by John Farrow
‘How?’ Malka asked.
‘A knife. Or something sharp. She fought back. Sadly, to no avail.’
They took that in.
‘Revenge, you think?’ Temple asked.
‘For what?’
‘Killing Flo, maybe.’
‘Do you think that?’
‘No. I mean, what do I know? Do you?’
‘I’ve spoken to many of you already,’ Cinq-Mars told them. ‘I still need to speak to you, Temple; and I didn’t get a chance to talk to Jodi and Courtney in private, either, only jointly.’
‘They’re attached at the hip anyhow,’ Malka said, which won a nervous laugh. The news of the guard’s murder left them apprehensive.
‘They’re fucking Siamese,’ Temple tacked on.
‘They had to be surgically separated when Jodi got sent down to solo,’ Abigail said.
Normally, the women would chuckle at that, take up the repartee. Not this time.
‘I’ll be speaking to everyone, including those I’ve already interviewed,’ Cinq-Mars let them know.
‘Can I be next?’ Abigail put in the request. She returned the blank expression she was receiving from the others. ‘What? It’s fun. It gets me out of the house, you know?’
‘This time around,’ Cinq-Mars spoke over a burst of bluster, pulling their attention back to his statement, ‘unlike last time we’ll get down to brass tacks. Forget the games, the BS, the crap. Each of you knows stuff that can help me out and from this point forward, I’m going to know it, too. We have a dead guard on our hands. If you thought I was soft with you after Flo’s death, now that we have a second death, and a guard, everything will be different.’
The women took him at his word. While not contrite, they were solemn.
‘At a bare minimum, at least one of you knows who killed Flo. At least one of you killed her. I’m here to find out who and I’m not leaving until I succeed. I intend to find the answer sooner rather than later.’
Abigail put up her hand again. Cinq-Mars gave her a look. ‘I think you’re forgetting something,’ she pointed out to him.
‘I presume you want to tell me.’
‘Isaure’s dead. She could be the only one who knows who killed Flo because maybe she did it. Talking to us might get you nowhere.’
Not only did she have a point, but any lawyer, if representing an accused among them charged with Flo’s murder, had the means to fabricate reasonable doubt. What if Isaure did it? The women nodded in unison, clinging to the fresh possibility that Flo’s killer might no longer be alive.
‘I won’t think that way,’ he replied. ‘Instead, I’ll talk to each of you and get somewhere fast.’
Abi did her best to lighten the mood. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to be next.’
She didn’t get much of a reaction this time.
Cinq-Mars explained that from now on there’d be two guards in their dorm, not one. He revealed that ‘Courtney sees me next.’
The girl’s head spun on a swivel for a second. Then she looked away, sheet white.
Abigail made a sound that was barely audible.
Cinq-Mars looked at her. ‘What now?’ he asked.
She raised and dropped a shoulder. ‘You’re starting over with the most vulnerable among us. I get it. That’s basic.’ She had a black eye and a split fat lip from the jail yard brawl. ‘Except, Cinq-Mars, you don’t do basic. Not your thing.’
‘You can shut up now,’ Cinq-Mars told her, although the other women noticed that his tone was gentle. He left the room. A guard held the door open only for him, then remained behind.
‘So. What now? Are we cooking?’ Abigail asked.
‘Let’s bake!’ Doi called out. The locked cupboards were not deterring her.
‘Tarts,’ Abigail said, ‘how about it?’
She was suggesting what to bake, although a couple of inmates wondered if she had just teased them with an insult. After her fight in the yard and her stint in solitary, she seemed different somehow. Rozlynn noticed, and gazed at her, until Abi stared back and Roz looked away. At the same time, Jodi came out of her shell and went over to Courtney, to give her an encouraging hug and tell her that it was going to be OK. ‘You’ll get through it,’ she said, but Courtney sloughed her off and leapt down from the counter. She wandered off a short distance on her own. Everyone noticed.
ii
‘You’ll fall apart if I get tough,’ Cinq-Mars said in his opening volley to Courtney. ‘Jodi thinks so. If I’m hard on you, the smart money says you’ll disintegrate.’
