Chapter 26
THE SEASIDE CHIEF OF POLICE only speaks for five minutes, making the press conference identifying the Legacy Sands victim as former reality star Ingrid Larsen one of the briefest that Barb can remember.
And there are not many people here. The journalist from Ingrid’s hometown is in attendance, of course, but the reporters from the Portland Tribune and the Seattle Times were likely already in town covering Wonderland.
That means only five members of the press, including Barb and her editor-in-chief from the Chronicle, showed up to learn more about the untimely death of a young woman who was once a little bit famous.
Detective Cameron Wallace is positioned to the police chief’s left, his expression unreadable behind his mirrored aviators.
To the chief’s right are Ingrid’s parents.
Barb feels for Mr. and Mrs. Larsen, who drove four hours from Cold Creek, Oregon, to identify their daughter’s body earlier today.
They stand silently beside the police chief now, their shoulders hunched and their faces hollow.
The two months their daughter was missing have taken their toll, but their grief is only just beginning.
Jonathan Burrows, who was appointed chief of police less than a year ago, has finally confirmed that Ingrid Larsen’s death is a homicide. It may be the most anticlimactic announcement ever.
“Any questions?” the chief asks, addressing the handful of gatherers in the parking lot outside the front doors of the police station.
Beside her, Greg raises his hand. “Can you confirm that there was a missing person report filed for Ms. Larsen two months ago?”
“Yes, Ingrid Larsen’s parents did report her missing in Oregon two months ago when she failed to return home after walking their dog,” Jonathan Burrows says, his tone solemn.
“We’re working closely with the authorities in Cold Creek, and the joint investigation into the circumstances of her disappearance is still ongoing. Any other questions?”
The reporter from the Trib steps forward. “Can you elaborate more on the cause of death?”
The police chief hands the podium over to the medical examiner, who steps forward and adjusts the microphone to accommodate his shorter stature.
Like Jonathan, Hassan Nassif uses a press conference voice that is very different from his regular speaking voice, and Barb still finds it amusing that both these class clowns have risen to such prominent professional positions given their decidedly unserious personalities back in high school.
She can still remember that day in the cafeteria when Hassan pulled Jonathan’s chair out from underneath him, causing his buddy to fall on his ass, covered in the fries and gravy he’d just bought.
By the end of lunch period, the entire cafeteria had erupted in a food fight, resulting in detention for both of them.
“We believe Ms. Larsen was submerged for at least three days,” Hassan says. “But our autopsy concluded that she was already deceased when she entered the water. Her death was the result of exsanguination caused by the severe injury to her leg.”
Barb is surprised. Ingrid bled out before she was dumped into the water? So it wasn’t asphyxiation after all, despite the bruises on her throat.
The journalist from Ingrid’s hometown raises her hand. “The victim’s foot was found detached from her body. Can you comment as to the manner in which it was detached?”
Hassan exchanges a look with Jonathan. “No, not at this time.”
Greg elbows Barb in the ribs, and she raises her hand.
“Chief, do you think Ingrid Larsen’s death is in any way related to her time on television?
” Barb asks. “Kylie Kahl was also on a reality show, and she went missing six years ago while hiking on a trail on the outskirts of town. Doesn’t it seem awfully coincidental for two female reality stars, neither of whom are local, to disappear under suspicious circumstances that both connect to Seaside? ”
The Larsens jolt and exchange a look. It’s clear from their facial expressions that they haven’t heard about Kylie Kahl’s disappearance, assuming they even know who she is.
The police chief steps forward again and frowns at Barb from the podium. “There is no known correlation between the two cases at this time. I would caution the public from speculating.”
Translation: He’s cautioning Barb from speculating.
The press conference comes to an end, and the small crowd disperses. Barb leans over to talk to Greg, but before she can say a word, she feels someone grab her arm. It’s the police chief himself, and he doesn’t look happy.
“Mind if I borrow her, Greg?” Jonathan says, and while it sounds like a question, it’s not.
