I became a detective because of Lucy.”
He nodded. “Erica mentioned something along those lines.”
“In the beginning, I did what I could on my own time to find her. But I kept running into brick walls. I got frustrated and angry that I wasn’t making any progress. It became an...obsession. Once again, the case was taking over my life.” She licked her lips and took a swig of her iced tea. “The first time was when she was taken. My parents worked so hard to find her—flyers, press conferences, interviews, everything. And of course I did what I could to be involved and help, but I was fourteen. I was powerless.” She swallowed hard.
“I hated that feeling. But now I was doing something.” She sighed. “My lieutenant had been very understanding, but I’d reached the limit on his patience. He was ready to put me on suspension because I was letting it affect my performance on my other cases. I had to stop if I wanted to save my career, my sanity. So I did.”
And she felt guilty for that. “I told myself I would take a break and get back to it. And I came to Finding the Lost because I thought it would be good to have some outside help to keep me from becoming obsessed.”
“How long has your break been?”
“A year.”
“So after a year, you decide to start searching again. Why the hesitation now?”
She rubbed her eyes. “Part of me is scared that I’ll do it again. Let it become an obsession. And as much as I want to know what happened to her, that can’t happen. And—” she picked at imaginary lint on the sleeve of her fleece “—I’m afraid of what I’m—we’re—going to find.”
“You’re scared we’re going to find out she’s dead.”
Katie looked up. “It’s been fourteen years, Jordan. You know the odds as well as I do.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to know what happened to her. And yet...I don’t.”
“You can’t have it both ways.” He gentled his tone.
“I know that.” She rubbed a hand down her weary face and closed her eyes. “I just... What if she’s dead?” she whispered. “How will I tell my parents that? How will I live with it?”
Jordan leaned over and took her hand. The warmth of his fingers on hers made her shiver. “Won’t it give you some closure? One way or the other? All these years you’ve held out hope. Even if she’s dead, wouldn’t you finally be able to put it behind you?”
Katie shrugged and bit her lip then said, “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I simply don’t know.”
Jordan sighed. “Well, I’ve got information. I need to know what you want me to do with it.”
She shook her head. “Finding Lucy is why I’m here. I’ve been kidding myself thinking I could just let it go permanently.” She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’ve got to know one way or another—and I think my parents do, too.” After shredding her napkin into tiny pieces, she firmed her lips and looked him in the eye. “So tell me.”
* * *
Jordan pulled at his lower lip. Then he said, “I called a friend at the bureau and asked him about the case, got the file emailed to me and did some research. Your lieutenant was nice enough to let me have the local law enforcement file so I could compare the two.” He set that on the table in front of her.
She glanced at it. “Who have you talked to so far?”
“A lot of people. Particularly those who still live in your old neighborhood.”
“Go on.”
He pulled out a notebook and flipped through a few pages. “I tried to get in touch with your neighbor Elaine Johnson.”
“She’s still alive?” Katie asked.
It surprised him she didn’t know. “Yes. She’s old, but she’s definitely alive. The only problem is, she wasn’t home. I’ve been by her house three times and she’s not there. I asked some of your neighbors where she is and one of them thought she was visiting her son in Georgia. Another said she was in the hospital. And yet another said she thought she was in a nursing home. I’m tracking her down.”
“How about that. Elaine Johnson’s still alive.” She gave a breathy laugh. “Wow. I mean, I knew she was a year ago, but she was in the hospital with congestive heart failure the last I heard. I ended up deciding to take my break before I was able to talk to her, but I would scan the obituaries in the paper thinking I’d see her name. When I never did, I figured I just missed it.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “She didn’t see anything anyway that day. She was with me in the house when it all happened.”
Jordan nodded. Elaine Johnson. The next-door neighbor who’d needed help with her groceries. Katie had carried several bags into the house and then returned to her front yard to find Lucy missing.
She swallowed hard. “Who else have you had a chance to talk to?”
“Some of the other neighbors, but no one seemed to notice anything odd that day—until you called the cops and they swarmed the neighborhood. I’m still trying to track down a few people I haven’t gotten in touch with, people who’ve moved out of the neighborhood, but there aren’t many. I want to question every neighbor who was within sight of your old front yard.”
“I already did that, but maybe a new person asking even the same questions will spark something that’ll produce different answers.” One could hope. “A couple of hours after Lucy disappeared, I remember the detective, Frank Miller, coming out and questioning everyone even though the uniformed officers had already done it.” She finished off her last slice of pizza. “I watched him go house to house. I even followed him to see if I could listen in and learn anything.”
“Did you?”
“No. In fact, he was mad when he caught me. Told me to go on home and let him do his job. I remember smarting off to him and telling him he must not be much of a detective since my sister was still missing.” Jordan winced and she nodded. “Yeah, he wasn’t too happy with that.”
“I guess not.”
“I still see him around the precinct every once in a while. He goes out of his way to avoid me.”
“Detective Frank Miller. I spoke to him, too. He feels bad about not finding Lucy. It’s obvious that talking about the case brings back unpleasant memories, a sense of failure.” Jordan flipped the page in his notebook. “He’s forty-five years old now. Your sister’s case was one of his first, but his partner, Danny Jackson, was a veteran.”
“I talked to him last year, too. He retired a few years ago.”
“He was close to retirement fourteen years ago. He said your sister’s is one of the cases that still haunts him.”
“So did talking to them help? Because it didn’t do much for me. He’s very gruff, but I don’t think I should take it personally. I think it’s just how he is.”
“He was gruff with me, too. And I’m not sure if talking to him helped. He basically told me to mind my own business. I’m still
