The Nutty Putty Cave Incident

I read about the Nutty Putty cave incident years ago. Where these cave divers went inside this tiny cave in the ground, and one of them got stuck. And so much effort went into saving this guy, and he ended up dying anyway. Back then, I thought it was so stupid. I thought it was the height of idiocy for someone to get into a whole in the ground, risking their lives and the lives of others for no good reason.

And now years later I realize I owe the cave diving community a huge apology.

My father was a killer. This was a truth that I lived for more than a decade, that I was a daughter of both a murderer, and the murdered.

“You guys don’t go on hikes.” I had told Dad through the glass partition. Grandma had driven me to the prison, albeit reluctantly. She wanted me nowhere near the man

“It was your mother’s idea. She thought…she thought I wasn’t getting enough exercise. She thought we could go on hikes together. Get me walking around. Reconnect with nature.”

He was the prime suspect, as the spouse usually is. His wife made him go on a hike and he didn’t want to. Men have killed their wives for far less.

Mom was obsessed with being thin. Grandma put that in her head. That being skinny was always better.

They both hated it when Dad started gaining weight.

“I never hurt her,” Dad had said back then. “Rachel loved hiking. I didn’t. I was hot, itchy, and sweaty and had all I could take. I told her to go on her own while I sat on a rock and caught my breath.”

“They said you were cheating on her.”

“It was a complicated situation. Your mother and I were growing apart. We…I wasn’t the man she married. And she…and I always saw her disappointment. The other woman is just someone I texted. Someone who understood. And I listened to her problems. Nothing more. We were just friends.”

Dad had clenched his fists, tears leaking from his eyes. “Your mother’s family never liked me. Your grandmother hated me. I could never give her the life I promised her. Neither of us were happy. But we wanted to stay together. For you. I swear to you Becky, I didn’t kill her.”

But Mom never came back.

Everyone said it was him. They searched the entire trail. And he was the only suspect. The husband always is. I almost believed him. But he confessed. Why would he confess if he didn’t do it?

And even if that were true, he was supposed to protect her. He was her husband. He was supposed to take care of her. Look after her. Grandma always said he never took care of her right.

Ten years took a lot from me.

I don’t remember how her voice sounded. Or how she smelled. I don’t remember any of that about dad either. But I tried to purge everything in my mind about him. He killed her after all. He didn’t deserve to be remembered.

I learned years later that he tried to contact me. But Grandma wouldn’t let him.

That made me feel…conflicted. I’m twenty-five now. I could always see him. And it’s not like Grandma can say anything. She couldn’t talk after the stroke.

But how do you approach your mother’s killer?

When the lead detective said he wanted to meet with me, I had no idea what to expect. If they finally found her body after a decade, I’d have to arrange for her burial. Grandma took care of all that before, when we put an empty coffin in the grave.

It was just me and Grandma. She couldn’t live on her own. And I didn’t have anyone else. Trusting others had become difficult for me. Most people wouldn’t have known what happened to my family. It’s not like it made national headlines.

Nevertheless, it’s a shame I wore every day.

I pushed the thoughts of my parents out of my head as I heard shuffling outside.

Detective Davis stood, finger hovered above the doorbell. He jumped, startled as I opened the door. More grey populated his head. He was a young detective then. I suppose the years were hard on him.

I attempted a smile, but it just came out stiff. The detective wasn’t part of a happy point of my life.

He glanced briefly at my face, then quickly drifted downward.

“Please, come in,” I said. Grandma had taught me manners.

“Rebecca, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Have you found my mother’s body?” I asked as we settled in my living room.

He clasped his hands, sitting slouched. He’d been an impressive figure ten years ago. At fifteen, if my circumstances were different, I might have had a silly schoolgirl’s crush on him. What had made him seem pathetic? So defeated?

Finally, he looked. “Yes. We found your mother’s body. She was discovered by cave divers.”

“Cave divers?”

“Near the trail where your father said she disappeared. There’s a cave with a very small entrance on the ground.”

“So he killed her, and he stuffed her in that cave?” I chewed on my lip. I tried to picture it, but just couldn’t. I had built up this monster up in my head, but even then…that seemed so physical, and Dad hated physical activity.

“Rebecca…the medical examiner found no sign of foul play. She likely just fell in, and because she was upside-down, she passed out. She would have died rather painlessly, completely unaware.”

“What are you saying? What about Dad? He confessed.”

My heart raced and bile burned at the back of my throat.

“The prosecutor offered him a plea deal. Confess and only serve ten years or less. If it went to trial, he could have faced life.”

“How. How could you have missed this?” I wanted to scream, to shout, but Grandma raised me with manners. I tasted blood in my mouth.

Detective Davis just looked away. He wiped away tears.

“No. Stop that. You ruined my life. You don’t get tears. Answer me. How did you miss this?”

“I’ve made a terrible mistake. I insisted on coming here, telling you myself.”

I needed this pathetic man out of my house. I would deal with making the police department face retribution later.

“When will you be releasing my father?”

A puzzled expression came across the man’s face. “Releasing…Rebecca, didn’t you know? Your father died. Three years into his sentence. He had an aggressive form of colon cancer.”

“Colon…what?”

“Your grandmother didn’t tell you?”

I sucked in a breath. Of course she kept it from me. Dad was right. Grandma really did hate him.

“Get out. Get out of my house now.” It was almost comical how the man nearly tripped over his feet, rushing out of the house. It was just as well. I would have killed him if he stayed any longer.

Those cave divers weren’t just fool hardy, irresponsible, thrill seekers. They made it their business to find every hole, every trap on earth. So if someone ever falls in, they know how to get them out.

Ninety percent of world’s caves are undiscovered, sometimes just tiny entrances in the ground.

If they had just found that one. Explored that one fissure in the ground, it would have made all the difference.

Maybe we could have avoided an incompetant police department who refused to do their job.

Instead, my mother sat rotting away in a hole while we destroyed my father.

Grandma, that twisted old woman, lying drooling upstairs, robbed me of my time with him.

And I just let it happen.