Mary Jane's Grave

by Stacy Dittrich

  Could it be a coincidence? I didn’t think so, but I had to remind myself that anyone wanting to toss a clue to investigators could’ve written M for Mary Jane only, not knowing about the others. I noted this in my file as Coop came striding in.

  “Anything yet?” he asked. My clenched jaw was my response. “Oops, I guess not,” he noted, then pretended to back out of the room.

  “So what are you up to?” I asked, closing the file.

  “Getting ready to leave. Naomi has her monthly checkup this afternoon, so I’m taking off early.”

  Last year, during the Carl James Malone case, Naomi’s skull had been severely fractured. Now she had to have monthly exams to ensure that her neurological system kept working properly.

  “Everything okay with her? No problems?” I hadn’t asked in a while and I felt bad.

  “Nah.” He waved off my question. “She’s as good as gold. Sometimes she jokes around with me, though. The other day we were eating dinner and she looked right at me and said, ‘What’s my name?’ I’m telling you, Cee, she scared the shit out of me.”

  I laughed loudly. We had all been tense when Naomi was in the hospital, but she had come through as good as new and with an even better sense of humor, apparently.

  When Coop left, I tried the lab again. Bob told me if I called one more time he’d take the final results, when they came in, and stick them up his ass, and I’d have to climb in and grab them if I wanted them that badly.

  Wearily, I shook my head as I hung up, then looked at my watch. I had an hour to kill, a rare phenomenon.

  Grabbing my bag and keys, I decided to have a look at Malabar Farm. It would probably take me less than an hour, and then I’d sneak home early. It was Eric and Jordan’s time to take the girls, so I had to get them packed and ready to be picked up.

  On the way down to Malabar Farm, I realized I hadn’t heard from Michael all day, which was unusual. I tried to call his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. I hoped he wasn’t trying to avoid me so he could give me more bad news in person at home. Actually, I didn’t know how things could get much worse.

  When I pulled into the long paved drive leading into the farm property, I was again struck with how inviting and picturesque it was. Certainly, it wasn’t your typical site for a ghost hunt. The Bromfield House, or “mansion,” as it were, sat high up on a hill to my right. The Malabar Agricultural Library sat on my left, across from the Malabar Hostel, and the Ceely Rose House was ahead around a large curve. I parked in front of it and got out, my camera in hand, ready to shoot anything that looked interesting.

  It was a simple two-story, white aluminum-sided house with dark green wooden shutters. I walked onto the front porch and tried to open the door, but it was locked. I took a couple of photographs and looked up at the window where, according to local legend, the ghost resides. Seeing nothing but the reflection of a large maple tree that stood beside it, I packed up my camera and headed home.

  On my way, I tried to call Michael several times, but there was no answer. So I was somewhat surprised to see his car in the driveway when I got home.

  “Hi, Michael. I’m back!” I called. I heard the shower running, so I quickly packed the girls’ things and got them ready to go. Jordan would be there in fifteen minutes to pick them up.

  Michael came outside just as Jordan was pulling in. He gave the girls a quick hug and a kiss on their cheeks before going back inside. He hadn’t said a word to me, and I didn’t much like the foreboding that was growing inside me. I kept it together while I helped Jordan put the suitcases in the car and said good- bye to the girls.

  Then I marched right back into the house and found Michael in his office, looking out the window at Jordan’s car as it drove down the street.

  “Michael?” I said, but he didn’t respond. “Michael, are you okay? Is this about last night?”

  He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sit down, Cee.” His voice was quiet and held a note of sadness.

  Apprehensive and on edge, I sat on the couch. “Oh God…What now, Michael?”

  He sat next to me. “I had these served on me today.” He reached over to the table beside the couch and grabbed a set of papers, handing them to me.

  The papers were a temporary motion filed by Vanessa to revoke all Sean’s visits, pending the outcome of the custody case. A judge had signed the papers, which now meant Michael couldn’t see Sean until the matter was resolved, which could take months, if not a full year.

