Too Close to Home (The Forensic Files)

by Tressa Messenger

Carma picked up the notebook and glanced at the cover, which clearly read choreographs for cheerleading squad in graceful bubble letters. Flipping through the pages of the notebook, Carma saw that inside the notebook the pages contained exactly what it said on the front. There were pages and pages of cheers, dance steps and notes.

  “And it was right here?” she asked, pointing to the bench.

  “Yes ma’am,” said the deputy.

  “Thanks, Carl, I’ll take it from here,” Carma informed him.

  Looking from the bench where the victim’s books and notebooks were found to the locker located directly across from it, Carma noticed immediately that that particular lock wasn’t locked, but rather hanging open on the door. Opening the old and somewhat rusty locker door, Carma was surprised to find it completely empty; no clothes, shoes, purse, not even a brush.

  “Hmm… empty. Where did her stuff go?” Carma wondered out loud.

  “Do you think this could’ve been a prank gone wrong?” Harold asked.

  “At this point, Harold, I feel like just about anything is possible, but something tells me this is not some random attack. I am almost one hundred percent sure she knew her attacker, or at the very least he knew her, and that her attacker came here for practice. They were also aware that she showered after practice and they also knew which locker is hers, for Christ’s sake. The stab wounds on her body looked to be deep, clean cuts with no signs of hesitation. This attack is personal. Her attacker is angry and he is calculated. I think it’s time to meet Missy’s closest friends, the other cheerleaders and whoever she may have dated or is currently dating.”

  They walked out of the locker room through the musty gym and into the sunny front quad. Just as Carma had predicted, countless curious teenagers had gathered all around the front of the school and in the parking lots, trying to see what was going on. As she looked around the crowd, she noticed they all had their cell phones out ready to snap a picture or a video at a moment’s notice. This, to them, was no doubt the most excitement that many of them had ever seen, especially if they had lived their whole life in the county. The principal, Mr. White, hurried up to them as soon as they began to exit the building, concern etched on his furry face.

  He came to a halt and frantically looked around at all the curious faces. “Miss Jones, couldn’t ya’ll be more inconspicuous? This scene is outrageous.”

  Being a good six feet tall in her heels, Carma had the pleasure of looking down and glaring at the short round man as she said, “Look, Mr. White, we did what we had to do. The quad is the easiest way to bring the body out and place it into the ambulance.”

  “But all of the children are watching,” he whined.

  “It’s unfortunate they have to see this, but there is no way to hide it,” she told him and the tone in her voice told him there was no point in discussing it further.

  Mr. White glanced around again. “What can I do?”

  “They can’t come in here, Mr. White. We need to investigate and all the people tramping around will only contaminate the crime scene.”

  “I have to close the school?” he asked her.

  “That would be wise,” she said, unable to hide the contempt in her voice.

  “For how long?” he asked, panicked.

  “Mr. White, I don’t know if you are aware of this, but a girl was murdered in your school last night. It may serve you well to remember that. Have some compassion, for Christ’s sake!” Harold said.

  Mr. White’s mouth hung wide open in shock. But instead of responding, he bent his head and walked away.

  “What a prick!” Harold exclaimed.

  Carma nodded her head as she said, “Yeah, he had just become the principal when I was in school, and he had a bad attitude then. I wish I could say that after many years of dealing with mouthy teenagers he had to adapt. But nope, he’s been a prick since the beginning. He should really consider retiring.”

  Carma spotted Mike just a few feet ahead of her, close to the school entrance. She saw that he was embracing his daughter, Kristen, in a tight hug. Upon a closer look at Kristen, Carma noticed that Kristen’s normally perfect face was contorted with pain. Also, there were a couple of other girls with their arms around her and crying as well. Even with all that was going on, Carma couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Kristen. Gazing at the girl caused her emotions to start to stir because Kristen looked exactly like her beautiful mother Mary did at her age. Just seeing Kristen caused a flood of painful memories to come back to her. And it was times like these that made Carma regret cutting Mike and Mary out of her life all those years ago. There were so many things Carma did not get to say to Mary before her untimely death a few years ago and it had haunted her since.

