30
By the time she got back to Jody’s house, Anna had already come up with multiple scenarios where Coach Fowler’s blood got on Jody’s sock in a perfectly innocent way. One thing Anna had learned as a sex-crimes prosecutor was: fluids are exchanged in romantic relationships. One speck of blood does not a murder case make.
The coach had probably been to Jody’s house many times. He could have cut himself while slicing an apple, for example, and if Jody had been standing near him, his blood easily could have dripped onto her sock. He might have slipped while clipping his toenails, and . . . Jody had been sitting next to him, their feet touching. Maybe he had a nosebleed . . . right onto Jody’s sock. Each theory grew less plausible, but Anna kept spinning them out, rolling her mind over each scenario like a penitent rolling her fingers over rosary beads, for comfort and with a little prayer.
Her prayers weren’t answered. Later that afternoon, as she sat at her computer trying to concentrate on an appellate brief, Desiree Williams called.
“I’m calling about some more discovery issues,” the prosecutor said. “You requested every case involving the decedent or the defendant. There are six cases involving Coach Fowler, but they’ve all been filed under seal. And there’s no reason to unseal them now, except for one.”
“Why is that?”
“It involves both the defendant and the decedent.”
“Jody and Coach Fowler?”
“Yes. Ten years ago, your sister accused him of sexually assaulting her.”
“What?”
That couldn’t be true. Anna would know about it if it were true. She calculated back; ten years ago, Anna had been in her freshman year at college. Jody would have been a sophomore at Holly Grove High School. It was possible that something happened to Jody that Anna wasn’t present for. But Anna couldn’t believe Jody wouldn’t tell her.
“I take it you didn’t know about that?” Desiree asked.
Anna didn’t want to answer and make herself a witness in her sister’s case. “Were charges brought?” she replied.
“The case was declined.”
“What was the basis for the declination?”
“Complainant did not wish to press charges.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll have to ask her that. I’ll e-mail you the file and you’ll have everything I have.”
A few minutes after they hung up, Anna had a PDF of the police report on her computer. It was a witness statement form dated December 4, 2004. The complainant was listed as Jody Curtis; the suspect was Owen Fowler. Their DOBs were listed, showing Jody was fifteen at the time and the coach was forty. The text of the report was two sentences long.
CW reports that S-1 had vaginal intercourse with her while in S-1’s car. The event took place at approximately 23:30 hours on 12/3/04.
CW was shorthand for “complaining witness”—Jody—while S-1 stood for “Subject #1”—the coach. A line had been drawn diagonally across the entire report, above which was an illegible signature and the handwritten words CW not cooperative, doesn’t want to press charges.
Anna had seen similar reports hundreds of times. Whenever someone told the police about a crime, the police were supposed to write it up and present the paperwork to a prosecutor, who would decide whether to bring charges, decline charges, or investigate further. A common reason for declining a sex-assault case was because the victim didn’t wish to press charges or wouldn’t cooperate.
But in the case of a sexual assault of a child, more work should have been done, even if the child wasn’t cooperative. Here, the prosecutor might have been able to make the case if Jody had gone to the hospital and had a sex kit done, and they found the coach’s semen. Just the presence of his semen and their two birth certificates would be enough—even if Jody had “consented”—because consent was not a defense to statutory rape. But there was no indication that any other work had been done.
Anna printed the report and stared at it for a while. Each time she learned another fact about the coach’s death, Anna had the sensation of being a boat with a deep keel. Each bit of evidence against Jody knocked her to the side, almost capsizing her. But her deep belief in her sister eventually righted her, as she found a way to fit the information into a narrative where her sister was innocent. But what Anna learned today swamped her.
A monstrous theory began to form in her mind. She tried to push the idea away, but the more she fought it, the bigger it grew.
• • •
When Jody came home that night, Anna was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her. The evening was still light; Michigan is on the western edge of the Eastern time zone, and the sky doesn’t get dark until after ten P.M. in the summer. Jody wore jeans, a T-shirt, and hiking boots, her usual work attire.
“Hey, sis.” Jody took the last sip of a yogurt smoothie and threw the plastic bottle into the recycling bin. “I got your voice mail. Glad to see you made it back from your date with Rob. Did he try to kiss you at the end?”
Anna shook her head and didn’t smile.
“Uh-oh.” Jody said. “What’s wrong?”
Anna had two pieces of paper lined up in front of her. She slid the first across the table. It was the 2004 police report of Coach Fowler’s assault. Jody sat down next to Anna and looked at the report. She read the handwriting aloud: “‘CW not cooperative, doesn’t want to press charges.’” She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“What happened, Jo?” Anna asked.
Jody looked out the window. “We had sex. Mom found out. She made me go to the police. It was considered an assault because I was fifteen. But I didn’t want to press charges, I guess. So they dropped it.”
“Why didn’t you want to press charges?”
Jody looked out the window. “Because I loved him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me ten years ago? Or any time since? For example, when I moved to Michigan to represent you because you were charged with his murder?”
