Jennie met Detective Sergeant Samantha Ellsworth at 7:00 on Wednesday night at the State Police barracks in Edgartown, as planned. She greeted Jennie at the front desk of the police station and directed her into a spacious office with a large desk, three guest chairs, several file cabinets against one wall and photos of police officers—in and out of uniform—adorning another one. A third wall was consumed by a massive bookcase filled with books, thick three-ring binders, more photos, trophies, framed certificates and various other knick knacks symbolic of years as a public servant.
A large stack of manilla folders sat on
one corner of the desk. Jennie took them to be open cases that Sammie was
working. There were two telephones, several pens of different colors,
paperweights, a stapler, empty cardboard coffee cups and scraps of paper
scattered over the desk top and around the edges of a calendar blotter pad
filled with handwritten information. A brass nameplate mounted on wood sat on
one corner of the desk and read S. R. Ellsworth, Detective.
“So let me get right to it,” Jennie said.
“I know your time is valuable, and considering the hour, I’m guessing you would
normally be home right now. I’ve been reading news clippings and talking to
some people about the Agnes Freeman case, so I know she went missing after
failing to show up for work one day and hasn’t been heard from since. The
stories I read said there were clues left behind but that police were never
able to connect the dots. The stories never said what kinds of clues were
found. I’m curious to know what those clues were, if you can tell me, because
connecting dots is what Rob and I do best, and unlike you with your heavy
caseload….” She pointed to the stack of folders on Sammie’s desk. “I have
plenty of time on my hands.”
“As I told you on the phone,” Sammie said,
“I may be willing to provide you with some information, but anything I say from
this point forward—as it relates to Agnes Freeman—will be strictly off the
record unless and until I say otherwise. It has to be that way and as I recall,
you agreed to that condition. I will allow you to take written notes but no
recordings or photographs of any kind. If you have a recording set on your phone
please turn it off.” Jennie didn’t. “Are we in agreement still?”
“We are,” Jennie said, “but I believe
there is one more condition that would only be fair to me. Someday, if
everything goes well, this case is going to be solved and it will be a major media
event when it does. At such a time, I would fully expect you or someone from
your office to share the pertinent facts of the case with any and all reporters
as part of your job, but there will be certain nuances—things you might say to
me alone and the way you say them and the way they apply to my own
investigation—that will belong exclusively to me, and you will allow me alone
to use that information in the publication of my book. These are things that
would not have to be shared with any Tom, Dick or Eileen who came sniffing
around with a notebook and a recording device on their phone, nor would you be
derelict in your duty as a police detective for withholding such information
while still performing the basic functions of your job.”
Sammie smiled broadly showing a mouthful
of perfect white teeth. It was the first crack, if you will, in her all
business, Jack Webb-style “just the facts ma’am” demeanor. “That was quite a
soliloquy,” she said to Jennie. “I was impressed. If you write half as well as
you speak, this is going to be one hell of a book.”
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