“It has come to my attention that a body found in Key Biscayne, Florida, on February 12, 2019, has been positively identified as that of Heather Hadwick,” Gautreaux says.
Again, the crowd murmurs.
“Please,” I whisper to Tandy.
She nods.
“Heather’s driver’s license was discovered in the home of Laura Sanders, whose maiden name was Laura Smith,” Gautreaux continues. “Sanders was reported missing by her husband on February 11, 2019. Her purse and cell phone were found nearby. At this time, we are working tirelessly with detectives in Miami to put all of the pieces together. DNA-comparison analysis helped us confirm Laura Sanders’s true identity. I am limited on the information I can share, but Chief Duplantis and I are open to questions.”
“What in the world is going on?” a woman in the crowd shouts.
“From the media first,” Gautreaux says.
A scrawny guy who looks like he might still be in high school stands up. “Josh Tanner. Channel six. How did the DNA analysis come back so quickly?”
Not bad, Josh.
Gautreaux says, “We have a man who was sitting in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. This took top priority. The crime lab did an excellent job getting the results so quickly and with samples that were seventeen years old.”
I whisper a question to Tandy.
“What type of samples did you have from the original incident?” she yells.
Everybody turns to stare. Chief Duplantis walks up to the mic. “Mrs. Higginbottom, we are trying to keep this orderly. But to answer your question, we had blood and hair samples collected from the cottage behind the school and a piece of gum that was collected from Miss Hadwick’s dorm-room headboard.”
An image of Heather fills my head. She’s blowing a giant pink bubble in class, and Katrina reaches over and pops it so it covers Heather’s face.
“What about the skull found at Poison Wood?” Tandy says. That one is hers, not mine.
“We can’t speculate on that at this time. We are hoping to have answers soon.”
I lean into her ear again.
“What about Johnny Adair?” she says.
Another person says, “Will he be set free?”
“Yes,” Detective Gautreaux says, leaning into the mic. “We will immediately work with authorities to get Mr. Adair released within days, not months.”
My throat feels as if it’s closing off. Johnny Adair could be released from prison in days. I shut my eyes a moment, then reopen them.
“That’s all for today,” Gautreaux says. “We will keep the public updated as new information comes in. Thank you.”
The chief of police comes back to the podium and assures the crowd that their community is safe and that this is not an ongoing threat. Yet I still find myself looking over my shoulder as I exit the room and head for the door.
Chapter Twelve
Riverbend, Louisiana
Thursday, February 14, 2019
11:00 a.m. CST
Mockingbird Café looks like something from a Southern movie set with large black-and-white floor tiles, green iron ice cream parlor tables, and a chalkboard with today’s specials:Love at First BiteandCupid’s Kiss, a turkey-and-cranberry sandwich and tomato-basil soup.
The Valentine’s theme has spilled over into this space as well. Red hearts and white doilies hang like garland across the room. Every table holds a pink vase with a red rose.
And worst of all, in the back room behind me sits a long table of twentysomethings at what sounds like a baby shower. The wordsdarlingandpreciousandadorabledrift up to me with the polite sounds of silverware on plates. Unfortunately, I have a feeling this quaint Southern café, like Lasyone’s, does not serve Macallan at lunch.