“Oh, Annie,” Jody met her eyes, looking pained. “You were always the golden girl. The smart one, the one who was going to make it out of here. Ten years ago, you were doing so well at college. You’d come home with these stories about parties, and clubs, and the debate team, and I thought you were living the most glamorous life. I didn’t want any more evidence that I was the fuck-up sister. The bad one. I didn’t want your sympathy or pity. I still don’t.”
Anna felt like she had the wind knocked out of her.
“Have you been seeing him since you were fifteen?”
“No. We lost touch after he got married. We just reconnected the last month or so.”
“Was he angry about this?” Anna touched the report.
“No. He knew it was a stupid thing Mom made me do. He didn’t blame me. He never got in trouble for it anyway.”
Anna had met plenty of underage statutory rape victims who didn’t consider themselves “victims” at all, but simply the “girlfriend” of their adult assailant. But she had a hard time believing Jody was one of them.
She leaned forward. “Jody, I need you to tell me everything. Now. If I’m going to defend you, I need to know everything about your relationship with the coach. There can’t be any more surprises.”
“Okay, Annie. I’m sorry. There isn’t anything else, honestly.”
Honestly again. Anna shook her head, her anger growing. She slid the second paper across to Jody. It was the picture of the bloody sock. Jody looked at it calmly. Anna had to hand it to her: Jody had a good poker face.
“What’s this?” Jody asked.
“The police found this sock behind your washing machine. It’s covered in specks of Coach Fowler’s blood.”
“Huh!” Jody said, in the way that someone responds to an interesting but minor tidbit, like: Did you know that girl is double-jointed? Huh!
Anna stayed silent for several minutes. Most people felt the need to fill gaps in a conversation and would rush in with words. Police could often get good answers simply by waiting for them. Anna hated the fact that she was using interrogation techniques with her sister. Worse—her sister didn’t fall for them. It was pissing Anna off. She shouldn’t have to dig through a haystack of lies to find the needle of truth.
Anna finally broke the silence. “Any idea how his blood might have gotten on your sock?”
Jody shrugged. “Maybe he cut himself while he was at my house.”
“Well, did he cut himself or didn’t he? You were the one with him.” Anna’s voice was too loud. “I don’t need a theory here. To defend you, I need to know what actually happened between the two of you. It can’t come as a surprise from the government. Tell me what we’re up against.”
Jody looked back down at the paper and studied it for a long time. Finally, she looked up at Anna. “He cut himself. Definitely.”
“How?” Anna fought the urge to cross her arms on her chest.
“Opening a can.”
“A can of what?”
“Beer.”
“Do you still have that can?”
“Yeah, I saved it right next to my little blue dress with the President’s jizz on it.”
“You’re gonna laugh yourself right into prison.”
“Look, I probably recycled it weeks ago, okay?”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“Don’t judge me! I’m always going to come up short of you. You’re the smart one.”
“Gimme a break. You’re just as smart as me. You just have no ambition. You have a job you’re way too smart for. You’re only attracted to losers and jerks. You’ve stayed in this sad, rusting town because you’re too scared to leave. You’re acting just like Mom. Cut it out.”
Jody sucked in her breath. Anna did too. That was the nuclear option, and she hadn’t even planned to deploy it. She and Jody had both led lives deliberately to avoid ending up like their mother.
“You think you’re better than Mom.” Jody’s words were slow and dangerous. “Just because you moved to D.C. and got a job prosecuting domestic violence. But you’re more like her than I am, aren’t you? Deep down inside, you can’t trust anyone. Sure, you moved out of Holly Grove. Congratulations. You’re completely alone in the world.”
Anna felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It was true. Over the last few weeks especially. She’d never felt so alone in her life.
“I am trying to be here for you now,” Anna said. “I’m not sure I can do it, though, if you just keep lying to my face.”
“What is that: a threat? Well, guess what? I don’t want you here. I didn’t ask you to come. This is my business and I can take care of it. Go back to helping strangers in D.C. and leave me the fuck alone!”
Jody stormed to her bedroom and slammed her door.
Anna stood there, shaking with fury. Eventually, she went to the fridge and grabbed a can of Bud Light. She cracked it open, noting how easy it was to avoid cutting herself in the process, and took a sip. Then she pulled out her phone and swiped to the Expedia app. She searched for flights back to D.C.
31
The next day, Anna waited on the sidewalk in front of Reagan National Airport, until a gleaming white BMW came around the bend. She waved at the car, and Grace pulled it to the curb. Her friend hopped out and embraced her.
“Thanks so much for coming,” Anna said.
“Of course.” Grace glanced at her. “You need a haircut and a manicure.”
“And a bottle of tequila and a month of therapy.”
Anna loaded her suitcase into the trunk and got in. Grace pulled out of the airport and onto the GW Parkway. The Potomac River flowed calmly next to the road. Monuments gleamed in the distance. The city looked so civilized.
“You want to talk about it?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know where to start,” Anna said.
