I nod. “Karen was in our class.” A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I’m glad I’m sitting down.
“I worked in the sheriff’s office early during the joint investigation with Grotto PD,” Chief Digby says. “The case should have been solved twenty-five years ago but maybe we can do it now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dex says quietly, but from his tone I know he’s pissed. “We all worked that case hard, especially Chief Kennedy.” Dex glances my way. Dex Stroope is in his midsixties, big-bellied with a face that always looks like it could use a good nap. Dex would be well over six feet tall if not for his slumped shoulders. The weight of all the crap I’ve seen over the years, he jokes.
He and my dad have always been tight and I feel a surge of gratitude toward him for sticking up for my dad. The investigation into Eve’s murder and the inability to find her killer nearly broke my dad.
“I’m not pointing fingers,” Chief Digby says, looking directly at me. “I just think we now have the technology and resources to solve it. Twenty-five years ago, I looked Eve’s mother and sister in the eyes and promised them that I would do all that I could to help find Eve’s killer.”
“You’re not going to find much forensics on that shoe,” Dex says, nodding toward the evidence box. “Two decades of sitting in rain and mud will have washed anything of use away. Plus, the kid and his friends had their paws all over it.”
“We’re going to send it all in,” the chief says, spreading his arms open wide. “Have the state lab retest all the old evidence. A lot has changed in forensics in the past twenty-five years.”
“Have you talked to the family about this?” I ask, successfully tamping down my emotions for the time being. Nola Knox, Eve’s little sister, has always been her own person, to put it diplomatically. To put it less diplomatically, Nola is crazy. Weird shit happens when she is around. People get hurt, small animals go missing. In one of my earliest memories of Nola she is ripping the wings off fireflies and pressing the abdomens to her earlobes for a pair of glowing earrings. Then there was the baby squirrel Nola found when she was nine.
It was going to die anyway, Nola had said as a group of us kids stood around her staring horrified at the bloody knife in her hand. No one has ever forgotten that and never let Nola forget it either.
Chief Digby shakes his head. “Not since Nola was a kid, but I’m sure they’d be glad to know that we are reinvestigating. Now that I’m chief, I’m in a position to bring a fresh look at the case. Let’s get it retested and if there is any usable DNA maybe we’ll find a match.
“Genealogy sites like Ancestry aren’t charging law enforcement agencies for their services, so that won’t cost the city.”
While Digby talks, snippets of memories shuffle through my head. The day Eve and her mom and sister moved across the street and we became instant friends. The sleepovers and bike rides, the hikes down the bluff behind our homes to the caves where we laughed and shared secrets and tried to hide from Nola and my brother.
I’ve tried for over two decades to stuff the memories deep down. It’s too painful to conjure up images of Eve’s shy smile, her red hair and the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. I can’t walk past a secondhand shop without thinking of all the vintage clothing she’d buy and wear with pride.
And then there are the flashbacks of Eve’s dead body splayed out as my flashlight swept across the cave floor. Her head matted with congealed blood, her eyes open wide and staring blankly up at Nola and me, her mouth contorted into an ugly grimace. The two of us running to the nearest neighbor’s house for help. I rub my eyes, trying to scrub away the images.
“You’ve been pretty quiet, Maggie,” Chief Digby says. “What are you thinking?”
I look to Chief Digby. “Can I have it?” I ask. “The case? Eve was my best friend and I’m the one who found her,” I say, suddenly knowing that no matter how sad, how traumatic it will be to relive Eve’s final days, I’m the one who must do this. “It’s time I go on desk duty until the baby comes anyway.” As if on cue, the baby does a quick somersault, a trick she does whenever I sit still for too long. I wince at her antics and lay my palm against my midsection.
Digby quietly considers this for a moment and then asks, “Are you sure this is something you want to take on right now?”
“It won’t be a problem,” I assure him. “It makes the most sense.”
This seems to quell any doubts Digby might have. “Great, it’s yours,” he says. “Just make sure Dex is up to date on your other cases. Anything new on those arsons?” he asks.
