She closes the book and then shoves it in her handbag.
She then drags the heavy bags to the front door. She refuses to turn around and do that last-look thing people do. She doesn’t need this shot on her mental camera reel.
Back in the car, she fights the urge to cry. “Hurt,” the Johnny Cash version, plays on the radio, a song both beautiful and crushingly heartbreaking at the same time.
Now what?
She’ll find a hotel, she supposes.
She thinks about Jesse, then texts Principal Steadman to see if he can meet her after school. She needs to know more about this girl. What happened between Jesse and the victims. What happened at her last school. What happened to her family.
At the same time, she fears what she’ll learn.
CHAPTER 32
KELLER
Keller breathes through her teeth in the tobacco-stained living room of Tawny O’Shaughnessy, mother of Blockbuster victim Candy O’Shaughnessy. The space is cluttered, filled with porcelain figurines of angels, and shag carpet that has seen better days. The woman across from Keller and Atticus has also seen better days. She’s either in her fifties or sixties, it’s hard to say, and she has bleached-blond hair and wears dark liner around watery eyes, like she’s taking style tips from a 1980s Def Leppard video. But she has a sweet demeanor and welcomes them into her home.
“He’s so handsome,” she says in her gravelly voice, staring at Atticus, who’s perched on a worn lounge chair across from the couch, looking uncomfortable. Between them, a coffee table holds several remote controls and an ashtray filled with butts.
Keller smiles. She’s standing, explaining that it’s because of her back.
“I’ve been there, honey,” Ms. O’Shaughnessy says. “My Candy, she was a kicker. Two days of labor and, I swear … she grabbed onto my ribs and they had to yank her out.” She gives the saddest of sentimental smiles.
“We’re sorry to barge in on you, but we have some follow-up questions,” Keller says.
“I assumed,” Ms. O’Shaughnessy says. “When I saw what happened at the ice cream store, I thought I might get a visit.”
“Why is that?”
“The case seems to perk up when something happens. Usually it’s a TV show about the murders, or a mass killing somewhere, and reporters call. Not as often anymore, though. And rarely a home visit from the police, much less the FBI. I used to call over to Union County every day, but after a while you just have to accept it.”
It’s true, Keller knows. Vince Whitaker’s trail went cold long ago. The only reason she’s here is another tragedy. And if they don’t find Whitaker, there probably won’t be another visit to Tawny O’Shaughnessy until another mass slaying or new Dateline episode. But, looking at Atticus, the earnest detective who took a keen interest in the cold case on his own time, even before the ice cream store tragedy, Keller hopes she’s wrong.
“I’m sorry you have to relive this every time,” she offers.
Ms. O’Shaughnessy nods. “It’s okay, hon, you’re just doing your job. And Detective Singh can come by any time.” She smiles at Atticus, who tries not to blush.
“We’re going back through the file. Looking at it with fresh eyes. And we wanted to talk a little about Candy, if you wouldn’t mind?” Keller says.
Ms. O’Shaughnessy smiles. “I love to talk about my daughter. People forget that. It makes them uncomfortable. But she was my baby, my life. And after her no-good father left, she was my best friend. We told each other everything.”
Keller isn’t a mother yet, but her heart hurts for this woman. She’s gotten a taste of what’s to come. On those days when the twins haven’t kicked in a while, she waits for long, excruciating minutes until she feels movement. That sensation only gets more intense, exponentially stronger, with each second of our children’s lives, Keller surmises.
“I wonder if you could tell us a little about your daughter’s life at the time.”
Keller doesn’t need to know so much, it’s a question that risks a long, irrelevant detour, but she feels like Ms. O’Shaughnessy needs it.
“Oh, where to start? She was wonderful. A spitfire, like me when I was young. But she knew who she was and made no apologies for it.”
Ms. O’Shaughnessy reaches for the glass of brown liquid, which Keller assumes is not iced tea. Jameson, by the faint aroma and slight slur in Ms. O’Shaughnessy’s voice.
She tells them about a headstrong young girl who was fiercely independent. Candy didn’t want or need a boyfriend, and probably partied more than she should. She worked hard to help her mom, given that her deadbeat dad was years behind on child support. Her mom worked as a bartender at a Hilton hotel, and Candy worked at the Blockbuster. She’d been accepted to nursing school over in Irvington.