  A commotion stirred up, breaking her spell on the intimate moment, causing her to turn around. Two paramedics walked past her pushing Melissa’s body out on a gurney in a black body bag which covered her maimed body, giving her some sort of dignity, unlike the way the perp left her.

  “Hey, look. The suits are here,” Harold said pointing.

  Carma followed his stare and spotted a single black SUV pulling up behind her car. Carma walked up to the two men she’d had contact with on a few prior occasions and extended her hand once they were out of the SUV. “Hey Dave, how’ve you been?”

  “You know, same ol’, same ol’. It’s a shame something like this had to happen here,” he told her.

  “Yeah, it is,” she said, nodding. “Come on. I’ll take you to the location.”

  She walked back into the building and through the halls until she reached the classroom.

  “She was found on the desk, laying face up,” she told him, pointing to the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom.

  Dave looked around the room and ran a hand through his hair and whistled. “Trying to find a fingerprint in a classroom is going to be difficult.”

  “I figured as much, but that’s why you get paid the big bucks,” Carma said to him. “We did manage to find a couple of items we need you to analyze though,” she told him, while motioning to a deputy a couple of feet away to bring her the evidence bags. After the deputy brought her the bags, she handed them directly to Dave and said, “We found this bloody towel under the desk. We assume that’s what she was wearing when she is attacked. We also found a pair of black panties on the floor of the girl’s locker room by the showers. So as best as we can figure, that’s where this all started,” she told him, motioning to the crime scene as she spoke. “Well, I will let you get to it. Feel free to call me if you need me.”

  “Sure thing, Carma. Take care.”

  “You, too,” she said as she left the room.

  Carma walked back out of the school into the front quad and looked around again. The crowd seemed to have grown even more in the few minutes she was gone. She turned at the sound of a loud scream and watched as Kristen’s legs gave out on her, causing her to go limp in her father’s arms. Mike looked from his daughter to Carma, desperation shooting out of his eyes. Carma pried her eyes off Mike’s tortured face to look around at the crowd of teachers, teenagers and concerned parents and her heart fell to her feet at the sight of all of the raw pain. Melissa Cooley wasn’t just a pretty face and a name to most of these people. She was someone’s daughter, best friend, girlfriend, first crush, first love, first kiss, prom queen, head cheerleader and all around American girl.

  “Come on, Harold. We have to go tell this girl’s parents that their daughter is dead. Then we have to find the bastard who did this.”

  Chapter Three

  They followed the address to a quaint ranch-style cottage in Minnesott Beach and parked on the curb in front of the house. Dreading what they were about to do, Carma and Harold climbed the steps to the front door in somber silence like they were walking to the gas chamber. Carma rang the doorbell and held her breath as she waited for someone to answer. Within minutes the door cracked open and a pretty pale blonde haired lady poked her head out.

  “Yes?” she
asked, a look of concern forming on her face.

  “Hi! Mrs. Cooley?” Carma asked just to make certain the woman was Melissa’s mother.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Detective Carma Jones and this is my partner, Detective Harold Green. May we come in and speak to you for a minute?”

  She looked at both detectives curiously then down at her watch. “I guess I have a minute. What’s this all about?”

  “I would really feel better talking to you about this more privately,” Carma told her.

  “Oh, all right.” She held the door open as they went in.

  She followed behind them, motioning for them to sit on the chocolaty brown suede couch, and then sat in a matching recliner in front of it. She slid to the edge of the chair, her back straight, her hands in her lap, staring at them, waiting for them to begin.