  I’d been wrong thinking things couldn’t get any worse. I felt the familiar lump in my throat rise and a jolt through my stomach. Next came the tears.

  “Did you call your attorney?” I whispered.

  He nodded and cleared his throat. “He’s trying to get the hearing date pushed up so we can take care of this sooner.” He bowed his head and spoke softly. “She won’t even let me talk to him on the phone, Cee.”

  I felt so many simultaneous emotions I wanted to throw my head back and scream. I was sad, angry and devastated, but most of all, I was torn into little pieces by Michael’s anguish. I pulled him into an embrace, and we just held each other for several minutes.

  “Michael,” I said, while stroking his hair, “I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezed me harder. “I don’t know how I’m sup-posed to go for months without seeing him. I can’t do it.”

  I wanted to tell Michael that this could easily be solved if we just bumped off Vanessa, but I didn’t think he’d be amused—especially since I was only half kidding.

  After barely eating dinner, Michael went to bed early, emotionally wiped out. I stayed up and finished an entire bottle of wine, which did nothing but add to my own emotional imbalance. Then I headed to bed.

  The next morning when I woke up, I was astonished to see that Michael was gone. I’d thought I’d heard him earlier but was too sleepy to call out to him. He obviously hadn’t fallen asleep and decided to head to work early.

  Hungover and depressed, I was looking forward to working all day about as much as standing in front of an oncoming eighteen- wheeler. And then the day really turned to crap when the phone rang. Vanessa.

  “Hi, CeeCee!” She sounded upbeat.

  I began to shake. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling here. As far as I’m concerned any communication will be done through the courts, and you are not welcome to call my home again!”

  “Now, now. Let’s be fair. You know how you can end this,” she chastened me, the lilt still in her voice.

  I imagined a number of ways I could eliminate Vanessa—permanently—from our otherwise happy lives, then decided to see where she was heading with this. “Really? How’s that?” I was sarcastic.

  “I’ll tell you, but you need to listen carefully.”

  I should’ve hung up, but didn’t. “I’m listening, Vanessa.”

  “First of all, he won’t win. You both need to realize that up front. My brother knows the domestic relations judge well. They’re tight. Shall I say more?” she goaded.

  “How can you do this to your son?” I demanded.

  “I’m not doing anything to my son because I know you’re going to go along with me. He’ll see his father.”

  I was confused. She had me so shaken that each of my two million nerves seemed to stand on end. I knew that to continue a conversation with her would likely be a game of Russian roulette so I bit back my reply and waited silently.

  “I’m assuming you’re there, CeeCee, so I’ll finish. The only way Michael will see his son again is if you break it off with him, and I mean entirely. No relationship, no living together, and clearly no wedding.” She snorted. “I know you won’t tell him this, because if you do, I’ll tie this up in court for years. Do you hear me? Years! If you really love Michael, you’ll quit being so goddamn selfish and let him go. For his son.”

  She waited for a response, then, getting none, continued, “As soon as I get word that you two are kaput, I’ll let Michael see Sean. And don’t even thin
k about trying to sneak around behind my back because I’ll refile the motion. Again, you’re going to do it in a way where he’ll never know this conversation took place. I’m waiting for an answer.”

  She had me, and I could’ve died right there in my kitchen. I had to suppress the urge to threaten her life, but I had no other choice. She was probably recording the conversation in case I did, editing out the blackmailing part, of course.

  Once again, I was being faced with giving up Michael, and this time, I didn’t think I would be able to cope. It was me or his son. I thought back to Michael in his office and how devastated he was, and I knew I couldn’t see him like that again. Sean was his whole world.

  “If I do this,” I said, trying to ignore the voice within that was yelling Wimp! Tell her to go to hell!, “you’ll let Michael see Sean?”

  “Yes, of course I will.”

  I paused. “Give me a few days, and it’s done.”