“You got in a fight with your sister. Which is not at all surprising, given the stress that you’re both under. But what did you ladies actually argue about?”
“Everything and nothing. What happened yesterday and what’s been simmering for years. We both said the meanest things possible. Hit each other in our weakest places.”
“Ah, sisters.” Grace had two sisters herself. “There’s no one a woman can be meaner to than her own sister. No one else knows where your bruises are and how to press on them. And family is forever, which liberates you to be extra cruel.”
“I was there to help her. I moved to Michigan and put my job on the line to defend her. And she lied to me, over and over.”
“What you did was amazing,” Grace glanced at her. “Did Jody ask you to come to Michigan?’
“Actually, no. Her friend Kathy did, because she was worried that Jody is in trouble. Which she definitely is.”
“Hm. Your little sister has lived her whole life in your shadow a bit, hasn’t she?”
“She wants to prove herself by making her own way in her first-degree homicide trial?”
“Maybe you could ask her what she wants.”
Anna stared out the window. She just assumed Jody would want her there. Obviously she was wrong.
“Or not,” Grace said. “I, for one, am very happy to have you back in D.C. I’ll make an appointment at Red Door for us.”
They turned onto North Capitol Street, passing Union Station. Anna stared at the lovely landscaping. The federal part of D.C. was neat, symmetrical, and showy. Marble pillars abounded; golden statues gleamed atop pedestals. Mounds of flowers lined every building. The expensive beauty was jarring after Holly Grove.
Anna had lived in D.C. for over two years. But driving through today, it didn’t feel like home. Holly Grove didn’t either. Wherever she was, she had a feeling that “home” was somewhere else. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore.
Soon they were in the sylvan neighborhood of Takoma Park. A post-hippie mecca of crunchiness, the downtown was lined with coffee shops, bead stores, and even a pet shop featuring organic, free-trade wares. Grace turned onto a residential street where giant trees towered over colorful bungalows and cottages. She pulled in front of a yellow Victorian. Anna stared at Jack’s house.
“Want me to come in?” Grace asked.
Anna shook her head. “I just need a couple hours. I don’t want to ruin your whole day.”
“Okay, I have some chores to run. I’ll pick you up at four.”
“Thanks.”
Grace drove off, and Anna stood on the sidewalk in front of the house. It looked even prettier than she remembered. She walked up the steps, smelling the mint and basil in the garden. She fished the key out of her purse and slipped it into the doorknob. It still worked. She stepped into the foyer, dizzy with nostalgia and a sense of displacement.
A streak of orange flew across the floor and hurled itself at her feet. Her cat, Raffles, rubbed enthusiastically against her legs. She picked him up and buried her nose in his glossy fur. He butted his head under her chin and purred so loudly he sounded like a motorboat. She rubbed his neck and carried him with her.
The living room was as she remembered it. Jack’s reading glasses were folded on top of some papers by the dragonfly lamp. Olivia’s favorite Princess and the Frog backpack sat on floor, a pink bathing suit poking out of the top. But on the coffee table was something different: a thick white photo album that had not lived there before. Anna set Raffles down and flipped to the front page. It was the wedding album of Jack’s marriage to his first wife, Olivia’s mother. Her chest tightened painfully. She closed the book.
In the cheerful kitchen, things had been rearranged. The blue vase she and Jack registered for had been replaced with a red one. The mugs had been moved from the cabinet by the sink—the location Anna had chosen—to their old space abo
ve the microwave. That spot made no sense for mugs, which was why Anna had moved them in the first place. She fought an urge to transfer the mugs back into the cabinet by the sink.
She went upstairs. The door to Olivia’s room was open, and Anna stood in the threshold, looking at the purple bedspread and shelves full of books and toys. The nightlight she’d bought Olivia was still plugged into the wall. How many nights had Anna perched on that bed, patting the girl to sleep and trying to dispel her nightmares? How many times had she sat on that stool, braiding her hair? In this room, she had been a mother.
She kept going, to her own bedroom. Correction: Jack’s bedroom. She had no claim to it anymore. She walked into the room with its red walls and colorful quilt. She had never slept better than on that bed. She had done delicious things with the man she loved on that bed. In this room, she had been a wife. Well, almost.
She went into the walk-in closet. At least her clothes were still hanging where she left them. Not for long. She took out two large suitcases and began to fold the clothes into them. She hadn’t had a chance to pack after their breakup, because she’d gone immediately to Michigan. But now that she was reestablishing herself in D.C., and would no longer be telecommuting, she’d need her work clothes.
She was finishing the second suitcase when she heard the front door open. She stopped and listened. Footsteps walked purposefully around the first floor of the house, then came up the steps. She stood and tried to prepare herself.
Jack walked into the bedroom. Seeing him was a visceral experience. She wanted to both run into his arms and run out of the house. She felt all the love she had for him, and all the pain. He stared at her like he was seeing a ghost, which was ironic, since he was the one who haunted her.
A Good Killing Page 15