The Year I Couldn't Cry (chapter 1)

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the memory of my beloved daughter Babe Anne Rollins, murdered just before the prime of her life. If Babe had lived, she would have finished school a month later, and started her new life as a legal secretary.  If her story can save anyone from the same fate, then she did not die in vain. 
A special thanks to my mom, daughters, and son who helped me fill in all the blanks.

Chapter     1
At the start

    I came home about midnight (2/8/02). There were four police cars surrounding my house. My daughter Babe lived in the lower half of the house, and I lived in the upper half. I pulled in the driveway; the police, of course, asked who I was. I told them that I lived upstairs, gave them my name, and said that my daughter lived downstairs. The officer asked if I knew where my daughter was. I told him that I had just gotten off work, and had not seen her since Monday (2/4/02). My daughter Babe worked first shift (at a local factory), and was usually in bed by the time I got off work, (bartender). Babe left for work at 5:30 am, so she was usually gone by the time that I woke up each day. Just then, some woman came up to me from next door, and said that she had my granddaughters. She said that Babe's husband, Vincent had dropped them off about 11 am (2/7/02) that morning, and that she had not seen him since. I took the girls upstairs to my apartment and put them to bed. After making sure that the girls were okay and safe, I went back downstairs to Babe’s apartment to talk to the police.
     The officer asked me, when was the last time that I talked to my daughter. I informed the officer that I had talked to Babe on the phone two nights before, on Tuesday (2/6/02). When I came home that night, there was a message on my answering machine from Babe. “Mom, call me when you come home!" So about 1:30 am (2/6/02) I called her to find out what she wanted. She asked me to put her three-year-old daughter on the bus in the morning, and take care of the two-year-old. I told her, no problem; just bring them upstairs when you go to work. She had a set of keys to my apt. so she could let herself in, sometimes in the mornings.
    Normally I would leave the door unlocked for her when I went to bed, just so it was more convenient for her to get in with a child in her arms. But this night, I was already in bed when I realized that I hadn't left the door open. I was too lazy to make the extra effort. I was thinking, "She's got her own key!" So I told the officer that I went to bed. 
    About 5:30 am (2/6/02), I heard her car leave for work. When I woke up, (at approximately 8:00 am), to get my granddaughter ready for school, I went into the living room to find the girls not there!  I listened for a minute, and could hear the girls playing down stairs. I looked outside the window and saw Babe's car was gone. This meant that Babe was at work, and her husband was watching the girls, so I went back to bed. A few minutes later, I heard the horn on the school bus waiting for the three-year-old. I looked out, and the bus left without her. I remember thinking that he was too lazy to get up and put his kid on the bus.
    The police asked me if she went to work on Thursday, and if not when was the last day that she worked. I called the factory; I used to work there with Babe but on a different shift. I tried to talk to my old boss, (the shift supervisor), because her brother was Babe’s boss on the day shift. Nevertheless, she was not at work at that time and they would not call her for me, nor would they give me her telephone number. I had no way to verify that information. I had not seen my daughter since Monday (6 pm on 2/4/02) and she could have been missing for the past four days.
    The officer wanted to know the names and phone numbers of any of her friends where she might hide! I only knew one of her close friends by name but I didn't know her last name or her phone number. Sylanna was the only friend that Babe might hide in her house, but I did not know her well enough to find her. I asked the police if they had searched everywhere for my daughter? They said that they had searched the entire house. Then I asked, "Did you look in every nook and cranny in the basement?" "Her husband could have stuffed her body down there!"  I knew that Babe would never leave and go any where without her children. The officer said that they had made a thorough search of the entire house; she was nowhere to be found. (Relieved to hear this, I assumed that she was at Sylanna's house!)
     The officer asked me what kind of car Babe had. I told him a small dark green one but I was unsure of the make, model, or year.  She had gotten it over the weekend and I hadn't had the chance to get a good look at it yet! The police had also told me that they found a rejection notice in her mailbox that said her car loan was declined and she was to return the car. I said that maybe it had been repossessed. I told the officer, “When you find it; look in the trunk for my daughter!” It was so unlike my daughter, to be anywhere, without her children. They were her whole life! When all the police were leaving, they said that she was over 21, and was allowed to be missing if she wanted to,
