* * *
Kate woke up in the middle of the night with a start. She glanced at her clock. 3:00 AM. It was windy outside, the bulk of winter hunkering against the panes. An unfathomable loneliness crawled underneath her skin.
She picked up her phone from the bedside table and saw that she had a voicemail from Palmer Dyson. “Greetings from sunny Tijuana. Lousy flight. Crappy airplane food. How are you doing? Call me when you get this. The operation’s tomorrow.”
She had no idea what time it was down in Mexico. She called him and got through to his voicemail. “Hey, it’s Kate. Sunny Tijuana sounds pretty good right about now—it’s like five below here, I think. Anyway, good luck tomorrow. Call me after the operation.” She hung up and closed her eyes.
It seemed like only seconds later that the phone rang in her ear.
It was Ira. “Sorry to wake you,” he said.
She sat up in bed and peered out the window. The rising sun was hidden behind a few scraggly electric-pink clouds.
“No problem,” she said groggily. “What’s up?”
“Maddie Ward has been cleared for release. She’ll be in foster care later today. I thought you should know.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Her insurance plan was twelve days max. So it was either this, or go the residential route. And you know how I feel about that.”
“Right,” she agreed. Throwing a teenage girl who cut herself into an institution full of violent juvenile offenders was not an option.
“Anyway, Ursula found a terrific foster family willing to take in a child with Maddie’s history of instability. No small feat. They have an excellent track record. We had to act quickly.”
“You had no choice, right?”
“We got lucky. Anyway. Maddie’s been asking about you. Her foster family is picking her up at ten, and I was wondering if you’d like to swing by this morning and say goodbye. A purely non-professional visit.”
“I’ll be there at nine o’clock.”
“Good.”
* * *
It was a beautiful day out, the sky an azure blue. The drive into Boston was a breeze. The Children’s Psych Unit was bustling with clowns—volunteers in greasepaint who handed out balloons and scared some of the younger kids. The teenagers rolled their eyes at the magic tricks but always asked the nurses when the clowns would be back.
Kate found Maddie huddled in her room, lost in thought. She wore a pink T-shirt, blue sweatpants, and a brand-new pair of Nikes; the nurses must’ve passed the collection plate around again. Kate reminded herself to chip in. Maddie’s bags were all packed, and her pink quilted coat was folded up beside her. She was ready to go—physically at least.
“Good morning,” Kate said.
Maddie smiled brightly. “You’re back! I wondered where you’d gone.”
Kate pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling today?”
“Okay, I guess. The police came to visit me on Friday. They asked me all sorts of questions.” Maddie unzipped her backpack and took out a battered photo album with a white embossed cover that said MEMORIES on the front in sequins. She opened the album and smoothed her hands across the transparent sleeves. “They brought it from home. They thought it might help me remember stuff.” She showed Kate Maddie as a baby, Maddie as a toddler, Derrick and Nelly Ward as newlyweds. She turned a page. “That’s me when I was six.”
Kate studied the photograph. Maddie and Savannah could’ve been twins.
“And look. Here’s Uncle Henry and Mommy.”
Henry Blackwood wrapped a possessive arm around skinny fifteen-year-old Penny. The teenager seemed both proud and cowed. Without his baseball cap, Blackwood’s blond buzz cut with its distinctive widow’s peak was on full display. He had striking green eyes, just like Savannah and Maddie. In Kate’s memory, that baseball cap had always shaded his eyes, hidden his golden hair. But in the picture, Kate could plainly see where Savannah and Maddie had gotten their looks—from their father.
“I had a dream last night,” Maddie confessed, stuffing the photo album into her backpack. “Mom was driving me to school, when all of a sudden we went into the ocean, and the car started filling up with water, and we nearly drowned.”
“Wow. Sounds scary.”
“I woke up before it ended though.”
“What do you think it means?”
She shrugged. “I nearly drowned in the bathtub a bunch of times. Same as my dream.”
Kate blinked. “I’m sorry—what do you mean?”
