Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Matt
When Agent Anderson retired a few years ago, the Lassiter girls’ disappearances were filed away in the archives as a cold case.
He told his field office partners it was the regret of his career, not finding answers for their parents.
The Lassiters publicly ridiculed the FBI for mishandling the case, catering to the politically ambitious Hutton family.
The problem that Anderson faced was the lack of cooperation.
From everyone they tried to interview at the time.
No one wanted to talk.
Over two decades later, I’m hoping something has changed. Someone may want to be heard now.
Taking the opulent circular drive past multi-million-dollar homes that dot the landscape, I wind my way towards the Bradfords’ home.
I’m hoping to find them still living at the address on file.
Rafferty Bradford’s parents were willing to reconnect with Anderson after Rafferty killed himself, but for some reason that meeting never happened. Or was not documented.
I’ve chewed more than a couple antacid tablets. My mind races with all the questions I have for them.
I park on the street before walking up the cobblestone driveway to a more modest looking brick faced single level home with a well-kept yard. The sprinklers are on. Their garage door is open with a Cadillac and BMW inside. I take a deep breath while smoothing my shirt down.
A blonde woman with graying hair and a deeply lined pleasant face comes to the door after the doorbell chimes ring out. She pauses looking through the ornate glass door at me, before slowly pulling it open. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Agent Scholl with the FBI.” I show her my badge while she twists the kitchen towel in her hands. “I’m looking for Roger and Katherine Bradford.” She looks over her shoulder then back down at the badge in my outstretched hand.
“Roger?!” the woman calls out behind her. She turns back to me. “The FBI?” She nods and says something under her breath. “Roger?” Still standing sentry at the door and I’m not sure if she’s going to let me inside.
A man about the same age as the woman shuffles up behind her with bifocals perched on his nose. “What Kath?” He gives me a questioning look.
“Look who’s finally made a visit.” Her tone is slightly biting. “Almost sixteen years too late.” I let out a slow breath. Roger shakes his head frowning at me.
“We’ve reopened an investigation and I was hoping I might speak to both of you.” I clear my throat. “Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”
“Oh, by all means,” Katherine Bradford says sarcastically as she holds the door open and waves her arm for me to enter. “Let’s chat.”
I follow her through an immaculate home with a lived-in feeling.
Pictures of family on the walls, house plants, comfortable barely worn furniture. Roger returns to his recliner and the baseball game he was watching.
I pull out one of the oversized oak dining room chairs with an upholstered seat and sit down. “Thank you.” I nod at her. “I’ll be recording this on my phone if that’s okay with you?”
Katherine pulls two coffee mugs out of a cupboard and without even asking pours me a cup. “Do you take anything with your coffee?” she asks me, continuing, “We don’t drink that fancy flavored stuff here.”
I shake my head at her.
Roger shifts in his chair and says loudly, “Kath, we shouldn’t talk to them. Remember how well that went last time. Is this even legal? Them poking around again?”
“Well, it’d be illegal not to talk to him.
I have a lot to say.” She pulls a seat out in front of me as she adjusts the light blue linen summer dress, she’s wearing to situate herself.
“What case has been reopened?” Blowing on her hot coffee, she sets the towel that she’s been holding with a white knuckled grip down next to her.
I’m hesitant to say. “The Lassiter girls’ disappearances.” Roger grunts behind me as Katherine’s hand slaps the table sloshing her coffee over the side.
“Oh, of course it is. Not the investigation into Rafferty’s murder.” Her lips thin as she looks at Roger. “It’s no use, is it?”
“Kath, I’ve told you over and over again. No one believes that Rafe was killed. That other Agent didn’t listen to a word we said on the matter.” Roger gets up making his way to the table to sit next to his agitated wife.
I take a beat.
Murder?
“I can’t compel you to do this interview. If you’d like me to leave, I can do that.” This was what I was afraid of. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds, but that’s clearly what I’ve done.
Katherine wipes her coffee mess up regarding me with a resigned look. “You’re here. We may as well get on with it.” Roger curmudgeonly crosses his arms and fixes me with a less than thrilled look.
Starting the recorder on my phone, I take a sip of coffee and point my pen toward the portrait sized photograph on the mantle of Katherine and Roger with their three kids, Rafe, and an older and younger daughter. “You have two daughters?”
