Photograph, page 14
“What about a boyfriend?”
“No. Dawn never dated.”
I tiptoed into the minefield. “Mrs. West, I don’t want to offend you, but you said you didn’t know Dawn as well as you wanted. So I’m wondering, Is it possible she could have had a boyfriend without your knowing about it?”
Gretchen opened her mouth as if to quickly say no, but then she stopped herself. “She never mentioned anyone, but yes, I suppose it’s possible she wouldn’t have told me. Why would that be important?”
“First, because she might have shared secrets with a boyfriend about what was going on in her life. And second, if a teenage girl slips out of the house in the middle of the night, nine times out of ten a boy is involved.”
Gretchen frowned. “You think she was meeting a boy at that motel?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s important to find out why she left the house. If she was meeting someone, it’s possible whoever it was is the one who killed her. Or maybe that person saw something and knows what really happened.”
“Phil Potter didn’t think Dawn went to the motel on her own. He thought someone took her there. A stranger.”
“What do you think?”
“I believed that for a lot of years. Now I wonder if it was wishful thinking.”
“Gretchen, I’m not saying the police didn’t do their jobs back then. But I don’t believe the coincidence that Dawn snuck out of the house that night and then got killed by someone who didn’t know her. I think something else was going on in her life. Do you remember anything about her behavior in the days leading up to her murder? Did she say or do anything at all to suggest that something was wrong?”
Dawn’s mother exhaled long and slow. “I’ve asked myself that same question thousands of times.”
“I’m sure.”
“I wish I could say yes. I wish I could tell you I saw something. But if Dawn was different than usual, I didn’t notice. Maybe if I had, I would have pressed her to talk to me.”
Her eyes misted, and I gave her time. Then Gretchen went on.
“If anyone might know more, it’s Gordon. Her brother. The two of them were always very close. He was two years older, but in many ways, it was like Dawn was the older sibling. She looked out for him. She took care of him. Back then, he told the police he didn’t know anything about what happened to Dawn, but—”
I waited. When she didn’t go on, I said, “But?”
“Gordon didn’t always tell the truth in those days.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Of course. He denied knowing anything.”
“Detective Kimble said Gordon was in Detroit the night that Dawn was killed.”
Gretchen nodded. “Yes, he had a gig with his band over there. We were encouraging his music. If he had to be obsessed with something, better music than drugs.”
“And you are one hundred percent sure he wasn’t in Devil Creek?”
“I am. I have a cousin in Detroit who went to see the show. Whatever else Gordon may have done in his life, Dawn wasn’t going to the motel to see him that night. In fact, I was the one who broke the news to him on the phone. He was devastated.”
“Where can I find Gordon? I’d like to talk to him.”
“He has an apartment in Benton Harbor. He’s a manager at a local Dollar Store.”
“And what about—”
“Drugs?” Gretchen asked, anticipating my question. “He had problems for a long time after Dawn’s death. I think drugs kept him numb. He was in and out of rehab in his twenties, but as far as I know, he’s clean now.”
“There’s one more thing. I learned today that there was a triple murder just a few days before Dawn was killed.”
Gretchen nodded. “The Daugherty family. Terrible thing.”
“I can’t help but wonder if there was a connection.”
“I wondered that, too, but Phil Potter said no.”
“Did Phil really look into it?”
Her eyes showed confusion. “What are you saying?”
“Well, from what I hear, the Daugherty murders scared a lot of people. This was a Chicago gang brutally assassinating a prosecutor and his family. If I were a local cop, I might think twice about pushing too hard. I’d wonder if my loved ones would end up next on the hit list.”
Gretchen’s lips pursed with thought. “Phil does have a family. Wife and three daughters. The girls were little back then. I never got the impression he was holding back, but I’m not sure I would have realized it if he was.”
“What about the Daughertys?” I asked. “Did you know them?”
“I knew who Greg Daugherty was, but that’s all. My husband and I had never met him or his wife.”
“What about Dawn?”
“She and the Daugherty boy, Zeke, went to the same high school. All the teenagers around here did. It was a big school.”
“Did Dawn ever mention Zeke?”
Gretchen shook her head. “Not that I recall.”
“What about after the murders?”
“Well, she was upset about it, of course. Everybody in town was. Things like that don’t happen in Devil Creek. Plus, it was all so—gruesome. Bad enough to kill Greg, but his wife and son, too? These people were evil.”
“Yes, they were,” I agreed.
Gretchen checked her watch. “I’m not trying to rush you, Shannon, but I have a meeting with the high school principal this afternoon. I’m on the school board. I have been for years. It makes me feel good to be doing something for the current generation of kids. You know, after what happened to Dawn.”
“Of course. I don’t have any more questions right now.”
We both got up from the chairs. As we turned to go into the house, Gretchen took my shoulder with a light touch and added, “Actually, you might want to talk to Rick yourself at some point.”
“Rick?”
