Unravelled

 Frannie gave an annoyed sigh as she pulled the stitches off the knitting needle and began to unravel her work.  Fortunately, she had only done a few rows of the neck band before noticing her mistake.  At this point, it was easier to rip out and start over than it would be to try to unravel only a couple of rows, pick up the stitches, and correct the problem.  Her pattern began at the neck with a knit, purl, knit, purl ribbing for an inch.  She must have become distracted and accidentally done a knit, knit or a purl, purl.  She chastised herself for her lack of focus.

A sitcom was droning on the television, but usually Frannie was able to focus on her knitting.  She used the TV for background noise that made her feel less alone.  Being a widow in a retirement community was a rather solitary existence.  She felt fortunate that she still had adequate vision and coordination to make the yarn travel rapidly on her circular needles.  She always had a project in progress. 

Her grandchildren were too old to care much about handknit sweaters any longer, but she belonged to Knitters Anonymous at her church.  The knitters in this group created sweaters, hats, scarves, arm warmers, and lap robes for various charities.  Frannie contributed as much as anyone.  She often prayed for the person who would receive her handknit item.  She wanted to wrap them in warmth and love…especially the babies and children who would wear her creations.

Frannie was finding it difficult to watch the news on television these days.  There was just too much news of children being harmed.  They were left in hot cars, or abused by the people who should be protecting them, or they turned up missing.  When that happened locally, her cell phone would make a sound that could not be ignored, and an Amber Alert would arrive on the screen.  Frannie decided she must be turning into her mother, who had, as she aged, become agitated by news of children being in peril or harmed.  Her mother had stopped watching the news.  Frannie still watched and grieved over many of the stories.  It made no sense to her that anyone would harm a child.

One of the highlights of the week for Frannie was the get-together with other knitters.  On a Thursday morning, her friend Carol would pick her up and drive her to the church for coffee and conversation.  Knitting was the excuse for the gathering, but it was really much more about the friendship.  Frannie didn’t drive anymore, so she was grateful for a younger friend who was also interesting in knitting and coffee. 

On a September Thursday, Frannie packed up her knitting supplies and waited anxiously at the window of her small home for a sight of Carol’s car.  As it came into view, Frannie locked the door and hurried down the sidewalk as quickly as she dared to move without risking a fall. 

Carol greeted her warmly.  “Good morning, Frannie.  How are you?”

“I’m doing well.  What about you, Carol?”

“I have been really busy getting back in the fall routine.  I’m looking forward to just relaxing this morning.  It will be a relief to sit quietly and visit with friends.”

Frannie thought, “I do too much sitting quietly.”  But she replied, “I love these times to socialize a bit.  So, what project did you bring today, Carol?”

“I’m knitting a sweater for my 10 year-old.  He is really into soccer, and I found a pattern that has a soccer ball design knit right into the sweater.  I’m going to need some help with changing the yarn colors.”

“I’ve done a lot of that,” Frannie replied.  “I’d be happy to help you!”

Some of the ladies in the group routinely knit items with cables or other fancy stitches.  Frannie had a favorite pattern she had used dozens of times.  It only required knitting and purling, but she had made some interesting sweaters by using a variety of colors to create hearts or stars or images of cartoon characters.  That involved drawing or printing the design on graph paper and then following line by line to create the image on the sweater. 

She loved her basic pattern, because it included directions for all sizes and two different weights of yarn.  It was knit from the neck down with the sleeves being created by increases until she was down as far as the underarms.  At that point, the stitches, which would become the sleeves, were placed on stitch holders.  The body of the sweater was completed before going back and knitting the sleeves.  The beauty of the pattern was that there was no need to sew pieces together.  Once the knitting was done, the garment was done except for tucking in loose ends and adding a zipper or buttons if it was a cardigan.  Sometimes she used the directions for a pullover, and then the finishing work was even less.

About a dozen women had gathered at the church.  Men would have been welcome, but no one happened to know any men that knit.  Needles clicked and conversation flowed.  Some ladies shared their knitting mistakes and were reassured by others that they all had made similar errors and shared the frustration of having to pull out several rows and figure out how to pick up the loose stitches or begin again as Frannie recently had done.

 Frannie showed Carol how to avoid holes when changing colors by placing the yarn for the new color under and over the previous yarn color.  Some ladies were proficient enough and doing something simple enough, that they could make great progress and simultaneously carry on conversation.  Others required total focus, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.  The time went by too quickly for Frannie.

On the way back home with Carol, Frannie’s cell phone screeched an alarm.  “Another Amber Alert,” she sighed to Carol.  “A three year-old girl is missing in Lancaster County.”  A wave of nausea washed over Frannie at the thought of a three year-old alone or worse, with someone evil.

