An Eye for an Eye

by Caroline Fardig

  He nodded. “None taken, ma’am.”

  I said to my sister, “You going off campus without a police escort is non-negotiable. I’ll meet you here at three.” We had arrived at the front door to the dorm, so I pulled her to me and gave her a hug. “If you need anything, you call me. I’ll drop everything and be here for you. Okay?”

  “Okay. I love you, sissy.”

  “I love you, too.”

  After reluctantly letting her go, I headed across campus toward the science building with Lester trailing only steps behind. My heart twisted in my chest. Poor Rachel was so distraught by Jenna’s passing, it was playing havoc with her emotions. At only seventeen, she’d gotten pregnant and was a mom by eighteen. She didn’t have a chance to live out the last of her teenage years like a normal teen, so sometimes when she got overwhelmed, she reverted back to a more child-like version of herself. I knew I couldn’t have handled what she did at such a young age. Hell, I didn’t think I could handle motherhood now. I wanted to be able to help her through her grief, but I had no idea where to start. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to get her some professional help.

  ***

  I taught my final two classes of the day, thinking it would have been better for everyone involved if I had just taken the whole day off and let someone else cover for me. I was scattered and kept losing my train of thought. Plus in my own emotional state, I was of no comfort to my students, many of whom were either upset or scared over the brutal murder of a fellow classmate. The whole campus seemed to have a pall over it, today especially. There was no way of fixing it, either. The only bright spot was that the semester break was coming up soon. I hoped after a few weeks away the students would have a chance to heal and could come back and resume some semblance of normalcy.

  When I went back to my office after my final class, I had a text message from Rachel: Thinking about mom a lot today. Can you meet me at her grave? I’m there now.

  “What the hell?” I muttered to myself as I reread the text. It was only two-thirty, so Rachel should still have been in her study group. Why would she have ditched a much needed study session right before finals?

  This made no sense. Our mother hadn’t been a factor in our lives since I’d gone and taken a newly pregnant Rachel away from her so the poor girl could have a chance at a better life. The only time I’d ever thought about our mother since then was when I realized I’d been working on her murder case, unknowingly processing the garbage bags that had held pieces of her dismembered body. The case had caused me to quit my job, but not because I was distraught over her death. She’d had no use for Rachel and me in life, aside from the extra welfare money, so neither of us felt a reason to go out of our way to honor her in death. We didn’t take flowers to her grave, and we sure as hell didn’t go out there to weep over it.

  This odd message—and the fact that Rachel had blatantly gone against my wishes and left campus alone—deserved more than a texted response. I called her cell, but it went to voicemail.

  “Rachel, what in the hell are you doing leaving campus on your own? And why to go to mom’s grave? I’m on my way out there, but…please stay in your car with the doors locked and call me when you get this.”

  I stalked out of my office. To Deputy Lester, who’d been standing guard outside my door, I said, “I need to get to Riverside Cemetery. Fast. I’ll explain on the way.”

  After Lester heard that Rachel was out at the tiny, rather secluded cemetery all alone, he turned on his siren and lights and sped all the way to Noblesville, as fast as possible on the snowy streets. I continued to text and call Rachel on the drive there, but she wouldn’t pick up. I didn’t get how Jenna’s funeral could make Rachel go off the deep end about our mother. Was it the fact that they’d both been murdered at the hands of a madman?

  I couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that Rachel’s off-the-charts reaction was my fault for being gone and for breaking the family apart in an attempt to keep us all safe. But I didn’t know what I could have done differently. Nate loved being with his grandparents, and Rachel needed the support of her friends who were all dealing with the same issue. Neither of them would have been happy being prisoners in their own home like I was. I’d thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe I’d only succeeded in making everyone miserable, including myself.

  When we got to Riverside Cemetery, the small parking lot was empty. Rachel’s car wasn’t on any of the side streets.

  “You’re sure she’s here?” Lester asked, his hand ready on his service pistol.

  “She said she’d be here…” I replied uncertainly, peering out across the cemetery toward my mother’s grave. I could barely see the top of someone’s head peeking out above the back side of the headstone. “Wait, I think she’s over there. Although why she’s sitting in the snow, I don’t have a clue.”

  I hurried toward the simple limestone grave marker that read “Patty Copland.” I hadn’t been out here since my mother’s funeral, and I still couldn’t wrap my mind around why after three years Rachel felt the burning need to make a visit.

  As I neared the grave, I called, “Rach, what’s going on? Why are you sitting out here in the freezing cold?”

  When she didn’t answer, I voiced an irritated grunt and walked around the grave to speak to her face-to-face. I let out a strangled scream when I laid eyes on the young woman sitting there. She wasn’t my sister. She was Michaela Richards.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Deputy Lester sprinted over to me. “What’s wrong? I heard you scream.” When he looked down at Michaela’s body, sitting there peacefully and heart-wrenchingly still, he said, “That’s…”

  I nodded, unable to speak, my eyes fastened on the body. Her torso was tied to the grave with fishing line, and her head was bowed, almost as if she were asleep. Her right hand was missing, and her left hand clutched a garden spade. I saw no note this time. Her clothing was similar to what the killer had dressed Jenna in when he’d posed her. Judging from the inch of snow covering some parts of her, I’d say she’d been out here since at least eleven, since it had stopped snowing around noon.

