The Girl in the Woods

by Chris Culver

  “Oh.”

  I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and then blinked.

  “It’s not like that for everybody. You’ll probably be different. I hope you are.”

  We said nothing for a few minutes.

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, I remembered the pint of vodka I had poured onto the street earlier. Booze would have made that question easier to answer.

  “I don’t know,” I said, blinking. “I pretend to be.”

  June’s voice was soft. “Your life doesn’t seem so bad from where I’m sitting.”

  “I’m a borderline alcoholic who drinks alone most nights of the week, and I push away everybody in my life but my parents and my dog. I’m trying to be happy, but I’m not great at it yet. Let’s talk about something else.”

  We said nothing for another minute. When we spoke again, the conversation was lighter. We talked about television—she liked The Bachelor—and about books and music. June hadn’t told her parents about what had happened to her yet, but she promised she would. Her mom and dad would help her through this. I had no advice to give her, but I hoped she’d be okay.

  At a little after ten, she got out of my truck and walked to her sorority. She wasn’t sober yet, but she was close. I put my car in gear and drove home, where I found Roger waiting on the porch for me. He lifted his head but didn’t get up. His bowl of food lay beside him untouched.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” I said. “Not hungry?”

  His eyebrows moved, and his tail thumped once against the ground. I scratched him behind the ears and then unlocked my front door. The two of us walked inside, where he lay down on his bed beside the fireplace. I poured myself a glass of straight vodka and sat on the couch without bothering to turn on the light. The moon outside was bright enough. Besides, some things are best done in the dark.

  I sipped the drink and felt it slide down my throat. Then I opened my laptop and visited Facebook. Mark, my college boyfriend, and I were friends on Facebook, but we never spoke. I looked him up and found dozens of pictures of him with his wife and daughter. In every single picture, they looked happier than I’d ever felt.

  I tried to pretend that was me standing beside him, that I was smiling and holding a beautiful little girl, but even my fantasy rang hollow and false. I didn’t have a husband or a baby. I’d liked Mark when we were dating, but even then I’d had no illusions about our relationship. He was a sweet guy who had made me laugh, but I had never dreamed of spending my life with him. My life didn’t have room for dreams.

  When Christopher Hughes raped me, he stole my naiveté and what remained of my childhood. He showed me how cruel the world could be. I hated him. He made me stronger than I might have otherwise been, but the cost was too high for what I got.

  I finished my drink and thought back to my conversation with June. My answer had been honest. I wasn’t happy, but if I kept trying, maybe I would be one day. For now, that hope kept me going. Some days, it was all I had.

  23

  Roger was at the end of the bed, still snoring, when my alarm clock went off the next morning. I rolled over, turned it off, and blinked to let my eyes adjust to the morning light. All things considered, I didn’t feel too bad. I had a lot of work ahead of me, but I could do it. As I swung my legs off the bed a moment later, Roger lifted his head and put it back down.

  “Don’t get up on my account, bud,” I said. He blinked but didn’t get up. I patted his side as I walked by and felt his ribs expand and contract as he breathed. At his age and with his health, he deserved to sleep in. “You’re a good boy. Mommy loves you.”

  It was still early, so I didn’t shower yet. Instead, I did yoga in my living room. Since I had never put in fancy window shades and I was just wearing my pajamas, I flashed the wildlife when my T-shirt bunched around my neck while doing the downward dog pose. The squirrels didn’t seem to mind.

  Afterwards, I showered and poured Roger’s breakfast into his bowl in the living room. The kibble hit with a familiar rattling noise, and Roger came sauntering in to smell what I had given him. Just as he had last night, he didn’t touch the food. This morning, though, he didn’t touch his water, either. It looked like clean water, but he had a better nose than I did. I dumped the water out in case he smelled something off in it and replaced it with fresh stuff. Still, he didn’t touch it.

  I knelt beside him. He lifted his face to look at me with sad eyes. His torso trembled.

  “You okay, buddy?”

  He put his head down, and I ran a hand across his chest and back. He licked his lips but didn’t otherwise move.

  “You didn’t eat dinner or breakfast, dude. How about a treat? You want a treat?”

  He perked up a little, so I smiled and patted his haunches before going back to the kitchen. Dog treats from the store were expensive, so I made Roger my own treats by drying slices of sweet potatoes in the oven. He liked them, they were healthy for him, and they were cheap. Everybody won. I got the bag from the freezer. The sound of crinkling plastic usually made him come running with his mouth open, but he stayed in the living room. I got him a treat anyway. The moment he saw me, Roger raised his head but didn’t move.

  I stayed in the opening that led to my kitchen.

  “Come here, buddy,” I said. “I’ve got a treat.”

  Roger lumbered to his feet and came. I handed him the sweet potato, which he put into his mouth but didn’t chew.

  “Come on, dude,” I said, feeling a catch in my throat. “You’ve got to eat it.”

  Instead, he carried it back to his bed and put it beside him as he lay down again. My shoulders dropped, and I sighed without thinking.

  The vet’s office didn’t open until eight, but I called the office line anyway hoping someone had come in early. Nobody had, so I left a voicemail letting them know I planned to bring Roger in. Then I called my boss.

