Her Last Goodbye, page 16
“They got these search warrants, Greg. I had to let them in.”
Jake was sitting at the kitchen table, his mouth open wide. A female forensic tech wearing latex gloves was swabbing the inside of his cheek.
“This will just take a sec, sweetie,” the tech said to Jake.
Kat held Jake’s hand.
“They brought him home from school.”
“I rode in a police car, Dad,” Jake said when he could speak.
“What?” Greg said.
“They’re collecting his DNA,” Kat said. “They’ll get ours, too.”
Greg turned. Carillo had entered the kitchen then led him down the hall. Along the way, Greg saw forensic people taking files, notebooks, and other items from Jenn’s office area. In his office, they were doing the same.
“All part of the investigation,” Carillo said.
“But you already have our phones, laptops, our fingerprints.”
“I assure you, it’s standard. We need you in the upstairs bathroom that you and Jenn use.”
Kozak was there with another forensic tech at the counter.
“Hi, Greg,” Kozak said. “Would you please identify Jennifer’s combs, brushes, and her toothbrush? We’re taking them for DNA analysis.”
The blood drained from Greg’s face.
“Did you find her? Is she dead?”
“No,” Kozak said. “This is part of the investigation. We’ll submit the DNA to all local, state, and national databases to help us locate her. Before we leave, we’ll collect yours, as well.”
Greg stared at Jenn’s toothbrush, her comb, her hairbrush. He glanced at her sink, her mirror.
Suddenly he saw her there, the image breaking his heart.
“Greg?” Kozak said.
He pointed. “Those are hers, obviously.”
“Thanks.” Kozak stepped from the bathroom with Greg, leaving the tech to collect the items. “The warrants allow us to process your house, for evidence. It’ll take a while.”
“Why? She’s missing from Ripplewood. She never made it home.”
“There could be something here that’s tied to it,” Carillo said. “You wouldn’t want us to overlook anything, would you?”
Everything was moving so fast; all of these people, these strangers, who deal with violence and death, invading their home, swabbing his son, and taking Jenn’s things.
“This means we’ll need you to leave the house, to find some place for the night,” Kozak said. “Our people will watch you collect some overnight things for you and Jake. They’ll make a record of it.”
Greg stared at them.
“We’ll need you to do this now, Greg,” Kozak said.
“I don’t like this,” Greg said. “Maybe I should be getting a lawyer.”
“Maybe,” Kozak said, “because we’d like you to submit to a polygraph exam as soon as possible.”
Thirty-Eight
Buffalo, New York
Lynsey Dowd slid five new twenty-dollar bills into an envelope, wrote, “Jenn” on it, then pushed back tears.
She put the envelope, the deposit bag, and other weekly records into the office security safe on the lower shelf behind her. After locking it, she turned and worked at her computer.
Most financial business at Crystallo View Optical was conducted digitally. Some matters involved cash. A few suppliers and older customers insisted on cash-only transactions. The eye doctors who owned the company accommodated them.
Lynsey made weekly trips to the bank. Her uncle was one of the owners and had asked her if she would split her duties as an optometric assistant and do the initial bookkeeping before passing things to the accountants. She didn’t mind because she had done it for his small practice before he partnered with the others.
Lynsey was typing and checking invoices when an icon for a Buffalo TV station popped up in the corner of her monitor, notifying her of a news story.
She clicked on it, bringing to life a video of police at Jenn’s house.
“Mystery deepens in the disappearance of Buffalo-area mom, Jennifer Griffin,” the reporter’s voice said. “New search warrants were executed late this afternoon at the Griffin home in Trailside Grove...”
The report amplified Lynsey’s grief. She whispered another prayer for Jenn. Everyone at Crystallo had volunteered to search, including Lynsey.
Why is this happening? She’s such a good person.
The money in the safe for Jenn was an example of her altruistic nature.
Several weeks ago, Jenn confidentially asked Lynsey to divert $100 a week from the direct digital deposit of her salary, and give it to her in cash.
“I want to start a secret fund to save for a winter vacation to the Caribbean for us. Greg works so hard. I want to surprise him and Jake. I can hide it in our household costs. He won’t know.”
Lynsey was glad that the doctors insisted that Jenn’s salary continue because everyone believed and hoped that she was coming home. It meant Lynsey would honor Jenn’s secret request and keep diverting and holding the cash for her.
Jenn’s face appeared on Lynsey’s monitor as the news story ended.
And I won’t tell anyone about it, Jenn.
Thirty-Nine
LaSalle in Buffalo, New York
“Yes, polygraphs are common in cases like this, Greg.”
Phone pressed to his ear, he sat in Kat’s kitchen, consulting with Susan Segretti, a Buffalo criminal defense attorney he’d contacted.
“There are considerations,” Segretti said. “I’ll outline them...”
