Darkness Drops Again

by Melissa E Manning

  Mother turns the book over and flips through the pages as if expecting to find the real gift hidden inside. I have one more idea.

  “It’s also about Christmas. You know in Narnia it’s always cold and wintery, but they never have Christmas until Aslan returns.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice idea, I guess. But I would have preferred some recent issues of People or Vogue.” She tosses the book on the coffee table in front of her and turns to Dad.

  “And what housekeeping gift did you get me this year? A new Dirt Devil?”

  Dad gives her a sarcastic smile before retorting, “Why, dear, your gift is two months in this expensive rehab. Enjoy.”

  Mom picks up the book and throws it at him. Hitting him right in the stomach. As he bends down to pick it up, I hear him mutter, “Ungrateful, bitch.”

  Clearly the nurse supervising the visitors’ area overheard it as well, as she instantly appears at my side leading me into a smaller room with a couch, coffee table and TV. I sit down as she picks up the remote and scrolls for Christmas shows. She stops at A Charlie Brown Christmas.

  “This is my favorite Christmas special. I watch it every year with a cup of steaming hot chocolate. Can I get you one, sweetie?”

  I shake my head. I’d recently discovered consuming calories was one of the few things I could control at home. Now any time my father rages or my mother is drunk before dinner, I forgo food for the next twelve hours.

  The nurse looks like she wants to say something else, but thinks better of it. Instead, she grabs the throw blanket behind me, spreads it across my lap, and departs.

  On the screen in front of me, Charlie Brown just opened his mailbox to discover he once again hasn’t received any Christmas cards. He laments about how he already knows nobody likes him. Why does there have to be a holiday season to rub salt in the wound?

  I hear the argument between my parents escalate, with my father asking my mother, “What did you want me to give you? Booze and pills? Unfortunately, they are kind of frowned upon here.” I realize I understand exactly how Charlie Brown feels.

  Chapter 13

  On Thursday morning, I arrive at 2717 South Sacramento Avenue, better known as division four of the Cook County jail. Division four is a two-story, sixteen-wing building housing all security classifications of the female general population. Walking inside, I quickly assess that waving my bar card will give me no special treatment here. I’m subjected to the same thorough search all visitors are put through. My briefcase is scanned and my person is subjected to both a metal detector and full body pat down. Damn you, metal in my nude pumps. Once I clear security I’m escorted to a hallway where I find Ethan and Tom already sitting on a metal ledge against the white, brick wall. They both look up from their ubiquitous yellow legal pads and nod in greeting. I take a seat next to them and wait for the guards to retrieve Tammy.

  The smell of Cook County jail is overpowering. It’s a mixture of sweaty, unwashed bodies and urine. The smell must be pervasive among prisons, as it had been the same in the Indiana Women’s Prison where my mom had resided for a time. While we wait, at least twenty women file past us going to who knows where. I know from experience that some of the programs offered include substance abuse counseling and domestic violence group therapy. I also think my mom took an art class to add a hint of summer camp to her incarceration.

  Tom and Ethan in their high-priced, fashionable suits of gray and black, respectively, come off unmistakably as legal counsel and so several of the passing women ask them for representation. The women aren’t quite as sure about me. My mid-range navy long-sleeve dress with a brown accent belt could be the attire of a well-compensated paralegal. I do get a couple of “you’d be popular in here, sweetie” which I guess is nice to know. If my life ever goes so sideways I end up an inmate, at least I won’t be a lonely one.

  Not surprisingly no one seems in a hurry in prison. When Tammy finally arrives, she’s in a blue prison jumpsuit and her two-tone hair doesn’t appear to have been washed this week. Her pungent body odor also suggests she’s missed a few showers. The guard motions for us to follow him down the long corridor. A few minutes later, he stops and unlocks a door to our left. He motions for us to proceed inside while he positions himself to stand watch. I follow Tammy, Tom and Ethan into a minimally furnished conference room. Minimal means a flimsy table chained to a metal loop in the concrete floor and six folding chairs. Tammy takes a seat and Ethan and Tom pull up chairs on either side of her leaving me to sit across. I reach into my Kate Spade Vivian bag and pull out what else but a yellow legal pad and a pen to take notes.