  Carma removed her pocket notebook from her back pocket, and as she tried to think of how to begin, she realized that she had been staring at Melissa’s mom. Carma knew that must have come off as rude, but she couldn’t help it. She was completely taken aback at how much Melissa looked like her mother. They both had smooth milky skin with a perfect complexion, youthful light blue eyes and the same pale blonde hair color. The only profound difference Carma noticed was that Melissa’s hair was longer than her mother’s. All of a sudden Carma was overcome with sadness. She was sad when she realized that Melissa would have looked just like her mom when she reached her forties, if only she were still alive.

  “Mrs. Cooley…”

  “Please, call me Rachel,” she interrupted.

  “Rachel.” Carma took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know where to begin.”

  “Just spit it out,” Rachel told her.

  “All right then. I’m sorry to inform you that your daughter’s body was found at the school this morning,” Carma blurted out quicker than she intended.

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked, staring at her.

  “I’m sorry, but it appears Melissa was murdered last night,” Carma disclosed all in one breath.

  Rachel continued to stare at her blankly, as if the words didn’t make sense. She stood up and walked over to the foyer and fished her cell phone out of her purse. She dialed a number and held the phone to her ear, and after a minute, she slowly closed it and sat back down in her chair.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Various people identified her this morning. I know this is a lot to take in and I won’t even pretend to know what you are going through, but I have to ask you a few questions,” Carma told her.

  Rachel nodded, although she appeared a million miles away. “How did it happen?”

  “Are you sure you want these details right now?” Carma asked her.

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  She looked down and took another deep breath. “It appears she was stabbed to death,” Carma said and looked up when she heard Mrs. Cooley gasp loudly. She saw that Mrs. Cooley had placed her hand over her mouth while her eyes began filling up with tears.

  Mrs. Cooley asked Carma quickly, her hand still placed lightly over her mouth, either still horrified or about to be sick, “Did she suffer?”

  Carma leaned forward and placed a reassuring hand on her leg then said to her honestly, “Mrs. Cooley… Rachel, we really don’t know yet. We will know more when the autopsy report comes back.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she said, nodding.

  “Rachel, when is the last time you saw Melissa?” Carma asked her.

  With her hand still over her mouth, she looked between Carma and Harold with huge horrific eyes. “Yesterday morning before school. I normally work until five and she had cheerleading practice after school.”

  Carma and Harold both looked at each other.

  “Is that something she usually did?”

  “Yes, the first game of the season is coming up and cheerleading is her life. She is very driven,” she answered with what was no doubt a hint of pride in her voice.

  “Mrs. Cooley, Rachel, I have to ask, where were you last night?”

  Rachel stared at her, her face painted with shock. “Am I a suspect?”

  “I’m sorry ma’am, but we have to ask anyone who had contact with her.”

  Rachel blanched but answered once she was able to collect herself. “I was here all night.”

  “Can anyone attest to that?”

  “My husband,” she said quickly. “He got home a little after I did and neither of us left once we were in.”

  “Do you know if she had any problems with anyone?”

  She let her hand drop to her lap now. “No, she most certainly did not. Miss Jones, please, who could’ve done this to my little girl? Everyone loves Melissa!” she exclaimed.

  “That’s what we are going to find out,” Carma told her, as she closed her pocket notebook. “Would it be all right if we look in her room?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Mrs. Cooley said. “I promise we won’t disturb anything,” Carma told her reassuringly.

  “I guess so then,” she relented.

  “Of course, we will see ourselves out when we are done,” Carma told her.

  “Very well, I’ll show ya’ll to her room,” Rachel said, motioning for them to follow her.

  As they followed Rachel down the hallway, Carma could not help but notice that Rachel was using the wall to steady herself and she continued to do so all the way to the end. Rachel opened the door to Melissa’s room and, at first glance, it looked as though she was politely holding the door open for them, but Carma realized pretty quickly that she was using the door knob to help hold herself up.

  “If ya’ll will excuse me, I need to go call my husband,” Rachel said. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Harold and Carma said in unison.

  They watched Mrs. Cooley as she walked back through the hallway, still holding onto the wall for support. Once she was out of sight, they walked into the room and looked around.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Harold asked.

