Her Last Goodbye, page 35
“I found you all, living in that house in Buffalo, around Larkin. I had so much rage inside me. I could never forgive her. I wanted to destroy her life like she destroyed ours. I was in my teens then, on my own, living in a men’s shelter when I came to Sofia’s house, offered to shovel snow.
“She invited me in, but being half drunk, she had no clue it was me, her son. I met you, playing with your candle chime, my little sister, Jennifer. I got to know that house. I watched our mother, always half drunk. I hated the way she was acting all nice when I knew she wasn’t. She had to pay for what she did. So one night, I snuck into the house. I put dead batteries in the smoke detector and placed a burning cigarette in the sofa. I went outside and watched the flames in the downstairs windows.
“Then I thought of you and it hit me. This was wrong! What was I thinking? I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I tried rushing into the house to stop the fire, but it was too late. Then I heard sirens. I got scared, ran away with the house still burning. Seeing the firefighters, I figured you would all be saved. From down the block, I watched the fire, smoke billowing, praying no one would know what I did. They’ll be saved! It’ll be okay! The next day, I saw the news that my mother and her husband had died in the fire but that you were rescued. I was so ashamed of what I’d done, I left the shelter and drifted to other cities.”
Tears rolled down Jenn’s face.
“I was never caught, but as I drifted, I was haunted. For part of my life, I was addicted to alcohol, drugs. I lived on the street. But I got myself clean, got jobs, got married a couple times, and divorced, but guilt still gnawed at me and I had anger issues. I felt I wasn’t worthy of love because of what I’d done. Relationships never worked for me. I had no family, no one, like I was invisible, not even here. Then one day, I realized that I did have a family—you and Heather were my family. I couldn’t find Heather, but I found you and Jake. I knew then that you survived that fire for a reason. It gave me hope for a family.
“I wanted to be near you, be a part of your life. It was hard, but I got a custodian job at Jake’s school. I was good at it. It felt like I could watch over you, be a part of your life, be needed, sort of like family again. And I was searching for Heather, doing all I could to find her. I didn’t know when to tell you about my plan for us to be a family, or even if I could. Then I learned from the kids at school that you were going to move to Arizona. I couldn’t let that happen, not after all I did. I had to act fast.
“That’s when I saw the chime in a store window, the exact same kind as the one you had as a kid, and took it as a sign. I sent it to you, to remind you and plant the idea that we needed to be together. I had saved some money, had a small place on a piece of land in Montana, made up a cover story about a fishing buddy there. Then at last, with help from a welfare case worker, I found Heather living in a shelter in Cleveland as Heather Katherine Brady. I approached her, told her I was her brother, Bert, from Syracuse. But she was not well and didn’t believe me. Somebody was watching me, so I gave her some money, told her I’d be back to rescue her.
“I had been watching you closely. I knew everything about you and Greg and decided that if I could get you alone, to explain the truth, you would understand. And that night, I followed Greg to the Mulberry Bar in Depew, to make sure he was out of the way. That’s when I saw him with that woman. I took pictures. It confirmed to me that I was doing the right thing, that he didn’t deserve you. I decided to send pictures to police so they would know what kind of man he really is, kind of like our mother.”
Cobb stared hard at Greg, who stared back.
“Then I stopped you that same night in Ripplewood.” Cobb turned to Jenn. “To rescue you and keep you safe, to set things up for us to go to Montana after I got Jake, too. But first I went back to Cleveland, to explain to Heather that it was time to be together, to be with her family. But she didn’t understand. She was too far gone because our mom had destroyed her. So Heather fled, running to the freeway.”
Tears rolled down Cobb’s cheeks.
“I knew at the funeral it was Heather and not you because I was keeping you safe.”
Jenn thrust her hands to her face.
“They tell me I will likely never be released from prison for the things I’ve done. I was only trying to save you and Jake,” Cobb said. “I just wanted you to know the truth about your mother—our mother.”
