“Who is he?”
“I don’t feel comfortable saying, considering he didn’t share his name with you.”
Regan said, “But you do remember him coming to you about Abernathy sleeping near the tracks.”
She nodded. “He—I’ll call him Doe, for clarity—had lost so much in such a short time. He needed us, to help him get back on his feet. He could have gone the way of Joseph, all too easily. Loss, pain, suffering—it can destroy a soul. Some people never find their way out of the abyss.”
“Like Joseph Abernathy,” Regan said.
“Yes. I don’t know his story. He never shared it.” She reached up and played with a crucifix hanging from a simple gold chain around her neck. “But I saw it on occasion, because I have worked with men like Joseph for more than thirty years. My father had been in Vietnam. He came home a different man, turned to alcohol, left. I don’t say he left us, though he did and my mother resented him and her plight, but he didn’t really leave us. He left because he felt he had no hope, no future, and drinking numbed the pain. He died. I didn’t know until years later. I say he died of hopelessness. But he drank himself to death. Joseph was doing the same thing, but I felt that, with patience and firm boundaries, he might see a path out. We don’t allow alcohol or drugs here but take in those suffering from addiction. They come here, try to get clean, we give them help—counseling, medical attention, food, fellowship—but men like Joseph can only take it for a short time before they leave to drink. It was a cycle. But I would—we would—never turn him away for a meal. So I saw him regularly back then.”
“But he often left, correct?” Lucas asked. “He didn’t live here year-round.”
“No, he would jump on a freight train and disappear for months at a time, usually in the winter months,” Willa said. “But three years…that’s too long. I agree with Doe. Something must have happened to him.”
Regan steered the conversation back to Candace. “Candace volunteered here for several years.”
“Yes. I adored her. She was kind and compassionate and would have made a wonderful nurse. Maybe she was too compassionate. I know, that sounds odd coming from someone like me, because I try to always see the good in people, but I also recognize that some people are beyond help. You can only hold out your hand so many times for people to grab onto before you get bit one time too many. I told Candace to call the police if Joseph showed up on campus again. Not because I thought he would hurt anyone but because, if confronted, he could become belligerent. Someone could get hurt—or someone could hurt him.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
“Before meeting Lucas earlier this year, I would have said yes, I think it was possible but unlikely. Not because he had a problem with her, but when he was drinking he sometimes lashed out. Hit someone, pushed them. Could he have pushed Candace and accidentally killed her? Yes, I could see that. But now that I know exactly how she died, I don’t think Joseph had the mental capacity to move her body, cover up evidence, disappear. Not with what I knew of him.”
“What about someone else?” Regan said. “Someone here who might have become fixated with her. Someone she tried to help, or maybe someone who she couldn’t help.”
“The police asked me similar questions three years ago. I can’t think of anyone. People with mental illness and serious drug addiction can become unpredictable, but to the point of murder? No one then had any issues with Candace, not anger or a fixation or anything that would put her in danger.”
Lucas said, “Did you follow up on Doe’s sighting of Joseph near the tracks?”
“Yes, but this was before I knew Candace was dead. I went down there with one of my employees on Thursday or Friday, I don’t remember exactly. It was after she was missing. He wasn’t there. No one had seen him that day.”
“Candace was a regular here,” Lucas said, “but I learned that she sometimes brought others to volunteer.”
“Yes, especially during the holidays. She had many girls in the sorority helping with food drives.”
“Did a student named Alexa Castillo work with her?”
“Alexa? Yes! I haven’t seen her in years. She came with Candace several times. Kind, very quiet.”
“So would you say she was a regular?”
“Semiregular. She probably volunteered ten, twelve times? I keep track of my volunteers, but it was quite some time ago, so I would have to look up the records.”