  Tom is as efficient and to the point as ever. “Tammy, as you’re aware, today is April fifth and your trial is scheduled to begin on June ninth. That doesn’t give us much time to prepare. This week we’ve been scheduling expert witness interviews and preparing case summaries for the potential experts to review.”

  Tammy, noticeably upset, interrupts with, “What for? What are these experts going to say? My daughter was a drug addict and died. End of story.”

  Tom has clearly been through this before and impatiently reminds Tammy, “Now you know Kyleigh didn’t die from an overdose. She asphyxiated. The prosecutor is going to argue that you choked her. We need to present an alternative theory. So, we are going to have these experts review Kyleigh’s autopsy report, police report and the crime scene photos and tell us if there is another explanation for Kyleigh’s death.”

  Again, Tammy interrupts. “Well, there must be because I didn’t do it. I went to that shithole she stayed at with her dealer because she wanted money. As usual, I might add. We got into a fight because I told her I was cutting her off. I wasn’t going to keep handing over my paycheck so she could get high. And then she went crazy. Screaming that I didn’t care about my grandson. He’d go hungry. She hit me.” Tammy points to her right cheek as if evidence of a slap is still there. “Not the other way around. I finally had enough and split. That’s the last time I saw her.”

  Apparently satisfied at having given her side of the story, Tammy leans back and starts biting her nails. Tom takes a moment to regroup and consult his notes. I know I should stay quiet and wait for him to refocus, but curiosity gets the best of me.

  I invoke my sweetest most unassuming tone meant to, hopefully, encourage Tammy to confide in me. “Tammy, as you know, I’m new to the team. While I’ve read the police reports, including the statements you made when you were questioned, I know they’re biased. I’d really like to hear from you what happened that night with Kyleigh.”

  Tom looks startled to discover I have working vocal chords, but doesn’t object. Tammy still looks wary, but her defensive posture relaxes a bit. She turns to Ethan and asks, “If I’m going to do this, did you at least bring me some smokes?”

  Ethan instantly reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a box of Marlboro reds and slides them to Tammy with a lighter on top. Tammy slowly selects a cigarette, lights it and takes a few puffs. Then she looks at me.

  “I’ll tell you what I can remember, but it was two and a half years ago. The details are a bit fuzzy. I don’t know how much help I can really be.”

  Tammy is hedging. She’s not ready to cooperate. Then an idea pops into my head to engender trust and I run with it. “Why don’t we start a bit farther back. I have two young children, and I’d really like to hear what Kyleigh was like growing up.”

  Bingo. A smile slowly spreads across Tammy’s haggard face as images of a young Kyleigh emerge.

  “Oh, Kyleigh was a beautiful child. Just gorgeous. She had long blond ringlets and big blue eyes. By the time she was five everyone could see she was destined to be a star. I signed her up for dancing and singing lessons. She was a natural. Best kid in her class. Voice like an angel. One year she sang “Silent Night” at the school Christmas pageant. Everyone in that auditorium was wiping away tears, I tell ya. And it just so happened that one of the dads there was also a judge for a pageant in southern Illinois. Came up to m
e that very night and told me I should sign Kyleigh up. So I did. And Kyleigh won. First place. I couldn’t believe it. After that, I signed her up for as many pageants as I could find and she brought home all kinds of awards. Helped pay for all those lessons.”

  “Wow. Sounds like she was really talented,” I add encouragingly.

  “She was. That girl was destined for great things.” At this Tammy takes a long puff on her cigarette and seems to get lost in bitter memories. After a few moments, she continues, but with a rueful tone.

  “Then she hurt her back in cheerleading. She was the top of the pyramid her junior year. And that idiot Bobby Pratchett didn’t catch her right on one of those throws. I think he did it on purpose. He liked Kyleigh since the fourth grade and she never gave him the time of day. I don’t know what he expected with that terrible acne. Anyway, after that Kyleigh started having back spasms. They hurt so bad she was missing school. We started seeing a chiropractor two and three times a week, but it didn’t help. And the Miss Illinois Teen pageant was coming up. Kyleigh had been working for that all year. So her doc told her to take a Vicodin and a muscle relaxer at night the couple of days leading up to the pageant. Worked like a charm. Kyleigh finished in the top ten. We just knew next year she’d win it all.”

