The Stranger You Know
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“Jan is an only child?” Claire asked, careful to use the present tense. There was no point in upsetting Mr. Olson, not until they had concrete proof that Jan was dead.
He nodded. “We wanted more children. But it wasn’t meant to be.”
Casey gazed at the room as Claire made her way slowly around. It was the bedroom of an average teenage girl—white furniture, peacock blue walls, a matching comforter and curtains and possessions that ranged from the eye shadow and lip gloss of a young adult to the figurines and stuffed animals of a young girl.
“When did Jan last redecorate?” Casey asked.
“In high school,” her father replied. “The furniture hasn’t changed, just the arrangement of the pieces. She painted the walls and picked out the matching bed and window coverings. But she kept her favorite things from childhood.”
“Is this one of them?” Claire was holding a child’s jewelry box, which, when opened, displayed a little spinning ballerina.
Olson nodded. “That was a gift from her grandparents. She got it when she was six. The jewelry that went inside it changed over the years, but the box itself stayed the same, right down to its position on her dresser.”
Claire was only half listening. She wore a look of intense concentration. “Happy memories,” she murmured. “Lots of warm, positive energy.” She fingered a few of the pieces inside—a slim bangle bracelet, a silver chain necklace, a pair of gold stud earrings—then placed the box back on the dresser and turned to squat beside a book bag. “When did she get this?” she asked, letting her fingertips brush the dark maroon canvas.
Mr. Olson’s expression clouded. “Right before she left for college. Her mother and I used to tease her that it weighed more than she did because of the number of books she dragged around.”
“How did it get to your house?” Casey asked at once. “Did Jan leave it here on her last trip home, or was it returned to you after she disappeared?”
“The latter.” He swallowed. “Columbia returned it to us when they cleaned out her dorm room.” He gestured at the book bag. “Feel free to look inside. Lord only knows that I have, dozens of times. Textbooks, notebooks and her calendar are all you’ll find. I searched every nook and cranny.”
“A calendar?” Casey jumped on that one. “You didn’t mention that in our last conversation. And it wasn’t in the material you brought me.”
Olson sighed. “Like I said, I pored over it time after time. There’s nothing in there but assignments that were due. No names, no specific dates, nothing. I saw no purpose in bringing it. If you feel otherwise, if you think I might have missed something, it’s yours to review.”
Casey nodded. She was watching Claire as she unzipped the book bag and searched the contents. She recognized the expression on Claire’s face. And it didn’t mean anything good.
“We’ll take it with us,” Casey responded. “Plus whatever else Claire zeroes in on.”
Claire raised her head. “Do you have any other items that were returned to you by the university?” she asked.
“Jan’s clothes. Her books. Anything she left at the school.” Mr. Olson spoke painfully. “I’m not a material person. When Jan didn’t come home for a year, I donated most of her clothes to our church, thinking she could buy new ones when she returned. But if you’re looking for whatever’s left of her wardrobe, it would be hanging in her closet.” He pointed to the double sliding pocket doors.
Claire opened them and studied a few articles of clothing, reaching for an occasional sleeve or collar. After a time, and in a deliberate manner, she squatted, picking up a pair of well-worn running shoes. “She wore these a lot. And not just to get around campus. She was an athletic girl.”
“Yes,” Mr. Olson said. “She played on several teams in high school. I’m not sure how many of them she continued on with at Columbia. Her workload was steep. But, yes, she wore those running shoes constantly. They were too beaten up to donate to charity.”
“I see,” Claire murmured. And she was clearly seeing a lot more than just the objects themselves. She didn’t comment aloud, just turned the running shoes over in her hands and studied the soles. Then she glanced back at the book bag. Her fingertips skimmed Jan’s belongings in a tentative, searching manner. Finally, she stopped. Still clutching the running shoes and book bag, she rose. “May I take these with me?”
“Of course,” Mr. Olson said. “Why? Do you sense something from them?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Claire was hedging. Mr. Olson didn’t see it. But Casey did. Claire was picking up something specific—and negative—from those particular objects.
