Chapter 26

The notification bellon Maisy’s phone dings. Weekly meeting. She sets aside the presentation she’s writing for her business mastermind group and wanders into the dining room for the weekly check-in with her producer. When she and Jordana are deep in the middle of a case like they are now, the scheduled meeting is largely unnecessary because they’re working so closely on the episodes, but she keeps the time carved out to reinforce how important communication is.

“What are you doing?” She peers over Jordan’s shoulder at the array of pie charts, graphs, and numerals, percentages.

“I’m looking at the analytics from episode two. People are riveted.” Jordana grins up at her.

She smiles back. “Kristy’s a compelling storyteller. You wouldn’t think it to look at her. She’s so quiet and unassuming. But she spoke with so much emotion and feeling. And your edit highlighted all the dramatic parts. Nice work.”

“You forgot to mention the talented interviewer,” Jordana counters.

She fluffs her hair. “That goes without saying.”

When she’s finished laughing, Jordana waves a hand at the data on her screen. “Our superfans are back at it.”

“The Canadian?”

“Yep. I looked it up—the English speakers call themselves Quebeckers. The French speakers are Quebecois. So, Quebecker or Quebecois, whichever they are, they’re playing episode two on a loop.”

“And the Swisshelm Park listener?”

“Them too. I checked on that, too. Even though Kristy lives nearby, she’s in a different zip code. So, it’s not her.”

“It might not be Amy,” Maisy tries to reassure her.

“I know. But it’s weird.”

“It is,” she agrees before changing the subject. “Any update on Michelle and Lynn? Amy said she’s reached out to both of them, but they haven’t returned her calls.”

Jordana pulls a face. “They’re still ignoring her, but Ava’s doing an improvisational comedy workshop this weekend and Lynn’s daughter is on the list of participants. So if she hasn’t heard back from one of them by then, she’ll corner Lynn at dropoff or pickup.”

“Tenacious. I like it. Anything else to report?”

“The Pittsburgh police sent over the file on Andre Newport. It’s paper thin and tells us nothing new.”

“Nothing?”

Jordana bobs her head from side to side. “Well, there is one thing. Remember that tip Mrs. Marshall mentioned?”

“That Andre was at the gang peace summit and had an altercation with another attendee?”

“Right. It didn’t come in to the community liaison number or the emergency dispatch.”

Maisy perks up. “So where did it come from?”

“It was a direct call to the investigating officer”s desk. She was out of the station and the officer who picked up the phone and took down the information wrote that it was reliable because the call came from an LEO.”

“Another cop?”

“Looks like. But don’t get too excited. The note doesn’t include a phone number, the caller’s name, or even the jurisdiction.”

“Great. And let me guess, the officer who took the message is no longer with us.”

“That is one of the dangers of picking a thirty-year-old cold case. A lot of the witnesses have passed away. And yes, that includes the officer who took the tip.”

“So it’s a dead end.” Maisy exhales heavily.

“Afraid so. Andre does have an aunt who lives in town. I haven’t reached out to her yet. I’m not sure if we should.”

“Not yet. We need something more concrete if we’re going to ask her to reopen an old wound to help us.”

Jordana’s face relaxes. She’s relieved. “Okay.”

They map out their teasers and advertising for the coming week, and Jordana shares her draft social media posts for Maisy’s approval. This process is a formality because Maisy always approves them all. Jordana has a better understanding of what will resonate on the various platforms than she ever will, and the less appealing Maisy finds a post or graphic, the more likely it is to go viral.

They’re halfway through a mind-numbing discussion about whether to invest in an upgraded recording and editing suite of programs when Maisy snaps her fingers. “Jenna.”

Jordana gives her a look. “What?”

“Jenna Novak.”

Jordana sighs and exits out of her spreadsheet. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?” She asks the question already knowing the answer.

“Nope,” Maisy says cheerfully. “I know you’ll get the software suite that best meets our needs and budget. So I’m just pretending to listen so you can talk it through. I can tell you’re a verbal processor. I worked for a station manager like that once. Some people need to talk things through to make their decisions.”

“Great,” Jordana tells her. “Your pretend listening skills could use some work though. When you randomly shout out names while I’m in the middle of a sentence, it’s not very convincing.”

Maisy laughs. “Sometimes a brilliant idea is like a greased pig. If you don’t grab hold of it when it’s there, it’ll wriggle out of your grasp forever.”

“You’re astonishingly weird. I hope you know that. But fine, tell me your brilliant Jenna Novak greased pig idea.”

“I know your heart is hurting because we can’t do anything for Andre right now. But we could put his aunt in touch with Jenna at the foundation.”

“That’s not a half-bad idea.”

“Don’t go overboard with the praise,” Maisy tells her.

She laughs. “I didn’t mean it that way. But, there’s a sticking point. The Lewis Foundation’s mission is to support families of crime victims and we don’t know that Andre has been the victim of a crime.”