  “I guess we’ll know when we see it. Maybe she has a diary or something. Girls tell all of their secrets to their diaries.”

  “Where do you suppose she kept it? Surely she wouldn’t have kept it out in the open if it had all of her secrets in it.”

  “No, probably not. I’m sure she has it hidden here somewhere, although it seems from Mrs. Cooley’s reaction to us coming in here, she believes in one’s own privacy. It may not be out in the open, but trust me, it’s here somewhere so she could get to it easily,” Carma told him.

  Carma looked around the room. It was a very girlie-girl room with clothes all over the white antique looking furniture, pink décor and trophies on display taking up a whole shelf. She walked up to the dresser and looked at the pictures along the edges of the mirror. She noticed Melissa and Kristen in almost all of them, but she didn’t know the other kids. She made a mental note to find out who the boy was she saw in a lot of the pictures. Good chance he is, or was, her boyfriend.

  Carma turned to Harold, who was staring at the rows of trophies. “Hey, Harold, can you do me a favor and stand by the door?”

  He looked at her confused, “Why?”

  “Because I want to really look around,” Carma said. “I would prefer Melissa’s mom not see me searching through her personal things. I could tell it was hard for her to let us in here, even though we have the legal right, but I’m sure she feels as though we are violating her daughter’s privacy. I feel like she’s been through enough today without having to deal with this as well.”

  Harold looked back and forth between her and the door. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, I am. If her diary is hidden, then her parents probably don’t even know about it, and there may be stuff in there they don’t need to know now or ever. I’d rather her not even see what we are doing right now.”

  “Well, all right then.” He
walked toward the door and poked his head out into the hallway. “Coast is clear.”

  Carma walked back over to the dresser and began to open the drawers. With each drawer she gently lifted stacks of clothing then put them back down, smoothing out wrinkles. Next she went for the small white desk. She opened the skinny middle drawer and lifted a few pieces of paper and noticed a set of small keys. She lifted them up and examined them before setting them back in the drawer. One by one she shuffled through all of the items until she got to the bottom drawer. In it sat a small lock box. She lifted it up and placed it on the desk and stared at the key hole. She smiled and opened the middle drawer again and picked up the keys she saw before. She slid one into the hole and the lock clicked open.

  Harold strained his neck to see what she found. “What is it?”

  “Looked like a box of treasures,” Carma said, feeling optimistic that she may have just found what she had been looking for.

  On top sat a stack of pictures of smiling teenagers. Again, she noticed Melissa and Kristen in most of them, through various stages of their lives, along with a few of the people from the mirror pictures. She put the stack of pictures to the side and continued to look in the box, putting letters and cards to the side. On the bottom, she hit gold.

  “Bingo!” she exclaimed.

  “You found it?” Harold asked, unable to hide his surprise.

  “Yep.”

  She opened up the diary and thumbed through the pages briefly before turning to the first page. She looked at the date of the first entry and said, “Wow! It’s almost completely full. It looked as though she started keeping the diary three years ago which would have been her freshman year of high school.”

  “Skip to the last few months,” Harold suggested.

  June 17, 2012

  Dear Diary,

  I just left the clinic and I hurt so badly. No one ever said that it would feel this way. It is so creepy to see all of those tragic girls, some with families sitting beside them and holding their hands, knowing what they were about to do. When I started my summer break, I never intended to kick it off like this. The nurse said I will bleed for a couple of weeks. I couldn’t tell her that isn’t going to work for me because I have cheer camp coming up, plus beach trips with my friends. I know that is a horrible thing to be focused on at a time like this. Jesus, I feel like a wreck, and I can’t tell anyone about it. You hear the brave people in stories, how they suffered in silence through their tragedies. So I have to wonder. Does this make me noble? I have a funny feeling that it does not. There is nothing noble about me right now, even though I know it is for the best. Even if so, it doesn’t take away the guilt. Dear God, please forgive me!