Everything She Feared, page 15
Not only did his Vanity Fair piece pay well, it yielded other dividends.
Literary agents contacted him with potential publishing deals. They said his story could be made into a network true-crime series.
“But it’s not over yet. It doesn’t have an ending,” Ryan told them, deciding to hold off.
Inspired by Ryan’s article, amateur sleuths took up his cause, giving rise to a number of online groups outraged at how Magda had beat the system. Fearing Magda had not been rehabilitated and could kill again, they were devoted to locating her wherever she tried to resume her life and warning her community that a murderer lived free among them.
Many people in the online groups passed theories, speculation and leads to Ryan. Much of it led nowhere, but he looked at everything because upon her release, facing no terms or conditions in her legally binding deal with prosecutors, Magda had vanished. And despite all of Ryan’s sources and efforts, he couldn’t find her. He’d learned that while in prison she’d earned a number of degrees and planned how she would disappear. Rumor among the online groups held that Magda had changed her appearance and her name, learned other languages and may have fled to another country to live out her life in peaceful anonymity.
Some thought that Magda may have reconnected with her daughter, who’d been taken from her as a toddler at the time of Magda’s imprisonment. Given the magnitude of Magda’s crimes, prosecutors were steadfast in ensuring Magda lost custody.
In the years since her release from prison, Ryan’s search for Magda had been futile. He’d traveled to Panama, Canada, Germany and the UK, in searches that had dead-ended. Following leads in the US, he’d searched for her in Denver, Dallas, Minneapolis, Pittsburgh and Brooklyn.
He survived by taking whatever jobs he could: Uber driver, warehouse worker, reporter. He’d house-sit, couch surf, work out long-stay rates at cheap motels, all while scouring a location for Magda and researching every aspect of her life.
Now he clicked on a news picture of Magda taken at her arrest: she’s handcuffed and staring into the camera, her eyes telegraphing bone-chilling malevolence—something dead behind them.
Ryan stared at Magda for the longest time.
I will go to the ends of the earth to find you.
Ryan turned from his laptop to the window and the rain and sipped the last of his tepid coffee.
Now he was in Seattle following a lead arising from his research and his sources indicating that Magda’s daughter was living and working in the metropolitan area, and that it was possible Magda was also here.
Have to admit, that’s a first, a tip putting them both in the same area.
He’d gone to the diner in North Seattle.
I’m just not sure about the woman working there. So many times he’d been convinced he was on the right track with other women in other cities. He was wrong every time. No, he couldn’t be sure until it was a certainty.
Ryan paused to consider a tip he’d gotten long ago from a police source in Montana. In her life-and-death struggle, the Canadian woman who’d survived had flailed wildly in the Vrykers’ van, gouging the wrist of Magda’s daughter so severely it left a permanent scar.
Ryan looked through his files. He had information for other women in other locations in the area that he was working on.
But his thoughts went back to the diner. The woman appeared to be the right age and her tattoo—if meant to hide a scar—was in the right spot.
I just don’t know. I’ve still got a lot of work to do until I am certain.
Among the skills he’d learned from his sources, who were detectives and private investigators, was how to surreptitiously collect and sift through people’s trash for useful items and information. He’d also learned how to acquire cast-off, or shed, DNA from such things as discarded napkins, gum and hair, which could be analyzed.
All of the tactics were legal and could prove to be critical. But they took time.
He yawned and rubbed his eyes. Before shutting everything down, he went to his photos from the photo booth of Carrie holding him in her lap and smiled at them. Then he turned to the window and watched the rain.
In his heart he felt something, a sensation, telling him to keep going.
I feel I’m closer now, closer than I’ve ever been.
31
Seattle, Washington
At Rainier Pine Elementary, Katie’s desk was covered with cards and drawings made by her classmates.
Colorful pictures of broken hearts, butterflies with tears and people hugging. They had handwritten messages that said things like: I’m so sorry for you and I said a prayer for you and your friend.
Before Katie had returned to school, her teacher, Mrs. Hadley, called Katie’s mom to offer her condolences and determine how Katie wanted to be welcomed back to class. After a discussion, they decided that Katie didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself but wanted Anna’s death to be acknowledged in some way.
“Hi, Katie. Welcome back.” Mrs. Hadley lowered herself at Katie’s desk while other students settled at their desks.
“Hi.”
“I’m very sorry that Anna died. I’m a good listener and I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
“Thank you.”
“The class wants to do something for you, then we’ll carry on, okay?”
“Alright.”
Mrs. Hadley gave Katie a little hug, then went to the front of the room.
“We’re happy to have Katie back, class. All of us are sad that her friend Anna has died. We talked about this, so now, if you want to give Katie a hug, you may. Is that okay with you, Katie?”
Katie nodded.
One by one, row by row, every student in the class but one came to Katie. They hugged her and told her they were sad for her, too, but happy she was back. When they finished and everyone was back in their seats, Mrs. Hadley started with a math lesson.
