Case #92-10945
Direct message dated March 16, 2018,
via DarkestDoor.com
Corareef12:
I’ve been standing in front of the window every night. Just the way you wanted me to. My mom caught me yesterday with my shirt off standing there and freaked out. Doesn’t this prove it? Doesn’t this prove that I love you?
Beth Crow
Wednesday April 18, 2018
I punch the off button on the television remote. I wonder who the man is that they’ve interviewed. Maybe Violet will be able to come home sooner than later. I still have to find Violet a lawyer and find her one now. Just in case. I step out into the hallway for privacy and look up and down the corridor for any sign of Max. He’s nowhere to be seen.
I pull out my phone and do a search of lawyers who serve Pitch and the surrounding area. Dozens of names come up so I narrow my search to juvenile law and the list is cut down to just a handful. I start at the top with Anderson and Boothe Law Offices located in Carbonville. A chipper receptionist named Genevieve answers the phone on the first ring. She asks how she can be of help and I realize I don’t even know how to begin.
“I need a lawyer for my daughter. She’s twelve,” I say.
“What’s the charge?” the woman asks and I’m taken aback. I didn’t think I would have to go through the entire story with a complete stranger, let alone the office receptionist first.
“I’d rather speak with a lawyer,” I say. “Is someone available?”
“If you can give me some details about your daughter’s case, I can direct it to the attorney best suited for assisting you,” she says smoothly and I can tell it won’t be easy getting through this firewall.
“She hasn’t been charged yet, but they’re talking attempted murder,” I say, cringing with the ugliness of the words.
There is silence on the other end of the phone. I can’t imagine that these are charges that even the most experienced of lawyers see very often. Genevieve clears her throat. “Why don’t I take your number and one of our attorneys will call you back shortly.”
I tell her my number and before she hangs up I ask the question that I really don’t want to know the answer to. “Can you give me a ballpark figure of how much it costs for a situation like this?”
Genevieve is silent and I wonder if this firm has even had an attempted murder case before when she says, “Well, there are many factors to take into consideration, but on average I’d say that services will be about a hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”
She may as well have said a million dollars an hour. I’m not naive enough to think that an attempted murder case will take only a few hours. I make about three hundred and fifty bucks a week and that’s if I work overtime. In less than three hours a lawyer will wipe out a week’s worth of work.
“Thank you,” I tell Genevieve and hang up. It’s dawning on me that if Violet does get arrested I’m most likely going to have to get a public defender.
I look up to find Officer Grady coming toward us. He looks as exhausted as I feel. I wonder if he’s gotten any sleep the last two days. Good, I think. He’s the one who made Violet run. He’s the one who got Violet committed to the hospital. He should be just as tired as we are.
“Morning, Beth,” Officer Grady says. “How’s Violet doing?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Visitors’ hours aren’t until noon. Did you get your warrant and come to arrest her?”
“Listen, Beth, I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Let’s go sit,” Officer Grady says, leading the way to the family waiting room.
I’m about to tell him that there are already people in there but the sight of a cop standing in the doorway gets the couple moving and they gather their things and leave. “I’m holding off on getting that warrant but I may not be able to wait too much longer.” I drop onto the sofa and Officer Grady sits across from me and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, Beth,” Officer Grady says, “I’m not Violet’s lawyer...”
“Do I need to get her a lawyer?” I ask, panic squeezing my lungs.
“If it comes to that the court will appoint one for Violet.”
“But I don’t know if I can afford him.” My face grows hot. It’s mortifying to have to admit that I can’t provide for my daughter.
“The court automatically appoints a lawyer to Violet. It’s standard for juveniles. It will all be explained to you if she’s taken into police custody.” Officer Grady shifts in his seat. “Listen, that’s not why I’m here to talk to you. I’ve got kids, too. A girl in high school and a boy in eighth grade at the same school as Violet.”
I see the sympathy on his face and I know he’s thinking of his own children and the possibility of them being caught up in a similar predicament. The pressure on my chest eases a bit. Maybe Officer Grady is in our corner, maybe he believes that Violet is innocent.
“I want to show you something.” He stands, pulls out his phone and sits next to me on the sofa. He scratches his eyebrow and takes a breath. “If I were in your boat, I’d want all the information.”
That familiar feeling of dread begins to overwhelm me again and I know that whatever Officer Grady is going to show me isn’t going to be good news for Violet.
He pulls up a video and it takes a moment for me to understand what I’m seeing. A black-and-white, grainy video of the train yard with a twelve-thirty time stamp for April 16. There is no sound. I look up at Officer Grady. “We installed a camera last fall when we suspected an increase in drug activity at the depot. Keep watching.”
Three figures come into the frame and though their features are fuzzy, I recognize Violet’s long dark hair. The other two girls have to be Cora and Jordyn. They are walking shoulder to shoulder and arrange themselves in front of a row of boxcars.
