The Girl in the Woods

by Patricia MacDonald

  Blair read the posted information sheet. Sure enough, face-to-face meetings were severely limited.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Blair insisted. ‘I don’t understand that. I’d like you to explain to me why that is.’

  Selenski rolled his eyes. ‘Security is expensive,’ said the guard, in a condescending tone which suggested that Blair was mentally challenged. ‘It costs money to escort prisoners and visitors in and out. You gotta worry about weapons. Contraband. This way, there’s none of that.’

  ‘But, it seems … cruel,’ Blair protested.

  ‘So write a letter to the governor.’

  ‘And unfair,’ said Blair.

  Selenski’s expression hardened. ‘Do you want to talk to him or don’t you?’

  Blair hesitated, but finally acquiesced. ‘Yes. I need to talk to him.’

  ‘Sit down over there,’ said Selenski, pointing to a cubicle with a desktop PC on the surface.

  Blair frowned at the cubicle indicated. ‘It’s not very private,’ she said.

  ‘This is prison,’ said the guard flatly. ‘Not the country club. Next time, save yourself the trip. You can Skype him from home.’

  Blair could see that she was going to get nowhere with the guard. She sat down.

  The guard pushed a few keys on his computer.

  ‘When they bring him to the visiting room, he’ll appear on the screen. Then you can talk. Fifteen minutes. That’s it. Then it will be shut off.’

  Fifteen minutes, Blair thought. To explain to Yusef Muhammed, why he had needlessly spent fifteen years in prison. But fifteen minutes was what she had. It was not as if they were giving her a choice.

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  She sat down in front of the monitor and waited. A timekeeper in the corner of the screen let her know that her call would begin in a matter of seconds. Blair felt her heart pounding in her chest. She licked her lips nervously. The screen was suddenly illuminated and a man in an orange jumpsuit settled himself on a molded plastic chair. The backdrop was a dingy beige wall. The prisoner looked into the screen.

  His head was shaven and he had broad, symmetrical features. He was wearing black, horn-rimmed glasses. His eyes were dark, calm and cold. He said nothing. He didn’t even ask who she was.

  ‘Mr … Muhammed?’ Blair asked.

  The man nodded curtly.

  ‘My name is Blair Butler.’

  The man blinked at her slowly, like a lizard, and waited.

  ‘I’m here because … um …’ Blair cleared her throat. ‘I believe you knew my sister. Her name was … that is, my sister was Celeste Butler.’

  The man looked at her impassively, and made no reply.

  ‘Do you … remember Celeste?’

  Yusef Muhammed narrowed his eyes. ‘I won’t soon forget her,’ he drawled.

  The icy tone of his voice gave Blair a chill. ‘I guess you and Celeste were friends back in high school.’

  ‘She was no friend of mine,’ he said.

  This man has every reason to hate Celeste, she reminded herself. What she did to this man was unforgivable.

  ‘Well, I’ll get to the point. The reason I’m here is … Celeste died recently. She had a particularly deadly kind of cancer.’

  ‘Good,’ said Muhammed.

  Blair grimaced at the cruel remark, but did not protest. Keep your cool, she thought. You can’t blame him for being bitter.

  ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘before she died, Celeste told me something. She told me that she was with you when Molly Sinclair was killed, but that she lied to the police, to everyone, and said she wasn’t.’

  Yusef stared at Blair, his gaze cold and implacable, the muscles in his cheeks flexing as he maintained his silence. Blair hesitated, and then continued.

  ‘She felt that she had done you a terrible injustice and she wanted me to promise her to try to make it right.’

  She could see his mind working as he continued to stare at her. His body was coiled and tense, and he fairly oozed hostility, but there was an undeniable curiosity in his narrowed eyes.

  ‘She told you that?’ he said.

  Blair nodded. ‘She did. She knew she was dying. She wanted to tell me before she died.’

  Yusef smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes.

  ‘I been in this hole for fifteen years for something I didn’t do. And now she decided to tell the truth. Why? Afraid she wouldn’t get to heaven?’