  “Harry, it’s Joe. I get you at home, or are you at work?”

  “In the car,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll be late coming in. Roger’s sick, and I need to take him by the vet’s office. You know if Shaun Deveraux has made any progress on my search warrant?”

  “He’s in Clayton right now with the St. Louis County Prosecutor’s Office. They’ve got a hearing this morning. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  At least I had something productive to do today.

  “Good. And I assume Aldon McKenzie hasn’t showed up to confess to his wife’s murder in the night or I would have gotten a phone call.”

  Harry paused. “Mr. McKenzie is dead. His body got snagged on some debris in the Mississippi River near Cape Girardeau. Barge captain saw the body this morning and called it in. George Delgado’s already on his way down.”

  Cape Girardeau was a college town on the Mississippi River about sixty miles south of St. Augustine. I rarely visited, but it seemed like a nice place.

  “Cause of death?” I asked.

  “Gunshot wound.”

  I nodded to myself, thinking. “Laura Rojas had a list of people in her briefcase. Aldon was on top of the list. If he’s dead, we should check the other names on that list, too, to make sure they’re still alive.”

  Harry paused again. “What kind of list was this?”

  “A bad one to be on.”

  I gave Harry the names and hung up. I had been working Laura’s murder for days now, and I knew little more than I had when I started. That needed to change soon. We had three bodies already—Laura Rojas, Jennifer McKenzie, and Aldon McKenzie—and I didn’t want to get a fourth. That was a worry for later.

  I put the phone down on an end table and sat beside my dog.

  “Please eat, buddy,” I said, stroking his fur. He put his head between his front paws and looked at me. He almost looked like he was pleading with me. “I’m taking you to the doctor. You’ll feel better soon. He’ll put you on some medicine, and you’ll be good again. Don’t worry.”

>   He raised his eyebrows, which was a good sign, I thought. He had moved, at least. At ten to eight, I grabbed a leash and led Roger to the truck. He got in and sat down in the cab beside me. The vet’s office wasn’t far, so I got there as the vet was opening for the day. He held the door for me as I led Roger inside.

  “I’m glad you brought him in,” he said, kneeling in front of Roger in the lobby. He petted Roger’s cheek and lifted his jowls to see his gums and teeth. Afterwards, Dr. Johnson tried to hand him a treat, but Roger wasn’t interested. The vet scratched Roger’s cheek and focused on me. “So he’s not eating, huh?”

  “He hasn’t been eating well for a while, but last night, he stopped,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s been a little slower than usual, so I thought he was tired. The total lack of eating is scary.”

  “Has he been drinking?”

  “A little,” I said. “I’ve been at work in the day, but I put out water for him while I’m gone. On most days, he visits my neighbor when I’m at work. She gives him water, too. Today, he wouldn’t drink anything.”

  “Any vomiting?”

  I shook my head.

  “No.”

  “Does he go to the bathroom okay?”

  I hesitated. “Yeah. I think so, at least. I usually consider that his business. He goes in the woods.”

  Dr. Johnson nodded and considered.

  “When you are home with him, does he ever seem confused?”

  “No. He’s more tired than anything else,” I said. “When I get home, I try to play with him, but he’s not into it. I throw him tennis balls, but he doesn’t want to chase them. Then I gave him a new rawhide bone, but he doesn’t want to chew that. He’s a good boy, and he walks around the yard, but he doesn’t even like walking to Susanne’s house anymore, and he loves Susanne.”

  “We’ll run tests to see what we’ve got going on,” said the vet, nodding. His voice was low and almost somber. “If you don’t mind, I’ll keep Roger for the day. You okay with that?”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unable to find a position that felt comfortable.

  “He’s okay, isn’t he?” I asked. “I mean, he looks healthy. He’s happy, I think.”

  “He looks happy,” said Dr. Johnson, his voice gentle. “I’ve got food for him here. He’s allergic to chicken, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It makes him fart so much I have to leave the house.”

  “I remember,” said the vet, smiling at me. “Don’t worry. My staff and I will take good care of him. And I’ll call you this evening.”

  “Okay,” I said, kneeling down in front of Roger. He lifted his head to look at me. “Buddy, I have to leave you here. Okay? You be a good boy. Mommy loves you.”

  He didn’t understand what that meant, but he thumped his tail on the ground before lowering his head again. I patted him on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “I’ll have my cell phone on. If you need anything, call me.”

  He said he would, and I stepped outside into the morning light. A steady stream of cars passed on the road in front of the office as commuters made their way toward the interstate. A heavy pit weighed down my stomach, and my throat had tightened so that I could barely breathe.

  As I walked back to my truck, my cell phone rang. It was Harry, but he could wait a minute. The muscles of my jaw ached from my clenched teeth, and heat radiated from my skin. I turned on my car and blasted the air conditioning to high. Then I forced myself to take deep breaths before I answered.

  “Hey, Joe, it’s Harry. Listen, Shaun Deveraux came through with the warrant. He’s negotiating to have an attorney to go through Laura Rojas’s files now. In the meantime, you should be able to get into her office.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, boss.”

  Harry paused. “You okay?”

