“Yes, I have a daughter Jessica. Has something happened?” she asks.
“Can you tell us about her?”
“Oh?” she asks nervously before speaking. “Well, Jessie has always been a good girl. We lost her father, my dear husband, when Jessie was fourteen and her sister, Maddie, was eighteen. She had a hard time with the loss, but she came through it, worked hard, and graduated high school. She was accepted to Boston University and did a summer internship with Val Corp a year before she graduated. She was offered a job with the company straight out of college and was so excited.”
“What does she do there?” I ask.
“She works at Val Corp as an administrative assistant for the CEO.”
“How long has she worked for Val Corp?” I ask.
“About five years now,” she replies. “Is she in trouble?” she asks worriedly.
“What can you tell me about her boss?” I ask instead.
“Mr. Bridden? She seems to enjoy working for him, never had a bad thing to say about him,” she tells me.
“When was the last time you spoke to Jessica?” I ask.
“Yesterday. She and her boss took the train to Largo, Maine, on Friday for a weekend business conference, and she called to tell me she would be back today. “What is going on?” she asks again more forcefully.
“Mrs. Leery, I’m sorry to inform you, but there was an incident on the train, and your daughter didn’t survive,” I tell her softly.
“What? What are you talking about?” she asks, tears filling her eyes. “My Jessie is gone?” she inquires quietly.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m so sorry,” Nora tells her as she sits down beside Mrs. Leery, holding her hand.
“I don’t understand. What happened?” she asks as the tears flow down her face.
“She and her boss, Mr. Bridden, were both attacked on the train, and neither survived,” I tell her without going into too much detail.
“I just spoke to her yesterday, and she sounded so happy,” she whispers in disbelief over the news we have just given her.
“Is there someone we can call for you?” Nora asks her softly.
Mrs. Leery shakes her head. “I’ll call her sister myself,” she says, as her body wracks with sobs.
Mrs. Leery reminds me a bit of my mom, and to see her like this is devastating. Even though I know there is nothing I can do, a part of me wishes I could take her pain away. Instead, I hand her my card and say, “The number on the back is to the morgue. You can call them and tell them what funeral home you will be using for Jessica once you figure that out, and my number is on the front if you have any more questions.”
“Thank you,” she says through her cries.
Nora and I leave her to her grief as we make our way to the Bridden residence to inform another family.
We pull up to the address that was on the driver’s license, and I take in the influential neighborhood. The house is massive and white, with very little brick as an accent. By the looks of the outside, it’s at least five thousand square feet and a minimum two-story home. The yard is well manicured, and I would not be surprised to learn they have a gardener who keeps up with the maintenance.
Nora and I make our way up to the door. There is no front porch, so I knock on the white door, and we wait.
A woman with blond hair cascading down over her shoulders, dressed in a pantsuit, answers the door.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Are you Mrs. Bridden?” I ask.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Shane Maguire, and this is my partner, Detective Nora Riley. We would like to speak with Mrs. Bridden,” I answer politely.
“I’m Mrs. Bridden, but please call me Laura,” she says before adding, “What can I do for you, Detectives, today?”
“Ma’am, can we please come in?”
“Has something happened?” she asks, concern showing in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am, can we please come in and speak with you?” I ask again.
“Yes, I’m sorry, please come in,” she says as she opens the door wider, allowing us access to her home.
Walking in, there is a vast difference between the Leery home and this one. Where the Leery home felt comfortable and warm, this one feels cold. All the walls are stark white, the decor feels expensive and looks flashy.
Mrs. Bridden leads us into the sitting room, where the furniture doesn’t look to have been sat on. The room, though nice looking, feels like an interior designer did the room.
“What has happened?” she asks, turning to us as we walk into the room. Since she did not offer for us to take a seat, Nora and I continue to stand.
“Ma’am,” before I could say anything else, two children come running into the room, calling out for their mom.
“Mom, Mom, look what we did,” they both say excitedly before coming to a stop in the room when they see Nora and me.
“Children, we have company,” Mrs. Bridden bristles at them before calling out, “Mrs. Norris?”
