The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  “He and my mother had married young, just out of high-school. They never had great jobs, but they both worked hard. Their dream was to help me achieve my dream of becoming a lawyer.”

  “That night he got home and found my mother in their bed. He screamed and tried to save her. He tried to put pressure on the wound, tried to do CPR. Of course, it was useless, but he was desperate with grief. By the time the police and ambulance arrived, he was covered in her blood,” Leo said, not looking at Eden.

  “And the neighbor said she had heard him yelling. Calling out my mother’s name. She thought he sounded angry. That’s all the police needed to decide my dad was the killer.”

  “Oh, Leo,” Eden said, her voice soft and low. “And they convicted him?’

  “Yes, the District Attorney thought it was an open and shut case,” Leo spat out. “He didn’t care that my father’s fingerprints weren’t on the knife. He didn’t care that the M.E. said the time of death could have been up to two hours before my father got home. He didn’t even look at any other suspects.”

  Leo paused and waited for Eden to ask the inevitable questions. They always came, anytime he told someone about the case.

  How do you know your father didn’t really kill her? Are you sure it wasn’t your dad? Why didn’t his lawyer raise these issues during the trial? Was there any solid evidence that someone else killed her?

  These were questions that Leo hated to hear, because the truth was, he didn’t have any irrefutable proof, but he knew. He just knew that his dad would never kill anyone, especially not his mom. His dad had loved his mother more than anyone in the world. Of that, he was sure.

  “It must have been horrible to have your dad accused that way, and not to be able to save him,” Eden said. “You must have felt so alone and helpless.”

  Leo felt his eyes prickle at her kind words. She didn’t ask the questions. She believed him. He took a deep breath and continued.

  “Yes, I felt helpless, and my father was so grief-stricken he couldn’t help with his own defense. After they sentenced him to life in prison, he didn’t even want to see me. He’d tell me not to come to visiting hours. To get on with my life.”

  Leo pictured his once virile father as he sat across from him in the visiting room. His thin, stooped shoulders. His dark hair suddenly streaked with gray.

  “Then one day my father called me. He wanted to see me. I was relieved.” Leo allowed himself a sad smile at the memory.

  “I told him I’d been saving up money to hire someone to review his case. I was going to use the money I’d saved for law school. I knew he couldn’t wait for me to become a lawyer to get him out, so I was going to pay someone else to do it. I would also find the person who had killed Mom. Maybe hire a private investigator. I told him everything would work out.”

  Leo felt Eden’s hand on his arm, and the lump returned to his throat.

  “But that night, once I’d gotten home from the prison, I got a call. They told me my father had hung himself. He’d done it as soon as he’d returned to his cell after my visit.”

  Eden gasped, and her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Leo. God, I’m so sorry.”

  “He left a note,” Leo said. “Said he loved me, and it wasn’t my fault, but he didn’t want to get out. Didn’t want to be free to start a new life. He just wanted to be with Mom.”

  Leo turned to Eden and saw a tear slide down her cheek. He lifted a long finger and touched the tear, feeling the warm drop on his fingertip. Eden dropped her head into her hands and sniffled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled. “This is your story and I’m the one crying. Not fair of me I know.”

  “Well, I think we both have plenty of reasons to cry, but that doesn’t help anything.” Leo felt a lessening of his sadness. Maybe this is what they mean by sharing a burden, he thought.

  “So, you became a defense attorney to help other people avoid your father’s fate?” Eden asked. “Has it worked out?”

  “Mostly,” Leo said, thinking back about the people he’d tried to help. “Not everyone’s innocent, of course. But I’ve gotten off quite a few people who were. Frankie Dawson, for example. He was my first case. He’d been convicted of an armed robbery that he didn’t commit. Was sentenced to ten years in state prison. I helped him win a new trial and proved he couldn’t have been there when the robbery occurred.”

  “That must have felt good,” Eden said, her eyes now dry.

  “Actually, it made me even madder,” Leo said. “To know that other people were going through the same thing my dad did. That his case wasn’t an anomaly. It made me even more determined to fight the system that was ruining the lives of innocent people.”

  “I can relate,” Eden said, gazing up at him, her eyes the color of emeralds as the setting sun shone softly in the window.

  “Once I started the foundation in Mercy’s name and saw just how many women suffered the same type of abuse she had, it made me even more determined to help. More determined to do something about it.”

  Leo nodded just as his phone vibrated again.

  “Time to get back to the real world,” Eden said, and Leo thought he heard a hint of regret in her voice.

  “Yes, I guess it is. But I’m glad we got a chance to talk today and clear the air. If we’re going to work together to find out what happened to Jessica and Star, it’s best to be on good terms. And it looks like we actually have some things in common, so maybe we don’t have to be enemies after all?”

  Leo smiled at Eden, and as she turned to wake-up Duke, she smiled back. It was the first real smile he’d seen on her face, and it took his breath away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The man stood by the canal in the darkening shadows, watching dusk fade into night. Muggy air clung to him as he listened to the distant whoosh of the interstate that lay to the west behind a small grove of pine trees. A mosquito buzzed around his head, and he waved it away with a distracted hand. He heard a splash in the water below but didn’t take his eyes off the motel.

