Little Stolen Memories: New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

Chapter 5

“Well, well … what a pleasant surprise,” my mother said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

She’d said it with a hint of sarcasm and a smile, and with the perfect dramatic flair I’d come to expect from her.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I opened the screen door. “I’m sorry I missed family dinner last night. Our flight was delayed.”

A week earlier, I’d been in New York City with my fiancé, Giovanni. We visited his family and taken in the sights. Aside from it being the place where we both went to college and where he’d proposed, I’d always felt a bond to the city, its food, and its people. From the Staten Island Ferry to the bright lights in Times Square at night, there was a magical element to the place, a place which felt unlike any other.

My mother moved a hand to her hip, narrowing her eyes but not saying a word, and since uncomfortable silences had never suited me, I said, “Like I was saying before … since I didn’t make Sunday dinner, I wanted to stop by and say hello today.”

Based on the look on her face, she hadn’t believed a word I’d said.

“A visit from you is always welcome, dear,” she said. “But I must say, I always know when you’re not telling the truth. You’ve never had much of a poker face. Ahh, well. It’s no matter. You’re here now, and I’ve just put the kettle on. Care for a cup of tea?”

“I’d love one.”

“Wonderful.” She swished a hand in my direction. “Now get on in here before you let every fly in the neighborhood inside the house.”

I closed the door behind me and followed her to the kitchen, where I found Harvey, sitting at the table filling in a word search.

He looked up at me and smiled. “Hello, Georgiana. Nice to see you. How’s things at the detective agency?”

I glanced at my mother, who’d leaned in my direction, awaiting an answer.

“Oh, you know … things at work are humming along,” I said.

“Any new cases since I saw you last?” he asked.

I shifted my attention from Harvey to my mother, and I bit my lip, trying to decide how I was going to discuss the true reason for my visit. Ever since Harvey retired, my mother didn’t like me discussing my murder investigations with him. She thought the stress of such topics spiked his blood pressure. When he was chief of police, it had, which was the reason he’d retired. Even so, he missed working on homicides, and he never hesitated to offer his help.

“I … yeah,” I said. “There’s something I need to talk with Harvey about.”

“Out with it, Georgiana,” my mother said. “I’m guessing you have a new case. May as well get right to it and tell us what’s on your mind.”

I took a seat at the table, and Harvey pushed the word search to the side, giving me his full attention.

Knowing my new case would strike a chord with Harvey, I took a deep breath in and then said, “Cora Callahan came to see me today.”

My mother, who was heading my way with cups of tea in each hand, gasped, and said, “Am I to assume you’re talking about the woman who was almost murdered twenty some odd years ago?”

“I am.”

“She’s returned after all these years, eh?” she continued. “I cannot believe it. I never thought she’d show her face in this town again.”

“Me either,” Harvey added. “It’s shocking, to be sure.”

“Her father is ill,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll be alive much longer.”

“Oh, dear,” my mother said. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’ll stop in this week, see if there’s anything I can do for Bette, her mother.”

“You know Cora’s mother?”

“We’re in the same Pilates class, though she isn’t as vigilant about attending as I am. I bet she’s glad to have her daughter home.”

Harvey ran a hand along his jaw. “That investigation haunts me to this day, as you well know, Georgiana. I’ve never been able to reconcile the fact that it wasn’t solved, that I couldn’t bring closure to all those families. They relied on me, and I’ve always felt like I let them down.”

Knowing he felt the way he did … well, it just made taking the case even more satisfying for me. If I could solve it, it would help ease his regrets about never being able to find the man the locals in town had named “the Cabin Killer.”

“You did your best, Harvey,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find something you couldn’t before.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said. “How can I help?”

“I’d like to talk to you about the interviews you had with Cora. What did she say back then when you questioned her?”

His expression soured, and he leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “The young lady was a mess back then. Never seen anyone cry as much as she did. Made it near impossible to get anywhere with my questions. Her recollection of the events was all over the place.”

I thought my visit with Cora had gone well for a first interview. She’d been emotional here and there, but I could also see how time and maturity helped her process what she’d experienced in the past.

“I get the feeling Cora has blocked out certain aspects about the night of the murders,” I said. “She admitted to having nightmares she can’t seem to shake, but they’re spotty and sometimes unclear, little stolen memories of a night she’d just as soon forget.”

My mother, who’d been standing next to me, listening to the back-and-forth banter I’d been having with Harvey, set the cups of tea down and took a seat next to me. “Why did Cora come to see you this morning? What does she want from you?”

“Aunt Laura is friends with Bette.”

“I had no idea.”