Cobb turned to the guard, got up, and left.
Jenn didn’t remember walking from the visitors’ room, or leaving the prison, only being in the truck with Greg and crying so hard she thought she would come apart. All Greg could do was hold her as she gasped, choking on her words.
“All this time, I never told you. I never told anyone. I thought I’d killed my parents with my chime in the fire. When the new chime arrived at the house, I was horrified. How could anyone know? I didn’t want anyone to know! It’s why I went to see Dr. Maynart, because I thought the chime came to remind me that I’d killed my family, that someone knew my horrible secret.”
“But Jenn, Cobb said he started the fire, not you,” Greg said.
“Yes, but now, after thinking all my life that I killed my loving mother and father...now Cobb tells me he killed her because she was a monster.”
Ninety-Nine
Buffalo, New York, Clarence and Trailside Grove
The case was not closed.
Not all the way.
Kozak and Carillo were firming up charges on Zoran Volk while pursuing unresolved aspects on Cobb.
Guided by the statements Jennifer and Greg Griffin had provided after their prison visit, the investigators worked with Melinda Hyland, the case analyst, to verify Jennifer’s family history with the aim of identifying the woman who was killed in Cleveland.
“I went through what Cobb told the Griffins.” Hyland leaned on Carillo’s desk as she updated them. “It was all new with names, locations—more than we had before.”
“Right. So where does that leave us?” Kozak said.
“To verify it, I reached out to Children and Family Services in Syracuse and requested they send us old records, unsealing them if they’re sealed. Our DA will help with warrants if we need them. I’m waiting to hear back from Syracuse.”
“Nice work, Melinda,” Carillo said.
Hyland saw Carillo’s screen saver. “Cute puppy. Is that Trigger?”
“Yeah.”
“Ned’s actually a softy,” Kozak said.
“So Claire,” Carillo said. “How’d your date go with the FBI guy?”
“It was just coffee.”
“And that’s how it starts,” Carillo said.
“It shouldn’t be long before we hear from Syracuse,” Hyland said before leaving.
* * *
Jenn sat alone in her kitchen, gazing into her cup of tea.
Cobb’s claims had left her flailing in a whirlpool of disbelief and despair.
Was it true? Was my mother cruel, wicked?
Visiting Cobb had shaken Jenn. She was contemplating her next appointment with Dr. Maynart when her doorbell rang. She went to the window; a FedEx truck was pulling away.
She opened the front door to a package addressed to Jennifer and Greg Griffin, from a Frances Penney in Toronto.
She texted Greg.
She used to live in your old neighborhood and was helping us. Open it, he wrote back.
Frances.
Memories flooded back with images of an older, kind girl, who lived down the street from Jenn.
The accompanying note said:
Dear Jennifer and Greg:
I was so happy to hear of the rescue and reunion, that your prayers were answered. After talking with Greg, I began looking into all of the things my mother left us after she’d passed. I’d mentioned to Greg how after the tragic fire, my mother held some of the recovered items for a short time before they were given to Jennifer’s grandmother. Going through my mother’s things, I recently discovered something that was missed, something that belonged to Sofia Korvin, your mother, Jennifer.
I enclose it here because now it belongs to you.
With warmest hopes and prayers for you,
Frances Penney
Jenn slid her fingernail along the seam of the wrapped item, unfolding the paper to reveal a small book. It was tattered, its edges blackened and scorched. It had a red, hardboard cover with stitched binding.
She opened it to find handwriting on lined paper.
It was her mother’s journal.
* * *
The request to Syracuse by the New York State Police had come back to Melinda Hyland sooner than expected—and with documents from several agencies.
The state’s regional office of Children and Family Services, the office of Onondaga County Children and Family Services, and the Syracuse Child Welfare Division searched their archives. Going back more than three decades, they found records for the case of Clark and Sofia Telfer and their children, Bertram and Heather of Syracuse.