  Lester snapped into action, using the radio clipped to his shoulder to call for any and all available emergency personnel to come here immediately. In one motion, he unholstered his gun, grabbed me, and threw me behind him. He then turned in a slow circle, scanning the area.

  My mind was swimming with thoughts, the most frightening one being where is my sister? Did Rachel’s weird text have anything to do with this scene, or was it more likely that her number had been spoofed in an attempt to get me out here alone? She regularly turned her phone off during class and during study groups, so it stood to reason that she hadn’t returned any of my many texts and calls. That had to be it. Phone numbers were simple to spoof, so it wasn’t a stretch that someone who could mastermind three murders without getting caught could have pulled it off.

  Lester loosened his vise grip on me. “I think you should sit in my vehicle. It’ll be safer than having you out in the open.”

  Trying to keep my composure, I nodded and replied, “Okay.” I didn’t like the thought of being a sitting duck out here, either.

  By the time I got settled in Lester’s vehicle, the first responders started pulling in. Two sheriff’s department cruisers came screaming into the small parking lot as I tried to reach Rachel again by phone. It was past three PM, so I hoped she’d have turned her ringer back on by now. And knowing she was in a bad frame of mind already, I figured if she was stuck waiting for us for any amount of time, she’d be calling me, demanding to know why my police escort and I hadn’t bothered to show up at the promised time.

  Moments later, as I was keying in text message number ten, my door was wrenched open, and a hand grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the vehicle.

  Baxter swept me into a crushing hug, asking in a tense voice, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just…confused.”

  When he let me go, he searched my face as
he asked, “Did you see Parsons? Why are you even out here?”

  I showed him my phone. “I got a text from Rachel asking me to meet her here. At our mother’s grave.”

  His face became ashen, and he wiped a hand down his beard. “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. When we got here, Rachel’s car wasn’t here, which I found odd. But then I saw someone’s head over the top of the gravestone and thought for a moment it was Rachel. When I got a good look…it wasn’t.”

  “So where’s Rachel now?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure. I guess on campus. She had a study group until three, and afterward we were supposed to meet and go to David’s house to see Nate. But then she texted me early, saying she was out here. I’ve tried to reach her, but can’t.” When Baxter’s eyes became strained with concern, I added, “But that’s not out of the ordinary while she’s in class or studying. I’m assuming the killer spoofed her number so I’d be the one to come out here and find Michaela.”

  The theory I’d formed made sense, but some variables bothered me. How did Hunter Parsons have my cell number and Rachel’s? And how did he know that Patty Copland was Rachel’s and my mother? That wasn’t common knowledge. With Jayne’s help we’d purposely kept our names out of any media coverage, had a quiet burial, and submitted no obituary in hopes of keeping Rachel and Nate out of the spotlight. It was our belief that Rachel’s lunatic father, Marcus Copland, had killed our mother, and Rachel didn’t want him trying to find her or contact her. Shortly after the funeral, Rachel changed her last name and Nate’s to Miller in order to further hide from Marcus. On a selfish note, I wanted my name kept out of it because I was too ashamed to admit to my coworkers in the department that the known crack whore we’d finally identified was in fact my own mother. As of now my secret would no longer be a secret. That would be fun to explain.

  Baxter got out his phone. “I’ll have campus security find your sister. Where was her study group?”

  I shrugged. “I think they normally meet in the library, but not always.”

  As if my day weren’t going badly enough, Agent Manetti strode over to us, all business, and elbowed Baxter out of the way. Baxter threw a glare at the back of Manetti’s head and walked a few paces away to make his phone call.

  Manetti demanded, “What’s going on out here? Last night all you wanted was to be far away from this case, and now you’re right back in the middle of it.”

  I stared at him. “So now it’s my fault that the killer is targeting me?”

  “Why are you here?”

  Frustrated, I handed him my phone showing the text from Rachel. “I got this text from my sister.”

  Manetti read it and frowned. “What does your sister have to do with this?”

  “Nothing, I’m betting. I think this was all a ploy to get me out here.”

  “Does your sister know Hunter Parsons?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Would she hide something like that from you?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you asking me if my sister could be working with the killer?”

  “I’m trying to get a frame of reference. Also, I need to take your phone.”

  My jaw dropped, and I snatched it back out of his hand. “Like hell you do. I have to keep trying to contact my sister. You don’t need my phone to track this text. All you need is her phone number.” I managed to refrain from adding, idiot.

  He must have inferred my meaning, because he glared down at me. “What I don’t need is you getting hostile, Ms. Matthews.”

  “Then go bother someone else,” I fired back.

  “Everything okay over here?” Baxter asked warily, having walked back over to us after finishing his phone call.

  Ignoring him, Manetti demanded, “Did you touch anything at the scene?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. How stupid do you think I am?” When he didn’t reply, I added, “It bothers me that there’s a brand-new active crime scene over there, and you’re over here grilling me for no apparent reason.”