“She stopped by the house the other day to see how Bette’s been doing, and they got to talking about the investigation and what a shame it was that the case had never been solved. Cora learned I was a private investigator, and this morning, she came to see me. She’s hired me to reopen the case.”

My mother leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “After all these years, why do you think she wants to reopen old wounds? Seems a bit foolish to put herself through it a second time.”

I didn’t find it foolish at all.

I thought it was brave.

Cora was facing the demons of her past head on.

“Cora’s never gotten the closure she needs and deserves, and I expect she never will until the man responsible for the murders is held accountable for his crimes,” I said. “She’s lived her entire adult life looking over her shoulder, wondering where he is now, and knowing he’s out there, somewhere. In the back of her mind, she’s always thought he’d come back for her one day to finish what he started.”

“Must be awful, living in fear like that all this time,” my mother said. “I cannot begin to imagine what she’s been through.”

Harvey ran a hand along his jaw and said, “There were so many oddities about the case. For starters, we never could establish a clear motive, or why someone would murder a group of teenagers and then just disappear without a trace. What was the reason? Why did he want all of them dead? I’ve asked myself these questions all these years, and I still haven’t been able to make any sense of it.”

“In my opinion, the motive behind the murders is personal in some way,” I said. “It must be. I believe the killer knew the teens were going to be at the cabin that weekend, which leads me to believe the murders were premeditated. For whatever reason, he came for all of them. He wanted them all dead.”

“I agree,” Harvey said. “I thought the same thing when I was investigating the case.”

“If we were dealing with a serial killer, even if he had a long cooling-off period, I would have expected him to resurface at some point and kill again. And he hasn’t. Not in our county, at least.”

It further strengthened my assumption that while killing three or more people could be considered serial killer behavior, the cabin murders had been different.

It led me to my next question.

“When you investigated the murders back then, was there anyone you interviewed or came across whom you suspected may have been the killer, but you just couldn’t prove it?”

“We talked to everyone, and I do mean everyone. Everyone was a suspect—classmates, teachers, families—you name it. You know how it is when you start questioning people. The smallest flaw in anyone’s story, and it’s hard not to think they’re guilty, even if there’s not enough proof. What we lacked was evidence. We never had anything substantial enough to arrest any specific person.”

In cases like this, it was hard not to get ahead of myself—to solve the murder based on a feeling that told me I’d found the killer, whether I had the proof to back it up or not.

“I understand,” I said. “Still, I’d like to pick your brain, discuss your thoughts and feelings, anything you can remember.”

“I have no problem going over it with you. You know how personal it is to me, even now. If there’s anything I can do to help your investigation, I want you to know, I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

Good.

Because there was something I needed.

“I’d like to get my hands on the case file,” I said. “Since it’s a cold case, I believe Foley won’t have a problem letting me look at it. When I leave here, I’ll stop by the department and see if I can talk to him.”

Harvey offered a wry grin, scooted his chair back, and pushed himself to a standing position. “No need. When I retired, I made copies of all my files. Figured they might come in handy one day. Seems to me, today’s the day.”

“Now, just a second,” my mother said. “I think Harvey and I should talk about this first.”

“Darlene, you know how much I respect your opinion,” Harvey said. “But this is something I need to do. It’s important to me. I hope you can respect that.”

My mother, who was almost never without a response, said nothing. She wasn’t used to Harvey pushing back. She stared up at him, her expression changing from irritation to one of care and understanding.

Harvey left the room, returning a few minutes later with a hefty case file. He set it down on the table and said, “You let me know if you have questions about anything you see in here. I’ve been over this so many times, I’ve committed it to memory.”

I took a few sips of tea, flipped the file folder open, and said, “It’s been a long time since we discussed the case.”

Harvey tapped a finger on the table and nodded. “It has been. As to your question before, there was one guy I leaned on a lot harder than the others.”

“Who?”

“Danny Donovan. He was in his late twenties back then. He was renting a cabin not far from Cora’s grandmother’s place.”

“What made you consider him a suspect?”

“He was an odd fellow. Reclusive. Fearful of law enforcement. We stopped by his place to question him, and as soon as he opened the door I noticed he had a bandage on his left index finger. I asked him about it, and he started shaking. Said he’d cut it working on a piece of furniture, of all things. Refused to say much beyond that. If he did do it, we couldn’t prove it.”

“Aside from Danny’s demeanor and the cut on his finger, was there anything else about him that led you to believe he was guilty?”

Harvey bent down, flipped open the case file, and thumbed through it, pulling out a photo of a bloody, dented metal bat. He pointed at it and said, “We believe this was the murder weapon. And wouldn’t you know … we found it less than one hundred feet from the back of Danny’s property.”