The Ravine (17 page)

Carolyn simply stood up and walked out the front door without bothering to collect her coat. Mitch went after her and brought her back inside; he asked Anna to take her to the kitchen and sit with her for a few minutes. Then he returned while Thompson was starting to describe the crime scene.

“At some time, but definitely after midnight, Danny went upstairs to Rachel’s room with the intent to bludgeon her to death. She was apparently sleeping at that time.”

“Bludgeon her with what?” Mitch asked.

“Are you familiar with the furniture in the house?” he asked Mitch.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Then you might recall that there was a brownish lamp in the living room that had a very heavy base. Danny cut the cord with a small kitchen knife, removed the lamp shade, and used that as the primary weapon.”

Despite the fact Carolyn was repulsed by what she overheard while sitting in the kitchen, she walked back into the dining room to ask the question that was on everyone’s mind at that moment.

“Did Rachel ever know what happened?” She prayed that at least it had ended quickly. Dear God, she thought, if only she could have been given that small gift.

“I’m afraid she did. Though Danny probably thought that one blow to the head would have been sufficient to kill her, it wasn’t. She apparently
fought back with all her strength, and might even had been able to stand up, but Danny then used the knife he had taken from the kitchen and stabbed her. The knife was not very big, only around two inches long, so at some point Danny grabbed a pair of scissors off the sewing table and overpowered and stabbed Rachel with those.” Thompson was purposely withholding some information because he knew it would be too upsetting to the friends and family, and tried to move on.

“That’s the long and short of it. The—”

“Did Rachel at least not know it was Danny?” Carolyn interrupted, as her bar was lowered yet another notch.

“I’m afraid it’s almost certain she did. This struggle went on for several minutes, and even though we suppose the room was dark, she must have recognized his voice, and there’s no doubt there was a great deal of shouting between them, which is likely what caused the children to wake up. Many items in the immediate region were knocked to the floor, so there was clearly a pretty fierce struggle. Additionally, the victim had many defensive marks on her arms, and what we presume to be Danny’s skin under her fingernails. She was fighting for her life, and there’s no doubt she knew her attacker.”

“How long did it take?” Now Carolyn needed to know.

“Given the number of stab wounds, I would estimate more than a minute, but less than two minutes.”

Mitch spoke up, asking a question he had to ask, having to do with that odious word he’d just learned, “overkill.” Dreading the answer, he barely could form full sentences.

“Number of stab wounds? How many, where . . .?”

Thompson paused before answering, pretending to look through some papers. That particular fact had been the topic of much discussion between the officers at the crime scene, and it was emblazoned on his mind. “There were approximately forty stab wounds, some to the torso, but many to the face and neck.”

Sam and Pete leaned against each other as brothers will and wiped tears from their cheeks. The sounds of sniffling and nose-blowing filled the silence. Anna had thoughtfully placed a box of tissues within reach on the table. There was something about that last part of the last sentence that seemed to get to everyone. It was all too much. Anna, a reader of P. D. James, Patricia Cornwell, and Ann Rule, knew to ask about the piece of information Detective Thompson had glossed over.

“Officer, what was the official cause of death?”

“A combination of multiple stab wounds, a severed carotid artery, and numerous blunt-force traumas, including a broken jaw. The severed artery alone could have caused death, as well as the trauma to the head, had she been left unattended, but in combination, death occurred at the time of the attack.” He thumbed through some papers. “The medical examiner hasn’t completed the autopsy yet, but my notes say that the victim suffered a severed left carotid artery that resulted in exsanguination—which means bleeding to death—so that will likely be the official cause of death when the autopsy report is completed.”

As Thompson was speaking, Carolyn peered out the picture window and tried to focus on the trees in the Schroeders’ yard. Her eye landed on the house across the street. What an ugly yellow color the owners had painted it. Who would do that? A car motored by, and two teenagers on skateboards invaded the soccer game in which the Schroeder kids were engaged. They all started shouting with their kid voices. It sounded good. For a moment, she found some solace in the normal things of life. Then, as if on cue, a flock of five or six crows descended upon the front yard and started arrogantly parading around like a bunch of gangsters busting their way into rival territory.

She could sense Detective Thompson was struggling to relate the facts with as much compassion as possible, and she felt sorry for him, but was repulsed nonetheless by the litany of words that were being uttered regarding her best friend, “the victim.” Phrases like ‘blunt force
trauma,” “severed artery,” “exsangu-something,” “autopsy,” “medical examiner.” The scene outside at least offered a mild distraction and provided some reassurance the world was still humming along despite the horror being discussed within these walls. Then those damned crows had to appear. She felt herself starting to slip away.

She knew they had yet to discuss Evan. What a sweet little boy. She pictured his cherubic face. He was always laughing, and so easygoing, even as an infant, even on the day he was born. She remembered the first time she held him, just a few hours after his birth. He came into this world on a wintery night in December, almost eleven years ago. Danny had a great story about that night, and how their beat-up old Camry went skating down Mayfield on the part that bottoms out at Chagrin River Road. Danny’s imitation of Rachel freaking out was hilarious. He said he didn’t know Rachel could curse like a construction worker until that night. When they got to the hospital, the nurses rushed her into the delivery room and Evan made his appearance in no time at all. He was never any trouble his whole little life, and Rachel and Danny were glowing that night.

Now all three were gone.

Dave Thompson had over twenty years on the force, and naturally he’d seen things and done things no one should ever have to see or do. When he was a patrolman, the single worst assignment had been delivering bad news in person. There is nothing quite like the look of horror a cop gets when he appears at someone’s door unannounced and asks to be admitted in order to convey some information. Several times people had slammed the door in his face, or, after letting him in, they had run away and hid in the house before he could speak. The task was always awful, but when it concerned the death of a child, it was brutal. His wife knew
it took a toll because she would hear him rise some days at three in the morning.

