The Girl in the Woods (30 page)

It was late when she returned to the office. The place was empty except for Sarah Dorman, the crime tech who’d been angry about Birdy’s presence at the Banner Forest scene. She sat in a chair outside of Birdy’s office. Her flaming red hair cascaded over the back of the chair.

“I heard they arrested Missy Carlyle,” she said, getting up and following Birdy into her office. The small room had once been a child’s bedroom in the old house that the county had used for a coroner’s office and morgue for decades, though not for much longer.

“That’s right,” Birdy said. “I’ve just come back from telling Tess.”

“I don’t think she could have done it,” Sarah said, planting herself in another chair. She held an envelope close to her chest. “I know her. She’s not the type.”

Birdy wondered what Sarah meant by knowing her.

“I didn’t know you were friends,” she said.

“We were more than that. I know that she’s not capable of doing something like that, Dr. Waterman.”

Birdy held a couple of thoughts to herself. She wondered how close the two had been—and while it was none of her business—she couldn’t help considering the possibility that the evidence could have been compromised because of a personal relationship the CSI tech might have had with a killer.

“There may be things you don’t know about your friend, Sarah,” she said.

“I doubt that.”

“There are things that she did separate from the palm print recovered on the plastic bag.”

“I think I know about some of those mistakes she made in the past,” she said. Sarah was now keeping some of her thoughts to herself too. “But about that direct evidence, the print. I did some more checking. I think I have a reasonable explanation for how it might have been left on the bag.”

“All right then,” Birdy said. “I’m all ears.”

“The bag was made by Dow Chemical.”

“Right, we know that.”

“Okay, but did you know it was their industrial and institutional line? Not for consumers.”

“Yes,” Birdy said. “Well, that’s fine. That makes sense. I don’t see how it happens to help your friend’s case. South Kitsap High School is a user of that line. We’ve already tracked that.”

“All right then,” Sarah said. “I know that. I’m trying to explain to you how Missy’s palm print got on it. The institutional line is sold in rolls of five hundred. They’re huge. They are put into special mountings at the school so that they can be dispensed with ease.”

“Fine,” Birdy said, though she was thinking,
so what?

“Well, aren’t you wondering why her fingerprints are not on it? Just her palm?”

“It didn’t matter to me. Having her prints—any of her prints on the bag that was used to dispose of Darby Moreau—is enough for me.”

“I understand, Dr. Waterman,” Sarah said. “I just want you to know that I checked out how the palm print could have been made. The reason her fingerprints aren’t on it is because of the way the dispenser works. It is a roll. She pulled down to get one and her fingerprints were on the one she took to use. The palm was left on what she hadn’t taken yet.”

It was an interesting detail,
Birdy thought. “There are other things at play here,” she said.

Sarah made an annoyed expression. “I know about Brenda Nevins,” she said flatly.

Birdy was taken aback. “I’m surprised. Missy’s fiancée Connie didn’t know.”

Sarah fixed her gaze on Birdy. “That doesn’t surprise me. Missy and I broke up over it. My job is too important to me and I couldn’t have that drama in my life. Not at all.”

“That was a smart move on your part,” Birdy said.

“Smart or not,” Sarah said, “I still loved Missy. But not enough to risk my career. I know she could never have hurt anyone. Not a schoolgirl, especially. Did you ever wonder why there were no other prints on the plastic bag? Just her palm?”

Birdy hadn’t. Not really. She’d been grateful for the evidence—any evidence. It solved a murder that had horrified Kitsap County. Before she could answer, Sarah started up again.

“Whoever killed Darby used a plastic bag from the school. That’s the crime scene. That’s where it happened. The killer took a plastic bag from the dispenser and through dumb luck or maybe even because he wore gloves he left no prints.”

“Have you told your theory to Kendall?”

“Do you mean does Kendall know I’m a lesbian?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, I have,” Sarah said. “She’s too wrapped up in the thrill of getting another notch on her gun for an arrest than listening to me. That’s why I’m here. I trust you. I think you trust me. I’m telling you Missy would never, ever.”

