THIRTY
The Suffolk County Jail was a recently built facility, situated right in downtown Boston near the waterfront. Alex presented herself at the visitors’ entrance and followed all the procedures. I’m getting to be a veteran at this, she thought. She went into the visitors’ room and waited for Dory.
In a few minutes Dory came shuffling in. Alex could hardly suppress the alarm she felt at the sight of her. Dory’s pale, freckled complexion was ashen, her shoulders hunched, her gray eyes dull and hopeless. She sat down opposite Alex without even acknowledging her.
‘Dory, are you OK?’ asked Alex.
‘OK? Do you see where I am?’ Dory asked. She looked up and around the noisy room at the green cinder-block walls, the small windows near the ceiling letting in only the narrowest shafts of light. ‘What do you think?’
‘I know,’ said Alex. ‘It’s terrible. What did Marisol tell you?’
Dory shrugged. ‘To keep quiet. Not to tell them anything they might use against me.’
Alex studied her. ‘Do you have anything they could use?’
Dory was not even indignant. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t do anything to you. My mother thinks I did, though. She never believes me.’
‘I know that’s hard to take,’ said Alex.
‘But do you believe me?’ Dory asked, and then she waved a hand limply. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter,’ said Alex. ‘For what it’s worth, Dory, I don’t think you were the one who attacked me. But somehow, that knife got under your mattress.’
‘It doesn’t matter what I say,’ Dory lamented, as if she had not even heard Alex’s words. ‘They blame me.’
‘Look, you just need to do what Marisol tells you,’ said Alex. ‘You’ll get through this.’
Dory shook her head. ‘No. Whatever I do, this is how I end up. Alone. A prisoner. I don’t feel like fighting this anymore. It’s just my . . . destiny.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Alex. ‘It’s not your destiny.’
‘You don’t know,’ said Dory.
‘Don’t know what?’ said Alex.
‘Nothing. Never mind.’
‘Tell me,’ said Alex. ‘What are you thinking?’
Dory looked at her, and her eyes were haunted. ‘I’m not wanted,’ she said. ‘Nobody wants me.’
‘Dory, you can’t . . .’
‘That’s who I am,’ Dory insisted. ‘Someone who is not wanted. Starting with your mother. Starting from the day I was born.’
Alex wanted to protest on her mother’s behalf, but suddenly she realized that she could not. She knew that it wasn’t like that for her mother, but that wasn’t really the issue. Being unwanted was Dory’s reality and there were no words to reassure her. It would only be a further insult to tell Dory that her reality was not true.
Alex felt a nagging sense of déjà vu and could hardly bear to look in her sister’s eyes. ‘Dory, when you asked me to come over, it sounded like there was something specific you wanted to tell me.’
Dory frowned and then seemed to be struggling to remember. Finally she said, ‘I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt. And I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to get to know each other.’
‘That’s not your fault,’ said Alex. ‘We met under some pretty . . . difficult conditions.’
Dory nodded but her eyes remained downcast, her body slumped over. ‘Still. It was kind of like a second chance that didn’t work out . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
‘It’s not too late,’ said Alex.
‘Yes, it is.’ Dory shook her head hopelessly, and the expression in her eyes reminded Alex, with a jolt, of herself, and of how she had felt the day she learned about her parents’ accident. That day, when she got the news, she’d had the sense that life was a cruel joke, and she couldn’t figure out a reason to keep going.
‘You seem terribly . . . down,’ she said.
Dory did not protest. In fact, she didn’t even reply.
‘Dory, are they giving you any medication? Anything for depression?’
‘I’m not depressed,’ Dory insisted.
‘No one would blame you if you were,’ said Alex.
‘I’m not,’ Dory insisted. ‘I’m accepting it. I need to be more accepting.’
‘No, you don’t,’ said Alex. ‘You need to have hope. You’re going to get out of here. I feel sure of it. You just need to hang on, and don’t give up hope.’
‘The real reason I asked you here was in case I don’t see you again,’ said Dory. ‘I wanted to say goodbye.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Alex insisted.
Dory said softly, ‘I’m just saying “in case.”’
‘And I’m just saying that you mustn’t give up. This is not over. OK?’
