'Poor me, poor me,' instead of 'Poor Jami.' "
Steve was behaving oddly, to say the least. When he walked into Judy's kitchen, she and Sheila, her son's girlfriend, saw that he had some kind of lacy material twisted around one of his biceps, like a sleeve garter.
"What's that?" Rich Hagel asked.
"Jami's panties," Steve answered. "I'm wearing them because it makes me feel closer to her."
The Hagels stared at each other in shock. That was crazy.
Steve wore the panty-garter into a bar he often frequented, and told patrons there the same thing. He also started wearing a necklace he'd given Jami for Valentine's Day; it was a diamond heart, definitely a woman's necklace. Steve explained that wearing her things kept him connected to Jami.
How odd that he never joined one of the search parties that had fanned out all around Redmond and Bellevue as scores of volunteers searched for Jami or her car. There were so many places to look; someone as tiny as Jami could be in the woods, in Lake Sammamish, or even in Lake Washington and no one would ever know. No one understood why Steve wasn't helping them look for her. If she was in trouble, the more people out there the better. If she was dead, at least her family would know the truth. As it was, they were in agony.
Judy Hagel tried not to think that Jami could be dead. She questioned Steve again and again, trying to get him to remember what had happened after Jami vanished on Sunday at noon. He shook his head, saying that he'd been gone when she left, on his way to check his mother's home in Mill Creek and repeated that he'd fallen asleep there. "No way," Judy said flatly. "No way you were sleeping, Steve. You would have been on the phone every fifteen minutes if Jami was gone. You always are."
She kept counting the hours between Steve's phone calls that Sunday. It had been five or six hours! He called after Jami said she was on her way to Taco Time— he called twice, fifteen minutes apart, as he always did. And then he didn't call again until six-thirty. That behavior was so unlike him that Judy felt cold dread. She had to be careful about questioning him; if he became annoyed, he would take Chris and leave— and she couldn't let Chris go with him. So she tried to space out her questions.
During the first or second day he stayed with the Hagels— Monday or Tuesday— Judy heard Steve making a phone call, evidently to an auto detailer. She knew cars and all the lingo because she worked at a dealership in Bellevue.
"I heard him call," she said. "He wanted a detail on his vehicle." Steve wanted all the trash inside cleanedup, and the interior vacuumed and shampooed, with a wash and wax on the outside. He'd never bothered to have his cars cleaned before; Steve's vehicles were always a mess. Why now? What did it matter if his Blazer was clean when his wife was lost somewhere?
Judy walked into the room where the phone was. "Steve," she said carefully, "why do you want a detail on your car?"
"Oh, well," he stuttered. "Ah, ahh, Rich spilled beer in it. I'm not supposed to be drinking beer, so I want to get it detailed so the smell won't bother me— tempt me, I guess."
Judy had ridden in Steve's Blazer the day before. There was no smell of beer in it. Nevertheless he was adamant that he was going to have it detailed. She wasn't sure if he ever accomplished that, but as he drove the Blazer, more and more mud and weeds dropped off. The Redmond investigators had not searched the Blazer, nor had they put it up on a hoist to look at the undercarriage. One of the best methods criminalists use to determine where a vehicle has been is to test the mud, dirt, and vegetation caught beneath it. It was too late for that now.
* * *
By October 4, 1990, there had been no word at all from Jami Hagel. Her smiling face beamed from telephone poles, store windows, and bulletin boards all over the eastside. Microsoft printed up a second flyer with a picture of Jami's car and a description of the
Steve was behaving oddly, to say the least. When he walked into Judy's kitchen, she and Sheila, her son's girlfriend, saw that he had some kind of lacy material twisted around one of his biceps, like a sleeve garter.
"What's that?" Rich Hagel asked.
"Jami's panties," Steve answered. "I'm wearing them because it makes me feel closer to her."
The Hagels stared at each other in shock. That was crazy.
Steve wore the panty-garter into a bar he often frequented, and told patrons there the same thing. He also started wearing a necklace he'd given Jami for Valentine's Day; it was a diamond heart, definitely a woman's necklace. Steve explained that wearing her things kept him connected to Jami.
How odd that he never joined one of the search parties that had fanned out all around Redmond and Bellevue as scores of volunteers searched for Jami or her car. There were so many places to look; someone as tiny as Jami could be in the woods, in Lake Sammamish, or even in Lake Washington and no one would ever know. No one understood why Steve wasn't helping them look for her. If she was in trouble, the more people out there the better. If she was dead, at least her family would know the truth. As it was, they were in agony.
Judy Hagel tried not to think that Jami could be dead. She questioned Steve again and again, trying to get him to remember what had happened after Jami vanished on Sunday at noon. He shook his head, saying that he'd been gone when she left, on his way to check his mother's home in Mill Creek and repeated that he'd fallen asleep there. "No way," Judy said flatly. "No way you were sleeping, Steve. You would have been on the phone every fifteen minutes if Jami was gone. You always are."
She kept counting the hours between Steve's phone calls that Sunday. It had been five or six hours! He called after Jami said she was on her way to Taco Time— he called twice, fifteen minutes apart, as he always did. And then he didn't call again until six-thirty. That behavior was so unlike him that Judy felt cold dread. She had to be careful about questioning him; if he became annoyed, he would take Chris and leave— and she couldn't let Chris go with him. So she tried to space out her questions.
During the first or second day he stayed with the Hagels— Monday or Tuesday— Judy heard Steve making a phone call, evidently to an auto detailer. She knew cars and all the lingo because she worked at a dealership in Bellevue.
"I heard him call," she said. "He wanted a detail on his vehicle." Steve wanted all the trash inside cleanedup, and the interior vacuumed and shampooed, with a wash and wax on the outside. He'd never bothered to have his cars cleaned before; Steve's vehicles were always a mess. Why now? What did it matter if his Blazer was clean when his wife was lost somewhere?
Judy walked into the room where the phone was. "Steve," she said carefully, "why do you want a detail on your car?"
"Oh, well," he stuttered. "Ah, ahh, Rich spilled beer in it. I'm not supposed to be drinking beer, so I want to get it detailed so the smell won't bother me— tempt me, I guess."
Judy had ridden in Steve's Blazer the day before. There was no smell of beer in it. Nevertheless he was adamant that he was going to have it detailed. She wasn't sure if he ever accomplished that, but as he drove the Blazer, more and more mud and weeds dropped off. The Redmond investigators had not searched the Blazer, nor had they put it up on a hoist to look at the undercarriage. One of the best methods criminalists use to determine where a vehicle has been is to test the mud, dirt, and vegetation caught beneath it. It was too late for that now.
* * *
By October 4, 1990, there had been no word at all from Jami Hagel. Her smiling face beamed from telephone poles, store windows, and bulletin boards all over the eastside. Microsoft printed up a second flyer with a picture of Jami's car and a description of the
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