“Is it possible for a person to consciously put themselves into this state?”
“I believe it’s a reflexive action: a survival instinct that occurs in extreme circumstances.” She paused. “But I suppose anything is possible,” she said. “This isn’t my area of expertise. I work with children with behavioral problems. Sure, some of my clients have mild disassociation, like constant daydreaming, but freeze state is quite different. The person often feels trapped, with no way out. They perceive they are in a serious life-threatening situation, either physically or emotionally. You hear it occurring most often with victims of abuse.”
“Domestic abuse?”
“Well, yes, I would think it’s possible that some victims, no matter the type of abuse, may experience a form of freeze state as a way to cope.” She leaned forward. “Who are we talking about here?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Carlyn sat back, turned her head to the side, not looking at him when she spoke. “If this is about Lester, I already told you I think he was abusive. I already told you I never witnessed it personally. And yeah, I think the whole street knew what was going on inside their house. Everyone knew, but no one did anything to stop it.”
“Well, I have on record that someone called the police on several different occasions.”
“Yeah, you said that the last time I was here.”
“You told me you saw bruises on Sharon Haines. What about Trisha?” Parker asked. “Did Lester abuse her too?”
“Trisha never came right out and said it, but sometimes I’d see bruises on her arms, too, and occasionally on her legs.”
“Did you ever ask how she got the bruises?”
“No. Again, it was just something I knew. I didn’t have to ask. Besides, she wouldn’t have answered me. I think she was ashamed.”
“Was Lester sexually abusing her?”
“Is this why you called me down here? To find out what Lester was or wasn’t doing to Trisha three decades ago?” Carlyn asked. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything now.”
“I’m trying to establish a motive as to why Trisha would’ve wanted him dead.”
“I can’t give you a professional opinion, if that’s what you’re asking for. But if you want my personal opinion as her friend, then yeah, I think he sexually abused her.” She glared at Parker. “And for that, who could blame her for wanting him dead?”
He couldn’t disagree. Or wouldn’t. The more he learned about Lester, the more Parker loathed him. But personal feelings aside, Parker had a job to do, and that was to find out who had killed him. He pulled a report from the file. “Where were you the day Lester disappeared?” He recited the exact date he was last seen: December 4.
“I told you I was in school. You can check their records.”
“I already did,” he said. “What about after school; where did you go?”
“Probably the library. I did my homework there most days. I was trying to keep my grades up.”
“Can anyone confirm you were there? Did you see anyone? Check out any books?”
“We covered this. I don’t remember.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right; we did. What did you do after the library?”
“I went home.”
“Were you alone?” he asked.
“No, Trisha came over. She spent the night.”
“She slept over?”
“Yes, I told you this before, that she slept over.”
“Okay, so on the night she slept over, was anyone else with you, or was it just the two of you?”
“It was just us,” she said in a low voice. “No, that’s not right. Dannie was with us. She was there too. In fact, they both slept over a couple nights that week.”
“Was your mother home during that time?”
“No, I already told you: she would’ve been working the night shift at the hospital. We would’ve been alone. And Sharon would’ve been working at the bar,” she said. “Our mothers worked nights back then. I have no idea where Lester was.”
He dropped the image of the softball bat on top of the table. “You sure you don’t recognize this?” He pulled out the enlarged image of the engraving. “How about now? Look familiar?”
She didn’t say anything.
“I know it’s the bat Trisha stole from the high school gym,” Parker said. “I know what S. S. stands for. Remember Scott Best? He’s a police officer now. I believe you were friends back in high school. He’s been a big help in clearing some of this up for me.”
Carlyn still didn’t say anything. She looked uncomfortable.
“Do you want to tell me what you know about it?”
“Sounds like you already know everything.”
“Come on, Carlyn, level with me. Did Trisha hit Lester with the bat?”
She sat back in the chair, arms folded, and she almost looked smug when she said, “No, she didn’t.”
Parker was back with Geena, staring at the screen and the images of the three women. Sharon was on her third cigarette. She was fidgeting again, adjusting her position in the chair. Parker regretted letting her smoke. He was going to smell like cigarettes the rest of the day.
“Did Trisha have any reaction at seeing Carlyn walk past?” Parker asked. He was worried that Trisha hadn’t been paying attention and that she’d been too zoned out to take notice.
“She watched her walk by, but otherwise she hasn’t moved.” Geena motioned to the corner of the screen, where Carlyn was on camera. “She looked pretty certain that Trisha didn’t swing that bat.”
“I thought so too,” Parker said. “We’re missing something.”
“Do you see what I see?” Geena asked, pointing at the screen again.
Carlyn had pulled a pink lighter from her pocket, and she was turning it over in her hand.
“How many pink lighters can there possibly be?” Parker asked.