  Probably just a frog, or maybe a fish that had worked its way up the canal from the river.

  A car’s headlights appeared in the distance, but the car drove past the motel entrance without turning in. It was a slow night so far. Of course, it was still early. Most johns wouldn’t show up until later, once tired wives and noisy kids were safely in bed.

  The man kept his eyes trained on the stairwell. They only had one lookout posted tonight, a short man who had his long, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and wore tight chinos and a wrinkled Polo shirt. The look-out held a cell phone to his ear as he sat on the steps looking bored.

  The man’s fists clenched with tension as he watched the lookout begin to pace in front of Building D. There were lights on in some of the rooms, but his gaze stayed focused on room D-407, even though the windows were dark and the curtains drawn. That was the room where it had all started. No matter how many times he had come to the motel, he’d never been able to see D-407 as just a room. It was a portal. A portal into the nightmare that had become his life.

  He kept his eyes on the dark window and remembered.

  The boy looked over his shoulder into the gloom behind him. He knew he was being silly. No way his foster mother would be out here in the muddy darkness following him. If she knew he had snuck out she would just close and lock the windows and doors, and he’d be out on the street. He shivered as he pictured her grim face. She wasn’t the kind to give second chances, so he needed to find his real mother fast, and get her out of here. He looked at the neon sign of the motel and sighed.

  This wasn’t the kind of place Mama should be if she wanted to get better. He may only be twelve, but he knew that much. He waited for a tractor trailer to exit the lot, and then scurried through the parking lot and around the back to Building D. He stayed off the concrete corridor, concealing himself in the darkness beyond the harsh, artificial lights that buzzed overhead. If anyone saw him, they mig
ht ask questions. Might even call Child Services. Then he’d be in all kinds of trouble.

  As he approached room D-407, he saw the lights were on behind the curtains. He practiced what he was going to say. “Mama, you’ve gotta come with me, now. You can go back to rehab and then once you finish we’ll get a place together. Like we used to have.”

  Suddenly the door to D-407 swung open without warning, and a man stepped out and looked around, as if worried he’d be seen. He didn’t see the boy standing in the shadows, watching him with hate-filled eyes. Why was this man in his mother’s room? The boy waited until the man had walked down the corridor and turned the corner before he ran to his mother’s door and knocked. No sound came from the room.

  The boy reached for the knob and saw that the latch hadn’t fully closed. He pushed on the door and it swung open, the lights within revealing an unmade bed. A bundle of sheets covered a sleeping figure.

  “Mama?” the boy called out, knowing already that something wasn’t right. He could picture the man’s glassy eyes. Had the man done something to his mother?

  “Mama!”

  The boy ran to the bed and pulled down the sheets. His mother’s face was swollen and bruised, and her eyes were open and staring at him. He saw angry red splotches. He gagged, before backing away, his fist still gripping the sheet. The sheet fell aside, and he could see a thick rope had been wound around his mother’s throat. Bloody scratches circled her neck, and her fingers were covered in blood.

  The boy realized she must have fought. She must have tried to live. But she hadn’t made it. She hadn’t been strong enough. She was gone. She had made her choice, and she had left him all alone.

  Rage and sorrow simmered in the boy’s chest as he stared at the ruined body that had been his mother. She was the only family he had ever had. Ever would have. The woman that he lived with was nothing like a mother. But she would have to do. He had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t let anyone know he’d been here. Couldn’t let anyone know what he’d seen.

  As he turned to leave, he saw his mother’s purse laying on the table, and he walked over and dumped out the contents. An empty wallet, a lighter and a tube of pale pink lipstick fell out. Nothing of value. He noticed something sticking out of the inside pocket. It was a picture. His school picture from first-grade. He stared at his own, unsmiling face and dead eyes.

  He put the picture back in the purse and looked over at his mother’s lifeless body.

  “I tried to save you, Mama,” the boy whispered into the silent room. “But it will be okay. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

  The boy turned and ran back the way he came, sneaking back into his foster home before anyone knew he’d been gone.

  The man was startled back into the present when the door to Room D-403 slowly swung open, and a slender girl slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her.

  He could see by the careful way she moved that she was trying to leave without anyone hearing her. His gaze flicked to the stairwell and he saw that the lookout with the ponytail was nowhere in sight. The girl must have been watching and waiting, too. He smiled slowly, frustration turning to anticipation.

  His eyes followed her as she jogged toward him, seeking cover in the shadows by the canal, getting closer and closer. He held his breath as she passed by, worried she would see him lurking by the water and scream. Her scream might alert someone at the motel that she was gone, and he didn’t want that. That would ruin everything.

  But the girl didn’t see him in the dark. Her eyes were wide and glassy with fright. Or maybe she was just high. She slowed her pace as she trudged alongside the canal, her plastic flip-flops squishing through the muddy scrub as he tailed her.

  She hesitated when she reached the river, looking in one direction and then the other, before turning west. The man felt a surge of satisfaction.

  She’s heading in the right direction, he thought as the girl emerged into a patch of moonlight and then scurried across a barren muddy stretch of riverbank.

