Now, three hours later, we’re sitting in the living room of a double-wide trailer facing a distressed middle-aged woman. Felicia Bonanno didn’t want to let us in at first, but Garrett turned on the charm, and now he’s appealing to the memory of her long-lost daughter, former Patriots cheerleader Suzanne Bonanno, who’s been missing for seventeen years.

“Mrs. Bonanno, Brea and I have just signed an agreement with a major publisher in New York City to do a book on Cole Wright. And get justice for Suzanne.”

Felicia’s face reveals a mixture of exasperation and distrust. She’s obviously dealt with a lot of pesky reporters over the years. “You’re nothing but dirt diggers, all of you!”

“This won’t be tabloid trash,” I tell her. “We have new information, and the book will be the result of a serious investigation.”

“We’re building a case,” says Garrett, “that will send Cole Wright to prison.”

Felicia’s modestly furnished trailer is in a planned community called Border Family Homes. I nod at a framed color print of a stunning young woman in a Patriots cheerleader outfit. “That’s a beautiful picture of Suzanne.”

Felicia glances at the photo. “She surely loved that uniform,” she says. Her voice breaks.

I look at Garrett. Time to dig in. He starts off. “Mrs. Bonanno—”

“It’s Felicia,” she says, reaching for a tissue.

“Felicia,” Garrett says, accepting her invitation to proceed on a first-name basis. “As my colleague said, we have new information, but it’s not the right time to reveal it to anybody, even you, one of our most important witnesses.”

I lean over and touch Felicia’s arm. She doesn’t flinch. Good sign. I speak softly. “Felicia, you were one of the last people to see your daughter.”

Felicia takes a deep breath. “June seventh. I still remember every detail of that night,” she says. “Suzanne was here visiting, and she was so excited because the Patriots had asked her to return to the cheerleading squad that fall. She had a new apartment in Boston. One Cherokee Street. I still remember the address. And she was interviewing for a good job at Fidelity Investments that she thought she’d get. That evening, Suzanne told me she was driving to Walmart to pick up a few things for her new place, gave me a quick kiss goodbye, and that was that.”

“Do you remember what time she left?” Garrett asks gently.

“Seven p.m., on the dot,” says Felicia. “Cole was going to meet her at Walmart and then take her to dinner somewhere.”

“How long before you reported her missing?”