  After Tammy takes a drag this time, she seems reluctant to pick up the thread.

  I give her a prod. “But then Kyleigh kept taking the pills?”

  Tammy just nods her head.

  She needs a scapegoat. I give her one. “That happens all the time. These doctors are so quick to prescribe opioids even though they are extremely addictive.”

  Tammy takes the bait with relish.

  “Exactly! It wasn’t Kyleigh’s fault. She was only sixteen. What was the doctor thinking giving a young lady such strong drugs? He should’ve known better.”

  “I completely agree.” I see Tom out of the corner of my eye doodling on his notepad. His patience with Kyleigh’s back story is wearing thin. I need to get Tammy talking about the night Kyleigh died before he reins me in.

  “Well, I don’t want to make you relive too much of Kyleigh’s struggle with addiction. I know this is hard, but can you tell me how much you remember about the last time you saw Kyleigh.”

  Tammy looks up at the ceiling as if trying to decide where to begin. “Well, Kyleigh died on Monday, August 3, 2015. A mother doesn’t forget the day her only child died.” Tammy exhales a big puff of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “I had worked the day before. I was the manager of the Walmart in Evergreen Park. Kyleigh had been texting me all day asking me to come over after work. I knew she wanted money so I kept putting her off. But then she said she thought Garrett had an ear infection and wanted me to take a look. I knew she was probably lying, but I couldn’t risk Garrett being sick and not looked after. I agreed to go over. See, she never had Garrett dressed properly and he was always getting colds that turned into ear infections. And then she didn’t have insurance, so she’d just let it go on for weeks…”

  To get Tammy back on track, I prompt, “And what time did you get off work?”

  Tammy looks a bit miffed to be cut off, but responds, “I got off at seven. But then I needed to go home and change and get some dinner. And Rapscallion needed to be walked and fed. So, I didn’t get to that asshole Simon’s place until nine or ten.”

  This discrepancy has been bugging me. I jump in, “It was after ten. See, in the police investigation notes, it says that film from a 7-Eleven down the street shows you arriving at Simon Harr’s house around ten thirty-five p.m., but text messages show that you were texting back and forth with Kyleigh until eleven nineteen p.m. Why did you wait in the car? Why didn’t you just go in?”

  Tom and Ethan exchange looks indicating they are mildly impressed with my attention to detail. Tammy, on the other hand, snaps back into defensive mode. She stops gazing at the ceiling and looks right at me, pointing with the cigarette in her hand.

  “I was waiting for her dickhead dealer to leave, obviously.”

  I expected this response, so I push back. “Right. That’s what you told the police, but that same video camera shows Simon left his house at ten fifty-seven. Why did you wait another twenty minutes?”

  Tammy seems unprepared for this question. “To make sure he didn’t come back, of course. How did I know he wasn’t just making a delivery around the block?”

  Something still bothers me about this delay, but I decide to let it go for now. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. What happened after you went into the house to see Kyleigh?”

  Tammy takes a deep breath to compose herself and lights another cigarette. “Well, I remember the place was filthy. There were broken bottles and needles strewn all over. It wasn’t fit for anyone to be in, let alone a child. Garrett had just turned a year old in July. At eleven o’clock at night, he should’ve been asleep in his crib. Not stuffed in a car seat while his Mom gets high.”

  Again, looking to end the tangent, I prompt, “And what happened between you and Kyleigh after you went inside?”

  Tammy can see what I’m doing and gets visibly annoyed. She appeals to Ethan to end the interrogation.

  “I’ve already answered all of these questions. Can you just catch her up later?”

  Ethan starts to respond, but Tom cuts in. “Tammy, this is good for us to go through again as we start prepping for trial in earnest. Please continue.”

  My face flushes with excitement as Tammy sighs and lights another cigarette. She’s going to make me wait a little while before answering.