Katherine’s mouth twists like she tasted something bad. “Is this about us or the Lassiters, Agent Schultz?”
“Scholl. Agent Matthew Scholl.” I give her a reassuring smile. I want to win her over, but she’s giving me fed up vibes.
“How well do you know the Lassiter family?” I’ll get right to it then. I’m not sure how long until Roger escorts me out the door.
“It turns out not well at all.” Katherine carefully places her coffee cup down and picks the towel back up to twist. “I once considered Joan one of my best friends.”
“Lousy friend if you ask me,” Roger grumps under his breath.
“Roger, shhh.” She swats his arm with the towel. “Joan was easy to like. Direct, down to earth, and didn’t put on airs.”
I would agree. My dealings with Joan Lassiter gave me the same impression. I could see Katherine and Joan as friends. They both appear to be strong and direct. “At some point that changed?”
Roger rolls his eyes and says, “Are we going down memory lane here?” He squirms in his seat. “What does any of this have to do with those nasty daughters of hers?”
Before I can school my features, my mouth drops open. In all the interviews very little negative was said about either of the twins. It was hinted that one of them could be on the cruel side, competitive but that was downplayed. “What do you mean?”
Katherine gives him a look before he heaves out a humorless chuckle. “Forget it.”
“Agent, those girls were evil incarnate. No one would be honest at the time about them, out of respect for John and Joan, but…” Katherine shakes her head dropping her eyes to the table. “From a very young age you could see signs of what was to come.”
Unexpected.
I need more. Examples of what she’s talking about. “Could you tell me what those signs were? Do you remember an instance?” I tap the pen against my thigh. My notebook stays blank.
“Kath, don’t go down this road,” Roger warns her as he stands to lean an arm on the chair he just left. “Remember the fallout last time.”
Roger leaves the room saying harsh sounding words that are inaudible to me.
Katherine watches him leave, remaining still.
When she turns to face me again, her eyes are filled with tears.
“We’ve never healed. Losing our son, then our daughter.
It’s been too much. He’s not usually this unfriendly, I apologize. ”
Daughter? There is a lot about the Bradfords that are absent from the original case file.
“You lost a daughter?” I don’t mean to get off track, but I want to establish a rapport with her. I want her on my side.
“Caroline.” She sniffs and clutches her hands together in front of her. “She’s two years younger than Rafferty. Idolized him.” A faint smile briefly graces her face. “She…” Katherine takes a deep breath. “She took her life. I think losing Rafe… it was too much.” My heart seizes up for seconds.
“I can’t imagine.” I shake my head. “I’m so sorry for your losses.” I hope she can hear the sincerity in my statement. But how often is that common refrain used, and it comes across as nothing but obligatory?
Katherine whispers, “Thank you.” She gets up to rummage in a cupboard over her coffee station to make another pot of coffee.
Then she stops what she’s doing and makes her way to a photo album lying on a side table. She strokes it lovingly as she walks back to the dining room table. Sliding it my way after gazing at the family photo on the cover.
“All my kids look like they were cut from the same cloth. So similar in looks. That’s Amelia, she’s four years older than Rafferty, that’s my son, and that’s Caroline. She always had such an adorable head of blonde curls.” Her voice catches at that.
I look down at the photo and freeze.
Jesus Christ.
It’s like looking at the baby I held at Camp Carroll. Identical. What the fuck is going on here? I must look shocked, since Katherine says, “What? What is it?”
My throat tightens, but my voice stays even. “Do you know anyone by the name of Willa Peterson?”
She shakes her head no. “No. Who’s that?”
Indeed. Who the actual fuck is that?
I page through the photo album and on the last page my breath catches again. I know why they all stick in my head.
Eden.
Eden resembles them all. I cover my mouth swearing to myself.
“Mrs. Bradford, do you know the name of Christine Davis?” Eden’s mother was from a wealthy family in the area. Could there be a link there?
“I don’t. Who are these people you’re asking me about? Did Rafe know them?” A hopeful lilt in her voice makes me feel like an ass. She’s wanting answers about her son and I’m on a completely different track.
Katherine can’t give me much more about the Lassiters’ disappearance other than vague insinuations that they were little psychopaths.
She’s convinced Rafferty was murdered because of them. That he’d never end his life. I don’t ask her about his years of drug abuse contributing to his death. I’ve done enough dredging in this woman’s past today.