Later, outside at recess, Katie was talking with two other girls when Dylan Frick interrupted them by standing close and staring at Katie.
Dylan was in Katie’s class and the only person who hadn’t hugged her. He was also in the Sunny Days group and had been at the park the day Anna died.
“You’re being creepy and rude, Dylan,” one of the girls said.
His eyes burned into Katie’s.
“You know,” Dylan said, “some people are saying your friend didn’t fall taking a stupid selfie.”
Katie’s eyes narrowed and she began breathing hard.
“They think you’re a liar!” Dylan said.
“Don’t say that!”
“What’re you going to do to me? Liar!”
The muscles in Katie’s jaw bunched and she pushed Dylan’s chest with both hands.
“Whoa.” Dylan grinned. “Looks like you push people when you get mad.”
Katie held one finger of warning to Dylan’s face.
“You better stop telling lies.”
Katie eyed him coldly before she walked away.
32
Seattle, Washington
Pierce looked to the investigators on the teleconference screen and those settling in at the table in the King County Sheriff’s Office headquarters.
Detective Sergeant Art Acker spoke first. “We’ve got developments to discuss. Let’s get to it.” He nodded for Pierce to begin.
“Alright, you should all have our updated summary.” Pierce started the case-status meeting. “Our forensics people have collected and analyzed evidence we discovered recently at Sparrow Song Park.”
The partially blackened coconut-sized rock appeared in photos on the screen at the end of the room and on teleconference screens. Pierce outlined the details of where and how the rock was found: it was nearly seven inches in diameter, seventeen inches in circumference and weighed six pounds.
“Now—” Pierce used her laptop’s cursor to circle areas “—forensics found hair and blood traces on the rock here and here.” Pierce’s cursor went to the circled spots. “Analysis shows they’re consistent with Anna Shaw’s hair and blood. The medical examiner said blunt force trauma to the head was a factor in Shaw’s death. In further consultation, the ME said the rock could be considered a weapon.”
“Are we calling this a homicide?” Deputy Rob Hirano was on the screen.
“We’re calling it suspicious,” Pierce said.
“Did we get latents from the rock?” Hirano asked.
“Not yet,” Pierce said. “As we know, it’s difficult to get prints from rough, porous surfaces. Forensics advises that they’re trying some new techniques, but it’ll take time and they’ll get back to us.”
“I see a problem,” Oscar Neale, a commander from the North Precinct, said. “You found this weapon long after the fact, after the scene was processed, then opened to the public. It might not be admissible or hold up in court.”
“We always find guns after the fact and away from a scene,” Benton said. “Then prints and ballistics tie it to a crime.”
“Oscar’s point is a valid one,” Acker said. “But we’ve got date-stamped photos and video of the scene that show the impression of a missing rock at the top of the cliff. And even though we missed it at the time, you can see the rock wedged deep between cracks at the bottom at the riverbank.”
“Your summary suggests other factors, potential players like the ex-boyfriend,” Hirano said.
“We can’t place him in the park at the time,” Pierce said.
“The park has a security camera in the parking lot,” Neale said. “That should be able to determine who else was there at the time. Where’re you with that?”
“It’s an aging, faulty system,” Benton said. “It was recording at the time but any images we can recover might be unusable, if we can recover images at all. Our techs are working with the camera company. It’s going to take time.”
“What about Anna Shaw’s phone?” Neale asked.
“We still haven’t located it,” Benton said.
“Did you go through Katie Harmon’s phone?” Neale asked.
“We did, and there was nothing there of any significance,” Pierce said.
“Your thoughts, Heidi?” Acker said.
“Thanks, Art.” Heidi Wong, with the Juvenile Division of the King County Prosecuting Attorney’s Office, was on the screen flipping through notes on a legal pad at her desk.
“It appears you’re thinking Katie Harmon, who is nine, may have struck and pushed Anna Shaw off the cliff, possibly for the necklace?”
“It’s a theory with some supporting evidence,” Acker said.
“It’s compelling, I grant you, but you’re not there yet,” Wong said. “Our unit has a high volume of cases right now. This one presents a challenge, starting with Katie’s age. We have to prove she was capable of committing the crime and knew what she was doing. Cases of children who have killed other children are rare. And prosecuting a case like this as a Murder One or Murder Two is extremely difficult. We need solid evidence of the crime and clear evidence the child understood that what they did was wrong.”
Acker, Benton and Pierce nodded.