“Let’s get the fourth one in here,” Geena said. “And continue to bounce between them. Something is bound to shake out.”
For the fourth time that morning, Parker entered the reception area. Danielle was seated in the far corner of the bench, clutching her purse in her lap.
“Danielle Torino,” Parker said.
“Yes,” she said and stood, keeping her purse close to her chest. She was short, her face full, her body round underneath a long winter coat.
“I’m Detective Reed,” he said. “Thanks for coming in. Would you follow me, please?” He escorted her to interview room four. She looked scared, and he was glad they’d saved her for last, putting her in the room where there was a little more comfort, the one with the artificial plant and box of tissues.
He took the long way around, making sure to showcase her in front of the other three interview rooms, where the doors had been left wide open, and the others could see them.
Parker glanced over his shoulder repeatedly. Dannie looked inside each room as they passed by. At one point, she looked directly at Parker. She gave him the impression she had no idea what was going on. That might be. He was going to find out.
“I appreciate you taking the time to come down to the station,” he said once they were seated. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her coat on, her purse in her lap, her fingers gripping the strap. “What’s this about, anyway?”
He went through the routine again, as he’d done with the other three: secured her permission to record the interview, asked her where she was the day Lester had disappeared. She said she was in school and then spent the rest of the time taking care of her mother, eventually sleeping over at Carlyn’s house. He showed her the softball bat, the engraving.
“Yes,” she said. She recognized it. No, she didn’t smoke. She tried it once when she was a kid but didn’t like it.
Parker was about to ask if she thought Trisha had hit Lester with the bat when Geena texted him. We’ve got activity in room one.
“Excuse me,” Parker said and exit
ed the room, but this time he shut the door. He peered over Geena’s shoulder again. “What do we have?”
“Sharon,” Geena said. “She’s been up and pacing. She dropped her cigarette twice. She’s definitely anxious about something.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Parker said. “I’m going back to talk with Danielle.”
“Detective Reed.” Sharon stuck her head out the open door as Parker walked past on his way back to the room where Danielle was waiting. “Can I have a word with you?” she asked.
“Sure,” Parker said and went into the room with Sharon, closed the door behind him. “Have a seat,” he said.
Sharon sat down. He sat across from her.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” she said. She brought the cigarette to her lips, sucked in hard, exhaled.
“I see. Are you ready to be honest with me now?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you understand this conversation is being recorded?”
“Yes.” She pointed toward the door. “Those girls don’t have anything to do with this.”
“Which girls, Sharon?”
“My kid and her friends.”
“Would you state their names for the record?”
“Trisha, Carlyn, and Dannie. Jesus,” she said. “Dannie just buried her mother last week—a woman who was one of my dearest friends.” She took a deep breath. “They’ve got nothing to do with this. They just got caught up in adult matters when they were kids. That’s all.”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” He reminded her of her rights. “Do you understand what I just said to you?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “I understand.”
“Okay. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“I got a call that Thursday morning from the high school. They told me Trisha skipped again, and if she didn’t show up for the rest of the school year, she’d have to repeat senior year. My kid wasn’t about to repeat a grade. It made no sense to me. If you can’t get her to show up the first time around, what makes you think she’s going to show up the second time?”
“Go on.”
“I was upset, of course. I wanted her to know she was in trouble with them and me.” She took another long drag from the cigarette, exhaled, and continued. “I figured I knew where I could find her. She was always hanging out with her friends on that trail in them damn woods. I bet they were drinking and smoking and who knows what else. Kids.” She snorted.
“Did you go to the trail, Sharon?”
“Yeah, but you know I hate them woods. I was scared of them, so I grabbed her bat. You know, to fend off those bears and whatnot.” She swallowed.
“What did you find when you got to the woods?”
She took another drag of the cigarette. “Trisha wasn’t there,” she said.
“Who was?”
“Lester.” She stared off to the side. “We had a fight the night before, when I got home from the bar. It was a bad one.”
“You and Lester?”
“Yeah. There were bruises on my neck. I was going to have to wear a turtleneck to the bar that night. I didn’t get many tips when I wore turtlenecks, if you know where I’m going.”
“I do. What happened next?”
“I was surprised to find him there. I mean, what’s he doing hanging around the place my kid goes with her friends? Does that make any sense to you?” Her voice broke. “He was supposed to be at work, anyway. And that’s what I told him. He didn’t like that. He’d been drinking. He came after me.”
“What do you mean he came after you?”
“He came at me. I didn’t know if he’d choke me for good that time or not. I thought he was going to kill me, you know? But I had the bat.” She rubbed her brow. “I had the bat, and I hit him with it.”
“What happened next after you hit him with the bat?”
“I was afraid of what he’d do to me. I never hit him before,” she said. “So I ran.”
“And you reported him missing two weeks later. Why?”
