Threads of Suspicion(96)
One photo struck her as particularly interesting—Jenna with two of her friends, singing together on a karaoke stage. A jacket matching best friend Robin’s dress was draped over a chair on the left side of the photo. Two girls were sitting at the round table, one Evie recognized as the girl living in the apartment across the hall from Jenna. The other girl wasn’t happy, that was clear. In a room of smiling and laughing people, this girl obviously wasn’t in a good mood.
Evie searched through the pages, found the girl in one other group photographed on another night of music. Guitars rested on stands on a low stage beyond the group’s table. There were no names written on the back of either photo, but she knew someone who might know her.
Evie looked up the place where Candy Trefford worked as a hostess three nights a week. It was getting late—a good time to chase down the woman. “David, I’m running out to get an answer from someone I spoke with before. She works nights. Anything you want me to bring back?”
She looked around when she didn’t get a reply, saw his concentration on a photo, holding up a hand to request a minute. “Sorry,” he said eventually. “Yeah. I’m good. The FBI lab people taking another look at the three smothered girls think they have a partial print—a composite from three marginal partials lifted at the three scenes. It’s this.” He pointed to the photo on his screen. “I see what they’re doing, the science behind it, but it’s going to be a challenge to get a judge to accept it.”
“Did they get a database match?” she asked, coming around to look at the screen with him.
“They just started running it. This thin of a partial is just going to create another list of names.”
Evie’s chuckle turned into a laugh. “David, that should be stenciled on a wall around here,” she said, shoulders shaking. “We’re the master list creators—music majors, drunk drivers, pickpockets, guys with criminal records living within four blocks of Jenna, loyal fans of Triple M, friends and enemies of Jenna.” She finally quit laughing, added, “And that’s before we add all the details of the other four possibly related cases.”
“I admit, I can’t help but be amazed at our tenacity,” David agreed, matching her humor. “We’re going to pin this guy down somehow, someway. It’s inevitable now.”
“I am off to get a name to go with this photo,” Evie said, holding it up, “and should be back within half an hour.”
“Watch for idiot drivers on the ice out there—nighttime brings out the drunks.”
“Such fond memories you bring back from when I worked patrol,” Evie joked, then headed out.
At ten p.m., the Ocean Wave Restaurant’s incoming guests were down to a handful. Candy stood at the reservation desk talking with a server. She stiffened when she saw Evie. “I’m working tonight.”
“You can spare five minutes.” She nodded to the privacy of an empty area by the drink station. Candy’s reluctance was evident in every step.
“I’m not here to ask about Jenna.” Evie held out the photo and tapped the girl sitting at the table. “Tell me about this girl.”
Candy glanced at the photo. “Wannabe Maggie?”
Evie felt the shock all the way to her toes. “Yes, that one. What’s her real name? Then tell me everything else you know about her, please.”
Candy cast a suspicious glance at Evie. “Am I getting her in trouble?”
“I don’t even know her name, so probably not, unless she’s done something seriously bad she shouldn’t have. Help me out here, Candy.”
“Lynne Benoit. Music major, good voice, wanted a career as a singer. Devoted Triple M fan. A little weird. Over-the-top ticked off when someone messed up a song and didn’t sing the lyrics as originally written. I’ve seen that scowl on her face so often I don’t even need to guess the problem. Jenna and her pals were improvising lyrics again.”
“Lynne ever get that break as a singer?”
“Not that I’ve heard. She worked backstage at the Fifth Street Music Hall during her college years, for all I know still does, trying to snag a manager or connect with a band, another performer. It wasn’t much of a job. She was the dressing room staffer—basically a gofer—bringing in food and drinks, finding misplaced curling irons and shoe boxes, whatever performers and their staff needed. But to listen to her, that job was the highlight of her life. She plastered autographs and photos of everyone who played at the Music Hall on her walls. Maggie was everything she wanted to be one day—great lyrics, the band, the singing career. She was trying to copy her style. Lynne was probably Maggie’s most devoted fan.”