by John Dibble
She didn’t find any more entries from the database that were of interest. She thanked Becky and headed back to Great Falls Park.
Dodd was in the conference room paging through the logs. “Find anything?” he asked.
“Three incidents of interest,” she replied, and gave him a summary of each. “How about you?” she asked.
“I found an entry for the birder in our log, but we got the information from Fire and Rescue, so yours is probably much more detailed. There is one other that may fit what you’re looking for,” Dodd said. He opened one of the log books that had a yellow marker sticking out.
“This is for the morning of April 8, 2000,” he began. “A Hispanic woman showed up at the entrance gate nearly hysterical and unable to speak any English. One of the rangers is bilingual and interpreted for us. It seems that she had dropped her husband off in the parking lot for Difficult Run around sundown the day before. He was going to fish in the stream and the river, and she was supposed to pick him up around ten that night. She went back and he hadn’t shown up, so she waited there until around midnight. When he still didn’t show up, she went home—she had left their two young children with her sister—and came back in the morning to look for him. He wasn’t in the lot, so she walked down the trail and found his fishing rod, lunch bucket and flashlight, but no sign of her husband. That’s when she came to the gate.”
“I didn’t see any missing person report for that in the Fairfax County records,” M.J. said.
“Well, it says here that we told her to call the police, but my guess is she never did. If she’s an undocumented alien, she would have been afraid to involve the police in anything for fear of being reported to the immigration authorities,” Dodd said.
“It makes me wonder how many other incidents there may be that were never reported. Not just undocumented aliens, but people without any family to file a report,” M.J. said. “In any event, the ones we’ve found seem to establish a pattern.”
“What’s that?” Dodd asked.
“They all occurred in the spring, they all occurred at night and they all occurred on Difficult Run—just like the boys and Doc,” M.J. replied.
M.J. drove back to Anacostia Station and did a preliminary report on Doc’s murder. She went online and searched the archives of the two weekly papers that served Great Falls, The Sun Gazette and The Connection. Although she found several stories involving Great Falls Park, none of them involved suspicious accidents or disappearances. She also searched the Metro section of the Washington Post, but the only story she found was the one from the year before about the boys’ murders.
It was late and she was exhausted. She went to her apartment, put a frozen dinner in the microwave and opened a beer. She took one sip and all of her repressed emotions from the deaths of Doc and Lola came bursting forth. She began to sob uncontrollably and didn’t fight it at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
M.J. GOT UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING and drove to Great Falls Park. She changed into her running clothes and set out on a different route, one that did not take her near Doc’s camp. Her emotional release of the night before had been cathartic, but she was aware that she also needed to establish a new routine for her runs without Lola.
She ran as fast as she could, not slowing for uphill climbs on the trails and staying focused on her stride and her breathing. By the time she returned to the Visitor Center, she had done close to six miles. She was breathing heavily and sweating profusely, but she also felt cleansed. Running had always had that effect on her. She remembered doing the same kind of intense run when she learned of her grandmother’s death. In a sense, it had provided the punctuation to that unhappy episode in her life, much as today’s run had for the loss of Doc and Lola.
She showered, changed into her work clothes and stopped by Dodd’s office.
“I didn’t find anything else in the logs,” he said, standing up from his desk.
“By the way,” he said, “I started the paperwork to have Doc buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I talked to the folks at the mortuary—I know them from when they handled the arrangements for my wife—and they said they’d be willing to fix Lola up too and put her in the casket with Doc. They’re not supposed to do that but . . . ” His voice cracked and she could see tears forming in his eyes. “ . . . she’s a hero too, trying to protect Doc and all, don’t you think?” Dodd asked.
“Yes, I do, and I know Doc would want it that way and so would Lola,” M.J. replied, feeling tears forming in her own eyes. She walked over to Dodd and hugged him.
They both sat down and remained silent for several minutes. M.J. was the first to speak.
“Thanks for doing that, Dodd,” she said, “and thanks for helping me with the investigation.”
“Have you found out anything else?” he asked.
“I should get some forensics back this afternoon and I’ll let you know what we find out. I went through the archived articles in the local papers last night and didn’t find anything, but I have the feeling there may be more unreported incidents out there. Is there anyone local that might know something?” M.J. asked.
Dodd thought for a moment and said, “There’s an older woman who lives in the village. Her name is Olive Coppin and she’s lived here all of her life. I’ve met her several times at community meetings. She’s in her late eighties, but still very sharp and knows just about everything that’s ever happened in Great Falls. If you want, I can give her a call and set up a meeting for you.”
“I’d appreciate that. Any time tomorrow would be fine,” M.J. said.
“Will do, Dodd replied. “I’ll let you know the time when I talk to you tomorrow.”
M.J. drove to Anacostia Station. The message light on her desk phone was blinking. There were two messages: one from Zerk, the other from Dr. Martin, the Medical Examiner. She called Zerk first.
“Hi Zerk. What do you have for me?” M.J. asked.
“Got the results back from the DNA lab on the blood on the dog’s teeth,” he said. “No matches in the database. Oh, and the technician said that the blood sample looked like it might have been corrupted somehow, maybe from the dog’s saliva.”
