“Yes ma’am. I understand. Thanks for helping me.”
I assisted Mrs. Fairmont up the stairs to the main floor and then to her bedroom. I examined the picture of Ellen Prescott on the nightstand more closely. Lisa looked a lot like her mother.
“How old were you and Ellen in that picture?” I asked.
“About seven or eight. Young enough that a trip to the park with a friend was a special treat.”
I turned to go downstairs. I was anxious to read the rest of the newspaper articles.
“Tami?” Mrs. Fairmont asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I like having you in the house. It makes me feel safe.”
“Thank you.”
I took the box into my apartment and carefully removed the newspapers. They weren’t as brittle as the very old ones. Beginning with the first account of Lisa’s disappearance, I read the unfolding story more slowly.
There wasn’t much to tell.
One day Lisa was a bright, vivacious girl. The next she vanished without a trace. The second article was the longest and featured a map with Lisa’s most likely route from Miss Broadmore’s house to the Prescott home on East McDonough Street. Close to the Prescott home was the Colonial Park Cemetery.
Several follow-up articles included quotes from people claiming to have seen Lisa during her walk home. Unfortunately, the claims were inconsistent and would have required Lisa to walk several blocks out of her way instead of following the most direct route. The police chief offered cryptic comments without substance to the newspaper reporters. One fact seemed clear. No one saw the little girl after she neared the cemetery. The police focused their investigation on that area and scoured it for physical evidence. Not a piece of sheet music or bit of clothing was discovered. No ransom note was delivered. The possibility of a kidnapping faded.
After a week of daily articles, there was a two-day gap followed by a brief update without any new information. A week went by before another article repeated familiar facts with the conclusion that the police suspected “foul play” but had no suspects. Two months later there was a notice on page two of “Memorial Service for Girl Presumed Dead.” It was a harsh headline. More than eight hundred people attended the service at a local church. I returned the newspapers to the box. I looked over my notes and decided I hadn’t uncovered anything that warranted a nighttime walk to the office.
And, even though Lisa Prescott’s unexplained disappearance occurred decades earlier, I didn’t want to go out after dark.
20
THE WORLD APPEARED LESS MENACING IN THE MORNING WHEN I went for my run. I modified my route to include Lisa’s likely course home from her music teacher’s house. It wasn’t far. And in a simpler time, when children played outside without constant supervision, the brief walk would probably have been considered good exercise. I did a slow loop around Colonial Park Cemetery. The graveyard had many old headstones and looked like it had been closed for business for many years. It probably hadn’t changed much since Lisa Prescott saw it.
Returning to the house, I was surprised to find Mrs. Fairmont, wearing a green silk robe with flowers embroidered on it, standing in the kitchen. Coffee was filling the pot.
“Good morning,” I said, pouring myself a glass of water from a jug in the refrigerator.
“Good morning. Did you read the newspaper articles about Lisa?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am. They never mentioned murder, but there wasn’t another explanation.”
“We hoped for a while that it was a kidnapping. Money wouldn’t have been a problem.”
“But no ransom note came.”
“Right.” Mrs. Fairmont nodded. “You know, the Prescotts had a funeral for Lisa. Ellen didn’t want to do it, but her husband and the rest of the family insisted. It was a pathetic affair, no casket, all the unanswered questions. Ellen maintained hope Lisa would return. I grieved when Ellen died, but I also thought at least she was with Lisa again.”
It was a poignant thought. I poured Mrs. Fairmont a cup of coffee. The elderly woman seemed particularly lucid.
“What can you tell me about the criminal investigation?” I asked.
“Ellen and her husband met with the police several times, and she told me what was said. The detectives had ideas.” Mrs. Fairmont stared across the room.
“Do you remember?” I asked.
“There was the blood on the curb at Colonial Park Cemetery. They didn’t have all the fancy tests they do now. At first, the police thought it was from an animal hit by a car because they found a dead dog nearby, but later they figured out it was human blood.”
“That wasn’t in any of the newspaper articles. Was it Lisa’s blood type?”