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Alana
"Laney" Gwinner
It’s
mid-October and the leaves are changing color bathing the
streets in brilliant fiery hues of every imaginable shade as
Mother Nature begins her preparations for the coming winter
months. There is a slight chill in the air as the smiling
self-assured detective approaches me, hand outstretched.
Until now I’ve known Cold Case Detective Frank Smith only as
a booming baritone on the other end of the phone. Now we
stand face to face for the first time just outside the
Resolutions building in Butler County, Ohio. We are meeting
today to discuss the case of murdered woman Alana “Laney” Gwinner.
As he ushers
me into his office I am immediately greeted by an array of
photographs of faces that form a horizontal line spanning
the entire length of the stark white wall just to my left.
Each photograph displayed has a name typed in bold print
directly below it. A shorter second horizontal line of
photographs begins directly underneath the first row. I
notice immediately that none of these photos bears a name.
Positioned
directly beneath the rows of photos there are two giant
pieces of poster board joined together that display a map
that appears to be a portion of the Ohio River. As I look to
my right I see an enormous poster size photograph of a
beautiful young woman with a beaming smile, long thick brown
hair, and eyes that sparkle. The smiling girl looks
down on Detective Smith’s desk and though it’s just a
photographic rendering of the real woman, her hopeful
countenance seems to light up the room. Immediately I
recognize the woman in the photograph. It’s Alana “Laney”
Gwinner and this photograph was taken just hours before she
disappeared on Wednesday December 10, 1997. Her body
language, captured forever in that photograph, says that at
that moment the picture was snapped she was relaxed and at
peace, worry free, care free. Her beautiful smile and
twinkling eyes are so full of contentment and joy, so
utterly unaware of the great danger and of the tragedy that
lies just a few short hours ahead. I feel a sharp pain in my
chest as I wrestle with the knowledge that someone so
beautiful and so alive in the moment that picture taken
could be so brutally ripped from all that she held dearest.
I stand
mesmerized for a moment staring at Laney and then the
significance of the other photos hanging on the walls begins
to dawn on me and I shift my gaze again the left, scanning
all of the photos. All at once I understand the importance
of the faces in the photographs arranged to greet all who
enter this office. The photographs are all of people whose
lives have been violently interrupted, whose hopes and
dreams have been torn asunder, and their futures snatched
from them.
Detective
Frank Smith has been charged with telling the stories of
these who can no longer speak for themselves and the first
step in getting to the truth, to ensuring that they are not
forgotten, is keeping their faces where he can always see
them. This is Detective Smith’s world and in his world, the
victim’s faces call out to him from their places on the wall
every moment of every day .They are simultaneously his
deepest obsession and his deepest joy as he works to provide
the answers that no one else can.
We remain
silent a bit longer, sharing a moment of mutual respect for
the victims whose faces peer out from the photographs, for
the families left behind. Scrolling across the computer
screen on Detective Smith’s desk I read the words “Never
Forget, Never Give Up.” Across the way and into the
interrogation and interview room I read another message
scrolling across yet another computer screen. This one reads
“Truth Seeker”. My eyes rise to meet his and in a voice
that is decidedly reverent Detective Smith gestures around
the room to all of the photographs and says “This, is
what it’s all about.”
Starting at
the far left and proceeding around the room his voice rich
with emotion he points to each photo, calls each victim by
name, recounts for me the events of each case, and mentions
by name the family members of the victims that he now
considers to be his family.
When I inquire
as to the second shorter row of photos beneath the first,
the ones without names, Detective Smiths tone turns hard,
almost harsh, as he informs me that the nameless photos are
of the men who murdered the victims whose pictures hang
above theirs. These are men who Frank Smith has taken off of
the streets, men who will never kill again. To Detective
Smith, putting names on the photos of the murderers would be
paying them a tribute and a respect that they do not
deserve. In Frank Smith’s world, those that prey upon
others don’t deserve to be recognized. It’s that
simple.
Finally, we
arrive at Laney’s photo and in his deep baritone voice, now
rich with an intense urgency that resonates in every
syllable, he recounts the events of the case.
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