The days became cool and the air more crisp.  Time passed quietly for Frannie during September, October, and November.

The time did not pass quietly for Rosie Langston and Pete Kravitz, who were detectives with the state police based in Lancaster County.  The body of three year-old Missy Madden was found in a wooded area by deer hunters.  She had been strangled, but not sexually molested.  Nothing was found at the scene that would help in the investigation.  Examination of her body and clothing yielded some material under her fingernails and one strand of hair that did not belong to her or her mother on her clothing.  These were sent away for DNA analysis.  As they waited for results, they talked with family members, including her distraught mother, neighbors, and friends.  They canvased the area in which her body was found, but no one was able to give them any information.  No one had seen anything suspicious in the vicinity.

The DNA testing of the material under Missy’s fingernails indicated the suspect was a male, and he was in the DNA database.  The problem was that he was believed to be dead.  He had escaped along with a cellmate from an upstate New York prison.  Three years ago, Joe Newcome and Lemuel Josh had broken out of Raybrook together.  It was believed that it was Lemuel Josh’s body that had been found charred in a burned-out cabin in the Adirondack Mountains.  Joe Newcome was never found, and authorities believed he had slipped over the border into Canada.  How did Lemuel’s DNA end up under Missy’s fingernails? Was there a chance that the charred body had been Joe, and Lemuel was on the run and in the area?  Lemuel had been jailed for previous atrocities committed against children, so his guilt in Missy’s murder would have made sense.

The analysis of the hair took longer.  Rosie and Pete wondered if it would net anything, but new techniques did often come up with possibilities even when the root was not on the strand of hair.   Eventually they learned that the hair DNA was that of a female, but she was not in the criminal database. 

“So” Rosie asked, “What do you want to do now?  Do we try to track down this female?  We have no leads as to the whereabouts of Lemuel.  If we could find the female, maybe she is an accomplice, and we could get to him through her.”

Pete paused a bit before responding, “It’s a long shot, but we could try to get the identity of the woman through one of the commercial databases.  Lots of people these days are spitting into tubes and entering their information into Ancestry.  We’re getting nowhere anyway.”

Frannie spent Thanksgiving at the Community Center in her housing complex enjoying a typical turkey dinner with all of the usual side dishes and a choice of pumpkin or pecan pie.  Frannie loved pumpkin pie and enjoyed every bite.  What she enjoyed even more than the food was the chance to be out among friends for companionship.  The knitting group at her church had been cancelled this week but having the holiday meal with a congenial group made up for that loss. The volunteer servers at the community meal were teens from a nearby church.  Frannie was thrilled by the chance to interact with young people.  She was looking forward to Christmas as her grandson Will was planning to visit for a few days between Christmas and New Years.

On the Monday after Thanksgiving, Frannie sat on the sofa with the TV on as usual and her latest project humming along row by row.  This sweater was for a baby.  She had already completed the cap.  The sweater was in a variegated yarn with the neck band, button band, bottom edge and cuffs in a solid coordinating color.  She was sure she would complete it this week…perhaps even in time to take it to the Knitters Anonymous donation box later this week.

Her concentration was broken by the doorbell ringing.  She was not expecting anyone.  She peered out through the peephole in the door.  She could see two well dressed individuals…a man and a woman.  Although they looked pleasant enough, she opened the door with the chain in place.

“Good morning, Mrs. LaRoux.  I am Detective Langston and this is my partner Detective Kravitz,” said the woman as each held up an ID badge.  “May we come in and talk with you?”

“Of course,” said Frannie as she removed the chain and opened the door.  She led them into her living room and pointed to two chairs opposite the sofa on which she had been seated.

“How can I help you?”  Frannie couldn’t think of a single way in which she could help them as she knew nothing about any crime, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

Rosie and Pete had discussed previously what their approach should be.  The DNA match they had received was for this elderly woman.  She seemed an unlikely person to be involved in the murder of a young child.   They had agreed that an initial meeting with her should be low key…no pressure…this time.

Rosie began, “You have a lovely home here.  Do you enjoy living in this community?”

Frannie nodded, “Yes, it is very pleasant.”

“Do you have friends here?”

“Oh, yes.  I also have friends at my church.”

“That’s nice,” Pete said and then continued, “Do you happen to know someone named Lemuel Josh?  A friend, a relative, perhaps someone goes to your church or who works here in the community?”

Frannie thought for a moment.  “I don’t know anyone by that name.  Should I?”

Rosie responded, “We thought you might.”

“Well,” said Frannie, “I don’t know all of the people who work here in the complex.  There are people who do lawn care, and now that winter is coming, there will be people who sand and salt the sidewalks or do snow removal.  I certainly don’t know all their names.  I suppose there might be a Lemuel Josh that works here.  Lemuel isn’t a common name though…so I think I would remember if I had heard it.”

