I examined the longer list of conventional names hoping to find one that I could place with the face of someone alive in Dankworth today. There were none, other than a few common English and Irish surnames.
“Listen, Del, I’m not Sherlock-fucking-Holmes. There’s no bodies. No weapons. No evidence of any kind. I’ve read enough and talked to enough cops to know that cases get solved either through plodding, detailed, painstaking work or dumb luck. Just like it was a fluke that Brandy Parker’s body was discovered, it’ll be the same kind of chance event that’ll put an end to this. When I don’t know.”
“Just like it’s taken twenty-four years for something to solve the Virginia Thistle case?” I snapped. “Or fifteen years for something to solve the Alyssa Kirkland case?”
“You want me to go forward? Give me more than hunches and heartache. Give me something real.” He walked to the door. “Give me something I can hold in my hands.” He stepped out of my office.
He left the printout of names of people buried near the mausoleum and the box containing Brandy Parker’s things behind. I picked up the printout and studied the names again. Not one looked even remotely familiar.
I spent the next five hours going through Brandy Parker’s things. I examined everything in the box, reading the notebooks, looking at the pictures, grasping for something that would offer a clue. There was nothing. I was beginning to understand Perry’s frustration. I knew he was right about finding something solid to work with, but I also knew he was right about dumb luck playing an important part. Either way would take time.
I wanted to call Quilla. It had been two days since she’d left me standing in front of the Police Station. I wanted to see if she’d calmed down, as well as to tell her about my latest visit from Perry. Plus, I had Brandy’s things. Even if Quilla had made up her mind to stay angry at me forever, I wanted to get them back to her. I decided to be the adult and give her a call.
Suzanne Worthington answered with an abrupt, “Quilla?”
“No. It’s Del Coltrane.”
“Have you seen or talked to Quilla today?” There was an edge to her voice. “Or yesterday?”
“No. Is something wrong?”
“Quilla hasn’t been home for the last two nights,” she said gravely. “Sometimes she stays away for one night… if we’ve had an argument, but she always comes back the next day only… we didn’t have an argument two days ago. Since the funeral, we’ve actually been very decent to one another. I’m extremely concerned. She’s been obsessing on finding my sister’s killer. And she mentioned a connection with her friend Gretchen’s mother and someone you knew. At first I thought it was too unbelievable to give any credibility to, but now I’m wondering if it could be true. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… could the same man be after her?”
The question gave me the chills. “Why would you think that?”
“My sister vanished off the face of the earth,” she snapped. “I think I have a right to ask the question. Quilla wasn’t the only one to suspect that something awful happened to her. I just chose to focus on the easier solution: that she ran away. But a small part of me feared the worst. Since Brandy’s disappearance I’ve spent every day dreading that the same thing might happen to Quilla. She’s run away in the past. You can’t imagine what that did to me. And she’s stayed out all night without warning me. Going on forty-eight hours without knowing where your child is can be hell. For the last two days I’ve been asking myself if my worry is premature. Should I call her friends? They would lie to protect her. Should I call the police? What good would it do. So I’ve been waiting… wondering… and I don’t know who to turn to.”
“Where was she going the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me her plans. She comes and goes. Sometimes I’m here. Sometimes I’m not. I often work long hours. My worst fear is that the person who killed my sister has indeed gotten hold of Quilla.”
That didn’t make any sense to me, but I knew enough about life not to assume anything. “That seems unlikely, Mrs. Worthington. There are so few people who know of Quilla’s passion for solving the murder… me, Perry Cobb, Gretchen Yearwood, the two other men on the Dankworth Police force.”
“Quilla told me about it. Who else did she tell? And who else did the others tell? Who else did you tell?” I tried to remember. Besides Gretchen, there was Vaughn and Nolan. I trusted each of them implicitly.
“Mrs. Worthington, if you feel in your heart, if your mother’s intuition is sending you a message, I think you need to call the police and tell them Quilla’s been gone for the last two days. I’ll be happy to put a call into Perry Cobb and, if you like, I’ll call Gretchen Yearwood… unless you’ve already contacted her.”
“I’ve been reluctant to call anyone. Quilla has run away before.”
“Call the police now. I’ll see what I can do. And if she shows up, call me.”
“Definitely.”
We both hung up. I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or if Quilla was acting out because of a fight with her mother that Suzanne hadn’t told me about. Or was it the fight with me? I decided to call Gretchen before I called Perry. She picked up after the first ring.
“Gretchen, it’s Del.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said her tone friendly. “I was just about to call you.”
“Why?”
“To apologize for my hostility the other day. I know you meant well with the information you had and I know that you’re in as much of a quandary about the whereabouts of your girlfriend as I am about my mother, but what you said was all so unexpected and, well, I felt badly after you left and I’m calling to tell you I’m sorry.”
“That’s not necessary. There’s no easy way to give or receive horrible information. I’m hoping that I’m wrong about your mother and Alyssa.
“Ever since I heard your and Quilla’s theory I’ve been forcing myself to give it some consideration despite my misgivings. Quilla told me a few more of hers, a couple of which I find interesting. I was thinking that the three of us should put our heads together.”
“That’s a great idea, but we may have a problem. When’s the last time you saw Quilla?”
“When you two were here. But I talked to her yesterday.”
“She hasn’t been home for two nights. I just spoke to her mother. She’s petrified that somebody has Quilla.”
“Somebody who?”
“The killer.”
“My God. I still can’t acclimate myself to thinking in these concepts. Why would the ‘killer’ want Quilla?”
“Her mother thinks it might be to stop her. Maybe she stumbled onto something and mentioned it to the wrong person. Do you know how to reach any of her friends?”
“I know some of their names. I could call them.”
“Let me help. If it’s not a bad time, I could come over. We could call her friends together.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
As I threw on some fresh clothes, I shook my head, frustrated at the mixed emotions I was feeling. I was concerned that something had happened to Quilla, yet I was glad that I would be spending some time with Gretchen.
As I pulled into Gretchen’s driveway the headlights on my car bounced off the front of her house revealing for a second a figure sitting on the front steps. I thought it was Kyle Thistle, but it was Gretchen.
“Hi, Del!” she said as she stood up. I felt as if I was picking her up for a date. “Let’s go inside.”
I followed her into the foyer and down a hallway whose walls were covered with a dozen or so framed photographs. She wore black jeans, a light blue denim workshirt and was barefoot. She had very small, delicate feet. Her toenails weren’t polished.