where?”
“In the car. It wasn’t more than a minute.”
“Where did you go? Why did you leave her?”
“There was a woman. I had to talk to her.” I told them about Susan Tate, and the conversation about dogs, and about the pit bull puppies that her brother had. It came out in a disjointed jumble and I didn’t know if any of it was making sense.
The cop said, “So you had had an earlier conversation with this woman and you went back to speak to her again?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I looked around for Susan Tate in the crowd, hoping she might appear, but I didn’t see her. Not that it would have mattered.
“What did you need to talk to her about?” the cop asked.
“I wanted to get her phone number.”
Laura looked like I had slapped her. “You wanted to get her phone number? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I knew what she was thinking. She had complained about my flirting in the past. Never quite trusted me.
“It wasn’t like that, Laura.”
She turned and walked rapidly toward the wooded area, which I had already searched, calling Hannah’s name.
The cop told me that a detective who specialized in missing children would be here shortly.
Obviously, it was far and away the worst day I’d ever experienced, and I was pretty sure it would remain crystal clear and sharp as glass in my head for the rest of my life.
But now, years later, I was given a temporary reprieve. A distraction. Something important was happening. A car on Thomas Springs Road had slowed and was pulling into Brian Pierce’s driveway.
15
The car, a white Volkswagen Jetta, stopped at the locked gate. I already had the video camera zoomed in and recording, so I would get a decent shot of whoever emerged from the car. Unfortunately, from this angle, one hundreds yards down the road from the driveway, I wouldn’t get video of the license plate. The windows of the Jetta were tinted too dark to see how many people were inside.
The driver’s door opened and a person stepped out. A female. The view through the binoculars revealed that it was a middle-aged woman. Pierce’s mom? No, probably not, unless she’d had him when she was a teenager. A sister? Maybe. The woman was fairly attractive. Brown hair. Slim. Dressed casually in jeans and a sleeveless top. She went straight to the gate and began to unlock the combination lock on the chain that kept the gate closed. She seemed to open it very quickly, which meant she had likely unlocked it before. That might be helpful information later, or it might not. She swung the gate open wide, drove through, hopped out, closed the gate, locked it, got back in the car, and drove onto the property, until the car was obscured by the cedar trees.
Interesting that she locked the gate. Planning to stay awhile? Or just wanting to ensure that nobody could wander onto the property? Either way, I was glad something was happening. It had always been a possibility that I might have sat out here for several days with no activity at all.
Thirty minutes passed. The Jetta did not come back down the driveway. It was nearly five o’clock, so I was wondering if the woman was here for the evening.
I transferred the video from my camera to my laptop. I reviewed the video frame by frame and saved a decent still shot of the woman’s face. Then I began to scroll through Brian Pierce’s friends on Facebook, to see if I could find her. Didn’t know what I hoped to learn, but learning anything would be better than learning nothing.
Here’s something I discovered early on in this business: Guys don’t change their appearance much, even over a period of years. Easy to recognize ol’ Joe, time after time, unless he puts on or drops an amazing amount of weight. Women, on the other hand, might look very different from one day to the next. A woman is much more likely to change the color or the length of her hair, for instance. Brown one day, blond the next. Long, flowing hair becomes an updo, or maybe
“In the car. It wasn’t more than a minute.”
“Where did you go? Why did you leave her?”
“There was a woman. I had to talk to her.” I told them about Susan Tate, and the conversation about dogs, and about the pit bull puppies that her brother had. It came out in a disjointed jumble and I didn’t know if any of it was making sense.
The cop said, “So you had had an earlier conversation with this woman and you went back to speak to her again?”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I looked around for Susan Tate in the crowd, hoping she might appear, but I didn’t see her. Not that it would have mattered.
“What did you need to talk to her about?” the cop asked.
“I wanted to get her phone number.”
Laura looked like I had slapped her. “You wanted to get her phone number? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I knew what she was thinking. She had complained about my flirting in the past. Never quite trusted me.
“It wasn’t like that, Laura.”
She turned and walked rapidly toward the wooded area, which I had already searched, calling Hannah’s name.
The cop told me that a detective who specialized in missing children would be here shortly.
Obviously, it was far and away the worst day I’d ever experienced, and I was pretty sure it would remain crystal clear and sharp as glass in my head for the rest of my life.
But now, years later, I was given a temporary reprieve. A distraction. Something important was happening. A car on Thomas Springs Road had slowed and was pulling into Brian Pierce’s driveway.
15
The car, a white Volkswagen Jetta, stopped at the locked gate. I already had the video camera zoomed in and recording, so I would get a decent shot of whoever emerged from the car. Unfortunately, from this angle, one hundreds yards down the road from the driveway, I wouldn’t get video of the license plate. The windows of the Jetta were tinted too dark to see how many people were inside.
The driver’s door opened and a person stepped out. A female. The view through the binoculars revealed that it was a middle-aged woman. Pierce’s mom? No, probably not, unless she’d had him when she was a teenager. A sister? Maybe. The woman was fairly attractive. Brown hair. Slim. Dressed casually in jeans and a sleeveless top. She went straight to the gate and began to unlock the combination lock on the chain that kept the gate closed. She seemed to open it very quickly, which meant she had likely unlocked it before. That might be helpful information later, or it might not. She swung the gate open wide, drove through, hopped out, closed the gate, locked it, got back in the car, and drove onto the property, until the car was obscured by the cedar trees.
Interesting that she locked the gate. Planning to stay awhile? Or just wanting to ensure that nobody could wander onto the property? Either way, I was glad something was happening. It had always been a possibility that I might have sat out here for several days with no activity at all.
Thirty minutes passed. The Jetta did not come back down the driveway. It was nearly five o’clock, so I was wondering if the woman was here for the evening.
I transferred the video from my camera to my laptop. I reviewed the video frame by frame and saved a decent still shot of the woman’s face. Then I began to scroll through Brian Pierce’s friends on Facebook, to see if I could find her. Didn’t know what I hoped to learn, but learning anything would be better than learning nothing.
Here’s something I discovered early on in this business: Guys don’t change their appearance much, even over a period of years. Easy to recognize ol’ Joe, time after time, unless he puts on or drops an amazing amount of weight. Women, on the other hand, might look very different from one day to the next. A woman is much more likely to change the color or the length of her hair, for instance. Brown one day, blond the next. Long, flowing hair becomes an updo, or maybe
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