Golinka blinked.
“We assure you, it’s our only interest at this time,” Kozak said.
Golinka thought for a moment.
“All right. I’m going to my office to check,” she said. “Please stay here. Have coffee. It might take a little while.”
Kozak and Carillo went to the counter, got chipped ceramic cups, and filled them with coffee from the carafe. Carillo sat down while Kozak looked at crayon drawings posted on the wall of stick people families living in houses with dogs, cats, under sunshine and rainbows. Some children in the pictures had balloon comments: “Will Santa come back?”
“Why do we not have more food in the fridge like my friend?”
“Why does Daddy hurt Mommy?”
The detectives had finished their coffees and were contemplating a refill when Golinka returned. A man and a woman were with her.
“This is Donnie and this is Annie. They’re willing to help you.”
After initial greetings and handshakes, Kozak asked them if they’d spoken to Cleveland police about the freeway death.
“No,” Annie said. “I wasn’t here when they came. I’m in a program.”
“What program?” Carillo asked.
Annie hesitated.
“I have a gambling addiction.”
Kozak nodded.
“And you, Donnie?”
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t here when they came.”
“Where were you?” Carillo asked.
“I thought,” he said, glancing at Golinka, “I thought you didn’t care, that talking to you wouldn’t come back on me? I’m trying to do some good, here.”
“That’s right. I’m just curious; it’s no problem.”
Donnie gave the detectives another assessment.
“I’m under APA supervision.”
“Parole?” Kozak said.
“Yeah. I used a credit card that wasn’t mine to feed my kids. Times are hard, you know?”
“We understand,” Kozak said. “It’s okay.”
She showed them photos of Jennifer Griffin, asking if they’d seen her.
“Her face was all over the news,” Annie said. “I think she was here.”
Donnie nodded. “Yeah, there was a woman like that here with us.”
Kozak and Carillo shot them an intense look.
“You’re certain?” Kozak opened her notebook.
“Well,” Annie said, “she looked a little different than those pictures.”
“Yeah,” Donnie said.
“What do you mean?” Kozak asked.
“She looked older, but the same around her eyes, mouth. But older.”
“Yeah,” Donnie said, “like she’d been living in the world for a stretch.”
“Did you talk with her?” Kozak asked.
“A little. All three of us sat together for meals right here,” Annie said. “She was at Halo off and on before that crash on the interstate.”
“Did she tell you her name?” Kozak asked.
“No.”
“Did she tell you anything about how she got here?”
“Not really,” Annie said. “But one time she starting tearing up, telling me that her life got messed up when she was a kid, growing up in Buffalo.”
“In Buffalo?” Kozak repeated.
“Yes.”
“How was her life messed up?” Carillo said.
“Somebody died. I don’t know, she didn’t say, and I didn’t push it. We mind our own business here.”
“And you, Donnie?” Kozak pressed. “Did the woman talk to you?”
“I heard the same stuff Annie just told you.”
Kozak thought for a moment, asked more questions before ending things, thanking them and closing her notebook.
“One thing I forgot,” Donnie said. “One time, I was outside having a smoke, and I saw her way down on the corner. She was talking to somebody who was sitting in a van, then she started yelling at them, like they were bothering her, then she walked back fast to Halo.”
Kozak opened her notebook.
“Did she tell you anything about it?”
“She was upset. Didn’t make much sense ’cause she was pissed off.”
“Who was in the van?” Kozak asked.
“She never said.”
“What about the van? Who was driving? Man? Woman? Did you see a plate, any markings, or damage?”
Donnie shook his head.
“I think it was a white van. There was glare on the windows, so I couldn’t see anybody. That’s all I remember.”
“Do you remember the date, or location?” Carillo asked.
Shaking his head, he said, “Northwest corner of the block, maybe a couple days before the crash.”
“You’re certain about this?” Kozak asked.
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you go to police with this, Donnie?” Carillo asked.
“Like Annie says, we mind our own business. Besides, I got my own troubles, but I’m telling you now. So there you go.”
Thanking Donnie and Annie, Kozak closed her notebook.
* * *
Once they were outside, the investigators walked to the northwest corner of the block. They scanned the area for security cameras but didn’t find any.
Kozak’s phone rang. It was Lieutenant Phil Becker in Clarence.
“Claire, I just got a call from the NYPD. They’ve assigned two detectives to collect a statement on the Jennifer Griffin case in Manhattan.”
“In Manhattan? Who’s giving the statement?”
“Hang on,” Becker said, “I’m getting a follow-up email now.” A few seconds passed as he read it, then said: “This could be something.”
Sixty-Seven
Manhattan, New York
That same morning, before Kozak had alerted Greg that Jennifer had not died in Cleveland, two New York City police detectives stepped from an elevator at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in Manhattan.
Nicky Petro and Carl O’Shea from the 19th Precinct badged their way to Dr. Samuel Khalid, who’d been expecting them.