Neighboring residents in the line of fire had been quietly evacuated by plainclothes police and sheltered in a church at the end of the street.
After nearly an hour, a white van rolled into Volk’s driveway, the brakes creaking when it stopped.
Volk shut it off and got out, shouldering his backpack and gripping a six-pack, shutting the door, pausing to listen as the engine ticked down.
The air in the neighborhood seemed still.
Too still, he thought.
The Buffalo SWAT commander, watching unseen from the house next door, whispered into his headset: “Go!”
Dark-clad SWAT team members sprung from hedges, house corners, garage corners, guns drawn, instantly putting Volk facedown on the street and handcuffing him.
“What the f—”
“Zoran Volk, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent...”
Seventy-Eight
Clarence, New York
Within forty-five minutes of Zoran Volk’s arrest, Buffalo PD transferred him to the state police who’d put him in custody.
He sat alone in a secure holding room at Clarence Barracks.
Not far from Volk, in another part of the building, Lorena Jo Tullev waited with a female trooper in an empty meeting room.
Down the hall, Kozak and Carillo, who now had the lead on questioning Volk, worked at their desks.
While forensic teams searched the Pennsylvania woods and processed Volk’s cabin, Volk’s van, and the house in Buffalo, Kozak and Carillo had dug into his background, running his name, again.
Again, they found no arrests, convictions, or warrants.
But earlier that day, before everything broke out of Pennsylvania, they were reviewing the report Melinda Hyland, the analyst, had found concerning a Cardinal Hill woman’s complaint about her cable repair man. Hyland showed them that the same man had made a service call to Jennifer Griffin’s home.
His name was Zoran Volk.
Now, taken with Lorena Jo Tullev’s alert to police, and events that were still unfolding that same day, it was becoming clear that Zoran Volk was responsible for Jennifer Griffin’s disappearance, Kozak thought as she and Carillo joined Tullev in the meeting room.
They dismissed the trooper.
Taking their seats across from Tullev, Kozak noted the woman’s fingers were pulled into fists, whitening her knuckles, and her eyes were blank as if refusing to believe what she had seen.
“Would you like coffee, water, anything?” Kozak asked.
Tullev closed her eyes and shook her head.
They began with a number of questions as Tullev, squeezing a tissue in her hand, related her history with Volk, their relationship, then her concerns, her fears, her suspicions, and finally, her discovery at the cabin.
Kozak typed on her tablet, calling up the security video recorded in the Korner Fast store the night of Jennifer Griffin’s disappearance.
“We’d like you to watch this with an eye to the figure in the hoodie,” she said.
Tullev drew her face close to Kozak’s tablet as she ran the video several times.
“Does Zoran have a dark hoodie like that one?” Kozak asked.
“Yes.”
“Does he have a ballcap?”
“Yes.”
“Does he like energy drinks?”
“Yes.”
“Judging by the build of the figure in the video, the posture and walk, could that be Zoran?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking.
Then Carillo produced Zoran’s laptop, one of the first items seized from his backpack upon his arrest. In keeping with the chain of custody for evidence, the lab technician had affixed a bar code to the device. After switching it on, Carillo requested Tullev log in and show them the folders.
Nodding, she guided them to the folder marked “PROJECTS” and the photos and videos inside.
The evidence against Volk was overwhelming.
When it was over, Tullev sat there, crushing the tissue in her hands.
“I wanted to marry him.” Her voice was shaky. “I wanted to have a family with him.” She stared off, to a dream that had twisted into a nightmare. “He killed that woman!”
Kozak reached out and touched her hand.
“We don’t know that yet,” Kozak said. “What we know, is that what you did is one of the bravest things a person can do. Remember that, Lorena.”
Seventy-Nine
Clarence, New York
By early evening, Zoran Volk was handcuffed, escorted to a harshly lit small white-walled interview room, and put in a chair.
A chain was affixed from the steel loop in the table to his handcuffs. He rested his arms on the table.
Kozak worked on an apple, Carillo was finishing off an egg salad sandwich as they studied Volk through the one-way mirrored glass of the wall separating the two rooms.
On their side, the lighting was soft, calming.
Kozak was glad that nothing had been leaked to the press, so far.
However, reporters from Buffalo, Cleveland, and Pennsylvania had been calling law enforcement agencies much of the day with rumors of a break in the case of the missing Buffalo woman.
No agency had commented or confirmed anything, only that a statement might be forthcoming. Kozak didn’t expect that would keep the press from getting the story for much longer. But it would do for now, she thought, because the investigation was close, so close, to the truth behind Jennifer’s disappearance.
She and Carillo got sandwiches and fruit, which passed for supper, while working flat out. After their interview with Lorena Jo Tullev, there were quick calls on the status of the ongoing work in Elk Creek, and preliminary forensic results arising from Volk’s devices, the van, and his house. There were more reviews of case reports and statements, then a round of discussions with Wendy Reade in the district attorney’s office.
“It’s all there. You’ve got enough to talk to him,” Reade said. “Has he been Mirandized?”
“Yes,” Kozak said. “Hasn’t asked for a lawyer yet.”
“Do it again,” Reade said. “Do this by the numbers, Claire. We don’t want anything to come back on us.”
Now, tossing the apple core with the napkin she’d used into the trash, as Carillo took a last gulp of water from a bottle, they gathered their tablets, phones, files, and left.
Zoran’s eyes strolled over Kozak when she and Carillo entered the room, taking the chairs across from him, putting their things on the table.