Authors: Stacy Dittrich
I didn’t keep my word about never returning to Mary Jane’s Grave. My intentions were good, but I couldn’t resist. I knew it wasn’t necessary for me to be at the exhumation of Mary Jane and Ezra, but I had to see.
Usually, a court-ordered exhumation requires the body is placed back in the grave within forty-eight hours. In this case, the judge gave seventy- two hours because Mary Jane and her son would not be going back under the tree. Amazingly, as the story got out to the media, residents throughout the county called for a proper burial of the two and contributed thousands of dollars. A new headstone was purchased, one that would include all residents of the cemetery, including Mary Jane and Ezra. She would be placed next to her sister, Sophia.
Curiosity being as it was, researchers and anthropologists from all over the state converged on the cemetery that morning at seven A.M. None had ever opened a grave more than fifty years old, with the exception of one anthropologist from Kent State University who had helped unearth mummies in Jordan.
Before the dig began, the police chaplain spoke a few words in memory of Mary Jane and her son. Afterward, a backhoe moved in to clear the first foot or so of dirt. Even if Randall and the others hadn’t buried Mary Jane and Ezra very deep back then, the bodies surely would’ve sunk farther into the earth by now. Several of the researchers told everyone not to get their hopes up. Since neither Mary Jane nor her son was buried in a casket, chances were, nothing would be found, not even bone.
The rest of the digging was done with shovels so as not to disturb any remains. Two to three feet down the ground becomes nothing but thick clay, hard to dig through.
It was late afternoon before any remains were retrieved. One of the researchers dug up a piece of yellow bone about the size of a twelve-inch ruler. After that, it was like a gold mine. Numerous teeth were found, which caused everyone to give one another high fives. Teeth retain DNA much longer than other bone, so these could be tested against DNA taken from Martin Drake. The last piece found was a small yellow, cuplike piece of bone, about half the size of someone’s palm. Some of the anthropologists speculated it was more than likely part of Ezra’s skull, but it was too early to be sure.
The dig was successful. A normal person wouldn’t think so; all the remains, small pieces of yellow bone, could easily fit into a shoe box. There wasn’t enough to find out how they died, but there was plenty to confirm who they were and give them a proper burial. Since murder has no statute of limitations, the homicide of Mary Jane Hendrickson and Ezra Hendrickson had to be written up as a legitimate, solved murder case with no arrests due to the suspects’ deaths. The historical aspect of the case had people fascinated everywhere.
Martin Drake was found incompetent to stand trial. He was remanded to the Ohio State Psychiatric Hospital in Massillon indefinitely. He was now the sole survivor of the Hendrickson family.
More than one hundred people attended the funeral of Mary Jane Hendrickson and Ezra. The flowers, balloons and teddy bears laid at their tombstones were phenomenal. News stations broadcast most of it.
If there was a small problem of people trespassing at the grave before the murder case, the problem now grew into epic proportions. Every weekend hundreds of curious tourists, teenagers and ghost watchers rained down on the cemetery. Half the manpower of the police department was used consistently to run everyone out. The township erected steel gates with padlocks where the dirt road began back to the cemetery. Family members complained it was unlawful because they weren’t able to gain access to deceased relatives, and they filed a lawsuit. The court ruled the cemetery must be accessible to the public from dusk till dawn, so the township got creative.
They met with the historical society from Malabar Farm that put on weekend “Ghost Haunts” that led groups to the Ceely Rose house. They were thrilled to add Mary Jane’s Grave to the tour so they could tell the real story. In doing this, the township got a percentage of the admission fees. There were designated nights and times for the haunts that the township agreed to allow the tours into the cemetery. This basically satisfied the curiosity of the public. They could now visit both the Ceely Rose house and Mary Jane’s Grave lawfully. Of course, there were still the few stragglers who went down to the grave once in a while, but it wasn’t any different than before the murders.
Several weeks after the burial of Mary Jane and Ezra, I was served court papers naming me as the primary defendant in a federal lawsuit filed by the family of Meghan Dearth. They also named the Cincinnati Police Department, Simone Vardona and the Richland Metropolitan Police Department. The case was thrown out in the first pretrial hearing.