“In the bathtub. Mommy sometimes held my head underwater until I almost drowned, but she let me go before I died. Once it was snowing, and we were coming home from the supermarket…”
“Is this another dream?”
“No. It really happened. We came home, and I was helping her bring the groceries in from the car, when I slipped on some ice and a bunch of eggs broke. She said that I disgusted her. She called me stupid. My stomach hurt so bad, because I knew what was coming. She had that look in her eyes.”
“What look?”
“Daddy told me not to worry. Said it would blow over, but it never did. He didn’t get it, because he was hardly ever at home.”
“What happened when she got that look in her eyes, Maddie?”
“She would fill the tub with water and make it so I couldn’t get away. Then she’d hold my head underwater, until it felt like I was going to die. But then, she’d let me go at the very last second.”
Kate hadn’t suspected Nelly Ward, although it made sense. The abused often became the abuser. “Are you saying your mother tried to drown you? More than once?”
“Lots of times,” Maddie admitted softly.
“Did you tell the police this?”
She shook her head. “They didn’t ask.”
“Did you tell Dr. Ira?”
“Not yet.”
“And your stepfather knows? He knows your mother tried to drown you?”
Maddie shook her head again. “No. He doesn’t know anything.”
“But you said he pushed you once, remember?”
“He doesn’t know about Mommy. He wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.”
“Did she do anything else? Hurt you in any other way?”
She nodded solemnly. “I don’t feel so hot.”
“But your stepfather doesn’t hurt you, right? Only your mother did?”
“He’d kill her if he found out, Mommy said. She told me not to tell a soul.”
It struck Kate hard.
Maddie rested her hands on her stomach. “I don’t feel good.”
“Thanks for telling me this, Maddie. It took a lot of courage.”
The girl began to tremble. “When am I going to see my dad?”
“The police are still looking for him.”
“Can I see him when they find him?”
“I don’t know what the procedure is, but I’ll look into it.”
Maddie nodded, apparently satisfied.
“I want you to understand one thing. You’re going to be okay.”
Maddie peered skeptically up at Kate. “How do you know that?”
Kate decided to level with her. She would tell the girl the truth, even though it meant she’d be effectively removing any chance of treating Maddie as a patient again. But the girl was in good hands with Ira.
“How do I know?” Kate rolled up her sleeves. “I used to cut myself, too. And I’m okay.”
Maddie stared at the old scars. “What did you use?”
“Tacks. Pins. Razor blades. Scissors. Anything I could find.”
“Did you hear voices?”
“No.” Kate rolled down her sleeves.
Maddie sat up straighter.
“That voice in your head? It’s not the devil, or a monster, or anything like that. The voice comes from your subconscious. It’s a coping mechanism. When someone in your life, even somebody you care about, starts treating you badly, it creates an echo chamber inside your head. None of it is true, and on
ce you understand where the voice is coming from, it’s much easier to ignore. And once you ignore it, it fades away.”
Maddie nodded thoughtfully. “Am I ever going to see you again?”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around. You’ll be continuing therapy with Dr. Ira on an outpatient basis.”
A slow smile spread across Maddie’s face. She reached into her backpack and took out a brand-new cell phone. “Look what Ursula gave me. It’s from my foster family. They all have one. Cool, huh?”
“Awesome.”
“Look. My weather app says more snow.” She showed Kate the screen. “Can we trade numbers?”
“Good idea,” Kate said, and they took turns inputting their contact information.
“Hey. Can we take a selfie?” Maddie asked excitedly.
“Love to.”
They posed. “Smile!” Click.
“I’ll text it to you,” Maddie said. Kate’s phone buzzed, and they looked at the picture together—both of them smiling.
There was a knock on the door, and Ursula O’Keefe, the hospital social worker, poked her head inside.
“Sorry. Did I interrupt?”
“No, we were just saying goodbye,” Kate said.
“All packed?” Ursula asked, and Maddie grabbed her coat and backpack and hopped off the bed.
Maddie flung herself into Kate’s arms. “See you soon.” She clung.
Kate gently broke the embrace. “Just remember. It’s only echoes.”