  ‘Well, I guess … because she was dying …’ Blair said helplessly.

  ‘She could have lived to be ninety,’ he said.

  Blair nodded, embarrassed by the truth of what he said.

  ‘Well, yes. I know. She should have spoken up before. But now, at least, we can try to bring this to an end …’

  Yusef shook his head and put one large hand over his eyes, resting on the frame of his glasses.

  Blair waited a few seconds. ‘Mr Muhammed …?’

  ‘She stole my life from me,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry …?’ Blair asked.

  ‘She stole my life!’ he shouted.

  Blair flinched and pressed her lips together. She glanced up at the guards, but they were involved in their own conversation. She spoke quietly.

  ‘I don’t blame you for being angry.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t?’ he said sarcastically.

  Blair held up her hands as if in surrender. ‘Look, Mr … Muhammed, I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’d like to try to help you. This was the first I knew of it. I mean, you were the one convicted of Molly’s murder. I just assumed, like everybody else, that you did it and that you were where you belonged. I was stunned when my sister told me this. Celeste was in hospice care and she could barely speak, but she told me that she lied. She said that she was with you at the time that Molly was murdered. That you and she picked Molly up in your car that evening …’

  ‘It was raining,’ he said.

  ‘Right. And you … took her home?’

  ‘We took her home,’ Yusef agreed.

  ‘That’s what she told me. It was just as you said.’

  ‘Did she tell the cops that?’ he demanded.

  Blair frowned. ‘What do you mean? You mean, back then? You know she didn’t.’

  ‘I mean now. Did she tell the D.A.? The judge? Anybody who matters?’

  ‘She just told me,’ said Blair evenly.

  ‘Did she write it down? Have it notarized? Swear to it on a Bible?’

  ‘No,’ said Blair apologetically. ‘I wish I could have gotten her to do that but she was too far gone …’

  Yusef pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his long, shapely fingers. Then he shook his head.

  ‘That bitch.’

  Blair flinched, but did not protest. ‘At least she said something before it was too late.’

  Yusef Muhammed glared at her through the monitor. ‘Why don’t you spend fifteen years in this hellhole and then you can talk about what is or is not too late.’

  Blair flinched. ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re a big help.’

  Blair took a deep breath. She could see that he was trying to intimidate her. Probably out of frustration, she told herself, and tried again.

  ‘All right. Maybe I said it wrong. But I promised Celeste and I’m going to see it through. I’m not going to let this drop …’

  ‘Who is going to believe you? Why should they?’ he cried. ‘You claim she said this. That’s proof of nothing. I can see you don’t know too much about how things work in this legal system.’

  ‘I can see that you do,’ said Blair.

  ‘Damn right, I do. I’ve had plenty of time to study it.’

  ‘Do you have an attorney that you’d like me to talk to?’ Blair asked.

  ‘I have had several attorneys from legal aid over the years. One worse than the other. Ain’t none of ‘em any use. Why do you think I started reading the law?’

  ‘Well, the next thing I’m going to do is to go to
the police and tell them everything I know.’

  Muhammed shook his head. ‘The police got no interest in reopening this case. They got a little dead white girl and they got their killer. They don’t give a good God damn about the truth,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Look, I don’t blame you for being bitter, but that little dead white girl was my best friend,’ said Blair indignantly. ‘She did nothing to deserve what happened to her.’

  Muhammed gazed at her through narrowed eyes. ‘No, she didn’t,’ he conceded. ‘And neither did I.’

  ‘I think the police will be interested,’ Blair said stoutly.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.

  ‘It may take a few tries,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had any dealings with the justice system before.’

  ‘The injustice system,’ he snorted.

  ‘Look, I know you have every reason to be angry …’

  Muhammed peered at her. ‘We done here?’

  Blair looked at the digital clock in the corner of the screen. Her time was almost up. She had expected that this man might thank her for her efforts, but clearly, thanks were not in the cards.

  ‘I guess so. I’ll be in touch with you soon.’