Courtney managed a shrug. Not one of defiance or disinterest, nor was she inclined to feign boredom when she was clearly wary of how the talk might go. Her shrug conveyed that Cinq-Mars might have grasped the order of things, that she could do nothing to help herself now. She was willing to feebly collapse.
‘It’s pretty obvious that I can take you apart at the seams.’
She was finally annoyed enough to speak. ‘If you say so,’ she said. ‘I dunno.’
‘I say so. I can turn you into mush on the floor. You won’t sleep for weeks. You’ll need a pack of pills to face the next day.’
She curled in the chair. She seemed to be shriveling up even before he got going.
‘I dunno,’ she reiterated.
‘Don’t you? Oh, that is such a crock of hooey,’ he said.
‘Of what? Sorry?’
‘Bull crap. Horseshit. Cow dung. Call it what you want.’
She looked more concerned now. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t think you’ll fall apart, Courtney. I’m looking at a girl who stuck a knife into her best friend’s belly—’
Courtney inhaled sharply.
‘Your friend, what was her name?’
Courtney curled into herself more tightly.
‘Tell me her name.’
‘Daphne,’ Courtney whispered.
‘Daphne hollered with the shock of it, she must have, the overwhelming brutality, the pain beyond human belief. She was going to die. She knew it by then. Probably she couldn’t believe what was happening to her, that you, her best friend, could do that to her. But the pain was unbearable and then you stabbed her again, Court. And again. And again. And again.’
‘Stop.’
‘Did you? Stop?’
She shook her head.
‘Then why should I? Courtney, think of the poor girl you murdered. Daphne could be living right now. Breathing. Falling in love with some new guy. The new guy might be somebody’s boyfriend again, but who cares? You’re only kids. These things happen. But no, you had to keep stabbing her again and again and again.’
‘You’re being so mean! Why are you being so mean to me?’
‘How mean were you, stabbing your best friend?’
‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what? I’m not going to stop. You didn’t. I’m going by your example.’
‘You’re so mean to me!’
‘Do you know what I’m going to do?’
She had no idea. Tears shone in the corners of her eyes. When it was apparent that he was waiting on an answer, she asked, ‘What?’
‘Guess who I’m going to visit.’
She shrugged again, largely out of despair this time. ‘How am I supposed to know? Who?’
‘Your mom.’
‘What? Why? You can’t!’
‘I can. Several reasons why I’m going. Quite a few, actually.’
‘Like what?’
‘Can’t you think of any? Well, let’s see. I will read the letters you’ve sent home. That will tell me a lot, I think.’
‘You don’t have the right! They’re my letters!’
‘Courtney, this is a murder investigation. I have a right. What will those letters tell me? Don’t answer. I’ll find out for myself. I also want to speak to your mother, of course. Give her my report. Let her know what I think of your progress these days, your cooperation.’
‘What do you mean?’ This mention of he
r mother had her cracking. She had a weak point, and when it was tapped, even lightly, she was breakable. ‘I’ve been good inside. A model prisoner. It’s on my last report.’
‘Model prisoner? I saw you pass a knife to Marie-Philomène.’
‘You saw that? Did you? I had no choice. But it wasn’t a knife.’
‘What was it?’
‘A nail file.’
‘At least you’re willing to admit to your crime. So you passed a weapon to Marie-Philomène.’
‘A small nail file!’
‘A weapon. Do you think that makes you a model prisoner?’
‘I had no choice!’
‘Didn’t you? Explain it to me, Courtney.’
‘I’m human!’ she shouted out.
Silence. The desperation in her voice was utterly raw and stymied the detective’s onslaught.
She bunched herself up in her chair, her feet on the seat, both arms wrapped around her knees as though holding on to herself.
‘I can’t explain it,’ she whimpered, answering his question.
‘You’d better explain it,’ Cinq-Mars said.
