Chapter 70
CINDY THOMAS WAS farther east than San Julio, in an area on the outskirts of Concord.
The sun felt brighter out here. On her way here, still feeling anxious about her upcoming interview, she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up winding through a valley crowded with native oak and walnut trees against the backdrop of Mount Diablo.
Eventually, though, she’d found her way to her destination, much less bucolic but oddly quiet at the moment.
She’d done a fair amount of research on the suspect Jason Cortlandt. He was the only name on Eric Snaff’s list that didn’t seem like a dead end, even if Gina Scrittori thought this guy was harmless and a waste of time.
Cindy parked on a gravel road that led to what appeared to be a concrete production facility. It almost looked abandoned. A tall building to her right had no windows. It reminded her of a set in a horror movie.
As soon as Cindy stepped out of the car, she started coughing from all the particulate in the air. She was glad she’d worn her old tennis shoes as she navigated the dusty gravel to the unlocked, rusty gate.
An older, beat-up white Chevy truck with faded blue stripes along the hood was parked in front of the building. A bright bumper sticker said, PEOPLE SUCK, in bold letters. It was the only vehicle visible at the facility.
“Hello?” Cindy called out. No one answered. She started crunching across the gravel toward the truck. When she had just reached it, a metal door opened in the side of the building. A man in a sweat-stained T-shirt, dusty jeans, and work boots stepped out onto the gravel.
He appeared to be in reasonably good shape, with brown hair that was cut very short. She knew him to be in his late thirties, but he had the weather-beaten look of an older man who’d worked outside for most of his life. The caked cement in the creases of his face didn’t help the perception.
He gave Cindy a look that lasted just a little too long. Then he said, “I’m going to bet you’re in the wrong place, lady.”
“Jason Cortlandt?” She recognized him from photos she’d seen online. But he didn’t answer immediately.
The man said, “Why are you looking for him?”
Cindy took a few more steps until there was only five feet between her and the man.
Cindy said, “C’mon, Jason. I know exactly who you are. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“You with the VA?”
“No. I’m a reporter. I’m working on a story about missing girls. Your name has popped up in my research.”
“Popped up? How did my name just happen to pop up?” Before Cindy could answer, he added, “Let me guess, that weasel Eric Snaff said I had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance. Right?”
“I got your name from several people,” Cindy lied. “Listen, I can’t force you to talk to me. I just want to find out the truth. Are you interested in telling your side of any story?” She waited almost thirty seconds before Cortlandt gave her a slight nod.
He stepped around his truck and lowered the tailgate, then sat down on it and let his legs dangle off the side. His heavy work boots brushed the gravel. He just sat there and didn’t say a word.
Cindy eased herself onto the tailgate as well, but as far away from Cortlandt as possible. She pulled out a pen and her favorite reporter’s notepad, an old-fashioned narrow one with a firm backing so she could write while she held it.
Jason Cortlandt started by saying, “I guess you heard I used to work at the youth center in San Julio. Technically, I resigned. Only because I knew they were going to can me.”
Cindy said, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Nothing to tell. That asshole Eric claimed I had a relationship with one of the girls in the program. True or not, once that sort of thing becomes an official inquiry, no one will ever trust you again. It was easier for me to just walk away. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve only been able to find odd jobs ever since.
This place pays okay, but it’s tougher on my body than my Army boot-camp days.
I coughed up some blood the other night. ”
Cindy asked him some general questions. Cortlandt gave one-syllable answers. Never married, not much family, originally from Ohio.
When she felt like he was comfortable, she asked, “Did you know Nicole Snaff well?”
“No. I’ve met her, but that’s all. I didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance. I can prove it too.”
“How can you prove it?”
“I was an inpatient at the VA hospital in San Francisco at the time she disappeared. Complications with a kidney issue kept me at the facility for almost two weeks. So there’s no way I could’ve had anything to do with her going missing.”
“I’m not sure how I can confirm that without violating HIPAA.”
“If it’ll put this bullshit to rest, I have paperwork I can show you. I’ll also give permission to the VA to talk to you. But you have to promise that you’ll treat me fairly in your story.”
“I treat everyone fairly in my stories.”
“Said every reporter, ever.”
Cindy had to smile at the gruff man’s attempt at humor.
Jason Cortlandt asked, “How close have you looked at Eric himself? He’s a weirdo. God knows what he’s capable of. Instead of harassing a working man like me, maybe you should spend a little more time checking him out.”
Cindy wrote down the quote exactly in her notepad.