Page 27 of Badlands

“The fellow who wrote the book about the Totonteac Indians of Mexico. A seminal work. I met him a few times when Molly was working with him—an interesting man.”

“Is he still teaching at UNM?” Corrie asked. He would be an obvious person to talk to.

“No. He left the university years ago. Went back to Mexico.”

Corrie glanced at her notes. “The investigation into her disappearance—what can you tell me about that?”

Vine leaned back, a disgusted look on her face. “It was a perfunctory nightmare. The police, detectives, investigators all made it quite clear from the beginning that they had no interest. They assumed she’d run off somewhere, no doubt getting away from her rich, domineering mother.”

“And Molly’s father? What role did he play?”

The look of disgust deepened. “Last I heard—which was twenty years ago—he was a drunken beach bum in Hawaii. I doubt he even knows she disappeared—assuming he’s still alive.”

“So you don’t have his contact information?”

“No.”

Corrie looked through her notes. The remaining questions were increasingly awkward.

“Did your daughter ever show signs of suicidal ideation or ever attempt suicide?”

“No.”

“Was she ever treated for depression or any psychological issues?”

“Not that I know of. I believe she saw a therapist for a while after she dropped out of the PhD program—but that was just one of the many subjects she wouldn’t talk to me about.”

“You wouldn’t know the name of the therapist, by any chance?”

“No. But if you’re implying Molly committed suicide, I can assure you she did not.”

“Forgive the question, but how can you be so certain? In many ways, walking out into the desert as she did seems like a voluntary act.”

The woman’s eyes widened, their whites showing. “I may not have been as close to my daughter recently as I once was. But whatever problems she may have had, whatever troubles she faced, she had a steady core. Always. I gave her that, if nothing else. She wouldn’t just throw her life away. Not uselessly. Not on impulse, the way people who string themselves up in their bathrooms seem to do.”

Now seemed a good time to change the subject. “Would you mind please telling me the source of your family’s wealth?”

The woman was taken aback. “How is that relevant?”

“It probably isn’t, and again I’m sorry for the intrusive questioning. But we need to gather as much information as we can.There’s no way to know in advance what might be significant later on.”

“Oil,” she said crisply. “Texas.”

Corrie wrote this down. “By the time she was twenty-one, Molly was married and divorced. Can you tell me about that?”

“Ugh. She’d just graduated college. Married in haste. Not long into the PhD program, she realized he was a bum and got rid of him.”

“Why did she marry him?”

“I wondered that myself. He had nothing obvious to recommend him. Nothing at all. Perhaps he was well hung.”

Corrie covered up her surprise by pretending to take notes. “Can you give me his name?”

“Kenneth Curtis.”

“Did she have a current boyfriend at the time she disappeared?”

“Not that I know of.”

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