She was stuck in her predicament, not wishing a bad report for herself, not one repeated to her mother, yet she needed to adhere to the prisoner’s code of silence. Cinq-Mars let her stew.
‘I was told to pick up the nail file. To give it to M-P.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I can’t squeal.’
‘You can tell me because I already know the answer. You have to tell me to prove you’re being cooperative.’
‘Tell me who if you’re so smart. I’ll say if you’re right.’
‘Courtney, Courtney, I agree with you. You’re human. You’re not a monster. Although you did a monstrous thing. The issue is – and this is about being human – why do you do what you’re told to do in here? If somebody, for example – I’m not accusing you – but if somebody told you to go strangle Flo with a wire, would you do it?’
‘That’s crazy. She’d kill me first.’
‘Who would?’
‘Flo!’
‘I’m only using her as an example. What if it was someone smaller than you? Would you do what you’re told?’
‘No. But that’s a big, big thing. Smaller things, I’d probably do what I’m told. You gotta get by in here. You don’t know that?’
‘So who tells you to pick up a nail file and hand it to Marie-Philomène? That’s a small thing. Please don’t substitute a false name. I already know the answer.’
She considered her answer, then replied, quietly, ‘Abi.’
‘That’s the right answer,’ Cinq-Mars said. He slapped his hands against his kneecaps. ‘I’m sure your mother will be pleased to learn that you’re cooperative. Now, next question, how come you or anyone else will do what Abi says? She just got here a short time ago. How come Abi is at the center of things, in the middle of that fight, for instance, when she only just arrived? Marie-Philomène’s a leader in here. For her side. That’s not true for Abi who’s an outsider. What’s going on with that? I’m really interested in your point-of-view, Courtney.’
Having softened her resistance and having touched her core when she protested that she was human, he was opting to be more conversational with her, less confrontational.
‘Everything turns around Abi,’ Courtney said.
‘How so?’
Another of her deflective shrugs. ‘I dunno. It just does.’
‘If you don’t know, then you didn’t figure it out for yourself. Somebody else knows the answer and told it to you. Who told you that everything turns around Abi?’
Courtney was not inclined to say.
‘Another thing about visiting your Mom. I’m going to ask her why she thinks you stabbed your best friend to death.’
‘No, don’t. Please,’ she begged. Her plea sincere. ‘Please don’t put my mother through that.’
‘I’ll bring it up. Maybe I’ll talk to Daphne’s mom, too. Or – or you’ll tell me who told you that everything turns around Abi, whatever that means.’
She hung her head a while, and kept it down when she said, ‘Jodi.’
Jodi.
‘And what does Jodi mean when she says that everything turns around Abi?’
Her head remained lowered. She hesitated. Then she said, ‘I dunno.’
‘Shall I ask Jodi? Tell her that you wanted me to explain what she said to you?’
Her head came up this time. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t.’
‘Well then?’
‘Everybody wants to find out what Abi knows. Jodi says it’s the only thing keeping Abi alive. Nobody wants her dead, because they want what she knows first. We’re supposed to make friends with her, Jodi says. To help find out what she knows. It’s not my idea. What do I care? But I have no choice.’
‘Are you afraid of Jodi?’
He gave her time to consider her response.
‘I’m afraid of everybody,’ she said. ‘But please, please, please, please don’t tell my mom that. I don’t want her to be scared, too.’
‘Fiddlesticks. What about your father?’
‘Why ask me that?’ The question didn’t bother her. She was merely curious as to why he asked.
‘Does he live with your mother?’
‘No. They split after—’
‘After you killed your best friend.’
‘Will you stop saying that?’
‘It’s true, isn’t it? You not only ended your best friend’s life, you wrecked your parents’ lives too, starting with their marriage.’
‘Why are you being so damn fucking mean?’
‘Language,’ the guard said.
They’d both forgotten that she was still in the room.
Somehow it broke the tension. They both laughed a little.
