The Madonna of the Frozen Lake

On Sunday mornings, Detective Audrey Jones could be found sipping her morning coffee while reading the newspaper. It may seem strange that she would read a paper copy in the modern age of technology, but she enjoyed the texture of the paper between her fingers. She also liked to sniff them, before they reached their final destination at the bottom of her cat’s litter box. The scent of bacon, eggs, and pancake batter hovered in her kitchen as she poured water into her Keurig to prepare this particular Sunday’s brew. While the coffee pitter pattered into her favorite mug, she admired the view outside her kitchen window. In between the shadows cast by the snow laden pine trees, the rays of the morning sun gave the coating of snow in her backyard a rosy tint. Icicles dripped from the branches of the tree where they refracted the golden rays, causing them to glimmer and glow. “No need for a Christmas tree.” She murmured to her Russian Blue cat as he stretched lazily while ignoring her. Taking her breakfast platter and coffee to the table, she finally glanced at the newspaper. The bold headline read “The Madonna of the Frozen Lake” followed by a forensic facial reconstruction of a young woman who could have been used to adorn the stained-glass windows of any catholic church. Detective Jones snorted as she read the overly embellished story romanticizing the discovery of the woman’s remains. These journalists would stretch any truth if it meant more reads. From what she remembered of the crime scene; the body had been found in a dirty frozen pond off of a bumpy country backroad in the woods, not some frozen lake next to a castle worthy of a princess. Even in death, women weren’t allowed to be ugly.

Monday morning dawned upon her rudely and abruptly. After pressing snooze eight times in a row, and failing yet again to wake up in time for morning yoga, she pulled her unruly mahogany waves into a bun and donned her professional clothing. She checked the time and realized that breakfast was a lost cause. Planning on bumming a donut off of one of the cops, she got into her car and headed to the station. Detective Jones entered the building and had barely sat down at her desk when the police chief’s secretary, Alice, placed a manilla folder in front of her. “Here’s the forensic report for the female body found frozen in the pond last week.” “Also, I figured you might want a breakfast croissant sandwich, they were on special 2 for $5.” She handed her a brown paper bag. “What would I do without my work wife, thanks so much!” Alice laughed as she took the bag and checked the break room for coffee. Returning to her desk, she flicked the manilla folder open and studied its contents. The victim was determined to be a Caucasian female with the cause of death being strangulation. Forensic testing of the body determined she had been dead for over twenty years, but the low temperatures of the region kept her almost perfectly preserved in the frozen pond. Also, frozen within her womb was a four-month-old fetus. Well, this was certainly more dramatic than the newspaper article she thought, mentally apologizing to the journalist she had snorted at. She pushed the brown paper bag away, suddenly she wasn’t very hungry.

Detective Anderson, her partner, was already in the chief’s office when she arrived. “The public is going to be on our ass about solving this homicide.” began the Chief. “We gave the forensic facial reconstruction to the newspapers in hope that someone would recognize the victim, but so far no hits.” “The rest of the evidence is still in forensics. There was an old planner in a purse that was also dumped into the pond, but it has also been sitting in freezing water for twenty years. I doubt we will be able to get much information from it if any.” he concluded. “So, for now we have nothing to work with?” asked Detective Anderson. “That is the case. Start by pulling missing person files from twenty years ago to see if any of them match the forensic facial reconstruction.” replied the Chief. “Okay, we will get started.” said Detective Jones. Both detectives stood up and headed towards the door. “I knew I should have called in sick today.” mumbled Anderson under his breath. Four hours later, Detective Jones agreed with her partner. Sifting through a mountain of old files in hopes of finding a match was tedious work. It took them until the end of the day to look through all the files, but their hard work was not rewarded. As she packed up her things to get ready to go home, she thought longingly of the bottle of wine that was waiting for her in the fridge.