Hyland pulled together a quick summary with key points to share with Kozak and Carillo that read:
After she was assaulted by her husband, Clark Telfer, Sofia Telfer immediately fled her home without her children. Police were called but her husband, who knew the senior responding officer, reported Sofia Telfer to police and to social services, claiming that she had abandoned her family after he found that she was unfaithful and abusing their children. He claimed that “she was so cruel and threatening that the children would deny it for fear of reprisal.”
Shortly after that, Clark Telfer committed suicide in his garage. His death was discovered by his son, Bertram. But Clark Telfer’s allegations against his wife, Sofia, became part of the record and were investigated.
In keeping with policy, nothing was made public.
Investigators determined that the children, Heather and Bertram, said that their dad often struck their mom; but their mom was always yelling at him and had slapped him, too, leaving the children traumatized by the violence in their family.
Sofia Telfer and her attorney, along with lawyers for the child protection agency, appeared in court. The children were not present. Upon consideration of key points of the family’s heart-wrenching tragedies—the abuse, real and/or alleged—in the home, the fact the mom did walk out, and that the allegations of abuse against her could not be entirely dismissed, the judge in the case, known to be strict, decided that in the interest of protecting the children, the mother was forbidden to ever have contact with them again.
The children were swallowed by the foster care system.
Records show that Sofia Telfer later moved to Buffalo where she married Leo Korvin, a cabdriver. They had one child, a daughter, Jennifer Korvin.
Highland wrote that a note found in the records indicated that Sofia continued legal efforts, searching the foster care system for her children, Bertram and Heather. It went on for years without success. Then one day, a child care official, thought to have been sympathetic to Clark Telfer’s claim and believing she was protecting the lives of Sofia’s children—“lives the mother ruined”—put an end to Sofia’s inquiries by telling her “to cease her search efforts” because her children had passed away. She told her one had drowned and the other had died of illness, and she could provide no other information.
“Damn.” Carillo lifted his fist to his mouth after he and Kozak had read the records.
“Horrible,” Kozak said.
“This supports the DNA, and that Heather was Jennifer’s half sister and Bert Cobb is her half brother,” Carillo said.
“Yes,” Kozak said. “We’ll have to work with the Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner in Cleveland to let them know our Jane Doe on the freeway is Heather.”
Then Kozak was silent, rereading the report.
“What is it, Claire?” Carillo said.
“It’s so tragic, so sad.” She began closing folders. “Let’s go. We need to tell Jennifer Griffin.”
* * *
Alone at her kitchen table, afraid of what she might find in her mother’s journal, Jenn stared at it.
After nearly two full minutes, she opened it.
A small puff of air, like a gasp, floated up to her, smelling of an old book and charcoal. Jenn fanned the pages then went to the beginning, tracing her fingers over the words, written in clear blue ballpoint pen. Her mother’s handwriting was beautiful. Judging from the dates, she’d made her first entries when she was in high school.
Swallowing hard, Jenn read.
“Toby Wheeler’s in my math class. He’s so cute.” Days later another entry: “Dad’s shouting at Mom again downstairs. I put on my headphones.” Another day and an entry read: “Some kids like the new groups, but I’ll love The Beatles and Supremes forever.” Then later another day: “History test tomorrow yuck.” Then: “Does Toby like me?” Scanning ahead Jenn came to: “Dad shouted at Mom all night. He’s drunk again. He always yells at her.”
Skimming ahead a year or so, turning pages, Jenn stopped cold, reading: “Mom’s dead. I can’t stop crying. The world has stopped turning. I’m numb, can’t think. Dad says she fell down the stairs. Do I believe him? I have to get out.”
Jumping ahead to: “We buried Mom. It hurts so much. My mom is gone. I want her back.”
Jenn snapped through pages of short entries. “Sad.” “Miss Mom.” “Rained all day.” Then she came to: “Dad drunk again. Super mean. Argued with him. It was bad. Left home to live with my friend and her big sister. Dropping out of school. What’s the point? I’m flunking anyway.”
