Deidre looked at her disheveled friend with concern. “Here, we brought you a cup of fresh coffee. Take a minute to drink it before we get into the nitty-gritty of what you’ve found.”
Judy sipped the hot brew and closed her eyes. She held the cup in both hands and inhaled the aroma, then took another sip.
“Why don’t the two of you sit down. I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to tell you. This is more than a teenager who got herself into a bad situation.”
Deidre and Melissa pulled up chairs and sat so the three were looking at each other. Judy took a long swig of the coffee before continuing.
“I’m certain that the victim was tortured before she was thrown off the bridge. Evidently those who assaulted her thought she was dead and had no fear that she would live to ID them.” She took another gulp of coffee and sighed.
The others waited for her to say more, but after a few seconds, they realized she was struggling to talk.
Tears formed in Judy’s eyes, and she cleared her throat. “There is a strange mark on one of her ankles. The skin has been rubbed raw, rubbed off, really. There are less grievous abrasions on her wrists. She has several lacerations on her extremities that could have been made by being beaten with a thin rod of some kind, some of them fresh, some of them partially healed.”
She took one last swig of coffee, emptying the cup. Deidre and Melissa sat in stunned silence as Judy continued. “She has bruises over most of her body, and her breasts appear to have been pinched by some sort of implement, especially her nipples.” Judy stopped and took a deep breath, unable to continue.
“Do you have any idea what caused the mark on her ankle?” Deidre asked in a subdued voice.
“Only one thing. She was forced to wear a shackle for an extended period of time. The marks on her wrists were from some kind of restraint, possibly plastic ties, that were recently placed there. I have no doubt this girl, this child really, was held captive by being chained up. If I could get my hands on whoever did this, I’d gouge his heart out, if I could even find one.”
She stared at the floor, and the others waited, not knowing what to say. Judy continued.
“On top of it all, the signs are pretty conclusive she was strangled. There are marks around her throat consistent with the grip of someone much larger than she. The whites of her eyes were marked with numerous petechiae. They are areas of bleeding caused when small blood vessels rupture, a common sign of asphyxiation, or in this case strangulation. I can’t imagine what this pathetic waif suffered at the hands of an incredibly cruel person—or persons.”
“Have you finished your examination of her body?” Deidre asked, her voice quiet as though she were in church.
“No,” Judy answered. “But that was what I found as of two hours ago. I’m guessing I can finish now.” She reached for the handle of the cooler in which the body was stored.
Melissa had sat silently, her eyes closed and head bowed, while Judy described her findings. She opened her eyes and looked up. “Was she sexually assaulted?”
Judy paused before opening the door. “I couldn’t tell for sure. The body needed a little more time to thaw so I could examine her genitals, but I think we can proceed now. I’m quite certain what we are going to discover, though.”
She opened the door and pulled a sheet-draped gurney from the cubical. The three stood motionless, not wanting to remove the cover but knowing they must. Judy gently folded the sheet down to the dead girl’s waist, then folded the bottom up, and lifted the cover off. They looked at the naked body in horror.
Yesterday, they had seen it curled in a fetal position, and they knew the sight wasn’t going to be pretty, but neither Melissa nor Deidre were prepared for the small, broken body lying on the table before them.
For what seemed a very long time, they stared at the pubescent body. The girl was young enough that her breasts appeared to not be fully developed and her nipples were still forming. Deidre surmised her age to be only about thirteen or fourteen, perhaps only twelve, because her pubic area was so sparsely covered with fine black hair.
“What kind of animal did this?” Melissa mumbled, not expecting an answer.
Deidre shook her head.
Judy gently separated the legs of the corpse, and moved so she could have a better view. She turned on a small tape recorder, and began speaking. “The subject has severe bruising on the inside of the thighs.” Deidre assumed she had already recorded what had been discovered on the rest of the body. “I am now spreading the labia majora. There appears to be bruising consistent with being roughly manipulated. Several tears are evident in the tissue, and the labia minora are similarly traumatized.”
She turned off the tape recorder and reached for her camera. After taking several close up photos, Judy turned to Melissa and Deidre. “There’s no doubt this girl was sexually active. From the bruising, I’m almost positive it wasn’t consensual. That really doesn’t make much difference, because at her age it would still be considered rape.”
Melissa and Deidre were too stunned by what they were witnessing to say anything. Judy turned on her tape recorder and began again. “I’m inserting a speculum into the vagina of the corpse and proceeding with an internal inspection. The vaginal walls are badly bruised. A three centimeter hematoma is visible on the posterior vaginal wall consistent with blunt force trauma from a foreign object. The cervix is badly bruised, showing lacerations around its circumference.”
She turned off the recorder, and took several vaginal swaps with what appeared to Deidre to be oversized Q-tips. Using a camera designed to take internal pictures, Judy snapped several shots of what she had observed, removed her tools of examination and stepped back from the table as she removed her gloves.