There has been a series of old buildings being set on fire, mostly abandoned farm buildings out in the county, but the most recent was within Grotto city limits. I shake my head. “Nothing new. I’m working with the sheriff’s department and the state fire marshal. They agree they are all connected. Fires are all set at night with the same kind of setup and chemicals. Other than that, we are at a standstill.”
“Okay, keep me posted on the fires. In the meantime,” Chief Digby says, rising from his desk, “inform the Knox family and you better review the case files for reference. Once word gets out I’m sure we’ll get a slew of tipsters. And let’s get a press release ready. There will be lots of inquiries. Then gather all the evidence in the Knox case together and send it to the state lab. Let them know it’s coming.”
I slowly get to my feet, my mind whirling. I think of the last time I saw Eve and the angry words we spewed at each other. “You got this, Maggie?” Dex asks as we leave Digby’s office and step back into the squad room.
“Yeah,” I say with forced confidence. “I’m going to go talk to Charlotte and Nola Knox right away. I don’t want them finding out about this from someone else. I should talk to my dad too.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Dex agrees. “Nola Knox is hell on wheels when she gets her back up. Tread lightly,” he warns. “Remember what she did to Nick Brady?”
“I remember,” I say, but it’s the flashes of Eve’s bloodied face that have been seared into my memory. “See you later, Dex,” I say, heading for my desk, my feet heavy with dread. It’s time to get to work.
NOLA KNOX
Monday, June 15, 2020
The fawn-colored mare lay in the dry dirt, rolling from side to side, hooves kicking. Dust swirled around her like ground fog. Nola reached for the horse’s lead and urged the animal to her feet. She ran a calloused hand along the mare’s belly. It was distended and rock hard.
“How long has she been like this?” Nola asked, facing the horse, one hand on the mare’s scapula and the other over the hip joint, a stance that was meant to calm. Bijou, an American quarter horse, huffed and reared. She was suffering, her eyes wild with pain. Nola reached into her bag and prepared a syringe. Something to take the edge off. Experience told her that this horse was beyond help.
“She started acting weird yesterday,” the rancher said as he kicked dust off his expensive cowboy boots.
“Weird how?” Nola asked, biting back an impatient sigh. She needed details. Specifics.
“She kept pawing at the ground with her hoof like she was trying to dig something up,” the owner’s teenage daughter, a mousy wisp of a thing, said. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Was she looking down at her abdomen, biting at it and sweating a lot?” Nola asked, though she was already certain of the answer.
They both nodded. “We thought she got overheated because of the high temps,” he said. “We gave her plenty of water,” he said defensively. “She just wouldn’t drink it.” Father and daughter both winced as Nola inserted the needle into the thick muscle of Bijou’s sweaty flank.
“Hopefully this will relax her, ease some of her pain. Let’s get her to the stable,” Nola directed. “I can examine her better there.” Bijou fought as they made their way to the barn, a brand-new structure that had more windows and square foot
age than most homes. Inside, an acrid ammonia smell prickled Nola’s nose. “No one changed her bedding,” she said, glancing down at the foul-smelling straw. She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice.
Uneaten grain remained in Bijou’s bin—a perfect petri dish for mold. Right now, the state of Bijou’s living quarters was the least of her worries. Some people shouldn’t have the right to be horse owners, Nola thought as she got Bijou situated into the stall’s doorway.
The close quarters settled the mare a bit. Though Bijou was no longer rearing back on her haunches she stretched her neck out, her mouth opening and closing in a series of yawns.
“She’s sleepy,” the girl said. “That’s good right? The medicine is making her feel better?”
“She’s not sleepy,” Nola murmured and reached for her stethoscope. “It’s one way a horse tries to calm itself. She is stressed and in pain.” Nola inserted the ear tips and pressed the chest piece to Bijou’s flank, moving the silver disc every few seconds while the two looked on anxiously. “You should have called me right away.” Nola ripped the stethoscope from her ears and tossed it aside. “Looks like a twisted bowel.”
