“There could be a lot of reasons for that. It doesn’t necessarily mean your mother was entirely out of the picture.”
He dropped back in his seat. “Yeah, well, as it turns out, she wasn’t. My mother lived with us.”
“So why did your grandmother raise you?”
“That’s not in my file? I’m surprised. They got every thing else in there. My mother had Down syndrome, okay? Couldn’t even take care of herself. Happy now?”
“What about your father?”
“Who knows where he is?” he said with an agitated shrug. “Or who he is. She was raped. My grandmother thought it was the weird, quiet dude who lived down the street. But the cops could never prove it.”
Evelyn couldn’t help feeling some empathy for him. As heinous as the actions of the men she studied were, they often had tragic stories themselves. “How old was she when this happened?” she asked gently.
“Sixteen.”
“So … your mother was more like a sibling.”
“Yes.”
“Does she still live with your grandmother?”
“No. She died several years ago. In case you haven’t heard, people with Down syndrome don’t have a long life-span.”
Evelyn ignored his condescending tone. She’d known that people with Down syndrome didn’t live as long as most others, but their life-spans still varied. “Do you miss her?”
“No. It was a relief. She was an embarrassment to me.”
“That’s brutally honest…”
He grinned. “Not bad for a natural-born liar, huh?”
She picked up her pen again. “What do you call your grandmother?”
The smile slid from his face. “My grandmother’s dead, too.”
“Then what did you call her?”
“What does it matter?”
He’d defrauded people who were probably a great deal like his grandmother. Did he do it in spite of loving her? Or did he do it because he hated her? If he’d used her name, they probably weren’t close. If he’d called her Grandma or used a nickname, chances were greater that they’d shared a real bond. The nature-versus-nurture battle still waged when it came to human behavior, so it was important to gain an accurate picture of what his early development had been like. “You’re new here, and I’m trying to get to know you. Why? Is that question out-of-bounds?”
He hesitated but couldn’t seem to figure out how answering her question would hurt him. “I called her Mom. What does that tell you? Nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t really care about me.”
No, she cared about the innocent victims who constantly fell prey to people like him. She was working for their benefit, not his. But he saw the world only from his own perspective. That was the one thing that remained consistent, no matter which inmate she was studying—their absolute narcissism. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing than talking to me?”
“Maybe. I was watching TV.”
She closed his file and stood. “Then I’ll let you return to it.” With enough time, he’d probably be eager to talk. At the very least, their sessions would give him an opportunity to get out of his cell. Most of the inmates were anxious to relieve the tedium. So she didn’t feel the need to push him. She’d simply wait until he was ready.
He seemed taken aback that she’d give up so easily. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. We don’t coerce anyone here, Mr. Knox. We try to keep things as pleasant as possible.”
“Pleasant?” he echoed. “You call having my cell searched in the first week and some douchebag guard tearing up my grandmother’s picture pleasant?”
She felt her eyebrows draw together. “What are you talking about? The correctional officers have no business destroying your personal property.”
“Do they know that?”
“They most certainly do. Which guard are you talking about?”
“It’s not like I know anyone here, but the tag on his uniform read: ‘A. Smith.’”
“Andy.” The CO she’d just seen in the elevator, the one who’d acted so quickly to save her life last winter. “Why’d he do that?” she asked. “Were you talking back, resisting the search, causing problems?”
“No! I was sketching a picture from that photograph. When he took it, I tried to get it back, but he tore it to bits. Just to spite me. Just to show me he could.”
“Was anyone else there to see this?”
“Another guard. He didn’t seem happy about it. I heard him mutter something that sounded like he was angry. But it was too late.”
“Who was the second guard?”
“Guy in the next cell called him Tex, but that wasn’t what was on his uniform. It was a long last name, one I couldn’t even begin to pronounce.”
“Tex Wojciechowski.”
“Yeah. That must be it. I doubt there could be two guys named Tex in this place.”
“And you’re saying you did nothing to provoke Officer Smith…”
“Nothing. Ask Tex.”
“I plan to.” She pushed the button that would signal to the COs that it was time to escort Knox back to his cell. They came and got him, but she remained, sitting at that desk, staring off into space.
She’d never been able to decide why she didn’t particularly like Officer Smith. He’d been friendly from the start, always eager to please. She’d never heard anyone else speak ill of him. And she owed him her life! Who could say what might’ve happened if he hadn’t arrived at Amarok’s house when he did?
Bishop would’ve completed the frontal lobotomy he’d been about to start, so she wouldn’t be sitting here today. She’d be like Beth, his sister. In an institution. Unable to care for herself. Or worse. She could be somewhere with Bishop, a constant but helpless victim. That was why she’d never allowed herself to mention her distrust of Andy Smith to Amarok or anyone else. She never allowed herself to think about it, either. She had nothing concrete on which to pin such negative emotions. She just knew he made her uncomfortable. But that seemed so unfair, so ungrateful.
She told herself that after all the good he’d done she should ignore the incident with Bobby Knox. Bobby was no saint, or he wouldn’t be in here. But that photograph probably meant a great deal to him. Maybe his grandmother was the only person he’d ever cared about. Maybe she was the only one who’d ever cared about him. It was callous, even cruel, of Smith to destroy it. What would make him do that?
She needed to find out. So when she went back to her office, she asked Penny to summon Tex Wojciechowski. If the situation was really as Knox had presented it, Smith had to be warned that if he wanted to keep his job he’d better not act that way in her prison again.
*
Amarok dreaded going over to the motel. Leland’s friends had left him a message saying they’d finally given Leland a sleeping pill to get him to settle down after being up all night. But Amarok knew he’d be demanding answers again soon and didn’t have a whole lot to tell him. Investigations took time, and Amarok was just getting started. But, thanks to Loni, he had a couple of hopeful leads, and he had to confront Sierra’s brother at some point.
Besides, he had to get a list of people who’d stayed at The Shady Lady over the past several days. If Allen Call or Ward Brothers had come to town, maybe he’d find some trace of them.
As he entered the front office, he eyed the SUV sitting outside the motel room where Leland and his friends were staying.
Margaret was there, as usual. Her daughter had left for college in the Lower 48 in August, so Callista was no longer around to relieve her.
“Hey, Sergeant. Hell of a storm last night, huh?”
“It was a bad one, all right. At least it blew over quickly.”
“Until the next one rolls in. Weather folks are saying it’s going to be a rough winter.”
“Winters here are always rough.”
“I guess that’s true.” She lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones in the office. “What’s going on with the men in Cabin Eight?”
Amarok lifted his eyebrows in question, but he could guess where Margaret was going.