Thread of Hope

THIRTY-NINE

Olivia Jordan gave me a list of Meredith’s closest friends. Phone numbers and addresses. I recognized the majority of the names from the basketball team. I considered calling the names I didn’t recognize, but knew I’d only reach their parents at home and they weren’t the ones I wanted to speak with. Teenagers were an insular group and even the most well meaning ones kept things from their parents. If I really wanted to know what was going on in Meredith’s life, I needed to speak with the kids without any filtering by their parents.

I called Jon Jordan at his office and his assistant put me through immediately.

“You spoke to my wife?” he asked, the familiar edge and tone back in his voice.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And she answered my questions,” I said. “She was helpful.”

“In what way?”

“In that she didn’t refuse to answer anything I asked,” I said.

“Okay.” There was a pause and I knew he was fighting back the urge to press for details. “So what do you plan to do next?”

“I’m heading over to the school right now. I was hoping you could make sure that I’m welcome on the campus.”

“Hold on,” he said and the line went quiet.

My work in the previous few years had taken me onto school campuses numerous times and rarely was I received without interference unless I had someone clearing the way. That wasn’t a bad thing. Parents and schools were looking to protect the children and that’s the way it should be. The general public can’t have unfettered access to a school, particularly to juveniles.

But I wasn’t someone who was there doing the wrong thing. I was looking to help, not hurt, and that required jumping the hurdles that were in place to protect. Coronado was a public high school, but it operated like a private one, letting parents exert more influence than it should’ve. I was guessing that Jordan had the most weight to throw around and could clear a path.

“You’re good to go,” Jordan said, coming back on the line. “Check in at the main desk, they’ll sign you in and give you a pass. You have any issues, let me know.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Know anything else?”

“Your home was my first stop.”

“What should I be doing?”

It was an impossible question to answer correctly for a parent whose child was missing. They wanted to be active, to help, to search. But when you didn’t know where to go, it was a fruitless endeavor.

“Stay by your phone,” I said. “Hope she calls. Think about the last few days. Make notes about anything you can think of. Her behavior, her statements, anything that comes to mind, no matter how trivial or miniscule. Put it all down on paper so that you don’t have to keep it in your head. I asked your wife to do the same.”

“Alright,” he said. “I want to meet tonight so I can hear what you’ve learned.”

“That’s fine.”

He named a restaurant and we agreed on eight o’clock.

“Eight tonight,” he reiterated. “I hope you have some information for me.”

I was hoping for the same thing.