Red Mist

system.” I don’t add that she might be carrying a gun. “Maybe you should be worried about your professional and personal safety,” I add.

“And I imagine you would have a first-rate security system and camera surveillance if you were working down here. Or someone would do it for you,” she adds, and I wonder if she’s referring to Lucy. “As soon as I have more forensic facts and am completely sure of my case, I’ll file a petition to vacate Lola’s capital-murder convictions. I’ll redirect prejudice to the facts. I’ll redirect a lust for revenge to hard science, and hopefully you’re going to help me.”

She pauses as if expecting me to tell her I will, but I don’t offer that assurance.

“There was never any evidence to link Lola to those crimes except for the bloody clothing Dawn Kincaid obviously instructed her to dispose of or to clean or maybe planted in her room to frame her,” Jaime says. “But I need details. I intend to be fully armed when I go forward.”

“How did Lola and Dawn know each other? Or do we know if they did?” I inquire, as Benton text-messages me again.

Where are you? Not answering in your hotel room.

I’m safe,I text-message him back.

Call when you can. (Anna Copper has a tarnished rep.)

I answer him for the third time with a question mark as Jaime says, “Let me interject that I’m not violating privilege. Lola has given me permission to discuss the details with you.”

“Why? Besides the fact she likely would do whatever you said.”

“Your influence would be taken seriously by the courts,” Jaime answers. “What we lack is a recognized and reputable forensic expert who will stick his or her neck out.”

She means Colin Dengate isn’t going to stick his neck out. Or at least that is what she believes.

“It’s not a popular position to take in light of the outrage over these murders,” she adds. “Public sentiment is nothing less than hateful, even after all these years. The beauty in proving Dawn Kincaid murdered the Jordan family is it also helps you,” she makes that point again.

She’s trying to bribe me into doing the right thing, and maybe that’s what is offending me most.

“If Dawn Kincaid slaughtered an entire family in their sleep, she’s certainly capable of committing the crimes in Massachusetts, and no one is going to believe a word she says about you,” Jaime concludes an argument that isn’t necessary or complimentary in what it implies.

“Has Lola mentioned Dawn Kincaid? Has she admitted or insinuated that Dawn is the mysterious accomplice she refers to as Payback?” I ask.

“No.” Jaime cradles her drink and looks at me from the corner of the couch, where she is restless and getting drunker. “She says she doesn’t have any idea. She woke up in her room at the halfway house the morning of January sixth and discovered articles of her own clothing on the floor, clothing that was covered with blood. Terrified she would get in trouble, she tried to wash them.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Lola’s afraid. That I do believe. She is terrified of this person she continues to refer to as Payback.”

“Terrified of a person or a devil or a monster? Maybe something she’s imagined?”

“I think it’s possible Lola met Dawn on the street and got enticed by an opportunity for money or drugs. It’s possible Lola didn’t know the real name of this person who got her mixed up in something that resulted in her being set up and framed.”

“She would have been in the halfway house at the time Dawn came to Savannah and the murders were committed.” I remind her that someone remanded to a halfway house because of drug charges might not be permitted to wander the streets with impunity.

“An uncontrolled halfway house,” Jaime says. “The residents were allowed to come and go with permission. Lola was in and out, supposedly looking for a job, supposedly dropping by a nursing home in Savannah to visit her ailing grandmother. She had plenty of opportunities to meet someone like Dawn, who probably used an alias, or perhaps she offered the nickname Payback,and that may very well be the only name Lola ever knew. Disguising her identity would make the most sense when you think about what Dawn intended to do. But it’s irrelevant. DNA doesn’t lie. DNA doesn’t care about aliases.”

“Have you asked Lola if the name Dawn Kincaid might be familiar? Might be a name she’s repressed out of fear?”

“She wouldn’t admit it — assuming she remembers. But I have asked her if the name Dawn Kincaid means anything, and she says no. I’ve been very careful. I haven’t mentioned the DNA results,” Jaime repeats.

“She’s that afraid of whoever Paybackis. Even after nine years.”

“She says she hears Payback’s voice,” Jaime answers. “She hears Paybackdescribing the terrible things she’ll do if Lola ever crosses her. Now Lola doesn’t have to talk or tell us who Paybackis,” Jaime says, and I can’t help entertaining the possibility that Paybackis made up.

A scary fantasy in the head of an emotionally damaged young woman with an IQ of seventy who is scheduled to be executed on Halloween.

“The DNA is the only voice we need to hear,” Jaime says. “And Dawn Kincaid is safely locked up and will stay locked up.”

“She knows Dawn Kincaid is locked up and will stay locked up? That at some point she’ll be going to trial?” I want to make sure.

“She knows that Dawn has been charged with multiple counts of homicide in Massachusetts,” Jaime confirms. “It’s been in the news, and I’ve mentioned it. It’s not a secret at the GPFW that Kathleen Lawler’s daughter is at Butler and facing trial.”

“I’m sure you’ve talked about Dawn with Kathleen.”

“I’ve interviewed Kathleen, as you know. Of course we’ve talked about her daughter.”

“Dawn’s locked up, and yet Lola is still too afraid to talk.” It doesn’t make sense to me, no matter what Jaime explains.

If Lola’s been on death row for the better part of a decade for crimes she didn’t commit and the real killer, Dawn Kincaid, is locked up in Massachusetts, why is Lola still terrified of her, and why is Kathleen Lawler terrified of Lola? Something is wrong about all of this.

“Fear is a powerful emotion,” Jaime says confidently, beginning to slur her words, “and Lola’s had a very long time to be afraid of this person on the outside, of Dawn, who is alive and well and unimaginably cruel. You’ve seen what she’s capable of. She was only twenty-three years old when she slaughtered the Jordans in their own beds. Because she felt like it. Because it was a blood sport. Because it was fun. And then made herself a sandwich and drank a few beers and set up a troubled and intellectually impaired eighteen-year-old girl to take the blame.”

“You could have just asked me, Jaime,” I say to her. “The rest of it wasn’t necessary. You didn’t need to manipulate me or entice me, and it concerns me that you might think you need to bribe me. I can fight my battles with the FBI or anyone else, and I think after all we’ve been through, you should have known I’d help if you asked.”

“You would have come to Savannah and been my forensic expert in the Lola Daggette case?” She looks at her glass as if considering a refill. “You would have intervened with your redneck colleague Colin Dengate, who’s given me a lot of yes-no answers, and that’s about all? You would have taken him on?”

“Colin’s not a redneck,” I answer. “He just very convicted in his opinions and beliefs.”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” she replies, and she isn’t referring to my questioning Colin Dengate’s findings.

Jaime’s thinking about being almost family.She’s wondering if what happened between Lucy and her would obviate my being helpful or even civilized.

“Lucy doesn’t seem to know you’re here,” I answer the question Jaime should have asked. “She got somewhat upset when I called her after Kathleen gave me your cell phone number this afternoon. I asked Lucy if she’d told you I was coming to Savannah, if that’s how you knew. She said no. She indicated she’s not talked to you.”

“We haven’t talked in six months.” Jaime stares past me, and her voice is tight and edgy.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened.”