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“I wonder if they’re still around,” Masser said.
“We’ll find out when I get to my computer. There’s a total of twenty-nine boys in the senior class. We’ll run them all and see what comes up.”
“What’s your take on the suicide?”
Ballard was looking out the window at a wind farm they were passing.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, it feels like a contradiction,” Masser said. “What was she depressed about? Was it having to give up the baby? Was she raped and still experiencing trauma? But if that was the case, why didn’t she tell anyone, especially her parents? It was like she was protecting the father of the child, but at the same time she goes into a spiral that leads to suicide. You see what I’m saying?”
“I do, but there’s no accounting for why people do what they do. And people respond to being raped in all kinds of ways.Ifshe was raped, that is. We need to find out more, and hopefully one of these Rodneys will help.”
Ballard turned the pages until she reached the tenth-grade photos. She located Mallory Richardson. It was a flattering photo and Ballard understood why her mother liked it. The girl had blond hairthat hung down to her shoulders and curved in at the neck, framing her face in a stylish oval. Ballard thought about the friends Robin Richardson had named when she gave them the yearbook.
“Her girlfriends were Jacqueline Todd and… was it Emma?” she asked.
“Emma Arciniega,” Masser said. “But Robin said there was no contact after they moved out to the desert. It was before social media. Nowadays people stay in touch forever. My daughter’s twenty-seven and she’s still in touch with kids she knew from kindergarten.”
Ballard flipped through the pages to look for the friends’ photos. Jacqueline Todd was one of the few Black students in Mallory’s class and Emma Arciniega was one of the few Latinas.
“A white girl from Pasadena has Black and brown BFFs,” Ballard said.
“Interesting,” Masser said. “Think they know anything that will help us?”
“Who knows? But sometimes the besties know more than the parents.”
Ballard closed the book. The conversation made her think about her mother. She needed to call Dan Farley in Maui to get an update on the ongoing search. She decided she would do it once they got back to L.A. and she could make the call in private.
“You thinking about your mother?” Masser asked.
“Jeez, don’t go all Colleen on me, Masser,” Ballard said. “How did you guess that?”
“That look on your face. Wistful, I’d call it. I’ve seen it before.”
“You should keep your eyes on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. She didn’t recognize the number but took the call.
“Detective, it’s Robin Richardson. You were just in my home and left your business card.”
“Yes, Mrs. Richardson, is something wrong?”
“Uh, no. It’s just that I remembered Rodney’s last name. Rodney Van Ness.”
“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”
“Will you let me know what you find out? I really need to know.”
“Of course I will. Thank you for calling.”
Ballard disconnected and told Masser that the prom date was Rodney Van Ness. She opened the yearbook again and flipped the pages until she was looking at his photo.
