Mary Jane's Grave

by Stacy Dittrich

  “Most likely he is, but it’s my guess that he didn’t know you were coming and you surprised him. He was probably there planning his next murder.” Michael drained his glass and set it on the table. “C’ mon, it’s late and we need to get some sleep.”

  I hardly slept and was ready for work an hour early. I had anticipated a long, boring day ahead, catching up on all my other cases that I’d completely ignored for the last month, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  When I arrived at the department, every detective we had was running around like mad. I had obviously missed something. I caught Coop in his office.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  He was grabbing a camera and other items off his desk. “The Detroit and Chicago boys went at it hard last night. They shot up each other’s houses and I think the body count is up to five right now, including two little kids who got caught in the crossfire.”

  “Do we have any of them in custody?” I asked, already knowing how hard it was to track down a member of the Detroit or Chicago gangs. They changed their identities daily. Most of them could only be identified by their fingerprints.

  “Believe it or not, we’ve got all but two. The uniforms did a hell of a job catching them. Supposedly, one of the triggermen is holed up over at a house in Johns Park. That’s where we’re all headed. SWAT’s been called out too.” Coop brushed past me in the doorway.

  “You wanna come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Ignoring my cases for one more day certainly wasn’t going to hurt. Not to mention, I wanted this guy behind bars. He was ultimately responsible for the deaths of two children, accidental or not.

  I soon watched the awesome scene unfold in Johns Park without a hitch. The bad guy was caught, and no cops got hurt. All in a day’s work.

  Naomi was still out at the murder scenes when I got back to my office. I started pulling all my old cases and began arranging them by priority. I put a couple of them off to the side, armed robberies and shootings probably committed by our suspects in the gang murders.

  I was getting ready to leave for lunch when Naomi came back. She looked haggard.

  “Can you believe this shit? I’ve been out there since three o’clock this morning. Bastards. Those little kids were only two and five years old.”

  “Hope Daddy thinks his crack was worth it.” I shook my head. “You want to go eat? I’m starved.”

  “Absolutely, any minute my stomach is going to go into seizures. Let me grab my purse and lock up my office.” She dashed out the door while I gathered my own things.

  Ten minutes later Naomi still hadn’t come back. What the hell is she doing? I thought. I was about to go down to her office when she appeared in my doorway, a look of distress on her face.

  “What’s wrong? I thought we were going to lunch?”

  She walked in and sat down. “Savannah PD just called me. They’ve found Daniel Griffin.”

  My heart skipped. “They did? Where? Can we talk to him?”

  “He’s dead, CeeCee. A hunter found his body about a hundred yards behind his trailer, in the woods.”

  I groaned and sat down. “Let me guess, he killed himself?”

  “That’s the kicker. He was strangled. And according to Lt. Cahill, he’s been dead for at least two days. So far, there’s no evidence, but they’ll let us know if they find any.”

  “Two days! Then that wasn’t him in the woods last night.”

  “CeeCee, don’t jump to conclusions. Like I said, that could’ve been a deer.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Naomi, you know better than that. This means he wasn’t the killer, which puts me back to square one.” I put my face in my hands and sighed. “Who the hell is it?”

  “Let’s go eat. You’ll think better with a full stomach.”

  I barely ate a thing. I was so dumbfounded by the death of Daniel Griffin I could barely think at all. Naomi dropped me off at the department after lunch; she had to go meet with the coroner. I sat at my desk, opened the Melissa Drake murder file and stared at the photograph of Daniel Griffin. With no more leads, I’d be forced to inactivate the case and send it to the cold case squad, a black mark for any detective. I began crumpling up Daniel’s picture out of sheer frustration, when my phone rang.

  “Sergeant Gallagher.”

  “Sergeant? This is Karen from the Holmes County Records department. I’m sorry it’s taken this long for me to get back with you, but we’ve been busy.” She gave a slight hesitant laugh. “You inquired about any marriage and/or birth certificates involving a Madeline or a Maryanne Hendrickson?”

  “That’s right.” I wasn’t holding any high hopes.

  “We couldn’t believe it, but we found both a marriage and a birth certificate for Maryanne Hendrickson and her child. The marriage license was from 1936.” Her voice was full of pride, as if she’d just located Noah’s Ark.

  “Well? What was her husband’s name?” I asked impatiently.

  “His last name was Drake. Maryanne Hendrickson’s husband was Nathaniel Drake. They had a son in 1945. His name was Martin.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I was stunned. Melissa Drake, who had been murdered almost twenty years ago, was a direct descendant of Mary Jane Hendrickson. Melissa’s father, Martin, was Maryanne’s son. How could this be? I wondered, before realizing I had wondered out loud.

  “I’m sorry? Sergeant, did you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did, and thank you so much. Is there any way you could make me copies and fax them here?”

  “Of course, I’ll have them there in five minutes.”

  After hanging up the phone, I stood and began pacing anxiously in my office. None of this made any sense. Ceely Rose is the key? I felt like I was starting a thousand- piece jigsaw puzzle with no picture on the box to go by.

