Robert Ellis - The Dead Room

“We need to talk about the other day,” Teddy said.

Holmes remained silent and appeared frightened by the prospect.

“Darlene Lewis,” Teddy continued steadily. “You said you couldn’t remember anything. You ran away and the next thing you knew you were home.”

“I’m having nightmares. I already told you that. I wake up screaming and then I hear that kid crying in his cell. It feels like the place is haunted.”

Teddy nodded, beckoning the man on.

“I can almost see her face, if that’s what you’re asking. I can almost see it even though I’d do anything not to see it. It’s like it’s coming at me just before I wake up. Only she’s not beautiful anymore. She’s not even a she. It’s chasing me like a ghost and laughing at me. It’s a real bad dream. I’m glad I wake up.”

Holmes shuddered, trying to shed himself of the vision.

“What about your hands? If you can’t remember how you got cut, then how do you think it happened?”

Holmes shook his head in frustration, unable to find the words.

“It’s important, Holmes.”

“Why?” he asked. “What if it’s more important that I don’t remember? That I never remember?”

Holmes was getting loud. A guard looked over. Teddy turned back to his client and saw fear welling up in his eyes. Deciding he’d let it pass for now, Teddy pulled a file out of his briefcase containing the newspaper article on Valerie Kram’s disappearance. Holmes took the sheet of paper, wincing as he gazed at the photo of the Darlene Lewis look-alike, Valerie Kram. Teddy watched him carefully, searching for any indication that he recognized the girl. But as Holmes began reading the article, the man’s face remained blank, even numb. When he was finished, his eyes rose to the date and stayed there.

“Is she dead, too?” Holmes asked.

Teddy nodded.

Holmes’s eyes rolled back to the picture of Kram. “Are they gonna say I did it?”

“I don’t know. It’s early. The evidence isn’t in yet.”

Holmes passed the article back, unable to settle in his chair. “They look the same, but they’re not,” he said.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. They’re just different. That piece of paper said this one wanted to be an artist.”

“What about the date? I went through your place last night and didn’t notice a calendar. Do you keep a date book?”

“No.”

“It was a Wednesday. October twenty-sixth.”

Holmes shrugged helplessly. “Then I must’ve been at work.”

“It happened after work. Where’s your checkbook? Maybe that would help you remember.”

“I keep it on the kitchen counter with my bills.”

Teddy didn’t recall seeing his checkbook in the kitchen. The police either moved it when they tore up the plumbing or took it for some reason. He made a mental note to call ADA Carolyn Powell when he got out of here. A check written to a dentist or doctor or even for groceries or art supplies would do more than jog the man’s memory.

“What about credit cards?” Teddy asked.

“I’ve only got one, but I’ve never used it. I got it just in case of emergencies.”

“What about the little girl who lives across the hall? She says you pick her up at school.”

“Not on Wednesdays. She takes music lessons. She plays the drums. Her mother picks her up on her own.”

Teddy stood up, glancing at the picture of Valerie Kram as he grabbed his briefcase. Expecting Holmes to remember what he was doing almost two months ago seemed hopeless. As an exercise, Teddy had returned home last night and tried to piece together his own day on October 26. He’d started at the firm in September and kept a weekly planner. Even so, all he came up with was that he’d spent the morning in the library researching past cases and had lunch with Barnett. The afternoon and evening remained blank. How could he expect anything more from Holmes?

Holmes rose to his feet slowly. Teddy could tell the man didn’t want his only visitor to leave, didn’t want to return to his cell.

“How did the second one die?” Holmes whispered.

“It’s a different case.”

“How’d it happen?”

“The autopsy’s this afternoon,” Teddy said. “But she was cut.”

Holmes seemed shaky as he took it in. After a moment, they started walking back to visiting room three.

“Would you agree to hypnosis?” Teddy asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“The day Darlene Lewis died. We’d bring in a doctor. We’d put you under hypnosis. Then maybe you could relax enough to remember what happened.”

Holmes stopped in his tracks and that wild look was back. The fear and panic. Teddy noted the guard walking toward them who would escort Holmes to his cellblock. Holmes saw him coming, too, his voice pleading.

“No,” Holmes said. “Please. She was just a girl. I don’t want to remember what happened. I don’t want to know what I’ve done.”

It hung there, with Teddy staring into Holmes’s dead eyes. The nightmares were winning.

He pulled Holmes away by the arm. Tears were streaming down the man’s cheeks and his head was down. Teddy moved closer, whispering into his client’s ear.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You need to pull yourself together and figure a way to sort this out. There’s the chance someone else was there. Do you hear me, Holmes? That’s why we need you to remember. We need your help. There’s a chance someone else was there.”

Holmes didn’t react. He was staring at the picture of Valerie Kram in Teddy’s hand. When he finally raised his head, his face was blank, distant, in the zone. The guard led Holmes away. As Teddy watched them walk off, he doubted Holmes had heard him. Doubted that what he’d said got through. The man believed he’d murdered Darlene Lewis, maybe even Valerie Kram. His mind was a jumbled mess.

Barnett slammed a copy of the Daily News down on his desk, shaking in anger.

“This is bullshit,” he shouted. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. Look at it. It’s not a fucking headline, it’s as big as a sign.”

Teddy read the three-inch headline, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE, then glanced at the photo of Holmes in his postal uniform behind the bold text. The picture had been enlarged from Holmes’s photo ID to fill out the page, the blow up so distorted anyone looking at it would think him a monster. In a three box set below the monster’s chin, pictures were included of Darlene Lewis and Valerie Kram, along with a shot of the boathouse and an arrow indicating the spot where Kram’s body had been found in the river.

Barnett yanked his desk drawer open. When he found the pill bottle he was looking for, Teddy noted that it wasn’t Tylenol anymore, but a prescription.

“I gave you a simple task,” Barnett was saying as he threw a pill into his mouth and gulped it down. “You knew how we were gonna play this thing. Bring Nash in to scare the district attorney, then do the deal. That’s all I asked of you. That’s all you were supposed to do.”

Teddy closed the door. “Things have changed.”

“What change?” Barnett said, spitting out the words.

“It’s possible that Holmes is innocent.”

Barnett spun around, staring at him as if Teddy was insane. “Innocent? Yesterday Oscar Holmes was a guy with a history of mental illness who went off his rocker and was charged with a single count of murder. Today he’s a serial killer and the whole fucking city’s up in arms. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see what’s going on?”

Teddy grabbed the newspaper and sat down on the couch, stunned by Barnett’s attitude but keeping it to himself. As he thumbed through the first three pages, he realized that the headline may have been tongue-in-cheek, but what the articles implied were anything but. Holmes’s connection to the two murders was now in print. He glanced at Barnett slumped in his desk chair, then got started reading.