Dory shook her head. Then she stood up and reached out a hand, pressing the back of Alex’s hand with her fingertips. ‘OK,’ she said dully. Then she turned away. Alex watched her go with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She knew how it felt to be depressed. She had suffered a pretty terrible bout of depression this last year. But somewhere inside her, even during the worst of it, she knew that her suffering would lessen, that she would be happy again. She did not think Dory had that same bedrock sense of well-being. How could she, when she felt as if her own mother had forsaken her?
The guard in the visitors’ room came over to her, pointing to his watch. Alex got up and walked out into the main receiving area. There were two guards at the front desk. She approached them, studying the two men as she waited her turn in line. One of the guards was an enormous black man with a mustache and a forbidding expression. His badge and picture read: S. Robinson. The other guard was pale and overweight, with a crew cut and rheumy eyes. His badge read: B. Witkowski.
Finally she reached the front of the line.
The pale, sweaty guard looked at her with disinterest. ‘Yes?’
‘My name is Alex Woods. I’ve just been here to visit my sister, Dory Colson. She seems very depressed.’
‘Everybody in here is depressed, lady,’ Witkowski said dismissively.
‘I think she might need to be seen by someone.’
‘Like who?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Like a shrink. I think she needs medication. I’m worried that she might . . . try to harm herself.’
‘She can’t,’ said the guard. ‘We keep an eye on them.’
‘She was telling me goodbye,’ Alex insisted. ‘As if she was considering it.’
‘Shrink comes in once a week,’ said Witkowski. ‘She can see him next Tuesday.’
‘We can’t afford to wait. It might be too late by next Tuesday,’ Alex said angrily. Suddenly she realized why her conversation with Dory had given her a sense of déjà vu. She thought of that story she had heard from Uncle Brian about Dory’s father, Neil Parafin, despairing at being abandoned before he shot himself in the driveway of her mother’s house. ‘There’s a history of suicide in her family,’ she said bluntly.
‘Lady, this isn’t a spa. We do things on a schedule here.’
‘No matter what,’ said Alex grimly.
‘We’ve got rules,’ he said.
Alex realized that nothing she could say was going to impress this guard. He had his mind made up about the people in this facility and he wasn’t about to start being sympathetic. To be fair, sympathy for all these inmates was a road with no end. But it was not reassuring to Alex. She looked up imploringly at the other guard. He had listened to the whole exchange but hadn’t spoken.
‘Please. Her name is Dory Colson. Couldn’t you find a doctor to take a look at her? I know all these inmates are depressed, but she seems dangerously so.’
‘What are you looking at him for?’ Witkowski asked irritably.
Robinson ignored his fellow guard. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.
‘Dory Colson. And my name is Alex Woods. This is my information.’ Alex took out a piece of paper and wrote it down. She handed it to Robinson.
Robinson looked it over thoroughly. Then he looked up at Alex. ‘I’ll give it to the doc when he comes in Tuesday,’ he said.
Witkowski laughed.
Alex could feel herself trembling with rage. ‘She’s a human being. Even if she’s in jail, she deserves to be treated fairly. I promise you, if anything happens to my sister, I’m going to hold you both responsible.’
Witkowski’s lizard-like eyes widened and then narrowed again. ‘Don’t you threaten me, ma’am.’
Alex did not back down. ‘Don’t you ignore my sister,’ she said.
Alex went out to her car and sat down in the driver’s seat, still fuming from her encounter with the guards. Maybe, she thought, if she called the detectives who were working on Lauren’s murder, she could tell them about Joy and ask them to intercede on Dory’s behalf at the same time. It was worth a try.
She looked up Langford’s number on her cell and rang it. The phone went directly to voicemail. ‘Detective Langford,’ she said. ‘I’m . . . uh . . . this is Alex Woods. I just came from seeing my sister in jail and she is dangerously depressed. No one seems willing to get her treatment, and I wondered if you could help. Also, I may know something about Lauren’s murder. A possibility to explore, anyway. Please call me back as soon as you get this.’
Alex ended the call and sat, lost in thought, in the front seat of her car. Then she made one more call. This time, she was successful.
‘Alex?’
