Dialogues

by Stephen J. Spignesi

  “Do you mean Mensa?”

  “Yes! That’s it. And she scored high on her SATs too. 1370. Everything fascinated her … she loved science, and history, and biology … she was always a good student.”

  “I see. Did she have a pet growing up?”

  “Only when she was very little. Henry. A cat. But nothing after Henry died. But she always loved animals.”

  “Then why didn’t she have a cat or a dog?”

  “Her father wouldn’t allow it.”

  “How about after he left the house?”

  “Yes. Cats.”

  “To your knowledge, was she ever cruel to animals?”

  “Heavens, no! Of course not!”

  “You can understand, I’m sure, why we would ask such a question, Mrs. Troy, can’t you? After all, she did take a job killing animals for a living.”

  “Objection. Judge?”

  “Mr. Loren, either control yourself or I will charge you with contempt.”

  “Sorry, Judge. No further questions for this witness.”

  “Miss Payne?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I have some questions for Mrs. Troy.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Good morning, Viviana.”

  “Good morning, Miss Payne.”

  “Viviana, during one of our conversations prior to this trial, and again in your testimony here today, you have stated that Tory always loved animals.”

  “Oh, yes. Even though her father would never let her have a pet when she was little, she always went out of her way to be with animals.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, she would dog-sit for neighbors if they went away on vacation. Or she would beg her teachers to make class field trips to the Bridgeport Zoo and the East Rock Nature Center. She was very persuasive. They went on several. And then there were the seagulls.”

  “The seagulls?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the seagulls?”

  “She fed them.”

  “Where was this, Viviana?”

  “Should I tell the story of how she fed the seagulls, Miss Payne?”

  “Yes, dear, please do.”

  “All right. There are these small shopping centers near where we live, and I used to take Tory shopping on Saturday afternoons. Sometimes we went on a weeknight if she didn’t have school the next day.”

  “Go on.”

  “There was this one center that had a big warehouse type of store. Everything was very cheap … uh, inexpensive there. Foil pans, for instance. Stop & Shop sold foil pans for a dollar ninety-nine that the warehouse store had for twenty cents. Twenty cents!”

  “Judge?”

  “Mr. Loren?”

  “Are we now going to be regaled with a complete inventory comparison between Stop & Shop and the warehouse store?”

  “Would you please try to keep your answers within the scope of the question, Mrs. Troy?”

  “Oh. All right. I’m sorry, Your Honor.”

  “Please continue.”

  “In the parking lot of this warehouse store were dozens of seagulls. More so than in any other shopping center.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because there was also a Burger King in this center, and people, I am sorry to say, would sometimes throw food onto the ground from out of their car. Partially eaten hamburgers. A half box of French fries. You know, that kind of stuff.”

  “And the seagulls would eat it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go on.”

  “Whenever Tory knew ahead of time that we were going to this warehouse store, she would start collecting whatever food she could for the seagulls. She always took my stale bread—although to be honest, a lot of it wasn’t all that stale, but I let her take it anyway. And some of her classmates would give her crackers or cookies from their lunches that they didn’t want.”

  “She saved up food for the seagulls?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She kept it in a plastic storage bag on a shelf in her closet.”

  “Tell us what happened when you two arrived at the shopping center.”

  “As soon as she stepped out of our car and started walking into the middle of the lot, the birds started gathering at her feet. I’m not saying that they knew her or anything like that, but they did seem to know that people who got out of their car and did not head straight for the store usually had something for them.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, by the time she reached a wide empty spot where there were no cars, and she stopped walking, there must have been fifty birds around her. Just standing there staring up at her.”

  “Did she then feed them?”

  “Oh, yes. She would open her bag and start tossing small pieces of bread onto the ground. The birds would swarm around the food, and they would pick up the pieces and eat them, and then they would turn back toward Tory and stare at her.”

  “Where were you when this was going on, Viviana?”

  “I was standing by the car waiting for her.”

  “I see. Continue, please.”

  “After a few minutes of throwing food to them on the ground, she would then start tossing pieces into the air. And the birds would catch the pieces in their mouths! Or is it beaks? It was the most extraordinary thing to watch, Miss Payne! After a few seconds of this, at least twenty or thirty birds were hovering in the air around her. She was standing in the middle of a flock of birds all fluttering in the air! I almost couldn’t see her! And she would gently toss a piece to each bird, and the bird would catch it, swallow it, and then continue to flap their wings and hover around her. She would aim the piece at one bird at a time, and the one she threw it to always caught it.”

  “That must have been an amazing sight to see.”

  “Oh, it was. It was.”

  “Viviana, did your ex-husband abuse your daughter? It’s all right. You can answer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Physically?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sexually?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, dear. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Troy. You may step down.”

