“Back then? Eighteen years ago?” Mrs. Gable looked sheepish. “I told Garrett. He was canvassing the neighborhood. He wrote it down and said, ‘Probably just a friend giving her a lift.’ I didn’t push it.”
“What kind of car did George Garrett drive in 2005? Do you remember?” The old woman turned pale. “A black SUV. A big, shiny one. He always drove it for business.”
Alex nodded silently and walked out. On the street, he stopped and took a deep breath of the cool autumn air. His hands were shaking again. Mrs. Gable had seen Mary get into a black SUV and told Jim Garrett, who buried the information. They’d hidden the truth.
The whole family. Alex pulled out his phone and dialed the investigator’s number. “Hello, this is Alex Morris. I gave a statement yesterday about the church discovery. Yes, I have more information. Important information.”
“A witness who saw my sister the day she vanished. She got into a car. A black SUV. The same kind George Garrett drove.” There was a long pause on the other end. “You realize that’s a very serious allegation?”
“I do. That’s why I’m calling you and not the local Sheriff.” “Alright. Come to the State Police barracks in the city. Today. I’ll text you the address.”
Alex hung up and headed for the bus stop. He didn’t notice the black SUV parked across the street. And he didn’t see the driver, a man in a deputy’s uniform, pick up a radio and say: “Sheriff, it’s Paul. Morris just left the old lady’s house.”
“He looks agitated. He was on his phone. What’s the call?” There was a silence on the radio, then: “Follow him. And find out who he called.” The bus ride took two and a half hours.
Alex sat by the window, watching the fields and small towns roll by. He’d seen this scenery a thousand times, but now it felt different—hostile. He thought about Mary. About her getting into that SUV. She knew the driver. She wouldn’t have gotten in otherwise.
She trusted him. Maybe he offered a ride. Maybe he said it was an emergency. Or maybe Mary had been talking to him before. That thought burned. What if George Garrett knew his sister?
What if there was something between them? Mary was beautiful, and George was in his early fifties then. The age when some men lose their minds over younger women. No. Alex shook his head.
Don’t speculate. Facts. That’s what mattered. And the fact was: Mary got into a car and vanished. Her things were found in the attic of a church where the driver’s brother was the priest. The State Police barracks was a modern brick building in the city center.
Alex found the office on the second floor. Investigator Sarah Jenkins—that was her name—met him with a professional but attentive demeanor. “Tell me everything,” she said, turning on a recorder. Alex laid it all out. The earrings, the Garrett family tree, the visit to Mrs. Gable, the black SUV. Jenkins listened without interrupting.
She took notes in a small book. “Is the witness willing to give an official statement?” she asked when he finished. “I think so. She’s elderly, but she’s sharp.”
“Good, we’ll interview her. But you have to understand: seeing a car of a similar color doesn’t prove anything. There are thousands of black SUVs in Pennsylvania.” “I know, but it’s a lead.” “It’s a lead,” Jenkins agreed. “One of many.”
“We’re currently identifying all the items from those bags. So far, we’ve confirmed eight matches with missing persons cases in Oak Creek and the surrounding counties between 1991 and 2019.” “Eight?”