“Rick Kaslan. He’s the principal I’m going to meet. Rick has been at the school his whole career. He started out as a math teacher years ago. In fact, he was Dawn’s teacher during both of her high school years. Maybe Rick can tell you more about what was happening with Dawn at school back then.”
SIXTEEN
Gretchen retrieved Dawn’s memory box from her attic, and I put it in my SUV. It wasn’t a big box—maybe two feet by two feet—and I was sure the police had already studied all of Dawn’s personal effects years earlier. Even so, the box offered me a chance to get to know this teenage girl better than I did. If she was keeping secrets from her parents, then maybe she’d left some clues behind about what was really going on in her life.
As I drove back to the motel, I passed a Dollar Store on the lake side of the north–south highway. Gretchen had mentioned that Dawn’s brother worked as a manager at a Dollar Store, and I wondered if this was the location. So I did a U-turn in the SUV and pulled into the parking lot.
Inside, Gordon was easy to spot. He was behind the register and looked very much like Dawn and Gretchen. The gene pool was strong in that family. But one glance at Gordon also told me he’d led a hard life. He was tall, over six feet, but beanpole skinny, wearing a T-shirt and jeans that looked several sizes too big. His face was sunken and pale, his dark eyes framed by coffee-colored half moons. He’d lost most of his brown hair, with narrow patches clinging to his head like moss. I calculated that he was in his mid-forties, but anyone looking at him would have guessed he was older.
Gretchen had said he was clean of drugs, but everything about his twitchy appearance screamed of addiction.
I left the store without talking to him, because this wasn’t the kind of conversation I wanted to have while he was at work. I got back in my SUV, but before I could start the engine, I saw Gordon exit through the front doors. He had a pack of cigarettes clutched in one hand. He headed for the back of the store, past the propane tanks and the garbage bins, and stood by himself near a stand of trees that blocked Lake Michigan and the sand dunes from view.
He dug in a pocket of his loose jeans and popped something in his mouth. I didn’t think it was a vitamin. Then he lit up a cigarette and blew smoke into the air, and his whole body visibly relaxed.
I got out of the SUV and headed his way. When he saw me coming, he tensed, like a cat scared of its own shadow. Gordon was obviously not a fan of strangers. I took off my sunglasses so he could see my eyes, and I gave him as warm a smile as I could. He didn’t smile back.
“Are you Gordon?” I asked as I came up to him. “Gordon West?”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Shannon Wells. I just left your mom. She told me where you worked. She said I should talk to you.”
“Talk about what?”
“About Dawn.”
His face gave a little jerk when he heard his sister’s name, and a shiver rippled through his body. “I don’t want to talk about Dawn. That was years ago. Leave her in peace, okay?”
“I don’t think getting murdered at sixteen is a recipe for resting in peace.”
“Why do you care? What are you doing here?”
“I’m a private investigator. I was hired by the daughter of a woman who was killed in Florida last month. I think her murder is connected to the murder of your sister.”
“That’s crazy,” he snapped. “Dawn was killed years ago.”
“Well, someone hasn’t forgotten.”
Gordon stripped his cigarette out of his mouth and blew smoke in the air. “What do you want from me? I can’t tell you anything. I wasn’t even in Devil Creek when Dawn got killed. I was on the other side of the state. I had to hear that my sister was dead on a phone call from my mom.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough. But your sister’s murder was never solved. You must want answers.”
“Sure I do. But like I said, it was a long time ago. If the cops couldn’t figure it out, why do you think you can?”
“Because my client’s mother was involved in what happened. That’s a clue nobody had before.” I tried again with the photo of Faith Selby on my phone. “Do you recognize this woman? She’s the one who got killed in Florida. Maybe she knew Dawn back then, maybe not. But she was at the Thunder Mountain Motel when your sister was murdered.”
He didn’t want to look at my phone, but I shoved it in his face and gave him no choice. He stared at the picture of Faith, and I watched his brain peeling away the years, trying to imagine a woman who was younger. A furrow momentarily crossed his forehead, but then he scowled and shook his head.
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s a little familiar, but that’s all.”
“Your mother said the same thing. She looked familiar to her, too.”
“Well, if I knew her, I don’t remember. It’s been twenty-six years, and a lot of the days back then were kind of a blur for me, you know? Besides, some people just have that familiar look. You think you know them, but you don’t. If this woman was at the motel that night, she was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s how it goes. People who see things they’re not supposed to wind up dead.”
That was an interesting thing to say.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Gordon?”
“No. I already told you, I wasn’t even in town when it happened.”
“Maybe not, but sisters tell brothers things they won’t tell their parents. Do you know why Dawn left the house in the middle of the night?”
“I have no idea.”
“Was she meeting someone at the motel?”
“I. Don’t. Know. How many times do I have to say it? Look, I’ve got to get back to work. We’re done here.” He went to walk past me, but I took his skinny wrist in my grasp. It was like pinching a chopstick with my fingers. I could feel the stampede of his pulse.
“Gordon, please. I know you care about what happened to your sister. Help me find out who did this.”
