"That was an interesting evening," Kate said once we reached the main highway. "Why do you think Richter didn't tell you what Matthew learned?"
"I don't know. Maybe he wanted me to find out for myself—he is paying me a lot of money, after all. But oh boy, Aunt Caroline would have loved every minute of tonight." I steadied the steering wheel with my left hand and reached into my right pocket. "By the way, I forgot to turn that clock back on. But let's see what's written on this." I handed over the folded paper.
Kate turned on the map light. "Could be some old note that came with the clock. Who knows? Maybe we'll end up on Antiques Roadshow showing off something Washington wrote to Jefferson."
"You watch Antiques Roadshow?" I said.
"Well, yeah. Lately."
"Dreamer," I said. "There's nothing old about that paper. Looked brand-new to me."
"You're right," Kate said. "This is a Xerox copy of a newspaper article. The print is small and all I can make out is the headline. 'Mysterious Katarina Richter Succumbs to Cancer.' "
I nearly swerved off the road. "You're kidding. That's the same article I found online. The one that talks about Katarina's disappearance and how at first they thought she'd been kidnapped. Do me a favor? There's a plastic grocery bag in the backseat. Could you put that paper in there? Cooper Boyd has JoLynn's prints and I'd like to see if she handled this paper."
"You think she put it under the clock?" Kate said.
"I have no idea. Could be something Richter saved. But JoLynn spent time in that library, according to both Leopold Hunt and Richter himself. If this article meant something to her and if she had a clue that people were searching through her things—which of course they were—she might have hidden it."
"What does the article say?" Kate asked.
For the rest of the trip home, I filled her in on my Internet research into the Richters, Katarina and missing persons. Then we discussed the bigger picture the Richter family had presented—their lack of concern about JoLynn's welfare, the threat she represented and, beneath it all, what I had felt and Kate confirmed: smoldering hostility.
14
Diva and I lay in bed past our usual time to get up on Wednesday morning. While she purred next to me, I thought about the case. Each family member offered me something different to consider.
Matthew's discovery that JoLynn's license was a fake made me wonder why no one in the family came right out and said JoLynn might be faking other things—like why she made her entrance into their lives. So what made Elliott Richter so trusting? Did he need the closeness and affection their relationship seemed to provide? Something that simple might be the answer.
As I stroked Diva, she turned on her back and stretched out, her purrs almost as loud as that dumb clock last night. Now in possession of a photo of JoLynn, I could return to my missing-persons Internet search with a better idea of what she looked like. Though she was using an invalid driver's license, she did have a name, though perhaps not JoLynn Richter. The birth certificate could have been fake, too. But maybe her story wasn't. Maybe JoLynn was put up for adoption— but never found a home as a child. I reached for my phone on the bedside table. Penny Flannery, here I come with more questions.
I got Penny's voice mail and left a message for her to call me when she was free. She didn't phone back until after I'd done forty minutes on my new elliptical trainer. I bought the contraption after deciding to give up running in Houston's summer heat. It was just too draining, not to mention very bad for the skin. I have nice skin, one of my decent features, and was discovering that ugly red bumps erupted after every outdoor run.
While I'd exercised, Diva watched me huff and sweat with great interest and seemed to be smiling slyly and maybe thinking, When will she figure out she's not getting anywhere? I just finished and was about ready to shower when Penny called back.
"Same problem case?" she asked.
"Yup. Question: You put up pictures of foster kids on a Web site, right?"
"Sure. First names and case numbers only," she answered.
"And I'll bet like all things on the Internet, those pictures are available for eternity, even if they've been removed from the site."
"I—I guess so. I'm sure someone has those files on their computer, maybe in Austin, maybe in Houston." She paused. "And that's what you want me to do? Find an old photo array that might have your girl's face?"
"Can you do that for me?" I asked.
"I can, but I don't know how long it will take."
"I know you're busy and I'm sorry, but—"
"This is no problem, Abby. You've done so much for the foster kids, we'll help any way we can. I don't have any dealings with our Web site people, that's all. But I promise I will find someone in the know as soon as I can. What years are we looking at?"
"If she was in the system, she would have aged out about five years ago max."
"To be safe, I'll get as many files as I can," she said.
"Great. In the meantime, I'll keep checking missing-persons databases. I have a photograph now, which will help. You're the best, Penny. I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything," she said.
An hour later, fresh from the shower, I sat down at my computer with my coffee and a day-old bagel that turned out to be as hard as a frozen turtle shell. I gave up after two attempts to bite into it and concentrated on the work instead.
I tried the HPD missing-persons site first and discovered there were very few photos. It seemed to be geared more to giving information on whom to contact to file a missing-person's report. I sat back. Maybe Jeff could make this chore a whole lot easier.
I picked up the phone again and punched his speed dial number. Lucky for me, he actually answered with, "Hey, you. You're the kind of distraction I can use."
"Because you're dealing with something gruesome right now?"
"About as gruesome as it gets. Court. I'm outside and don't plan to go in until the last possible minute."
"You don't care if you're sweating like a penguin on the equator when you have to testify?"
"Couldn't care less. What do you need, hon?"
"A little help. I've already made one swipe at missing-persons databases on the Internet and it's a little overwhelming. Do you know anyone in the missing-persons division who could help me?"
Jeff laughed. "You gotta be kidding. Do you know how many people are reported missing in Houston in a year?"
"I have no idea."
"Try seven thousand. And with only nine investigators to handle the load."
"Shut up. I had no idea. Guess I need to handle this myself."
"That would be wise," he said. "How's your aunt, by the way?"
"Shoot. I need to call her. I've gotten so wrapped up in this case, I've been ignoring my obligation to be nice to her while she tells me how the cow ate the cabbage."
Jeff laughed again. "I was thinking about asking Loreen to stay late tonight with Doris so you and I can spend some alone time. That sound good?"
I smiled. "Sounds better than good. Now I'm the one who'll be distracted all day. I'll see you later, then."
"Bye, hon." He disconnected.
I sighed. Alone time. And he would arrange it. God, I loved that guy.
I got busy on my computer, the conversation with Jeff making me feel upbeat and the recent picture of JoLynn making me feel a tiny bit more optimistic about my chances of finding out if anyone reported her missing.