Chapter 15
My lips part in astonishment, but other than that, I’m frozen in place. It takes a few seconds to grasp what she’s said, and even then, it’s almost too slippery to hold on to.
Next to me, Logan shifts in his seat, clearly stunned as well.
“I’m sorry I never told anyone when it happened,” Riley continues, her eyes now brimming with tears.
“I was an English major, like Melanie, and I even knew her from a class, and I should have come forward right away. But my parents, they’re evangelical Christians.
They think that sex before marriage, no matter how it happens, is wrong, and I knew that if I told them I’d been raped, they would never treat me the same way after that. ”
What she’s just shared is wretched and heartbreaking, but I’m still struggling to make total sense of it.
“And this happened in Cartersville?” Logan asks, his voice still gentle.
“Yes, in Mohegan Park,” she says. “I was on the field hockey team at Carter, and I used to train by running there after dinner.”
“Mohegan is about a mile and a half north of Pebble Creek Park,” Halligan interjects. “But along the same creek.”
So, we’re talking about a place very close to where Mel was killed. Only two nights later. This could shift everything we’ve been thinking since first talking to Halligan—if her attacker is who she says he is.
“Thank you so much for sharing this, Riley,” I say. My own voice, I realize, is wobbly, too. “And I’m sorry this terrible thing happened to you. Can you just tell us how you know for sure it was Calvin Ruck?”
“I recognized him from the picture in the paper after he was arrested.”
“And it was definitely that Sunday?” I ask. If it was later than that, it couldn’t have been Ruck because cell data showed he was back in Plattsburgh by Monday evening.
Her eyes flicker nervously for a moment. This is obviously agonizing for her to relive.
“Yes, I’m positive,” she says. “Like I said, I’m so sorry to have waited until now. After it happened, I kept telling myself I needed to come forward, but once he was arrested, it didn’t seem necessary anymore. The news said there was plenty of evidence against him.”
Riley blinks away a few tears, and her attorney passes a tissue, which she uses to dab at her eyes.
She’s clearly hurting badly. There’s that fearful, almost haunted look in her eyes—blue, I realize now—and her shoulders have the defeated slope of someone who’s suffered for years. But something feels funny to me.
“So, you must have gotten a good look at him,” Logan says.
“Yes. It was dark, but I saw him . . . I talked to him.”
“Riley,” Halligan says, “can you please share some of the details about that night, starting from the beginning? I know Bree and Logan would appreciate any information you’re able to pass along.”
Riley glances quickly at Hilary Brown, who nods encouragement.
“Like I mentioned,” she says, “I was running in the park and this man stopped me. He had a dog leash in his hand, and he said his dog had run off and he wondered if I’d seen her.”
My heart pitches forward. Eight years ago, the police theorized that Ruck might have used the leash not only as a murder weapon but also as a way to approach potential victims in an unthreatening manner, claiming to be looking for a lost pet.
“After I told him I’d keep an eye out for the dog,” she adds, “I started to run again, and out of nowhere I felt this crushing pain on the back of my head. He’d hit me with something hard, something metal, I think, that he must have had in his backpack.
I fell, and . . . oh God, he dragged me off the path, onto one of the picnic tables under the trees, and that’s when he raped me. And while he was doing it, he—”
She lowers her face into her hands, breathing hard, and then, after a few seconds, looks up again.
“He wrapped something around my neck—the leash, I think—and pulled it so tight that I passed out, and after, I guess, only a few seconds, he loosened it until I came to, and then he did it all over again.”
For a second, I worry I’m going to wail in anguish. The story is not only horrifying but also Mel’s story, too: a blow to the head, being strangled repeatedly . . .
Riley herself is gasping for air at this point.
“Do you need a short break, Riley?” Halligan asks.
“No, no, I’m okay,” she says after taking a longer breath.
“And then somehow, thank goodness, you got away,” I say.
“It was just luck. I kicked at him and managed to hit his testicles, and when he bent over, I had enough time to slide off the table and run. My shorts were still below my knees so I could barely move, and he was never very far behind me, calling me a fucking bitch.
“When I got to the edge of the creek, I could tell he was about to catch me, so I just threw myself in. The water was moving really fast, and I ended up being carried away by the current.”
She takes another breath and exhales a ragged gust. “I thought I was going to drown. My shorts were still down, but I managed to get them back up, and the leash off me, too, and somehow, I kept my head above water. Then finally, maybe a mile away, I was able to paddle to the shore and scramble up. I was sure he was going to come after me, but there was no sign of him. My phone was gone—I think in the creek—but I got to a road and flagged down a driver. It was this older woman, who dropped me back at my apartment.”
The attorney lays her hand supportively over Riley’s. For a few moments the room is completely silent.
“Thank you, Riley,” Halligan says. “That must have been very hard, but I know how grateful Melanie’s parents must be.”
“We are,” Logan assures her. “And if you don’t mind, I have one more question. First, please know that I’m not blaming you in any way, but I’m curious. Hadn’t you heard that a girl from the college had been murdered in an area park that weekend?”
Exactly. How could she have had the nerve to go running by herself?
Riley clears her throat. “Yes, but people said the cops were talking to Melanie’s ex-boyfriend and he probably did it. That he wanted to get back together and was mad because she didn’t want to.”
Her shoulders sag even more, and she brushes fresh tears from her eyes.
“If that’s all, I think it’s finally time to give Riley a break,” the attorney announces.
“Please, Riley, I have a question, too,” I say, “and then I swear we’ll let you go. Are we the only ones who know all this?”
Because I’m bothered by something I can’t put my finger on and I could use corroboration. I’d settle for anything, even an eight-year-old diary entry of hers.
Riley shakes her head. “No, my fiancé knows about it. I told him when we started to get serious. And my gynecologist knows now, too.”
“What about the woman who drove you home that Sunday night?” I say.
And then, oddly, her eyes flicker again.
“I never got her name,” she replies. “And all I told her was that I’d been running along the creek and accidentally stumbled in.”
“And you didn’t speak to anyone else back then? A school friend, a relative other than your par—”
“I believe that’s enough,” the lawyer interjects.
“No, that’s all right,” Riley says. “There was someone, yes.”
“Okay,” I say expectantly, and squeeze my hands together, warning myself not to pounce.
“Her name’s Morgan Kroll, and she was a teaching assistant for the Carter English department. I went by there the next morning and ended up telling her everything.”
Halligan has a pad and pen in front of him, but he’s not writing anything, which makes me think he’s already been given this information.
“She really wanted me to go to the police,” Riley adds, “but I told her I couldn’t, and I pleaded with her not to say anything. A few weeks later I decided to drop out of school. All my parents knew was that I was having a mental health crisis, and even that pissed them off.”
The room goes briefly still again. And then Halligan is rising, signaling we are indeed finally done. He tells the two women that he wants to see us out, but that he’ll be back momentarily. I thank Riley for her honesty, and so does Logan, and then we both rise from the table.
As tragic as the story is, I should be relieved by it. But there’s an even bigger pit in my stomach than the one I arrived with.