“I came here looking for some help, or failing that, some sympathy, maybe even a shred of insight,” she said. “But look what you’re doing. Seizing on Paul’s misfortune as an opportunity to keep sole custody of Josh.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hailey said.
“How dare you,” Walter chimed in.
“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it? Full custody. Force Paul right out of his son’s life. In his current state, he needs the love of his son more than ever. He needs to know people love him.”
“That’s absurd,” Hailey said. “I would never do that to Josh, or to his father.”
“Seems to be exactly what you’re proposing. Maybe it’d make your whole life easier if Paul just did go ahead and kill himself.”
Hailey gasped and recoiled. “Where did that come from? How could you say such a thing? Is Paul suicidal?”
Charlotte burst into tears. “I don’t know! I hardly know anything anymore.” She quickly pulled herself together. “All I’m saying is, it would make it simpler for you.” She fixed her eyes on Walter. “Then you could stop bitching and moaning about getting stuck on the FDR while coming out to Milford.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Charlotte,” Walter said.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
As Charlotte moved for the door to the conference room, she stopped, as if she’d forgotten something.
She looked at Hailey.
“How did you let yourself in the other day?” she said.
“What?”
“Into our house. You had the door open before anyone could get down there to open it for you. Do you have a key? Did you make a copy of Josh’s?”
“What on earth are you implying?” Hailey asked.
Charlotte left without saying another word to either of them.
Thirty-Nine
Paul and Anna were not allowed to take much of anything into the main prison area. Car keys, purse, wallet, even spare change, all had to be checked. The guard asked what was in Paul’s envelope and he said “papers.” The guard flipped open the end of the envelope and peered inside long enough to see it did, in fact, contain papers and nothing else—Paul wondered if he was expecting to find a couple of joints in there—but did not pull them out far enough to see what was typed on them. Paul was allowed to keep them.
“You got lucky,” Anna whispered to him as they were led through two sets of gates.
It had been arranged for them to meet with Kenneth Hoffman in a room separate from the common visiting area. Paul had never set foot in a prison before—Anna said she’d been on a couple of “field trips” to correctional institutions during her training—and he found himself trying to take in everything along the way to their appointment. The cinder block walls painted pale green, the clang of gates closing, the smell of desperate men. It felt, in some strange way, like a high school, except instead of windows, there were bars, and instead of young kids bouncing off the walls, there were people without hope.
Plus, there was the feeling that at any moment, someone would stick a shiv in your side.
Paul had a dozen questions for the guard—the man was built like an armoire—leading them through the prison. Had there ever been a riot? Had anyone escaped? Did people really try to hide metal files inside cakes? But not wanting to look like an idiot, he kept all the questions to himself.
“Here we go,” the guard said as they reached a metal door with a small, foot-square window at eye level. He unlocked it and showed them into a drab, gray space about ten by ten feet. The only things in there, aside from a camera mounted up by the ceiling in one corner, were a table and three chairs—two on one side, one on the other. Paul noted the metal ring bolted to the top of the table, and brackets that attached the table legs to the floor with bolts.
“Have a seat,” the guard said, motioning to the two chairs that were side by side. “I’ll be back.” He left, closing the door behind him.
They sat.
After three minutes, Paul looked at Anna and said, “I hope they don’t forget we’re here.”
Eight minutes after that, the door reopened. The guard stepped in, followed by Kenneth Hoffman.
Paul stood and took in his one-time friend, stunned by what he saw. Dressed in a short-sleeved, one-piece orange coverall, Hoffman would probably have been six feet tall, but he had become round-shouldered, as though an invisible boulder were perched at the back of his neck. And a man who had once come in at around 180 pounds didn’t look much more than 150. His arms were thin and ropy, and beneath his scrawny gray beard—Paul had always known Hoffman to be clean-shaven—his cheeks were hollow. He’d lost much of his hair, his pink scalp visible through wisps of gray.
All this in eight months.
But what struck Paul most were Hoffman’s eyes. There was no sparkle, no depth to them. It was as though they were layered with wax paper.
Dead eyes.
“Paul,” Hoffman said, his voice low and leaden.
“Kenneth,” Paul said. He was going to extend a hand, but they’d been cautioned about no physical contact.
“And you are?” Hoffman said, looking at a still-seated Anna.
“Dr. Anna White,” she said.
“A head doctor, I understand,” he said. He smiled, showing off teeth tinged with brown. “You’re not here to give me a rectal exam.”
“Sit down,” the guard said. As he slipped out the door, he said to Paul and Anna, “Need anything, just shout.”
Hoffman sat. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Anna since she’d introduced herself.
“It seems like the dumbest thing in the world to ask,” Paul said, “but all I can think of is, how are things?”
Kenneth smiled weakly. “Just lovely.”
“Thanks for seeing us,” Paul said.
“I don’t get a lot of visitors,” he said, and shrugged. “Nice to break the monotony. And you’re the first one from West Haven to see me.” Kenneth shook his head. “I would have thought you’d have been the absolute last. How are things there?”
“I haven’t gone back yet,” Paul said. “I’ve been on a leave.” He said it without a hint of irony.
“Oh, yes,” Kenneth said. “That.” He looked Paul straight in the eyes. “If you’ve come here looking for an apology, you can have one.”
Paul glanced at Anna. Her eyebrows went up a tenth of an inch. She knew Paul was not necessarily expecting one, and even if he had been, she figured he wouldn’t have been expecting it this quickly.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into my mess,” Kenneth said. “I mean, I did what I felt I had to do at the time, but I wish it hadn’t happened that way.” He paused. “If I was going to be caught anyway, I’m glad you lived.” He smiled wryly. “Getting rid of two bodies was going to be hard enough, but three? I’d have probably died from a heart attack digging a third grave.” He smiled, turned over his hands to show his palms. “If not that, the calluses would have been brutal.”
Paul sat with his hands clasped in front of him and smiled. “It’s nice to catch up.”
Anna had spotted something on the inside of Kenneth’s left wrist, what looked like a fresh scar.
“I was surprised to hear that Gabriella visits you,” Paul said.
“She’s a saint, she is.”
“I might have thought she’d want nothing to do with you.”
Kenneth shrugged. “Go figure.” He smiled sardonically. “It must be the hypnotic hold I have over women, even those I’ve wronged.” He looked at Anna. “What do you think?”
“Even Charles Manson had his admirers,” she said evenly.