“Damn!” M.J. said. “Anything else?”
“Not much,” Zerk said. “Took a lot of pictures. I’ll send you a set for your file. Got some fingerprints off the bottles lying on the trail, but they’re all the same and I’d bet they match those of the victim. No footprints; same as last time.”
“Thanks, Zerk. Let me know if you come up with anything else,” she said.
She called Dr. Martin.
“Hello Doctor, this is Detective Powers. What did you find?” she asked.
“Well, we did the autopsy this morning. The victim died from the same kind of trauma that killed the boys last year,” he said, “the ‘hangman’s fracture’, if you recall. Also the killer was most likely right-handed, same as before. There were some marks and abrasions where the killer grabbed the victim’s head, but nothing very useful.”
“What about the dog? Was her neck broken too?” M.J. asked.
“No, she died differently. I had a veterinarian come in and take a look. It appears that she was picked up and thrown into the rock wall with such force that it broke her spine,” he said.
“Would that be a quick death?” M.J. asked for her own sake.
“Definitely. She wouldn’t have known what hit her. We saw some blood stains on her teeth and the report says you took a DNA sample. Any luck?” Dr. Martin asked.
“Unfortunately, no. The lab said there was no match and that the sample may have been contaminated with the dog’s saliva,” M.J. replied.
“Well, that’s certainly possible,” Dr. Martin said. “Anyway, I’m going to release the bodies today.”
“The mortuary will be picking them both up,” M.J. said. “Oh, and Doctor, I have another question not related to these murders but to the case in general.”
“Sure. What is it?” he asked.
&n
bsp; “I’ve got two deaths that were called accidental at the time, but I think they may have actually been homicides. Would your office have performed autopsies in such cases?” she asked.
“We generally don’t do autopsies unless the cause of death is suspicious,” Dr. Martin replied. “If these were treated as accidental, it’s very doubtful that an autopsy was requested. If the bodies were buried, you could always try to get an exhumation order. If you’re looking for neck trauma like the other cases, we could probably still make some type of determination if the bodies are in good enough shape.”
“I’d have to check on that, but one of the bodies was in the Potomac for two weeks,” M.J. said.
“Probably better take that one off the exhumation list,” Dr. Martin said. “After being in the water that long, we’re lucky to even be able to identify a body as being human remains. Between the catfish and the snapping turtles, there’s just not much left to examine.”
“I see,” said M.J. “Thanks again for your help.”
Next, she called Dodd and filled him in on the results of the autopsy and DNA test.
“Doesn’t sound very encouraging, M.J.,” he said.
“Well, it does pretty well confirm that we’re dealing with the same killer, but I think we’d already figured that out,” she said. “By the way, the M.E. has released the bodies, so you might want to let the mortuary know.”
“I’ll do that. Also, I got in touch with Olive Coppin. She can see you tomorrow morning around nine. Stop by here in the morning and I’ll give you directions to her house,” Dodd said, adding, “She wanted to know what it was about and I just told her you were investigating some things and I thought she might be able to help.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” M.J. said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE NEXT MORNING, M.J. went to the park early and took a long run. She showered and changed into her regular clothes, then stopped by Dodd’s office.
“Good morning, M.J.,” he said. “Mrs. Coppin lives at 700 Ellsworth Avenue. It’s in the old part of Great Falls. Second street on the right after you pass through the stoplight in the village.”
On the corner of Dodd’s desk was a pile of clothes, a pair of hiking shoes and the case containing the Navy Cross medal. He pointed to them and said, “I got those out of Doc’s things to take to the mortuary. Do you think they’re OK?” he asked.
“They’re just fine. That’s the way he dressed every day,” M.J. replied. “Just a minute, I need to get something.”
She went to her car, reached into the back seat and took out Lola’s blue scarf, which she had left there two days before. She went back into Dodd’s office and placed the scarf on top of the pile of Doc’s clothing.
“Would you ask them to put this around Lola’s neck and just knot it loosely,” she said.
“I sure will, M.J. I’m probably going to take the stuff over there later this morning when I take them the paperwork for the casket and burial,” Dodd said.
“I’ll let you know how things go with Mrs. Coppin,” M.J. said.
When M.J. arrived at the house, a 1950s-style brick ranch, Olive Coppin was plucking weeds from the front garden. She was wearing a cotton sun dress and sturdy sandals.
She took off her work gloves, walked over to M.J.’s car and shook her hand. “Hi, I’m Ollie,” she said. “Dodd said you’d be coming by. My, you’re a pretty young thing.”
“Well, thank you Mrs. Coppin,” M.J. replied.
“Oh, please call me Ollie,” she said. “Let’s go out on the back porch and talk there. I made some coffee if you’d like some, or I can make tea if you’d like.”
“Coffee’s fine, Ollie,” M.J. said.
Ollie Coppin didn’t look her age. Maybe mid-seventies, but certainly not late eighties. She was around five feet six inches tall and very trim. Her hair was silver and M.J. suspected from the cut that she took some pride in her appearance. Her voice was pleasantly high-pitched, almost lilting, and she smiled when she spoke. She reminded M.J. of her grandmother.