It was evening, and listening, with his elbows on the table, Greg gripped his head with his free hand as if to stem his whirling fears. While state police were processing their home in Trailside Grove for evidence in Jenn’s disappearance, Greg and Jake had made the half-hour drive to Kat’s cozy two-story colonial in LaSalle, near the college. Kat and Vince got a couple of pizzas, but Jake had only taken a few bites because worry had taken his appetite.
“What if Mom comes home and we’re not there?” Jake said.
“Police will call us,” Greg said.
“But why’re they looking in our house? She’s not there.”
“They’re looking for the tiniest things that might help them,” Greg said.
“Even in my mouth?”
“It’s complicated, Jake. Everybody’s doing everything to find Mom.” Greg stroked Jake’s head. “Have some more pizza.”
“Hey.” Kat smiled. “I’ve got some video games you can play with Grandpa after.”
“Think you can still beat me at hockey?” Vince asked.
Jake shrugged. “Probably.”
Vince winked. “Give you five bucks if you do.”
After eating, Greg and Kat had talked alone in her kitchen with the door closed as Greg tried to hold it together.
“So you decided to talk to Sellwin?” Kat said. “What happened?”
“I got a bad vibe off him. I wanted to beat the smile from his face.”
“Do you think there’s something going on with him and Jenn?”
“I have no proof. And I don’t know what Kozak and Carillo know, or found. They’ve been going through our phones, our computers. They’ve taken our prints, more stuff, our DNA. Now they want to polygraph me. God, Kat, they think I hurt her.”
That’s when Kat took control, insisting he talk to a lawyer immediately about the polygraph. After a combination of calls to Kat’s friends and an online search, they reached Susan Segretti, considered one of the best. Segretti was aware of Jenn’s case—most people in the region were—and she’d returned Greg’s call, noting the first consultation, even if it was after regular hours, was free.
“...now, there are advantages and disadvantages to agreeing to submit to a polygraph,” Segretti said as she relayed the basics to him.
No matter what investigators say, it’s not routine, and Greg should assume he has not been ruled out as a suspect. And while the results cannot be used in court, any statements he makes during the process could be used against him later.
Segretti said that Greg had every right to refuse the polygraph, but refusal would create the perception that he was hiding something, while participating could expedite removing him as a suspect. She said she could be present, acting as his attorney, if he agreed to take a polygraph, and could represent him subsequently, depending on how things went.
Her fee was $300 an hour.
“The decision is yours. Think about it, Greg, and let me know.”
The call ended. Greg stared at nothing while Jake and Vince’s game playing spilled from the living room.
“Well?” Kat said. “What did she say?”
Greg told her everything, including Segretti’s rate.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“You don’t know? Look. I got these while you were on the phone.” Kat had cued up Buffalo TV news reports. “These are new.”
The first showed volunteers in the ongoing search for Jenn. They turned up the sound to hear the reporter say, “...however, tension apparently surfaced between Greg Griffin, the missing woman’s husband, and a volunteer searcher today in Whisper Wind Park...” The footage was blurry but it showed Greg confronting Porter Sellwin. “No one would comment as to the source of the apparent disagreement...”
“And look at this one.” Kat hit play on another report showing police at Greg’s house as he entered.
“...late today state police investigators executed new search warrants at the home of missing mom Jennifer Griffin. Sources tell us DNA samples were collected giving rise to speculation that people close to Griffin may not yet have been ruled out as suspects...”
At a loss, Greg lowered his head, shaking it slowly.
“This looks bad for you,” Kat said as her laptop chimed with a notification. “Oh, this is live news on the case.”
Kat clicked on it and a video blossomed of a man at a cluster of microphones, newspeople huddled around him, a woman at his shoulder.
“...to reiterate, my client, Brooke Bollman, is cooperating with police and is not involved in any way with the disappearance of Jennifer Griffin. That concludes our statement. We will take no questions.”
All the saliva drained from Greg’s mouth, then he cursed.
“Who is she, Greg?” Kat asked.
He didn’t answer.
Heart racing, skin tingling, Greg reached for his phone.
His call was answered on the third ring.
“Hi, Ms. Segretti, Greg Griffin again. I will take the polygraph and I’d like you to be there, as my attorney.”
Forty
Clarence, New York
Greg took a deep breath.
“That’s it, breathe regularly. Remember, treat this as a conversation, but give only yes or no responses.” Valerie Vera, the polygraph examiner, checked her instruments.
It was midmorning the next day.
Greg was seated in a comfortable high-back chair with wide armrests. He looked at the sensors connected to his fingertips and chest to gauge his breathing, pulse, and perspiration. Cables linked the sensors to Vera’s polygraph and laptop, where she would measure and record the activity.
Earlier, in explaining the exam process, Vera also conducted the pretest interview, which included questions on Greg’s physical and mental status, and the use of any medications.
