Chapter 23
CHAPTER
AT THE STATION, it was damn near impossible getting out of the squad car with my hands bound behind my back and my belly pressing down on me like gravity.
Once inside, I went into a kind of daze.
I could feel the officers leading me through the precinct; placing my fingers on a glass fingerprinting screen, one by one; taking my photo while forcing me to hold a sign and turn this way and that.
They took my phone—the only possession I had on me at the time, my purse still sitting beside my desk at the office—and had me remove all jewelry, and place both in a clear plastic bag.
Eventually I was led to a small room that contained nothing but a bare table with three rusty, metal chairs.
I sat facing a wall with a large mirror.
My handcuffs had been moved to the front of my body, thank God, and were connected to a chain woven through a ring on my side of the table, allowing me to move a little more than before but preventing me from getting up.
I was obviously in some kind of interrogation room.
There’s no telling how long I sat there, alone. Tears kept coming. Finally, the sole door to the room opened, and two people walked in—one man and one woman, both dressed in plainclothes. The man wore a gold badge on a chain around his neck; the woman wore hers on her hip, fastened to her belt.
“Ms. Mitchell, I’m Detective Roth, this is my partner, Detective Harris,” the man said.
They proceeded to ask me questions about my family, friends, and job. Then they moved on to my love life. “Ms. Mitchell, who is the father of your baby?” Harris, the female detective, asked.
“Max Hunter.”
“Tell us about your relationship with him.”
I told them about the brief, casual affair Max and I had at the beginning of the year.
“And then what happened?”
I explained about finding out I was pregnant, and how I’d gotten back in touch with Max to give him the news.
“And how did that go?”
“Fine, at first. We were both shocked and a little stressed by the news, but Max seemed excited about the baby. He was just nervous to tell his girlfriend—well, his wife.”
“You didn’t know he was married at the time?”
I frowned. “No. Even when we were together, all he told me was that he’d recently broken up with someone.”
“So, you told him you were pregnant, and he told you that he’d just reconciled with his wife, Madison, since the last time he saw you?”
“He never said wife. But yes—he said they were working on some of their issues and giving things another try. He said they hadn’t moved back in together yet, but that things were going well so far.”
“And how did that make you feel? Were you upset? Jealous?”
“No! I mean, it definitely made things awkward—I worried that she would be threatened by me. But I told him from the very beginning that the baby didn’t need to change things for either of us.
He could be with Madison. All I wanted was a friendly co-parenting relationship, so we could do the right thing for our child. ”
“And when did you first meet Madison?”
I told the story from the beginning. Again. How many times had I told it? What were my chances of them believing me?
By the time I reached the part about the baby shower, the detectives’ eyebrows were sky-high. Harris scribbled notes in a pocket-sized notebook.
“Do you have proof of any of these allegations—the vandalism to your vehicle, the spy app on your phone, the camera in the vase?” Roth leaned back in his metal chair and crossed his arms at his chest.
“Yes.” I told them about the photos and texts on Jamie’s phone, which I’d backed up, and that I still had the nanny cam saved in a drawer in my apartment. I also gave them the name of the police captain who had taken my report about Melanie Daniels.
Roth and Harris bent their heads together, conferring quietly. I used the pause to ask the question that had been burning on my mind. “Please—what’s going on with Jenna? What did you mean when you said she disappeared?”
The two detectives shared a look. Finally, Harris spoke. “Tell us how you know Jenna.”
“We met five or six months ago at the farmer’s market. We started talking about pregnancy stuff—we both had morning sickness. One thing led to another and we became good friends.”
“When was this?” Harris asked, pen poised over her notebook.
“Around the middle of May. I remember I had just reached the end of my first trimester.”
“And she said she was pregnant at the time?”
I frowned in confusion. “Yeah.”
The door opened, and Barrows, my arresting officer, poked his head in. “Got something you should see.”
“Excuse us for a minute, Ms. Mitchell.” Roth and Harris stood up and exited the room.
