The Dead Room

Darlene Lewis, eighteen years of age, from Chestnut Hill. Although details of the arrest and crime scene were excluded for the most part in favor of a dry reading of the statutes involved, the horror and gore were substantial enough that they easily crept through the back door. Teddy was just thankful that any mention of the word cannibalism had been left out, knowing full well it would come up next week at the preliminary hearing. That would be the time when the district attorney’s office would be asked to demonstrate that they had enough evidence to send the case to trial. Three weeks after that, if the judge agreed, and Teddy was certain that he would, Holmes would be formally arraigned.

Judge Vandergast turned back to the TV and once again asked Holmes if he understood.

Holmes nodded a second time. “Yes, I do,” he said, his words blurred by a gravelly voice mixed with despair.

The judge paused as if the weight of the charges were sinking in. He leaned back in his chair and removed his reading glasses. Teddy could hear Holmes’s breathing over the phone and thought his client might even be crying. No one said anything as the judge wiped his glasses off with a handkerchief, slipped them back on, and reached for his calendar. This was the world Judge Vandergast lived in eight hours a day. Teddy tried to compute the number of cases the man heard in a week. Probably hundreds, he thought, working the room with grace and professionalism but thank God for weekends and holidays and any day he could get off.

“Bail isn’t an issue,” the judge said, paging through his calendar. “How about next Tuesday? We’ll schedule the preliminary hearing for ten o’clock. Judge Reis is available. I think we’ll give this one to him.”

The judge turned to Teddy with a practiced calm; they were in the eye of the storm tonight, not fighting the heavy winds and swirling sea that lay beyond. Teddy couldn’t help but wonder what Judge Reis may have done to deserve this one.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “But I was hoping for a delay of a week or two in order to evaluate my client’s mental competence. I’ve just come from the crime scene. Given the circumstances, it would seem to be a relevant issue in the case.”

“Maybe so,” the judge said with a twinkle in his eye. “Only it’s not an issue tonight.”

Teddy cleared his throat. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

He glanced over at Powell as she agreed on the date and everyone wrote it down. It was obvious from the look on her face that she hadn’t expected him to say anything at all. Because of the weight of the crime and his lack of experience, she seemed surprised by his attempt to stall.

Powell got up from her chair, still eyeing Teddy as she gathered her papers. Then Judge Vandergast switched the TV off. Once the screen went blank, once the image of Holmes vanished into the night and they were safe, only then did the judge rise from the bench, claiming he and the court would require a brief, thirty-minute break.

SIX

The steel door swayed open. Teddy was escorted from the lobby into a small passageway by the assistant warden-a tall, surprisingly gentle-looking man by the name of J.S. Dean.

“Welcome to the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility,” Dean said, slamming the heavy door shut with what Teddy considered an overly dramatic bang.

They waited a moment for the electronic lock to engage. Then a second door clicked open and they started down a wide corridor to the holding area. Prisoners roamed freely here, pushing carts and carrying boxes in both directions. Teddy guessed that privileges were granted for good behavior and that the inmates he saw were on work duty even at this hour.

Good behavior or not, Teddy kept his eyes on them.

He’d made the ten mile drive up I-95 to Prison Row without needing directions. Curran-Fromhold was one of four city prisons set side by side on State Road just off the interstate. The sight of the prisons with their high walls, bright lights, and watchtowers could be seen from two miles away. Before leaving the city, he’d returned to the Wawa minimarket for another large coffee to go. He’d even tried calling Jim Barnett’s cell phone once he cleared the parking garage. The attempt had been unsuccessful, which struck Teddy as odd. Either Barnett needed to change batteries on his cell phone, or he’d deliberately switched it off. Given the circumstances, neither possibility made sense or did much for Teddy’s frayed nerves.

The assistant warden pointed to the right and they started down a ramp into a second corridor. As they walked, J.S. Dean recounted the history of the prison and how the city chose its name.

“It happened twenty-nine years ago,” Dean said, looking him over.

Teddy was twenty-seven. That would make it 1973.

“Not here, but at Holmesburg Prison,” Dean said. “Holmesburg’s closed now, but you can see it from the parking lot.”

“Just on the other side of the interstate,” Teddy said.

Dean nodded. “Two inmates had a grievance over religious services and scheduled a meeting with Deputy Warden Fromhold in his office. But when they showed up, it turned out they didn’t really want to talk about religion at all. Instead, one of them grabbed Fromhold and held him down while the other stabbed him to death with a homemade knife. Unfortunately, Warden Curran just happened to be passing in the hall and heard the struggle. His lucky day, huh? When he walked in, they were ready for him and ended up stabbing him to death, too.”

Dean waved at an inmate pushing a cart past them and said hello. Teddy didn’t find reassurance in the story or its timing.

“That’s how the place got its name,” Dean went on. “Curran-Fromhold. It’s funny, but I haven’t told that story in a long time. Must be because of your client.”

“How so?”

“His last name’s Holmes,” Dean said. “Makes me think of Holmesburg Prison, I guess.”

Teddy nodded, feigning interest. Dean seemed like a good guy, but listening to him talk about two more murders was a strain. Teddy had seen and heard enough for one day. All he wanted was to get this over with and point the car home.

By the time they reached the check-in area he’d pulled himself together and had a look around. Two guards manned the booth next to the garage, and Teddy could hear the assistant warden being told that Holmes had arrived ten minutes earlier and was ready to go. Teddy turned to the holding tank and looked through the bulletproof glass. Three prisoners he didn’t recognize were huddled on the far bench, staring at something on the floor as if they were trying to keep their distance. When Teddy moved closer, he spotted Holmes lying on the concrete in chains with his eyes closed.

He took a step back as two more guards entered from the hall, one armed with a taser. On the assistant warden’s nod, the two men opened the holding tank door and called out Holmes’s name. Holmes opened his eyes, getting to his feet without assistance. Then he was led out of the tank and guided across the hall to the property desk. His handcuffs and leg irons were removed. As he rubbed his wrists, he turned and looked Teddy directly in the eye.

It was a long, dead stare. Teddy tried not to flinch, but thought maybe he did. Holmes was bigger in person, and far more powerful. If Darlene Lewis had put up a struggle, it couldn’t have lasted very long.

One of the guards gave Holmes a nudge. Holmes finally looked away and began emptying his pockets. The assistant warden joined Teddy by the holding tank door.

“At this point he’s only been searched for weapons,” Dean said in a lower voice. “His cash is counted and goes into an electronic account. If he’s carrying contraband, it’s taken away and forgotten. But after this it’s illegal. After he signs off on the inventory, possession of contraband is a crime. That includes cigarettes.”

For one fleeting moment Teddy wondered what the penalty might be for possession of cigarettes. But in the end, he wasn’t really listening. He was staring at Holmes’s massive hands. He hadn’t noticed before. Holmes had been wounded, his hands wrapped in gauze and tape.

The man behind the property desk printed out the inventory, and Holmes signed at the bottom without reviewing the list. Then one of the guards pointed to a pay phone mounted on the wall.

“You’re allowed one call,” the guard said. “Collect.”