He and my dad have always been tight and I feel a surge of gratitude toward him for sticking up for my dad. The investigation into Eve’s murder and the inability to find her killer nearly broke my dad.
“I’m not pointing fingers,” Chief Digby says, looking directly at me. “I just think we now have the technology and resources to solve it. Twenty-five years ago, I looked Eve’s mother and sister in the eyes and promised them that I would do all that I could to help find Eve’s killer.”
“You’re not going to find much forensics on that shoe,” Dex says, nodding toward the evidence box. “Two decades of sitting in rain and mud will have washed anything of use away. Plus, the kid and his friends had their paws all over it.”
“We’re going to send it all in,” the chief says, spreading his arms open wide. “Have the state lab retest all the old evidence. A lot has changed in forensics in the past twenty-five years.”
“Have you talked to the family about this?” I ask, successfully tamping down my emotions for the time being. Nola Knox, Eve’s little sister, has always been her own person, to put it diplomatically. To put it less diplomatically, Nola is crazy. Weird shit happens when she is around. People get hurt, small animals go missing. In one of my earliest memories of Nola she is ripping the wings off fireflies and pressing the abdomens to her earlobes for a pair of glowing earrings. Then there was the baby squirrel Nola found when she was nine.
It was going to die anyway, Nola had said as a group of us kids stood around her staring horrified at the bloody knife in her hand. No one has ever forgotten that and never let Nola forget it either.
Chief Digby shakes his head. “Not since Nola was a kid, but I’m sure they’d be glad to know that we are reinvestigating. Now that I’m chief, I’m in a position to bring a fresh look at the case. Let’s get it retested and if there is any usable DNA maybe we’ll find a match.
“Genealogy sites like Ancestry aren’t charging law enforcement agencies for their services, so that won’t cost the city.”
While Digby talks, snippets of memories shuffle through my head. The day Eve and her mom and sister moved across the street and we became instant friends. The sleepovers and bike rides, the hikes down the bluff behind our homes to the caves where we laughed and shared secrets and tried to hide from Nola and my brother.
I’ve tried for over two decades to stuff the memories deep down. It’s too painful to conjure up images of Eve’s shy smile, her red hair and the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. I can’t walk past a secondhand shop without thinking of all the vintage clothing she’d buy and wear with pride.
And then there are the flashbacks of Eve’s dead body splayed out as my flashlight swept across the cave floor. Her head matted with congealed blood, her eyes open wide and staring blankly up at Nola and me, her mouth contorted into an ugly grimace. The two of us running to the nearest neighbor’s house for help. I rub my eyes, trying to scrub away the images.
“You’ve been pretty quiet, Maggie,” Chief Digby says. “What are you thinking?”
I look to Chief Digby. “Can I have it?” I ask. “The case? Eve was my best friend and I’m the one who found her,” I say, suddenly knowing that no matter how sad, how traumatic it will be to relive Eve’s final days, I’m the one who must do this. “It’s time I go on desk duty until the baby comes anyway.” As if on cue, the baby does a quick somersault, a trick she does whenever I sit still for too long. I wince at her antics and lay my palm against my midsection.
Digby quietly considers this for a moment and then asks, “Are you sure this is something you want to take on right now?”
“It won’t be a problem,” I assure him. “It makes the most sense.”
This seems to quell any doubts Digby might have. “Great, it’s yours,” he says. “Just make sure Dex is up to date on your other cases. Anything new on those arsons?” he asks.
There has been a series of old buildings being set on fire, mostly abandoned farm buildings out in the county, but the most recent was within Grotto city limits. I shake my head. “Nothing new. I’m working with the sheriff’s department and the state fire marshal. They agree they are all connected. Fires are all set at night with the same kind of setup and chemicals. Other than that, we are at a standstill.”
“Okay, keep me posted on the fires. In the meantime,” Chief Digby says, rising from his desk, “inform the Knox family and you better review the case files for reference. Once word gets out I’m sure we’ll get a slew of tipsters. And let’s get a press release ready. There will be lots of inquiries. Then gather all the evidence in the Knox case together and send it to the state lab. Let them know it’s coming.”
I slowly get to my feet, my mind whirling. I think of the last time I saw Eve and the angry words we spewed at each other. “You got this, Maggie?” Dex asks as we leave Digby’s office and step back into the squad room.
“Yeah,” I say with forced confidence. “I’m going to go talk to Charlotte and Nola Knox right away. I don’t want them finding out about this from someone else. I should talk to my dad too.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Dex agrees. “Nola Knox is hell on wheels when she gets her back up. Tread lightly,” he warns. “Remember what she did to Nick Brady?”
“I remember,” I say, but it’s the flashes of Eve’s bloodied face that have been seared into my memory. “See you later, Dex,” I say, heading for my desk, my feet heavy with dread. It’s time to get to work.
NOLA KNOX
Monday, June 15, 2020
The fawn-colored mare lay in the dry dirt, rolling from side to side, hooves kicking. Dust swirled around her like ground fog. Nola reached for the horse’s lead and urged the animal to her feet. She ran a calloused hand along the mare’s belly. It was distended and rock hard.
“How long has she been like this?” Nola asked, facing the horse, one hand on the mare’s scapula and the other over the hip joint, a stance that was meant to calm. Bijou, an American quarter horse, huffed and reared. She was suffering, her eyes wild with pain. Nola reached into her bag and prepared a syringe. Something to take the edge off. Experience told her that this horse was beyond help.
“She started acting weird yesterday,” the rancher said as he kicked dust off his expensive cowboy boots.
“Weird how?” Nola asked, biting back an impatient sigh. She needed details. Specifics.
“She kept pawing at the ground with her hoof like she was trying to dig something up,” the owner’s teenage daughter, a mousy wisp of a thing, said. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Was she looking down at her abdomen, biting at it and sweating a lot?” Nola asked, though she was already certain of the answer.