Like Father Like Daughter

by Christina Morgan

  “Listen, Libby. I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel right now. And I understand why you said the things you said. But you’re not helping your case. You’re lucky I was able to convince him to offer you parole. And after fifteen years? That’s unheard of. I really think you should consider taking the deal.”

  I took a step back. “Are you saying you think I did it? I thought you believed me.”

  “No, no, Libby, I do believe you. All I’m saying is, you’re gambling with your life here. If you are found guilty by a jury, and that’s a possibility, no matter how slim, you would be facing the death penalty. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t counsel you to at least sleep on it. Talk to your mom. Think it through. We’re talking about your life here.”

  “I can’t spend the rest of my life in prison, Dave. I just can’t.” The tears that had been threatening to spill over the entire day finally came pouring down my cheeks.

  “It wouldn’t be the rest of your life. You would be eligible for parole in fifteen years. And with good behavior, it could be even sooner. You’d be, what, fifty? That’s not that old, Libby. You’d have the rest of your life ahead of you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I finally said, wiping my face with both hands.

  “You only have two days to think about it. You heard Brian. You have only until Monday at five to decide.”

  “Okay. Can you take me home? I rode here with Detective Dorne.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.” He patted me on the back as we exited the interview room.

  Dave held the door to his black Lexus for me. As I slid onto the leather seat, so hot from the midday sun, it burned the back of my thighs.

  “You really need one of those windshield thingies,” I teased.

  “I know,” he said as he turned the ignition. “My wife keeps telling me.”

  We pulled out of the parking lot of the police station and onto Main Street, which was packed, as it was only a two-lane road that ran straight through town. It was the only way to get anywhere in Nicholasville. The town had discussed expanding and adding lanes, but the city council kept voting it down due to budget constraints.

  “Do you know where I live?”

  “Yep. Elm Fork, right? You’ll have to show me which house, but I grew up here. I know these roads like the back of my hand.”

  Sure enough, he took a left on Maple Street and followed it all the way out of town until it became Sulphur Well Road.

  “Left on Elm Fork, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “Sorry…correct. You take a left.”

  I laughed at my own silly joke despite myself. I hadn’t laughed, I mean really laughed since before Ryan died. I wondered in that moment if I’d ever really laugh again.

  After about five minutes on Sulphur Well, Dave took another left onto my street.

  “It’s about half a mile down on the left,” I told him, pointing out the windshield.

  “Hey, my friend Mitchell grew up out here. I wonder if he knows Ryan’s family.”

  “Maybe. There it is. My house is the white one on the left.”

  Dave pulled into the gravel driveway behind my Sorento and put the car in park.

  “Libby,” he said, turning slightly toward me. “Think about it, okay? If you really want to move forward and go to trial, I’m ready and willing to fight for you. But just think about the stakes. Think about what’s important. It’s your life we’re talking about here.”

  “I’ll let you know by Monday morning,” I promised as I got out of the vehicle. “See you, Dave. Thanks for everything.”

  Chapter 20

  I stood in my driveway debating what to do next. I could go inside the house and sit there all alone with my thoughts, or I could go see Mom and talk through my options with her. Ultimately, I decided being alone was probably the worst thing for me, so I hopped in my car and headed toward Richmond.

  I pulled into Mom’s driveway right around six-thirty. When I rang the doorbell, she answered immediately.

  “Libby,” she said, looking pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just need to talk to you.”

  “Is everything okay?” She must have noticed I was near tears.

  “Not really. Can we talk?”

  “Of course,” she said, gesturing toward the foyer. “Come in. Come in.”

  I stepped inside, walked over to the hunter green sofa in the formal living room, and sat down.

  “What’s wrong, Libby?” Mom asked as she sat down on the sofa next to me.

  “Oh, Mom,” I said as the tears I’d been holding back finally began to fall freely. “I have a huge decision to make and I just don’t know what to do!”

  “What decision? Libby, talk to me.”

  I inhaled, let out a deep sigh, and then told her everything about my meeting with the Commonwealth’s Attorney, including his plea offer. I left out the part about the mysterious roses, not wanting to worry her any more than she already was.

  “So,” I said after I’d told her almost everything. “I have to decide between fifteen years in prison and rolling the dice with the death penalty.”

  Mom put her hand over her mouth and tears came to her eyes too. “Oh, Libby. That is horrible.”

  “I know. But what on earth am I going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” Mom said.

  “I was hoping you could help me decide.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she sat there in silence, staring at something off in the distance.

  “Mom? Are you listening?”

  She blinked twice then nodded her head emphatically. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was just thinking…”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Oh,” she said with a flip of her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

  She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I was just thinking about the day I found out your father had confessed and took that plea deal. It’s not the same, I know, but still…”

  I remembered that day too. Just like it was yesterday.

  I arrived home from school right around four o’clock and found my mother sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, staring at the unlit logs. I could tell something was bothering her, the way she was just staring at the fireplace like that. A child knows when their mother is upset. Mom and I had always been so close, it was almost as if I could feel her pain. She didn’t answer at first. She just kept staring. I asked louder the second time and she jumped slightly in her seat.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I repeated.