“There’s no doubt in my mind but that this girl was sexually tortured, then strangled, and her apparently lifeless body thrown from the bridge onto the ice. She must have revived enough to crawl up under the abutment where she died and subsequently became partially frozen. Judging by the time you found her, Deidre, and by the partially frozen condition, she died about four o’clock yesterday morning. I’ll do more research concerning the temperature night before last, but that is my guess right now. Do you have any questions or observations? Otherwise, I’ll put her back into the cooler.”
Deidre had enough sense about her to ask, “Have you taken fingerprints? And how about DNA samples?”
“The prints are over there.” She motioned toward the counter. “Her blood samples are in vials in the refrig. The swabs I just took are in case the perpetrator left some of his semen in her. There were no samples of skin under her nails. I was hoping she’d put up a fight and scratched whoever did this, but it appears she was so overpowered that she had no chance.”
After a moment, Judy said, “This is one case I want to see solved. Someone has to pay for this atrocity.” She took a moment to compose herself before continuing. “Preliminarily, I think she may be a little older than what she looks, but only by two or three years. Her third molars, what are commonly called wisdom teeth, haven’t begun to erupt, but her second molars are completely emerged. That usually occurs when a child is between twelve and thirteen years of age. In this case, there is some evidence, chips and signs of wear that would indicate to me she may be fifteen or sixteen. I’ll know better when I can do a more thorough exam in my lab.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Deidre questioned, pain evident by her facial expression.
“It’s far too soon to tell, but just between the three of us, I believe this girl is Native American. She has the characteristic high cheek bones and other facial bone structures. Also, and it’s difficult to tell because of her bruising and having been frozen, but her skin has the coloring of that ethnic group. When we do the blood work, we can tell a little more. If she is type O, that would support my theory but not prove it.
Eighty percent of indigenous people have that type. A significant number, fifteen percent, are type A. That is also a factor to consider. But only four percent are type B, and less than one percent are type AB. If she turns out to be either of those, odds are she is not Native American.”
Deidre mulled the figures for a second. “Well, that would be a starting point, I suppose.”
Melissa had been strangely silent through the entire examination of the body, and all she did was nod. Judy respectfully replaced the drape over the body and wheeled it back into the cooler.
None of the women wanted to go to lunch, their appetite killed by what they had just witnessed. It was as though their senses were numbed.
“Is there anywhere we can meet and discuss what we’ve just seen, where we can lay out a plan of attack? I think we all need to talk about this and get it out of our system. I’m talking about a plan of action, but also about the fact that we need a catharsis,” Judy stated. Her posture showed how emotionally drained she was. “Deidre, is there an place where we can be alone, where we can talk openly and let out our feelings in private?”
Deidre was flummoxed by the question. She thought, We need a place where we can’t be overheard, and where we won’t be interrupted. But we need somewhere that’s comfortable, where we can feel at ease about sharing our feelings. She remembered a case four years earlier when she had visited with a pastor in town. She had met with him and his wife in his study. “I think I know where we want to be,” she said as she reached for her cell phone and punched in a number. She listened to it ring until a man answered.
“Hello. This is Reverend Jackson speaking. Can I help you?”
“Pastor, this is Deidre Johnson. How are you?”
“Deidre, I was just thinking of calling you. You know Naomi is in her third year at the U. She e-mailed me this morning with the news that she has been selected by Hazelden, the rehab clinic in the Cities, to do her internship during spring semester. She wanted me to tell you. She had lost your cell phone number.”
The pastor’s daughter, Naomi, was instrumental in Deidre’s being able to break up a drug ring operating out of the Superior National Forest. While in high school, she had fallen into the life style of a user, and Deidre had helped her set her life back on the right track. Now, she was attending the University of Minnesota, majoring in psychology and social work with an emphasis on drug counseling.
“Great news, Pastor. I’m so happy for you and Mrs. Jackson. You have every right to be proud of her. But, Pastor, I need a favor. Two friends and I need a quiet place where we can have a very private meeting, someplace comfortable. Your office immediately came to mind. Is there any chance we can use it for a couple of hours this afternoon?”
Reverend Jackson’s answer was immediate. “No problem. I’m making hospital visits in an hour, and my wife’s volunteering at the nursing home. Come over right away so we can visit a few minutes. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. You can have the run of our home. No need to cram into my office. Use the living room.”
Deidre remembered how comfortable and inviting their home was. “Perfect. See you in about fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 5
The Jackson’s home had a feeling of order and well being. After what the women had just observed, they needed a place where they could find a modicum of peace.
Pastor Jackson hugged Deidre, who introduced him to Melissa and Judy, but after a few minutes of small talk, he had to leave to make his rounds. In the living room, they found a pot of hot coffee and a plate of cheese, crackers, and other snacks waiting for them. Deidre thought how lucky Naomi was to have parents who were so terrific.
Her mind returned to the day she had brought their daughter, Naomi, home after catching her using cocaine. She remembered how supportive her parents had been. She also remembered the boy they had caught with Naomi that day, Gerald Colter III, and how violently his father had reacted. She wondered what had happened to that young man.
