Before She Was Found

by Heather Gudenkauf

  “The usual,” Violet says in a quiet voice. Violet had only been on a total of two sleepovers when we lived in New Mexico. Since moving here, she spends nearly every other Friday night at the Landry house. It’s become like a second home to her, I think guiltily.

  Cora has never spent the night at our house, though I tell Violet she is more than welcome to invite her over. It never happened, though. There is always an excuse as to why Cora never spends the night: Cora has a stomachache, the family is heading out of town early the next morning, they have family plans.

  I thought I was sending Violet to a nice home, with nice parents.

  “We ate pizza and watched a movie. Then we went to bed,” Violet says.

  “What time did you go to bed?” Officer Grady asks.

  “Eleven thirty, I think.”

  I’m getting frustrated. Why does it matter what they ate and what movie they watched? I want to know what happened at the train yard. I want to know what animal went after the girls. I’m just getting ready to say this when Violet begins to speak again. “Then we got up again at midnight to go to the old train depot.”

  Officer Grady slides his eyes to me and gives a slight shake of his head. I take this is as my cue to keep my mouth shut. “Why were you going to the train depot?” he asks.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Violet says, tracing one finger through the small mound of salt that she spilled on the table.

  “That’s okay, Violet,” Officer Grady says. “We’ve got time.”

  “Well, we were going to look for Joseph Wither. We thought that maybe we could find him. We thought we could see what he looks like and maybe stop him.”

  “Stop him from what?” he asks.

  “From killing another girl or taking one,” Violet says so matter-of-factly that you’d think she was talking about doing her homework or drying the dishes.

  “Oh, my God,” I say. “Violet, what were you thinking? Why would you do that?”

  “We were curious. We thought it would be fun.” A ripple of regret passes over her face.

  “You saw him?” Officer Grady asks. “You saw Joseph Wither attack Cora?”

  “It was really dark,” Violet says. “It was hard to see anything. But I heard her scream.”

  “And then what did you do?” he asks.

  “I hid in the grass. I was afraid.” Violet blushes. “She screamed and screamed and I know I should have gone and helped her but I couldn’t move.”

  “You kept yourself safe, Violet. That was a smart thing to do,” Officer Grady tells her. “You heard Cora scream and you hid in the grass. Where was the other girl, Jordyn Petit?”

  “I don’t know,” Violet says. “She got mad at us and said she was leaving but I don’t think they did.”

  Officer Grady looks up from his notebook. “They? Was there someone else with you at the train yard?”

  “I meant Jordyn,” Violet says. “I don’t think she left.”

  “Why do you think that?” Officer Grady stares so hard at Violet that she actually squirms. She’s lying about it only being the three of them at the depot.

  When it’s clear that Violet isn’t going to answer his question, Officer Grady goes on. “So, you heard Cora scream and you hid in the grass. Then what?”

  “All of a sudden she stopped. It got real quiet so I came out and found Cora. She was all bloody. I thought she was dead.”

  “What about the blood on your hands and clothes?” Officer Grady asks. “How did it get on you?”

  Uncertainty skitters across her face and I jump in. “She was helping her friend. Weren’t you, Violet?” Officer Grady shoots me a warning look.

  “Violet?” he repeats.

  “I don’t remember,” she says.

  “When the lady with the dog found Cora, no one else was around. Where did you go?”

  “I ran and hid,” she says. “I was scared.”

  “When you came out of the grass, you were carrying something. Do you remember what it was?” Violet shakes her head.

  My mind thinks back to the moment when Violet wandered out from the overgrown grass. I remember how her clothes were bloodied. I remember something slipping from her bloody fingers but didn’t think it was important. I had completely forgotten about it.

  “It was a hawk-billed knife, Violet. Do you know what that is?” Violet doesn’t answer but continues to look down at her hands, which are on her lap, her right index finger moving in swift strokes across her thigh. I know what she is doing. It’s a nervous habit. She’s sketching something. Her finger is her pencil, her leg her canvas. “It’s a knife with a hooked blade. It’s very sharp,” Officer Grady continues. “It’s what was used to hurt Cora. Why were you holding it, Violet?”

