“This is the bus stop where your friend was heading the morning she went missing, right?”
The girl nods.
“Where do you think she would have gone from the bus stop?”
The girl shrugs and gestures widely with her right arm until her hand sweeps toward the lone house across the sidewalk.
Linda frowns sympathetically, “I’m sorry your friend is missing. I’m doing my best to find her.”
“Well, she’s got to be somewhere, but nobody knows where, not even the police.”
The short brunette approaches the other teen and complains, “Come on, let’s get to the store.”
“Go ahead,” Linda says, “it was nice talking to you.”
The pair of teens wave to Linda and resume their journey. Linda shouts a final question that causes them to stop and turn. “What’s your name? For my detective notes, who are you?”
The tall, talkative one smiles. “Miranda Gaddis.”
More days pass with no new information forthcoming about Ashley. Customers’ cars surround a crowded suburban Barry’s Restaurant. A green sedan is one of those cars and its owner, Linda O’Neal, is comfortably seated inside the restaurant across the table from her longtime friend. Ginger is a tall, slender and attractive forty-something woman who works in the administration offices for the Clackamas County Sheriff’s Department. Off and on, for years the two have shared mutual gossip gleaned from their respective situations. Privileged information can be a most useful commodity for a private investigator, so valuable sources must be tended.
Chicken Cordon Bleu floating on a bed of crispy lettuce is being carefully set onto the table by a smiling senior citizen waitress. “Can I get you girls anything else?”
Linda smiles warmly. “Yes, an extra plate. We’re going to share.” After the waitress departs, Linda examines her companion. “You look really good, Ginger. Been working out?”
“It’s the kick boxing. Tuesday and Thursday nights.”
“Kick boxing?”
“Oh, yeah. Linda, those twenty-something studs are very effective instructors. You ought to give it a try. Want to come with me next time?”
“Do you have to wear one of those funny costumes?”
“It’s not a costume, silly. It’s just appropriate sports attire.”
Linda chuckles nervously. “Well, I don’t think so. It’s really not my style. I’m not prancing around in some leotard and thong! Besides, every spare moment I get is being dominated by a tragedy on my husband’s side of the family.”
Ginger touches the top of Linda’s hand. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“Philip’s step-granddaughter is missing and I’m trying to help the family because, well frankly, so far, the police have dead-ended.”
Ginger is confused. “The missing girl is your husband’s what?”
“Yeah, I know, you practically need a program to keep up with this cast of characters.” Linda pauses. “It’s like this. Philip was married as a teenager. His wife was the mother of his first two kids, now in their thirties. They divorced. Then his ex-wife had two more kids by her next husband. One of those girls grew up and had kids of her own. Her oldest is the girl who disappeared, Ashley Pond.”
Ginger sighs, “So you’re trying to find Ashley Pond too. Every investigator in Clackamas County is looking for her. Boy, has that case turned into a circus. It’s getting bigger and bigger, especially since the FBI took over.”
“Yeah, and that puts you right in the center ring.”
“Too bad it’s in a tiny car filled with a bunch of clowns.” Ginger shakes her head.
Linda glances around as if to detect potential eavesdroppers. When she is satisfied, she asks, “Any good suspects?”
“We can’t go there, Linda. With the Feds involved we’ve been warned that leaks will not be tolerated. These guys are fanatical. I mean people could lose their jobs.”
“Okay, we won’t talk about the case, but there’s nothing to keep us from gossiping about our mutual friends and my in-laws.” They laugh. Linda resumes. “For instance, do you know if anybody’s been driving over to Molalla a lot lately?”
“Molalla. Molalla. That rings a bell somewhere. Let me think a minute. As a matter of fact, I believe some detective was pursuing a lead from Molalla, a guy from West Linn police. Detective, uuh, Jay, I think it is. Jay Weitman.”1 2
“What about Molalla got him riled?”
“Can’t go there, Linda. The best I can do is maybe just confirm information you have. Do you want to tell me what your Molalla connection is?”
Linda pauses to consider the implications. “No, I really don’t. I don’t have enough to go on yet. I was just hoping…Oh well.” Linda’s expression tightens as she prepares to plead. “Come on old friend. Give me something here. If it was the other way around, I’d spring. How about Lori Pond? Is she getting close scrutiny?”
Ginger smiles. “Oh Linda, you know how to work me so good. Okay. But don’t push me. Naturally, they’ve all got eyes on Lori Pond. The profilers always say look to the immediate family. A lot of focus right now is on her, her background, who she has hung around with, all the police calls to her apartment.”
“She has a lot of snakes in the closet, from what I hear, but is there any real evidence?”
“All I know is there’s a lot of hours being invested in looking at Lori Pond. And of course, Lori Pond says it’s some guy named Ward Weaver.”
“Is there any evidence against Lori, like assaults or violence?”
“You tell me. The other day a detective was showing our boss a bunch of photos they took at Pond’s apartment and there must have been five or ten different places where a hole got punched. I’m talking about the doors and the walls. Many, many holes. And when they asked Lori about one of the biggest ones, I think it was in the bathroom door, she admitted to causing the damage herself. She said every hole had an accidental cause and none came about because of any fighting. She said that big bathroom hole happened when she had to kick it in because Ashley locked herself in and wouldn’t come out. And another one was when they were playing, not fighting. She said not one was caused by fighting.”3
Linda beams. “Cool. Thanks, Ginger.”
“For what? We just talked about your in-laws.” She laughs.
A
