Chapter 3
THREE
Back at the station, Seth leaned over his laptop in the conference room as late-afternoon light spilled through the windows, his coffee cold beside him.
He’d spent most of his day getting up to speed on the case and reviewing potential camera angles from the night of the murder, but he didn’t find anything Haylock might have missed.
And his mind kept going back to Dillon Beamish.
If Claire Dyer wasn’t going to tell him about her boyfriend’s relationship with Eliza Johnson, then there were other ways to dig up the truth.
Social media. Like a gift from beyond the grave, Eliza had left her Facebook profile public. It hadn’t been touched in years, but photos from her high school days were wide open. Before she ended up homeless and addicted.
Even the most recent photos were from eight years ago—Eliza, alone in front of a willow tree; Eliza at sunset, holding a fishing line in front of a lake; Eliza on a grassy trail, bathed in sunlight.
She wore clothes from another era, yoga pants and hoodies that had long gone out of style.
Even all the way out here, at a high school in Missouri, some trends had been the same as when he’d been in high school in New York.
It made him strangely nostalgic for a time he barely thought of anymore.
Someone had taken these photos of Eliza.
When Haylock and the cops had interviewed those who knew her, they’d come up shorthanded.
She’d spent the recent years of her life in and out of the women’s shelter and mostly slept on the street, so any friends she once had were long gone.
She did have a phone, but had pawned it a month before, probably for drug money.
As Seth skimmed past each picture, he checked the names of those who had liked them, but didn’t see any of the names who’d earned a spot on his radar yet. No DB.
Seth sighed and leaned back in his chair.
The conference room was much smaller than what he was used to.
It was encased by windows looking out into the bullpen, where a handful of officers sat on desks throughout.
A corkboard with crime scene photos pinned to it had been set up by Haylock, but Seth had created his own section too, just for his persons of interest. Dillon Beamish’s picture had made the cut.
A knock at the door, and Pereira slipped into the room.
“Hey, we’re all finished up at Brad’s house. I tracked down some of the people who were there, but no one saw Eliza. They didn’t run together after all.”
“Any of them explain why they had a big party at his place, then didn’t even think to even check on him for days after?”
Pereira wore a pensive look. “Not a lot on that, but we still don’t know everyone who was there.
Chief Wells doesn’t think we should bother with a further investigation, with it being an OD and all.
Thing is, we’d be waiting a while for a forensics team anyway.
State can only send them quick if there’s a homicide. Otherwise, get in line, you know?”
Seth sighed in irritation. “Right.”
“I’m gonna keep fighting for it, see what I can find out.”
He linked his fingers behind his head, growing tired. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, and it didn’t occur to him until just now. He still had to go check into the town’s only motel—he could worry about food then.
Pereira came over and peeked at his screen. “Didn’t take you for a Facebook guy.”
Snapping out of it, Seth reassumed his position over his laptop, using the wireless mouse to scroll through Eliza’s profile. “Social media always tells us something. I couldn’t find Dillon at the bar, but Claire said he didn’t know Eliza. Felt like she was holding something back.”
He clicked past another photo, checking the likes. Nothing. Then another. But when he clicked the next, one name on the list stared back at him, practically in red flashing letters.
Dillon Beamish.
“And here we go,” Seth said. “They didn’t know each other, but here’s Dillon Beamish liking one of Eliza’s posts from ten years ago.”
“Huh, would you look at that?” Pereira said.
Vindicated, Seth scrolled back even further. Eliza’s life shuttered by in reverse. It wasn’t long before she couldn’t be much older than twelve in the photos. Playgrounds and classrooms started to appear as the backdrops.
And in one, Eliza stood next to a jungle gym, making bunny ears behind a boy’s head. The boy was scrawny with a grumpy face, short brown hair and eyes to match. A young Dillon Beamish.
It was posted by Eliza herself. The caption: that’s my pickle!
“They were close enough for nicknames,” Seth muttered.
“Childhood friends,” Pereira agreed. “Hell, I had no idea. I only moved here a few years ago, so I’m pretty rusty on my Fairview history myself.”
He stood, his heart beating louder, that feeling he always got when he sensed he was onto something—that he’d found critical evidence. He had a long way to go yet, but this was a start.
“I’m gonna get these printed off and pay Claire and Dillon another visit.”