  Yusef shook his head and muttered something Blair could not understand.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope there’s a hell,’ he said, ‘and I hope she’s in it. Your sister.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Blair, just as the screen went dark.

  SEVEN

  Dinner that night, as it had been since Celeste’s funeral, was a matter of microwaving a serving of one of the casseroles in the refrigerator, which had been made for them by kindly local people and left at the house. Malcolm accepted a plate from his aunt and said he was going to eat in his room.

  ‘Are you allowed to do that?’ Blair asked.

  ‘Sure, I do it all the time,’ the boy said.

  ‘Well, please be sure to bring your dirty dishes back downstairs after you eat,’ said Blair.

  ‘I will,’ said the boy.

  ‘You trying to get him civilized for life at the Tuckers’?’ Ellis asked bitterly.

  Blair gazed at him coldly. ‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ she said.

  Ellis took his plate into the living room and parked himself in front of the television, turning on a NASCAR event to watch while he ate. Blair sat alone at the kitchen table, picking at her food.

  Ever since she left the prison, she had been undecided about what to do next. On the one hand, she knew that she had to go to the police, but then she had to consider the Sinclairs. She certainly didn’t want Molly’s parents to find out about Yusef Muhammed’s alibi from some policeman arriving at their door. After much debate with herself, she finally made up her mind. She would go and see the Sinclairs first. Next to Muhammed himself, no one had a stronger right to know. Besides, she was hoping that the Sinclairs might point her in the direction of the police detective who had worked on Molly’s case. It might be helpful if she was able to talk with the person who had been in charge of the investigation, especially if she could cite the Sinclairs’ support. Of course, that presumed that they would be supportive. Well, she thought, as she dumped the uneaten portion of her dinner into the garbage, there was no avoiding it. She had to find out.

  Ellis came back into the kitchen with his empty plate and rinsed it off at the sink before sticking it in the ancient dishwasher.

  ‘We got invited to dinner tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Darlene wants to make us dinner at her house.’

  ‘All of us?’

  Blair thought she saw a little self-conscious flush in his cheeks.

  ‘It was her idea,’ Ellis said defensively.

  ‘Well, that’s awfully nice of her,’ said Blair.

  ‘I said we’d come,’ said Ellis.

  She wanted to remind her uncle not to speak for her. Not to make plans without asking her. But her objections seemed petty in the face of Darlene’s generosity.

  ‘Ok,’ said Blair.

  Ellis opened the refrigerator and looked inside. He took out a slab of bread pudding from a plate on the second shelf.

  ‘I have to go out tonight, Uncle Ellis,’ Blair said.

  Ellis turned and frowned. ‘Where you going?’

  ‘I have an errand to do,’ said Blair. She had not yet told him about Celeste’s confession. She did not relish that prospect at all. She thought she would let him find out as it unfolded, when there was no way he could prevent it or object to the consequences.

  ‘Just paying a visit to Molly’s parents,’ she said.

  Ellis was not interested. ‘Get some milk while you’re out,’ he said. ‘For the kid’s cereal.’

  A number of the shops in downtown Yorkville were open, thanks to the Christmas shopping season which had already begun, but there were precious few pedestrians on the streets. Blair parked right outside of the Apres Ski café, locked her car and went inside. A bell jingled as she entered.

  The place was almost twice as big as it had been in her youth. It had an inviting, lodge-like atmosphere, with a wood-burning stove at the center and weathered beams across the ceiling. There were patrons seated at a couple of the candlelit tables covered with checkered tablecloths and a smattering of drinkers along the bar, but the place was not what you would call busy. There was no hostess on the door. Blair walked up to the bar and waited for the bartender – a slim young woman in jeans and a fitted flannel shirt – to be free to speak to her. At the moment, the bartender was dealing with a patron who had already had one too many.

  ‘Sorry, Randy,’ she said to the middle-aged, bearded man who was wobbling on his barstool. Her voice had the light but firm tone of long experience. ‘Time to hit the road.’

  The man peered at her through bloodshot eyes, his face red with anger. ‘You refusing to serve me?’

