“And your car is the white Jeep Cherokee that’s in the driveway? Is that the same car you recently drove to San Francisco?”
He nodded. Now he looked a little concerned. I wasn’t about to let him in on the best tactic I had available to me—checking into the history of his FasTrak toll account. That would be my easiest way of determining how honest he was being about his comings and goings.
Then I hit him with both barrels at once, so to speak. “Why do you think the local cops aren’t doing enough to find your daughter?”
The question left him flustered for a moment. “They seem to think she’s just a runaway. I guess they think Nicole ran away because of me.”
“Did she?” I leveled a good stare at him and added, “You had nothing to do with it?”
That did it. Eric broke down and started to cry. He excused himself for a moment. He walked into the kitchen, pulled a paper towel off the roll, and blew his nose noisily.
Cindy turned to look at me with an expression on her face I couldn’t read.
By the time Eric got back to the couch, he was a little more composed.
“You ask me if I had anything to do with my daughter’s disappearance? Truthfully, I don’t know. Maybe I could’ve done something different. Maybe I should’ve seen some warning signs. I’ll tell you, it’s tough to be a single parent, especially a single dad to a daughter.”
I’d seen some good actors. Even some professional ones who were charged with crimes. Either Eric was one of the best I’d ever seen or he was sincere.
When we’d arrived, I’d been expecting to tie him to Tina Barnes’s murder in Golden Gate Park. Now I wasn’t sure what to do.
Cindy broke in. “You told me about two other girls missing fromthe area. Carly Nash and Katie Dharma. How much interaction did you have with them?”
Eric said, “I met Carly once. I recognize Katie from Nicole’s school. But I didn’t really know either of them. I’ve been making notes. I’ve got my own list of suspects.”
Cindy asked if she could see his list of suspects. He disappeared into one of the back bedrooms, then returned with a sheet of paper. There were half a dozen names with some notes written off to the side. He told Cindy she could keep it.
It was a little awkward as we left the house. As soon as we slipped into Cindy’s car, she said, “What did you think?”
“I don’t know. He’s convincing.” Clearly Eric hadn’t expected to be grilled. But I hadn’t expected to be persuaded by his answers.
Cindy let out a quick laugh. “Now I’m the one wondering if he’s full of shit.”
“We need to gather more info. Things will unfold soon enough,” I said.
I decided not to tell her I was having my doubts.
CHAPTER32
ONCE WE LEFTEric Snaff’s house, Cindy insisted that I meet her new friend Gina Scrittori. Before I could answer yes or no, Cindy was dialing the youth services worker she’d met here in San Julio.
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in a little family-owned diner called Armando’s. The place was pretty basic, with paper napkins and plastic water glasses. Just a regular diner.
A couple of minutes after we arrived, I noticed a young woman with straight, dark hair and a fashionable jacket hustle through the door and look around. I knew this had to be Cindy’s friend Gina.
Gina and Cindy greeted each other with hugs and a little squeal. That sort of over-the-top greeting sets me on edge, but I kept my mouth shut.
Gina slid in next to Cindy in the booth. She pulled off her aviator sunglasses and looked me right in the eye. “I hear you’re a homicide detective in San Francisco.”
I nodded.
“That sounds like a tough job to me.”
“It has its moments. I’m sure your job does too.”
Gina just shrugged.
Cindy filled her in on our short conversation with Eric, which surprised me a little. I usually don’t disclose the contents of my interviews. But as I sat back and listened, I reminded myself that while Cindy wasn’t a cop, shewasa stellar journalist who knew what she was doing.
