Mary Jane's Grave

by Stacy Dittrich

  Naomi and Coop, knowing I hadn’t called in sick that day, were waiting in my office. They jumped all over me the minute I walked in, wanting to know if I was okay, what was wrong, why didn’t I answer the phone or the door, telling me how worried they were, and that they almost had someone break in to check on me. It was what Naomi said last that got an emotional reaction from me.

  “When I called Michael, all he would tell me was you weren’t feeling yourself.”

  I was stunned. “You called Michael?”

  Coop and Naomi exchanged confused glances. I realized I was giving myself away, and I needed to fix it quickly. I wasn’t ready to tell everyone yet what had happened. I needed some time.

  “It’s just that…you really shouldn’t bother him, Naomi. I just had the flu, that’s all. I was asleep most of the time and didn’t hear the door or phone.”

  “Okay.” Naomi looked at me peculiarly. “If you want to take it easy today, I can get some other detectives to help you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have a lot of catching up to do, and I’m more than capable.” I sat down at my desk and started grabbing files and throwing papers.

  I wasn’t paying attention when Coop left my office and shut the door. Only when Naomi took a file out of my hand and laid it on my desk did I notice. She pulled a chair over to me and sat down.

  “CeeCee, I know you’re telling me you had the flu, but in all honesty, I don’t believe you.” She looked at me solemnly. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I hope you know you can talk to me.”

  I tried to smile. “Really, Naomi, you’re making too much of this, I’m…”

  I lost it. I suppose I was trying too hard to put on a show and my emotions got the best of me. I became hysterical there in my office, putting my face in my hands and sobbing. No one has ever seen me do that before.

  Naomi was speechless. Only briefly. “CeeCee! Oh my God! What happened?” She grabbed the box of tissues off my desk and began handing me one after another.

  For reasons unknown, I confessed everything to Naomi. Truthfully, it felt good to talk to someone about it. She was even more shocked.

  “I can’t believe you, of all people, would let someone bully and blackmail you like that! CeeCee, you have to tell Michael!”

  I looked up from under my tissue. “No! Naomi, I just told you, there’s no other way.” I inhaled in short, hic-cupping breaths. “You have to promise me right now that you will not say a word to anyone, especially Michael.”

  It took her a few minutes, and I honestly thought she was going to refuse and tell Michael everything. Nevertheless, she finally relented, nodding her head, tears in her own eyes.

  “CeeCee, I can’t imagine dealing with this.” Her voice was quiet, soft. “After all you two have been through…this isn’t fair. How are you going to handle this?”

  “I don’t know,” I sniffled.

  Naomi sat with me for half an hour while I cried, finished and attempted to pull myself together. She kept shaking her head, completely flabbergasted at the situation. I knew how she felt.

  I was so tired of being an emotional train wreck, I was desperate for a distraction. I found it when I looked down on my desk and saw my notes from the sheriff’s story on the 1986 murder at Mary Jane’s Grave. Naomi saw me looking at them.

  “You find something?”

  “No, I just decided I’m going to spend the day looking for this murder file.” I held up the notes.

  She stood up to leave.” If you need to talk, call me. Will you be okay?”

  I sighed and gave a halfhearted smile. “For now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  As I promised, I spent the entire day searching for the old murder case. It was a wonderful way to get my mind off my disastrous personal life. And as I predicted, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I started with the boxes we had transferred from the storeroom. Trying to find the ones marked 1986 was a feat in itself.

  I didn’t have a report number to go by, so I had to flip through each file, skimming for the location. Since the department averaged about 150,000 calls per year, this would take me weeks. However, since the sheriff told me he remembered the murder occurred in spring, it narrowed my search considerably. I sectioned the boxes off, between March and April of 1986 but had no luck. I made another attempt at February and May but still came up with nothing. It was my call to the cold-case unit that struck gold. I silently scolded myself for not checking with them first.

  When I called them, a detective with more than thirty years on the department, Greg Tolander, knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “Hell yeah, we got that case, CeeCee. I’m actually surprised you hadn’t called earlier since there was another murder down there. I figured you’d want to see this one.”

  “I didn’t even know about it until a couple days ago. You do have everything? Photos, statements and all?”

  “Yup.”

  “Anywhere near solving it?”

  “We already solved it. It was those kids, no doubt about it. But since they were all acquitted, we have to hang on to it. All it does is take up space.”

  “I’ll be over shortly to get it.”

  I felt a tad euphoric over the revelation of the file’s whereabouts. Not ecstatic by any means—the dark cloud of the Michael situation was still hovering—but it was a welcome feeling nonetheless.

  I decided to take the file back to my office. It was the end of the day, and I could’ve gone home, but all I’d do there is sit and stare at walls.

  As I got to my desk, my attorney called and said, “Congratulations, you’re officially divorced!” I couldn’t say I felt like celebrating.

  I grabbed a cup of strong coffee before I settled in to review the case file. Reading the file, I felt a sense of gloom come over me, and it didn’t have anything to do with Michael. The case itself was depressing.