  The smaller Diablo River lay just ahead, past the lights of the interstate overpass. Suddenly, the man realized where she was going.

  She’s trying to make it to the highway. If she does, who knows what kind of pervert might pick her up.

  He’d have to make his move soon, before she made it far enough to be seen by passing cars. Increasing his pace, he tried to calculate a plan as he closed in on her. If he took her by the Willow River, she would likely be found as quickly as Jess had been. He’d seen the news report only days after he’d put her in the water.

  It had taken them three years to find Tiffany, but of course he’d left her in the more secluded Diablo River. Water hyacinth covered much of the Diablo’s surface, suffocating the dark waters with its lush green leaves and bright-blue blossoms. The aggressive weeds had hidden Tiffany’s remains until they’d eventually washed further downstream.

  Yes, the Diablo River would be the safest place. And maybe there, where he’d saved Tiffany, the act would be more satisfying.

  Before he had time to think through his plan, the girl started jogging ahead, perhaps motivated by the glare of headlights on the highway that were getting closer with each step. The man reached out and impulsively put a hand on her shoulder.

  The girl whirled around, her scream already piercing the still night, and gaped at the man in terror.

  “Sssh! You’ll let them know where you are,” the man said, putting a finger to his lips and speaking in an exaggerated whisper.

  “They know you’re gone and are trying to track you down.”

  The girl’s face twisted with confusion and fear, and she looked over his shoulder, her eyes searching the darkness behind him. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “Yes, I saw you leave the motel,” the man whispered, also looking back over his shoulder as if he expected something to jump out at him at any minute. “I can help you get away.”

  “Why would you do that?” the girl questioned, her glassy eyes trying to focus.

  “Because you don’t belong there. It’s not right, what’s happening to you girls.” The man looked toward the highway, gauging the distance. Could the drivers see them?

  “You want to help?” She looked doubtful, then seemed to think of something. “Hey, did you help the other girls get away…did you help Star and Jess?”

  The man nodded, trying not to let the relief he felt show on his face. She hadn’t seen the news. She’d probably been too high to remember anything if she had seen it.

  “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone it was me. I don’t want to get on anybody’s shit list. I’m just trying to do a good deed here, not get myself killed.”

  “I won’t say anything.” The girl’s shoulders relaxed. “So, how do we get out of here? You have a place to go?”

  “I can take you where I took Star and Jess if you want. You’ll be safe there, just like them. Come on.”

  He started walking toward the interstate and the girl fell into step behind him. They walked under the interstate overpass, and the girl looked up expectantly, but the man put his finger to his lips and motioned for her to keep walking. Twenty minutes later they reached the confluence of the Willow and Diablo Rivers and turned south to follow the smaller tributary.

  “Just a little further,” he said over his shoulder. He saw the sprawling outline of a weeping willow tree. This was the spot. “Let’s stop under this tree and catch our breath.”

  The girl stopped under the tree’s drooping branches and stared out over the black water of the river.

  “It’s scary around here,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. A splash close by startled her and she spun around, eyes wide.

  “Over there!” The man pointed toward the opposite shore of the river. “I think something’s moving.”

  As soon as she turned her head, the man slid his belt off and looped it around her neck, the strength of his grip momentarily pulling the girl off her feet. He maintained his hold on the be
lt even as the girl clawed at the belt, digging her fingernails into her own skin, drawing blood.

  He waited patiently, arms shaking with the effort, knowing that as long as he kept up the pressure, the lack of oxygen would do the rest of the work.

  The girl made a last, weak attempt to grabbed at his hands, desperate to pry the belt from her throat. When her hands finally fell away, the man released the pressure on the belt and she crumbled to the ground. He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. He could see her face now, illuminated by the sliver of moon that hung in the summer sky. He watched her eyes flutter as she tried to focus on his face, only inches above hers.

  Her voice was soft and hoarse. “Why?”

  He watched the butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. The wings trembled.

  “Because I’m…the only one…who can save you,” he gasped out, his hands tightening on the belt, the rage and need inside him drowning out the sights and sounds of the night around him. Then he heard something nearby. A splashing and thrashing sound that felt wrong.

  He stilled, momentarily ignoring the limp girl underneath him. For a second the only sound was the huffing of his own labored breathing. Then the sound of something scuttling through the grass. Something big.

  The man turned his head as if in slow motion just as a long, rounded snout appeared above a thick tangle of tall grass and weeds. Two red eyes glowed in the dark. Panic flared in the man’s chest as the alligator lunged forward, its huge tail slicing through the grass.

  The man rolled off the prostrate girl and ran without hesitation toward the dirt path that wound its way toward Harrington Road. He’d run down that same road many times as a boy, and his feet knew the way even as his brain issued the same command over and over.

  Run, run, run!

  He didn’t risk a look over his shoulder, just pumped his arms and legs at top speed. Behind him, the alligator’s muscular body thrashed briefly, its sharp teeth and strong jaws ripping at the heap of wet clothes and soft flesh before dragging its prize backwards toward the safety of the water. Before the man had reached Harrington Road, the gator had disappeared into the depths of the river.