  “Libby, sit down, please.”

  I sat down on the stone hearth in front of the fireplace, so close our legs were almost touching. Mom sighed again and then spoke the words that would change both our lives forever.

  “Your father…” she trailed off for a second but then snapped back to the present. “Your father has accepted a plea deal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your father has confessed. He has admitted he killed all those women. In exchange for his confession, the prosecutor agreed to give him nine consecutive life sentences. He took the death penalty off the table.”

  “But,” I said in complete shock. “But he didn’t do it. Why would he confess to something he didn’t do?”

  She finally looked me in the eyes. “Libby, I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense. He won’t talk to me, either. I only know this because his attorney just called me and told me.”

  “There has to be some mistake. He couldn’t possibly have killed those women…could he?”

  “No, Libby, I don’t think he did.”

  “Then why would he confess?”

  “He was facing the death penalty, Libby. I can only imagine what a difficult choice he had to make. Perhaps he did it for us.”

  And just like that, for the first time since his arrest, I started to believe it was possible my father was truly a serial killer. Why would anyone
who was innocent ever admit, let alone confess, to a crime, or crimes, they didn’t commit? But I couldn’t share my doubts with Mom. Not yet, anyway. I had to be strong, for her sake.

  I placed my hand over hers and said, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. We can survive this. We will survive this.”

  But inside, I had my doubts. What was life going to look like, now that my father was a confessed notorious serial killer? Selfishly, my thoughts went instantly to my social life. I would be a pariah at school. Everyone would judge me for his actions. It was in that moment my hatred for my father began to grow. Slowly at first. When I found out my instincts were right and I was cast out of the popular clique in school and then had to struggle for the last year and a half of school just to graduate and get out of there, my hatred for him blossomed into full-on disgust.

  But now, here I was, twenty years later, facing the same dilemma he had faced. And for the first time ever, I began to understand why he had taken the plea deal. He was afraid of dying. He wanted to spare us that pain.

  Would I be able to make the same decision?

  I squeezed Mom’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea. On one hand, if I plead guilty, I know I’ll be in prison for at least fifteen years. Parole isn’t guaranteed. I may not get it, so it could be even longer. On the other hand, if I refuse the deal and go to trial, it could go either way. I could be acquitted and be free of all of this once and for all, or I could be found guilty and be sentenced to death.”

  “Then you should take the deal. Just like your father did. Libby, I can’t lose you.”

  “But how can I confess to something I didn’t do? I didn’t kill Ryan. I never would. I’m not capable of that kind of violence. If I confess, not only will I spend a long time behind bars, but everyone will think I did it. I don’t know if I could live with myself knowing everyone thinks I’m a husband-killer.”

  “You’re right. I understand. And I don’t want that to happen to you. But what’s the alternative? What if they find you guilty at trial? I couldn’t bear it if they killed my baby for something she didn’t do.”

  She began crying uncontrollably then. Coming here was a mistake, I thought. All I managed to do was further confuse myself and hurt my mother in the process. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how right she was. Sure, fifteen years was a long time to live behind bars, but at least I’d be alive. I couldn’t gamble with my life when the cost was hurting my mother.

  “You’re right,” I finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m going to take the deal.”

  “Oh, Libby. Please don’t make a life-changing decision for me. You have to make this decision based on what’s right for you. No matter what you decide to do, I’ll be here by your side. You’ll always have me in your corner. I’m your mother. I would never turn my back on you. If you think you want to take a chance at trial, then you should do it.”

  “But you’re right. There’s no guarantee. I could be convicted of murder and I could get the death penalty. Not only do I not want to die, but I couldn’t do that to you. If I take the plea deal, I might be out in fifteen years. I’d only be fifty. I’d still have a lot of life before me.”

  “I agree with that, but please don’t just do it for me. You have to remember, the Commonwealth doesn’t really have any evidence against you. It’s all circumstantial. If I were on the jury, I would vote to acquit you.”

  “But you’re a little biased, Mom. You’re my mother. Of course you would vote to acquit. The jury is going to be made up of twelve people who don’t know me from Adam. It is quite possible they would believe the prosecutor’s theory, even without any evidence. It’s happened before. Look at how many people have been executed and then years later DNA cleared them of the murder. It happens all the time. No, I don’t want to take that kind of chance with my life. I don’t want to go to prison, but I do want to live. I’m taking the deal.”

  “I think you’re making the right decision—just as long as you’re making it for yourself, and not for me or anyone else.”

  “I am. But I just hate the idea that you now have to visit both your ex-husband and your daughter in prison. I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  I began to cry again and Mom wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. She rocked me side to side and smoothed her hand over my hair.

  “There, there. Don’t you worry about me. And don’t you ever apologize to me again. You have done nothing wrong. You are making the decision that is right for you. I’ll be okay. I promise. As long as you’re still alive, that’s all I care about.”