Violet reaches into her pocket and pulls out what appears to be a cell phone, stretches out her arm and raises it above her head to take a picture. Jordyn lifts her arm, too, and in her hand is something—but I can’t tell what it is. Once the photo is snapped, Jordyn reaches into her backpack and pulls out a bottle, twists the lid and takes a drink. The camera is too far away to see her face but by the way she shoves the bottle toward Violet it’s apparent that she doesn’t like the taste.
“Are they drinking alcohol?” I ask. Officer Grady ignores my question, keeping his eyes on the screen. Violet wipes the rim of the bottle with her sleeve, takes a drink and offers it to Cora, who shakes her head. Violet presses the bottle back toward Jordyn, who takes it, dumps out the rest and tosses the bottle to the ground.
The girls freeze in place and then turn their heads toward somewhere out of sight of the camera. The girls spend the next few moments in what looks like deep conversation until Jordyn lifts her book bag to her shoulder and begins to walk away. Cora grabs one of the straps and tries to pull Jordyn back toward her. Jordyn gives one big tug, forcing Cora to let go and tumble to the ground. Then Jordyn tosses whatever items were in her other hand to the ground next to her. Violet reaches down to pick it up.
“Is that...?” I begin to ask but then stop. I know what it is. It’s the knife. “It doesn’t mean that Violet...” I say but Officer Grady holds up a finger to silence me.
Cora gets to her feet and shoves Jordyn, who stumbles back a few steps. Cora turns her head as if something has caught her attention. Jordyn lunges, arms outstretched, striking Cora on the back with both hands. Cora falls hard and doesn’t immediately get up. Violet bends over as if checking on Cora.
Violet’s and Jordyn’s heads snap toward something off camera. Even Cora, from her spot on the ground, looks up. Jordyn and Violet run off in different directions as Cora struggles to her feet, clutching at her arm, and staggers away.
“Just wait,” Officer Grady says as I start to speak. Several minutes pass with nothing but even though I know what’s coming I can’t help squirming in my seat. I d
on’t dare blink, afraid of missing something, and I keep my eyes on the screen.
A shape rushes past so quickly that I can’t tell who it is. Officer Grady stops the video, backs it up fifteen seconds and replays it. “We’re pretty sure that’s Jordyn Petit. See the backpack in her hand?”
I nod and we continue to watch the video. The train rushes by and then several more minutes pass. Finally, a woman and her dog come into view. The dog sniffs at the weeds, searching for the best spot to relieve himself while the woman, holding the leash, taps her foot impatiently. The dog, nose to the ground, perks up his ears and pulls on the leash, dragging the woman out of the frame.
The seconds on the time stamp tick by until Officer Grady fast-forwards the video. “The witness calls 9-1-1 and we show up about ten minutes later.”
Right on cue a handful of cops run through the train yard and soon after two EMTs rush past carrying their medical gear. The woman and her dog, escorted by an officer, come back into sight. She is frantically waving her arms and talking when she suddenly looks at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. This is where I must have asked, Is that blood?
The EMTs hurry by again, this time carrying Cora on a stretcher. In the upper corner of the video a shadow appears. It’s all I can do to not rip the phone from Officer Grady’s hands to get a closer look.
“What are you looking at?” comes a voice from the doorway. Max has returned.
“Quiet,” I demand and see the hurt on his face. Dammit, I think. I can’t seem to win with Max right now. Max is part of this family. Shouldn’t he hear what’s going on? “I’m sorry, Max,” I tell him. He nods but I can tell his feelings are hurt. He stands behind us and watches as I return my attention to the video. The person on the edge of the video gets closer and I know it’s Violet.
Her movements are odd. Zombielike and she’s carrying something in her hand. My stomach lurches. The knife. Violet drops it to the ground and the next thirty seconds of film are chaos. I watch myself running toward her, my feet kicking up the dusty gravel, a cop at my heels. Me, pulling a bloody Violet into my arms, thinking that she was dying, laying her on the ground.
Violet was holding the knife. Officer Grady pauses the video and I stare at the two of us frozen in time: Violet’s eyes are black holes, my mouth opens in a silent scream. This is it, I think. This is the exact moment that our lives were changed forever.
“I was hoping that you might be able to recognize a fourth person in the video,” Officer Grady says. He hits Play. “Look. There. Do you see it?” At the upper edge of the video I do think I see someone. It’s blurry and shows someone walking quickly, but not running, through the camera’s frame.
I nod. “Yeah, I see it.”
“It’s not one of the girls,” Grady says. “They ran in different directions. It’s like they were running from him.” He taps Pause again.
Relief floods through me. “There was someone else there. I knew it.”
“Can I take a closer look?” Max asks and Officer Grady hands him the phone and he watches the video several times, stopping and starting it over and over.
“Max, what is it?” I ask, getting impatient. This does not look good for Violet and I’m sure that Officer Grady is just minutes away from arresting her.
“I know who that is,” Max says, looking up from the screen. “It’s Gabe Shannon, he’s in Violet’s class. I can tell by his hat.”
