All Dressed in White

35

When Laurie got back to her room, her father was sitting on the couch watching cable news. He hit the mute button on the remote control, and she kicked off her shoes and settled on the couch next to him.

“That was pretty heavy,” she sighed.

She and Leo had adjoining rooms, each with two beds. The door was open, and she could see Timmy at his Wii in Grandpa’s room.

Having watched Sandra and Walter’s raw emotions about their missing daughter, she could only think again how blessed she was that her father was always there for them.

Leo put his arm around her. “I’m sure it was tough, but I think I have some good news for you. Your new lead, the man in the surveillance footage, may have paid off, and it’s pretty interesting.”

As Laurie waited, Leo got up and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room.

“Remember I mentioned that the photographer’s intern only had one conviction?” he asked.

“Sure. Something about violating a court order? What did he do? Fail to show up for a traffic ticket?”

“That wouldn’t be nearly as intriguing as this.” Leo’s expression was serious as he handed her a manila file folder. “Start with the first document. That’s the court order in question.”

The header on the first page read Order of Protection. It was filed by Patricia Ann Munson and Lucas Munson, Petitioners, against Jeremy Carroll, Respondent. In the first paragraph, the court concluded that Carroll had caused the petitioners to suffer “substantial emotional damage or distress” by harassing them repeatedly with “no legitimate purpose.” The court order prohibited Carroll from being within 840 feet of the Munsons or intentionally contacting or communicating with them by any method whatsoever.

“This is a stalking order,” Laurie said, continuing to flip through the pages. “Why eight hundred and forty feet? That seems like a strange number.”

“The Munsons were his next-door neighbors. My guess is that was the number of feet from his front door to their property. The court can’t force him to move from his home.”

The next document was an affidavit from Lucas Munson, swearing to the allegations that formed the basis of the stalking order.

“Whoa,” Laurie said, “he sounds like a complete nut. No wonder some of the photography clients complained he couldn’t respect boundaries.”

She read quickly through the court papers. According to the Munsons, who were in their sixties, they initially appreciated Carroll’s attempts to be neighborly. He would help them carry in the groceries and eventually began bringing them fresh vegetables from the farmers’ market on weekends. But then they noticed his curtains moving when they were mowing the lawn or sitting on their back deck enjoying a cocktail at sunset. Twice, Lucas was certain that he had seen a camera lens between the parted drapes.

When Lucas asked Jeremy whether he had been photographing them, he went inside and returned to the front porch with an album full of pictures. Patricia pruning her rosebushes. Lucas firing up the barbecue in the backyard. The two of them watching television on the sofa, visible through the living room window. Lucas was so stunned, he didn’t know what to say and just left. Jeremy apparently took the lack of a negative response as approval and began leaving photographs of them on their front porch for them every Saturday, a small collection of what they thought were private moments. The final straw that led the Munsons to seek the protective order was when Jeremy started calling the Munsons “Ma” and “Pa.” When Lucas mustered up the courage to ask why, Jeremy’s only explanation was “I’m estranged from my biological parents.”

When she was finished reading, Leo handed Laurie a printout of a very different kind of photograph, a mug shot. The man was holding a sign that read “Jeremy Carroll,” followed by his date of birth and the date of his arrest, five months ago. Laurie could tell from the height chart on the wall behind the suspect that Jeremy was five-foot-ten. He had thinning brown hair and pale, chubby cheeks. His shoulders slumped.

“This could definitely be the man I saw turn and follow Amanda on the surveillance tape,” she said excitedly. “I see he was convicted of violating the order.”

“It was a relatively minor violation. He left a framed photograph of a roseate spoonbill in their mailbox, along with a note apologizing for what he called a ‘misunderstanding.’ ”

“A roseate spoonbill? What the heck is that?”

“A bird. Sort of looks like a pelican. They’re cute.”

“I won’t ask how you knew that.”

“Timmy Googled it.”

“You don’t even want to know the things I was imagining. A picture of a live bird? That doesn’t sound so creepy.”

“Not in isolation. That’s the whole point of stalking laws. Context matters. It really scared the Munsons. The judge wasn’t cutting Jeremy any slack. He found him in contempt and sentenced him to two years of probation with an extension of the stalking order. He warned him that one more violation and he’d be in jail.”

“Dad, if this Jeremy guy thought he’d found surrogate parents in his next-door neighbors, what kind of relationship did he imagine with a stunning beauty like Amanda?”