“I’d also like to take the jewelry box. It’s energy is so positive, it’s an ideal means of comparison.” There was clearly more to that than Claire was saying. But, again, Casey remained silent. She waited for Mr. Olson’s nod, and watched Claire add the jewelry box to her growing collection of Jan’s possessions. “What about the rest of Jan’s textbooks and notebooks? Whatever she wasn’t carrying around?”
Mr. Olson pointed at a cardboard box that was nestled in the corner of the closet. “Anything like that would be in there. You’re welcome to go through it.”
“I’d like to take it with me,” Claire said. “I want to sit quietly by myself and go through all the contents of the box as slowly and thoroughly as possible. Rushing the process would be a mistake. I need to get as strong an awareness of Jan as possible.”
“Fine.” Mr. Olson waved his arm. “Take it. As I said, take anything that might help you find my daughter—or what happened to her.”
Casey sensed that Claire had finished her work here. She glanced down at Hero, who’d been sniffing the carpet this whole time.
“Besides the things we’re taking with us, would you mind giving me a few more items right now? Things you remember Jan having in her possession as close to her disappearance as possible? Before we take off, I’d like to make scent pads for Hero.”
“Of course.” Daniel Olson walked immediately over to the bed. He picked up a stuffed bear and a throw pillow. “Jan had these from when she was a child. She never went anywhere without them. She kept them on her bed at home and then at school.”
“Perfect.” Casey unzipped her tote bag, which contained gauze pads, jars, tongs and latex gloves.
She had this routine down to a science. She’d pull on the latex gloves, set the gauze in place and put Jan’s personal articles on them. Then she’d use the STU-100 to vacuum the articles for thirty seconds. The gauze would collect the necessary scents, after which she’d deposit them in the jar, storing Jan’s scent for Hero’s future use.
She wasn’t worried about the items they were taking with them. She could make scent pads for those back at the office. They would be the objects most likely connected to Jan’s disappearance, maybe even things she’d been wearing or carrying during an interaction with the offender. If that was the case, they could isolate the offender’s scent for Hero and, if they were lucky enough to close in on any suspects, let the bloodhound do his work.
For the umpteenth time, Casey reminded herself that this wasn’t supposed to be about apprehending the person responsible for Jan’s disappearance, just about locating the young woman or her body. But Casey couldn’t help herself. She was desperate to catch the scumbag who, if her instincts were right, was a serial killer. She wanted to give Daniel Olson the peace he required. At the same time, she wanted to nail Jan and Holly’s killer.
She worked methodically with the vacuum, and then handed the stuffed animal and the pillow back to Jan’s father. “Thank you. This is great for now. My whole team will be on this. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have a lead.”
“I appreciate it.” The dying man looked so grateful, it was emotionally painful to witness. “Time is working against me. I’m aware of your reputation. So I feel my first sense of hope.”
“Hang on to that,” Casey urged, zipping up her tote bag and giving Hero’s leash a light tug to let him know they were leaving. “We’ll find the answers you’re looking for.” She knew she was making a promise she might not be able to deliver. But she couldn’t help it. She had to give Jan’s father something to hold on to.
It was up to her and the FI team to make that something a reality.
Bottles, Wines and Spirits
Morningside Heights, NY
The liquor store was a few blocks away from Columbia. Kendra and her friend Marie made a quick trip there after classes were over. They were eager to buy a large enough quantity of booze to impress the upperclassmen at the frat party they were going to that night. Kendra had her fake ID, so the age restriction wasn’t an object. And they’d be paying in cash, so there’d be no credit card receipts to explain to their parents.
It didn’t take long to make their selections. This place was great, because it was cheap. They picked up five bottles—three of vodka and two of rum—and carried them up to the register.
The guy behind the counter was in his early-to mid-thirties. With dark hair slicked back in a ponytail and wearing a T-shirt with a name plate that said “Barry” on it, he looked grungy, as if he didn’t enjoy taking showers. He studied the two of them for a minute—during which Kendra was getting ready to produce her ID. Abruptly, he averted his gaze, ringing up their bottles one by one, and shoving them into two brown paper bags.
“Here ya go.” He handed them the bags, eyeing them again in a way that was somehow creepy. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, when another customer interrupted, strolling up to the counter to make his purchase. So whatever he’d been about to say remained unsaid. He turned away, directing his attention to ringing up the next order.
