” Kozak had asked. “Anything, large or small, that seemed to bring on a change in her?”
Greg could think of nothing, until, shrugging, he’d mentioned the angel chime. The investigators asked to see it. They looked it over, asked about it, then questioned Jake before requesting Greg allow them to take it with them.
“Why? It’s just a Christmas chime she had delivered. I mean, sure, take it, but why the interest? Is it connected?”
“For processing,” Carillo said, “just a standard thing.”
There had to be more to it. Greg believed the detectives knew something they were not revealing to him. But any apprehension he had melted a few days later when they returned the chime with their thanks, leaving Greg to think it couldn’t be linked to Jenn’s disappearance.
Now, watching the candlelight reflected in Jake’s eyes, seeing how the chime comforted him, warmed Greg, giving him hope.
“Okay, blow out the candles, son. Time for bed.”
First, Jake clenched his eyes. Greg knew his ritual. He was making his wish-prayer for Jenn’s return. After Jake gently blew out the candles, Greg tousled his hair then turned on the lights.
“Upstairs now and brush your teeth. I’ll be up after I take care of this.”
Greg put the extinguished candles in the sink, touched the chime to ensure it was cool then took it back to Jenn’s desk when the phone rang and he answered.
“Is this Greg Griffin?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“Nick Rivers, with USA TODAY. We’re doing a news feature on your wife’s disappearance. Could I set up an interview with you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“The attention could help, and I’d be happy to share whatever we learn.”
Greg searched for an answer among the books on the shelves above Jenn’s desk. He’d dealt with a number of media people and was accustomed to their pitches. There were pros to agreeing to talk to Rivers. USA TODAY had a big reach, and it could indeed bring attention to her case as it was growing colder. But there were also cons.
People still suspect I’m involved.
“Let me think about it, Nick.”
“I’ll keep in touch.”
Upon hanging up, Greg drove his hands into his hair, then froze.
Staring at Jenn’s old college textbooks on the shelf, he noticed a large brown envelope slivered between them. He wasn’t familiar with it. Police must’ve left it after their search.
He slid it out.
The envelope bore no writing and wasn’t sealed.
Looking inside, he pulled out several newspaper clippings.
The first bore a large news photo of a child in a firefighter’s arms, under the headline:
Girl Rescued After Parents Perish In Fire
This is odd, Greg thought.
Jenn had never shown him these clippings—ever.
Why was she keeping them?
Fifty-One
Clarence, New York
Four people had been shot to death in their home in Rochester, New York.
They were a doctor and her husband, who was an FBI agent, and their teenage daughter and son.
The homicides took Kozak and Carillo away from the Jennifer Griffin investigation because the two men suspected of murdering the Rochester family had fled to the Buffalo-Niagara region. Every law enforcement agency across Western New York was pulled into the case.
Kozak and Carillo helped by canvassing, pursuing leads, and pushing their informants.