The Girl in the Woods (25 page)

M
icah Lake sat on the front steps of 511 Camellia Street. He wore dark jeans and a dark blue hoody zipped to his throat. He looked like a tough guy, but Birdy knew he wasn’t that at all. He was quiet, artistic, and had a disarming smile—though he didn’t use it that often. The air had chilled a little since the previous day and the sky threatened a good rainstorm with a bank of clouds coming in from the south.

“She’s in the house, Dr. Waterman,” he said. “If you’re looking for my sister. Packing. Like a rat deserting a sinking ship.”

Birdy stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school now?”

The teenager was annoyed by the question. His life had unraveled and school didn’t seem to be part of his priorities just then.

“I know,” he said, “but with Ruby leaving and all, she told me to get my butt over here to load up Ted’s car. So here I am missing history class, which I guess is better than missing something I actually like.”

“How’s it going living here with Ruby?” Birdy asked. “You’ve been through a lot.”

He fumbled for a pack of cigarettes, but she ignored that he was about to smoke.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Birdy thought he was a nice kid. He just had the misfortune of being born to the kind of mother that usually eats her young.

“Upstairs?” she asked, as the first drops of rain splatted hard and heavy on the front steps.

“Yeah, first door on the right. The one with all the crap on the bed.” He reached for a finally found cigarette and she managed to give him a scolding look.

“At this point, what does it matter?” he asked.

“Not now,” she said. “Later, yes, it will. Did your mom let you smoke?”

“No,” he said, lighting up.

“Then you shouldn’t be doing it now.”

Micah blew a perfect smoke ring. “My mom’s a killer. Who cares what she thinks? My sister’s leaving. My life sucks now. I hope I get cancer.”

“You don’t,” Birdy said. “Trust me. I’ve seen enough of it in my office. You don’t.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Sorry. Thanks.”

She smiled faintly at him, feeling every bit of the sorrow of a boy who was now without a father, a mother, a sister who was about to do exactly what he said.

Birdy went inside looking for Ruby. Before heading up the stairs, she scanned the main living area. Ruby and Micah were not good housekeepers that was for sure. The place was in dire need of a crew of Merry Maids to pick up the soda cans, Chinese takeout boxes, and other remnants of a home without one bit of parental supervision even though it had been only a few days since their mom’s arrest. Jennifer’s daughter might be almost eighteen but she was no adult.

Birdy found the teenager stacking her belongings on the bed. She was extremely organized in that endeavor—all clothing was stacked by color and folded with the exactness of a Gap sales clerk working the floor.

Ruby looked up with her impossibly blue eyes, the best attribute her mother could have given her. The only thing about her that seemed pure and uncorrupted. “What do you want now?”

It was no welcome, but Birdy Waterman really didn’t expect that either. Kendall should be there doing this. Her job was to look into the cause of someone’s death, not shore up an investigation that didn’t need shoring up. She decided that sympathy could only get her so far. A little directness was in order.

“I want to know why you’ve decided to be a liar,” she asked.

Ruby stared hard at her. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“But you do,” Birdy said, lingering in the doorway. “You made a promise to me and to Detective Stark that you’d tell the truth. You told us everything that had been going on here. We don’t need your testimony to secure a conviction, but you don’t need to live your life feeling like you helped your mom kill your stepfather.”

Ruby looked down at what she was doing. “I’m not listening to a word you say,” she said, opening a suitcase and moving the pinks and whites into separate compartments.

“You
will
listen to me,” Birdy said, moving closer. “I know that you are better than your mother.”

Ruby stopped. “Are you trying to make me laugh or cry, Dr. Waterman? Go back to the morgue and play with a stiff one.”

“Okay, that’s just tacky. Is that who you are?”

Birdy pondered saying, “Is that the trailer park of your mom’s past coming out in you?” but she thought better of that. Trailer park people were people of lesser means, they weren’t rotten people.

“I am getting out of town,” Ruby said. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m going to lay low because—and you will never understand this—because I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Birdy asked. “Telling the truth?”

Ruby stopped arranging the pinks. “I’m afraid of my mother. I’m terrified of her. She’s capable of anything.”

“We know that,” Birdy said. “I’m glad you know that. That’s why you need to testify against her.”

“I want to live. I don’t want to die.”

“She can’t hurt you.”

Ruby moved some things aside and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You honestly don’t know what she’s capable of, do you?”

“Murder. Yes, I know that.”

“My mother,” she said, hesitating. “She would kill me for a pair of Manolos if she thought she could get away with it.”

Birdy let silence fill the air, hoping it would prompt the girl to say more. And she did.

“Dr. Waterman, I’m scared.”

For such a tough, self-absorbed girl, it was remarkable to Birdy. Ruby actually
looked
scared.

“What happened?” Birdy asked.

Ruby swallowed hard. “I saw her. I went to see her yesterday. You see, I still love her.”

“Of course,” Birdy said, “she’s your mother. I understand that. You’re almost eighteen now. She’s in jail. She can’t get to you.”

Ruby got up and paced. “She threatened me. She begged me. She told me that if she went to the gas chamber she’d haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“I told you. We don’t have the gas chamber here.”

“Gallows, whatever. The point is if my mom goes to prison she’ll find a way to reach for me with her sharp fingernails. She’ll do it. I saw her hold Ted’s mouth open and pour poison down his throat. You can’t tell me that she wouldn’t seek revenge.”

Birdy couldn’t. No one could. After what Brenda Nevins had set in motion, it was possible that Jennifer Roberts could do something too. The unthinkable, the unimaginable, had already happened. Revenge from a prison cell seemed all too real.

“I hope you change your mind, Ruby. I know you’re strong enough to stand on your own two feet.”