Her editor gives Barb a knowing look and wisely steps away. She’s about to get in trouble, and they both know it.
Jonathan takes her firmly by the elbow and hustles her over to a quiet spot in the parking lot. Only once they’re out of earshot of everyone else does he unleash his fury on her.
“What the fuck, Barb?” he hisses, and a drop of spittle hits Barb right in the corner of her eye. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
“Uh, my job?” She makes a point of wiping his saliva away. “Two reality stars with connections to the town? Jon, come on. You haven’t considered that they’re related somehow?”
“We’re considering everything.” Jonathan’s face is pink with anger. “But you just implied to everyone here that there’s a fucking serial killer roaming Seaside.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He opens his mouth to retort, but then stops himself. “Barb. I understand you must have a lot on your mind these days with the Carnival Killer docuseries coming out. I’m sure it’s bringing up a lot of memories of Lorelei—”
“Are you suggesting that I’m projecting?” Barb asks. “Jesus, Jon, that’s not what I’m doing.”
“No, what I’m saying is that not every crime is tied to something larger.
” Jonathan’s hands are balled into fists, and he shoves them into this pockets.
“Ingrid Larsen’s murder needs our full attention right now.
You asking me publicly if it’s somehow tied to Kylie Kahl’s disappearance—a six-year-old case that’s colder than Alaska in January—just muddies the waters and gets people speculating. ”
“It was a valid question, and I stand by it.”
“Barb, I’ve been at this job less than a year,” Jonathan says. “I’m asking you, as an old friend and as a personal favor to me, to not fucking go down this road. Not until we know more. We need the park to do well.”
Barb holds back a smile. Check. “And what do I get in return? For not asking questions publicly?”
“What do you want?”
“Access to information.” She crosses her arms. “I promise not to publish anything until you tell me to, but I want to know everything about the investigation. That means you take my calls and give your detectives permission talk to me. Otherwise . . .” Her voice trails off.
“Otherwise what?”
“Otherwise I write an op-ed in the Chronicle, questioning the thoroughness of the investigation and the reasons why PD kept Ingrid Larsen’s identity under wraps for so long,” Barb says.
“I write about the hold that Wonderland has always had over this town, and express my fears that Seaside’s desire to get visitors to come here at the expense of everything else will only result in more women being murdered, just like it has before. ”
Jonathan stares at her in disbelief.
“Maybe I’ll even give this new potential serial killer a name,” Barb says, enjoying the expression on his face. “Readers just love a good murdery nickname. Something that sticks. The Seaside Strangler? Wait, that’s not how Ingrid died. The Seaside Slayer? Ooh, that one rolls off the tongue nicely.”
“I don’t get you,” Jonathan finally says, throwing his hands up. “You know writing a piece like that would hurt the town. Your town. You grew up here, too.”
“Yeah, and I can’t seem to leave, no matter what I do,” Barb snaps.
“I don’t give a shit about Wonderland’s reopening, or how pretty Main Street looks with the flowers and new pavement, or how clean the sand is now at the beach.
It’s lipstick on a pig. People get murdered here, Jonathan.
The stats are insane for a town this size.
Seaside is sick, and nobody knows that better than you.
You’re the one who found Lorelei’s body back then, for fuck’s sake. ”
The new chief of police doesn’t seem to know what to say.
“So I’ll do the most Seaside thing ever and make a deal with you,” Barb says. “You keep me in the loop, and I won’t publish a word until you tell me to. But if it turns out there is a connection between Kylie Kahl and Ingrid Larsen, and I figure it out before the police do, all bets are off.”
Checkmate.
“Fine,” Jonathan says in disgust, and then turns to walk away. “Unfucking-believable. Why the fuck did I even want this job?”
Even though it’s a rhetorical question and he’s already halfway across the parking lot, Barb can’t resist giving him the answer.
“Because you thought it was different now, Jon,” she calls after him.
He pauses, turning back to look at her.
“Except it was never different, don’t you get that?” Barb says. “It was just dormant. Because at the end of the day, we all know Seaside is gonna Seaside.”