by Lauren Carr
“I’m a small town prosecutor. What can I possibly do for a monster like Oliver Cartwright?” Out of respect for the church reverend, Joshua refrained from spitting out the name of the man who had confessed to abducting, raping, and killing six women during a murder spree the decade before.
“He was a monster.” Reverend Brody escorted him down the corridor to where they were to meet with the prisoner. “He’s also a man and still is.”
“Tell that to the families of his victims,” Joshua told him. “I’m sorry. Have you forgotten that I’m the father of two girls who are now around the age of his victims?”
“I totally understand,” the pastor replied. “Cartwright truly appreciates you coming to see him. We don’t have much time. They’re only allowing us fifteen minutes.” He led Joshua down a barren concrete hallway and past a series of metal doors until they reached one with two guards standing outside.
“This is Joshua Thornton,” Reverend Brody said to one of the guards. “He’s on the visitor list.”
One of the guards checked his clipboard before nodding to his partner to unlock the door and Reverend Brody led him into the visitor’s room.
Joshua regretted his grandmother teaching him to have the utmost respect for those people of authority, especially the clergy. To deny a request made by a reverend or priest was like saying no to God—something you never want to do.
What could a serial killer not fighting for an appeal of his conviction possibly want from me? What’s listening to Grandmomma getting me into now?
From what Joshua had learned about Oliver Cartwright, that was the one thing the two men had in common. They had both been raised by their grandmothers, who were strong-willed women. Firm on discipline. Long on love.
How, but for the grace of God, did I ended up where I am and Oliver Cartwright grow up to become a monster? How is it that I grew up to have a distinguished career with five good kids; while this man has been locked up for the rest of his living days for killing seven women? Was it the reason behind why his own parents didn’t raise him?
Joshua’s parents had been killed in a car accident while driving back home from a second honeymoon.
Oliver Cartwright’s father was unknown. His mother had run off to Hollywood to be a star, and had ended up a prostitute on Hollywood and Vine.
Joshua was startled out of his thoughts by the clearing of a throat. The reverend was waiting for him to join them at the table on the other side of the room.
The clang of the door shutting behind him made him jump.
The serial killer had his head bowed with his palms pressed together. Reverend Brody placed his hand on his shoulder to join him in prayer. Joshua remained on the other side of the room until they were finished.
The man in the orange overalls lifted his head and smiled so broadly at Joshua that his shiny scalp wrinkled around his ears. “Mr. Joshua Thornton. You did come.” He turned to the pastor. “It really works. Prayers are answered. I can’t believe he came.” He turned back to the lawyer. “I prayed you would come.”
The absence of words caused Joshua to answer with a silent nod. He wondered if this was some sort of mistake.
The serial killer that had held Pittsburgh and its surrounding area in a grip of terror during the summer of 2003 was a devil-worshipper with a full head of blond hair and bushy beard.
Is it really possible for a serial killing atheist to become a born again Christian? Has to be a trick.
“Sit down, Joshua.” Reverend Brody offered him a chair at the table.
“Thank you for your prayers, Reverend.” Oliver clasped his hand. “They’re helping. I’ve been sleeping better, and now Joshua Thornton is here—”
“I’m not making any promises,” Joshua sat in the chair across from him. “The reverend didn’t even tell me what this was about. I only came because he asked.”
“But now you’re here.” Oliver flashed a wide grin filled with yellow teeth. “I have faith that you’ll help, and God will make things right. He is just. That’s why I’m here.” He indicated the prison walls. “This is where I belong.”
Joshua slowly nodded his head before casting him a sidelong glance.
The killer’s smile dropped. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m a monster. Right? That’s what you’re thinking.”
Joshua couldn’t stop the glare that he flashed across the table at the killer.
“You’re right. I was a monster.” Oliver let out an evil- sounding laugh. “I confessed. Hell, I was proud of what I did. Now, I’m ashamed of it. I’m ashamed of what I was. I pray for those women—and their families.” The grin dropped from his face. “It took about seven years to sink in, but God did it. Suddenly, it all happened and—I’m not the same man I was when I killed those women. That man is dead.”