Maddie smiled bravely. “Echoes.”
“Well, young lady. Time to meet your new foster family,” Ursula said. “I hear they have a dog named Winnie the Poodle…”
Maddie giggled, and Kate watched them walk away together.
52
KATE COULDN’T WAIT TO share the harrowing news of Nelly’s actions with Ira—this was exactly the breakthrough they’d been hoping for—but he was in a meeting and couldn’t be interrupted. She felt conflicting emotions as she headed down the corridor toward her office. Nelly had suffered all her life, and she’d forced her daughter to suffer the same fate. It was tragic. But that was what abuse did to you—it tainted everything you touched. At least now Maddie had the chance to lead a normal life.
Kate paused in front of the plate-glass windows overlooking the hospital courtyard. Across the way was the multi-story parking garage, and down below she could see three small figures in the glassed-in passageway—Maddie and her foster parents heading into level one. Maddie was chatting happily with the foster mom as they disappeared into the garage—a good sign. Children sensed danger. Like animals, they knew whom not to trust.
Kate’s ring finger began to itch. She scratched the inflamed skin as she entered her office, where she took a seat at her desk and checked her text messages.
She could feel another headache coming on and reached into her bag for an Aleve, rummaging through the pockets. Instead of a bottle of pills, her fingers closed around the flashdrive Palmer had given her for safekeeping.
She sat with it in her palm. She glanced at the clock. She allowed a few seconds to pass before she inserted it into a USB port and double-clicked.
The drive held ten folders: 1_STIGLER_J. Wolfe, 2_ STIGLER_Gafford, 3_STIGLER_Mason, 4_STIGLER_S. Wolfe, 5_STIGLER_Koffman, 6_STIGLER_Howell, 7_STIGLER_Lloyd, 8_STIGLER_Witt, 9_STIGLER_Davidowitz, 10_STIGLER_ Brayden.
Kate sat for a suffocating moment with her finger poised on the mouse. Then she opened 1_STIGLER_J. Wolfe, to reveal three Word docs and a PDF. She opened the document named Case Summary. In his two-page summary Palmer made the case for homicide by quoting from the medical examiner’s report:
From Quade Pickler’s autopsy report: “Water in the lungs and stomach indicates death by drowning, as does hemorrhaging in the sinuses and trachea. Victim was alive when she was immersed. Evidence of the victim coming into contact with rocks while being carried by the current: antemortem bruising to the thorax and abdomen, broken phalanges (two on right hand, one on left—see diagram), lacerations to the forearms, and a single blunt force trauma to the right side of the cranium, resulting in a depressed fracture. Body was retrieved 48 hours postmortem.”
Palmer’s own observations were typed underneath:
Lacerations to the arms and hands could’ve been caused by a struggle with her attacker. Blunt force trauma to the head could’ve occurred before the unconscious victim was pushed into the water, with rocks added to the pockets to make it look like a suicide. Alcohol levels in her system could’ve further reduced her ability to defend herself. Unconscious-but-alive would explain the presence of water in the lungs. She had several broken fingers, which could’ve been the direct result of trying to protect herself from an attacker wielding the blunt object that caused the head injury and perhaps rendered her unconscious. Cranial trauma: A powerful blow to the right side of the skull is indicative that the perpetrator was left-handed. William Stigler is left-handed. The fracture pattern indicates a sharp, angular tool such as a tire iron, rather than a river boulder (suspiciously no tire iron was found in either vehicle at the scene—my guess is that it’s at the bottom of the river). Conclusion: Potential homicide staged to look like a suicide.
However, homicidal drowning is almost impossible to prove. There was a rainstorm that night, which eradicated the victim’s footprints from her car, so it is unsurprising that no sign of a struggle was found. No suicide note was ever recovered. Witness interviews indicate that the victim and primary suspect (Stigler) had been arguing with escalating intensity. The suspect had no solid alibi for a portion of the time the victim allegedly committed suicide. I also disagree with the medical examiner’s time of death. Victim could’ve been killed an hour earlier than estimated. This case should be reopened, in my opinion.
