Read My Sister's Prayer Online
Authors: Mindy Starns Clark
Don't Miss My Daughter's Legacy
T
he cry for help came as I was coasting toward the bicycle rack at the far end of the building. I'd recently assigned a new custom ringtoneâa few bars of the old R&B classic “Rescue Me”âto my sister, Nicole, so the moment I heard it trilling from my pocket, I knew exactly who was calling. Pretty sure I also knew why, I decided not to answer right now. One crisis at a time was about all I could handle.
Aiming toward an open slot in the rack, I rolled to a stop, careful not to scuff the suede of my new shoes as I climbed off. By the time I'd locked up bike and helmet, grabbed my purse, muted my phone, and started toward the Learning Commons, the music had ceased, though it still reverberated in my head.
I would indeed rescue my sister if that's why she was calling, but first things first. Right now I had to focus on the appointment I'd come here for. Nicole I could take care of later.
At the door, I caught my reflection in the glass and paused to straighten my blouse. I also tried to fix my hair, which had been smushed flat on top by the helmet and made frizzy at the ends by the
wind. Growing irritated as I fruitlessly fluffed and smoothed, I had to remind myself that one of the reasons for using a bicycle during the workday was exactly this, to give me helmet hair and windblown clothes and otherwise mess with my precisely coiffed and coutured exterior. Thanks to a disturbing conversation I'd recently had with my grandmother, I was determined to conquer my more perfectionistic tendencies, and the bike riding was part of that. I'd already been at it for two weeks now, but thus far all it had really accomplished was to make me waste time at each destination as I desperately tried to put myself back together again.
Thoughts of Nana giving me fresh resolve, I stopped fooling with my hair and went into the building. Detective Ortiz had asked me to meet her on the second floor, third classroom on the right, so I headed there now, the pointed toes of my Via Spiga pumps clicking on each step as I ascended the stairs.
The second floor hallway was quiet and empty, classes still in session behind the closed doors. A glance at my watch told me I was a few minutes earlyâjust enough time for a quick dash to a bathroom mirror.
Or not
, I scolded myself, resisting the urge. I continued on down the hall to the door of the designated classroom. Peeking inside, I saw that it was nearly full, with Ortiz standing at the front giving what she'd said on the phone was a guest lecture for the criminology department. The students seemed to be listening intently, which didn't surprise me. As a working detective, Ortiz could bring a wealth of knowledge and experience to Virginia Commonwealth University's criminology department. No doubt she had a lot to teach these students.
I leaned against the wall as I waited for the class to end, my mind consumed with questions about why I'd been summoned here today. Detective Ortiz was in charge of an ongoing investigation I was connected with, but all she'd said on the phone was that we needed to talk in person. Considering that our past few interactions had been via phone or email, I had to assume this was indicative of some new development, which was exciting.
The investigation involved an incident that had taken place nineteen years ago, when my sister, our two cousins, and I were kids and
had been witnesses to a crime scene. Back in the '90s, during a family reunion at our grandparents', we four girls had gone hiking in the woods next to their estate, making our way to a small, deserted hunting cabin where we sometimes played. When we went inside, we were shocked to discover a dead manâa murder victimâlying on a cot, a knife protruding from his chest and blood pooled around him on the floor.
Terrified, we'd run screaming back through the woods to our families, who promptly called the police. But by the time they arrived, listened to our tale, and then hiked all the way back out to the cabin, the dead body was gone and the mess cleaned up, leaving behind not a hint of foul play.
We girls were stunned, especially once the adults decided that we'd merely been victims of our own overactive imaginations and that we hadn't seen what we thought we had. The four of us knew that wasn't true, but there was no convincing the grown-upsânot even our own parents, much to our shock. But with no body or blood or murder weapon to be found, there was no way to prove our claims.
Not surprisingly, the whole matterâboth the gruesome sight we'd witnessed and the fact that no one believed us afterwardâhad left scars on all our psyches. But then, about four months ago, my cousin Renee had come up with an idea. She conducted a forensic-type test in the old cabin using a chemical known to show blood traces, even really old ones. That test proved a tremendous amount of blood had been on the floor at some point in the past, exactly where we'd said it was. After so many years, the four of us were vindicated at last. The evidence from that one test, combined with our statements, was enough to convince the police to take another look.
Detective Ortiz had been working on the case ever since, having our findings retested and analyzed, tracking down leads, and attempting to piece together the few shreds of information she had to go on. We still didn't know who the victim had been, much less who killed him or why or how the body managed to disappear so quickly, but Ortiz was obviously diligent and methodical, and my sister, cousins, and I all had faith that she would eventually solve this puzzle.
In the meantime, as the only one of us living locally, I had become the de facto liaison between the Talbots and the police. I didn't mind, though I sure hoped I'd been asked here for good news.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of doors opening up and down the hall. Students began trickling out, and soon the door next to me opened as well. I waited for the rush to pass by and then stepped into the classroom. Detective Ortiz stood at the podium, gathering her notes.
“Hello, Detective,” I said, moving toward her and shaking her hand. “Good to see you again.”
“You too, Maddee. How's the family?”
