The Nobody Girls (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 3) by Rebecca Rane (e book reader online txt) 📗

Kendra looked at the bay window again. The window dressings were faded with age, but upon closer inspection, she could see the careful pleats, the brocade at the hem, and the faded pattern that matched the couch.

Cynthia Hawkins liked to sew. It was a simple but heartbreaking detail.

“Did she learn in home economics class or from her mother?” Kendra asked, working to pull more from Tim Hawkins.

“What? Whose mother? What are you talking about?”

Kendra looked at the Mandy. She patted her dad’s hand. His eyes seemed to lose focus. The fog of memory would be thick on the best of days, after all this time, much more so if the man was struggling with diminished capacity. Kendra turned to Mandy and realized they’d given her all they could. Neither had much to offer when it came to the life of Cynthia Hawkins. Kendra felt grief for them and for the dead woman.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to share with me and answer my questions.”

“Your producer was nice. Those others who called weren’t so nice.”

Score another one for Shoop, thought Kendra.

“I’m glad. We understand what it’s like, a little anyway, to deal with these situations, after all these years,” Kendra told Mandy. “We’re devoting an episode to your mom, but I don’t have an airdate yet.”

Kendra said her goodbyes. The house was weighted in sadness, it almost looked sunken in, compared to the other homes on the block. Kendra was relieved to get away from it. But did she leave with more on Cynthia Hawkins?

She had a few more photos. That was something. It would be easier to tell this story than it was for the other victims in some ways. At least she had a kernel of the woman’s life.

But she also knew that she didn’t have a complete picture of Cynthia any more than she did for Linda Kay or Sincere.

The names and faces haunted her and propelled her forward to continue to try.

Chapter 23

Kendra and Shoop continued to pluck away at the information that they had. They had several more victims to try to track.

Kendra looked up at the smart board. Of eight known victims, they had only been able to track down friends or family of three, which was only because the Hawkins case was more recent. And she didn’t fit the profile of the rest of the victims.

That was something to consider, to mull over, but for now, for whatever reason, all they knew was that Cynthia Hawkins had left her home and entered the snare of Ned Wayne Ewald.

She was murdered in much the same way as Linda Kay Ellis, Sincere Anderson, and five other women.

Kendra and Shoop spend the next day sifting through the Hawkins interviews. And by the end of the day, they had an episode, but it felt thin. Kendra had hoped for more from a woman who hadn’t lived on the fringes but was a wife and mother.

“It’s just the daughter was so young, she doesn’t remember her mother, and the father, well, he’s not capable of it,” Kendra said. She couldn’t call this episode complete. It just felt like she should try harder, push a little more for Cynthia.

“The part about her sewing? That gutted me when I listened,” Shoop admitted.

And it was true, in that portion, a fog had lifted over Tim Hawkins, and he’d revealed one true thing about his wife. A beautiful thing, her passion for sewing. But he’s also said something about whoring, so all of it could be a jumble from who knows where in his brain.

“It’s just, ugh, I wish we had more. I wish we had more on all of them.”

Five. There were five out of eight victims that were only grainy photos and autopsy reports.

Kendra slid her hand through her hair. Tendrils were a nice name for the dark red whisps escaping her ponytail. She yanked out the rubber band sagging down the nape of her neck and raked the hair back in. She gathered her hair, wound the rubber band twice around the fistful of hair, and felt that was the only thing she’d actually accomplished today. After a day of pushing hard, she’d managed to resecure her hair. That was it.

Five names. With nothing to turn them into anything but names, they were sidebars to Ewald’s headlines and news clippings. They deserved more.

“Look, there’s no way we’re likely to get anything on Jane Doe One or Two. There are no names to go with them. They’re on the list because they fit the pattern,” said Shoop.

Kendra looked at Jane Doe One and Jane Doe Two. One was the fourth body discovered in 1980, the other was the second to last discovered.

Like the other six, they fit every detail; the method they were killed, the abuse they suffered, the way they were disposed of, like so much garbage.

But they didn’t have names. One was found in Kentucky, the other near Chattanooga, Tennessee. Nothing about either of them could be singled out to follow up on. No tattoo, no article of clothing or shoes, no jewelry. They were simply young women remembered because of their association to a killer whose infamy had only just begun.

Kendra leaned back in her office chair and stared, trying to magically pierce through the decades. She looked at the board again.

“That means we have three that need more from us. Three more Nobody Girls that we have at least a sliver of hope on,” Kendra said.

“There’s nothing on Susan Hodges, a complete dead end. I do have a little on Margo Kasinski. She was still in high school. I have an old yearbook. She’s in one group photo. But no luck on any of the people with her in that photo. And no luck on any teachers, after forty years. Kasinski coverage did mention a boyfriend, questioned and then, I think, advised to shut up. Obviously, no arrest. Krissy Jackson has no one. I can’t