Kate opened the document labeled Witness Statements. Inside were dozens of interview transcripts, most of them along similar lines.
Tricia Landreau (neighbor): I heard a commotion next door and opened my window, and they [Stigler and Wolfe] were having one of their knock-down-drag-outs again. Yelling and screaming and swearing… He was jealous and she kept threatening to leave him. Then I heard the crash of breaking glass and a loud scream from a woman. I was about to call 911 when it suddenly stopped. I only hoped she wasn’t dead. But I saw her the next day and she seemed okay, except for a few bruises, so I figured I should mind my own business.
Nicholas Valentino (neighbor): Oh yeah, they fought all the time. My wife was especially concerned, but I figured it was none of our business. They were at each other’s throats twenty-four/seven. The police responded once or twice that I know of, but they didn’t arrest anyone. I think it’s because he’s a doctor and she was in the loony bin, and also because she refused to press charges. When we heard about the suicide, we weren’t all that surprised.
Kate devoured the rest of the witness statements, before opening the third Word document, Police Report. Then she opened the PDF. Fear crawled inside her as she clicked through color photographs of her mother’s abandoned car, the eroding riverbank, and Julia’s dead body. There she was, sprawled across the weedy shoreline, limbs twisted into unnatural positions, face coated in mud, clothes clinging to her like wet dishrags, open eyes dazzled by death.
With shaky fingers, Kate clicked out of the folder and stared at the nine other folders stored on the USB. She warned herself not to go any further, but her finger double-clicked on 4_STIGLER_S. Wolfe.
Inside were three Word docs, the same as Julia’s: Case Summary, Witness Statements, and Police Report. The PDF was labeled Autopsy Photographs. Without hesitation, she opened the file and was bludgeoned by a series of heartbreaking pictures. There was Savannah with her eyes closed and her head shaved, bald as a baby chick. Her pink T-shirt and white shorts were dirt-stained. Her lucky sneakers were missing. The soles of her feet were dusk-blue. Her fingernails were impacted with dirt. There were red scratches on her arms, like lipstick samples. Her tiny body barely took up half the autopsy table. Her face was as calm
as a bowl of rosewater.
Revulsion spread through Kate. The raw truth was hard to take. But it was somehow more healing than Savannah’s open coffin had been. The undertakers had applied thick coats of foundation to Savannah’s skin, and Kate never got over the sight of her sister’s ill-fitting blond wig and those penciled-in eyebrows. She preferred this—the truth. Here was brutal honesty. Here was how Death had taken her.
Dark thoughts spread like blood branching through water. She clicked out of Savannah’s folder without opening the rest of the documents. She’d seen enough.
Kate ejected the USB and sat in a state of agony. Everything seemed to be crowding in on her. She felt a creeping terror along with growing nausea. Had William Stigler buried her sister alive in order to both punish and frame Henry Blackwood for getting Julia pregnant? It was vicious payback. Here’s your biological daughter, and guess what? You’re going to spend the rest of your life rotting on death row. Blackwood’s fingerprints were on the shovel. The police found his hairs tangled up in the rope. Stigler must’ve stalked Henry and gained access to the property prior to the murder. He must’ve known where Blackwood kept the shovel and rope. Perhaps he’d gained Blackwood’s confidence and had been invited into his house. The crime took cunning and careful planning. In one Machiavellian masterstroke, Stigler had inflicted great pain on not just one, but two of his rivals for Julia’s affection: Henry Blackwood and Bram Wolfe.
She tucked the USB drive back into her bag and took out her phone. Her father would be at his Sunday surgery. She decided to call him at his downtown office.
“Dr. Wolfe,” he answered with bland professionalism.
“Hi, Dad. It’s me.”
“Hello, Kate.”
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“That’s okay. We were both a little emotional,” he said.
“I love you. You know that, right?”
His voice ticked up a notch. “I love you, too, Kate.”
“Something’s come up. Do you have a minute?”
A Breath After Drowning Page 27