A month after the case was officially closed, I was standing in the entrance of the Hidden Hollow Camp lodge. The lodge stood on one of the highest hills in the county and overlooked all the others. The view was breathtaking. Mary Jane’s Grave sat at the foot of it, deep in the woods. I was deep in thought when I felt a small hand grab mine. I looked down and saw Sean, looking ever the gentleman in his little tuxedo. He looked terrified.
“Sean, honey, what’s wrong?”
“What if I make you fall down when I’m walking with you?” The strain on his face intensified.
I laughed. “Honey, if I fall, it’ll be my own doing, not from you.” I squeezed his hand as the music began. “Are you ready?”
He nodded. Sean and I made the slow, short walk into the lodge and down the makeshift aisle created for my and Michael’s wedding. Since we were having only our family and closest friends attend, the audience was small but intimate.
Michael looked wonderful, and my bridesmaids, Selena and Isabelle, were beautiful. I felt my own tears coming as I saw Michael’s watery eyes when we said our vows. A few months ago I thought this day would never come.
I saw Vanessa only once after the ordeal she put us through. Trying to be civil to her was one of the most difficult feats I have ever attempted in my life, so I wasn’t. Michael wasn’t home, so I had no choice but to take Sean out to her car after one of his weekend visits. Once he was inside we had a very short exchange of words.
She glared. “Getting all ready to marry my husband, are you?”
I smiled at her. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Oh, and Vanessa? Don’t hold your breath waiting for an invitation in the mail.” I couldn’t help adding “Bitch.”
She started to respond but intelligently decided against it and got into her car fuming instead. Michael decided after that he would make every effort to be there when she arrived to pick up Sean. I agreed that would be best.
When the minister declared us Mr. and Mrs. Michael Hagerman, Michael lifted me off the ground and we kissed. It was a short one; we couldn’t help laughing in conjunction with the kids’ loud giggles.
Later on in the evening, Michael and I had our first moment alone. He was still beaming.
“I still can’t believe you’re finally my wife. I swear, as God is my witness, I never, ever thought this would happen.”
“Oh ye of little faith. Things always work out. I love you.”
We shared the kiss that was interrupted during the ceremony. After Michael went back to our guests, who had just finished dinner, I stepped outside onto the patio to get some fresh air.
I shivered at the brisk, cold air that met my skin, skin that wasn’t covered much by my strapless dress. I walked over to a small cement wall that encased the patio to prevent anyone from falling off the edge down the steep hill.
I looked down at the mass of woods below and thought back to Mary Jane Hendrickson. She was buried down there, peacefully now, with her son. Her murder was one of the most humbling cases I have ever worked in my career.
“Sleep well, you two,” I whispered into the cold, dark night.
As I turned to walk back inside, a faraway sound caught my attention. I looked back down to the woods and, for a brief moment, I thought I could hear a baby crying in the distance.
I’m sure it was only my imagination.
I’d like to thank the usual suspects: my agent, Claire, editor, Don, and friends and family who supported me through these endeavors. Most importantly, to the residents of Richland County, Mansfield, Ohio for keeping the legend of Mary Jane alive and always giving us a good ghost story to tell outsiders.
“Twists, turns and non-stop action.”
—
The Mansfield News Journal
“Dittrich explores every parent’s nightmare in this chilling police procedural. The drama is intense and the plot terrifying as Dittrich’s police detective heroine leads readers through an intricate maze set to entrap her. CeeCee Gallagher is a highly complex heroine whose private life is in shambles but whose dedication to the job is impeccable.”
—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Stacy Dittrich is an absolute master at devising and then executing a story that is not only realistic but downright chilling. Dittrich’s law enforcement background, coupled with her command of descriptive adjectives, made it nearly impossible for me to put
The Devil’s Closet
down. She captured the ultimate fear and terrifying reality of a child sexual victim at the hands of a heinous predator.”
—Robin Sax, Los Angeles County Deputy District Attorney—Sex Crimes Division, author of
Everything Parents Need to Know about Predators and Molesters
“CeeCee Gallagher is the real McCoy—gritty and tough, but with smooth edges. She embodies what a true detective needs to be.”
—Andrew Peterson, author of
First to Kill
“A terrific thriller.”
—
Midwest Book Review
“
The Devil’s Closet
is a valid debut from a woman who speaks from experience.”
—Bookgasm
THE DEVIL’S CLOSET
A LEISURE BOOK
®
May 2009
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2009 by Stacy Dittrich
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E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0670-1
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