“I do trust you, Sarah. I think you are an excellent tech.”

Sarah started to get up to leave, but changed her mind. “That seems like faint praise, Doctor.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Birdy said. “This is a lot to take in. And really, beyond my area of expertise. I’m the forensic pathologist here. I’m not a detective.”

Birdy liked Sarah. “But you think like one. I know you do.”

“I made this,” the younger woman said. From the envelope, she handed Birdy a photo of the plastic bag. On the back she’d written out a number of questions in the dark ink of a felt tip pen.

Birdy looked up after she finished reading. “A hundred pounds of dead weight is a lot,” she said. “Missy is wiry, but probably not that strong.”

Sarah had considered that too and said so. “That’s what I was thinking on the way over here.”

“I’ll ponder it, Sarah. I really will.” Birdy looked at her watch. It was late. She’d promised Elan she’d bring home dinner. Being responsible for another human being, she realized, was very, very hard work.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Take this with you,” Sarah said, giving her the photo. “Think about it.”

Birdy gathered her things and started to lock up her office. “Have a good night, Sarah. Thanks for trusting me.”

A
doe and her yearlings skittered across Beach Drive just as Birdy arrived home from picking up some Kentucky Fried Chicken and not feeling the least bit good about doing so. It was after 7 and a layer of dark clouds rolled in. Birdy waited for the deer to cross the road before she pulled into her driveway. A car she didn’t recognize was parked out front.

Elan had a friend over. That was good. With the way her mother was, Birdy couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever invited anyone to come to her house.

Birdy gathered up all of her things, the chicken and biscuits (“with lots of honey packets,” he’d told her the first time she stopped in there), the photograph with the notes from Sarah, and the drawing that Tess had insisted she keep. She did a balancing act worthy of a circus performer and awkwardly turned the knob. Her hands were so full she used her right hip to push the door open. It would have been nice if Elan had bothered to come help, but so far his offers to assist always came just after she needed it.

Typical teenager
, she thought. But that was fine with her. Typical was just fine. Exceptional was the potential for some point down the road.

“Hi, Aunt Birdy,” Elan said.

“Hi, yourself,” she answered, looking at him in a way that was meant to convey she was struggling to carry everything inside.

“Let me help you,” he said after she had set everything down on the kitchen table.

“My friend from school’s here,” he said. “He’s in the bathroom.”

“Micah?” she asked. It was the only friend he really mentioned.

“Yeah,” Elan said. “You know the one with the mom in jail. I told him you wouldn’t mind or judge him or anything.”

“You can put some plates and silverware out,” she said. “Napkins too. They never give enough.”

“Did you get extra honey?”

“I never make the same mistake twice,” she said.

While Elan set the table, Birdy thought of the drawing and the awkwardness she felt about having it just then. He had to be the Micah who had drawn it for Tess’s daughter. She nudged it to the corner of the counter near the refrigerator.

Micah entered the kitchen. He was a nice-looking boy with haunted eyes and the kind of wavy hair that she’d always dreamed of having when she was a girl facing a lifetime of straight, coarse black tresses. She sniffed and noticed that he smelled of smoke.

“Dr. Waterman,” he said, extending his hand to shake it. “Nice to see you again.”

His hand was damp.

And he washed his hands too. At least that’s what she hoped the dampness came from.

“Hi, Micah,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been smoking here in my house.”

“Aunt Birdy!” Elan said, embarrassed.

“No. I haven’t,” Micah said, jamming his hands into his pockets. “If you think it’s weird that I’m here because of my mom and stuff, then I can go back home.”

She waved the notion away. “No. No. It’s fine. Have some dinner with us. Elan normally does the cooking. Tonight, as you can see,” she said, holding up a KFC bag, “it was my turn.”

Micah grinned a little. “That sounds good,” he said. “My mom was a lousy cook. Me and my sister always prayed for fast food.”

“All right then,” Birdy said. “You boys serve yourselves. I’m going to change out of my work clothes.” She left them for the bedroom and put on a red T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. It was strange seeing Micah. He’d been on her mind for days. The drawing of the woods was haunting and its inscription was telling.