Pete inquired, “Mrs. LaRoux, do you know the name Missy Madden?”

“That sounds vaguely familiar.”

Rosie looked intently at Frannie.  “She was a three-year-old who went missing and whose body was later found in a wooded area.”

A look of incredible sadness swept over Frannie face.  “Oh, I receive Amber Alerts.  I must have seen one about her on my phone.  I didn’t know the outcome of that.  It makes me sick to think about it.”

Pete and Rosie both noticed the change in Frannie’s facial expression, but neither knew how to interpret it.

“Are you sure you have never met Missy or her family?” Rosie asked gently.

“No, no.”  Frannie voice was shaky as she replied.

Rosie and Pete stood to leave, “Thanks anyway, Mrs. LaRoux.  We can see ourselves out.”

Frannie followed them, locked the door, and put the chain back in place.

“How odd,” she thought. “I wonder who Lemuel Josh is and why the police are interested in him.  I certainly don’t know.  Why did they think I might know him?  I should have asked that question.  And, oh, that poor little girl.  I suppose that was on the news sometime when I had the volume turned low.  It hurts my heart to think about it.”

Back in the car, Rosie and Pete discussed the encounter. 

“She seems genuine,” Rosie remarked.

“Yeah, but her hair was on the kid’s clothing.  How do you explain that?” grunted Pete.

“I don’t know, but let’s give it a few days and take another run at her.  We can keep an eye on her and see if she tries to contact Lemuel.”

Over the next two weeks, Frannie had a feeling that something was wrong.  It was almost a feeling of impending doom, but she shook it off.  “Don’t be a foolish old woman,” she chided herself.  She lifted her mood by thinking of past Christmases…the happy times with her children, the excitement on Christmas mornings.  She got out a few decorations, so her home would look festive when Will arrived.

When the two detectives showed up again, she quickly invited them in and offered them tea or coffee.  It was nice to see someone and have them see her decorations.

They declined the beverage offer and seemed less friendly this time.  They asked again about that guy named Lemuel.  She felt they didn’t want to believe that she didn’t know him.  Again, they mentioned Missy.

She inquired, “Is there some connection between Mr. Josh and Missy Madden?”

Rosie and Pete exchanged glances.

“You mean you don’t know?”  Pete said, “I would have thought you would be curious after our last visit and try to find out on your own.”  He paused.  “Unless you already knew.”

Frannie puzzled over this.  “I do not follow news closely.  I try to avoid details on children who have been harmed, because it upsets me so.”

“Really?” said Rosie. “So you didn’t know that Lemuel Josh was a suspect in Missy Madden’s murder?”

Frannie’s voice shook as she replied, “Why on earth would you think I would know anything about this?  I have already told you I don’t know that man, and I don’t know Missy or anyone in her family.”

Pete’s voice was harsh. “So you have no explanation for why your DNA was on the body along with Lemuel Josh’s?”

“My DNA!?”  Frannie choked back tears.  She felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.  She finally regained her composure enough to ask Pete and Rosie to leave.  She sat in her chair shaking as they showed themselves out.  It took her thirty minutes before she felt strong enough to stand up.

The idea that she was involved somehow in a child’s death pretty much spoiled Christmas for her.  The lights twinkled on her small tree, but she didn’t see beauty as she normally would have. She attended the Christmas eve service at her church and did her best to enjoy the carols, but there was a heavy feeling in her core.

Frannie’s son and daughter called on Christmas Day.  They later talked to each other and warned Will that something seemed wrong with Grandma.  Perhaps he could try to find out when he visited.

When Will arrived and hugged her, Frannie began to cry.

“Oh, Grandma, what’s wrong?”

He walked her over to the sofa, carefully moved the ever-present knitting project, and sat down with his arm around her.

Frannie had not told anyone else about the detectives’ visits and seeming accusations, so telling Will was very emotional for her.  She would say a few words and then sob before saying anything more.  Eventually, she was able to describe both visits.

 Will was dumbfounded.  How could anyone think this sweet and frail old lady was involved in anything so horrible?  After Grandma was in bed and sleeping, he got online and began to read whatever he could find on the Missy Madden case.  Will, as it happened, was a law student.  He had no intention of being a criminal lawyer, but the case interested him because of poor Grandma.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Will inquired, “Grandma, would you mind if I called those detectives and asked some questions?”

“Do you think it will help the situation?”

Will thought before responding, “I don’t think it can hurt.”

Will did not like to see his grandmother in her current emotional state.  He was determined not to leave her until there was some explanation and resolution.

On their way to see Frannie and Will, Pete and Rosie discussed their surprise at hearing from her grandson.  Did he know something about his grandma that they hadn’t discovered?