Flipping through years of entries about low-paying jobs and dates with men “who only want one thing,” Jenn read that her mom was working as a waitress in Dombrowski’s Bowling World when: “Started dating Clark Telfer, a heavy equipment operator. Bowling champ. Nice cologne. Nice smile. Really like him. Could get serious.”
Racing ahead Jenn stopped at: “Pregnant. Scared.” Then pages later: “Married Clark at city hall. He says ‘we’ll make it work. It’s all good.’” Scanning ahead to: “Had a perfect baby boy, named him Bertram.” Then several weeks later: “Baby’s crying all night. Clark drinks, shouts at me to shut him up, or he will. I worry about everything.”
Jenn paged ahead, skimming years, reading: “Our money’s stretched. I juggle bills. Yet Clark bought expensive bowling shoes, a ball, and pays league fees. Dreams he’ll turn pro. I beg him to stop drinking. Tell him I’m pregnant again. He shouts at me, blames me, hits me. I slap him back. He goes to the bar.”
Flipping ahead Jenn read: “Our daughter Heather was born yesterday.” Years later: “Clark’s pro bowler dreams are gone because he drinks. His job hangs by a thread. We argue. He hits me. I never tell anyone. All couples fight, don’t they? But it’s getting worse. Some days, I drink to stop all the pain.”
Turning pages, Jenn found: “I told Clark he needs help, AA, a church group, something. I said I’ll go with him. But he exploded, said I’m cheating on him, pushed me to the wall, punching me. I fought back but he knocked me down and dragged me by my hair across the floor. It’s so bad. Later, I hurt everywhere and decided I can’t take it anymore. I can’t fall down the stairs like my mom. I had to leave, right away, bruised and sore. Bert followed me on his bike, crying breaking my heart. I told him I’ll be back to get him and Heather.”
Jenn flips ahead: “At the women’s shelter they urge me to call police and report Clark. My hands are shaking as I write. I can’t believe it. The officers who investigate are Clark’s bowling pals and they believe his lies. Clark says I abused the children, that I was unfaithful, that I drink, that I struck him. Liar!”
In the following pages: “Clark hung himself in the garage. Bert found him...oh dear Lord...my poor boy...he’ll never be the same...”
Then: “They won’t let me see Heather and Bert. Child services have taken them from me. I have to go to a family court thing.” Jenn noticed the next pages were dotted, crinkled, as if they’d been wet then dried. Tears?
She continued reading: “In court the judge believed Clark’s lies and ordered that Heather and Bert be taken from me and placed in foster homes; and that because I may be a danger to them—based on Clark’s lies—I am forbidden to ever see them again. My heart is bursting. It’s just not right. It’s killing me. How can they do this?”
Jenn scans pages of months, years of her mother’s anguish: “No matter what I do, the courts won’t let me be with Bert and Heather.” Then Jenn read how her mother moved to Buffalo, met Leo Korvin: “Such a kind, gentle man.” She got married again and had a “beautiful daughter, Jennifer.”
Jenn read how her mother made several trips to Syracuse to see child welfare people, pleading they help her locate Bert and Heather: “A case worker, who didn’t like me, told me I can stop with my inquiries because Bert had drowned a year earlier and Heather had cancer and died six months before that. They say I collapsed on the floor.”
Jenn’s eyes filled with tears at the cruelty of the system and what it had done to her mother, and to Bert and Heather, too.
Collecting herself, she continued reading some of her mother’s last entries: “After learning about Bert and Heather, my heart had been ripped out of me. I’m going through life like a robot. Alcohol helps. And I have Leo and Jennifer to hang on to, but a part of me is gone forever. I know I can never be forgiven for what I’ve done. I have to carry the pain of the horrible mistakes I’ve made. At times, I light my mother’s chime, the twirling, twinkling angels give me comfort. Because I know who those angels are...”