  The victim, sixteen-year-old Melissa Drake, was a somewhat backward girl with very few friends. According to the statements, a popular boy at school who had just broken up with his girlfriend befriended Melissa. The boy, Derek Solis, took a genuine interest in Melissa, and she was thrilled. Along with having a new boyfriend, Melissa was sought out by a new group of friends, popular girls, including Derek’s ex- girlfriend, Meghan Dearth. It was all a ruse.

  Living by the old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Meghan Dearth set forth an intricate plot to kill Melissa Drake. And it appeared she succeeded. For months they took Melissa with them wherever they went: to the mall, to the movies, out to eat and to the best parties in school. Melissa was in seventh heaven, having never known a social life before.

  Her heaven turned to hell in March of that year when Meghan and the others—Nicole Harstein, Alexis Kemper, Sydney Whitlow, Dillon Anderson, and Daniel Griffin—decided to show her Mary Jane’s Grave. The children of local attorneys, doctors and judges, they took Melissa there and dared her to kiss the pine tree.

  She had just bent over when the first strike came, and then the next and so on. They had beaten Melissa Drake to death with rocks. Meghan Dearth had felt humiliated to have been dumped for a backward, plain and unsociable girl like Melissa Drake, so she got her revenge. Furthermore, she got away with it.

  No one talked. The parents provided their alibis and even testified to the fact. According to them, the teens were all at home. Only once did Nicole Harstein tell one of the investigators what really happened. Even so, when the case went to trial, she retracted it all and claimed the detective coerced her. There was so little physical evidence, each of them was found not guilty. According to the detective who interviewed Nicole Harstein, Daniel Griffin did the actual killing. The rest of them handed him the rocks.

  I put down the statements and looked at the photographs of the crime scene and body; it was brutal. Melissa’s head had been caved in on both sides. I hoped that she blacked out with the first blow. I shivered, thinking back to when Naomi’s head had been crushed
with a rock.

  When I finished viewing the photographs, I looked at the background of all the suspects. They were all clean, straight- A students except one, Daniel Griffin. He was a twenty- two-year-old high school dropout with an extensive criminal record. One of his prior charges was a felony conviction of cruelty to animals. He had taped a bottle rocket to the side of a kitten with duct tape and lit it. He served only three months in the county jail for it. There was another conviction of cruelty to animals, but the file didn’t give the circumstances.

  My question was why were these other kids hanging around with him, and how did they know him in the first place? He was clearly the odd man out. At the time of the murder, he was living at the YMCA. The parents of the others covered for Daniel as well, knowing if they didn’t and he took the fall, he would talk.

  According to Nicole, Meghan kept urging Daniel on and screaming, “Kill the bitch! Do it!” She also claimed that Meghan was giving Daniel sexual favors in return for his part in the murder. Nicole said that she and Meghan were out driving around one night and found Daniel walking down the street in a rough part of town. Allegedly Meghan said, “He looks perfect for the job. Pull over!”

  Nicole denied knowing what Meghan was talking about, but she pulled the car over anyway. It seemed as if all the girls were terrified of Meghan. I couldn’t imagine why. Nicole said that Meghan got out and stood outside the car whispering to Daniel for almost fifteen minutes. When he got into the backseat with Meghan, Meghan ordered Nicole to start driving while she gave Daniel a blow job. Meghan’s father was a municipal court judge who retired about five years ago. I’m sure he was quite proud of his daughter’s actions. Knowing cops as I do, I guarantee the detectives told the judge everything. I never liked girls like Meghan Dearth, and I could never understand how other girls followed them.

  All the girls were seventeen years old, and all were 165 tried as juveniles, another indication of their parents’ standing in the community. Anybody else would have been bound over as an adult in a heartbeat. When I looked at their pictures, I thought back to the time of the murder. I was just turning thirteen, and I don’t ever remember hearing about this. My father was still a patrolman back then. I’d have thought he would’ve mentioned it. He always came home and told me about cases like that.

  I put the photographs down, and wrote a list of things I needed to do. I was very interested in finding out the circumstances behind Daniel Griffin’s other conviction. It was in Richland County in 1984, and luckily I had a report number. I also wanted to track down all of these kids. They didn’t talk then, but maybe they would now. Years of guilt may have taken its toll on some of them—except Meghan Dearth. People like her don’t ever change. But even if they confessed the whole crime now, they could never be tried for it by reason of the double- jeopardy law.

  Melissa Drake had been murdered in March, the same month all the Hendrickson women died. I highlighted the date of the murder and threw the file aside, stretching my arms and back. Only now did I realize how late it was. Since I had nothing to go home to, I wanted to stay and finish looking through the file. I only had a little more to go.

  The last section of the file was the follow- up after the murders, including the suicide report of Melissa’s mother that had been taken a year later. Someone had made a copy and put it in her daughter’s murder file. It saved me from having to look for it. Melissa’s twin brother, Nicholas, and their father, Martin, survived Melissa and her mother. After Lucinda Drake’s suicide, Martin and Nicholas moved out of state to parts unknown. I couldn’t blame them. I don’t know that I would’ve stayed around here either.

  I closed the file and sighed. It was heartbreaking. It made me appreciate that my problems didn’t amount to shit, considering what other people have gone through.

