The Dead Room

ago, and there are ten more missing women who look just like the first two victims. Bloody clothes are found in the man’s trash. The man’s an oddball from the word go. Everyone in the jury can see it with their own eyes, including you. Even better, the oddball freely admits being at the crime scene but can’t remember what happened. The prosecution fills in the blanks with photographs of the victims, a shot of the accused with blood all over his face, fingerprints found on the corpse, and charts of the DNA results proving their match is a statistical lock. You with me so far?”

Teddy nodded hesitantly. He knew where Barnett was headed. He’d been down the same road himself.

“So now it’s the defense’s turn,” Barnett said. “Remember, you’re still a member of the jury. You don’t live in a vacuum, so you’re aware of the case before trial. The Veggie Butcher case. You remember reading about the murders because the Veggie Butcher is a cannibal and eats people. You saw the stories on TV, but you haven’t made up your mind yet because you’re either dead from the neck up or a damn good liar. The defense steps up to the plate. The defense says that the Veggie Butcher couldn’t have done it because he takes care of this little neighbor girl. The Veggie Butcher couldn’t have done it because serial killers aren’t known to run away from crime scenes. While the defense agrees that the man responsible for these gruesome murders is an artist, it couldn’t be the Veggie Butcher because he paints landscapes. The defense shows you a novel about the life of Michelangelo. They even read a passage from the book. And guess what-the defense has something more up their sleeve. There’s another victim out there. Lucky thirteen. Another girl who looks something like the others and disappeared after the Veggie Butcher’s arrest. This proves, of course, that the Veggie Butcher couldn’t be the real murderer. Although he’s odd looking, he isn’t really a cannibal. He may have been a butcher, but all that’s behind him now. The defense shows you a copy of this newspaper, points to the front page and raises a question. How could the Veggie Butcher be the one when he doesn’t even eat meat?”

It was a performance Teddy knew he would never forget. A summation of the facts and arguments so complete and concise, nothing had been left out. Barnett sank back into the bed and groaned. It had cost him considerable physical effort, but he’d made his point and lived up to his reputation as a master at the end game during trial. They’d spent a lot of time on the big ride to nowhere.

“Send me a copy of the profile,” Barnett whispered after he caught his breath. “Have someone drive it out tonight when you’re through.”

When Teddy tried to speak, Barnett waved him off and closed his eyes saying he needed to get some rest. It looked as if his mental anguish was even greater than the pain emanating from his broken legs. Teddy slid the chair away from the bed and left the room.

THIRTY-EIGHT

He checked the time. When he punched Nash’s office number into his cell phone and reached his assistant, Gail Emerson, he told her that he had two stops to make but would be in as scheduled following lunch.

It would be a morning of putting out fires-suppressing his anger. If he couldn’t douse the flames and kill them, at least he would confront them.

Teddy forced the issue with the warden at Curran-Fromhold. Holmes had been quoted in the Daily News. Someone had gotten to him at the prison, and Teddy demanded an explanation and a look at his client’s cell. The warden protested. Teddy struck the visitor’s list with a closed fist. No one from the paper had made a trip out to the prison. No one other than Teddy had signed in. The warden finally agreed, calling the request unusual and escorting Teddy up to the quarantine pod in building B himself.

Teddy had expected to find the inmates locked in rows of cells behind steel bars. As he entered the pod, he was surprised to see this wasn’t the case. It was a large, open room that reminded him of a cafeteria in a high school. Twenty or so modern tables with stools were set into the floor. A short set of steps led down to a sitting area where a TV hung from the ceiling. Beyond the chairs were a row of ten steel doors. Each cell door was painted a bright yellow and included a small window. Teddy noted a stairway off to the side leading up to an open level above and another set of ten yellow doors.

Two guards sat at a table within the pod by the entrance. As Teddy followed the warden over and checked in, he looked for Holmes among the fifteen inmates milling about. His client didn’t appear to be in the pod. When he heard the sound of a basketball, he turned to his right and saw two inmates shooting hoops on the other side of a glass wall. Holmes wasn’t with them either.

Well aware that the inmates were keeping an eye on him, Teddy followed one of the guards down the steps to a cell in the far corner by an open shower stall. The guard pointed at the yellow door, saying it wasn’t locked and that Holmes rarely came out of his cell or mixed with the others.

Teddy glanced at the inmates and saw the uneasy looks on their faces as he reached for the door handle. The leak at the DA’s office was in play even here. Holmes was no longer a common murderer. He was the Veggie Butcher now.

Teddy swung the door open and found Holmes sitting on the floor with a piece of charcoal and a sketchbook. Holmes seemed more than a little edgy by the interruption.

“If I need help,” Teddy said to the guard, “I’ll scream.” Then he gave the man a hard look and slammed the door closed.

Holmes dropped his piece of charcoal on the floor. The cell was the size of a closet, and without bars, the space felt particularly confining. Two beds were bolted into the wall overtop one another. There was just enough room left in the cell to fit a stainless steel bench and a john. Although there was a narrow window over the beds, the glass was frosted and didn’t offer a view.

Teddy noticed the newspapers spread out on the top bunk-each paper folded to the crossword puzzle. Holmes had filled the words in using a crayon. On top was today’s copy of the Daily News.

“You like crossword puzzles, Holmes?”

Holmes nodded, but didn’t say anything. His eyes were bloodshot, his face wasted like he’d been driving all night without rest or stopping for gas.

“Well, at least you don’t have a cellmate,” Teddy said, glancing at the john and taking a seat on the bench.

“I read the paper,” Holmes said. “They’re saying I did things.”

“That’s why I’m here. Who have you been talking to?”

Holmes looked through the window at the guard staring at them from the other side of the door.

“Not him,” he said in a voice that wouldn’t carry. “There’s others who come in at night. They’re taunting me.”

“With what?”

“Steaks,” Holmes said. “And real coffee.”

Teddy didn’t understand and gave him a look.

“The prison only serves turkey,” Holmes said. “You know how you feel after Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Sleepy,” Teddy said.

“It’s the tryptophan in the meat. Turkey’s cheap and has lots of tryptophan. It works like a natural tranquilizer. That’s all they serve here. Three meals a day. And nothing with any caffeine.”

“So at night,” Teddy said, “they bring in the steaks and real coffee.”

Holmes nodded. “When I told them I’m a vegetarian, they laughed and called me names.”

“That won’t happen again, I promise you. But you need to do me a favor, Holmes. Don’t talk to the guards. Don’t say anything at all, no matter what, okay? And watch who you’re with. You don’t know who’s who in here.”

Holmes nodded as if a child.

“May I look at your sketchbook?” Teddy asked.

“Why?”

“Because I need to.”

Holmes seemed reluctant, but finally passed the sketchbook over. Teddy flipped through the pages until he reached the beginning, carefully examining each drawing. After a moment, he realized Holmes was recreating the