“Sure, but the official story is he got into hot water with a gang. Even though that’s probably not true, it’s an excuse to connect her with some resources that are probably long overdue. And it builds trust with her.”

“Do you want to talk to Deanne, or should I call Jenna?” Jordana asks, her pen poised over her notepad.

Jordana takes her notes electronically and backs them up with a physical copy. A habit she no doubt picked up at Sasha’s elbow.

Deanne Lewis established the foundation, and she owes Maisy a favor or a hundred million. But Jenna is the person on the ground.

“You talk to Jenna.”

Maisy’s nurtured a network of CEOs and COOs, people she can call for favors. She started building it when she was young, and as she and her contacts moved up in the world, her network’s only grown stronger. There’s no time like the present for Jordana to begin to gather her own community.

“Got it.” Jordana’s writing the note when her phone emits a sound, a high-pitched dinging sound that Maisy’s never heard before.

“What on earth?”

For a moment Jordana looks as puzzled as Maisy feels.

Then her eyes widen. “Somebody left a voicemail on Talker.”

“Talker?”

“It’s an asynchronous digital voice note app.”

“Huh, interesting. What is it in English?”

“You record a voice message and upload it whenever it’s convenient for you. The recipient can listen to it at their convenience and either record a message to send back to you or choose to call you live through the app.”

“Tell me how this is different than leaving a message.” Sometimes Maisy wonders what problems all the shiny new programs and products are solving.

“It’s not really—other than it gives people another layer of anonymity,” Jordana tells her. “They can leave the message, and we can get back in touch with them without them ever having to give us their real phone number or go through the effort of getting a burner or an internet number. We’re removing obstacles to reaching out so people will feel safe.”

“Still seems like this can all be accomplished with an answering machine.”

Jordana rolls her eyes. “Sure, maybe. But, Maisy, this is our first Squawk!”

“I’m sorry, our first … Squawk?”

“Talker messages are called Squawks,” Jordana explains.

Maisy lowers her chin and fixes her producer with an unamused look.

Jordana hurriedly adds, “But we’ll call them messages.”

“Good call. Well, let’s listen to it.”

Jordana clicks on an icon to open the app on her laptop and selects the message.

“Allo,” a male voice begins in clear, faintly accented English. “Err …I mean, hello. My name is Bastian Tremblay. I live in Quebec City. I listen to your podcast, and I believe I have information that might interest you.”

Maisy’s eyes are about to pop out of her head, and Jordana lets out a whoop as she pauses the message. “It’s our Quebecker!”

“He sounds more like a Quebecois. Can you start it over?”

“Allo. Err … I mean, hello. My name is Bastian Tremblay. I live in Quebec City. I listen to your podcast, and I believe I have information that might interest you. I’m calling because I—we—my wife and I, listened to episode two, and you mentioned a pink plastic pager. As impossible as it seems, my wife Chloe has a pink plastic pager with a glittery capital letter C sticker in the lower left corner. She does not know Heather Ryan and does not have any information about the girl’s sad disappearance, but she does have this pager. We thought it might be important. I’ll attach a picture of the pager to this voice note.

I’m sure you’re wondering how Chloe came to have this pager, and I’m afraid we do not know. She had a difficult childhood and was abandoned or left to fend for herself as a teenager. As a result of the trauma, she doesn’t have any memories of those years. She entered the child welfare system in Montreal as a … in English, you would say she was a Jane Doe. She was placed in foster care until she reached the age of eighteen. This pager was one of the handful of possessions she had when she showed up in Montreal. She chose the name ‘Chloe’ for herself because of the C sticker. Until today, she believed it belonged to her. So she won’t be able to tell you where she got it. Thank you, and thank you for the work you’re doing.”

The message ends, and Maisy whoops. “This is fantastic!”

“Is it? Or is it just another dead end?” Jordana wonders. “What good is the pager if this Chloe Tremblay woman doesn’t know where she got it or how?”

“That’s how tips work, sugar. This man called us because he heard about the existence of the pager. Someone else might call us because they know Chloe and have details about the pager that she doesn’t remember.”

Jordana’s flagging spirits rise. “Okay, that makes. So what’s our next step?”

“Print out the photo of the pager. We’ll show it to Kristy, and if it matches, which I suspect it will, I’ll head up to Quebec City to interview the Tremblays.”

“You mean we.”

Maisy gives her a sad smile “Sorry, darlin’, someone needs to stay here and work on the Allderdice angle.” Jordana opens her mouth to argue, but Maisy keeps rolling. “And interview Shannon Marshall.”

“Wait, you want me to interview Mrs. Marshall? To air it?”

“You have a rapport with her. The interview is always better when trust has been established, you know that.”

“But, me? On the air?”

“You got this.”

Maisy knows she’ll knock it out of the park. Besides, it’ll take the sting out of being left behind while Maisy goes to Canada.