    After the police left, I went back upstairs to check up on the girls. I made sure they were safe, warm, and asleep. I started to call everyone I could think of who would know Sylanna's last name. First, I called my oldest daughter Jane; she lived about an hour east. I informed her that Babe was missing, and went over everything that I had discussed with the police. I asked her if she knew Sylanna's last name or phone number. She did not so I thanked her, and said, “I’m going to call Cyndi.” (my youngest daughter lives in Fla). I called Cyndi, and woke her up at about 2:30 am (2/8/02) and told her that Babe was missing. I told her all that had transpired with the police, and that I was hopeful that Babe was at Sylanna’s house. “Do you know her last name or phone number?" "No Mommy!" said Cyndi, "I'm sorry, I wish that I could be of more help." I thanked her and said I would let her know what's going on when I found out.
    Then I locked the girls up safely in my apartment, and went downstairs. I had keys to Babe's apartment, just as Babe had keys to mine. I let myself into her apartment and then, LOCKED MYSELF IN (to be safe); her own husband did not have keys to the apartment! I was looking for anybody's phone number that might be able to tell me where Babe was! I tried to access her computer, but I'm computer illiterate, and was un-successful. I looked in her bedroom. There were clothes all over the floor, around her bed and all over her bed. In her dresser drawers I found some ID's, one for food stamps and one for Medicaid, and I found the girls birth certificates. I took all of the stuff that should be in a safe place. I couldn't find anything that could help me find Babe. After looking for twenty minutes, I decided to go back upstairs.
    On my way out, I noticed the closet door was open a bit. The closet door was never open! I knew that the police probably opened it, but I thought that maybe there was something inside that might tell me where Babe was. When I opened the door, I saw a large black plastic garbage bag stapled to a yardstick. The ends of the yardstick were nailed to both side of the closet wall, about four feet off the floor. I had been in the closet before, Babe kept her vacuum, and all her Christmas decorations in it. It was always open on the inside and all the stuff that she didn't want the kids to get into, was kept in there. But the door was always closed, and the plastic bag was never there before. So I moved it! There were a few large blankets and comforters stuffed up behind the garbage bag. They weren't supposed to be there, so I moved them aside, and I saw something. I couldn't figure out what it was. It was a brownish maroon, so I stepped back for a second, and then I saw it, Babe's birthmark! (Babe was born with a medium sized brown spot on her top right thigh, about the size of a dime.) OH MY GOD! It all came into focus now. I was looking at my daughter’s dead body. I was so freaking scared. I had never seen a dead body before. I could only see the back of her leg, from the hip to the knee of her right leg. But I had seen enough! I had to call the police.
    I called 911, and told the dispatcher that the police were at my daughter’s apartment about an hour before hand, and I said that they told me that they had searched the entire house from the basement up.  Then "Why should I be the one to find my daughters body?” that's the job for the police. I'm her freaking mother! I should never have to go through something like that. The dispatcher asked me how I knew she was dead. I told her that she was that deep purplish-brown. The dispatcher asked me if I touched her. I SAID, “NO!” She told me that I have to check to see if she might still be alive. So I touched her. Her skin was cold and kind of hard. I knew that she had been there for a while. I told the dispatcher that she was not alive. She told me that the same officers that I talked to earlier were coming back, and they would be there in a few minutes. She said that she would stay on the line with me until the officers got here.
    I kept babbling, "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God!" I couldn't believe that all this was happening! I couldn't believe that my daughter was dead! I couldn't believe that I was the one who found her! I couldn't believe that her body was stuffed into the closet of her own apartment, like it was garbage! The dispatcher asked me to calm down; the officers would be there soon! 
    (1:35 am)(2/8/02)Then I heard a knock at the back door. I was petrified! What if it's her husband? I'm sure in my heart that he killed my baby! What am I going to do if he's at the door? The dispatcher said, “The police are at your door let them in”. I said "How do I know that it's the police? It might be her husband!" The dispatcher said, “The police just told me that they are there”. So I went to the back door, and looked out the curtain. There was nobody there! I told the dispatcher, "OH MY GOD, they are at the wrong house!" "Her husband must be outside!" She said, "CALM DOWN MAAM; the police are at your house now”! 
    I told her that I had already looked outside there was nobody there! Vincent must be here! He's outside somewhere! The dispatcher said, "I'm talking to the police right now, and they are on your back porch." I said "Tell them to call out to me!" Then I heard two officers call out to me, "This is the police, please let us in." When I looked out this time, I saw them.
    When I let them in, I saw the same officers that had told me that they had looked in every nook and cranny of the house, and my daughter was not here. They looked at me and said, “We’re very sorry maam!” I hit him and said, “You should be! You should have been the one to find her! NOT ME!” I told the officers that she was in the closet, and that I had to go up stairs to make sure the girls were all right.