  “Don’t judge my style of investigation, Ms. Matthews. Don’t forget: you’re a criminalist, not a detective.”

  As I took a breath to return a biting remark, Baxter cut me off. “Ellie, can I get your sister’s number? I want to run a quick trace on her cell signal.”

  Manetti, evidently finished with me, stalked away.

  I muttered, “Did you hear that? He actually insinuated that Rachel is somehow working with the killer.”

  Baxter shook his head. “I don’t think he meant it that way.”

  “Why are you defending that…that uncaring cyborg?”

  “I’m not. Hey, give me Rachel’s number so we can try to pinpoint her location. I want to start figuring out where that bogus text came from.”

  I pulled up Rachel’s contact info and let him take a photo of my screen. He typed a quick email and attached the photo.

  “Someone will get working on it right away. I need to go take a look at the scene. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  “If Manetti keeps his distance.”

  He smiled. “I’ll make sure he’s otherwise occupied. You keep trying Rachel.”

  I got back in the cruiser and called Rachel, again getting her voicemail. I texted Miranda, but got back a message that she hadn’t seen Rachel since they met for coffee at noon. Last she knew, Rachel was on her way to study group.

  I called my friend Samantha. When she answered, I said, “Hi, Sam.”

  “Hey, how did the funeral go? You and Rachel doing okay?”

  “Um…I guess. I’m looking for Rachel, and I think she turned her phone off when she went to her study group. Are you still on campus?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you have time to run over to the library right now and see if you can find her? I need to get in touch with her to…change the time I’m picking her up this afternoon.”

  “Sure. In fact, I’m in the courtyard right now. Hey, let’s do lunch tomorrow, if you’re free. Okay?”

  “You bet. Thanks, Sam.”

  I knew Baxter already had campus security looking for Rachel, but sometimes they weren’t as quick as they could be. Sam would have an answer for me within minutes. It was fifteen minutes past three, and I was growing anxious.

  I hated to worry David, but no one had looked for Rachel there.

  I called him, and when he answered, I said, “Hi, David. Is Rachel at your place?”

  “No, should she be?”

  I lied, “We were planning to come over this afternoon, but we got our wires crossed on who was picking up who to drive over. She’s not answering her phone at the moment, but she might be driving or something. I’ll keep trying her.”

  David’s voice had grown concerned. “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  I hated not being truthful with him. “We’re just still emotional over the funeral this morning. Not thinking straight.”

  “Oh. Well, when you find her, please let me know.”

  “I will.”

  By now my stomach was churning. I looked through the windshield and saw Baxter coming toward me, a grim expression on his face. I got out of the cruiser to meet him.

  He couldn’t look me in the eyes. “Ellie, we can’t locate the signal on your sister’s phone. That text you got came from a tower in Fishers.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “Fishers? I don’t know why she’d drive all the way over there.”

  “She didn’t. Her vehicle is still at Ashmore.”

  My body went numb. I whispered, “Maybe someone stole her phone.” My phone rang in my hand, and it was Samantha. My heart pounding, I put the call on speaker and cried, “Sam, did you find her?”

  Sam’s voice was strained. “No, honey. Um…I did manage to find a couple of students from her study group, and they said…she never showed up today.”

  I looked up at Baxter, fighting tears. I could tell from the expression in his eyes that he thought the worst.
<
br />   Sam said, “Ellie? Campus security is here with me. They’ve been looking for her all over campus. What’s going on? Is she…is she missing?”

  I choked out, “I don’t know. I think…she could be…” As I broke down, Baxter took my phone and pulled me to him.

  I heard him say, “Dr. Jordan, this is Detective Baxter. I need to speak to one of the security officers.” After a pause, he continued, “This is Detective Nick Baxter. We need you to expand your search for Rachel Miller. I want an alert sent out to all students and faculty including Ms. Miller’s photo, asking for information on when she was last seen on campus. I need you to contact the Ashmore Voice and have them run the same thing. I want a campus-wide search organized and up and running within the hour. This is your priority, and I want updates every fifteen minutes. Thank you. Goodbye.”

  “He has her,” I rasped in between sobs.

  Baxter held me tighter. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  I pushed away from him and wiped my eyes. “Don’t coddle me! I can tell by the look on your face you think the same damn thing.”

  There was a loud whistle from across the cemetery, and Sterling called, “Baxter, get over here. And bring Matthews.”

  “Why do they want me?” I asked warily.

  “I’m not sure.”

  I swiped a hand across my face and pulled myself together. Baxter had me sign in on the scene entry log, and then we both approached my mother’s gravesite. Sterling and Dr. Berg were deep in conversation, and Amanda was taking photos while Beck made some measurements and recorded them on a rough sketch he’d started. Manetti was standing a few feet away, phone glued to his ear.

  When Sterling saw us, he ended his conversation with Dr. Berg. His voice off-puttingly gentle, he asked me, “Matthews, does this grave have some significance to you? Do you know a Patty Copland?”

  I glanced at Baxter, who was watching me worriedly.

  Before I could answer, Beck piped up, “Now I remember that name. From that case three years ago where the vic was chopped up and pieces of her were scattered all over the county. The one Ellie quit in the middle of.”