Page 59 of Forget Me Not
“New information,” he repeats, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“I just ran into Bethany Wheeler. Do you remember interviewing her? She was Natalie’s best friend back then.”
“I remember Bethany,” he says, nodding. “Sweet girl, very helpful.”
“She told me something I didn’t know before. She told me Natalie had been spending a lot of time over at Galloway Farm.”
I watch as Chief DiNello narrows his eyes, his silence a cue for me to go on.
“Are you familiar with Galloway?” I ask. “The muscadine vineyard on Ladmadaw Island?”
“I am, yes.”
“She worked out there for a few weeks,” I say. “She quit sometime early that summer, but Bethany just told me she kept going back, even after she was no longer employed.”
“Okay…” he says, the word trailing off like he isn’t sure where this is going.
“I guess I was just wondering how you found Jeffrey,” I say. “I mean, what led you to do that search of his car?”
“Bethany did,” Chief DiNello responds as he leans back in his chair. “She was the one who told us Slater was seeing your sister.”
“But she just toldmeshe didn’t know who Natalie was seeing. Only that it was someone older. Someone with a car.”
“Right,” he says. “And we found your sister’s blood in Jeffrey Slater’s car. We found her prints, and her hair—”
“Did you ever look into Jeffrey’s employment records?” I interrupt, his terseness starting to prick at my nerves. “Did he work at Galloway, too?”
“That never came up, no,” DiNello says, and I feel myself deflate until I remember again what Liam had said, how they don’t exactly do thingsby the book.
“It’s possible there was no record of it, that he was paid under the table—”
“Claire,” Chief DiNello cuts in, a skeptical expression like he’s having a hard time following my train of thought. “I’m sorry, but what exactly is this? Your sister’s case is closed. Slater’s in jail.”
“I know,” I say, growing increasingly more frustrated at how I’m sure this is starting to sound. This man probably thinks I’m delusional, still in denial all these years later despite the evidence staring me straight in the face. “But Jeffrey never confessed. He never brought us to her body—”
“Of course he never confessed!” DiNello barks, his expression now shifting into one of amusement. “This state has the deathpenalty. The only reason he got the sentence he did wasbecausewe never found her body.”
I stay silent, refusing to acknowledge his point.
“That asshole got lucky,” he adds. “If it were up to me, he would be dead already.”
“But Mitchell Galloway,” I continue, slogging along, despite his reaction. “The owner of the vineyard. He has a history.”
“A history,” he repeats, his voice dull and flat, and I get the sense he’s only humoring me now.
“I can link him to cases of other missing girls.Multiplegirls. That seems like a coincidence we shouldn’t ignore.”
Chief DiNello is silent, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.
“Which cases?” he asks at last, his attention piqued for the very first time.
“A girl out in California named Katherine Ann Prichard,” I say, talking too fast but suddenly eager to get it all out. “And his wife, Marcia Rayburn, was reported missing in the eighties. I think there’s someone else named Lily, though I don’t know her last name—”
“This is one hell of an accusation,” he says, cutting me off as he leans in close. “A serious accusation. You have proof of all this?”
“Well, no,” I say, reddening slightly as I watch him shrink. “Not definitive proof. Not yet, anyway. But I’ve read all these articles—”
“Claire,” he says again, holding up his hand as he stops me mid-thought. “There’s a principle you should understand called Occam’s razor.”
