“I’ve been waiting for the coroner’s report on her parents for months,” Linda acknowledged with slight irritation.
“You no doubt already know she was abandoned at birth. Mr. and Mrs. Watts were heavy smokers, and the fire investigation determined the blaze started in a wastebasket. The search also concluded the wastebasket was full of paper, accelerating the fire. It spread quickly, and the panicked barking of the family dog is what woke Pamela. I know it’s speculation, but I have always believed that this was a double suicide.”
Linda stared at the old nun. “Why do you say that, Sister?”
“For several reasons. First, there’s the fact the Wattses were in financial trouble. They were filing for bankruptcy because their antique store was failing. Second, there was a reason a fiercely barking dog didn’t wake her parents. Not only was their bedroom door locked, but during the autopsies, toxicology screens found significant quantities of Valium and Librium in both their systems. The parents had prescriptions. Mr. and Mrs. Watts were already dead when the house caught fire. And third, they had a large life insurance policy with Pamela as the beneficiary. I’ve witnessed how extreme stress can lead people to do something horrible because they believe it’s the right thing to end their problems. By killing themselves, they would at least leave their daughter well off.” Monica folded thick arms across her desk. “You should also know that Pamela tried to save her parents.”
Linda was incredulous but put on her best poker face. “That would be an entirely different story. How do you know this?”
“She had burns on both her hands from trying to open the bedroom door, which had a metal knob. The fire was getting too hot, leaving her no choice but to flee. By the time Pamela was thirteen, she had endured unimaginable trauma. No one deserves that.”
Linda struggled to keep her composure. As a nun, Sister Monica clearly wanted to see the best in everyone. Linda kept returning to the presence of substantial amounts of prescription drugs in the victims’ systems in both the Hansen and Watts cases. That meant the fire might not have been an accident. “Can I see the coroner’s report?” she asked, her voice growing hoarse.
Sister Monica handed the file over, and as Linda fumbled through the pages, she realized her throat was very parched. “Could I have some water, please?”
“Certainly.” Sister Monica rose and went to fetch a cup and water.
This woman murdered her children, her husband, and her parents. Rev. Patterson would have become a victim, too.
“Here you are, dear.” Sister set the Styrofoam cup on her desk.
Drinking the cool water in one gulp, Linda fixated on Sister Monica’s deeply lined face. “You’re right. What happened to Pamela must have been unbearable. What other details can you tell me?”
Sister Monica shuffled folders across her desk before she found what she was looking for. “I read over Pamela’s file to refresh my memory. Catholic Charities is here to aid children in need, and Pamela was clearly that, but we had a challenging time placing her, which only made her feel more unwanted. She frequently acted out, usually fighting with the biological children. When she was brought back to Catholic Charities, Pamela was devastated and became withdrawn and inhibited. The rejections were extremely hard on her. Pamela loved to read, and I think those fantasy worlds made her feel safe.”
“Do you recall specific examples that would make multiple families choose not to adopt her?”
Monica searched for another file. “There was a horrific incident with the Anderson family.”
Linda jotted the name “Anderson” on the page. “That’s a pretty common name—”
“But their story involving Pamela isn’t,” she said, sliding the open folder across the desk. “In most cases, the foster family contacts us and says, ‘This isn’t working out,’ and the agency sends a social worker to pick up the child and so forth. In this case, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson brought Pamela to Catholic Charities with her bags packed. They dropped her off, saying they had reached their limit and didn’t want this child in their home any longer.”
Even with all of her police experience, the idea that a child so terrified her foster family that they brought her back was chilling. “The Andersons were afraid of Pamela?”
Monica followed the text with her index finger. “‘Fearful for their safety,’ the parents said. It’s all here—the Andersons’ Labrador had recently given birth to a litter of puppies. The parents claimed Pamela didn’t appreciate the competition for attention from the pups and drowned them. I remember how upset Pamela was, and frankly, I never believed the story. It makes no sense that Pamela’s life was saved by her pet dog, and then she drowns puppies? No. She kept saying that the Anderson children were lying and blaming her for an act perpetrated by the sister, Louise.”
Sister has a point, Linda thought. Still . . . She nodded at Monica. “How old was she?”
“Fifteen.”
Linda made additional notes on her pad. “Pamela had to receive some type of mental health counseling.”
“That’s in her medical records—here.” Sister Monica flipped open another file. “She saw one of our psychiatrists, Dr. Bennett, who was worried about Pamela’s mental state. It says that when Dr. Bennett asked Pamela if she drowned the puppies, she replied, ‘Louise did it because she didn’t like me.’” The nun glanced over her desk at Linda. “Catholic Charities didn’t provide the kind of in-depth therapy for children that we do today, so Pamela obviously didn’t get the care she needed. That girl never had a chance.”
“Catholic Charities seems to have let Pamela fall through the cracks,” Linda remarked.
Sister Monica peered at Linda over the top of her glasses. “I disagree. Instead of continuing to place Pamela and risking further rejection, the board voted to keep her here with other foster children until she turned eighteen. She did make friends with some of the kids, and we enrolled her in one of our schools. Pamela was very bright and graduated from high school near the top of her class.”
Linda paged through her own file. “Pamela has a criminal history, unfortunately. She was convicted of check forgery and sent to the Shakopee Corrections Facility. However, she volunteered as a tutor to help other inmates obtain their GED.”
Sister Monica overturned another pile of folders. “I am sorry to hear that. But I’m not surprised she tried to help fellow women obtain their degrees. As I said, she was a voracious reader and loved learning. She tutored other kids during high school.” Sister abruptly changed topics. “You mentioned photos. You may have something more recent, but here’s a picture.”
The detective sat up straight in her chair and accepted the dull photo of a plump teenage girl with pale alabaster skin, ginger hair, and a mole above her right upper lip. Linda could barely detect the dark spot on Pamela’s right ear. Unlike the stark mug shot showing a sullen young woman, with a prominent nose, platinum hair streaked with black, dark roots visible, this girl was smiling into the camera. “Along with duplicates of the files, I need a copy of this picture, too.”
“Sure.” Sister Monica scribbled a note on a Post-it. “You’ve got the subpoena, and I thought you’d need one.”