The girls weren’t sorry to get away from him.
They made their way back to campus, chatting as they walked.
“How sketchy was that Barry guy?” Marie asked with a slight shudder.
“Totally sketchy,” Kendra agreed, grimacing. “I was happy to get out of there.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“I think I’ve seen him before,” Kendra mused. “It must have been at this store, although I didn’t make the connection. Anyway, he’s a creeper. I hope there’s someone else at the counter when I go back.”
Marie nodded. “What time do you want to meet tonight?” she asked. “And where?”
“Why don’t we meet up outside the frat house. Say, nine o’clock.”
“Works for me.” Marie nodded. “I live closer to the frat house than you. I’ll take the booze back to my dorm and bring it with me later.”
“Perfect.” Kendra handed Marie the bag she’d been carrying.
“I’ve got a take-home exam,” Marie said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t wait to finish it. Then I’ll pick out something to wear.”
Kendra grinned. “This should be a cool party.” The two girls split up and went their separate ways.
And once again, a pair of eyes followed their motions.
Chapter Five
Holly Stevens’s police report arrived at the Forensic Instincts office late that afternoon. The contents were immediately scanned and stored on the server. Pages were printed out for each team member, all of whom stopped what they were doing to read and analyze it. Then they had a brief meeting to see how—and who—could best utilize the information gleaned from the two-page report.
Ryan was elected as the starting point. He’d already run a basic timeline search on Jan Olson’s life. Now he’d cross-check it with Holly’s.
Before heading down to his lair, Ryan swiveled his chair toward Marc.
“I found Brenda Miller,” he informed him. “She’s married, listed under the name Brenda Reins and living in Greenwich, Connecticut.” He passed along a three-page printout. “I got a basic rundown on her, as well as digging up her address and phone number. She’s a typical suburban mom, juggling a job at a nonprofit organization with raising three kids.”
Marc glanced at his watch. “I can make Greenwich in a little over an hour—maybe longer, if I get caught in rush hour traffic.” He took the printout. “I’ll get on the road now.”
“Since I know you like to go for the element of surprise, I called ahead to make sure you wouldn’t be wasting your time,” Ryan said. “A tween kid answered. I pretended to be a telemarketer. I heard a woman in the background. So I’m guessing she’s home.”
Marc shrugged. “Even if she wasn’t, she probably would be once I showed up. There’s nothing like dinnertime to bring the family together. And if she happens to be out, I’ll wait.”
“She drives a dark green SUV.” Ryan gave Marc the year and the model, along with the license plate number. “So if you see the car in the driveway or the garage, you’re in luck.”
“Gotcha.” Marc glanced across the conference room table at Casey, who’d been unusually quiet during this minimeeting. “Does that work for you or do you need me here?”
“It works. And I’m going with you.” Casey set down Jan Olson’s date book, which she’d been studying for the past hour. “We need to really probe the boyfriend angle with Brenda. Whether Jan was seeing one guy or ten, I want as much info on them as possible. And Brenda is more apt to be open with another woman than with a man. You can question her about everything else, Marc. But I’m taking the boyfriend route.”
“Okay.” Marc’s eyes narrowed quizzically. He knew that expression on Casey’s face. She was focused on something in particular—something she thought might be significant. “Want to share?”
Casey pointed at the date book. “Daniel Olson was right. Jan was a typical teenage girl, who made typical entries in her date book. One of the most common notations is something a father would never notice.” She pointed at one page, then another, and finally a third.
“What are we looking for?” Ryan asked.
“Dots.” Claire spotted them in an instant. “Each of those pages has a dot on it.”
“And the dots show up every four weeks, almost to the day.” Casey indicated a few more pages. “Jan was keeping track of her periods. Most women do. And hers came like clockwork, right up until two months before her disappearance. Then they stopped altogether.”
“You think she was pregnant,” Ryan concluded.
“I think the timing is too coincidental to be ignored. No period for two months, followed by an inexplicable disappearance?” Casey frowned. “That connection definitely requires investigation.”