  “We just brought it in case we needed to protect ourselves from Wither,” she murmurs, her finger still sweeping across her thigh. I’m momentarily stunned. The girls brought the weapon that was used on Cora? None of this makes any sense.

  “Violet,” Officer Grady says, “look at me.” Violet lifts her chin and meets his eyes. “There is no such thing as Joseph Wither.”

  “There is,” Violet whispers.

  “The real Joseph Wither died a long time ago.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Violet shakes her head. “He can’t die.”

  “He must be real,” I try to defend her. “I mean, maybe someone told her he was Joseph Wither, but he was lying.”

  This is taking too long. For every minute that Officer Grady spends sitting in our kitchen questioning Violet, this Wither person is getting farther and farther away.

  Officer Grady looks pissed but I push back from the table and stand. “I’ll be right back.” I hurry from the kitchen and up the stairs and into the bedroom. I pull the sketchbook from beneath the bed and run back downstairs.

  “See.” I thrust the sketch in front of Officer Grady. “Maybe this is who you should be looking for.”

  “Mom!” Violet exclaims, trying to intercept the sketchbook. “That’s mine. You can’t go through my things.”

  Officer Grady takes the book in his hands and Max slides off the kitchen counter to look over his shoulder.

  “Who is it?” Officer Grady asks.

  “Joseph Wither,” Violet says in a small voice.

  “Why did you draw the picture of him, Violet? How do you know what he looks like?” Officer Grady asks.

  “For a school project.” I speak for her but Grady gives me a sharp look that quiets me.

  “We found a picture of him in an old yearbook at the library,” Violet explains.

  Officer Grady rubs a hand over his mouth and drops the sketch pad onto the table with a thunk. “Joseph Wither would be in his nineties by now and he most definitely wouldn’t look like this anymore.”

  “He does,” Violet persists. “He does look like this.”

  “We found your fingerprints on the weapon, Violet.”

  “Whoa,” I say in disbelief. “Of course you did. We all know that she picked up the knife or whatever the hell it was after she found Cora.” Officer Grady looks at me skeptically. “What are you saying? You think that Violet did this?”

  “What am I supposed to think?” He lifts his hands like he’s had it with all of us and sighs. “We have some text exchanges between Violet and another child that are pretty damning. Violet’s fingerprints are on the weapon used to stab Cora and Cora’s blood was all over her hands and clothes. What does that look like to you?”

  “It looks like this conversation is over,” I say, voice shaky with rage. “Get out.” My mind is reeling. What text messages? The other child has to be Jordyn. So that’s why they took Violet’s phone at the emergency room. They were looking for evidence.

  “Why would Violet hurt Cora?” Max speaks up. “She’s her best friend. Violet wouldn’t hurt anyone.”


  “I don’t think Violet is being as forthcoming as she can be.”

  “What about someone pretending to be this guy? Apparently everyone in town seems to know who he is. And anyone could have known the girls were doing a project about him. What about her classmates or the teacher? Did you question Mr. Dover?”

  “Mom,” Violet says, mortified.

  “Shh, Violet,” I tell her.

  “There are aspects of the case that I can’t discuss with you,” Officer Grady says. “But I have to ask tough questions even if they are upsetting.”

  “What if I refuse?” I lower my voice. “What if I don’t let you talk to her?” I challenge.

  “Then I’ll have to get a warrant.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask. “You’ll arrest her?”

  “I don’t want it to come to that but if I have to...” Officer Grady’s icy voice lets me know just how serious he is.

  “Mom?” Violet says, bursting into tears. “I don’t want to go to jail,” she cries. “Please, don’t let him take me.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her. To Grady I snap, “Don’t you think she’s scared enough? Now you have to threaten to arrest a twelve-year-old?”

