Terminal City by Linda Fairstein Page A

flinched. “Knew her?”
    He still wasn’t able to think of his daughter in the past tense. That might take months to happen.
    “With whom was she closest? Her brother?”
    “No. Not so much anymore. Maybe her roommate?” He turned to his wife.
    “Lizzie. Elizabeth Angler,” Thelma Thatcher said. “But she’s on vacation. I think she went abroad to visit family.”
    “We’ll need that contact information,” Mercer said.
    “Did Corinne quit her job?” I asked.
    Her father answered. “Yes, back in June. She’s just taking some time off this summer. Starting at NYU in a few weeks with some grad school courses, so that she can teach. She decided she wants to teach school after all.”
    “Did she have a boyfriend, Mr. Thatcher?”
    He paused before answering. “Corinne was dating a young man through the winter and spring. She ended that relationship about the same time she quit work.”
    “Was he also involved with the Red Cross?”
    The Thatchers stared blankly at each other.
    “Sir?”
    “I don’t think so,” he said. “My wife and I never met him. For some reason, Corinne never wanted to bring him home. She didn’t think we’d approve of him.”
    I glanced across at Mercer.
    “What do you know about him?”
    “Precious little.”
    “What was the reason for your disapproval?”
    Bill Thatcher swallowed hard. “He wasn’t educated, this fellow. And Corinne knew how important that was to us. Now I hate myself for it. For being so small-minded.”
    “That was the only issue for you?” I asked.
    He thought about my question for a few seconds too long.
    “Did he have a criminal history?”
    “I have no reason to think so. Thelma knows his name, I’m sure.”
    “So, you didn’t even know that much,” I said.
    “What is it, Thelma? Pedro, or is it Pablo? Something like that.”
    Mercer grimaced as he nodded to me. Something like that. The boyfriend’s background was “something other” than the Thatchers’.
    “He was Dominican. I didn’t feel he was right for our daughter.”
    The bold fact of Thatcher’s prejudice didn’t seem to slow him down at all.
    “Because of his ethnicity. Just that?”
    The father was silent. He avoided making eye contact with Mercer.
    “Or was he ever violent toward Corinne? Did she mention any inappropriate behavior?” I asked. “I mean when she broke up with him.”
    The choice of separation by one partner is the leading cause of violence in a dating relationship, when the other one doesn’t want to end the connection. Repeated efforts by the victim to escape the escalating attacks led to fatalities with astounding frequency.
    “Nothing like that.”
    “Do you know what he does for a living?” I asked.
    “I—I don’t.”
    “Was he ever in the military?” Mercer asked, with mounting urgency.
    “I wouldn’t know,” Thatcher said. “But look here, why are you so interested in the man she dated?”
    “We have to check into everyone in Corinne’s world,” I said. “Friends, coworkers, people she might have been intimate with.”
    The likelihood that a young woman was killed by someone she knew—rather than a stranger—was tremendous.
    “I’ve met the man our daughter was dating,” Thelma Thatcher said softly, lifting her head.
    “You’ve what ?” her husband said, practically shouting at her.
    “His name is Paco.”
    “When did this happen?” Bill Thatcher asked.
    “In the spring. I came into the city to have lunch with Corinne.”
    “You know how I felt about this. You betrayed me, Thelma. You’ve made a fool of me.” Thatcher’s face turned beet red as he tried to restrain his anger.
    “What can you tell us about him?” Mercer asked.
    “That Corinne liked him very much. That he was quiet and didn’t speak a lot,” she said.
    “Details,” Mercer said. “We’re going to need as many details as you can give us, Mrs. Thatcher. We’d like to try to find him tonight.”
    “You need to call my son. He has more information