“Makes sense.” Marc looked thoughtful. “Although it feels like a reach. A single young woman becoming pregnant, even fifteen years ago, wasn’t an eyebrow-lifter. And it wouldn’t be difficult to take care of quietly, especially on a college campus. Health services would be right there to give her a hand, no matter what she decided. And they’d keep it confidential, by law.”
“True,” Casey agreed. “But the Olsons are a very traditional church-going family. There were childhood photos of Jan receiving her First Communion in the living room. And Mr. Olson mentioned that he’d donated Jan’s clothing to their church. If religion factored heavily into their lives, maybe Jan couldn’t cope with a pregnancy emotionally, even if she could take care of it physically.”
“Which brings us to the baby’s father.”
“Exactly.” Casey nodded. “Who is he and how far would he be willing to go to make this pregnancy—and the mother—go away?”
Marc still seemed pensive. “Did your friend Holly ever mention a boyfriend?”
Casey knew just where he was headed with this. “No. She definitely wasn’t seeing anyone. We were pretty close. She would have said something to me if there was a guy in her life.”
“Then if your theory turns out to be true, you’ve probably scratched the idea that we’re dealing with a serial killer. The motives in Holly’s and Jan’s cases would no longer match. Jan’s situation would be a personal, not a random, crime. For all we know, she took a fat check from the baby-daddy and disappeared. Or, at worst, he killed her. Either way, it dashes your hopes of linking this to Holly’s death.”
“I realize that.” Casey met Marc’s gaze. “And, no, it doesn’t make me happy. But I told you from the beginning that my first priority was to find out what happened to Jan Olson. And that’s what I intend to do—whether or not it links to Holly.”
“Fair enough. Then let’s interview Brenda together. Between the two of us, we’ll get everything she knows about her best friend.”
* * *
Brenda Reins was just popping a casserole into the oven when her doorbell rang.
She wiped her hands on her apron, glancing at the clock with more than a little annoyance. It was rare that her family was all together for dinner. Between Daisy Scouts, Little League, music lessons and sleepovers—not to mention Ronald’s endless hours at his law office—it was a battle to get the five of them home and gathered around the table at the same time.
She’d planned tonight for a week, synchronizing all the schedules so they could enjoy a fun evening at home—right down to the popcorn and the movie. The kids were already upstairs, finishing their homework. And Ron was wrapping up a meeting and heading home.
If the person ringing that doorbell was one of her younger kids’ friends, she was going to be one very irritated mom.
Determined to get rid of whoever was on her doorstep, Brenda marched into the foyer and flung open the front door.
Whoever she might have expected, it wasn’t the couple standing there. “Can I help you?” she asked, brows drawn in question.
“I hope so,” the woman replied. “I’m assuming you’re Brenda Reins?”
“I am. And you are...?” She waited for an answer.
“My name is Casey Woods.” Casey held up her New York private investigator’s license. “This is my associate, Marc Devereaux. We’re from the investigative firm Forensic Instincts. We’ve been hired to look into the disappearance of Jan Olson.”
“Jan?” Brenda was taken aback. “She vanished over fifteen years ago. Why are you checking into this now? Have you learned something new about what happened to her?”
“We’re not sure,” Marc said frankly. “But the investigation has been reopened. We understand that you were her closest friend. We were hoping you could take a few minutes to talk to us, to tell us more about her.”
Brenda hesitated. “You say the case has been reopened. By whom? Who hired you?” she asked.
“Technically, the NYPD hired us,” Casey responded. “They don’t have the resources to devote to such a long shot. We do. If you’re asking who requested the investigation, the answer is Jan’s father. He’s gravely ill. He’s desperate to find some closure to his daughter’s disappearance before he dies.”
Sadness clouded Brenda’s face. “Mr. Olson was such a kind man. He used to take a bunch of us out to dinner whenever he visited—and he always included the kids who lived far away and couldn’t get home to see their own families. I’m so sorry to hear he’s ill. Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” Casey preceded Marc into the house. It was a richly appointed colonial, with a grand foyer and French provincial furniture to match.
Brenda led them into the living room and gestured for them to have a seat on the sofa. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
Casey waved away the offer. “We appreciate your taking the time to talk to us. We’ll make this as brief as possible and then be on our way. Could you give us some insight into Jan Olson? Her personality, state of mind, friends, interests, classes—anything the two of you shared or that you were aware of?”