“You were born again?” Joshua was still suspicious.
“I’ve asked for forgiveness—why He would forgive me? Anyone would forgive me?—but—” Oliver choked up. “I know I don’t deserve it. That’s why, I want there to be one good thing that I leave behind.” Tears came to his eyes. “That’s why you’re here. I can’t do it, but you can. Reverend Body said you’re the one man who cares enough to do it—not for me—for her.”
“Her who?” Joshua asked.
“Jane Doe,” Oliver said. “Victim Number Four.”
“He wasn’t charged for her murder,” Reverend Brody said.
“Because I didn’t do her.”
“That’s why you weren’t charged with her murder,” Joshua said. “You were charged with six murders out of seven victims attributed to you.”
“That’s right,” Oliver said, “Everyone thinks I did that fourth victim. I hear about it. The news says I killed seven women, but I didn’t do Jane Doe. Since they all think I did her, no one is trying to find out who did. No one even knows who she is. She has people out there, Mr. Thornton. Maybe they know what happened to her. Maybe they don’t. But there’s one thing I do know. Someone killed her and it wasn’t me; and she deserves justice just like those women I did kill.”
He reached out to touch Joshua’s hand. During the long drive from Chester, West Virginia, to the prison, Joshua couldn’t fathom how he could sit in the same room with this man. Now, he was touching his hand. Joshua could feel the sincerity in the warmth of his dry scaly fingers.
“I want one good thing to come out of my being on this Earth. Make it this. Don’t do it for me. I don’t deserve it. But Jane Doe does. Do it for her.”
Looking down at the killer’s hand on his, Joshua tried to recall what he had heard about Jane Doe.
Victim Number Four.
The police working the case didn’t release much about her murder. A county prosecuting attorney in Hancock County, West Virginia, Joshua wasn’t involved in the investigation. All he knew was what the media reported.
Like the other victims, her body was found naked in a field.
Oliver Cartwright had forced his victims into their cars and then drove them to a vacant field where he’d raped and strangled them. Leaving his victims naked where he killed them, Cartwright would return the victim’s car to the shopping center from which he had snatched them, and leave their clothes neatly folded on the driver’s seat.
Jane Doe was never identified. No one knew where she had come from or how she had ended up murdered in a field.
Oliver squeezed Joshua’s hand while gazing at him with tears in his eyes. “Help Jane, Mr. Thornton. Please.”
The door opened to the cell. “Sorry, gentlemen. Time’s up.”
Joshua turned to Cartwright. “I will. I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make things right for Jane Doe. I’ll do it for both of you.”
What a way to start a vacation.
For the first time in Joshua’s forty-five years, he was home alone. All of his five children were gone and he had the whole house on the corner of Rock Spring Boulevard in Chester, West Virginia, to himself.
Home alone was a big thing. Joshua
had gone from his grandmother’s home to the Naval Academy, where he had lived in a dorm. From the Naval Academy, he had gotten married and lived with his wife, Valerie. They immediately began a family with their first born being twins. Valerie’s sudden death had left him with five children, most of them teenagers.
Now, they were leaving the nest one by one. This summer seemed like one long graduation with one son, Murphy, graduating from the Naval Academy and moving to Washington to begin his first assignment at the Pentagon. Daughter Sarah graduated from Oak Glen High School and was taking her brother’s place at the Naval Academy. Her summer consisted of plebe training in Annapolis.
The week after Sarah’s graduation, Joshua Junior, Murphy’s twin, graduated with a bachelor in pre-law from Pennsylvania State University. After a summer of teaching as an associate professor, he would be starting law school in August.
Daughter Tracy was thrilled to receive a highly coveted summer internship position at the Ritz Carlton in New York City. She was now learning top culinary secrets from some of the world’s most respected chefs.
They grow up fast. The last Thornton left in the nest was sixteen-year-old Donny, who was spending the month at the Outer Banks with his aunt and uncle and their children.
