I came to write about Rachel Cord in early spring 2004 when this strange woman followed her over-sized bosom—like Cyrano following his nose—into my office. She said she had a story so I took notes for three hours before she got up and said she’d be back. My notes were more like dictation and I sat back letting out a long breath wondering if she were real and would really be back.
The next morning she picked up right where she’d left off. After three hours she said she'd return. And so it went. Every morning I’d listen and write what she said trying to catch every word, every nuance and meaning. I’d no idea how it would end, but found her engaging—even when she frightened me—and couldn’t wait to see her again. When he finished her tale, I asked if she ever got over Karen. She smiled saying, “That’s another story.”
Before Labor Day 2004 she was ready to talk about Karen and more of her life. We met every morning as she led me again down dark paths with surprises and bits of sunshine here and there. When we finished she said, “That’s it.” and left.
I saw her again on an early morning in 2013. She’d finally gotten the breast reduction she’d craved and looked good. I was glad to see her. She told another story this time set in 2007 just before her surgery. When she finished, I asked if I’d see her again. She said, “Maybe.”
She stopped by in late 2015 to tell about a 68-year-old cold case she solved and mentioned she and Wendy had married. She’d be back to tell me that story. True to her word, last year she told how Wendy made her reconnect with her family and they married. She also added a few crimes she helped solve along the way. I wondered if there were any more secrets she hadn’t revealed.
“Will I see you again?”
She sighed. “I’m just a middle-aged dick with a routine, often boring job.” She winked. “Then again, who knows how the dice will roll?”
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