“I’ll text it to you,” Maddie said. Kate’s phone buzzed, and they looked at the picture together—both of them smiling.
There was a knock on the door, and Ursula O’Keefe, the hospital social worker, poked her head inside.
“Sorry. Did I interrupt?”
“No, we were just saying goodbye,” Kate said.
“All packed?” Ursula asked, and Maddie grabbed her coat and backpack and hopped off the bed.
Maddie flung herself into Kate’s arms. “See you soon.” She clung.
Kate gently broke the embrace. “Just remember. It’s only echoes.”
Maddie smiled bravely. “Echoes.”
“Well, young lady. Time to meet your new foster family,” Ursula said. “I hear they have a dog named Winnie the Poodle…”
Maddie giggled, and Kate watched them walk away together.
52
KATE COULDN’T WAIT TO share the harrowing news of Nelly’s actions with Ira—this was exactly the breakthrough they’d been hoping for—but he was in a meeting and couldn’t be interrupted. She felt conflicting emotions as she headed down the corridor toward her office. Nelly had suffered all her life, and she’d forced her daughter to suffer the same fate. It was tragic. But that was what abuse did to you—it tainted everything you touched. At least now Maddie had the chance to lead a normal life.
Kate paused in front of the plate-glass windows overlooking the hospital courtyard. Across the way was the multi-story parking garage, and down below she could see three small figures in the glassed-in passageway—Maddie and her foster parents heading into level one. Maddie was chatting happily with the foster mom as they disappeared into the garage—a good sign. Children sensed danger. Like animals, they knew whom not to trust.
Kate’s ring finger began to itch. She scratched the inflamed skin as she entered her office, where she took a seat at her desk and checked her text messages.
She could feel another headache coming on and reached into her bag for an Aleve, rummaging through the pockets. Instead of a bottle of pills, her fingers closed around the flashdrive Palmer had given her for safekeeping.
She sat with it in her palm. She glanced at the clock. She allowed a few seconds to pass before she inserted it into a USB port and double-clicked.
The drive held ten folders: 1_STIGLER_J. Wolfe, 2_ STIGLER_Gafford, 3_STIGLER_Mason, 4_STIGLER_S. Wolfe, 5_STIGLER_Koffman, 6_STIGLER_Howell, 7_STIGLER_Lloyd, 8_STIGLER_Witt, 9_STIGLER_Davidowitz, 10_STIGLER_ Brayden.
Kate sat for a suffocating moment with her finger poised on the mouse. Then she opened 1_STIGLER_J. Wolfe, to reveal three Word docs and a PDF. She opened the document named Case Summary. In his two-page summary Palmer made the case for homicide by quoting from the medical examiner’s report:
From Quade Pickler’s autopsy report: “Water in the lungs and stomach indicates death by drowning, as does hemorrhaging in the sinuses and trachea. Victim was alive when she was immersed. Evidence of the victim coming into contact with rocks while being carried by the current: antemortem bruising to the thorax and abdomen, broken phalanges (two on right hand, one on left—see diagram), lacerations to the forearms, and a single blunt force trauma to the right side of the cranium, resulting in a depressed fracture. Body was retrieved 48 hours postmortem.”
Palmer’s own observations were typed underneath:
Lacerations to the arms and hands could’ve been caused by a struggle with her attacker. Blunt force trauma to the head could’ve occurred before the unconscious victim was pushed into the water, with rocks added to the pockets to make it look like a suicide. Alcohol levels in her system could’ve further reduced her ability to defend herself. Unconscious-but-alive would explain the presence of water in the lungs. She had several broken fingers, which could’ve been the direct result of trying to protect herself from an attacker wielding the blunt object that caused the head injury and perhaps rendered her unconscious. Cranial trauma: A powerful blow to the right side of the skull is indicative that the perpetrator was left-handed. William Stigler is left-handed. The fracture pattern indicates a sharp, angular tool such as a tire iron, rather than a river boulder (suspiciously no tire iron was found in either vehicle at the scene—my guess is that it’s at the bottom of the river). Conclusion: Potential homicide staged to look like a suicide.
However, homicidal drowning is almost impossible to prove. There was a rainstorm that night, which eradicated the victim’s footprints from her car, so it is unsurprising that no sign of a struggle was found. No suicide note was ever recovered. Witness interviews indicate that the victim and primary suspect (Stigler) had been arguing with escalating intensity. The suspect had no solid alibi for a portion of the time the victim allegedly committed suicide. I also disagree with the medical examiner’s time of death. Victim could’ve been killed an hour earlier than estimated. This case should be reopened, in my opinion.
Kate opened the document labeled Witness Statements. Inside were dozens of interview transcripts, most of them along similar lines.
Tricia Landreau (neighbor): I heard a commotion next door and opened my window, and they [Stigler and Wolfe] were having one of their knock-down-drag-outs again. Yelling and screaming and swearing… He was jealous and she kept threatening to leave him. Then I heard the crash of breaking glass and a loud scream from a woman. I was about to call 911 when it suddenly stopped. I only hoped she wasn’t dead. But I saw her the next day and she seemed okay, except for a few bruises, so I figured I should mind my own business.
Nicholas Valentino (neighbor): Oh yeah, they fought all the time. My wife was especially concerned, but I figured it was none of our business. They were at each other’s throats twenty-four/seven. The police responded once or twice that I know of, but they didn’t arrest anyone. I think it’s because he’s a doctor and she was in the loony bin, and also because she refused to press charges. When we heard about the suicide, we weren’t all that surprised.
Kate devoured the rest of the witness statements, before opening the third Word document, Police Report. Then she opened the PDF. Fear crawled inside her as she clicked through color photographs of her mother’s abandoned car, the eroding riverbank, and Julia’s dead body. There she was, sprawled across the weedy shoreline, limbs twisted into unnatural positions, face coated in mud, clothes clinging to her like wet dishrags, open eyes dazzled by death.
With shaky fingers, Kate clicked out of the folder and stared at the nine other folders stored on the USB. She warned herself not to go any further, but her finger double-clicked on 4_STIGLER_S. Wolfe.
Inside were three Word docs, the same as Julia’s: Case Summary, Witness Statements, and Police Report. The PDF was labeled Autopsy Photographs. Without hesitation, she opened the file and was bludgeoned by a series of heartbreaking pictures. There was Savannah with her eyes closed and her head shaved, bald as a baby chick. Her pink T-shirt and white shorts were dirt-stained. Her lucky sneakers were missing. The soles of her feet were dusk-blue. Her fingernails were impacted with dirt. There were red scratches on her arms, like lipstick samples. Her tiny body barely took up half the autopsy table. Her face was as calm as a bowl of rosewater.
Revulsion spread through Kate. The raw truth was hard to take. But it was somehow more healing than Savannah’s open coffin had been. The undertakers had applied thick coats of foundation to Savannah’s skin, and Kate never got over the sight of her sister’s ill-fitting blond wig and those penciled-in eyebrows. She preferred this—the truth. Here was brutal honesty. Here was how Death had taken her.