  I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and nodded, grateful he couldn’t see me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Councilman Rogers warned me against using my personal vehicle for official business. We have any cruisers free at the station?”

  “If we don’t, I’ll find something for you.”

  “Okay,” I said, drawing in a breath. “I’ll be in.”

  After hanging up, I took a couple more deep breaths and stayed put until my truck’s aging air conditioner put out cold air. It didn’t make me feel better, but at least I felt as if I were in better control of myself. I closed my eyes.

  “Everything’s fine, Joe. Everything’s just fine.”

  Before putting my truck in gear, I looked back over my shoulder at Dr. Johnson’s office.

  “See you tonight, Roger.”

  I drove to work after that, but I left my heart in my vet’s office. I hoped I hadn’t seen my best friend for the last time.

  24

  True to Harry’s word, the department had a marked police cruiser waiting for me when I got to the office. I signed it out and headed north toward Mehlville. When I got to Laura’s office, Detective Blatch was already outside waiting for me. He had a couple days’ worth of growth on his chin and bags under his eyes. His mouth opened in a wide yawn as I opened my door.

  “Morning, Detective,” I said. “You look like you pulled an all-nighter.”

  He grunted. “I did. Duke Trevino’s alibi checked out. He was drunk in a holding cell in Jefferson City at the time your victim died.”

  I almost smiled. Councilman Rogers and his cronies wouldn’t like hearing that, so I looked forward to telling them.

  “Did you find Laura’s fingerprints on any of the weed we found in her closet?”

  He shook his head.

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t find fingerprints on the murder weapon, either.”

  Blatch lowered his chin. “He’s a convicted drug dealer, and the weapon was beneath his mattress. He was a good suspect. I had good reason to pick him up.”

  “I agree,” I said, nodding. “Laura’s actual killer probably thought the same thing when he framed him.”

  Blatch looked to the office. “It’s elaborate for a frame.”

  “It is, but it’s a good explanation for the evidence we have.”

  Blatch considered and then swore under his breath.

  “I hate that you’re probably right.”

  “I get that a lot,” I said, winking as I walked to the office. It was closed, so I took out my cell phone and called Tina Babcock, Laura’s former assistant.

  “Rojas and Associates,” she said. “We’re closed at the moment, but if you tell me what you need, I can refer you to another attorney.”

  I furrowed my brow and looked down at the shadow cast on the sidewalk by the overhead awning.

  “Do you get a referral fee for sending clients to other attorneys?” I asked. “Is that why you’re still answering the phone for Rojas and Associates, Ms. Babcock?”

  Babcock sighed. “It’s you again. Like I told you before, I’m not interested in answering any of your questions unless you’ve got a search warrant. Good day, Detective.”

  “I’ve got a warrant.”

  Babcock hesitated. “I need to see it before I can talk.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m outside your office with Detective Mathias Blatch of the St. Louis County Police Department right now. I’ll give you ten minutes before I pick the lock and go inside. Sound good to you?”

  I didn’t wait for her to respond before hanging up. Blatch whistled and then chuckled.

  “You’re mean in the morning.”

  “It’s been a long morning,” I said. “I’ll get coffee at the Waffle House. You want anything?”

  He shook his head, so I left him in front of the office and walked to the restaurant, where I ordered a large cup of coffee to go. The caffeine would do me some good. Since it was hot outside, I stayed in the restaurant and watched the parking lot. Tina Babcock’s white Kia Optima pulled in about ten minutes later, so I walked out to meet her. She read through the warrant.

  “This s
ays the court will appoint a special master to search our files.”

  I nodded. “That’s the plan. In the meantime, I need to search her desk. We won’t read Laura’s files, but she’ll have personal items, I’m sure. If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to ask you a few questions, too.”

  She hesitated. “I’ll answer what I can, but I’m still limited by attorney-client privilege.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Now please open the door. It’s hot as hell out here.”

  Babcock nodded and let us in. The office had a musty aroma, and the wooden furniture looked well used. There were file boxes stacked along the rear wall and three desks inside. Babcock sat at the desk nearest the front window and crossed her arms while I looked around.

  “There are three desks,” I said. “You have one, and Laura has one. Who has the third?”

  She swung around on her chair and nodded to a desk adorned with a dead houseplant.

  “It came with the office,” she said. “Laura talked about hiring a partner, but we never got around to it.”

  I nodded. “Was she a good lawyer?”

  Babcock paused, but then she nodded. “She was learning the ropes, and she had talent. She was an idealist, though. That makes the job hard.”

  “What kind of idealistic things did she believe in?” asked Detective Blatch.

  Babcock shrugged. “The shit they fill your head with in law school. She wanted to change the world. Instead, she helped couples file for divorce for three hundred bucks each.”

  “Let’s talk about her caseload,” I said. “What was she working on?”

  Babcock opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a planner.

  “Laura liked to keep a lot of balls in the air,” she said, flipping through pages. “The day before she died, she met a client about setting up a trust for his daughters. Before that, she helped a couple file for divorce.”

  “Did she do any criminal law?” asked Blatch.

  “Some. DUI defense and the occasional drug charge,” said Babcock, crossing her arms. “Is that a problem?”