When she returned to the kitchen, Elan was alone.

“Micah had to call his sister,” Elan said. “Cell reception for his carrier is lousy here.” He motioned toward the back porch where aunt and nephew could see Micah’s silhouette as he talked on his phone.

“How’s he doing?” Birdy said, keeping her voice low.

“He’s okay. He had a totally messed-up family. I can relate to him.”

“Thanks for that,” she said.

“Not you, Aunt Birdy. The rest of the family.”

The door opened. “My sister’s a pain in the you-know-what,” Micah said when he came back inside. “I was telling Elan before you came home about her moving to Scottsdale. She always hated it here. Rains too much. I like the rain. It’s a nice change from triple digit temps in the summer.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Birdy said, though after her visit down there, she could see the appeal. Rain made everything green, but constant sunshine had its definite benefits too.

The boys lunged for the biggest pieces of chicken. It was evident right away that Birdy was going to be stuck with a single wing and a biscuit.

“Did you know Darby Moreau?” Birdy asked, thinking of the drawing.

A funny look came over Micah’s face. “Why are you asking that?” He amended his response. “Yeah, we had art together.”

Elan spoke up. “We heard that Ms. Mitchell’s girlfriend, that custodian Missy, got arrested, Aunt Birdy.”

Birdy was hungry and her chicken wing was really, really small.

“I heard that too,” she said, noticing that she had likely not gotten enough honey. She was stuck with a dry biscuit. “Did you notice anything going on at school?”

“I have enough problems, Dr. Waterman,” Micah said. “Is that what I’m supposed to call you?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she said. “You mean problems with your mom?”

The handsome teen chomped on a drumstick. “Yeah,” he said. “Not everyone has a black widow for a mom.”

Birdy, who was eating her dry biscuit, mulled that little comment over. Her own mother was worse than a black widow in some ways. Natalie Waterman emotionally tortured her victims for years. Jennifer Roberts got it over and done with in a few months.

“Tell her what you told me about the custodian,” Elan said, looking at Micah.

“It was no big deal,” Micah said. “It’s secondhand anyway. My sister was the one who saw it.”

“Ruby?” Birdy asked.

“Yeah.”

“What did Ruby see?”

Micah took a thigh and started in on it. “She saw the custodian Missy and Darby arguing about something the week before Darby disappeared.”

Birdy put down her skimpy chicken wing. “Where was this? What were they saying?”

Micah swallowed and reached for the last biscuit. “I’m starving,” he said. “My sister only gives me ramen and Hot Pockets.”

“Go on,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “Ruby came to the art room to get me, but I’d already left. She said that Missy was saying something mean about Darby’s mom. I’ve heard other people say trash about her too.”

“What exactly was she saying?” Birdy asked.

“I don’t know,” he went on. “Ruby just said something mean. I knew Darby pretty well. I knew that her mom was a hoarder and that kids made fun of her. I’m thinking that some of the adults at school did too. I’m not surprised that Missy was arrested. She’s a total bitch and I think I’ve been around enough of those to know one when I see one.”

A car pulled up and the front door of Birdy’s house swung open. There was no bell ring. No knock. It was Ruby Lake in her tanorexic and blond halo of hair glory. In her right hand was a gun.

“What are you doing?” Birdy asked, jumping up from her chair, but Ruby didn’t answer. She handed the gun to her brother and he pointed it at the side of Elan’s head. It all happened so fast. Like a tornado blowing through a small town in the middle of the night—no warning, just the destructive wake of a teenage girl.

“You got here fast,” Micah said.

“What are you doing?” Elan asked.

“Shut up,” Micah said.

“I’ve been here before,” Ruby said. “Dropped some letters off in a Target bag not too long ago.”

“What’s going on here?” Birdy asked.

“I’m going to kill your nephew,” Micah said. “Then I’m going to kill you. Isn’t that what you want me to do, Ruby?”

“Show me,” Ruby said.

“Over on the counter,” he said, nodding in the direction of the photograph and Micah’s drawing.

“Micah, put the gun down,” Birdy said.