“It’s nearly five p.m. on a Sunday,” Pereira said. “If I were you, I’d try their place. Let me grab you the address.”
“Thanks. This time, Dillon better show up.”
Seth parked his car, an unmarked Chevrolet Caprice that was older than him, outside unit thirty-six in Sunny Stone Trailer Park.
Among the rows of mobile homes that had seen better days, this one was nicer—sky blue with a garden struggling to survive in the summer heat, a few decals of birds with their wings spread on the paneling.
Windchimes tinkled through the breeze as he got out, along with the distant smell of a campfire.
To his left, on the property next door, an elderly woman in a hot pink tracksuit watered her garden, glowering at him. He held up a hand to wave. Her unfriendly demeanor immediately fell off.
“Evenin’, good-lookin’!” She dropped her watering can and limped toward the picket fence dividing the properties. “You must be that new detective I’ve been hearin’ about. You can call me Glenda, or just Glen.”
Huh. Word did travel fast here.
“Yes, ma’am. Detective Winslow.”
She gave him a coy smile, revealing a mesh net of wrinkles on her cheeks. “Sure are a cute one.”
He’d rather she didn’t do that, but he offered a smile anyway to be polite. “That’s very nice of you, ma’am. Do you know the couple who lives here?”
“Dillon and Claire? ’Course I do! What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t know the lovebirds next door?
I keep waitin’ for the day that pretty young Claire comes ’round with a ring on her finger.
Young love, right, darlin’? I’m sure you know all about it.
” Her milky eyes searched his left hand for a ring she wouldn’t find.
“Do you ever hear any fighting or yelling or anything like that?”
“Oh, Lordy, I’m surrounded by so many drunk shitheads in this park, I wouldn’t be able to tell where it’s coming from if it was in my own dang backyard.”
“So there is yelling.”
Glenda shrugged. Even if there were issues with Claire and Dillon, he doubted she would tell him. He took out his phone anyway and pulled up Eliza’s yearbook photo.
“Have you ever seen this woman around the park?”
She tilted her head back and adjusted her glasses, then wrinkled her nose in something like disgust. “No, but I seen the other one. The one with the boobs.”
“Sorry, who?”
“Don’t know ’er name, but she looks kinda like Claire with her hair and all that, but much less decent. Dressed like a floosy, showed up bangin’ on Claire and Dillon’s door ’bout a month ago, but Dillon told ’er to scram. Smelled like trouble.”
If that person had been Eliza, it’d be a game changer. “You’re sure it wasn’t this woman?”
Glenda scrutinized the photo. “Nope, wasn’t her. That’s Gilly’s daughter, Eliza—I heard what happened to ’er, poor thing. Nope, never seen Eliza ’round here, but I’ve seen that other girl. She’s no good, no good at all, that one.”
He lowered his phone. Damn it.
“Detective?”
Seth turned. Claire held open the screen door to her trailer, watching them.
He bowed away from Glenda. “Excuse me.”
“See ya, sugar!”
Claire had a cautious expression as he approached her front porch.
She wore the same clothes as earlier: a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts, low-waisted.
And while she’d welcomed him into her family’s bar with a full smile earlier, now her posture was more tense, guarded.
Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail.
She had elvish ears and a beautiful face; wide-set eyes and full lips, a small nose tinged with pink.
He tried not to give it too much thought as he said, “Evening, Claire. Is Dillon home?”
She leaned into the doorframe. “He’s not here.” She had a drawl to her voice, but her words were clipped. Night and day compared to the smiley girl earlier.
“Huh. He wouldn’t be avoiding me, would he?”
“No, no, he wouldn’t do that.”
Seth peered into the trailer behind her. A fist-shaped hole perforated the drywall at the end of the hall. Claire took notice of him looking, then moved her body in front of it. He said nothing, but glanced up her arms for any sign of trauma. She hugged herself tighter.
“That’s not what it looks like, and you’re not gonna find any bruises on me. I wouldn’t be with someone like that.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you—that wasn’t my intention.”
She deflated. “That’s all right… I get it, you’re a cop or whatever.” She took a breath and glanced over her shoulder again, then bit her lip. “Dillon should be home soon, so…”
He needed to see the inside of that trailer. “You mind if we talk inside while we wait?”
“I was in the middle of cleaning, but… sure, come on in.”