I sat there, my heart pounding and my mind racing, for at least ten minutes before the two detectives came back in. Their expressions were noticeably more grim this time. Detective Harris was holding a folder under her arm. They sat down across from me again.
“Ms. Mitchell—tell us what you know about Jenna Martin,” Harris demanded.
“Like I said, we haven’t known each other very long.
She doesn’t like to talk about herself a lot.
I know she has a mother in Walnut Creek …
I know her dad passed away recently … and she never said much about the father of her baby, other than that things weren’t going so well.
She said he seemed to be losing interest in her and the baby.
Whenever I would ask her about it, she got really quiet. ”
The two detectives shared a look. “Do you know who the father of Jenna’s baby was?”
Was? “Uh … no. She never told me his name.”
Harris took the folder under her arm and set it down on the table. She opened it, took out a photo, and placed it in front of me.
It was a grainy, blown-up photo of Jenna’s face, maybe a driver’s license photo. She then set down another photo next to it. This one was a full-body shot of Jenna with her arm around an older woman standing out in front of a cozy-looking suburban home—her mother, perhaps?
“Do you recognize this person?” Harris tapped on Jenna’s image.
I frowned. None of their questions were making sense. “Yes, that’s Jenna.”
“And you say you don’t know who the father of her baby was?”
“Why do you keep saying ‘was’?”
“Well, according to Jenna’s medical records, Jenna suffered a miscarriage in the beginning of January, when she was about ten weeks pregnant.”
My eyeballs popped. “What? I don’t understand. I met Jenna in May … and she said she was about ten weeks along at that point.”
My mind was whirling. Images of Jenna the last few times I’d seen her flashed through my mind. I was always amazed at how she was barely showing, even at twenty weeks. I was so jealous of how thin she looked. “Are you saying … she was lying to me? That she wasn’t really pregnant?”
Roth and Harris shared another loaded look.
“Ms. Mitchell, Jenna has been reported missing by her mother, Sandra Martin. Mrs. Martin says the last time she spoke to her daughter was over two weeks ago.”
“Oh my God.”
“And her roommate, Kelly Schaefer, a flight attendant, said it’s been nearly that long since she has received any messages from her. She said the last time she was home, which was for …” Roth consulted his notes, “… a day and a half last week, she didn’t see or hear from Jenna the entire time.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Jenna?” Harris asked.
“I’d have to check my phone … a couple of weeks? And it’s been a while since I got a text from her.”
“So then, Ms. Mitchell—can you explain how we came to find a lock of Jenna’s hair in the trunk of your car, with trace amounts of her blood on it?
” Harris placed another photo in front of me—this one showed a lock of pale blonde hair dotted with a few drops of crimson red blood, lying next to a ruler.
The room started spinning. “What?” It was barely a whisper; there wasn’t enough breath in my body to speak any louder.
“We impounded your car from the parking garage below your office building. A search came up with this lock of hair, in the trunk. Care to explain? You know, it’s better if you tell the truth voluntarily.”
“That can’t be,” I whispered shakily, my breathing shallow and ragged. “Jenna’s never even been in my car. I don’t drive it that often, I walk most places.”
Roth leaned toward me, his hands on the table.
“Here’s what I think, Ms. Mitchell. I think you want Max Hunter all to yourself.
I think you imagine the two of you and your baby being a happy little family, but there are two women in your way: Madison Hunter and Jenna Martin.
You flew into a rage and attacked Madison at her baby shower, and now you’ve done something to Jenna Martin too. ”
“What? No … I told you, I don’t want Max. And why would Jenna be in my way?”
“Because Max and Jenna were together before he met you. Max was the father of Jenna’s baby.”
It was then that I noticed something on Jenna’s ankle in the full-body photo—a tattoo. I peered at it closely and realized it was a heart with the initials H.M. inside. The pieces clicked. Harold Martin, her father.
I remembered where I’d seen that tattoo before.
Jenna was my other stalker.