  I grabbed the file off my desk and flipped through to the page of follow- ups. Martin Drake and his son, Nicholas, had left town after his wife committed suicide. I hadn’t put too much effort into tracking them down, but I certainly would now. I had a feeling they could answer a lot of my questions, including who the killer was.

  I took every photograph I had relating to Mary Jane Hendrickson and Ceely Rose and laid them out on the floor in chronological order.

  Ceely Rose was first when she murdered her family. Exactly one year to the day after that, Mary Jane Hendrickson died, her age being altered. Within twenty days after Mary Jane’s death, Ceely’s brother, Randall, and his friends James Mengert, Albert Tucker and Gerald Moffett died, all within five days of one another. Mary Jane’s daughter, Madeline, survived and had a daughter of her own, Maryanne. Maryanne married Nathaniel Drake and they had a son, Martin, who had a daughter, Melissa, who was ultimately murdered at her great- great-grandmother’s grave some ninety years later. I was right about the history having some connection to the murders, but that was all I had. What about Danielle Horton and Kari Sutter? And the dog? Where did they figure in?

  “What am I missing?” I asked my empty office.

  “I don’t know. You need me to look?” Naomi said from behind me. She looked at the collage of photos. “What are you doing with these?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. Have a seat. I have to make a phone call first.” I called the Communications Center. “Find me a current address on Martin and Nicholas Drake, ASAP.”

  I gave them all the information they would need for the search and hung up. Naomi looked confused.

  “Melissa’s father and brother? What are you looking for them for?”

  When I told her, she looked as shocked as I was. She reached over and picked up the Melissa Drake file.

  “You were right, CeeCee. You were right all along about looking into the history of the grave. I’ve got to be honest with you, at first I thought you were pretty much wasting your time but now…” She pulled out the photograph of Melissa Drake. “Now it makes some sense, not a lot, but the connection is definitely there.” She looked at the photog
raph and set it down. “What do you think Martin and Nicholas Drake know? Why are you trying to find them?”

  “I think they could tell me what this is all about, Naomi. I think they know everything about what’s happened at the grave, but they’re keeping their mouths shut for some unknown reason. It’s that reason I want to understand.” I took a deep breath. “I think they could tell me who the killer is.”

  “If they’re alive. I mean, Martin Drake’s got to be in his early sixties and Nicholas…” I could see Naomi doing the math in her head. “Nicholas would be thirty-six, thirty-seven? Who knows? Maybe they committed suicide or died of cancer.”

  “That’s a cheery, positive outlook.” I threw her a look of disgust. “I’m waiting for Communications to find them for me.”

  My phone rang and I was surprised to hear the Communications Center on the other end. They were never known for speediness, so I was grateful. They gave me the information I had requested. Then I asked for something else.

  “Find their driver’s license photos and fax them to my office, would you?”

  Naomi was tapping her fingers on my desk impatiently. “Well?”

  “They’re alive and well and in Ocala, Florida. Start packing.”

  She put her hands up. “Whoa. Call Ocala first and let them confirm that they’re living at that address. And if we go, don’t even think about driving. I am not spending the next eighteen hours in a car.”

  “That’s fine. You’ll just have to carry my drunken ass off the plane.” I picked up the phone and called the number Communications had given me for the Ocala Police Department.

  They said it would be a couple of hours before they could get a car to the address. Naomi told me to let her know immediately when I heard from them. Then she returned to her office.

  Too anxious and wired to sit around and wait, I decided to take a drive. I heard my fax machine turn on just as I started to leave. Seeing the driver’s license photographs I requested, I set my car keys down and looked at them. They had the same emerald green eyes that Melissa had. I put the photos with the others and headed out.

  I drove around, gathering my thoughts and trying to put pieces together until I unknowingly found myself driving past the Pleasant Valley Cemetery. I quickly hit my brakes and turned into the small gravel clearing.

  I got out of my car and walked back to the graves of Randall Rose and his friends. I looked at the dates again, reading them out loud.

  I took a step back and looked at the four graves. There were no other graves in the row and these were almost hidden in the back of the cemetery. Hidden? It was as if they were being punished for doing something wrong, but what? Whatever it was, it was enough to banish them and separate them from their family’s final resting places.

  “What did all of you do?” I asked boldly.

  “Who are you?” said a deep, low voice from behind me.

  I spun around, almost tripping over my own feet, to face a large man, who appeared to be in his late fifties. He wore blue jeans, a dirty Carhart jacket and a blue ball cap, and had almost a week’s worth of black and gray facial hair. He was as wide as he was tall—something about him reminded me of a bull—and he stared at me with dark, accusing eyes. I looked to the parking lot and saw the dual- wheel, megasize pickup truck he had driven. I hadn’t even heard him pull up.

  “I said, who are you?” he asked again.

  “Just a visitor.” I eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “You always in the habit of talking to hundred- year- old tombstones? What’s your business here, ma’am?”

  I was getting a tad uncomfortable. I was in the middle of the Appalachian foothills with no cell phone signal and no police radio. No one even knew I was here. If this man really wanted to give me a hard time, I might be in a significant amount of trouble, especially since he looked angry.

  I tried to appear unfazed. “Excuse me, sir, but you might want to tell me who you are before I start answering questions for you. This cemetery is a public place and I have every right to be here.”