  47

  Tory Troy

  Defense Attorney Carolyn Payne

  “Hi, Carolyn.”

  “Hi, Tory. How are you today?”

  “Weird.”

  “Weird? What does that mean?”

  “Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m floating.”

  “Floating?”

  “Yes. I’ve been feeling like this almost all the time. I’m not up near the ceiling or anything like that. I’m not levitating, or anything like that. I’m just an inch or two off the ground and I feel like I’m bobbing around like a cork in water.”

  “A cork in water.”

  “Actually, that’s a pretty good way of describing it. I feel like I’m underwater. Even when I’m walking, and I know consciously and empirically that my feet are moving and that I am placing one foot in front of the other, I still feel like I’m just floating along through the air.”

  “Have you told somebody about this? Do you want me to talk to your doctor?”

  “No … after everything that has happened, nothing seems real to me anymore. I’m immersed in some weird, dreamlike existence where the scene in front of my eyes takes a few seconds to ‘catch up’ if I turn my head. I once knew a guy—Pete the jeweler—who had Ménière’s disease and that was how he described what it made him feel like. In my case, if I’m looking, say, at my bed in my room here in this illustrious institution, and then I turn my head to the right to look at the wall, I still see the bed for a few seconds until it slowly slides to the left and then I see the wall. It’s quite the weird experience … but not totally unpleasant.”

  “Tory, you should at least mention this to one of the psych nurses.”

  “And I keep getting these headaches. They’re centered between my eyes, and then they radiate up my forehead and over my scalp. I’ve com
pletely lost my libido, and much of my appetite too. I feel numb, like I’m made of ice.”

  “I’m getting alarmed.”

  “The most unsettling part of this feeling, Carolyn—this overwhelming sense of dreaming while I’m awake—is that I can see and hear the six people I killed.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I don’t mean that they’re right in front of me—it’s not like they’re sitting across from me and I can see and hear them like they were just some ordinary person. It’s more like they’re on the periphery of my reality. I catch glimpses of them. I hear their disembodied voices. Sometimes I find myself having imaginary conversations with them. Marcy or Teresa will say something that I would have normally responded to if we were all at work together. Now their voices sound all echoey and distant, but I still respond to them. I’m pretty sure they can hear me too.”

  “Tory, I’m not sure you should be talking to me about this kind of stuff.”

  “Why not? You’re my lawyer.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know how to respond to you when you tell me things like that.”

  “They didn’t cover The Delusional Client in law school?”

  “Uh, no, they didn’t.”

  “That’s all right, Carolyn. Believe me. You don’t have to respond. I’m just grateful that you’ll listen to me.”

  “Okay. If that’ll help, go on, then.”

  “It will, because lately I’ve also become more frightened. Of what, I’m not really sure.”

  “Death?”

  “Maybe. My fear has actually become real, Carolyn. I see it as a black cloak that is wrapped around my body. This cloak has a hood too. No one else can see it but me. Sometimes the cloak is light and kind of floats around me. Other times it’s so heavy, I can feel my back slumping. My body still floats, though. The weight of my fear never brings me down to earth. Very weird.”

  “From what little I remember of my college psych classes, that sounds Jungian.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. And?”

  “And that’s another reason why I think you should be talking to your doctors about this.”

  “The other night I had the oddest experience. Out of the blue, a question popped into my mind: What if snow were black?”

  “How morbid.”

  “I know! This staggered me. There are certain things we simply take for granted in this world, and white snow is one of them. Along with green grass and blue skies and, to be even more morbid, red blood. And as soon as the thought of black snow occurred to me, the imagery manifested itself in my mind, and it was not at all pleasant, Carolyn. I could see black snow falling, and black snow covering everything. I could see people shoveling black snow, and there was no color anywhere.”

  “What a horrible image, Tory.”

  “Snow has always been white, Carolyn. White.”

  “Yes, it has, Tory. And I really think we should wrap it up for today.”

  “You know, it also occurred to me that I didn’t have to stop at black. What if snow were blue? Or green? Or, heaven forbid, red? Can you imagine red snow? The whole world would look like it was on fire.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Red snow, Carolyn. Red snow.”

  48

  Tory Troy

  Psychiatric Nurse Chiarra Ziegler

  “Hi, Tory.”

  “Hey, Chiarra.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks. What’s that?”

  “What?”

  “That pendant. Is it new?”

  “Noah gave it to me.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How long have you and Noah been together?”

  “Five years.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “A year.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet.”

  “Well, if I’m not around, I hope you’ll forgive me for not sending a gift.”

  “Tory—”

  “It’s okay, Chiarra. Maybe I’ll ask Viviana to send you something.”

