Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(11)
A text message arrived from Andrew Ryan. His mother had found Meg Williamson’s number.
Great! Gina thought as she picked up her phone and started dialing. She decided to tweak the approach she had used when she was trying to find CRyan. After five rings and no answer an electronic voice identified the number she had dialed and invited her to leave a message. “Hi, my name is Gina Kane. I’m a print journalist. I’m writing an article about women who have gone to work for broadcast media companies over the last ten to fifteen years. I understand you worked at REL News. I’d love to speak with you. Please give me a call. My cell number is…”
12
Meg Williamson did not go into work at the PR firm in White Plains that morning. Instead she took her six-year-old daughter, Jillian, directly to the pediatrician. Jillian had been coughing during the night and had a slight fever. When they got home, Meg went through her phone messages. When she listened to the one from Gina Kane, she gasped and played it again.
Terrified, she knew what she had to do. For the first time in almost two years, she dialed the number Michael Carter had given her. He answered on the first ring. “What is it, Meg?”
“I just received a message on my phone. I wrote it down to make sure I got it right.” She read him Gina’s message.
“First thing. Give me her name and the number she wanted you to use to call her back.” Meg gave him both. There was a long pause. Then, in a slow, deliberate voice Carter said, “I know how these reporters work. They reach out to a lot of people, but they end up interviewing only a handful of them. Ignore the message. Let her interview somebody else. You did the right thing. If she attempts to contact you again, call me.”
“Of course, I will,” Meg responded quickly. “I promise—” The call had been disconnected.
13
In high school and college Gina had been very casual about arriving on time. When a class was taught in a lecture hall, she would often slink into a seat in the back row to avoid the attention of the professor. Her experience as a journalist had made her the opposite. She was now not only punctual; she always arrived early for her appointments. At 3:45 she was in the downstairs lobby of Empire Review with the guard announcing her arrival.
When she exited the elevator, Jane Patwell was waiting to greet her. “It’s just as well you came early,” she said. “Geoff’s last appointment ended early. He’s ready to see you now.”
She paused and added, “Gina, you look so pretty. I love that slacks suit. You should always wear blue. I mean especially that deep rich shade.”
Gina knew what Jane was driving at. She thinks I’m dressing up for Geoff, she thought, amused. Am I? she asked herself with a smile.
Jane knocked on Geoff’s door and opened it as he called, “Come in.”
When he saw it was Gina, he stood up quickly and motioned her to the table by the window.
“Now that it’s your show, how’s it going?” she asked as she settled into a chair.
“Hectic, but all in all very good. Now, tell me, what’s new at REL News?”
Gina quickly summarized her eventually successful attempt to find Cathy Ryan, her conversation with Andrew, and Cathy’s untimely death on the Jet Ski. She explained that she was in the early stages of pursuing a lead on a woman who worked with Cathy at REL News.
Geoff paused, deep in thought. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me that the Jet Ski incident might not have been an accident.”
“Precisely,” Gina said. “The only way to find out what really happened is for me to go down there, stay at the same hotel, meet whoever rented her the Jet Ski, and the investigator who worked on her case. Basically, just start asking questions.”
“When can you leave?”
“There’s an afternoon flight tomorrow from JFK straight to Aruba. I think I’ll need two to three days on the ground there.”
“Will a three-thousand-dollar advance for expenses be sufficient?”
“Yes.”
“Book your flight. I’ll take care of the advance.”
As she walked to the door he called to her. “Gina, if you’re right, and I think you are, someone went through an awful lot of trouble to arrange Cathy Ryan’s death to make it look like an accident. Be careful down there.”
14
I never thought I’d be on another trip so quickly, Gina thought as she boarded the JetBlue flight to Aruba. As soon as the Airbus 320 was in the air, she began to read the news accounts she had printed on the Holloway case.
On a high school graduation trip to Aruba eighteen-year-old Natalee Holloway had disappeared.…
Gina’s overall impression was that the local police had stonewalled the FBI’s attempts to investigate the disappearance. If they stiff-armed the FBI, she thought, I can only imagine what they’ll try to do to me.
The email from Andrew Ryan, with several attachments, had arrived last evening. Along with the police report, Andrew had included several photos of Cathy, explaining in the email that these were the most recent he could find.
Gina studied the pictures. One was on a beach. A smiling Cathy was standing next to a surfboard that was as tall as she was. Because she was the only one in the picture, it was hard to determine her height. A blue one-piece bathing suit hugged her trim, athletic body. Her long dark brown hair fell almost to her shoulders. Dimples were visible in a broad smile accentuated by exceptionally white teeth. Slightly round facial features suggested a certain tomboy quality.