While waiting for those pangs of empty nest to hit, Joshua planned for a two-week vacation from his job as Hancock County’s prosecuting attorney to fly solo and enjoy every minute.
After waving goodbye to Donny when he rode off with Sarah to head east; Joshua went inside, stripped off his clothes, and went room to room naked. Then, he ordered a take-out pizza, drank soda straight from the liter bottle, and put it back in the fridge without the cap.
When he woke up that first morning, Joshua thought about Reverend Brody’s request for him to visit Oliver Cartwright in prison. He hemmed-and hawed before finally agreeing at the last minute to go. He’d feel guilty if he didn’t.
Joshua wasn’t going to embark on this investigation so much for Oliver Cartwright as he was for Jane Doe’s family. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Jane Doe was one of his two daughters, and he didn’t know what had happened to her.
Modern technology had become a Godsend. While drinking a cup of coffee at Starbucks, Joshua searched the Internet on his smart phone to find the names of the lead investigating officers in the Oliver Cartwright murders. Lieutenant Hank Gregory, the lead officer, had died. The second lead investigator, Detective Cameron Gates was stationed at the state police barracks in Gibsonia, Pennsylvania, off Interstate 79.
Within two hours of leaving Waynesburg, Joshua pulled his SUV into the police barracks, in hopes of having a sit down with the homicide detective. At least, that was his hope.
As expected, the state police barracks was more spacious and contained most of the coveted conveniences of modern technology. It was a big step up from Hancock County’s small Sheriff Department.
After being directed to the homicide section, Joshua was greeted by an obese woman with dark shaggy hair and bangs that fell into her black eyes. On her way out, she made a U-turn on the other side of the door to follow him into the squad room. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Detective Cameron Gates,” Joshua answered her.
“Who’s asking?” Licking her lips, she looked him up and down.
Behind her, Joshua saw another woman watching him from behind her desk. Her short wavy audburn hair and tan jacket gave her a casual youthful appearance. She flashed him a wide grin that pushed her laugh lines up to frame her greenish-brown eyes. For most women, the wrinkles that come with age would be considered unattractive. Hers served to accentuate her high cheekbones.
Her grin was welcoming, while that of the short woman blocking his path resembled the sneer of a predator spotting her next conquest. Tapping the end of a cigarette on a black leather case, she undressed the man with silver wavy hair with her eyes.
He handed her his business card, which she read out loud. “Joshua Thornton, County Prosecuting Attorney, Hancock County, West Virginia.” Her big, grating, voice drew the unwanted attention of anyone who had not noticed them before. “So, Joshua Thornton, what brings you here from West-By-God-Virginia?” Laughing at what he did not know, she turned around for applause from the others in the squad room.
Judging by the amusement of everyone, except the pretty woman, the fat cigarette smoker was someone of authority.
“The Oliver Cartwright case,” he told her without humor.
The laughter stopped.
The grin fell from the smoker’s round face. “Are you his attorney?”
“No,” Joshua replied. “I’m here to ask questions about the victim he wasn’t charged for killing. Jane Doe. Victim Number Four.”
The pretty woman was now sitting up tall in her seat.
“You’ve come to the wrong place, Joshua Thornton,” the smoker said.
“This precinct has the lead on Jane Doe’s case. It’s never been closed.”
“Unofficially, it’s closed,” she argued. “Everyone knows Oliver Cartwright killed her.”
“If he killed her why wasn’t her murder brought up at his trial?” he countered. “Was it because you had evidence to prove he didn’t kill her? Evidence that could lead to identifying her and finding her real killer? That’s why the prosecutors steered clear of even mentioning her to the jury. If they had, the defense would have been able to make a case for reasonable doubt.”
“There was no doubt,” the smoker yelled. “He was tried and convicted. He confessed.”
“Not to killing Jane Doe!” Joshua felt conviction that hadn’t been there before for finding out the truth about Jane Doe’s murder. Any uncertainty he had felt before about the killer’s innocence in this murder was now gone. “That’s why I’m here.”
