“Break a leg.”
“Too soon, babe.”
He left her laughing and marveled at how everything had changed since she’d been grievously injured. A “situationship” with a subordinate, which could get him fired at any moment, had evolved into one of the most important relationships he’d ever had. Now, he needed to go talk about the other one, with the sister who’d been missing for twenty-six years.
His friend and colleague Lieutenant Sam Holland had suggested, via her savvy partner, Detective Cruz, that he consider reaching out to some of the top true crime podcasts to get his story—and Jordan’s—out to a wider audience. Today was his first hour-long interview with Cold Case, the podcast that Detective Cruz had thought would be best suited to his story.
They’d been thrilled to land a U.S. Marshal with a personal story to tell about his missing sister.
As he logged in for the interview, Jesse hoped it wouldn’t be a waste of time, but he’d run out of avenues to pursue and was desperate enough to do whatever it took to finally get answers. He donned his earbuds and waited for the host to welcome him. A woman named Alicia, who’d been looking for clues in her grandfather’s murder for fifteen years, had founded the podcast to help other victims of violent crime cases gone cold get justice for their loved ones. The show drew a weekly audience of more than three million across multiple platforms, including YouTube and Spotify.
He’d shaved off a week’s worth of whiskers to be camera-ready.
Jesse listened to her detailed intro in which she referred to his career as a U.S. Marshal as “long and distinguished” and how his quest for justice came from a deeply personal place.
“Marshal Jesse Best, we’re so happy to have you as our guest today.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“Before we begin, can you tell our listeners a little about what the U.S. Marshals do?”
“Sure, the U.S. Marshals Service provides security for federal courts and judges, manages the Witness Security Program, transports federal prisoners, seizes assets in criminal cases and serves federal court orders. But we’re probably best known for our work in finding fugitives from justice.”
“That sounds like a fascinating job.”
He chuckled. “It can be. More often, it involves boring stakeouts and finding criminals who are trying to avoid federal prosecution.”
“You spend a lot of your time looking for people, which makes your personal story that much more poignant.”
“The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been looking for my younger sister, Jordan, for twenty-six years, since the day she went missing from our home in West Virginia.”
“I’m so sorry for you and your family.”
“Thank you. It’s been rough, and the passage of time hasn’t made it easier. I want to know if she’s still out there, and if she’s dead, I want to bring her home. I just want answers, you know?”
“I get it.”
“I know you do.”
“Tell us about Jordan.”
“She was delightful, funny, sweet, sassy and all things girly. She loved to dance, draw and paint and was into crafts of every kind. It was twenty-six years ago, when I was eleven, and she was seven. We were living in Morgantown, West Virginia, with our grandparents because both our parents were drug addicts and had lost custody of us.”
Even though he’d provided the photos to Alicia, seeing the one of him with his arm slung around his little sister still hit him in the heart when Alicia posted it. He’d missed his sister fiercely for so many years—and he felt like he’d failed her by not being there the one time she’d truly needed him.
“Despite the four years between us, we were close after losing contact with our parents and moving in with our grandparents two years prior to her disappearance.” Jesse took a drink of his iced tea. “I’d gone to a friend’s house to play, which was something I rarely did. According to my grandmother, Jordan had been playing in the yard—alone, which was infuriating to me. I never let her go out there alone. The neighborhood wasn’t the best, and there were sketchy people around. I almost lost my mind when I found out she’d been outside alone.”
“You were eleven and already an adult.”
“It happens fast when your parents are unreliable.” He told her the rest, about coming home to a search in progress, the bloodhounds sniffing Jordan’s favorite stuffed bear, days turning into weeks and months and then years and decades without a trace. “I begged my grandparents to track down my parents and figure out where they were when Jordan went missing. I wouldn’t have put it past one of them to snatch her back and have long believed it’s possible one of them was involved.”
“Were you able to locate them?”
“My grandparents shut down that theory as fast as I had it. I went around them, alerted local law enforcement to the possibility. When our parents were found, both had alibis, according to the sheriff, but I was never convinced they were actually found or questioned.”
“Why do you think they’d lie to you about that?”
“I was just a kid. My grandfather was deeply connected to the community and may have told the sheriff to shut down that angle. The last thing my grandparents wanted to deal with was my drug-addicted parents. They’d done everything they could to try to save their daughter—and then my father, too—but it was all for naught. They couldn’t be saved.”