  I slammed down the phone, and then I lost it. I cried so hard I thought I’d pass out. I was screaming and berating myself for putting off the wedding, because if I hadn’t, we’d already be married and she’d have a tough time trying to coerce me into giving up the man I loved. I didn’t think I’d be able to face Michael and tell him it was over, but I had to. Vanessa had left me no other choice.

  It took me a long time to get myself together. Even then, I felt dazed as I drove to work. When Michael called just as I was pulling into the police department parking lot, I said, “I can’t talk,” and hung up. This was not like me at all, and he had to know something was wrong.

  I wouldn’t have believed it, but when I got to my office, Naomi was waiting for me. And yes, she had more news to ruin my day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I hope you didn’t have anything planned today, because guess what we get to do?” Her sarcastic tone told me something unpleasant was coming.

  “Let’s have it,” I grumbled, throwing my bag and keys on my desk.

  “The storage room is being sprayed. Sooo, we have to move all the boxes of old files over to this building. After that, we have to go through all of this year’s boxes and pull the reports that haven’t been scanned onto the computer yet and give them to records. I have a list.” She flopped into a chair and sighed. “Needless to say, it’s going to take us all day. Coop’s gonna help.”

  I couldn’t deal with this today. “Why do we have to do it? Thirty clerks in the records department have nothing to do all day.”

  “So said the sheriff, that’s why. Some of those cases are confidential, and he wants us to do it. Not to mention, some were never closed out, so we have to see which ones need to be.” She stood up to leave. “If you have something that needs to be done with any of your cases today, let me know and I’ll assign one of the other detectives to do it. I’ll meet you at the storeroom in a little while. If you want to go home and throw some jeans on, feel free.”

  I put my face in my hands and felt like crying again. I should’ve called in sick. I hadn’t taken a sick day in more than ten years, and if ever I needed one, today was the day.

  I took Naomi’s advice and went home to change my clothes. I threw on an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with a T-shirt underneath, in case it was warm in the storeroom. I had been in the storeroom before, and it was filthy.

  My head was cloudy all day. I felt like a robot: lifting boxes, sorting through files, checking off lists. Nothing seemed real. Every time I thought about going home and facing Michael, I got downright ill. Naomi and Coop noticed. Both asked me what was wrong several times throughout the day. I told them I had a headache and didn’t feel well. I wasn’t lying.

  At the end of the day, we weren’t finished with all the files yet. Naomi said we’d finish them tomorrow.

  “I’ll stay and finish them,” I volunteered.

  Naomi looked at me strangely. “That’s okay, go home. You said you weren’t feeling well, and quite frankly, you don’t look so good. We’ll have them finished by late morning.”

  “Really, it’s not a problem.” I didn’t want to make too much of an issue of it. “The girls are with Eric, and Michael will be late…I’ve got things to do tomorrow with my case, and I’m feeling much better, so go. I’ll take care of it.” I produced a halfhearted smile.

  Naomi kept looking at me, her eyes narrowing. “CeeCee, I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay at home?”

  I rolled my eyes and kept my smile. “Yes, things are fine. Not to worry. Shoo!”

  That was the downfall of being a cop; you had to work with other cops and it was hard to get something past them.

  I called Michael and prayed I would get his voice mail. I was in luck. I told him not to wait up for me. I would be very late. I tried my best to sound normal, but even hearing his voice on the message stirred my emotions. I couldn’t face him until I thought of a reason to break it off. Otherwise he would know immediately something was wrong, and he’d start badgering me about it.

  I took my time with the remaining files. I went so slow, it was after midnight when I finally crossed the last file number off the list. I was exhausted. Michael should be asleep by now, and as tired as I was, I would be asleep within minutes when I got home.

  As I predicted, he was asleep. After I took a quick shower, I set my alarm two hours early so I could be gone by the time he woke up. I wasn’t allowing myself much time for sleep, but I couldn’t face him.

  I felt just as dreary as the day before when Naomi called me on my way into the office. “You need to go down to the grave first thing. I’ll meet you there.” She sounded out of breath.

