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I had my address on Facebook for a while. He must’ve got it off there.”
    Johnson was skeptical but didn’t pursue it. He was more worried about her safety. If she was telling the truth, then what were Twitchell’s intentions with this woman? What did it mean to have her address, a map, and a plan written down to have his way with her? As they got up to leave, he asked Traci if she felt safe. He offered to notify the local police about the investigation so officers could be nearby if she felt she was in danger.
    â€œNo, no. That’s not a problem,” said Traci, trying to reassure them. “I’m fine.”
    The two detectives drove back to Edmonton, but before returning to headquarters, they took a detour to the South Edmonton Common movie theatres. After a few hours they found what they were looking for: security camera footage of Mark Twitchell and Traci Higgins. The time matched the movie stub receipt found in Twitchell’s car. They had footage of Twitchellbuying tickets to a film and leading Traci into the theatre. It was a matinee showing on Friday, October 10. The movie had ended around 5:15 p.m. – less than two hours before the time period when detectives believed Johnny had died in Twitchell’s garage.
    T HE SURVEILLANCE TEAM HAD spent more than a day trying to find Twitchell – an eternity when a suspect is considered to be a potential threat to the community. He hadn’t been spotted since he left police headquarters at dawn on Monday. The team had followed his wife to a Wal-Mart, watched his sister buy groceries, but saw nothing of the suspect.
    Twitchell was gone.
    By late evening on Tuesday, October 21, with Twitchell unaccounted for over the past thirty-nine hours, a worry began to fester within the investigation. Clark thought Twitchell could have gone to his parents’ place. In the darkness, approaching 9:30 p.m., Clark decided to get the confirmation the team needed. He strolled up the sidewalk to a house in north Edmonton and knocked on the door. It was a single-storey modest home, overlooking a park.
    A man whom Clark assumed to be Twitchell’s father answered. The mood was bright until Clark told him who he was. That tended to sour any atmosphere of cheer.
    â€œIs Mark here?” Clark asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”
    A woman came rushing up to the door to join them. Clark thought it was likely Twitchell’s mother. “I know where he is, but I’m not telling you,” she snapped.
    Clark expected this reaction. He was the bad guy, going after their son. Any parent would behave the same way. “Listen, a couple things are happening here,” he explained. “I am going to come back and arrest your son. It’s just a matter of time. I believe he’s involved up to his neck in this thing.” Clark had four boys of his own, so he tried to engage them as parents. “But if this was
my
kid,” he stressed, “I would sit him down and
talk
to him, find out what’s going on … That would only make sense. You’ll know as a parent if he’s lying.”
    Clark saw Twitchell’s father start to nod while his mother still looked suspicious.
    â€œWell, he can’t talk,” she said. “He’s been told by his lawyer that he can’t talk.”
    â€œAnd doesn’t that seem a little odd to you?” Clark figured by now that Twitchell was probably inside and maybe listening to their conversation from the staircase. Just in case he was there, Clark spoke loud enough to make sure he heard too. “He is a suspect in the disappearance and possible murder of a male. He was found in possession of the missing man’s car.… But I’ll give him a chance to turn himself in.” He paused and tried again. “Will you tell me where he is?”
    â€œI know where he is,” his mother repeated. “But I’m not going to say.”
    Clark and