Dave had a son right around Evan’s age. When he entered Evan’s room, and turned on the overhead light, he saw the same Cleveland Browns poster that James had hanging above his headboard, in almost the exact position Evan had placed his.

The child in the bed looked as if he had been tucked in for the night, but his face was almost unrecognizable, and the blanket covering him was soaked a sickening purple. The people around the table now staring at him expectantly hadn’t seen him lurch outside the Turner residence and lose his breakfast yesterday morning. They looked at him with a mixture of fear and anticipation, needing to know, but wishing to leave. He didn’t think he would ever be able to escape the image that was embedded in his mind. Now, for the first time in his career, he wanted to bolt. Instead, he asked for directions to the bathroom, and excused himself.

When he returned, the discussion abruptly stopped. It was evident that Evan would be the next topic of discussion. “I do not think it’s necessary,” he started, “to go into the degree of detail I did in the case of Rachel’s death.”

Everyone around the table agreed.

“Officer,” Carolyn began, “do we know why Danny killed Evan?”

“We can only speculate on that matter, of course, but based upon the physical evidence, and some comments from Evan’s brother, it appears that Evan attempted to stop Danny while he was attacking Rachel, and he lashed out, possibly because he thought it was Logan Vonda behind him.”

The detective was hopeful no one would ask the next obvious question regarding the amount of injuries the boy suffered, which were
very similar to his mother’s. Thankfully the next question moved on to Christopher.

“Dave,” Tom said quietly, “do we have any idea why Danny
didn’t
harm Christopher?”

“We really don’t, Tom, but as you know, because you were the first to mention it, there was a blood impression on Christopher’s back, which we presume came from Danny pushing him into his room. It is very likely that Danny simply came to his senses and was able to stop at that point.”

“Or that God intervened,” Anna suggested.

“If He did, He arrived too late for Rachel and Evan,” Sam said, but instantly regretted he had opened his mouth.

“Well, we don’t know,” Thompson continued, “but we do know that Christopher said he went back to sleep afterward, and he was clearly in a state of shock when Tom found him.” Thompson didn’t think it necessary to mention that the eight-year-old likely attempted to rouse his brother and mother, because blood was found on his hands and under his fingernails.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I really do have to get back downtown.” Dave handed his business card to Maryann, Pete, and Sam and promised to be in touch with any other relevant information, and then quickly said his good-byes. After Tom closed the door behind him, he exhaled for the first time in the last hour and relished the cold air on his face.

Then Dave Thompson drove right past the station house, to his own front door, snatched up his little boy, and held him until he squirmed free.

C
HAPTER
11

Boots, Shoes, Hands, and Feet

Go out into the darkness
,

And put your hand into the hand of God
.

—Minnie Louise Haskins
,

“God Knows”

O
NE
F
EBRUARY MORNING
when Joanna Larson was eleven years old, she went outside to shovel the snow off of her parents’ driveway. Today was her father’s birthday and this was going to be her present to him. She had planned to purchase a pair of shoes, because he’d mentioned that was what he needed, but she was only able to amass three dollars and the shoes cost seven. Technically, they were work boots, not shoes, and, as the year was 1962, boots could be purchased for seven dollars, because a 3 Musketeers bar cost a nickel.

She was frustrated and angry with herself for not being able to buy the boots, because she hated to disappoint him and knew how important they were. Now the only gift she had was the card she had made with a picture of the boots pasted inside, along with the promise they would come in the near future. A few weeks before, when she’d seen the advertisement in the
New York Daily News
featuring a black-and-white drawing of the boots, she had shown it to her dad and declared she
would find a way to purchase them. The advertisement had been placed by the Thom McCan store on Flatbush Avenue and had warned that the sale price was for a limited time only, so the pressure was on.

In order to motivate herself, she had clipped the drawing out of the newspaper and displayed it on her dresser drawer. She would pick it up and look at it whenever she was tempted to leap on her bike and ride down the block to Mr. Schultz’s store. Schultz’s was a wonderland that contained every comic book or candy bar known to mankind and naturally Joanna was a regular customer. Mrs. Schultz got a kick out of her, so when she was sent on a mission to buy a loaf of bread or a bottle of milk, she would usually emerge with a free licorice stick along with her purchase.

The fact that she didn’t have a gift for her dad other than the card caused her great anxiety. She knew her father was planning to find a job, and without a pair of work boots, this would probably be impossible. However, he had chuckled the day before when she’d delivered the bad news.

“Oh, Joanna,” he’d said, “you’re so sweet, but I’ll get the money to buy a pair of shoes soon.” Her father had been touched by his daughter’s sincerity. “And don’t worry about me finding a job. I just heard yesterday that something was going to open up at the Sunoco station in a few weeks.” But Joanna did worry, because her mother worried, and always would say her father had a hard time keeping a job because of his heart condition.

So that is how she came to be in the backyard, shoveling snow, when the event that would alter her life forever occurred.

Her dad’s green and white 1956 Chevy Bel Air was safely tucked away in the garage, but it had snowed heavily the night before and there was close to a foot on the ground. Joanna planned to cut two paths from the garage to the driveway, so that when her dad pulled out he would be able to glide down the driveway the Larsons shared with their next-door
neighbor and head straight out onto the street. This proved to be harder than it looked. She was exhausted after shoveling only one path not even six feet long, and realized that her wool mittens made it next to impossible to grip the shovel’s handle. So she took a break for a minute to try to figure things out, toying with her breath in the frosty air.