An opaque fog pressed in on all sides of her car as she drove slowly and methodically, mindful of the black ice hiding on the bridge ahead. She had no music playing in her car as she would often opt for silence on long days. The fog seemed to muffle all outside noise to the point where it was starting to unsettle her. As she reached for the radio dial, the high-pitched screech of locked breaks sliced through the silence. With the force of the impact, her car broke through the bridge guardrail, falling into the icy depths of the lake below. Acting quickly, Detective Jones grabbed her emergency tool and broke her window to escape the flooding car. She felt her skin scream in protest of the searing cold water. She kicked towards the surface, but right as she was about to break through the water she met with a barrier. A thick layer of ice was above, preventing her escape. She desperately pounded and clawed with her hands, the numbness beginning to spread through her body. As she lost consciousness, she saw that she was not alone. The missing women from the files were suspended in the water around her, all in sparkling ice coffins. She looked down and saw her body freeze over. She gasped and struggled to break free from the grips of sleep paralysis. She really needed to stop drinking so much wine and watching serial killer documentaries right before bedtime. Chiding herself, she turned to her side and attempted to reclaim her slumber.

Weeks went by with no new breaks in the case, until finally the lab work on the planner found at the crime scene was complete. After withdrawing moisture from the pages, the scientists were able to magnify the paper and use a video spectral comparator to be able to discern what was once written. The victim had a doctor appointment scheduled on one of the pages. The phone number to the clinic was barely visible, but when detectives researched it, they found that the clinic in question was still operating. It was located in a city three hours away. Detective Jones stared at the zip code; she had lived in that area twenty years ago, when she was a mere child and had left six years ago and never looked back. With goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold, she grabbed a jacket and headed towards the car that Detective Anderson was piloting. As the highways became familiar, Detective Jones stared silently out the window. She watched the flakes of snow flurry by, they began to stick and stack onto the land. The familiar skyline against the steel gray sky made its appearance, leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth. They parked their car outside a generic doctor’s office for low-income women.

The clinic waiting room had rows of dilapidated green chairs facing a mounted television which was playing a video about the dangers of smoking while pregnant. The walls were decorated with different posters. Some instructed on child care safety, others on safely surrendering infants. They were ushered into the doctor’s office. Dr. Blythe was able to provide a name of a woman that had an appointment on the date that matched the one written in the planner. However, he was unable to provide a medical record, as the woman had missed her appointment. The name Angela Maddox was followed by a phone number. The phone number lead them to a women’s shelter a few streets away. The shelter did not keep records past seven years, but one of the administrative workers recognized the forensic facial reconstruction. “Yes, I remember Angela.” “She was pretty, and as fiery as her hair.” “Color of copper, with some hazel green eyes.” “Always told her she could have been a movie star, but she had a rough life.” “She grew up in foster care, didn’t have any family to claim her.” “Friends were as troubled as she was.” “She was always in and out of the shelter, when she didn’t come back, we assumed she had finally moved in with that boyfriend she was always talking about.” “Some older man who promised he was going to marry her since she was pregnant with his kid.” “If you ask me though, it sounded like he already had a wife and kids.” Armed with this new information, the detectives called the station to send information to the local police of the city to see if they could find any new leads. They headed back to the station, happy to leave the city behind in the blizzard.

Five months had passed with no new leads. The city police department had found records of Angela Maddox living in foster care and attending school, but no clues as to who the killer could have been. It was the last day of June when Detective Anderson received a phone call from a woman claiming to be one of Angela’s old friends. She informed them that the last time she had talked to Angela, she had asked her for a ride. She gave them the street name where she had left her. “Hey check this out, it’s a new clue for the Angela Maddox case.” said Anderson as he handed her the paper. Detective Jones looked at the street name, a distant memory unlocked. She was 10 years old, peeping from the top of the staircase as her mother answered the door. She didn’t understand what they were talking about, but caught the words “cheating”, “pregnant”, “divorce”, before her mother angrily slammed the door. Right before the door closed, she saw the profile of a woman turning away in a whirl of copper red hair. That night she hid her head under her pillow to drown out the sound of the argument. She remembered hearing the door slam, and watched her daddy’s red truck leave the driveway. He didn’t come home that night. In horror, she stumbled towards the forensics lab, where she lifted her sleeve for a blood withdrawal.