“Eager,” I blurted out, thinking how ready we all were for closure on this matter that had hung over our heads for nearly twenty years.
My heart sank as the detective let out a small sigh. Clearly, she hadn't asked me here today to tell me of some new development. She had bad news for me, so bad that it had to be delivered in person.
“I'm sorry I don't have time to take you for coffee,” she said, her eyes averted as she grabbed a briefcase and stuffed her teaching notes inside, “but I need to get back to the office soon. I'm sure you do too.” I nodded, unable to speak.
Please don't pull the plug.
“Why don't we have a seat?” She motioned to a nearby worktable with several chairs around it. “It doesn't look like there's going to be another class in here right now.”
We sat across from each other, and I realized I was holding my breath as I waited for her to speak. She paused to pull a file from her case and then met my eyes. “I'm sorry, Maddee, but I have to tell you something you don't want to hear.”
“No,” I whispered.
She nodded. “You know how hard we've been working this case, but it's been one dead end after another. At this point, things have ground to a complete halt. There are no leads left to follow, nothing else to test or examine. Nada.”
“So the trail's gone a little cold,” I said. “Nineteen years is a long time. You said yourself it wasn't going to be easy. You can't just give up.”
“We're not giving up. The case will remain open. But you need to
know that as of last Friday, it's officially inactive. We can't expend anymore resources on it at this point.”
“Resources? Detective Ortiz, a man was
murdered
.”
She exhaled slowly, sitting back in her chair and meeting my gaze. “We don't know that for sure.”
Before I could respond, she cut me off. “Yes, between your eyewitness accounts way back then and the evidence we collected from the scene a few months ago, we do know a man was in the cabin, that he'd been stabbed, and that he lost a lot of blood. But unless you girls checked his vitals before you ran off, we can't say with absolute certainty he was dead at the time.”
I thought about that for a moment, my head spinning. “He wasn't breathing. Wasn't moving. Besides, no way could anyone lose that much blood and surviveâmuch less clean up the mess on his way out.”
“I know. But this is a crucial element, Maddee. We don't have a body. I mean, really, no victim, no crime. Frankly, I'm surprised the chief let me work this one as long as he did.”
I leaned toward her across the table. “What about DNA? Your people recovered enough dried-up old blood from the floorboards to run tests. You got the results. You said so yourself.”
“Those tests return genetic markers, not names. Not identities.”
“So you compare those markers with some database to find a matchâ”
“Done. We tried every state and federal database available to the Commonwealth of Virginia and received not a single hit.”
I sat back, defeated.
“We worked this case from other directions too, you know,” she continued, her tone kind but weary. “Slogging through old missing persons reports, old hospital records, old cold cases, trying to find something relevant. We canvassed neighbors, worked through scenarios, and attacked the forensics with every tool at our disposal, but in the end we have nothing except proof of blood and a DNA profile. We can't know for certain he was dead. We can't figure out who he was. With no body and no weapon, we've taken it as far as we can.”
“So this was all for nothing.”
The
detective reached out and placed a hand on my wrist, giving it a squeeze. “Not true. Don't forget, at least you were vindicated. There
was
blood there, lots of blood, and you girls proved it. Where it was and how it was disbursed directly corroborate your account of what happened. That's not much, but it's going to have to be enough. For now at least.”
I swallowed hard, working to keep tears from my eyes. Everything she said made sense. It was just really painful to hear. Vindicated or not, the four of us were still going to have to live with some very big, apparently unanswerable questions. And the thought of telling that to my sister and cousins broke my heart.
“Is there anything at all about this case that I could pursue myself?” I asked softly. “More records to dig through or people to question or online searches to conduct? Anything?”
Detective Ortiz shook her head, pushing a lock of straight, shiny black hair behind one ear. “I'm afraid not. We've already covered every base there is.”
I nodded, looking away, knowing that couldn't be true. Surely there was some angle she'd missed, some approach that could turn up something.
“How about the records from your investigation?” I asked, gesturing toward the manila folder. “The case file. Could I get a copy of that? I'd like to go through it myself to see if anything jumps out at me.”
“No, sorry,” she said, looking startled at the thought. “I mean, you're allowed a copy of the initial police report, of course. But not the evidence reports or the notes or anything like that.”
Desperate, I decided to play on her sympathies. “You probably don't know this, Detective, but my sister was in a really bad car accident.”
Her eyebrows raised. Clearly, that wasn't what she'd expected to hear. “Nicole? When? Is she okay?”
“About six weeks ago. She's not great. She has multiple fractures in her legs, two cracked ribs, and a whole bunch of nasty cuts and bruises. Anyway, I think she'll be coming to stay with me for a while as she continues to recuperate. Something like this could give us a project to
work on together, especially if we had access to the things you've done thus far.”
Her face tightened. She knew what I was trying to do. “Well, I'm sorry about your sister, hon, but you'd better get out your scrapbooking supplies or take up crocheting because this is one project I can't help you with.”
“Are you sure?”
She studied me for a long moment and then seemed to relent, though more out of weariness than anything else. “Well, we can probably give you copies of a few things that don't have to be kept confidential, but I'll need to go through the whole file first and talk to the chief. We'll share what we can.”