Page 36 of Find Me

“Will do,” he said. “Thanks again, and thanks for not tipping off Lindsay Kelly. She’ll find out about Lopez soon enough, though. I just got the okay from our DA. They’re announcing Lopez’s murder at a press conference this afternoon, and we’re also putting out an APB for Kelly’s friend as a person of interest—as a potential witness who might be in danger... of course.”

“Of course.” Ellie knew what that language in a police department press release actually meant. Though investigators weren’t yet ready to say as much, Hope Miller was their primary suspect in the murder of Alex Lopez.

23

Tuesday, June 22, 1:47 p.m.

Bing. Another new message alert. From Ed Carpenter—again.

Lindsay glanced at the top of her laptop screen: 1:47. Shit. She should have been in the car seven minutes ago.

By her count, this was email round five with the same client in the last twenty minutes. She knew he was slamming her with questions because he was still aggrieved that she’d handed over a court hearing this morning to “some person I’ve never even met before.” She had explained that it was a simple request for a trial setover—one that he had sought—but he replied by threatening to hire another lawyer if she didn’t handle his case personally at every stage. Now he was asking whether his pending DUI charges could affect the ongoing fight with his ex over child support. She typed “Late for a meeting, but the short answer is no” and hit send. Terse, but a lot cheaper than if she’d billed him for researching and writing a responsive memo, which is what most lawyers would do.

She was zipping up her roller bag on the hotel bed when the handyman sent her a text saying he was running late. With extra time suddenly on her hands, she pulled up the number for Detective Ellie Hatcher.

“Hey, Ellie, this is Lindsay Kelly. I was calling to see if you might have learned any more about that blood match from the Wichita crimescene. I found out that Hope thought someone out here might have been following her.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Look, I’ll be honest with you,” Ellie finally said. “Your call, bringing up William Summer, and everything that happened with my father? I was probably a little too quick to jump at the possibility your friend’s disappearance might be connected to that case. But taking a step back? There’s nothing there, Lindsay. There’s not a shred of evidence that the College Hill killings were committed by more than one man. Plus, Summer made it clear after he was caught that he was terrified of being executed. As it turned out, none of his crimes were committed when Kansas had capital punishment as a sentencing option, but he didn’t know that when he was first interrogated. If he had an accomplice, he would have offered him up in exchange for leniency. I don’t want you focusing only on William Summer to the detriment of other possibilities about what’s going on with your friend.”

“I guess that’s good to hear. The blood belonging to a killer would probably be the worst explanation.” She still hadn’t told anyone other than Scott about the messages she had received from someone claiming to be Hope. “It would just be nice to have a definite account for that DNA match. I saw that Janice Beale lived next to a park with a rec center, and she became a kind of den mother to the whole crew. Maybe one of the kids skinned a knee or something, and is now one of the people who did work on the Stansfields’ house.”

There was another pause, and Lindsay wondered if perhaps Ellie was distracted now that she had decided she had no personal connection to Hope’s case. “It’s possible, but in any event, I’d leave the William Summer thing alone. The fewer heads that man lives in, the better. And best of luck to you and your friend.”

Lindsay had a gut feeling that the detective was holding something back, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be, so she thanked her once again for trying to help.

She slid her laptop from her briefcase and pulled up the article that mentioned Beale’s connection to the summer camp. She then searchedfor “COP camp Edgemoor Park Wichita Kansas.” In her fourth page of search results, she found a series of Facebook pages dedicated to “alumni” groups, arranged by five-year spans of summer “classes.” Enrollment in the groups was sparse, drawing low double digits of members and no ongoing activity.

She clicked on the group that covered the years immediately before Janice Beale was murdered. Only fourteen members of the group. The few posts were typically vacuous social media fare.

Wow. Blast from the past. Such great memories!

Shout-out to my former kickball homies. We ruled!!

Anyone know whatever happened to Officer Simpson? Man, I had such a crush.

What exactly had Lindsay been hoping to find here? Maybe a member who was currently living on Long Island’s East End, one who might confirm he had recently been at the Stansfields’. At least she could check the blood sample off her long list of worries.

She jumped one “class” group forward, covering her bases. More of the same.

She scanned the annual fundraising pleas, checking out the current cities listed for the few people who posted in response.

So glad to hear that COP camp is still around. Best days of my summers!

We should have a reunion.

LOL. Can’t believe you’re hitting us up for money when you let us be preyed upon by a sexual predator with no consequences. But that was all about the money too, wasn’t it?

Lindsay felt a jolt of energy as she reread the message. The woman who posted it was named Katy Barnes. Lindsay clicked on Katy’s photo, but the resulting profile page was set to private.

She hit the back button and read the replies to Katy’s post.

WTF are you talking about? That camp saved my life.

OMG I heard a rumor YEARS later but had no idea it was true. I’m so sorry if that happened to you.

And a final message from the camp administrator who had organized the reunion groups.We are distraught and saddened to hear this allegation for the first time. We have no knowledge of any current or prior misconduct at the Community Oriented Police Youth Camp and are eager to listen to you fully and to complete an investigation. I am also sending you a private message with contact information for both myself and the police department’s bureau of internal affairs.

The message was posted two days after the original remark. Lindsay had no doubt the camp administrator had been waiting for guidance from the city’s legal department.

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