And Then She Was Gone(47)

They walked down a back hallway lined with small offices before reaching a brightly lit soda machine set back in an alcove.

“I remember my first DOA,” Clark said. “It was an elderly gentleman. He had died at a ripe old age of natural causes, but it still bothered me for weeks.” He pressed the only button on the vending machine that didn’t have a red light on it. He handed Jack a can. “Has this put you off a career in law enforcement?”

The cold liquid felt good on Jack’s dry throat. He stared into the can’s opening and thought about Clark’s question, then took another long sip. “If it wasn’t me who found her, it would have been someone else, right? So, no. I’m not rethinking it.”

A uniformed officer opened a door in the hallway. “Detective Clark, do you have a second?”

“I’ll be right back.” Detective Clark pointed at a door down the hallway. “If you need to use the men’s room, it’s right there.”

Detective Clark and the officer stepped away, leaving Jack alone in the alcove. The soda machine hummed, the air conditioning buzzed, and the overhead lights made a faint clicking to add to the electrical chorus. Jack knew he was in the middle of a police station surrounded by police officers and firepower, but the hallway seemed cavernous. He felt raw and exposed. He put his back tightly against the wall and closed his eyes.

Jack pictured the golden light on the pond and the horror beneath the water. He could see Stacy there, hovering just beneath the surface—floating like a ghost. Her beautiful blond hair drifted around her angelic face like tendrils.

But Jack hadn’t found her alive. He hadn’t rushed in and rescued her. Stacy Shaw was dead.

Jack closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He willed himself to change the picture in his mind, but somehow he could only see her face. He was used to nightmares—but he wasn’t used to not being able to escape the terror when he was awake.

Jack’s eyes flashed open. Hanging on the wall directly across from him was a missing person poster for Stacy Shaw. Her eyes were bright and so full of life.

He felt sick.

A door opened down the hallway, and a woman’s voice said, “Detective Vargas?”

“Superintendent Finney, come on in.”

They lowered their voices, but because of the echo in the narrow corridor, Jack could still clearly hear them.

“I have the M.E.’s report,” the superintendent said. “Manual strangulation. He couldn’t give us an exact time, but he puts preliminary time of death between seven and eleven Thursday night. He also confirmed she was pregnant, eleven weeks along.”

“Was there any evidence of sexual assault?” Vargas asked.

“Inconclusive.”

“Well, the time of death fits with what we know. She worked late that night. Her manager…” papers shuffled, “a Leland Chambers, said he last saw her a little after seven, and the custodian saw her about forty-five minutes after that. Another employee, Betty Robinson, spoke with Stacy when she left the building at quarter till eight. Her husband, Michael, called her from his hotel in Schenectady, New York, and spoke to her at seven fifty-two p.m. He called her again at nine, but got no answer. Her phone was on the same cell tower for both calls.” More papers shuffled. “Not a surprise. The Morse Hill cell tower covers both her work and Ford’s Crossing, where her car was found.”

“Her phone was found in the car?” the superintendent asked.

“On the front seat. Keys were still in the ignition.”

“When did the state trooper find the car?”

“Ten fifteen.”

“So she was killed sometime between eight and ten.”

“Yes. Small window.”

“If she was attacked and killed in the park,” the superintendent said, “why would her car be a mile away?”

Vargas coughed. “We don’t know. Maybe he took her car for a joy ride.”

“Have you pulled all the video surveillance cameras between the two locations?”

“We started pulling them when she went missing. So far there’s nothing.” Vargas let out a long breath. “But we did get a hit on Jay Martin’s sneakers. The blood on the edge of the sole—it’s Stacy’s. The blood samples found on the rocks at the top of the hill are Stacy’s as well. He must have dragged her across the rocks. She had a deep laceration on her heel.”

“Well, that puts a bow on it. Nice work.” A chair slid back.

“Thanks. I just wish it had ended differently,” Vargas said. Another chair scraped against the floor. “Well, I’ve got to go interview these two guys who found the body.”