Funeral for a Friend

18

“We’re looking for a needle in a haystack,” Serena told Stride, as the two of them headed down the porch steps of an old bungalow high in the hills above Denfeld High School. They were deep in the trees, under a terraced section of the cliff where the railroad tracks ran above their heads. They’d just concluded an interview with a woman named Adella Oliver, who’d gone to high school with Denise. She was on the list of names that Denise had sent to Stride of the people she remembered being with her on the party crawl.

Her story was the same as everyone else they’d interviewed.

Yes, they’d gone to a lot of parties in those days.

No, she didn’t remember any of the details.

“We’re talking about one party thirty years ago where everybody was drunk,” Serena went on. “We’ve talked to half a dozen people on Denise’s list, and nobody remembers anything.”

Stride nodded. “All we can do is cross them off one by one.”

They reached Stride’s Expedition, and Serena put a hand on his shoulder. He had the expression she recognized when he was deep inside himself, wrestling with the past. “Can I ask a question, Jonny?”

“Sure.”

“What do you hope to prove by doing this? Confirming Andrea’s story won’t change anything about Ned Baer’s murder. We already know she’s the one who made the allegations against Card. Ned was threatening to expose her, and she was desperate to stop him. She was the only other person besides you who knew he was at the Deeps. And we both know you didn’t kill him.”

“You’re right,” Stride agreed.

“But you still don’t think she did it.”

“No.”

Serena sighed. “I’m sorry, but why are you so sure? Are you just trying to convince yourself because she was your wife? The thing is, when I look at the evidence, everything points to her.”

Stride didn’t say anything right away. He went around to the driver’s side of the truck, but he waited before opening the door. It was early evening, and the sun crept toward the peak of the hillside, throwing long shadows over their bodies.

“I know it does,” he told her. “Look, you may be right. I’m thinking like an ex-husband, not a cop. But to me, it doesn’t fit. It’s too calculated for Andrea. She was running on emotion and adrenaline that day. I guess I can see her pulling the trigger, but if she killed Ned, she would have walked away and left the body where it was. On some level, I think she would have wanted me to know that she’d done it. I don’t see her calling Steve and making him think I was the one who killed Ned. That’s not her. No, she called Steve for the reason she said. She was afraid of what I’d do and she wanted Steve to stop me. And that tells me it wasn’t her.”

Serena climbed inside the truck, and so did Stride.

“Say you’re right,” she said. “Then who killed him?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what really happened thirty years ago. And who knew the truth about it. Somebody had a secret they were willing to kill Baer to protect.”

Serena squinted through the windshield at the hillside neighborhood. The streets were barely better than dirt roads, with chipped asphalt riddled by cracks. The houses were spread apart, hidden on wooded lots, with lawns that were a green-and-brown mixture of grass and weeds.

“All right,” she said. “Who’s next?”

Stride consulted the list that Denise had texted him, and then he steered the Expedition onto the bumpy street. The truck jolted as they headed down the hill. Before they’d even gone half a block, Serena grabbed his arm.

“Hang on, wait a second. Stop.”

“What is it?”

“That house there. I’m curious. Is it on the list?”

She pointed at a large two-story set back from the street and almost invisible behind a row of large oak trees. The wood siding was painted an ugly shade of sea green, with windows trimmed in red and several gables on the second floor. The house was built with a sprawling front porch, and the yard backed up to the hillside below the train tracks. An old Chevy Impala sat in the driveway in front of a boxy two-car garage.

Stride checked Denise’s list of names and locations. “No. It’s not on the list.”

“Can you find out who owns the place?”

He tapped a few keys on his dashboard computer. “Property records say the owner is a woman named Kathy Ford.”

“Does that name ring a bell?”

He clicked for more information on the county records. “It looks like the place changed hands twelve years ago. The previous owners were Richard and Carol Godfrey. I remember a Kathy Godfrey from back in our school days. She didn’t go to Central, but she and Cindy both waitressed at Grandma’s on their summer breaks. But Kathy’s not one of the names Denise gave me for the party crawl.”

“Denise didn’t say she remembered everyone, though, did she?”

“True. What are you thinking?”

Serena didn’t answer right away. She got out of the Expedition and walked up the sloping driveway to where the Impala was parked. Stride followed. She studied a wide redwood balcony on the second story, which was built immediately above the roof of the garage.

“Andrea told me that after she was assaulted, she didn’t go back to the party. She didn’t want to face anybody. She left from the bedroom to an outside balcony, and from there, she jumped down from the garage. Seems like this house fits what she described.”

“It fits a lot of houses,” Stride said.

“Except she also mentioned a castle.”

“What?”

“She had a memory of running past a castle.” Serena pointed at the middle of the lawn. Among the towering oak trees was a varnished chainsaw sculpture that had been made out of the trunk of a fallen tree. The wood carving had been shaped like a fairy-tale castle, with high turrets, square grooves that resembled stone building blocks, and red conical roofs. Time had weathered it, wearing down the sharp edges and opening up cracks in the wood.

“I’ll be damned,” Stride said.

“Where did Andrea’s parents live back then?” Serena asked.

“Near Cody and 59th.”

“Well, she said she ran home afterward. That’s not far.”

Stride nodded. “You’re right.”