They walked through the living room to the kitchen, where Ollie poured a cup of coffee for each of them. The screened-in porch ran the full width of the back of the house and was shaded by two large oak trees. It was furnished with wicker furniture and there were planters containing ferns in each corner.
“So, how can I be of help?” Ollie asked.
“Well, I’m investigating some murders that occurred last year and just recently on Difficult Run. We believe they may be the work of the same person and Dodd has been helping me look for any suspicious accidents or disappearances that may have occurred in the past. We think it’s possible this person may have committed other murders that went undetected. We thought you might know about some incidents that we may have missed,” M.J. said.
“Well, I read about those boys that were found last year and someone said that a homeless man had been found on Monday. Are those the ones you’re investigating?” Ollie asked.
“Yes, they are,” M.J. replied. “One of the suspicious incidents we’ve found so far involved a man from here in Great Falls named Dewey McGarrity. Did you know him?” she asked.
“Sure. All of us old-timers knew Dewey. He was our resident naturalist,” Ollie replied. “For what it’s worth, by the way, I never did buy that business about him falling and breaking his neck. Dewey was about as sure-footed a person as I ever met and he was down in Great Falls Park almost every day, a lot of times on Difficult Run. He probably knew that trail as well as the walk up to his house.”
“Is he buried here in Great Falls?” M.J. asked.
“Oh, Heavens no!” Ollie replied. “Dewey would never want to pollute the earth with his embalmed remains. As he requested in his will, he was cremated and his ashes were scattered just below the falls.”
So much for exhuming that body, M.J. thought. “Can you think of any other suspicious incidents on Difficult Run?” she asked.
“Well, for whatever reason, there have always been strange happenings down there. How far back do you want to go?” Ollie asked.
“We looked at records going back to 2000, but we’d be interested in anything before that too,” M.J. said.
“Let me see,” Ollie said, “there was one in 1996, as I recall. A local handyman named Curt Wiley. He spent most of his evenings drinking with his buddies at the bar in the Old Brogue—that’s our local pub. Well, when it came time to pay the bill he reached for his wallet and it was missing. He’d been hiking that afternoon on Difficult Run and figured it must have dropped out of his pocket. He told his friends to cover his tab, that he was going to go look for it and he’d pay them back. So he left—it was probably around nine or ten o’clock—and headed for Difficult Run. He didn’t come back that night and the next morning they found his car in the Difficult Run parking lot. When his friends went looking for him, they found his wallet and a flashlight beside it on the trail, but no sign of him. They notified the police, but they figured he must have fallen in the stream and been swept away into the Potomac. I suppose the fact that he’d been drinking probably influenced their thinking on that score.”
“Did they ever find his body?” M.J. asked.
“No, they didn’t. But you probably know about the currents and how they sometimes pin bodies to the bottom and they never surface,” Ollie replied.
“What time of year was this?” M.J. asked.
“It seems to me it was in the spring because they said the stream was pretty high and running very fast due to the rain,” Ollie replied.
“Any others that you can recall?” M.J. asked.
“Well the only ones I would know about would involve people who lived in Great Falls, unless there was something in one of the newspapers,” Ollie said. “The only other one that comes to mind right now occurred a long time ago, and when I say ‘long’ I mean well before you were born and maybe even before your parents were born.”
“What year would that have been?” M.J. asked.
/> “1942,” she replied.
M.J. smiled and said, “That’s a little outside the time range we’re looking at, but please tell me anyway.”
“Well, that was back when the land was still privately owned and there was actually a road that ran along Difficult Run where the trail is now—big enough to drive a car on,” Ollie began. “There was a little cabin down at the end—close to where the stream spills into the Potomac—that belonged to a family named Murphy that lived here in Great Falls—it was actually called Forestville in those days. The cabin had been in the family for years. Well, anyway, the whole family—they had two young daughters—was down at the cabin one night, just enjoying the beginning of spring weather I guess, when Mr. Murphy thought he heard something outside and went to investigate. He took a kerosene lantern and started walking down the road toward the river. Mrs. Murphy and the girls just stayed inside because it was raining pretty hard. Well, when Mr. Murphy had been gone for a good long while, his wife went out to look for him. She saw the lantern down the road and thought it was him, but when she called out, he didn’t answer. She walked down a way and saw the lantern lying in the road but didn’t see him anywhere. She became frightened and ran back to the cabin, grabbed the girls and took off in the car to find help.
Ollie continued, “She got ahold of the Fairfax County Police, but they had only been in existence for a couple of years and didn’t have but two or three officers. By the time they arrived, it was near daybreak. When they went down the road they saw Mr. Murphy’s footprints going from the cabin toward the river. Then they found the lantern and, because of all the mud, they were able to see some other footprints that seemed to come from the hill on the north side of the road. At that point, Mr. Murphy’s footprints turned toward the stream. If I recall, they said it looked like he was running. In any event, there was no sign of Mr. Murphy.”