  I took my notebook and tried to sum up what I had so far, which was essentially nothing. I had a century-old legend and two murders twenty years apart. Throw in another attack and a skinned dog, and I almost laughed at myself. None of them had anything to do with the others. I knew that, so why was I hell-bent on solving all of them? Because it gave me something to do, and I always held out hope.

  Looking at my watch again, I recognized that I would only get a few hours of sleep to night before coming back in to work. I had already accepted that sleep would be minimal for the next year or more, until I got over Michael.

  After gathering my things, I walked out to the parking lot. I was somewhat surprised to see Eric and Jordan standing by his cruiser, kissing each other good- bye. Since she was still in uniform, I assumed that she worked overtime for half of the night shift with Eric. We exchanged uncomfortable pleasantries for a few minutes, and I asked about the girls. They were with a babysitter until Jordan got home and were doing fine. I gave a slight wave before heading to my car, which was parked in the back of the parking lot.

  Eric and Jordan had left by the time I opened my car door, and as I had that night at the lake, I had the peculiar feeling I was being watched. I scanned the parking lot and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There were always cars there twenty- four hours a day. If someone was watching me, I probably wouldn’t know it anyway.

  Once inside my car, I turned on my dome light so I could see while I put my bag and purse on the passenger seat. Unexpectedly, I was hit with another emotional attack. I began sobbing, put my face in my hands and lay my head on the steering wheel. I wished I could keep this from happening, but I figured it was something like the flu. My emotions came in waves as they saw fit, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I don’t know if it was seeing Eric and Jordan happy or the prospect of going home to an empty house that triggered my breakdown. It was probably both. Nevertheless, it took me only a few minutes to settle down, unlike the hours it took before. I was making progress.

  When I got home, I was moderately amazed all it required was an entire bottle of wine and two hours to fall asleep. Three hours later, I was ready to head back to work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The entire next week wasn’t much better. With the girls back, I told them that Michael was out of town for work. I needed to get myself mentally stronger so I could be there for them when I gave them the bad news. Two days after finding the Melissa Drake murder file, I was served with a notice that stated my appearance at the depositions was no longer needed; they were canceled. I guess Vanessa kept her word. I couldn’t help wondering if they were back together. That thought alone sent me into emotional chaos.

  Needless to say, having the girls around was rather therapeutic since I couldn’t fall onto the floor in a poignant mess when they were there. I learned to control my feelings a little better, like the old days. Michael had yet to call and make arrangements to pick up the rest of his things. I began to wonder if he ever would. I knew he despised every part of me and probably didn’t want to come back here. That hurt.

  Naomi and Coop treated me like a fragile china doll. They were constantly asking me if I was okay and stopping by my house. I assumed they thought if they didn’t check on me every five minutes, they’d find me hanging in my garage. I told them they were being ridiculous, but they knew how Michael and I felt about each other, and they knew what we had been through.

  It was near the second week after Michael left that Danielle Horton called me. She wanted to come in and talk. She said she remembered some other things about the night she was attacked. I didn’t get too excited because I anticipated more ghost stories. I was partially right.

  When Danielle came to see me, she looked much better than she had the night in the hospital. Her head was almost healed, as well as the burns. She said the doctors told her the burns would definitely leave scars, but they weren’t painful anymore. When she began to tell me what she remembered, she appeared very uncomfortable, wringing her hands and playing with her hair.

  “I don’t know if this means anything, Sergeant, but I was taking a shower last night and I totally remembered that when I
was on the trail, I saw someone standing in the woods.” She blew out a highly audible sigh of relief that she was able to tell me.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t one of your friends?” I asked.

  One chubby hand went directly to stroke her hair. “No, I mean, I’m positive it wasn’t, because this guy, or person, was soooo tall. I mean, like, huge. None of my friends come close to that.”

  She was onto something, I’d give her that. She most likely was describing the person whose footprint that I had in a plaster cast locked away in evidence.

  “Danielle, do you remember anything else about him? Did you see his face, clothing, anything?”

  She shook her head. “It was dark. I just saw, like, the outline of him. Ya know what I mean?”

  I had a thought. “If I drove you down there could you show me exactly where you saw him standing?” Maybe I could get another print and match it.

  She shook her head aggressively. “I can’t go back there, Sergeant. I’m sorry! I haven’t told you the rest of it yet!”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but”—if I heard someone say that one more time, I believe I might be the one ending up in a straitjacket—“after I blacked out I remember waking up for a few seconds, and I was actually standing on my feet.” She drew in a deep breath. “I was disoriented, ya know, confused, and I heard something behind me. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but when I turned around…” She began to cry. “There was a lady behind me!”

  She cried for a little while until I prodded her to continue. I put my pen down, knowing I was about to hear about the woman in white again.

  “Sh-she was standing less than two feet from me, and her eyes, her eyes were red!” She sniffled.

  “Danielle, what do you mean they were red?” I tried not to sound disbelieving, even though I was.

  “You know when you break blood vessels in your eyes? Kinda like that, except it was the entire eye, both eyes!” She put her hands up to her face for just a second. “The next thing I remember, she reached out and grabbed my neck, and her hand, her hand was all black and burned, and you could see the bone!”