The three of them plopped down into the living room chairs, each with a cup of coffee in their hands. Judy spoke first. “Deidre, you said you’re serving in a temporary position as a Silver Bay police officer. How long before the person you are replacing returns?”
“A week from today. Then I’m through. He’s a good man, and I’m confident he’ll do a good job. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” Judy answered, still deep in thought about the body she had so recently examined.
“Even though I’m not going to be on this case much longer, I’d like you to help me set up a plan of action. I wasn’t prepared for anything this severe when I agreed to fill in for six weeks,” Deidre said. “But before we begin with that, I think we should process our own feelings. I know I for one am so deeply upset with what we’ve seen I can hardly think of anything else. I’m angry, enraged that anyone could be so cruel. It brings back feelings for the need for revenge I experienced when John was murdered, and I don’t like it. Do you have the same thoughts, or am I the only one?”
Judy cleared her throat, and Deidre and Melissa waited for her to say something. Seconds slowly ticked by, and finally she was able to speak. “Last night, as I watched her frozen body relax and I could see the extent of her injuries, I wept. No one should ever experience what she went through. And, yes, I thought of doing the most despicable things to the person or persons who did this. Then, while I was waiting for more thawing and while I had a chance to process, I realized that an eye for an eye would accomplish nothing. In fact it would reduce me to the level of the perpetrators. I came to the revelation that the only way to rise above his or their level is to seek justice. The revenge will come at their own hands.”
After another long pause, Judy continued. “When we catch the parties involved, and we will, they’ll be prosecuted, and their freedom will be taken from them. Death of any kind would be too swift and complete. I think that to rot in prison for the rest of their lives would be a far more fitting punishment than even a slow death. That thought makes me more intent on doing a thorough job and catching whoever could possibly be this animalistic. That isn’t the right word. Even animals behave better than this.”
The three women sat silently staring at the floor, studying the carpet pattern. After a minute or so had passed, Deidre raised her head. “Melissa, you haven’t said a word since viewing the body. Your posture tells me there’s a lot going on in your mind. Can we help with anything?”
Tears rolled down Melissa’s cheeks, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She tried to talk, but choked on her words. Deidre and Judy watched her swallow hard and clear her throat. “I’m not sure I can get the words out,” she struggled to say. “I have a daughter, Jessica, who’s fifteen years old.”
The two other women thought they knew what was coming next, but they were completely floored by Melissa’s next words.
“She always was a difficult child to deal with, especially after I divorced her father. It was not an amicable settlement, and I was awarded full custody of Jessica. Her father had visitation rights, but we never saw him after the decree. That hurt her more than I can possible imagine. As she became older, she was almost uncontrollable. Her mood swings became so erratic I took her to a child psychologist, but she balked at that idea every step of the way and, in the end, refused to cooperate.
“When she was eleven she ran away from home, and it took me four days to locate her. She was staying at a friend’s house in one of the suburbs. Her friend’s sixteen-year-old sister had been left in charge while their parents were on vacation.
“Six months later, we had words when she refused to see her therapist, and she ran away again. That time it took us a week to track her down. Once again she had moved in with a friend whose parents had little interest in what was going on in their child’s life.”
Melissa blew her nose, and tried to continue. Deidre sensed
that there was more to the story.
“Over the next two years, Jessica’s behavior became a pattern of running away, followed by bouts of contrition and then depression. Still, she resisted treatment of any kind. Her psychologist recommended we take her to a psychiatrist so we could get a handle on her depression, but she refused to cooperate. Said she wasn’t nuts.
“Two years ago, when she was thirteen, she ran away for a final time. As hard as we have tried, we haven’t been able to find her. Every time I think of her, I have this image in my mind of her being on the streets alone and, inside, I die.”
Melissa’s face cracked into a contorted grimace somewhere between a failed attempt to choke back her tears and the desire to openly weep.
Stunned, Deidre and Judy stared at her. Then Deidre got out of her chair, knelt beside her friend and colleague, and placed her hand on Melissa’s knee. Looking into her red-rimmed eyes, Deidre said, “I can’t imagine the pain this has caused you, but you still have hope. We’re here for you when you need us, always remember that.”
“Thanks. I know you are. I appreciate your kindness, but this case is really disturbing me, more than can possibly be imagined. I’m afraid I’ll have a difficult time retaining any sense of objectivity.”
After several minutes of silent contemplation, Melissa stood.
“Excuse me a few minutes. There’s something I’ve decided to do.” She walked out of the room, and Deidre and Judy were left to discuss how they could help their friend, who they thought had gone to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Time dragged, and Melissa was gone almost twenty minutes. She was more in charge of her emotions when she returned to them.
“I’ve just gotten off the phone with the director of the BCA, my immediate boss. I told her what we’ve discovered and also told her about my dilemma, my feelings. I told her I was struggling with this case.”
“Did she have any suggestions?” Deidre wanted to know.
A River Through Two Harbors Page 4