Text Message Exchange
Between Jordyn Petit and Gabe Shannon
April 15, 2018
Jordyn:
Be there at midnight. This is going to be awesome
Gabe:
Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll hide in the grass until you give me the signal
Jordyn:
Remember Violet doesn’t know you’re coming, either. I’ll start screaming and give you the knife. Then you go after Cora. She’ll shit her pants
Case #92-10945
Excerpt from the journal of Cora E. Landry
Mar. 20, 2018
I can’t get out of bed. My mom thinks I’ve got the flu or something. I’ve missed a bunch of school and haven’t showered in like four days. I don’t understand why Joseph doesn’t send me a message.
I called Mr. Dover late last night and he tried to make me feel better. He said everyone missed me but I know that’s not true. I could disappear and no one would care.
Dr. Madeline Gideon
September 14, 2018
My mind kept returning to the sound of utter disbelief in Cora’s voice when she told me that Joseph Wither didn’t stay. I had wanted to talk with Cora more about it, but Mara and Jim rushed back into the room frantic after her fever spiked.
Clearly, someone pretending to be Joseph Wither was with Cora the night she was attacked; that’s most likely the one who attacked her. Or perhaps she just imagined he was there. But why would Cora sound so sad about him leaving? Was he someone she knew?
It’s not uncommon for victims of abuse to become dependent on the perpetrator, to seek out their approval. It’s all part of the abuser’s sadistic, manipulative game. I wanted to talk with her more, wanted to see if she could remember anything new about her encounter that night.
Cora had also expressed doubts about her friends, Violet and Jordyn. If only she remembered. At the time I believed that if my conversations with Cora could help her identify the person who did this to her, then so be it. In my line of work there were often unanswered questions and a lack of closure. It wasn’t my job to catch the bad guys. My role was to help children who experience trauma identify and describe the feelings they had and from there develop tools and healthy coping responses in order to increase the feelings of control and self-reliance.
I logged into the hospital’s electronic file system and pulled up Cora’s medical records and went right to the April 15 file. I clicked on the photographs that the ER nurse took of Cora’s injuries and winced at the sight. From Cora’s injuries, it appeared she had to be facing her attacker when she was stabbed, but it was after midnight. Maybe it was too dark or maybe the attacker knocked her out before she could clearly see who it was.
Cora was struck by the knife one time. A four-inch horizontal slash on her left side just above the abdomen.
The head, arm and facial injuries appeared to be made by some kind of blunt object. From the pictures and X-rays there was really no way for me to tell exactly what weapon was used. The toxicology screen showed no evidence of drugs or alcohol. There was nothing new to be learned there.
It was the injury to the arm that didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Did the attacker begin by using one kind of weapon and then transfer to another? It was possible.
Perhaps Cora fought back, causing the attacker to drop the knife or the blunt weapon. There didn’t appear to be defensive wounds on any part of Cora’s body. No sliced fingers or arms to show that she put up a fight.
Why didn’t she fight back? Was it because the attacker was someone she knew? Someone she trusted? Could it have been one of her friends—Violet or Jordyn, or both? Something still didn’t seem quite right but I just hadn’t landed on it, not yet.
* * *
When I went back to check on Cora the room to her door was shut and a sign was affixed to the door frame—I’m resting, please do not disturb. I decided to take a chance and lightly tapped on the door. When it opened I came face-to-face with Jim Landry. “Yes?” he asked brusquely.
“How’s she doing?” I whispered.
“She’s sleeping,” he answered shortly. I was about ready to apologize for disturbing them when Mara stepped out from behind her husband and joined us in the hallway.
“She’s got an infection.” Mara’s face was pale, strained. “In her eye.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What is the doctor saying?”
“More antibiotics and now we just wait and se
e.”
This is not good. Mara doesn’t say it, but I know that there’s a chance that Cora could lose her eye.
“If you can excuse us,” Jim said. He looked helpless, defeated. But there’s something else on his face. Guilt, perhaps. He looked past my shoulder and brushed past me, moving down the hallway. I turned and saw him striding toward a police officer.
“Oh, God,” Mara said, running her fingers through her hair. “I can’t deal with this right now. They keep wanting to ask Cora questions and she can’t answer them. She doesn’t remember anything.”
I thought about what Cora told me earlier about how Joseph Wither didn’t stay at the train yard with her. If Cora remembered this, then maybe she remembered more details, but I couldn’t just come out and tell Mara what her daughter revealed to me during our discussions. The guidelines about patient confidentiality are very clear. “The police often need to question victims several times. It’s surprising what witnesses can remember over time,” I explained.
“I know,” Mara said in resignation. “I just wish this would all go away, that none of this ever happened.” Jim Landry and the police officer approached us. Both look dazed, somber. “What is it?” Mara asked when she saw their faces. Neither spoke. “Tell me.”
“We’ve brought in another witness. Someone else who was at the train yard that night. I wanted to tell you in person,” the officer said.
Jim let out a frustrated puff of air. “Is it Violet?”
“No, a young man. Gabe Shannon. He was on surveillance footage from the train yard,” the officer explained.
“Gabe Shannon?” Mara repeated. “We’ve known the Shannons for years. I work with his mother. Gabe and Cora have gone to school together since preschool. She likes Gabe.”
Before She Was Found Page 25