  “Tory, please—”

  “Do you like Steely Dan?”

  “Yes. Noah too. We have most of their stuff. Why?”

  “You know the song ‘My Old School’?”

  “Sure. What about it?”

  “The first line of that song has been running through my mind lately.”

  “I remember … the thirty-five sweet good-byes … ?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that, Tory. I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t really know if anything I could say would be of any help to you.”

  “Chiarra, you are a friend, and you have been of great help to me, even if you don’t think so. I consider you family.”

  “Oh, my. Well, that is very gratifying to hear. And I want you to know something, Tory. If there’s anything I can do for you as this thing progresses—anything—please don’t hesitate to ask. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. You’re all right, Chiarra. Everybody else in this place avoids me like the plague, but you didn’t flinch when you were assigned to me. I want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

  “I’ve got rounds, which I had better get to before I start crying.”

  “Baby.”

  “Don’t you know it.”

  “Okay. I’ll see ya, Chiarra.”

  “Bye, Tory.”

  49

  Court Transcript:

  Tory Troy

  Defense Counsel Carolyn Payne

  District Attorney Brawley Loren

  Judge Gerard Becker

  Court Personnel

  The Visitors’ Gallery

  The Jury

  “Good morning, Ms. Troy.”

  “Hello, Mr. Lawrence.”

  “It’s Loren.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “My name is Loren, not Lawrence.”

  “Of course. My apologies.”

  “I would now like to ask you some questions about the day of the murders, please.”

  “Fine.”

  You look nice, Tory. I always liked when you wore your hair like that.

  Jake, leave me alone.

  “What time did you arrive at work the morning of the murders?”

  “Around eight.”

  “And can you describe your day up until the time of the murders, please?”

  “It was routine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it was routine. We processed a few animals that had come in late the previous day. We checked them over, fed them, and put them in cages.”

  “Go on.”

  “That was the morning, and then we had lunch.”

  We had cashews that day. Remember, Tory? Instead of a small bag just for myself, I brought in a giant can of Imperial Whole Salted Cashews. They were on sale at Wal-Mart. Two for seven dollars. Remember?

  Yes, Marcy, I remember.

  You said they were really good and that you liked them better than Planters. Remember, Tory?

  Yes, Marcy, I remember.

  “Did you have lunch that day at the animal shelter, Ms. Troy?”

  “Yes.”

  “With whom did you eat that day?”

  “Ann, Marcy, and Teresa.”

  “What about Jake, Philip, and Renaldo?”

  “Jake always ate alone in his office. Philip had to go to the motor-vehicle department on his lunch to renew his license. Renaldo always skipped lunch. Probably to save money.”

  Seneca hates you, you know.

  Yes, Teresa, I know she hates me.

  Can you blame her?

  No, not really.

  “Just out of curiosity, do you remember what you had for lunch that day, Ms. Troy?
”

  “Cashews.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I had a handful of cashews. Marcy brought in a big can.”

  “I see. Nothing else?”

  “A diet ginger ale. Do you want to know the brand?”

  “Your Honor?”

  “Ms. Troy, please.”

  “Sorry, Judge.”

  That was snippy, Tory. And rude.

  Yes, Ann, I know. I’m sorry.

  I always taught my kids to be polite and courteous. I’m glad they weren’t here to hear you be sarcastic to that nice man.

  Give it a rest, Ann. I said I was sorry.

  “No, I do not need to know the brand, Ms. Troy. And it was Schweppes, by the way. The can was part of the evidence taken from the crime scene.”

  “How efficient.”

  “What happened after lunch, Ms. Troy?”

  “We all went back to work.”

  “Could you describe for the court your specific duties that afternoon, please?”

  “I did some paperwork until around two.”

  “What happened at two?”

  “A family came in looking for a dog.”

  “A family?”

  “Yes. Mother, father, two kids. The kids were a boy and a girl. The boy was around seven. The girl was, I think, twelve.”

  “Go on.”

  “Marcy called me when they told her they were looking to adopt an animal.”

  “Adopt?”

  “Yes, that’s what we call it when someone takes an animal into their home.”

  “Doesn’t adopt usually refer to a child?”

  “Not in animal shelters.”

  “So you talk about people adopting animals, is that correct?”

  “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No. Of course not. And please allow me to ask the questions, Ms. Troy?”

  “Right.”

  “So a family came in looking to adopt an animal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please continue.”

  “So I introduced myself and then sat with them for a few minutes and explained how it worked. That they would have to make a donation to the shelter, and that they would have to agree to get the animal vaccinated and neutered.”

  “Is that standard procedure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  “I also explained to them that any of the dogs I would be showing them for possible adoption had been temperament-tested and that we felt confident they would do very well in a family environment.”