  “All I’m asking for is for some cooperation.” Grady turns to Violet, who has gotten up from her chair and backed away from the table. “Don’t you want to help your friend, Violet?” he asks.

  Violet nods but her eyes flick toward the front door. I know what she’s going to do before she does. She dashes from the kitchen and wrenches open the front door before I can even get to my feet. “Violet,” I cry. “Violet, come back!” But she’s gone. Just like she used to do when she was five and kindergarten seemed too overwhelming and hard.

  She’s run and taken my pepper spray with her.

  Dr. Madeline Gideon

  September 14, 2018

  After Jim Landry’s outburst I decided to go back and check on Cora. As I approached I heard voices floating out from the hospital room. I peeked inside and could see a man sitting next to Cora’s bed. He was leaning in close to her and brushed his fingers across her forehead, gently pushing her bangs aside. Cora was smiling up at him while a brightly colored Mylar get-well balloon, anchored by a small weight, bobbed gently on the bed next to Cora. I didn’t want to interrupt but as I was turning to leave the man saw me lingering in the doorway.

  “Come on in,” he said. “I was just getting ready to leave. I’m John Dover, one of Cora’s teachers.”

  I extended my hand and John Dover reached out to take it. He was taller than my six feet and I guessed he was in his early forties. He was handsome and had an easy smile that I was sure the young girls he taught found attractive. “I’m Dr. Gideon,” I introduced myself. “I don’t want to interrupt your visit.”

  “Mr. Dover teaches social studies,” Cora said. “It’s my favorite subject.”

  “Well, Cora is a great student,” Mr. Dover said, laying a hand on Cora’s sheet-covered foot. “You have to get well fast, Cora,” he said. “Third period won’t be the same without you there.”

  Cora smiled shyly at the compliment. “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Well then, I’ll count on it,” Mr. Dover said. “I should let you get some rest now. You take care.”

  “You’re leaving already?” Mara Landry said as she came into the room carrying two cups of coffee.

  “Well, you know those lesson plans don’t write themselves,” Mr. Dover said, causing Cora to give a little laugh.

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Mara said. “Cora, what do you tell Mr. Dover?”

  “Thanks for the balloon and thanks for coming to see me,” Cora said, her eyes focused downward. I imagined it was awkward, to say the least, to have your teacher see you in a hospital gown.

  After Mara and Mr. Dover left I stayed behind. “That was very kind of your teacher to come and visit you,” I commented.

  “He’s nice,” Cora said with a shrug. “I bet he’d come to see any student that was in the hospital.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “What makes social studies your favorite class?” I asked.

  Cora shrugged again. “I don’t know. Mr. Dover makes it interesting. Fun.”

  “How so?” I pressed, wanting to get a sense of what was important to Cora.

  “Sometimes he dresses up like characters when he teaches and he listens when you talk to him,” Cora said, pulling on the silver ribbon dangling from the balloon.

  “What do you talk about?” I asked as I settled in a chair next to Cora’s bed.

  “School, friends, just regular stuff like that. I used to eat lunch in his classroom and we’d talk. My sister says he’s weird, but I don’t think so.”

  “Weird in what way?” I asked, making sure I kept my voice light, conversational, even though the fact that Cora ate lunch in a teacher’s classroom raised some questions for me.

  “I don’t know, just weird. She said he was a perv, but he isn’t. He’s just nice. He cares,” Cora explained.

  I wanted to talk more about Mr. Dover with Cora—something felt just a bit off-center about him—but Mara breezed back into the room. “What are you two chatting about?” she asked, coming to Cora’s side.

  “Nothing,” Cora said, casting a worried glance my way.

  “I was just asking Cora how she was feeling,” I said, making a mental note to find out why she didn’t want her mother to know that we were talking about Mr. Dover.

  I said my goodbyes and reminded Mara and Cora that I would be back in the morning but if they needed me for anything sooner they certainly could give me a call. I hurried through the corridors in a rush to get to my next appointment when I saw John Dover sitting in a bank of chairs near the elevators. “I was hoping to catch you,” he said, rising to his feet. “Can we speak for a moment? About Cora?”