“Is that bad?” the daughter asked.
“Very bad when it’s not caught early enough.” Again Nola reached into her bag and this time pulled out a package of surgical gloves and a large tube of topical anesthetic. She applied the cream while Bijou pawed at the ground and snuffled, her nostrils flaring.
“I’ve been out of town for work,” the rancher stammered. “We had no idea she was this bad off.”
Despite the size of the barn, the air was stifling. The rancher’s shirt was stained with sweat and beads of perspiration dotted the girl’s nose, magnifying her freckles. Nola used her forearm to wipe her own face, her eyes burning from the salt. “Did you do zero research when you decided to buy this animal?” Nola asked angrily.
The man wasn’t used to being talked to in such a manner, not accustomed to being challenged in the boardroom let alone his own backyard. “Now listen,” he began but trailed off when Nola slid her gloved hand into Bijou’s rectum.
“Her large colon is twisted. You have two choices here,” Nola explained. “We transport Bijou to the clinic for emergency surgery or we euthanize her.”
“Wait, what?” the daughter squeaked, eyes wide with fear. “She’s dying?”
“As we speak.” Nola pulled off the gloves with a snap. “What do you want to do?”
“How much will surgery cost?” The father rubbed a smooth hand across his face.
“Daddy!” the girl cried. “We want the operation.”
“Six to eight thousand and that’s just for the surgery. Follow-up care will be more,” Nola said and gently ran her fingers across Bijou’s back. “What do you want to do?” There was no response. She reached into her bag for another syringe and another vial. She pulled back the plunger and inserted the needle into the rubber top, filling the syringe with a clear liquid.
“What is that?” the rancher asked staring at the long needle. “What are you doing?”
“It’s sodium pentobarbital.” She tapped the syringe to remove any air bubbles. “What do you want to do?” Nola repeated. “Every second you wait lessens her chance of survival, increases her suffering.”
“I don’t know,” he said uncertainly. “I don’t know.” He looked back and forth between Bijou and his daughter.
“Make a decision,” Nola snapped. “The pain medication I’ve given Bijou isn’t keeping up with the strangling of her bowel.”
“Daddy,” the girl cried, grabbing onto her father’s arm. “She has to have the surgery.”
“The surgery,” he said in a rush. “We want the surgery.”
“Okay,” Nola said, returning the syringe to her bag. “Let’s get her loaded into your trailer and to the clinic.”
The man ran to his truck while the girl hesitated, eyes red with tears. “You can save her, can’t you?” she asked.
“I can’t promise anything. She’s very sick. You should have called me a lot sooner,” Nola said gruffly. “We have to hurry.” The girl ran, crying, toward her father’s truck. Some people were just so stupid, Nola thought. Once the man and the girl were out of sight, Nola retrieved the syringe from her bag and in one swift move plunged it into Bijou’s jugular.
“There, there,” Nola whispered into Bijou’s ear. “It won’t be long now.” Black flies gathered at Bijou’s open eyes, nostrils and ears. They find the dying so quickly, Nola thought as the rancher pulled his truck up to the barn. Nola guided Bijou into the trailer and secured the rear doors.
Nola trotted to the open truck window. “I’ll call ahead to the clinic so they’ll be ready for you,” she said glancing over at the girl, who was chewing frantically at her thumbnail.
“You’re not going to do the surgery?” the rancher asked in confusion.
Nola shook her head. “No, every second counts. The surgeon will be waiting for you to arrive. He’ll take good care of her. You need to hurry.” Nola slapped the hood of the truck as if to prod it forward.
The horse would make it to the clinic but wouldn’t survive the surgery. Nola had an excellent perioperative success rate so she was glad to pass the surgery off to someone else. Let Dr. Rasmussen deal with it. Nola didn’t like him anyway. Maybe the rancher would ask for a necropsy; those she enjoyed. Nola hadn’t performed a postmortem on a horse in a long time.