Ruby picked up the photograph, looked at the back, looked at Micah’s artwork.

“I’m surprised you figured it out. I thought the other bitch cop might get there eventually, but not you. Aren’t you just a doctor?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Birdy said.

“Elan, tie your aunt’s wrists together.” Ruby tossed Elan an apron that had been hanging on the handle of the oven door. “Use this.”

“No,” Elan said.

Ruby got within six inches of his face. “Do you want her to see your brains all over her tacky kitchen?”

Birdy held her wrists up. The kitchen was a small, confining space. If she tried anything there was no telling what Micah and Ruby could do,
would
do.

“Elan, do it,” Birdy said. Micah kept the gun to Elan’s head as he took the apron and started tying the lime-and-orange-colored strings around Birdy’s wrists.

“Tighter,” Ruby said. “I want them to hurt.”

While she held her arms in place, Birdy’s eyes landed on her cell phone.

Seeing that, Ruby picked it up and dropped it into the garbage disposal and turned it on.

“Where’s Elan’s phone?” she asked.

“I got it,” Micah said, grabbing it with his free hand from the table where it sat next to Elan’s dinner plate. He tossed it to his sister and she dropped it down the disposal, which had jammed.

“Now, you sit down,” Ruby said to Birdy.

Micah whispered in Birdy’s ear. “I’m sorry but she’s crazy. Really she is.”

Birdy kept her expression even and calm. Whatever dynamic was going on between brother and sister, Ruby was the one in charge. Micah was either afraid of his sister or he was so weak that he didn’t have a mind of his own. In a situation like this, whatever happened would likely turn on how he behaved.

Not what
she
did.

Ruby might have been the alpha dog, but her bitch of a brother didn’t like his role one damn bit.

“Ruby, are you out of your mind?” Birdy asked. “What are you hoping to accomplish here?”

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” she said. “That’s what I’ve always done in my family.”

“Aunt Birdy,” Elan said, “I’m sorry about this.”

“About what?” Birdy asked. “I’m not even certain what’s happening here.”

“About coming down here and bringing this shit into your life.” He looked over at Ruby. “What
is
the matter with you?”

Ruby ignored him. She took the small coffee grinder off the counter and tried to yank off the cord.

“Give me the gun,” she said.

Micah handed it over. “Here.”

“Rip this power cord off this grinder and tie him up,” she said.

“Hands and feet?”

Ruby let out a sigh of exasperation. “No, Sherlock, hands. They have to walk, don’t they?”

“Where are we going?” Elan asked.

“After you tie him up, I want you to go across the road and see if you can start up one of those boats.”

Micah seemed agitated and confused, but he didn’t argue. “Okay,” he said, trying to pull the cord, but it wouldn’t give. So he cut it with a knife from the knife block on the counter.

Birdy wished she had been positioned closer to the knife block. A knife would be handy just then. She had never been prone to violence. She’d hunted as a girl, but that was because she needed to help feed her family when her father was away and food was scarce. When she killed her first deer at fourteen, she cried for two days.

“You’re kind of hurting me, Micah,” Elan said.

“You’re such a pussy, Elan. Your aunt didn’t complain,” Micah said, “and I tied her even tighter.”

Elan felt stupid just then. Scared
and
stupid.

Ruby slid a chair into the space next to Birdy and her brother hurried out the front door.

“Sit there,” she said. Elan did what he was told.

“Let’s go back to whatever it is that you think you are doing,” Birdy said. “Do you have any clue that you’re making a colossal mistake right now?”

Ruby didn’t see it that way. “It isn’t going to be a mistake. I’m going to get the money from my stepfather’s life insurance policy.”

“Not if you killed him,” she said.

“My mom’s going down for that. Your trip to Scottsdale sealed the deal there. You might not have proved anything by digging up my father, but you sure made my mom look like the world’s worst wife. That’s a bell that the jury will hear for sure. And when I get on the stand and tell my story—what I saw her do, my mom’s going to death row. I mean, I hope that’s what happens because I would feel bad knowing she was in prison for the rest of her life. I mean, she is my mom and I don’t want her to suffer.”