Brenda let out a long sigh. “It feels like a million years ago. Yet it still stuns me to think about it. Jan was a sweetheart with a heart of gold. I can’t imagine anyone who’d want to hurt her. She was shy and studious, with just a small circle of friends.”
“Did you know most of those friends?” Marc broke in to ask. “Would you able to compile a list?”
“Sure. Although, with the exception of our mutual friends, I have no idea where the others are now.”
“Finding them will be my problem,” Marc said, whipping out a notebook. “I just want you to detail every part of Jan’s life that you recall.”
“She wasn’t all that social. She spent most of her time buried in her textbooks, trying to decide between premed and nursing. There was a lot of academic pressure, enough to make her quit the swim team. The only thing she kept doing to clear her mind was her morning run.”
“What about guys?” Casey brought the subject right around to where she wanted it. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
A nostalgic smile touched Brenda’s lips. “Chris Towers. The two of them met at freshman orientation. They really, really liked each other, and hung out from day one in the fall. They were definitely a couple—but not the kind who were all over each other or who isolated themselves in their own little world. Chris was in prelaw and on the debate team. He invested as much time in his schoolwork as Jan did.”
“No other guys in Jan’s life?”
“None.” Brenda stated that definitively.
Casey cleared her throat. “Do you have any idea if Jan was pregnant?”
“Pregnant?” Brenda did a double take. “Absolutely not. Why would you ask that?”
“Because her father gave me her date book. And she kept meticulous track of her periods. Every month there was a dot marking the date. There were no dots the two months prior to her disappearance.”
“That was stress, not pregnancy.” Brenda shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Like I said, the academic pressure was crushing, especially in Jan’s area of study. She was a wreck for weeks before she vanished. I remember her complaining that she’d missed her period. She went to health services. They confirmed that it was stress-related.”
“You’re sure?” Casey asked. “You said she was shy and quiet. She might have kept it to herself if she was pregnant.”
“Very sure. Jan was reserved, but she and I confided in each other. Besides, she came from a very religious family. She and Chris weren’t even sleeping together.”
“Okay, then, tell us about her behavior during the last weeks before she disappeared.” Marc took over from what he was obviously convinced had to be a dead end. “You said she was under pressure?”
“We all were. Jan more than others, because of her area of study. Plus, she was waitressing to make some extra cash. She was burning the candle at both ends and then some. That’s why she quit the swim team, and why she intensified her running schedule. It was just too much. I really believe the overall tension is what made her snap.”
“What do you mean by snap?” Marc asked.
Brenda’s shoulders rose and fell in a defeated gesture. “She started staying out all night studying. I couldn’t get her to take a break. She’d run a couple of miles at dawn, and then go from class to the library to her job and back. She barely stopped off at her dorm room, except to shower and change. And she withdrew—from me, from Chris, from everyone. Whenever I asked her to talk to me, she said she was too strung out. I was really worried about her. And then, abruptly, she disappeared.”
“So you’re saying you think she took off on her own?”
“We didn’t know what to think. Chris called the police. And, of course, Jan’s father. There was a brief investigation. But there was absolutely no evidence that Jan had been abducted—other than the fact that she didn’t take anything except her purse.”
“Nothing else was missing? No clothes or toiletries?”
“No.” Brenda’s brow furrowed. “Chris and I both practically ransacked her room. Neither of us could find anything out of place. That’s why we filed a police report. It didn’t make sense. But, given Jan’s state of mind, I knew what the cops were thinking—that she’d either run away or worse. They searched for a body. None was ever found.”
Marc didn’t reply. But Casey knew his wheels were turning—and she also knew exactly the way his thought process was going. Suicide didn’t fit. If Jan was going to kill herself, she wouldn’t have vanished in order to do it. And running away? That didn’t seem likely. Not without packing at least one bag of essentials. True, there was nothing concrete for the police to go on. But the lead detective on the case certainly hadn’t knocked himself out. All signs pointed to the fact that Jan Olson had been the victim of some kind of foul play.