‘Yeah, language,’ Cinq-Mars said. ‘Let’s watch out for that. Two people dead, we don’t want anyone swearing.’
‘Why are you?’ she asked calmly. ‘Being so mean?’
He leaned in closer to her, which elicited a similar motion from Courtney, as though they were preparing to speak in confidential whispers.
‘Courtney, I can be on your side. I like you. And you are human. You’re not a monster. But you have to stop playing the little girl card and accept that you’re a killer yourself. You’ve killed. Everybody gets mad like that, but most people have a stopper. Your stopper is weak. If you’re going to build it up to a normal level, you have to face what you did. In the meantime, I have to ask myself, could someone push you to kill Flo? Almost nothing, a little spate, a mere misunderstanding, a petty jealousy, that’s all it took for you to brutally murder poor Daphne.’ She slowly recoiled from him, then curled in her chair, as though curling within herself. ‘Don’t tell me that whatever she said or whatever she did set you off. She didn’t stick a knife in you or threaten you. People here know that you can kill, and I wonder if someone might take advantage of that. You have more of a charge in you than you let on, and too weak a stopper. I think you try to forget what you did, Courtney, but you can’t quite believe it. Isn’t that right?’
She nodded.
‘Believe it. That’s my advice. I have no choice but to view you as a suspect. You have it in you to kill, suddenly and viciously. That can’t be denied, as much as you would like to. Courtney, I need you to come around. To grow up. Help me on this case. Nothing else will take the weight off your shoulders. I’m talking about the weight I’m putting there. Yes, I will visit your mom. What I tell her is up to you. What’s my report going to say?’
‘Oh Christ,’ Courtney whispered.
‘Mmm. Oh Christ? I believe in prayer myself, but it won’t help in this case. You have to be truthful to pray and you have to be truthful to me. Otherwise, the weight, Courtney, the weight on your shoulders I guarantee will crush you. Your fraidy-cat-little-girl stunt is not something you can pull off with me. It just – won’t – work.’
‘What do you want?’ she whined, squirming.
‘Let’s start with this. Tell me who stole Abi’s nail file in the first place. Who brought it to the yard for Marie-Philomène?’
He had a good guess in mind if she answered the question honestly. He was betting on Jodi. But Courtney surprised him.
Doi.
DUBROC
i
Cinq-Mars had a quick shower and was drying soap from his ear sockets when a knock resounded on his motel door. He’d ordered a pizza, yet this was swift service. He figured they didn’t have time to cook it, never mind the delivery. He opened up wearing only a towel surprising his guest as much as he was surprised by him. Constable Dubroc did his best to avert his eyes.
‘Come in. I’ll be dressed in a jiff.’
‘I’ll wait out here, thanks.’
He regretted losing the time to himself. He dressed quickly and joined Dubroc on the porch. ‘What’s up?’
‘Overheard stuff. Thought I should share it.’
‘Good. Share.’
‘I’ll be jammed up if this gets out.’
‘Gotcha. I will blow no whistles.’
‘I overheard a conversation.’ Dubroc stalled after saying that, either to review the talk in his head or to reconsider repeating it.
Cinq-Mars gave him time and space and stretched out his legs. Finally, he prompted him. ‘Anytime you’re ready, Constable.’
‘This isn’t easy. Never thought I’d be doing something like this. You understand, I’m telling you about a conversation among my superiors.’
Cinq-Mars nodded gravely. ‘I understand your dilemma,’ he assured the other man. ‘Seems to me, if you want to tell me what you overheard, if you feel that it’s your duty to go that way, then it must be pretty damn important.’
Dubroc took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed.
‘Take your time,’ Cinq-Mars said. ‘Hungry at all?’
‘I’ll get something later.’
‘No need. Here comes a pizza.’
The delivery car drove in and parked and Cinq-Mars signaled the driver over, who was searching for door numbers. He paid with a bill and held up his hand for the man to keep the change.
‘Pepperoni, all right?’
‘I can do a slice. I don’t want to eat your dinner.’