  ‘Yup. And I just called your daughter. She’s on her way. So you best pay up.’ She dangled his car keys in front of him. ‘You can come get these tomorrow.’

  ‘Give me those keys …’ Randy demanded.

  ‘Can’t. If you get in an accident, they’ll blame me.’

  ‘You’re not my keeper. Give me those goddam keys.’

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ said a guy on a neighboring stool, standing up and grabbing the obstreperous drunk by the back of his shirt. ‘That’s no way to talk to this nice lady. Now get out or I’ll throw you out.’

  The bartender flicked her towel in the direction of the young man who had come to her defense.

  ‘Thanks, Cary,’ she said, smiling, and turned to Blair without missing a beat, her demeanor calm and unruffled, as her two customers began an argument. The older man was raving in protest. Cary was quiet, but clearly had the situation in hand.

  ‘What can I get you?’ the bartender said to Blair.

  ‘Nothing. Actually,’ said Blair, ‘I’m here to see the Sinclairs.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the girl. ‘They aren’t working tonight.’

  ‘Neither one of them?’

  ‘Nope,’ said the bartender.

  ‘Oh, ok,’ said Blair. She started to turn away. ‘Are they home, do you know?’

  The bartender was circumspect. ‘Maybe. I can’t say.’

  Blair could see, to her mild surprise, that the girl was reluctant to give out any information about the Sinclairs. As if she had been instructed to keep that information to herself. Was this a normal way to do business, or was this what happened when a violent crime tore through people’s lives? Every stranger was to be mistrusted. In an effort to reassure the bartender, Blair said, ‘Janet told me to stop by anytime. Molly was my childhood best friend.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the bartender. ‘So you know where they live.’

  For a moment Blair’s mind was blank, and then she suddenly remembered. ‘Fulling Mill Road,’ she said.

  The inebriated customer stopped in mid-argument and tur
ned on Blair, his gaze menacing, his breath a blowtorch of alcohol.

  ‘That’s where my house is. Or it was my house, till the judge gave it to that bitch,’ he muttered.

  The bartender shook her head. ‘Randy, get out of here. Go back to Arborside. Don’t be bothering my customers.’

  A young woman with long, dark curls had come in and was stomping across the restaurant toward the bar, shaking her head.

  ‘Don’t call me anymore. I mean it. Call the police. I’m not coming for him again. He should be in jail.’

  The bartender shrugged. ‘Sorry, Jenna. But he’s too drunk to drive.’ She turned her attention back to Blair. ‘Yeah. Fulling Mill Road. Shall I call them and tell them you’re on your way?’

  Blair shook her head. ‘I’ll surprise them,’ she said.

  For years, even after Adrian Jones was convicted of Molly’s murder and safely locked away, Blair had avoided the road that ran through the woods, even in the safety of a vehicle. Maybe she had sensed somehow that Molly’s killer was not really behind bars at all, although she could never remember entertaining that thought. Now she knew that it was true. But tonight, as she left Main Street and turned onto the road that crossed through the woods, it seemed necessary to her to stop at the spot where Molly’s body had been found.

  Blair drove slowly down the road, but all she could see were the bare trees caught in her headlights, their dry leaves whipped up by the night wind. Now that she was on that road, she had no sense of how far she had to go, or where that fateful spot actually was. At one time, there had been a makeshift memorial there of balloons and teddy bears, but all of that was long gone. It was somehow painful to realize that the spot, which she was once sure she could never forget, was now lost to time and change.

  A couple of times she thought she had recognized it. She glimpsed a boulder, or a break in the trees that might have seemed familiar, but, in truth, she had no idea. Somewhere in these woods, not far off this road, her twelve-year-old best friend had met her death. Now that she knew that Adrian – she corrected herself – Yusef, along with Celeste, had picked Molly up at the entrance to the woods, a question occurred to her. Those two drove the girl home. That’s what Celeste said. So, if they drove her to her house, how did Molly end up back in the woods, in the rain? Suddenly, it seemed as if everything Blair knew about that day needed to be re-examined. Was the answer about Molly’s killer there, in one of those questions?