Serena stared at the bedroom windows on the second floor. She imagined a hot summer night decades ago and a hurt, crying teenage girl escaping onto that balcony. She could see the girl practically falling over the railing and dropping onto the dirty garage roof below her. And then, dangling from the roof’s edge by her fingers, landing heavily on the wet grass. She could see the girl stumbling away, running through the dark streets down the hill, thinking of nothing except getting home, hiding in her bedroom, and sitting under the hot water of the shower until it washed her clean.

Which it never would.

Serena knew exactly how that girl felt.

“Can I help you?”

A voice called to them from the house’s front door. Serena and Stride both looked in that direction and saw a middle-aged woman on the porch. She was tall but heavyset, with wavy brown hair. She wore an untucked button-down blue sweater over dark slacks.

“Ms. Ford?” Stride called.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jonathan Stride. This is Serena Stride. We’re with—”

“I know who you are, Jonathan,” the woman interrupted, coming down the steps. “You were married to Cindy.”

“That’s right.”

“I was at her funeral. I saw you then, but I’m sure you don’t remember with all of the people there. That was so tragic to lose her so young. She was a lovely woman.”

“Yes, she was. Actually, I’m married again. Serena is my wife. We’re both with the police.”

“I know that, too.” The woman approached them in the driveway. Serena shook hands with her, and she gave Stride a brief hug. Behind her, in the house, a golden retriever pushed through the screen door and galloped across the yard to join them, its tail wagging wildly. Kathy Ford bent down next to her dog to pet him and then eyed Serena and Stride in turn.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“Ms. Ford, we’d like to ask you a few questions—” Serena began, but the woman stopped her with a smile.

“Oh, please. I’m not formal. Call me Kathy.”

“Okay. Kathy. I know this was a long time ago, but we’re looking into something that may have happened at a summer party almost thirty years ago. A sexual assault.”

The woman frowned. “Is this about Devin? I know the allegations against him are back in the news.”

“You’re right. It is.”

She hugged her dog and then pushed herself back to her feet with a little groan. “Well. I was wondering if someone would show up here eventually. When all those reporters were in town a few years ago, I assumed one of them would track me down, but nobody ever did. I guess I should have come forward myself, but I didn’t want to get involved. That probably sounds selfish, but I really didn’t want to see my life put through the ringer.”

“You know what happened?” Stride asked.

“I have suspicions, but that’s all.”

“Please tell us whatever you can,” Serena said.

Kathy Ford turned around and did what Serena had done. She stared at the upstairs bedroom window near the garage. “Did you talk to Adella Oliver?”

“Yes, we were just there,” Stride replied. “She didn’t remember anything.”

“No, she never knew about this. Adella and I were best friends back in school. So funny, all these years later, we’re still in the houses where we grew up. I guess that’s Duluth. Parents die, and the kids move back in. Anyway, when the accusations first came out about Devin a few years ago, Adella asked me if I remembered anything. I lied and said I didn’t.”

Serena waited. She felt her own anxiety soaring, and then she realized. This was a story about assault. This was personal.

“It was August,” Kathy went on. “I don’t even remember the year. I’d been out of school for a while. A whole group of us decided to have a big blowout summer party crawl. Some big concert was in town at the DECC, and we all went there, and then afterward, we spent half the time going from house to house. Drinking. Doing crazy things. I was probably, what, twenty or twenty-one? But there were younger girls with us, too, some of them still in high school. It was a wild, wild night. I remember the party moved over to Adella’s house, but then her parents came home and threw us all out, so we walked over here to my house. My folks were out of town. Not exactly my most mature decision, I’ll say that.”

“How many people were there?” Serena asked.

“Oh, I have no idea. Dozens.”

“What about Devin Card?”

“Yes, Devin was there. Peter, too. Peter Stanhope.”

“You’re sure about that?” Stride asked her.

“Oh, yes. I remember the incident.”

“What incident?”

“Peter was always throwing money around. I mean, you know his family, Jonathan. He had everything. He and Devin were both drunk. Well, we all were. Peter said he’d pay a girl to have sex with him and let the rest of us watch. And he did. It happened right inside on my parents’ sofa. Believe me, I never forgot that.”

“Do you remember who the girl was?” Stride asked quietly.

“I’m not sure I do. Oh, wait, no. Actually, I’m pretty sure it was Denise. Denise Forseth.”

“Adella didn’t mention anything about this,” he said.

“No, like I said, she wasn’t there. Her parents wouldn’t let her go out after they came home and found the party at her place. So she didn’t come with us.”

“What about Devin Card?” Serena asked. “Was he with anyone?”

“Over the course of the night, I’m sure he was with lots of girls. That’s the way Devin was. But I don’t remember anyone specifically.”

Serena hesitated. “I’m sorry, Kathy, but if you don’t know anything about the alleged assault, why did you feel that you should come forward?”

The woman said nothing. She found a grimy chew toy in the grass, and she heaved it toward the back of the house and watched as her dog sprinted to retrieve it. Then she continued softly.

“When the allegations came out about Devin, I... I believed them. It’s not like I could prove he did anything, but I’m pretty sure the woman is telling the truth. And I’m pretty sure the rape happened that night, here at my house.”

“Why do you believe that?” Serena asked.

“I had to clean the house the next day,” she replied. “It was a mess, as you’d expect. I didn’t realize anyone from the party had gone upstairs, but then I went into my parents’ bedroom. I found... I found the door to the balcony wide open. Someone had thrown up in the sink in the bathroom. And I had to wash the sheets from the bed. There was blood on them. And semen, too.”