  I tried not to show my surprise. Mara must have told him what kind of doctor I was. “Of course I can’t share any medical information about Cora,” I explained. “But if you know of anything that might be helpful to Cora’s situation, I’m sure her family would appreciate it.”

  “I’m sorry to say I can’t help with finding out who did this to Cora—” Mr. Dover slid his hands into the pockets of his coat “—but she’s such a fragile little girl. I worry that she won’t pull through this.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Cora’s injuries were terrible, but from what her other doctors were saying, they weren’t life-threatening.

  “Mentally,” Mr. Dover said almost apologetically, as if he was betraying Cora. “After what’s happened I worry that she’ll retreat even more deeply into herself. Cora always seems to be in her own little world.”

  “You see this at school?” I asked.

  “I do,” Mr. Dover said. “Over the months I’ve seen Cora isolating herself from classmates and I see it in her writing and in how she interacts with others. She has a very vivid imagination.” I didn’t interject in hopes that he would continue. “What I mean is that Cora tends to read into situations. From her perspective, people are out to get her.”

  “Well, given her current circumstances,” I said before I could stop myself, “I think that is a pretty accurate perspective.”

  “No, no.” Mr. Dover held up his hands as if to stop whatever path my thoughts were heading. “Obviously, someone hurt Cora badly. I didn’t mean to suggest that wasn’t the case. What I’m trying to say is just the opposite.”

  I must have looked skeptical because Mr. Dover took a deep breath and tried again.

  “From having Cora in class I’ve noticed that she takes things to heart whether the slight is real or imagined. One wrong look from a classmate and Cora is crushed. One misinterpreted comment and she starts to cry and runs to a teacher. She tends to build up the event into something it really isn’t. She embellishes. Kids resent it and this causes some f
riction. So what I’m trying to say, and doing so poorly, is on a good day Cora struggles to keep it together, so I can imagine how hard this is for her.” Mr. Dover let out another breath and furrowed his brow. “I just want her to be okay. Cora’s a good kid.”

  “That’s all we want for Cora,” I said, forcing a smile. “Thanks for sharing your thoughts, but I have to get to my next appointment.” I turned and headed away from the elevators, opting for the stairs and leaving Mr. Dover behind.

  As my footsteps echoed down the concrete steps, John Dover’s words ran through my head. He made it sound like Cora was known for reporting slights, real or imagined, to the teacher. Could the attack on her have been in retaliation for this? That seemed like too much of a stretch.

  Besides, there was something about John Dover that made me bristle. For someone who purportedly cared so much about his student why would he take the time to seek me out only to tell me what a basket case Cora is? She embellishes, he said. She lies. Why, I wondered, was it so important to John Dover to tell me this?

  Case #92-10945

  Excerpt from the journal of Cora E. Landry

  Dec. 5, 2017

  My mom came home while I was in the middle of emailing JW44, so I had to get off the computer really fast. I ran out to the kitchen and sat at the counter like I was doing my homework.

  I don’t like being sneaky. It makes me feel bad but I know my mom would freak out if she found out I was talking to a stranger online. My mom is so happy that I actually have two friends that she has stopped asking me a thousand questions about school and who I sit by at lunch. She even lets me go over to Jordyn’s house once in a while, but I can’t go to the bar and only if Jordyn’s grandma is there.

  She still hasn’t let me go over to Violet’s house. When I ask her why, she just makes a dumb excuse even though we both know it’s because of the neighborhood that Violet lives in and the fact that Violet’s mom hasn’t lived here for a hundred years.

  My mom wouldn’t be so happy if she knew how Jordyn has been acting toward me lately. Jordyn has been so impatient. Everything I do is stupid or dumb or I’m being a baby. I never know what she’s going to be like when I get to school. Honestly, it’s exhausting.