Lisa Gardner - The Neighbor

She crossed the room in three easy strides, shook their hands vigorously, then gestured them into the two low-slung blue chairs across from the desk.

“Forgive the office,” she announced cheerfully. “I work mostly with sex offenders, and the state seems to feel that any color other than gray might overstimulate them. Clearly,” she gestured to her top, “I disagree.”

“You work mostly with sex offenders?” D.D. asked in surprise.

“Sure. Nicest group of parolees there is. The heroin pushers and petty burglars bolt first time they smell fresh air. Can’t track ’em down, can’t get ’em to complete a single piece of paperwork, can’t get ’em to make a meeting. The average sex offender, on the other hand, is eager to please.”

Miller was staring up at Pickler as if he were having a religious experience. “Really?” he said, stroking his thin brown mustache, checking the motion, then smoothing it again.

“Sure. Most of these guys are scared out of their minds. Prison was the worst thing that ever happened to them and they’re desperate not to go back. They’re very compliant, even anxious for approval. Hell, the really hard-core pedophiles will check in almost daily. I’m the only adult relationship they have, and they want to make sure I’m happy.”

D.D. arched her brows and took a seat. “So they’re just a bunch of regular Joes.”

Pickler shrugged. “As much as anyone is. ’Course, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think someone was behaving badly. Who is it?”

D.D. checked her notes. “Brewster. Aidan Brewster.”

“Aidan Brewster?” Pickler parroted. “No way!”

“Yes way.”

Pickler’s turn to arch a brow. But then she turned to the first gray metal filing cabinet and got busy. “B… B… Brewster. Aidan. Here we go. But I can tell you now, he’s a good kid.”

“For a registered sex offender,” D.D. filled in dryly.

“Ah please. Now see, this is where the system is its own worst enemy. First, the system has managed to vilify an entire class of perpetrators. Second, the system has created a class of perpetrators too big for its own good. On the one hand, you rape thirty kids, you’re a registered sex offender. On the other hand, a nineteen-year-old has consensual sex with a fourteen-year-old, and he’s also a registered sex offender. It’s like saying a serial killer is the same as the guy who gave his wife a black eye. Sure, they’re both pieces of garbage, but they’re not the same pieces of garbage.”

“So what kind of sex offender is Aidan Brewster?” D.D. asked.

“The nineteen-year-old who had consensual sex with his younger stepsister’s fourteen-year-old friend.”

“He’s on probation for that?”

“He served two years in jail for that. If she’d been a year younger, he would’ve gotten twenty. That’ll teach a boy to keep his pants zipped.”

“Fourteen is too young to give consent,” Miller spoke up, having finally taken a seat. “Nineteen-year-old boy should know better.”

Pickler didn’t argue. “A lesson that Brewster will get to spend the rest of his life learning. You know, being a sex offender is a one-way ticket. Brewster could be clean the next thirty years; he’ll still be a registered sex offender. Meaning every time he applies for a job, or looks for an apartment, or crosses state lines, he’ll pop up in the system. That’s a lot of baggage for a twenty-three-year-old.”

“How’s he taking it?” D.D. asked.

“As well as can be expected. He’s entered a treatment program for sex offenders and is attending his weekly meetings. He has an apartment, a job, the semblance of a life.”

“Apartment,” D.D. stated.

Pickler rattled off an address that matched what D.D.’s team had already found in the system. “Does the landlord know?” D.D. inquired.

“I told her,” Pickler reported. “It’s not standard protocol for his level of offender, but I always think it’s better to be safe than sorry. If the landlord found out later and booted Aidan unexpectedly, that could create stress and strain. Perhaps set him adrift. As Aidan’s PO, I feel my job is to help him avoid unnecessary turmoil.”

“How’d the landlord take it?”

“She needed to hear the whole story, and wanted my number on speed dial. Then she seemed to be okay with it. You’d be surprised how many people are. They just want to know up front.”

“What about the neighbors?” D.D. pressed.

“Didn’t notify the neighbors or the local PDs,” Pickler supplied briskly. “Brewster shows up in SORD, of course, and I considered that adequate given his risk assessment and current level of programming.”

“Meaning…?” Miller quizzed.

“Meaning Brewster’s been doing just fine. He’s lived in the same place and held the same job and attended the same weekly support group for nearly two years now. As parolees go, I’d take more just like Aidan Brewster.”

“A regular success story,” Miller quipped.

Pickler shrugged. “As much as one expects to see. Look, I’ve been at this eighteen years now. Sixty percent of my parolees will figure things out, maybe not the first time they’re paroled, but eventually. The other forty percent…” She shrugged again. “Some will return to prison. Some will drink themselves to death. A few will commit suicide. Technically speaking, they don’t re-offend, but I’m not sure I’d call it success. Then there are the Aidan Brewsters of the world. From a PO’s perspective, he’s a good guy, and that’s the best I can tell you.”

“Employment?” D.D. asked with a frown.

“Local garage. Vito’s. Kid’s really good with his hands. That’s helped him mainstream more easily than some of these guys.”

D.D. wrote that down. “You say he’s been there two years?”

“Their top mechanic,” Pickler specified. “His boss, Vito, can’t say enough nice things about him. Employment-wise, kid’s doing aces, which matters, given his current expenses.”

“What expenses?” Miller wanted to know.

“Programming. Sex offenders are responsible for treatment costs. So in Brewster’s case, that means he’s forking over sixty bucks a week for his group counseling. Then there’s the cost of his maintenance polygraph, two-fifty a pop every ten months, to make sure he’s on track. If he had an ankle bracelet he’d have to pay for that, too, but he got lucky and hit the streets the year before the GPS became SOP. Plus, he’s got Boston rent due, transportation costs, etc., etc. Not a cheap life for someone who’s starting the game with limited employment options.”

“You mean because he can’t be around kids,” D.D. said.

“Exactly. So even at a local garage, Brewster can only work on the cars, never at the front counter. After all, you never know when a woman might walk in with two-point-two kids.”

“But he’s a good employee.”

“The best.” Colleen shot them a grin. “Vito can work Brewster to the bone, and the kid’ll never complain because they both know he can’t just quit and get a job elsewhere. People think sex offenders can’t find employment. In fact, there are certain ‘savvy’ employers out there who are more than happy to have them on board.”

Miller was frowning now. “Poor little Aidan Brewster? Couldn’t keep his hands off a fourteen-year-old, so now we should all feel sorry for him?”

“I’m not saying that,” Colleen replied evenly. “The law is the law. I’m just saying that for most of the judicial system, you do your crime, you serve your time. Brewster went to jail, but he’s still serving time, and will be for the rest of his life. Ironically enough, he would’ve been slightly better off had he killed the girl instead of sleeping with her. And as a member of the judicial system, I’m not comfortable with that analysis.”