Will met the detectives at the door and ushered them into Frannie’s living room.  She was already seated on the sofa with her knitting in her lap, although she felt like it was a prop at this point in her life.  She often held her project without knitting a single stitch.  She simply couldn’t focus.

Pete and Rosie were somewhat amused by the fact that Will took charge of the conversation.  After minimal pleasantries, he began, “I understand that you have been here twice asking my grandmother questions about a case involving a murdered child.  You are claiming that her DNA was found on the child, and that has led you to believe she was involved in this horrible situation.  I know my grandma, and I know she is incapable of harming a child.  We need to figure out whether there is a mistake in the DNA, because you are mistaken about her involvement.”

“Well, there isn’t much doubt about the DNA,” said Rosie.

“Where was the DNA?” asked Will.

“I don’t think we need to tell you that,” replied Pete.

“Are you going to make me hire a lawyer for Grandma?  You certainly can’t tell me it was under the child’s fingernails, can you?”

“No.”

“Well then, where?  On her clothing?”

“Yes.”

Will continued, “Do you have a picture of the clothing where it was found?”

Once again, Pete hedged.  “I don’t think I need to show you that.”

“If you charge my grandmother with something, you are going to have to reveal that, so how about, you do it now.”

“uh…it was on a sweater.”

Will held his breath for a second.  “Do you have a picture of the sweater.”

Rosie pulled out her cell phone and took a few swipes.  She turned the screen for Will to see.

 Frannie gasped and began to sob.  She reached to the shelf under the coffee table in front of the sofa and retrieved a small photo book.  She flipped through the pages.  Finding what she was looking for, she turned the book toward Pete and Rosie.

Between sobs, she managed to get out, “I keep a photo of every sweater I knit and give away through Knitters Anonymous.  I knit that sweater.”

The room was silent for nearly a minute as the old clock on the bookcase ticked off the seconds.

Finally, Will spoke, “If a hair belonging to Grandma was found on that sweater, it was because it fell out while she was knitting and ended up caught in the stitches.  She never knows to whom the sweater is donated.  I’m betting if you ask Missy’s mother where she got the sweater, you will find she got it from a charity to which Knitter’s Anonymous donates.  Grandma is telling you the truth when she says she does not know Missy or Mr. Josh.  Just the suggestion of her involvement has been terribly upsetting to her.”

Rosie and Pete nodded and mumbled some apologies.  Rosie promised they would follow up with Missy’s mother as to the origin of the sweater.  In the car, they sighed as they realized they had to go back to the beginning in this case.  What they thought was a lead with Frannie had turned out to be a dead end.

After seeing the detectives out, Will returned to the sofa and put his arm around GramFran.  He had come up with that pet name for her when he was a toddler.  She sank into his shoulder and cried quietly.

“Oh, Grandma, why are you crying?  It’s over.  They won’t trouble you anymore.”

“Dear Will, thank you so much for your help.  I don’t know if I am crying in relief or in great sadness.”

“Why would you be sad?”

“When I knit those sweaters, I try to put love into them.  I want the child who wears one of my sweaters to feel something more than physical warmth.  I want them to feel as though someone cares for them.  It breaks my heart that harm came to a child I was trying to wrap in love.  Someone evil touched the sweater and the child who was wearing it.”

Will could feel Frannie trembling, and he held her tighter.

Frannie continued, “There is so much evil in this world.  I pray every day that you and your sister and my other grandkids will be protected from evil people.  I pray that even if some of you want to put yourself in harm’s way, God will build a wall around you and not let evil people touch you.  But the world is full of children who are in harm’s way…who live with or near evil people…it makes me so sad.  I can hardly bear it.”

Will did not know what to say.  He just held his GramFran. 

Soon it was time for supper.  Will would be leaving the next day.  They went out to eat and had a wonderfully pleasant evening together.  Will thought surely it had taken Grandma’s mind off her concerns.  Before he went to bed that night, he called his Dad and his Dad’s sister Sally.  He told each of them about what their mom had been through in the past few weeks, and that it was resolved.

In the morning, Grandma was up early to fix a good breakfast for Will.  She knew he liked blueberry pancakes.  He lingered at the table in his pajamas regaling her with stories about his quirky professors and friends and adventures at school.  As he excused himself to shower, shave and pack his suitcase, Frannie went to the living room and picked up her knitting.

When he reappeared with his suitcase in hand, he found her sitting on the sofa holding her knitting.  She was motionless.  He knew instantly from her color that she was gone.

Will tapped his father’s number in the contact list on his phone.  He choked a bit as he said, “Dad, Grandma decided she had had enough of this world and the pain it causes.  She checked out and went to a place where there is no evil.”

After talking with his Dad, he called 911.  While he waited for someone to arrive, he went over to Frannie and wiped away the last tear that had trickled down her cheek.