  “Well, Kyleigh starts asking for money, of course. She knows I’d do anything for Garrett, so she starts going on and on about how diapers are so expensive. How she’s going to need to go to urgent care for his ears and will need money for that. It was total bullshit. I got a discount on diapers and wipes at Walmart and would bring her over new boxes every week or so. And, when I went and looked at Garrett in his car seat, it was clear as day that baby didn’t have no ear infection. He wasn’t fussin’. He was sleeping just as sound as could be. So I told her no. She wasn’t getting any more money from me. And that’s when she got hysterical and slapped me.”

  “Kyleigh slapped you because you wouldn’t give her money?”

  “Well…” Tammy pauses and takes another drag. “She slapped me because I called her a liar and a junkie and wouldn’t give her any money. She started screaming about how Simon makes her pay for drugs with sex. Sometimes even passing her around to his friends. She said that I was turning her into a prostitute! Can you believe that? This is my fault?” Tammy looks to me to share her outrage.

  “That must have been very hard for you to see Kyleigh that way.”

  Tammy nods her head. “And then she basically told me to go fuck myself and picked up a baggie and a needle to get high. That’s when I left. And the next thing I know, the police are coming to tell me she’s been found dead.” Tammy sits back indicating she’s come to the end of her tale. But I can’t let it go quite yet.

  “When you left you knew Kyleigh was going to get high?”

  “Of course. That’s all Kyleigh ever did,” Tammy answers with a short laugh.

  “And you didn’t take Garrett with you?”

  Tammy looks like she’s been slapped again. Her face is red with outrage. Then she stands up and leans over the table to get closer to me, cigarette right in my face, and shouts, “You don’t think I wanted to take him! You don’t think I begged Kyleigh for months to just let me have him? But she wouldn’t let him go. Even called the police on me once for ‘interfering with her parental rights.’ Parental rights, my ass. That girl didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She didn’t care about him. She just wanted to use him as leverage to keep extorting money from me. She was never going to be a mother to that baby when all she cared about was her next hit.”

  The guard outside must hear the yelling and abruptly opens the door. “Sit down now or this meeting is over,” he orders Tammy.

 
; Tammy reluctantly obeys and takes another few drags from her cigarette in an attempt to regain her composure. “So, yeah, I left Garrett there in his car seat. I didn’t have no other choice.”

  As we exit the foreboding prison gates adorned with barbed wire, Tom turns to me with a surprised but pleased expression on his face.

  “You conducted yourself well in there. Got some good information and touched on a couple of weak points we’ll need to work out before trial. I’m impressed with your command of the facts after only being staffed on the case for a week. You show real promise.”

  I feel a surge of pride rise within me. “Thank you, Tom. I’m enjoying being part of the team.” As I say it, I realize it’s true. I’m enjoying this case more than I’ve enjoyed any of my other work these last few years. I decide not to overthink it and just enjoy the moment.

  “I don’t think Tammy’s delay going into the house is as big of a deal as Maeve is making it. It makes sense she would wait to see if Simon was coming back,” Ethan interjects petulantly.

  He’s jealous. I thought he might be put out by the unexpected competition. I let the comment go unanswered, but have a feeling Ethan will continue to make me pay for showing him up. For his part, Tom just nods as he walks off in the direction of his black BMW 230i.

  As I climb back into my mom-mobile, I grab my phone to see what I’ve missed the last few hours. Another text from Zara asking for details behind Tuesday night’s mortification. I still can’t bring myself to tell her the whole story.

  And a text from Patrick:

  Plane is delayed. Won’t land until midnight.

  My response is curt and to the point as it’s been the last two days:

  Thanks for the heads up. See you tomorrow.

  Another night’s reprieve until I’ll be forced to address the elephant in the room. Or, in my case, the scantily clad woman on the monitor.

  Chapter 14

  The feeling of dejection in the forty-seventh floor conference room on Friday afternoon is palpable. Tom is angrily flipping through his case file and occasionally scribbling notes while Ethan contemplatively stirs the cream into his fourth cup of coffee. I prefer to swivel my chair and stare at the twinkling skyscrapers visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The conference room floor has the best views and is thus the only floor where clients are permitted.