14. Lottie
Lottie
I 'm greeted by a smirking Gia when I walk into the kitchen. The door to the garage slams behind me, and I go straight to the coffee pot.
“Soooo, how was your night?” Gia asks.
“Fine.” I make eye contact with her over my coffee mug. The dark liquid warms me up and gives me the boost I need.
“ Just fine?” Gia raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes at her probing. “Nothing happened. The weather was bad, so I spent the night. We played cards and went to bed. That was it. I’m going to change now.” I don't wait for her to respond.
I go straight upstairs to my bathroom to shower.
I’m not sure why I didn’t want to gush about my night with Teddy.
Something changed between us. He was different this morning.
Maybe I’m afraid Gia will make me see things logically, and it’ll crush the tiny spark of hope I can’t seem to put out on my own.
Castle Hill is about half an hour from Sonoma, and if I want to make a good impression, I need to leave soon.
I throw on a cream sweater and jeans before going down to my studio and packing all my recording equipment.
Sheriff Lansing was a bit reluctant to grant an interview, but he’s also aware of how helpful it can be to get the public's attention on a cold case.
With time, people who knew something or were even involved in the case are more likely to come forward with information.
It doesn't always happen, but Sheriff Lansing can't pass up the opportunity to try.
I write a couple of notes in my notebook to help me remember my questions and then grab my stuff to leave, throwing a quick goodbye at Gia before getting in my car.
All the thoughts I’d been pushing away while I got ready this morning bombard me as I drive. Embarrassment swoops in hard and fast at the memory of asking him to dinner. I can’t believe I just blurted that out. I’m not even sure why I did it.
Obviously, I want to spend time with him, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t feel the same. So why I thought asking him to dinner was the right choice eludes me.
His acceptance was likely a knee-jerk reaction rather than the truth. I figured giving him my phone number would put the ball in his court. If he truly wants to go to dinner, he can reach out.
I park in front of the small police station in Castle Hill five minutes before I’m meant to arrive.
I grab my stuff and head inside. A woman in her sixties is playing solitaire at her desk—with actual cards.
Her bobbed hair is dyed a bright red, and she has a bandana tied around her head.
Add in her funky makeup and hipster outfit, and I think I want to be her when I grow up.
“Hi, I'm Charlotte Jackson. I'm here to see Sheriff Lansing.”
The woman startles. “Oh, Jesus, you scared me.” Her thick accent is surprising. My guess is somewhere northeast. Boston, maybe, but I'm not great at identifying northern accents. “How can I help you? You said you were here to see Sheriff Lansing?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“All right. I'll let him know you're here.” Her heels clack down the hallway to the left of the small foyer.
The place could use an update. The laminate floor tiles look as if they could be mopped a hundred times and still never be clean, while the walls are a faded cream, making them look almost yellow with age.
The woman comes back, a small grimace on her face. “He's ready to see you.” She lowers her voice. “But just a warning, he's a bit grumpy today.” She tilts her head. “Well, he's always grumpy, but he seems especially in a mood today.”
Dread swamps me. Game face, Lottie. You are a professional.
I thank her for the warning and follow her toward Sheriff Lansing's office.
The door is cracked, and the secretary gently taps her knuckles on it before gesturing for me to enter.
Sheriff Lansing stands from behind his desk.
The strength of the buttons on his shirt is being tested by a belly that hangs over his pants.
With silver hair that runs in a ring around his head and wireframe glasses, he's both exactly and nothing like I imagined.
“Hi, Sheriff, I’m Charlotte Jackson.” I hold my hand out. He gives me a quick shake and points to a chair in front of his desk. I gracefully sit down, my quivering legs grateful for the chance to relax.
“You can go now, Tawny,” Sheriff Lansing calls out. I hadn’t realized she was still standing in the hallway. She leaves with a huff, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
I pull out my notebook and a recording device and double-check with the sheriff that it’s okay to record our conversation .
He sighs as if it’s an inconvenience but nods anyway. “Let’s get this over with. I have things I need to get done.”
If this had been one of my first interviews, I probably would have shut down a little at his tone, but having done this for the last four years, I’ve gotten used to the gruffness of police officers.
