Page 68 of The Lake of Lost Girls

Sergeant L. O’Neil:Daisy Molina? Jessica’s roommate?

Ryan McKay:Yes.

Sergeant L. O’Neil:And she can vouch for your whereabouts?

Ryan McKay:Yes, I never left her room.

Sergeant L. O’Neil:So, your girlfriend, who you’re madly in love with, dumps you and you then go and take up with her best friend? And then later, the now ex-girlfriend goes missing? Am I getting this right? Sounds like a bad made-for-TV movie, if you ask me.

That clinched it for me. Ryan was a grade-A liar. There was no way in hell he didn’t remember what he and Jess had argued about. How could he forget that the woman he loved had dumped him without warning on the day she disappeared?

As for his alibi … I was shocked. I wondered how close Daisy and my sister could have actually been, for her to sleep with Ryan. It was definitely implied that’s what had happened.

I noticed that Sergeant O’Neil never bothered to follow up on the argument between Ryan and Jess. It had seemed like he was on to something, then unceremoniously dropped it and never brought it up again. It was incredibly frustrating. Sergeant O’Neil never seemed to ask anything of importance after that. It was almost like he wanted the interview done with as quickly as possible. Ryan must have been convincing, because that was his last interview.

I put the papers down, needing a breather. This was all so much worse than I had expected it to be. There were so many more questions that should have been asked but weren’t. How could the detective let so many things fall through the cracks?

Those women never stood a chance of being found.

What did stand out to me was that Ryan had gotten drunk and spent the night with Daisy. He was nowhere near our house when Jess went missing. Though, that’s not saying he couldn’t have ditched Daisy at some point.

I flipped through more pages, coming across photographs taken of possible evidence. There was a photographof Jess’s car, the trunk still open. There were separate pictures of the contents, including a wrapped present I knew was for me and a three-tier cake. There was a photo of a black duffle bag sitting on a table, and placed beside it the items that must have been inside. It was all fairly common stuff; pajamas, a spare set of clothing, a makeup bag—all things one would expect to be packed for a couple of nights away.

There were copies of letters from the parents of Phoebe Baker and Meghan Lambert. I didn’t spend much time reading them, as they were only the enraged sentiments of sidelined families demanding answers. I did notice there was no correspondence from Tammy’s family. Or from mine.

Eventually, I found my own transcripted interview. It was strange how I could remember so little of my life before and directly after Jess went missing, but this one moment, I recalled with total clarity.

I couldn’t be sure how long it was after Mom called the police that they came to the house. What I do remember was sitting at the dining table, asking when I could open my gifts. I was upset that my party had been canceled.

I’d been asked over and over if I had seen where Jess had gone. I tried to recall but there wasn’t much to say. I had been watching her from the living room window. She said she was going to get a surprise for me from the car. I had gotten distracted—I couldn’t say by what—and when I looked back, she was gone. It was then that I became upset, a sliver of the awful reality setting in. I had cried, wanting to see my sister. I howled that I had only looked away for ten seconds—but in truth it was probably much longer than that. I hated everyone’s questions. I wanted them to leave.

I wanted Jessie.

The next report was my mom’s statement. From the Sergeant’s notes, she had been “hysterical and inconsolable.” He wrote,“Unable to extract any information. Mrs. Fadley was unable to answer questions, no matter how many times she is asked. Not sure if she understands what’s going on.”I rolled myeyes at the Sergeant’s condescending tone. Then I found my dad’s statement. The questions all seemed pretty standard—nothing of note—until I saw a barely legible scrawl at the bottom in what I had come to recognize as Sergeant O’Neil’s handwriting.

It read, ‘Possible suspect—Meghan Lambert.’

I frowned, not understanding.

Possible suspect—Meghan Lambert?

It had been written on my dad’s statement, so there was no mistaking what Sergeant O’Neil was thinking at the time and who the suspicion was directed at. But why?

How was my father connected to Meghan Lambert, let alone how was he a potential suspect in her disappearance?

That couldn’t be right.

I leafed through more of the pages, coming across a photograph of a 1965 yellow Boss 429 Mustang. The photo was paperclipped to a statement from an eyewitness who claimed to have seen Meghan getting in this car on the same day she was reported missing by her friends.

And there was yet another picture of the same car, only this time parked in front of my house.

I found an official police evidence report covered in handwritten notes.

Description of Evidence retrieved from vehicle belonging to Benjamin Fadley:

1.Hair sample taken.DNA to be confirmed.

2.Semen sample collected from seat fabric.DNA to be confirmed.

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