  “Why?”

  “It’s nasty. Apparently, the township was mowing the cemetery this morning when they found a dead dog. Not a big deal, except this dog was completely skinned and supposedly has a bunch of ritualistic crap around it.” I heard the beep, beep, beep as she opened her car door. “By the way, I can’t believe you finished all that last night. Thanks.”

  “Naomi, why are we going down there? It’s just a dog that was probably mutilated by some sicko fascinated with the murders. It’s not a person.”

  “You’re probably right, but we should at least look at it and snap a few pictures.” Her car was now accelerating; she was on the move.

  “All right, I’ll see you in a few,” I conceded, while I made a U-turn.

  On my way down to the grave, my cell phone rang. I saw Michael’s number, so I didn’t answer it. After a few minutes, the ring from my voice mail went off. I listened to the message:

  “Hey, baby, it’s me. I’m getting ready to leave and was just wondering when you’re going to be home to night, since I haven’t seen you in a couple of days. I really miss you, and I love you. Have a good day.”

  My chest went into a spasm, and for a moment I had my phone in my hand ready to call Vanessa and tell her to take her deal and stick it right up the farthest reaches of her ass.

  But I remembered that Michael had once told me that her brother, a Cleveland Police officer, was married to a judge’s daughter, a domestic relations judge. Her brother had probably told his father- in- law over dinner what a horrible person I was. No doubt the judge’s mind was already made up before the hearings even began. Typical of our justice system. It was nothing but a farce. Phone calls were made, money was passed, judges and juries were prejudiced, all of it happened every day. I put my phone down and fought back the impending tears. Michael had sacrificed everything for me, and now it was my turn to make the mother of all sacrifices—our relationship and future marriage.

  I parked next to Naomi’s car in front of the gate to the cemetery. I saw her and several township employees standing around a white mass in front of the pine tree. I was only a few feet away when I could clearly see the burn marks on the dog’s skinned body. Burn marks that matched Kari Sutter’s and Danielle Horton’s.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled as I took in the entire scene.

  The dog was lying in a red circle
, presumably its own blood, with its own skin torn up in pieces next to the carcass, forming a crude M. Flies had already come and gone, so the maggots were feasting away. One of the township workers looked like he might vomit.

  “I’ll get the crime lab down here.” Naomi sighed, as she turned and walked toward her car.

  I got all of the township employees’ names, looked at their shoes and asked where in the cemetery they had been. Then I sent them away and declared the area a crime scene—for the third time this month.

  Waiting for the lab techs to arrive, I started walking the perimeter of the cemetery and came across something that hadn’t been found in the earlier crime scenes: a footprint. It wasn’t one of the employees’ prints, and it was also very fresh.

  “Naomi!” I called over my shoulder. “Bring me a flag, a ruler and a camera!”

  Naomi fumbled around in her trunk, then brought the items over. I took the small bright orange flag from her and stuck it in the ground about an inch from the footprint. I laid the ruler directly next to it. Stepping back, Naomi and I looked down at the print, which was longer than the ruler.

  “That is one helluva long shoe print,” I pronounced.

  Naomi nodded. “What is that? Size thirteen? Fourteen?”

  “Definitely not a woman’s print.”

  “When the lab gets here, we’ll have them make a plaster cast of it. At least there’s some treads in it. It’s a start.” She looked toward the gate, anticipating the arrival of the lab.

  After I took a few photos of the shoe print, I continued to walk the perimeter of the cemetery but found nothing else. The crime lab technicians, once they arrived, complained about having to bag up the dog for an autopsy. Considering the mood I was in, I didn’t want to hear it and I snapped at them, something I have never done before.

  “Just bag the goddamn dog, and quit your fucking bitching!”

  My dressing-down turned the heads of everyone around us. I never disrespected a member of my department as I had today. The township employees were down by the gate and heard every word. Naomi shot me a stern glance, walked over to the technicians and calmly told them to get the dog bagged up so we could all get out of here.