‘Hey, Seth,’ she said.
‘You sound terrible. What’s the matter?’
‘How much time have you got?’ she asked ruefully.
‘All the time in the world for you,’ he said.
Alex sighed. ‘I just came from the Suffolk County Jail.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Visiting Dory.’
‘Dory’s back in jail?’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened?’
‘They think she was the one who stabbed me.’
‘Stabbed you? Jesus, Alex. What is going on? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I needed some stitches, but I’m OK.’
‘Why did Dory stab you?’ he cried.
‘I’m not sure she did,’ Alex said.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this before.’
Alex shook her head. ‘I didn’t want you to race home. I know you have a lot of loose ends to tie up out there.’
‘None more important than this,’ he said, with a hint of annoyance. ‘I can always come back here and do the rest. If something . . . happened to you, none of it would matter anyway.’
Alex smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘You have to tell me what’s going on with you.’
‘I know,’ she said wearily.
‘I’m not yelling at you,’ he said. ‘But it makes me feel so helpless. Hearing that you were stabbed. Where did this happen?’
‘At home.’
‘And Dory did it.’
‘They think so.’
‘You don’t?’ he asked.
‘I don’t . . . know. I don’t really think so.’
‘You didn’t see the person.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘And now you’re visiting Dory in jail?’ he asked, incredulous.
‘She’s very depressed, Seth. And no one at the jail gives a damn. I’m worried.’
‘She should be depressed,’ he said shortly.
Alex was silent in response. She had the sense that she could feel him trying to adjust his perspective at the other end of the line.
‘OK, look,’ he said. ‘I’m going to leave here tonight. It’s better to drive at night anyway. When I get back I’ll go with you to the jail, and we’ll make sure that they get her treatment or something.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’m in the car. I better go.’
‘Try not to worry,’ he said.
‘I’m worried about you,’ she said. ‘Driving at night.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be with you tomorrow.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said. ‘I feel better just thinking about it.’
‘OK. Till tomorrow then.’ She noticed that he hadn’t repeated his ‘I love you,’ but then again, she hadn’t yet said it in return. Tomorrow, she thought.
‘Safe journey home,’ she said, and ended the call.
The light of the winter day was fading as she pulled into the driveway. Along the tree line she could see the brilliant oranges, purples and grays of a winter sunset. She was glad to be home.
Wearily, she got out of the car and walked up to the house. She opened the front door and, as she walked in, relished the quiet. And then realized that it was wrong.
‘Remus?’ she said.
There was no barking, no excited sliding down the hall, no panting as he crowded her, eager to be petted. Her heart suddenly turned cold. ‘Where are you, boy?’ she asked.
There was no response.
Could he possibly be sleeping? she wondered. She knew better. Even if he were asleep, his keen young ears would hear the car stopping in the driveway, her tread on the front porch, the door opening. ‘Remus,’ she whispered. She began to walk through the house, hesitating before glancing in each room. When he wasn’t there, she felt a little bit hopeful, until she arrived at the doorway of the next room and turned on the light. Every step she took she felt a terrible dread that she would find him lying on the floor, his life gone or ebbing away from him.
Don’t think like that, she told herself. He’s fine. He’s just a pup. Maybe he got out when the mailman opened the door to drop the mail on the floor. Maybe Laney came over and let him out by accident. Maybe he’s off running somewhere. But she knew in her heart that no one would see Remus bounding out of the house and just calmly walk away. There had to be another explanation. You automatically think he’s dead, she admonished herself. Always the worst-case scenario. It was no wonder she thought that way after what had happened to her parents. She allowed herself that. But still . . .
Room by room she went through the first floor, calling for him. But he did not respond. She reached the back of the house, opened the door to the porch and stepped out, shivering in the dim twilight. Even though darkness was descending on the yard, and Remus was dark himself, it only took a moment to discern his shape prone on the porch floor – still, but not sleeping. No movement, no sound.
‘Remus!’ she cried. She fell to her knees beside him and reached out her hand, laying it on his shiny, smooth coat. He was rigid.
‘Remus,’ she wailed.
And then she was hit on the head from behind. She crumpled to the floor beside her dog.