“You can’t promise that the police will be able to protect me. Can you?”

Birdy knew there were no guarantees and she didn’t want to lie to the girl.

“No,” she said, “no one can.”

While Ruby turned back to her packing, Birdy stood in the door watching. She looked over at the bedroom where Ted had taken his last gasp, the master bedroom where Jennifer had set her trap, and finally Micah’s room. She looked inside each space. They were little tableaus to the things that had transpired there. The king-size bed in the master bedroom with its sand-colored sheets and a comforter of dark blue, like the edge of an ocean that had swept two lovers away. Ruby’s room had pictures of the desert and a shelf of books and stuffed animals, that twilight time between girlhood and adulthood. The guestroom was plain, sterile, a place to wait to die. And Micah’s room was a lot like Elan’s makeover of her guestroom—a desk of electronics, an empty popcorn bag, and some artwork that he’d created at school.

Micah was gone when Birdy went outside. She looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She dialed Kendall and filled her in on what Ruby had said. Kendall was on her way back from the airport after sending Steven off to an interview in hopes of a job offer the family needed so much.

Birdy drove up to her office. When she walked in, Kendall had returned; she was on the phone.

“Hey, just wanted you to know that Ruby saw her mother in the jail,” the detective said.

“She mentioned that,” Birdy said. “Her mom threatened her.”

“Really?” Kendall asked. “That’s interesting. We have a tape. Come and watch when you have time.”

“No time like right now,” Birdy said. “Just say that this is the worst mother-daughter dynamic, since . . . well, since me and my mom.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Kendall said.

“I was thinking more of my mother. She sets the tone for everything. Always has. See you in a few.”

On the computer screen in Kendall’s office, mother and daughter were about to face each other through an inch-thick safety glass partition at the Kitsap County jail. Their lifeline was a landline-style telephone mouthpiece and receiver. There was only one other person with a visitor, another woman there on a DUI charge four seats down. Her visitor was her husband, a sleepy-eyed guy who looked about half-baked. Either one could have been on the wrong side of the glass.

The chairs were fixed to the floor. The ambience was decidedly impersonal for any kind of reunion. As it should be. Jennifer smiled and drummed the tabletop of the carrel that she occupied while she waited for Ruby to take a seat. At once, Ruby picked up and started talking.

“I can’t hear the audio,” Birdy said.

Kendall made a face, then hit the
PAUSE
button. “There is no audio.”

“Then why record it?” Birdy asked.

“For security reasons. We can’t include the audio because of right-to-privacy laws.”

“Shouldn’t people visiting someone in jail expect they’d be recorded?”

“It isn’t
their
privacy. The inmates’ right to privacy is what’s of concern.” Kendall stopped talking. “And don’t look at me like that.”

Birdy was stunned. “Really, Kendall? The inmates?”

“Yes, I know,” the detective said. “They have an expectation of privacy within a visit. Spokane County got sued four years ago. They didn’t know that the person on the good side of the glass was a lawyer. So now we have to assume that everyone is a lawyer.”

“Sometimes I hate what this world’s turning into, Kendall.”

Kendall couldn’t disagree. “Sometimes? I hate it at least once a day. Now watch the vid because actually it is kind of interesting.”

She clicked on the arrow and it started up again.

“Look at Jennifer,” Kendall said. “She’s not saying a word. Her daughter is doing all the talking.”

“Ruby said her mom threatened her, Kendall. Maybe that comes later in the tape.”

“Nope. But something else does.”

The video was hardly high definition. In fact, it was black and white and disappointingly grainy. The camera was in a fixed position, showing the back of Ruby’s head, and about three-quarters of her mother’s face.

“I wish I knew what she was saying,” Birdy said.

“Watch this part.” Kendall sped up to just a hair before the end of the recording. “Right here. Now.”

Jennifer was standing up, clutching the phone next to her ear.

“I didn’t think you could wear earrings in jail,” Birdy said.

“Sh! Watch.”

Jennifer was saying something to her daughter, but her manner, her affectation, seemed utterly at odds with what Ruby had said about the encounter. Jennifer, who despite her jailhouse garb looked pretty good, was smiling.

“Maybe she’s one of those people who smiles at you while she’s slitting your throat?” Birdy said.

Kendall grabbed a picture of that in her mind. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“If only there had been some audio,” Birdy said.

“If only we could read lips,” Kendall added.

Birdy leaned in, then pulled away from the screen. “Yeah, but her mouth isn’t visible,” she said.

Kendall pointed to the screen. “Right.
Here
. Watch her eyes.”

Birdy looked at Kendall. “She didn’t do that, did she?”

“Watch again.” She clicked the arrow, sending the video back two seconds, and pushed PLAY.

The forensic pathologist and detective looked at each other. They both saw it.

Jennifer Lake Drysdale Roberts winked at her daughter.

“What do you make of that?” Kendall asked Birdy.

“I honestly don’t know. She was adamant that she’d had some kind of knock-down drag-out with her mom and that she was scared to death to testify against her. She told me that she feared for her life.”

“She didn’t look too scared there.”

Birdy shook her head. “No, she didn’t. Not at all.”

 

 

The inmates at the women’s prison in Purdy are allowed the use of wall-mounted telephones in a central location. Despite the idea that outsiders frequently embrace as gospel, the inmates do not have their own phones or computers. Many, however, have TV sets in their cells. That’s more about keeping the population occupied than rewarding them with a special privilege. Phone calls are limited to a specific time of day—and are always made collect. Monopolizing the phones is an issue—some inmates are constantly trying to work in a call. Brenda Nevins never had a problem getting the amount of time extended. She had canteen money or sex to trade.