  I pulled apart from her embrace and looked into her eyes. In them I saw a combination of fear and love. I knew in that instant I was making the right decision. That poor woman had been through enough, thanks to Randy. I wasn’t about to add to her misery by letting myself be killed by the Commonwealth for something I didn’t do.

  After saying goodbye to Mom, I climbed back into my car and headed back toward Nicholasville. Along the forty-minute drive, I tried to resign myself to my decision. It was the right one, I knew. Though the thought of spending fifteen years locked away in a prison made me nauseous, it was much better than the alternative. It would take nerves of steel to commit to it, though. I knew I had to call Dave and tell him my decision, but I also knew that once he called Brian Gaines and accepted the deal, there was no turning back.

  I would also have to allocute in open court—tell everyone, including the judge, lawyers, and media, that I had killed Ryan. That I had picked up a large caliber gun and shot him in the head. There would be no turning back. Everyone in the state would now consider me a cold-blooded murderess. I didn’t relish the thought, but I knew what had to be done. And I knew the public scrutiny and humiliation was well worth my life. Plus, once I was released, I could move to the Outer Banks as Ryan and I had always dreamed of doing. I could start fresh and make a new life for myself.

  But just as I arrived in Nicholasville, something inside of me snapped. I couldn’t do it. Not yet anyway. There was one last thing I had to do before I agreed to the plea deal and spent the next fifteen years or so in prison. Especially since I was still convinced I knew who really killed Ryan. In my mind, I couldn’t make that commitment until I had done everything in my power to prove my innocence. If it didn’t work…if I was wrong…then and only then would I turn myself in. It might be the most insane thing I’d ever done in my life, but if there was even the slightest chance I could prove my innocence, it was well worth the risk.

  Chapter 21

  After driving by to make certain Mike wasn’t home, I parked my Sorento two streets down in front of an abandoned house with a For Sale sign in the front yard. I opened the car door, slid out onto the easement, and shut the door as quietly as I could. I walked down the street, took a left, and then another left, until I was on Wichita Drive. Mike’s duplex was the third one down on the right side of the street. I walked very slowly across the grass until I came to his front porch. I looked around nervously to make sure no one was watching me, and then reached out and slowly turned the knob of the front door. Not surprisingly, it was locked. No matter how slovenly Mike was, drug dealers never forgot to lock their doors. Shit.

  I took a few steps to the side and tried the window. It was locked too. I was growing even more nervous that someone was looking out their window and would see me trying to break in, so I crept around the side of the house. There was another window—the kitchen window—but it was narrow and too high off the ground. My last hope was that there was an unlocked window in the back of the house. I snuck around to the back and to my great relief, there was a window in the back that was only a couple feet from the ground.

  I prayed, even though I clearly recognized the ridiculousness in asking God to help you break in someone’s house, that it would be unlocked. I tugged on the bottom sash of the white wooden window and sure e
nough, it began to slide upward. Mike had not thought to lock his back window. Quickly, I slid the window all the way open. Without hesitating, I poked my head in the open window. It appeared to be Mike’s bedroom. Knowing this was my only option, I climbed in through the window one leg at a time until my knees hit the Berber carpet.

  The lights were off, but I could tell, even in the darkness, that Mike’s room was just as disgusting as the living room I had seen on my last visit. I had no idea what I was kneeling on, so I stood up as quickly as I could. The light from the half-moon filtered in through the window, allowing me to at least see where I was walking. I saw the bedroom door before me and it was cracked open. I slipped through the opening and tiptoed down the hallway. No one lived with Mike that I knew of, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t be crashing on his sofa. But I had gone there for a reason and I wasn’t going to leave until I had searched the entire duplex.

  First on my right was the bathroom. I felt along the wall until my hand hit the light switch. I flipped it and the room was illuminated. It was disgusting, just like the rest of the house. The toilet lid was open and the bowl was filled with someone’s dark yellow urine. Men’s clothes and underwear were strewn about the dirty tile floor. There was no outer shower curtain, only one of those filmy, clear inner curtains, and even it was hanging by only three or four curtain rings. I wondered how often Mike even took a shower.

  I turned toward the sink, which was covered in crusty toothpaste splatters, and opened the medicine cabinet. On the shelves, next to a stick of deodorant and a toothbrush were several orange prescription bottles. I looked at each one. Only two of them were in Mike’s name. The others were written in the names of several different people. All of them were for some form of opiate—Lortab, Methadone, and Oxycodone. No big surprise there. There was nothing else in the cabinet of any interest, so I closed the door and looked in the mirror.

  I’m committing a felony, I thought as I looked at my own reflection. So this is what my life has come to? Breaking into a drug dealer’s house, hoping to find some sort of evidence to implicate him in Ryan’s murder and in doing so, clear my name. But what other choice did I have? The police were never going to consider anyone but me. They had made that painfully clear already. And this was my last chance to prove my innocence before confessing to a crime I didn’t commit. So it was on me to find Ryan’s killer and exonerate myself. Freshly reminded of why I was in Mike’s house, I shook off my anxiety and decided to focus on the task at hand.