“Just remember this is still an active case, so I can’t give you all the details that you’re going to ask for.”
I keep my expression neutral, even though I want to give him a look that says, duh. “I understand. Can you tell me about the phone call you received on the night of the tenth? Miss Mansgrove's boyfriend was the one who called, correct?”
“Yes. Mr. Thompson informed us that he believed his girlfriend had gone missing.”
“What brought him to that conclusion?”
“She was supposed to have met him that evening for dinner after an extra theater practice with a couple of her students. When she didn’t show up, he went to her house to see if she’d forgotten.
When he arrived, he walked into the house and found all her personal items still in the house.
He called us to report her missing soon after. ”
“Isn’t it typical to wait twenty-four hours before filing a report?”
“It depends on the situation. When she also didn’t show up to teach the next morning, it was clear something had happened. We believed it was enough to warrant an investigation.”
“What did you notice when you processed her home?”
“At first, we believed she’d run away. Nothing in the house indicated a struggle took place. It didn't seem like there had been any forced entry. Everything seemed to be where it was supposed to be.”
“So she either knew her attacker or decided to leave everything behind. When did you begin to suspect Mr. Thompson?”
“I can't speak about that at this time.”
I frown. “Except you told the media that Craig Thompson was a suspect when you first started investigating.”
“I shouldn't have done that. We do not have enough evidence to say any one person is more of a suspect than another.”
“Does that mean you have more than one suspect?”
“I can't speak on that either.”
“Let’s go back to when you were first investigating. When did you realize that Ms. Mansgrove hadn't run away?”
“We'd done extensive research on her history and her life here in Castle Hill.
We had no evidence to suggest that she was unhappy or afraid for her life.
Then Mr. Thompson informed us that her purse, cell phone, and other personal effects were still in the house.
In this day and age, you don't go anywhere without some form of identification, not to mention a cell phone. Nobody would get very far without them.”
“There had been no large cash withdrawals from her bank account either, correct?”
Sheriff Lansing seems to settle in after this question.
His entire demeanor just relaxes back into his chair.
I’m not sure if he expected me to sensationalize the case, or if my knowledge of the case so far has pleased him, but up until now, all of his answers have been gruff.
I write the change down in my notebook to better explain this interview to my listeners.
“Yes, that's correct. Once we'd confirmed that Ms. Mansgrove hadn't run away, we classified the case as a missing person.”
“Your investigation led you to search the lake. Can you tell me about that?”
“A K-9 unit signaled her descent from her house to the lake.
While we couldn't have said definitively that the kidnapper walked her down to the dock, we thought it was a logical place for her to have gone missing.
Given that we didn't have any evidence of harm, we thought she could have drowned in the lake.”
“You had divers searching the lake to see if there was any evidence of a body or anything there?”
“We put a call into one of the state-run teams to do a grid search. I can't speak to what was or wasn’t found by them.”
“I understand.” I continue questioning Sheriff Lansing, but each one ends in a similar response. He’s either tired of answering my questions or genuinely can't respond. Regardless, I’m not getting anything new from him, so I wrap up the interview.
I walk out to the foyer alone and say goodbye to Tawny.
When I’m back in my car, I listen to the tape to make notes of any spots that aren’t quite clear, as well as thoughts I want to share with my listeners.
I’d hoped Lansing’s demeanor change meant he would share more information with me about the case.
Sometimes, I’ll get lucky and find a law enforcement officer who is willing to share more details about a case.
This wasn’t the worst interview I’d ever had, but it wasn’t as successful as I wanted. It won’t add anything more than validating the ongoing investigation.
I put all my equipment back into my bag and pull out my phone. My stomach swoops when I see a text message from an unknown number.
Unknown
Hey, Lottie. This is Teddy. Let me know when you're done with your interview. I need to know you're safe .
I want to be annoyed with him for second-guessing my ability to take care of myself, but I’m not an idiot when it comes to my job. Things can go sideways at the drop of a hat, and having someone care enough to ask for an update is kind of nice.
I’m not going to let myself get overly hopeful about the fact that he actually texted me. No, I’ll strangle that part of me until he comes right out and says, “I want to go on a date with you.”