Page 39 of Find Me

“However, in a press conference that just ended moments ago, Marcia, police officials made a shocking announcement: Alex Lopez died of a gunshot wound. No other details about his injuries were provided, but police made clear that they are investigating this case as a homicide. They also announced, Marcia, that they are looking for this woman, who has been known for years as Hope Miller, and who only recently moved to East Hampton in May.”

The photograph that appeared next to the correspondent’s face on the screen was the same one that Lindsay had been using for her missing-person flyers.

“Police say that a friend of this woman reported her missing almost exactly one week ago today.”

Marcia at the studio had a question: “You said she’s been ‘known for years’ by that name, Reggie. What do you mean by that?”

“Now that’s when this story gets even more intriguing. I asked police the same question because the wording seemed unusual. It turns out that fifteen years ago, this woman, for whom police are now lookingas a person of interest, was involved in a very serious car accident in central New Jersey. When she regained consciousness at the hospital, she was unable to recall her name or any other details regarding her identity. And, get this: all these years later, her past remains a complete mystery.”

Marcia widened her eyes in a pantomime of shock. “That’s pretty mind-blowing.”

“It certainly is, Marcia. In addition to looking to question Hope Miller, police also alerted the public that they are seeking any information about this specific rug.”

Hope’s photograph was replaced by a photograph of a cream-colored Persian-style rug with green accents. “They say this is a mass-produced rug that sells for less than two hundred dollars and that it was missing from a location where Alex Lopez is thought to have been seen last. They also said that it may have been stained with blood, and that it’s possible someone could have tried to hide or dispose of it in the last two weeks.”

“Wow, that paints a dark picture, Reggie.”

“The police did not connect the dots explicitly, but, yes, they certainly seem to have a theory about how that rug may have been used. Police were also coy about why they are looking for Hope Miller in connection with Alex Lopez’s murder, and they were careful to say that she was not a suspect at this point, but simply a person who might have relevant information for their investigation. It seems safe to say, though, that we’re likely to be hearing more about this fascinating case in the near future.”

“Fascinating, indeed.”

Lindsay returned to her browser and searched for “Alex Lopez.” Too broad a search. She tried “Alex Lopez East Hampton,” but the top results were all local news summaries of the press conference announcing his murder.

“Alex Lopez Wichita Kansas.” A restaurant owner. Obituary from eight years earlier. A bunch of high-school track times for some kid named Alex Lopez who was apparently quite a runner.

Who the hell was Alex Lopez, and why were police looking for Hope in connection with his death?

The DNA hit. It was the only explanation.

The reporter said that Alex Lopez was thirty-six years old, meaning he was thirteen when Janice Beale was killed. Definitely not an accomplice to a serial killer.

Lindsay leaped from the sofa at the sound of the bolt turning inside the front door. She ran faster than she knew she could and lunged so hard against the door that she cried out in pain from the impact against her right shoulder. She fought to reengage the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. Whoever was breaking in had a key.

“I have a gun,” she cried out in desperation, even though her Glock was locked in its safe in Manhattan. She heard two thumps of a fist against the wood, then the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Lindsay, it’s me.”

Lindsay stepped back and allowed the door to fling open.

Hope’s eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “I messed up, Lindsay. I really fucked up.”

25

Tuesday, June 22, 3:12 p.m.

“I don’t think anyone followed me.” Hope kept her voice low as Lindsay bolted the door shut.

Lindsay was frozen in place, unable to find her words. When she realized that she was face-to-face now with her friend, she also realized just how certain she had been that she would never see Hope again. Hope looked pale and exhausted. She had also lost several pounds and was apparently trying to disguise herself with a low bun and a navy-blue Montauk baseball cap. But she was here, alive.

Hope threw her arms around Lindsay’s shoulders, and Lindsay returned the hug. Hope was the one to let go first, moving into the bedroom.

Lindsay noticed her friend’s gaze pause on the open journal on the bed. “I’m sorry. I was looking for anything that might explain what happened to you.”

Hope’s eyes moved to the row of journals still neatly shelved together, then nodded. Did she know which entry Lindsay had intruded upon? Did she understand why?

“Hope, where have you been?” Lindsay asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been hiding at one of the rental houses Evan manages. I told you not to look for me,” she said, shaking her head.

---