The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,38
walked. The press crucified him, of course, but he’s always maintained his innocence.”
“And where is he now?”
“He moved to Atlanta not long after the girls disappeared and since then relocated to Jacksonville. People assumed he left Savannah to get away from the scandal and persecution, but who knows? Same for the move to Florida, no one knows why he landed there.
“However, the interview notes seem to indicate that his reaction, to the girls going missing, wasn’t expected. Instead of being upset and worried, or even feeling guilt or regret for losing the girls, he seemed angry and distant.”
“Anyone talk to him since the bodies were located?”
“Not from the department. I can’t say about his mother. She got the word about the IDs this morning, so she could’ve called him or texted him or whatever. And then there’s this,” she added, her lips tightening a bit, “he hasn’t exactly kept his nose clean. A girlfriend, Maria Coronado, filed charges against him for assault about seven years ago, that was when he was still in Atlanta, but then changed her mind, dropped the charges and the case never went to court. From the looks of it, the cops were called to their shared apartment twice and then the arrest, but, like I said, Coronado changed her mind.”
“Let me guess, they got back together?”
“For a while, then he split for Jacksonville.”
“Without her.”
“Uh . . . doesn’t say, but I’ll check. And he may have moved since. I checked with the Jacksonville PD, and they cruised by his apartment. Looks vacant and has a FOR RENT sign in the window.”
Reed thought that over. “His mother might know.”
“You’d think.”
“Anything on the biological father?” He rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble from his five-o’clock shadow. “I know Harvey adopted him early on, but was the real father ever around?”
“No info on that. Yet.”
“Huh.” Reed made a mental note. “What about Owen Duval? Anything new?”
She shook her head. “Nothing serious. A few traffic tickets, one for expired plates and one for running a red light. And a neighbor complained that he played his music too loud and too late, that was when he was in Atlanta with the girlfriend, but since then, nothing.” She looked over the tops of her glasses at Reed. “At least that we know of.”
“Right. Let’s find him,” Reed said. “See what he has to say for himself.”
“You got it.”
“And I want to run down the girlfriend who gave him the alibi as well. Do we know where she is?”
“Still working on that. Her name is Ashley McDonnell, or was, she could be married by now.”
“What about anyone else close to the Duval girls? Friends? Cousins?”
“Lots of people interviewed way back when. I’ve got a list and I’ve sent it along with all the case files to you—e-mail.”
“Okay.”
She said, “Here’s something else: There were only two security cameras at the theater at the time, one at the ticket booth outside and then one in the lobby. Neither one showed anything out of the ordinary, no abduction during the intermission between films—it was a doubleheader that evening.”
“But there is some footage?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a copy.”
“Let’s look it over.”
“What about other security cameras in the area?”
“Nothing. Back then there were few street cams or security cams outside, so there was nothing to go on. An Amber Alert was issued, but you know, technology wasn’t anything like it is now and the alert system hadn’t been in existence all that long, so the Duval girls fell through the cracks.
“A tip line was set up and at first all kinds of calls came in. Just like you’d expect. Everything from those that seemed legit to some of the most bizarre, but, as you know, none paid off. Eventually, sadly the case went ice-cold and if it weren’t for Margaret stoking the fires of interest every year, people would’ve forgotten all about it.”
“Until now,” he said, and she nodded.
“Until now.”
He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Let’s go and see what Margaret Duval has to say.” His guts twisted at the thought of speaking with the grieving mother, but it had to be done.
“All right.” Delacroix snapped her iPad shut, retrieved her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and was heading out the door. A step or two behind, Reed circumvented a couple of detectives walking the opposite direction down the hall and caught up with Delacroix at the top of the stairs. As he reached her, her cell went off