“It’s okay to be uneasy. I expect some anxiety, Greg.”
Valerie Vera wore red-framed glasses that rested partway down her nose. She was in her early fifties and looked at him through her glasses and over them to ensure he understood as she told him how she would analyze the results and give investigators one of three outcomes: Greg Griffin is untruthful, Greg Griffin is truthful, or the results are inconclusive.
Greg took another breath.
How did this happen?
Here he was at the Bureau of Criminal Investigation offices of the New York State Police, Clarence Barracks, in a meeting room, hooked to a lie detector. Behind him were Kozak, Carillo, their boss, Lieutenant Phil Becker, and Greg’s attorney, Susan Segretti.
Centered at the far end of the table, Vera had placed a clear glass lamp with floating globs of luminescent goop for him to watch and stay calm.
“All set,” Vera said. “Are you relaxed, Greg?”
“Yes,” he lied.
“We’ll start with some basics to establish a foundation.”
Vera made a quick adjustment of the polygraph and began.
“Are you Greg Griffin?”
“Yes.”
“Is your wife Jennifer Griffin?”
“Yes.”
“Is your son Jake Griffin?”
“Yes.”
“Are you the quarterback for the Buffalo Bills?”
“No.”
“Do you reside in Trailside Grove?”
“Yes.”
Vera took one second, studying the graphs on her laptop.
“Is your wife missing?”
Greg caught his breath.
“Yes.”
“Did you report her missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did several hours pass before you realized she was missing and your call to police?”
“Yes.”
“Did you first search for her before calling police?”
“Yes.”
“Were you the only person searching for her for several hours?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enter the Korner Fast outlet in Ripplewood Creek the night she was missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enter the Korner Fast outlet in Ripplewood Creek more than once the night she was missing?”
What does that mean? Where’re they headed?
“Your response?”
“No.”
Vera made a notation.
“Do you own a hoodie?”
A hoodie?
“Yes.”
“Is it light in color?”
“No.”
“Dark?”
“Yes.”
“Were you wearing your hoodie the first night you searched for your wife?”
I can’t remember. I don’t know.
“I don’t know.”
Vera made a notation.
“Did you injure your hands the night your wife was missing?”
“Yes.”
“Was the injury due to removing a traffic cone from under your vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware your wife had bruises on her neck and wrists the night she went missing?”
Jenn’s bruises?
Greg swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever struck your wife?”
“No.”
“Have you ever abused your wife?”
“No.”
“Did you give her the bruises seen on her neck and arms?”
Greg hesitated.
“But they were from playing football in the yard,” he said.
“Yes or no, please, Greg.”
“Yes.”
Vera made a notation.
“Did you argue with your wife about financial matters in the time leading up to her disappearance?”
Beads of sweat formed on Greg’s brow.
“Yes.”
“Do you hold a life insurance policy on your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Is the death benefit three hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Are you the beneficiary?”
“Yes.”
Greg heard movement behind him, and Vera reached for a tablet handed to her by one of the investigators. Vera used it to show Greg a photograph of a woman.
“Do you recognize this woman?”
It was a closely cropped photo of Brooke Bollman in a bar. Greg’s stomach lurched. Cold sweat webbed down his back.
“Greg, do you recognize this woman?”
He swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
“Do you know this woman?”
“Yes.”
“Is she Brooke Bollman?”
“Yes.”
Vera cued up another photo of Greg sitting next to Bollman.
“Is this you with Brooke Bollman?”
“Yes.”
Vera moved to the other photos of Bollman’s hand under the table on Greg in the vicinity of his crotch, both of them smiling at each other.
Staring at it, Greg’s scalp stung, ice coiled up his spine.
Where did they get this photo? Who gave it to them?
“Was this photo taken at the Mulberry Bar in Depew the night your wife went missing?”
Tears brimmed in Greg’s eyes.
“Yes.”
Vera swiped at the tablet with the photos, then showed Greg a text.
Think about it Greg. We’d be great together.
“Do you recall receiving this text from Brooke Bollman the night your wife was missing?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had discussions with Brooke Bollman about entering into a business partnership after she had won a substantial settlement from a construction firm arising from their negligence and an accident on a job site in Lackawanna?”
Greg swallowed hard.
“Yes.”
“Are you now, or have you in the past, engaged in sexual relations with Brooke Bollman?”
Greg hesitated.
He’d been tempted to act on Brooke’s offer, so tempted, but something echoed in him, taking him to that day he saw Jenn crying alone in high school.
Who’d be stupid enough to break that girl’s heart? I couldn’t do that to Jenn with Brooke. I couldn’t bear hurting her and Jake. I’d forever be a liar in his eyes. I took a vow to love only Jenn. What it came down to, and what I came to realize over the years, is that when I saw Jenn that day in school, I was watching over, and preparing to love, my wife.