She laughed. “To help a serial rapist and killer?”
Grins came to the faces of those around her, but not on the face of the pretty woman. Her mouth was tight. Joshua sensed that her heart was pumping as hard as his.
“No, to help a murder victim.”
“Well, you’re not getting it here.” She ripped his business card in half and tossed it in the direction of a trash can. “I know your game. You prove Cartwright didn’t kill Jane Doe, and then you make a case that he was wrongly convicted; and, the next thing you know, he’s out. I won’t have any part in it.”
“Cartwright was never charged with killing Jane Doe,” Joshua argued. “Finding out who killed her won’t have any bearing on getting him out, which he won’t since he’s not seeking an appeal.”
“Get out of here!”
Any possible unwanted attraction the fat smoker may have had for him when he first walked in was now gone. Her eyes glaring, she rushed to close up the small bit of space between them, thrust her double chin at him, and pointed a flabby arm towards the door.
As ugly as Joshua had found her before, she was even more so up close. The glares he saw on the rest of the faces in the squad room indicated that there was no hope for any of them coming to his defense. Even the pretty woman was no longer at her desk.
With a shake of his head, Joshua left.
Joshua’s cell phone was vibrating on his hip before he reached the car.
“Have you had lunch yet, Joshua Thornton?” Her tone was much more pleasant than that of the fat smoker.
The question reminded him that he had left for the prison early that morning with nothing more than a pot of coffee. His stomach rumbled. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m only going to say this once,” she said in a low voice like a kidnapper relaying a ransom pick up. “Pull out of the barracks and turn right. Take the William Flynn Highway for ten-point-two miles. When you come to the fork, stay to the left. Stay on the Pennsylvania 28 South to Pittsburgh. Keep right at the fork and merge onto 279 South and then take Interstate 376 West. Take exit 68 at Parkway Center Drive. There’s a burger joint off on the left. They have a drive-thru. Get me a double cheeseburger with lettuce,
tomato, and only a swipe of mayo. Only a swipe. If I so much as see a drop of mayo, we’re through. I want you to also order a large waffle fries with seasoned salt, a chocolate milkshake, and a small skim milk. It has to be fat-free. Milk with fat gives Irving gas. Oh, and don’t forget the straw and napkins.”
Joshua was smiling. “Light on the mayo. Waffle fries with seasoned salt. Chocolate milkshake. Fat-free milk. Fat gives Irving gas.—Who’s Irving?”
“My partner,” she answered. “Feel free to get something for yourself. You’re buying. When you come out of the burger joint, turn right and get on Greentree Road. When you come to a fork, bare to the right onto Ridgemont Drive.—”
“Is this a joke?” Joshua yanked open the door to the glove compartment for a pen and paper.
“No,” she replied. “When you come to Springfield Street turn right. Take the first left onto New York Street and follow that all the way to a dead end. You’ll end at a hay field with clover. You’ll know you’re at the right place when you see an abandoned barn with a Mail Pouch sign painted on the side … unless it’s blown down since the murder, in which case you won’t see it, and will have to assume you’re at the right spot. Meet me there in forty-five minutes. Don’t be late.”
“What if I am?”
“I’ll faint from hunger and you’ll need to give me mouth-to-mouth to revive me.” She was still laughing when she hung up the phone.
Joshua stared at the phone in his hand. She reminded him of someone. Both her laugh and the warm feeling in his heart when he heard it. It was an eerily familiar feeling that made him wonder if he knew her from someplace.
When he hung up, he thought of how pretty she looked sitting behind the desk. Oh, how sweet it would be to give her mouth-to-mouth rescusitation. Turning the key to start the engine in his car, he almost hoped she would be unconscious from hunger when he met her.
It wasn’t until Joshua was waiting for their burgers and fries in the drive thru that the thought crossed his mind, Suppose the caller wasn’t the pretty woman? Suppose she turns out to be some lunatic even uglier than the fat smoker?
