Page 48 of Husband Missing

Roe Hoyt had had a public defender. Both her attorney and the DA had her examined by medical experts they had chosen themselves. It was common practice for each side to retain their own experts, who would often have differing opinions as to the health and mental state of the defendant. In Roe’s case, the physician for the defense believed she had likely suffered some sort of injury to her brain or a stroke that resulted in aphasia, rendering her unable to speak or write. In addition, she had tremors in her dominant hand which made drawing difficult. A copy of one of her hand-drawn pictures had been included. It was crude. Stick figures, one large and one small. Their heads were misshapen. Her and Lila, perhaps? What was possibly intended to be a rectangle hung over their heads, but it, too, was distorted, as though her hand had jerked violently a couple of times while she drew. There was no way to tell what the shape represented. A roof? Josie wondered what else she had drawn.

According to the report from the doctor her attorney had retained, she was able to follow simple directions which led him to believe she understood language and what was happening around her but could not express herself. Tremor aside, most efforts to get her to communicate via the written word or drawings were impossible given her tendency to attack anyone within striking distance. The defense doctor also believed that the brain injury had impaired her judgment and impulse control, causing her propensity for violence.

Roe’s attorney had tried to have her deemed incompetent to stand trial. He failed.

Evidently, the judge, and later the jury, found the doctor for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania more credible. His report opined that Roe Hoyt’s failure to communicate verbally mayhave been attributable to a head injury but could just as likely be intentional on her part. In terms of her right-hand tremor, he dismissed the notion that it was caused by a head injury. Instead, he diagnosed her with an essential tremor, which was often genetic and developed in perfectly healthy people with no known cause. He stated that her tendency toward violence was a result of her having antisocial personality disorder. He believed she knew exactly what she was doing when she attacked people; that her actions were purposeful and malicious, and that she had no remorse for the harm she inflicted on others.

“Good lord,” Trinity murmured as she scanned the last pages alongside Josie. “Pretty much the only thing they agree on—sort of—is the possibility of a head injury. Are the X-ray reports there?”

Josie found them. “She had an old skull fracture.”

“But they really didn’t know the true extent of the injury.” Trinity lifted Trout up, interrupting his symphony, and deposited him onto Josie’s lap. She retrieved her laptop, doing a quick search. “CT scans and MRIs weren’t available then.”

“Which means the doctors were more or less guessing as to the seriousness of her brain injury and what effect it had on her.”

Trinity put her laptop aside and started riffling through the pages before them. “None of these reports talk about the age of the fracture. Is there a way to tell how old a fracture is?”

“On the skull? I’m sure there is today,” Josie said, searching her tired mind for cases she’d worked wherein Dr. Feist had done exactly that. “Based on the stage of healing, I think, and a doctor’s clinical experience. I’m not sure it’s something that can be pinned down precisely. Were doctors able to do it back when Roe was found? I don’t know.”

“Which means that she could have sustained the fracture a year or ten years before she was discovered.”

Josie understood what Trinity was getting at which was that there was a possibility that Roe hadn’t always had aphasia.

Trinity found the radiology report which didn’t offer much detail. Josie stroked Trout’s side as she went back to the medical reports, rereading. “I wonder what she would have told people if she’d been able to communicate.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“We don’t even know how long she was living out in the woods.” Trinity tossed the radiology report aside. “Shewasliving there, right? If she had six children and she was only twenty-five-ish, does that mean she was living out there since she was a kid?”

“I’m not sure she would have survived if that was the case.” Josie abandoned the medical reports and used both hands to pet Trout’s silky coat. He rewarded her with a contented sigh. “The winters would have killed her, and that’s assuming she would have known how to find food and a reliable water source.”

Trinity frowned. “Maybe she was coming back and forth from somewhere? Or she went to live out there when she was old enough to survive but someone was helping her?”

Another pass through the file and Josie found the crime scene reports and photos. From the exterior, the shack looked like it might have been quaint at one time with its little porch, complete with a built-in bench and an awning that had sagged from age and decay. By the time Roe was discovered, the wood was the color of ash, faded, splintered in some places and warped in others. The inside consisted of a single room with a crumbling stone fireplace. Along the floor were piles of sleeping bags and blankets, some in fairly good shape butmost threadbare, their colors faded. Once removed, they’d been analyzed to see if their origin could be determined. The ones that had tags still on them were sold so widely, there was no way to track down who had purchased them. It appeared that Roe had torn some of them into pieces and tied them together to make a sort of dress for herself.

There were also some camping supplies. A dented green Coleman lantern with no oil to fuel it. Aluminum pans, cups, and battered utensils. Plastic jugs filled with dirty water. A rusty folding shovel that looked like the kind the military used to dig trenches decades ago. Two canteens sporting faded logos from different manufacturers. A thermos. Half a dozen Zippo lighters. A hatchet.

Trinity said, “Did she bring that stuff with her when she went out there or did someone bring it to her?”

“She stole it,” Josie said. “Look at this stuff. It’s mismatched, in bad shape. Torn. Faded. Dented. Rusted. She was on state game land. Lots of hunters and campers frequented the area almost year-round. I think she scavenged campsites for these supplies. Look at these lighters—Zippos. The Zippo Manufacturing Company is in Bradford County. Plenty of locals would have had these on them out in the woods.”

“Okay, she was resourceful,” Trinity said. “And somehow managed not to get caught stealing. But what the hell did she eat? What did she feed little Lila?”

Trinity kept reading through the reports while Josie studied the rest of the photos. Among Roe’s collection was a worn hunting knife she’d used to stab one of the hunters. Apparently, her hand tremor didn’t stop her from trying to kill people. Then again, it probably had the most profound effect on her fine motor skills. Lunging, punching, and other big movements might not have proved as difficult as drawing or writing.

Outside, next to the shack, she had fashioned a crude version of a root cellar and filled it with berries and plants. Nearby was a small ring of stones where she’d had fires. Further from the shack, rudimentary animal traps were found.

“Small game,” Josie said. “Squirrels, rabbits.”

Trinity wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross.”

Near the root cellar, Roe had also constructed a lean-to which she’d fortified with a large piece of canvas that likely came from a tent. The fabric was in bad shape. There was no way to know if the tent had been Roe’s, if someone had given it to her, or if she’d found it in the woods. Given its condition, Josie guessed she’d found it in the woods like everything else. Inside the lean-to were more blankets.

“What did she need that for when she had the shack?” asked Trinity. “Houseguests? Someone helping her? Or was it to be close to the fire in the winter?”

“She had a source of heat in the shack.”

Josie fanned the photos out. Her fingers stilled over a picture of the children’s delicate remains hidden in the floor of the shack. Roe had kept them. She’d had a shovel. It would have been easy enough to bury them. Perhaps no one would have known about them if she had. Except that she was in a remote area of the wilderness. Even if she’d buried them fairly deep, it was almost a given that animals would dig them up. The shack was the place where they were least likely to be disturbed. Nausea swirled in Josie’s stomach.

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