She checked her cell phone in case the hospital in Willow Creek had called. Her mother had fallen down the basement steps a week ago, breaking a hip, her right ulna and three ribs. The surgery on her hip went as well as could be expected for a woman with diabetes, smoker’s lung and osteoporosis.
There were no calls from the hospital but there were three missed calls from the clinic she worked for—Ransom County Animal Health Center. RCAHC, owned by two vets, was a mixed practice, meaning it served all your veterinary needs from your guinea pig’s mange to artificially inseminating your cattle.
Nola’s specialty was with large animals. Pets, or rather pet owners, were not her strong suit according to the partners.
Nola rang the clinic and spoke before Becky, the receptionist, could say hello.
“I’ve got someone coming in with his horse. He’ll be there in ten. Twisted bowel. Dr. Rasmussen should be ready to scrub in.”
“Got it,” Becky said. “Don’t hang up. I need to talk to you. There was a police officer here looking for you,” she said, her voice just above a whisper and laced with a what have you done now tone. “I’ll be right back.” Muzak filled Nola’s ear.
Nola knew what this was about. She’d heard two women talking at the convenience store this morning while in line to pay for her coffee. They were scraping away at their scratch-off lottery tickets while they talked, unaware that she was standing right behind them. “I heard they found that Knox girl’s shoe,” said June, a woman Nola knew from the vet clinic. She lived on a farm outside of town and raised goats. “In the cave where she was murdered.”
Nola didn’t recognize the other woman, but she nodded knowingly. “Really? You know, I always thought the sister killed her. She’s one strange bird.”
June paused in her scratching. “My bet is on the boyfriend,” she said and brushed away the silver dust from her ticket with a flick of her fingers. “It’s always the boyfriend.”
“Naw, it’s the sister. My son went to school with her. Said she had a nasty temper, stabbed a kid once.”
“Really?” June asked and then caught sight of Nola standing behind them. Nola gave them a tight smile but didn’t say anything. They scooted away with their scratch-offs held tightly in their fists.
So it was no surprise to Nola that the police were looking for her. Nola waited for Becky to come back on the line and passed the time by scraping horse shit from the bottom of her boots across the scorched grass.
“Like I said, the police were here,” Becky said when she returned. “I said you were at the Niering place. What’s going on?”
“Are they coming here?” Nola asked. “Seriously? I have to get over to Goose Lake to see about a bull.” She opened the truck door, tossed her bag on the seat and climbed inside. “Couldn’t you have just taken a message?” Nola asked, starting the truck and pulling onto the road.
“It’s the police,” Becky said defensively. “What would you have done?”
“I would have taken a message.” Nola sighed and hung up on her. The last thing Nola needed was for a police officer to pull her over in front of a client’s home. It wasn’t good for business. Besides, she promised Richard Madden that she would be there before noon. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The police could wait. She had a feeling they would be taking up a lot of her time in the weeks to come.
Nola turned onto a county road, heat rising from the pavement in ripples when a car came into view, flashed its lights, slowed down and then did a quick U-turn. Nola knew the car. A black sedan belonging to her former neighbor, Maggie Kennedy. So this was the cop looking for her, Nola thought with newfound interest.
Nola pressed down on the accelerator, drove a mile and then took a sharp right. A shortcut to the Madden farm. Nola knew these back roads inside and out; she’d been crisscrossing them since she was sixteen. But Maggie knew them too. Nola floored the gas pedal, kicking up gravel as she sped down the deserted road past rows of spindly corn struggling to stay upright in the crumbly, dry earth. I’ve got work to do, she thought. Maggie could wait. It wasn’t like Eve was going anywhere.
THE WILLOW CREEK GAZETTE
December 24, 1995
The identity of a deceased female found on December 22, 1995, in an isolated area just north of Grotto, Iowa, has been released. Grotto Police officials say that Eve Knox, 15, of Grotto was found in an area known as Ransom Caves Friday by an unnamed family member and family friend. The death has been ruled a homicide by the Ransom County Coroner’s Office though the manner of death has not been made available to the public at this time.
This Is How I Lied Page 2