“That won’t bring her back, will it?”
“No, it won’t, but it might help you live with it. Talk to me. Tell me the truth. Was Dawn into drugs?”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Dawn? No way. Not a chance.”
“What about you? I heard you were dealing.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Back then, a drug gang had this town under its thumb. So I want to know if Dawn’s murder had something to do with that.”
“No, it didn’t,” Gordon snapped.
“Really? What about the Daughertys? The county attorney and his wife and son all murdered barely a week earlier. You’re telling me there was no connection with what happened to Dawn? Come on, Gordon. If you know what it was—if you even suspect anything—then tell me. Give me something. You owe your sister that much.”
Gordon glanced at the Dollar Store. He dug in his pocket and lit another cigarette. His fingers trembled. When he blinked again, I thought he was ready to cry. “Dawn was acting weird. That’s all I’m going to say.”
My head thumped with excitement, but I played it cool. Don’t spook the deer if you want to get close to it. “When was this?”
“Those last few days.”
“After the Daugherty murders?”
“Yeah. She was scared. She didn’t want to be alone.”
“Did you talk to her about it?”
“No. Everybody in town was upset about what happened. I figured she’d get over it soon enough. But then—”
Gordon stopped. He opened his mouth and clamped it shut.
“Then what?” I asked.
His eyes darted up and down my body, as if wondering whether I was a spy. Or whether I was wearing a wire. “Dawn called me.”
“When?”
“That last night.”
“You talked to your sister the night she was killed?”
He nodded. “Yeah. The concert was over. I was back in the hotel. She called my room.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. One in the morning, maybe later.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she was being watched. She’d seen a car near the house. She was scared to death.”
“Who did she think it was?”
“She didn’t know.”
“What did you tell her? Did you tell her to call the police?”
“No, I didn’t. She saw a car outside. Big deal. It happens on the dirt roads a lot. It was probably kids making out. I told her not to worry. I said she should just go to sleep.”
“Then what?”
“Then nothing. She hung up.”
“Did she tell you she was planning to go out?”
“No.”
I sighed and shook my head. “Gordon, why did you keep this quiet? Why didn’t you tell the police what she said when they talked to you?”
“How would that have helped them? I didn’t know anything.” He dropped his cigarette in the weeds and crushed it out with his foot. “Besides, before we hung up, Dawn made me swear. She said I shouldn’t say a word to anybody about it. So I didn’t. I kept my promise.”
SEVENTEEN
I stayed in the motel room that evening. For dinner, I ordered pizza from a place called DiMaggio’s. The box of Dawn’s memories taunted me as it sat on the bed. Every time I went to open it, something made me stop. This whole case had struck an uncomfortable nerve with me. I knew when I saw what was inside the box, Dawn would feel real to me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. It’s like rereading a book where the hero dies. The shadow falls across you on every page, because you know what’s coming.
So I stalled and left the box where it was.
I thought about calling my father, because we hadn’t ended things well, and I felt bad about that. But I didn’t.
I thought about calling Kate. Sometimes a friend fills a void that you didn’t know you had, and that was true of Kate. But I had nothing to tell her, and I didn’t want to reach out until I had something concrete to show for my trip.
I was still killing time, so I dug out my notes from Angola. I reread everything I could about the murder of Jenny Curtis. Nothing felt familiar to me—how could it when I hadn’t been born yet?—but I still had the creepy sensation that I’d somehow switched places with her in that bedroom. Whenever I went to sleep, I was sure I would be pointing a Smith & Wesson at my own face. So I wasn’t crazy about the idea of going to sleep.
Instead, I stayed awake and left the television on.
By midnight, Dawn’s memory box was still unopened, looking at me from the bed and calling me a coward.
I was thirsty after the pizza, so I went outside to get a Coke Zero from the pop machine. The Michigan summer rain had started again, a steady, gentle shower that made the drab motel glisten. I fed in my money and heard the kerchunk as a can dropped. When I grabbed it, I stood there, not opening it yet, staring at the machine. I thought about that little girl in the photograph, with a can of Coke in her hand and the rain pouring over her head.
Faith Selby had been there, too. To take the picture, Faith would have been standing behind the girl somewhere in the parking lot. Her back would have been to the empty lot where Dawn was about to be murdered.
But why was Faith there at all?
I couldn’t imagine her glancing out the motel room window and rushing through the door with her camera. She had to be outside already.
To do what?
Did she know the girl?
It wasn’t her daughter. Kate Selby was still several months down the road in Faith’s life. Did Faith have another child that Kate knew nothing about? No. Definitely not. It was impossible for me to imagine a woman like Faith running away and leaving her child behind.
So why was Faith outside?
I opened my can of Coke and took a drink. I tried to let the past wash over me. Go back in time. Let that long-ago night come to life again. If you believe in ghosts, then this seemed like a good place to haunt, a place where someone’s spirit might be trapped.
Are you still here, Dawn? Talk to me. Tell me what happened.
Behind me, something sharp scratched on metal, making me jump.