  His face furrowed as he took a step toward me. “You don’t have a right to—”

  I switched gears, took out my badge and held it out for him to see. He just looked confused.

  “Sergeant Gallagher with Richland Metro, sir, and it would be in your best interest to stop walking toward me.” I put my badge away and took a deep breath. “Now, since we’ve begun the who- are- you game, you can tell me who you are and why you’re so interested in what I’m doing. What is your name?”

  “I’m Luke Mengert.” He nodded toward James Mengert’s grave. “My family is buried here, my great-grandfather James included, as you can very well see. The only time anyone comes here, outside of family, is to tear up the place. That’s why I was asking.” His face was still intense.

  I was a little taken aback by his identity. He was obviously not threatened by me in the least, and he was clearly protective of the graves. Which led me to one conclusion: he might know something.

  “Tell me, Mr. Mengert, what do you know about your great-grandfather’s death?” I pointed back at the grave. “And all the others, if you know.”

  “James Mengert drowned.” He looked angry again. “As for the others, it’s the same story. Why are you asking?”

  “I just think it’s odd that they all died five days apart, don’t you?”

  I hit a nerve. I saw a flash of surprise come over his face, but it was just a flash. Then the anger came back, much worse.

  “Why are you asking, Sergeant?”

  “Mr. Mengert, I’m investigating several deaths that have occurred at the cemetery at the end of Tucker Road. You know, Mary Jane’s Grave?” I walked over to Randall Rose’s grave. “My investigation has led me to Randall Rose’s sister, Ceely, which ultimately led me here. These four men did something back then, and I believe it was something very bad. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  A sinister smirk came to Luke Mengert’s face. His stare sent a wave of chills through my body. I had to fend off the visible shudder that went with them.

  “You seem like a smart woman, Sergeant. I hope you’re smart enough to know when to back off and leave things be, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?” I asked stoically.

  “I don’t need to threaten you. The fact is you may have already done yourself in.” He grew calmer, which only alarmed me more. “I’m going to leave now, and I suggest you take your bitch- ass and do the same. There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but trouble, that is.”

  Normally, if someone talked to me like that I’d have them in handcuffs within seconds. However, Luke Mengert would be able to snap my neck with two fingers and there was nothing I could do about it. With no backup, I knew it was in my best interest to heed his warning and leave. I made a mental note to deal with him later, no doubt about it.

  “All right, Mr. Mengert, I’ll leave.” I smiled. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be in touch with you again. Count on it.”

  I found myself holding my breath as I walked past him, expecting him to clobber me at any second. Overwhelmed with relief once I was safe inside my car, I had to suppress the urge to flip him the bird as I pulled out of the parking lot, where he stood watching me leave.

  I drove away, passing Mengert Road no less, and turned into a long driveway about half a mile from the cemetery. The drive was cloaked in woods so it covered me well as I turned my car off and waited for Luke Mengert. I hoped he hadn’t gone the opposite direction.

  It was fifteen minutes before Luke’s truck drove by. I quickly nosed my car to the edge of the driveway and looked down the road to see where he had gone.

  I saw his brake lights at once and all of my nerves lit up like the Fourth of July. I was sure he had seen me and was turning around. However, he turned into the next driveway, which had a mailbox with Mengert painted on it. I let out a ne
rvous giggle, then backed up again and got out of my car.

  A medium-sized section of woods separated the driveway I was parked in from Luke’s house. I could only pray the home owner whose drive I was blocking didn’t come home and raise a stink about my car being there.

  I made my way through the woods until I got a clear view of Luke Mengert’s property. He lived in a two-story brick home with a medium-sized barn behind it that bordered a fenced- in field with horses. I saw Luke’s truck parked already, but I didn’t see him. Seconds later the side door flew open with such force it slammed against the house with a loud crack!

  Luke Mengert was carrying something in his hands. It looked like a shoe box. He was on a mission. He headed directly into the barn, where he stayed for a few minutes, before coming back out, still holding the box. Now he had a small plastic bottle as well. He walked to the side of the barn and put the box down. He squirted the contents of the bottle—which I had now assumed to be lighter fluid—on the box, set it on fire and stood there while it turned to a pile of ashes.

  I saw the distress on his face and the heaving of his chest as he stomped on the ash a few minutes later, then stood and looked down on it. I was dying to know what he had burned. My thoughts were short- lived. I noticed Luke was no longer looking down at the pile of ashes anymore. He was now staring directly at me. I knew damn well he couldn’t see into the woods, but a wave of horror went through me nonetheless.

  “Oh, shit!” I muttered. I slowly started to back up. The last thing I needed was another confrontation with him.

  I ran back to my car and drove away in the opposite direction. Nervously laughing to myself, I called the Communications Center and asked them to find me all information on Luke Mengert. I had memorized his license plate, so it would be much easier for them to find. Next, I tried to call Naomi to see if we’d heard back from the Ocala Police Department. I only got her voice mail. My last call was to Michael.

  “I’m on my way home. Naomi hasn’t called, has she?”

  “Hello to you too, baby,” he quipped. “My day was fine. How’s yours going?”