NINE
Alex drove home, parked the car in the garage, lowered the door, and was about to go into the house when she remembered that she had nothing in the house to eat for dinner. She thought about getting back in the car and heading for the grocery store, but the thought of major shopping was unappealing. She decided to walk the three blocks to the nearest convenience store to get herself a hero sandwich or something equally decadent. She needed to stretch her legs, breathe some fresh air and think about what she had learned from Rick Howland and from Marisol. Overall, it wasn’t encouraging. The podiatrist had suggested that Dory was obsessed with her jealousy of Lauren. Obsession implied a kind of madness.
Alex’s conversation with Marisol Torres had left her frustrated. She had to admit to herself that she had hoped to learn that there was some irrefutable proof of Dory’s innocence which was motivating the Judicial Initiative to represent her. In fact, it turned out to be, as the Colsons had said, all about legal maneuvering. Marisol was focused on the misdeeds of the public defender, and she might very well win the appeal. But in a new trial, how would anything be different? While she knew that everything Marisol had told her was legitimate, it seemed to beg the question: had Dory killed her sister? No one is going to answer that for you, she thought. Either you believe her or you don’t.
The afternoon was growing dark and Alex shivered in her coat. She thought about that day, when Dory said she had gone out for a walk in the South End of Boston. If it had happened in the summer, people would have seen her on the street. But on a cold day like this people were in their homes, not sitting out on the front steps watching passers-by. If I had to prove that I was out walking today, she thought, how could I do it? There was no one looking out at her and, even if they were, she was covered in a coat, hat and scarf. It would be hard to tell at a passing glance if she were a man or a woman. A few cars went by but it was nearly dark, and who would remember seeing someone hurrying along, bundled up against the weather?
Alex trudged along in the cold, and was glad to arrive at the brightly lit convenience store. She picked up a basket at the door and began to put a few things in it. Not too much, she thought. She needed everything, but this was only a stopgap measure. She still had to carry it home.
She brought her items up to the counter and set them down.
‘Pretty chilly out there, isn’t it?’ said the clerk.
Alex shivered reflexively. ‘It really is. I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed.’
The clerk nodded as he rang up her order. ‘They’ve been saying on the TV that it’s going to. Twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents,’ he said.
Alex handed him the money.
‘You want your receipt in the bag?’ he asked.
‘No, I’ll take it,’ she said, stuffing the slip of paper in her coat pocket.
‘Stay warm,’ he said as Alex moved out of the way of the person who was now behind her.
Alex gathered up her bags and headed for the door, opening it with her shoulder. She dreaded going back out into the cold. She put her head down against the wind and began the short, unpleasant walk home.
She went into the house, turning on all the lights, and carried her bags to the kitchen. She flung her coat on a chair and began to put the things she had brought back with her into the cupboards and refrigerator. Feeling guilty, she had decided to skip the sandwich and had bought, instead, some eggs and a ready-made salad. She could make an omelet with the cheese she already had in the refrigerator . . . She emptied both bags and realized that she didn’t have the salad.
Damn, she thought. I paid for it. I know I did. She didn’t want to go all the way back to the store and start complaining, but it was a four-dollar salad. She looked in the bag for the receipt and then in her wallet, to no avail. Then, going over the transaction in her mind, she remembered that she had stuffed her receipt into her coat pocket. She picked up her coat off the chair and fished into the pocket, past the gloves and a wad of tissues, and pulled it out. She looked it over. No salad was listed. I’m losing it, she thought. I could have sworn . . . All that was listed was juice, bread, milk and a package of Oreos. Oreos? She hadn’t bought Oreos. And then she looked again at the receipt. This was not her receipt from today. It was a receipt from . . . Alex stared at the little slip of paper. At the bottom the date and the time of the transaction at the convenience store was printed. It was from two weeks ago.
Alex was distracted from her missing salad by another thought. On the day that Lauren was killed, Dory had bought a bottle of water at Back Bay station. That receipt could prove that she was where she said she was. Dory said that she’d thrown it away. She probably didn’t even remember what she did with it. What if there hadn’t been a trash can handy? Dory might well have jammed it into her coat pocket, just as Alex had done at the convenience store. Alex frowned, picturing it. It was possible. It could have happened that way.
