“As a courier driver, you have to know shortcuts,” she said.
Greg checked his mirror. Kat’s maneuver had worked. Except for a white van, which seemed to trail them for several more blocks before abandoning its pursuit.
* * *
The neighborhood was east of downtown in an old working class district north of the interstate, bordering the Hydraulics and Larkin area.
This was where Jenn had grown up until her parents’ deaths in the fire.
A small apartment building now occupied the lot where Jenn’s house had been. The building had also swallowed a few lots next to it. The apartment had been there a long time, and it had been years since Greg had even driven by here. Neat frame houses built with the optimism that followed the Second World War still lined the street where Jenn spent the first eight years of her life. Greg imagined her skipping rope, or learning to ride a bike along the tree-shaded sidewalk.
Kat parked.
They got out, intent on going to the few names and addresses taken from the cards that they hadn’t crossed off, and since they were here, every home on the block. House after house, door after door, the responses they’d received varied but soon began to blur with head shakes and dismissals.
“No, don’t know anybody named Korvin.”
“Who? What? Naw, never heard of them.”
“Is that about the woman on the news? No, sorry, we just moved here last year.”
“Not us. Try the Galassos, the house with the hedge. They’ve lived here forever...”
But the older man trimming the hedge at the Galasso house shook his head.
“You might try the Krynskis,” he said. “Second place from the corner.”
As they headed toward it, Kat reached into her bag.
“I think we have a sympathy card from the Krynskis. Yes, Marek and Celina.”
They rang the doorbell, heard movement inside before a man in his twenties opened the door, a question rising on his face as he assessed Kat and Greg.
“Sorry to bother you,” Kat said. “We’re looking for anyone who may remember a family who lived nearby a long time ago. Leo and Sofia Korvin. They had a daughter, Jennifer?”
The man started shaking his head.
“The parents died in a house fire about thirty years ago,” Kat said.
The man shrugged.
“A sympathy card was sent from this address.” Kat showed it to him.
Studying the card, he began nodding as they heard barking from inside.
“Wow, yeah, those are my parents and this is, or was, their house.” He handed it back. “But they died a few years ago, and I’m living here now with my family.”
“So you didn’t grow up here?” Greg said.
“I don’t know anything. Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Well, could you tell us if—”
The barking grew louder. The man glanced at his phone in his hand.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” the man said, closing the door.
Cutting short what had appeared to be a hopeful lead drove home for Greg the futility of their effort as they turned from the house and started for the sidewalk.
What are we doing? Jenn had no relatives. The DNA analysis has got to be a mistake. And if it is...then Jenn is really dead.
He glanced at Kat.
Did she really tell me the truth about knowing where Jenn had kept her mother’s things?
A glint, a reflection caught Greg’s eye, and his focus went beyond Kat, down the street, way down by more than a block.
Was that a white van and a camera lens?
“Excuse me?”
Greg and Kat stopped and turned.
The young man had returned to his front door and called to them.
“I think I know someone who might be able to help you.”
Seventy-Two
Clarence, New York
Melinda Hyland’s keyboard clicked in staccato bursts, halting only when she paused to nudge her glasses over the bridge of her nose.
She’d been making requests and studying databases for records confirming Jennifer Griffin’s biological mother gave birth to another child.
Come on, show me something.
Okay, so the FBI’s experts at Quantico stated that the DNA of the Cleveland victim did not come from Jennifer Griffin, but belonged to a relative from the same biological mother, Sofia Ann Korvin.
Hyland had found records confirming Sofia Ann Korvin gave birth to Jennifer Marie Korvin in a Buffalo hospital. Leo Korvin was listed as Jennifer’s biological father.
But so far, Hyland’s search of available records throughout all of New York had found no documents for Sofia having another child. It was entirely possible that the birth was not registered, or had taken place in another state, another country. It could’ve been a home birth. Sofia could’ve abandoned, or given up the child, had an affair. Any number of scenarios came to mind.
It’s also possible Sofia Korvin changed her name.
Hyland knew that in most states, like New York, legal name changes were public record. However, if a person felt their safety, or their children’s safety, was at risk, the court would seal the name change so that it would never be public. This happened in cases of domestic abuse. But police could access the change if needed.
Hyland put in a call to her contact in Albany for help with sealed name changes. Hyland left a message.
She then returned to another aspect of the investigation, her continual examination of statements, tips, and reports that had come in on the case, cross-referencing them, double-checking them with local, regional, and statewide databases for any potential links to other cases.
Hyland mined the latest information, using keyword searches, or dates—whatever was required. She also had a checklist of facets of the case she continually checked for updates.
Kinda like panning for gold.
Consulting her list, she went to service calls made to Greg and Jennifer Griffin’s home in the months prior to her going missing. Again, there were only two. Starting with SparkleThru window washing service, Hyland submitted the company name and names of the workers in all the databases.
Nothing new came up.
She submitted the name of the cable repair company, Distinctly Connex. Waiting for the results, she reached for her coffee when her computer pinged with a hit.
She froze.
What’s this?
Her screen filled with the summary of a recent complaint that was actually withdrawn because the caller had changed her mind. This is interesting. It came from a woman in Cardinal Hill concerning the cable repairman, his offensive behavior with her underwear in her home and his suggestive comments.