She goes on to inform me that her mother is retired from the state. She now works in the private industry, and Fruge tells me the name of the biotech company in Richmond.
“It’s perfect because she can do a lot of the work in her lab at home.” She continues filling me in about someone I’ve had my share of problems with in the past. “Which gives her more time for her horses, all her crazy hobbies. I don’t know if you heard that she moved to an old farm in Goochland County.”
“Sounds like a good place to be during a pandemic. Please give her my best,” I reply from a sticky mat, looking around, getting my bearings.
“Funny what happens in life.” Fruge’s dark eyes are riveted to me. “Mom worked with you when you were the brand-new chief. Now here you are back in Virginia and starting all over again, only with me this time. Talk about going full circle.”
“The media knows that the missing person is Gwen Hainey.” I stay focused on the grim business before us. “Dana Diletti just announced it on the air.”
“I was waiting for that. I’m willing to bet she got it from the manager. The guy who unlocked the door for me is a real chatterbox and way too curious,” she says as if she’s not. “First name is Cliff, last name Sallow. I had to tell him to stay clear of this place.”
“When he unlocked the door for you, did he come inside?” I’m making notes.
“He wanted to badly enough, had his phone out ready to take pictures if you can believe that. No way I was letting him,” she says. “He drives a red Prius, so be on high alert if you see it because he wants to know what’s going on something awful. And I can sure as heck see why.”
What’s happened on Cliff Sallow’s watch won’t be good for his career, Fruge predicts. He could end up fired.
“When’s the last time he saw Gwen or heard from her? Did he say?” I ask from my sticky mat.
“The day after Thanksgiving. He told me he saw her jogging early Friday morning, that she usually was out the door at sunrise. Apparently, she was a big runner, and would pick up the Mount Vernon Trail and go for miles.”
“How might he have known her running habits?”
“I guess she must have mentioned it to him. And he usually knew when she was back because she’d enter her code at the gate.” Fruge says the same thing Marino’s upset neighbor did. “The media must have gotten their information from him. How else could it have happened when her name isn’t connected to this property?”
Apparently, if you look up Gwen’s townhome, it’s in the name of the owner who lives in New York, Fruge says.
On another sticky mat is the field case of PPE. Squatting by it, she begins picking out what she decides I need, looking me up and down, checking on sizes.
“What about the cameras at the security gate?” I ask. “I’m wondering what they might have picked up the Friday afternoon or evening of the murder.”
“You and me both. I’m dying to know,” she says.
Handing me size small Tyvek coveralls and other protective gear, she tells me to suit up as if she’s in charge.
“To give you a quick road map, there’s very little in the way of furniture and stuff as you’re probably already noticing,” she says. “Nothing on the second floor at all. You can go up there if you want but it’s just a big empty bonus room with piles of construction crap covered by plastic tarps. The door is shut, the heat turned down low.”
She explains that Cliff Sallow, the manager, said the unit was being renovated when Gwen asked about a short-term rental. She was in a desperate hurry, her needs simple. She wanted a place that was private and safe. She wanted it instantly. The rental couldn’t be in her name, and no one else was allowed access under any circumstances unless it was a life-and-death emergency. Gwen took the townhome as is, and Fruge is an impressive information gatherer.
“I guess she must make a really good living because she didn’t seem concerned about money,” she says. “Or the fact there’s almost nothing inside, not even a bed. She has one of those inflatable ones. You’ll see it when you get there.”
“How much is her rent?” I pull on a pair of nitrile exam gloves.
“I should have asked that,” Fruge says with a flash of impatience. “But I’ll find out.”
“And did she give a reason for the urgency beyond the new job she was starting?”
“Not that I was told,” she replies as the front door opens wide, wind and rain gusting in.