“I didn’t know he was . . . you know. I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t think it was strange that he didn’t come home after you hit him in the head with the bat?”
“I thought he was punishing me by making me worry. Or maybe he was off on a bender. I didn’t know.” The ash from her cigarette fell onto the table. “I didn’t know what he was doing to my little girl. I want you to understand. I didn’t know.”
“What was he doing to her?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Was he abusing your daughter, Sharon? Is that what he was doing?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Damn you.” She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, he was.”
“Why didn’t you tell the cops all this back then?”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think they’d believe me. I didn’t think they’d believe I’d hit him to stop him from killing me.”
“Okay. So why bother reporting him missing at all? I mean, what was the point? Or were you covering your tracks because you knew he’d never be found?” He waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he leaned forward, his voice clear when he asked, “Did you report it before or after you went back up the trail to bury him?”
She brought the cigarette to her cracked lips.
“Sharon,” he said. “Did you bury him before or after you reported him missing?” He paused, waited for a response. When she didn’t give one, he asked, “How long did you have to wait for the snow to melt? Was it two weeks?”
She blinked several times, the smoke cloudy in front of her face. She seemed to consider what he’d asked, and then she said, “I think I’d like that lawyer now.”
“Wait here,” Parker said to Sharon. He returned to where Geena was sitting behind the screen. “Did you get all that?”
“I sure did,” Geena said.
“Are you buying it was self-defense?”
“It could’ve been. She could’ve panicked and gone back later and buried him. But even if we didn’t get that out of her, look at it this way—she had motive, access to the murder weapon; she prefers pink lighters, and one was found at the scene; but most importantly, she just confessed. We’re done here. Let’s wrap this up.” Geena stood, stretched her neck and back. “I’ll let the others know they’re free to go.”
“Keep Trisha in room two for me. I want to tell her myself.” Maybe he was overstepping his bounds, but if he could help her in some way, he would. No one should have to live in fear of the very man they’d married.
Parker returned to room one, where Sharon waited. “I’m going to have to ask you to stand.” He pulled the handcuffs out. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Lester Haines.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Trisha sat patiently waiting for Detective Reed to return. She continued picking the tender skin on the underside of her wrist, her hands hidden beneath the coat in her lap, concealed from the camera aimed at her. The detective was playing games, all right, marching Carlyn and then Dannie past the open door for Trisha to see. She had to muster every bit of strength she had to remain calm, unmoving, frozen. It was harder for her to maintain this frozen state when there were other people involved and she had no control over what they might say or do. When Trisha was the sole target she could slip away, remove herself from the situation, as though she wasn’t a participant in whatever was happening. But how could slipping away protect the three people in the other rooms? Maybe what she should be worried about was whether or not they were protecting her.
She was feeding into the detective’s plan, second-guessing herself, allowing him to sway her into making a decision that could be costly.
Breathe. She talked herself down.
All she had to do was breathe.
Someone walked by the small room where she was waiting, then closed the door, boxed her in. Sounds
came from the other side: the shuffling of feet, people moving about. Something had happened. The air became charged, sizzled with activity. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. The bustle outside the door could only mean one thing.
Someone had talked.
Detective Reed stepped into the small room. He sat down opposite her. His expression told her that he’d gotten what he’d wanted out of one of them. However, she sensed there was something more he wanted from her.
He motioned to the corner wall, where the camera was mounted. “The camera has been turned off,” he said. “Nothing we say from this point on will be on the record.”
“Whatever.”
“We can talk freely if you’d like.”
“I have no idea what we’d talk about.”
He passed her a card: a number for victims of domestic violence to call for help. A pinkish hue traveled from his neck to his cheeks.
She enjoyed his discomfort; let him see how it felt.
He continued. “Maybe you’ve already spoken to someone about it, but you do know there are groups you can join, other people who have gone through what you’re going through. There’s help out there if you want it.”
She kept her face neutral. She couldn’t believe he was talking to her about joining a victims’ group.
“There are people who would be happy to talk with you. I can get someone here in a few minutes. All you have to do is say the word.”
“That isn’t necessary.” She wasn’t denying it. Why should she? Her two days were almost up, and besides, she was putting together her own plan.
The detective nodded. His hands were folded on the table. He was so young, too young to be messed up in her bullshit.
“Your mother,” he said. “She confessed to hitting your stepfather with the softball bat.”
For a split second, Trisha was sure her jaw had dropped. She quickly recovered, removing all expression from her face while her mind raced. That can’t be. Her mother couldn’t have been the one to kill him. She hated the woods. She’d had no reason to be on the trail. Her mother hadn’t fought back, ever. The detective had it wrong. Trisha had left the bat on the floor in Carlyn’s bedroom. She may have forgotten then, but she was sure of it now. There was only one plausible explanation.
Cold Woods Page 23