Alex gazed at her own jacket as if she were seeing it for the first time in a new way. Had that receipt for a bottle of water been jammed in there, covered by lint and tissues, in Dory’s coat pocket? And if it was, whatever became of that coat?
She picked up her phone and searched for the number at the prison, punched it into her phone and prepared herself to sound desperate while she listened to it ring. A family emergency, she thought. I’ll say it’s a family emergency. She expected resistance from the person who answered, but a woman with a harsh voice said, ‘Just a minute,’ when Alex asked to speak to Dory. Alex marveled at the lack of restriction on a phone call. No one seemed to be concerned.
By the time Dory picked up the phone, Alex was drumming her fingers impatiently on the dining room table. She jumped when Dory said hello.
‘Dory,’ she said. ‘It’s me. It’s Alex.’
‘What do you want?’ Dory asked suspiciously.
Obviously there weren’t going to be any pleasantries. Fair enough, Alex thought. ‘Something occurred to me. I have a question.’
‘About what?’ Dory asked.
‘Dory, what happened to the clothes you wore that day? The day Lauren was killed?’
‘The clothes I wore?’ Dory sounded skeptical.
‘Yes. Your clothes. What happened to them?’
‘The police took them,’ said Dory. ‘They had blood all over them.’
Alex was silent for a moment, her thoughts filled with this grisly image.
‘Well, when I found her, I lifted her up. I tried to help her,’ Dory said defensively. ‘That’s why they had blood on them. I got it on my clothes when I tried to help her. I had to give them all to the cops. I don’t know if they keep shit like that . . .’
‘Everything?’ said Alex, deflated.
‘Shoes, socks, the works,’ said Dory.
‘Your coat too?’ Alex asked.
‘Probably,’ said Dory. And then she was silent for a moment. ‘No. Not my coat. I wasn’t wearing my coat when I found her. I must have hung it up when I came home.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
Dory hesitated again. Then she said, ‘Yeah. When we went to the police station, my dad gave me one of his old work jackets to put on over the bloody clothes. He said I should wear the parka so we could throw it in the wash when I got home. He didn’t know I wasn’t coming back home.’
Alex felt her hope rising. ‘So what happened to your coat? The one you wore out on the walk?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Dory irritably. ‘Why?’
‘It might be nothing,’ said Alex. ‘What did the coat look like? Describe it.’
‘Why?’
‘Humor me,’ she said.
Dory sighed. ‘It was a black pea coat from Gap. Size eight. The belt was attached to it. Sewn onto it. I always liked that coat.’
‘And that’s the last time you remember wearing it?’ Alex asked. ‘When you went out for that walk?’
‘I guess so. Why are you asking me all this?’
‘Look, it’s probably nothing. I don’t want to get your hopes up.’
‘No danger of that,’ Dory said.
Alex heard some noise on the other end of the line.
‘I gotta go,’ said Dory. She hung up without another word.
Alex thought about what she needed to do. First, she had to go to the Back Bay station and see if there was a trash can in that little shop. Of course it was several years ago but if there was none now . . .
All right, she thought. Steady. If there was no trash can, the next thing to do was to go to the Colsons’ South End apartment to try to locate that coat.
She shook her head and consciously derailed her train of thought. She realized that she should clear this idea with Marisol. She might have already thought of it, already tried it. Alex could call and ask her. But even as she thought it, she realized that she didn’t want to. She felt sure that Marisol would try to talk her out of it. It was a complication she didn’t need to make her case. But Alex wanted to try, to see if there was a way to help. If it didn’t work out there wouldn’t be any harm done, she thought. But if she asked, and Marisol told her not to do it . . .
Alex knew better than to ask permission when she wasn’t willing to take no for an answer. She’d explain afterwards if nothing came of it. She glanced at the clock. It was rush hour. There would be lots of trains. If she drove to the Chichester station, she could be in the Back Bay in half an hour. She put her groceries in the refrigerator and threw her coat back on.