“Now,” Wong said, “your evidence, as it stands, is weak and your case is circumstantial. You have no witnesses. You can’t polygraph Katie because polygraphs aren’t effective on children her age.” Wong tapped her pen on her pad. “Reading your case notes, Katie Harmon’s statements thus far have been consistent, that Anna Shaw fell taking a selfie. We see Anna Shaw’s parents were not alarmed that Katie had Anna’s necklace. We don’t see a conflict between Katie and Anna, who was Katie’s beloved babysitter. We see that Katie’s statement of Anna clinging to the branch is supported by the traces of material embedded in Anna’s hands. And you estimate the gap in time when Kate ran for help at four to six, or even five to seven, minutes. While it may be a short time frame, it could be enough to weaken certainty. We don’t see that Katie has a known history of violent acts, and other aspects of the investigation appear not to be nailed down yet, leaving room for a lot of reasonable doubt, which you need to remove.”
“But we have the rock as a murder weapon,” Benton said.
“At this stage, that’s all you have,” Wong said. “Have you even established that Katie Harmon can lift a rock of that weight and carry it that distance, what, about six or seven yards? And can she raise it high enough to use as a weapon on a teen?”
“Not yet,” Pierce said.
“Bottom line this for us, Heidi,” Acker said.
“This case is suspicious and it remains open,” she said. “You’ve done good work. But you need to eliminate all areas that raise doubt. Keep going on Katie Harmon. Keep nailing down the open elements wherever possible—the prints on the rock, finding Anna’s phone, the security camera. Strengthen your case.”
* * *
The meeting ended, and Pierce and Benton returned to their desks.
“I’m going to the kitchen for coffee. Want me to get you one, Carl?” Pierce placed her files, notebook and tablet on her desk. They slid, sending her framed photo of Webb and Ethan to the floor with a crack. “Oh, shoot.” She picked it up, studied the fractured glass. “I’ll have to replace that.” She set the broken frame in her drawer. “So, coffee?”
Benton was looking at his phone.
“Thanks, I’ll go with you.” He put his phone away.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Still no word.”
“Hang in there.”
“Kim, you’ve been on the right track on this, right from the get-go.”
She shrugged as her phone rang. She looked at the number.
“Heidi Wong is right. We’ve got a lot of work yet and we can’t get tunnel vision. Hello,” she said into her phone.
“Detective Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“Andy Newell, forensics. I was hoping to get this update on the parking lot security camera to you before your meeting. But we just got this. We’ve finally been able to clean up the footage recorded at the time of the fatality.”
“How clean?”
“Still working on it, but we should get plates.”
33
Seattle, Washington
Sara took Katie to Kerry Park. From a slope in Queen Anne Hill, it offered an unbroken view of downtown Seattle and the Space Needle.
Taking it in from the bench where they sat, Katie seemed lost in a thought and was humming softly to herself. Sara had brought her here to get out of the house, hoping to talk. She was searching for a way to start when Katie beat her to it.
“Mom, does it hurt to die?”
The question cut into Sara, but before she could answer Katie continued.
“Because I was wondering like how much pain Anna felt when she fell.”
“I don’t think she—”
“I was wondering like what her very last thought was before she hit the ground. Like, if she knew she was going to die and how awful it would be.”
“Oh, honey.” At a loss, Sara turned away, then said: “Have you talked to Dr. Mehta about it?”
Katie nodded.
“What does she say?”
“She said what you said, that Anna didn’t feel anything. And she said nobody will know what Anna’s last thoughts were.”
Sara nodded.
“And she said it’s normal for me to have lots of questions because I was with her.”
“That’s true, and it sounds right, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Mom, but I can’t stop thinking it was my fault.”
Katie was staring at the skyline.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I feel like it is.”
“Why?”
“It just does, Mom. It just does.”
Sara put her arm around Katie. “Didn’t Dr. Mehta tell you that you would have all kinds of feelings about it but it wasn’t your fault?”
Katie nodded. Now, Sara thought. Now’s the time to press a little.
“Has Dr. Mehta asked you to tell her more about the boy?”
“She said that it would be okay if I wanted to talk about it with her.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t want to because—even though—even though—”
Katie couldn’t finish. Sara coaxed her gently. “Even though what, honey?”
“Sometimes I feel like what happened to the boy was my fault, just like I feel like what happened to Anna was my fault. Like something’s wrong with me, Mom, and I don’t know what it is.”
“Are you still having bad dreams?”
“Yes.”
“And bad thoughts?”
She needed Katie to reveal more, accepting that she might not be able to handle what it was—what I fear she’s locked away.
But I need to know.
“Have you told anyone what your bad thoughts are?” Sara asked.
Katie shook her head.
“Maybe if you told me, I could understand them, then together we can work to make them go away?”
“But they’re scary, Mom.”
“I know, but I can’t help you if you don’t help me understand.”
Katie pulled away; Sara looked at her. Katie’s expression shifted.
“Did you ever have scary thoughts when you were a girl, Mom?”
Taken aback at how Katie had turned things around to her, Sara swallowed. “Yes, I suppose a lot of people have troubling thoughts at one point or another. That’s just human nature.”
“Tell me about your bad thoughts when you were a girl.”
Searching her daughter’s eyes, the truth hit Sara full force.
