the shape of it.”
Faith zoomed in on the X-ray, which was pinned beside an older-looking crime scene photo. “Did you get copies of your daughter’s case files from Brad Stephens?”
Gerald’s mouth opened, then closed. “I got them. That’s all that matters.”
Faith let it go. He’d saved her some time, at least. She zoomed in on the witness statements, investigation notes, coroner’s reports, resuscitation notes, scene of crime diagrams.
Will had his hands in his pockets. He was leaning forward, looking at a photograph of a young woman standing near the Golden Gate Bridge. He asked, “Is this Leslie Truong?”
“I was refused access to her file because it’s still technically an open case,” Gerald said. “Her mother, Bonita, gave me that picture. We used to talk all the time. Not so much anymore. After a certain point, it just eats you up, you know? Your life gets …”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. The walls told the story of his life after Beckey’s attack.
Faith turned, working in a grid to slowly video the wall behind her. Gerald had printed out pages and pages from the internet. She saw Facebook posts, Tweets, emails. She zoomed in close to make sure she got the senders. Most of the emails were from [email protected]
She asked Gerald, “Did you get access to any of the case files from the newspaper articles?”
“I filed requests through the Freedom of Information Act, but there was nothing in the files, barely more than a few pages on each woman.” He pointed to the corresponding section of wall. “All of them were classified as accidents, the same way Beckey’s would’ve been if she hadn’t lived. Not that her life was what it was before. Not that it ever will be again.”
The desperation in his voice was like a vise closing down on the room.
Will said, “Mr. Caterino, you mailed those specific newspaper articles to Nesbitt for a reason. What made you choose them?”
“I talked to the families.” Gerald sprinted toward the back of the closet. He stood beside the filing boxes. “Look, here are my call notes. Get my notes.”
Faith swung the camera around. She wanted Gerald on the recording, too.
He said, “I made dozens of phone calls. Every time a woman was found, I tracked down the family and spoke to them. I was able to narrow down the victims to eight.”
He pointed behind Faith, but she didn’t turn. She recognized the women’s faces from the newspaper articles, but the photographs on the wall were different, more personal, the kind of thing you would keep in a frame on your desk.
Gerald pointed to each woman, calling out their names. “Joan Feeney. Bernadette Baker. Jessica Spivey. Rennie Seeger. Pia Danske. Charlene Driscoll. Deaundra Baum. Shay Van Dorne.”
Faith zoomed in on each, making certain to keep Gerald in the frame.
He pointed again, saying, “Headband. Comb. Barette. Hairband. Brush. Brush. Scrunchie. Comb.”
“Wait,” Faith said. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s what they were missing. Didn’t you look into this? Haven’t you read anything?”
“Mister—”
“No!” He yelled. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I told that fucking cop that Beckey was missing the hair clip her mother gave her. It was tortoiseshell. Beckey accidentally broke one of the teeth. She always kept it on her bedside table. The morning she went out—” he ran back across the room. “Look, it says it right here. Kayleigh Pierce, her roommate. This is her official statement.”
Faith had followed him with the camera.
“Kayleigh said that the morning Beckey was found, before that, when she was getting dressed, she said—” He was breathless. “She said …”
Faith told him, “It’s okay, Mr. Caterino. Look at me.”
He looked at her with a piercing desperation.
“Take your time. We are listening to you. We are not going anywhere.”
“Okay, okay.” He tapped his fist over his heart as he tried to steady himself. “Kayleigh said that Beckey couldn’t find her hair clip on the nightstand. It wasn’t there that morning. The nightstand is where she always left it. Even before Beckey went away to college, she left the clip on the side of her bed. She didn’t want it to get damaged, but she wanted to wear it when she needed to be close to Jill, all right?”
“Jill was her mother?”
“Yes, right.” Gerald pointed to a photograph of Beckey before the attack. She was reading in bed. Her hair was clipped back. “The hair clip was never found. The girls, Kayleigh and her roommates, they turned the dorm upside down, okay? Before the police even did