Pam

by Druga, Jacqueline

  “And we were friends ever since. She was always with me. We’d get into trouble a lot.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Like all best friends. We’d talk each other into doing things. Nothing really bad. Just normal teenage mischievous stuff. I think it’s that way with every pair off.”

  “I had a friend like that, too. Always getting me in trouble.”

  “That was Sharon. But she was fun. Kind of the wild person, outgoing. I was the shy one.” She nodded, peered up briefly, and looked back down. “But I don’t want to talk about Sharon anymore. Not today. Not yet. Maybe another time.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  After a hesitation, Pam answered. “Because she is avoiding me.”

  “How so?”

  “I asked Freedom Project to get in touch with her.”

  “Freedom Project contacted her?”

  “They tried.” She exhaled. “Left messages. I know she doesn’t want to face me.”

  “Do you want to face Sharon because you miss her and she’s been your lifelong friend, or is there another reason?”

  “I need to know why she lied.”

  “Sharon lied? When?” I asked.

  “At the trial. She saw me after three. But she said on the stand it was before three. You won’t find that in the court records, though,” she said. “Her testimony was stricken from the record. But I heard it.”

  “I don’t have the court records; I have to go by what you tell me. And that is what I care about. Okay?” I leaned into the desk. “What are you going to say to Sharon if you find her?”

  “I want to know why she lied. I should have opened my mouth at the trial. But I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. But she knows something.”

  “About your children?”

  “Yes. I know she does. My visit to the bank wasn’t friendly, that’s why I know she had to remember me being there. For about three months, we were barely talking. We fought a lot. She and Richie were at each other’s throat always. She got strange. Times I thought she was jealous. There was something I suspected that happened and …. Let’s just say the story goes deeper.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She shook her head. “Not now. Maybe another time, when I find her.”

  “Did it cross your mind that she doesn’t want to see you? Maybe she wants to stay away, and maybe it’s best to leave her in the past with everything else?”

  “No. The past is unresolved. I need to resolve it. I need to find out who killed my family. The answer is there. No one looked because everyone looked at me and nowhere else. I’ll find out. I will.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “Going back to Willow Brook.”

  I exhaled. “You realize you can bring back a lot of painful memories. I think, before you do go back, we need to discuss that day. Not now. But before you go back to Willow Brook.”

  Pam nodded and then out of the blue her eyes got wide. “There is something I want to talk about.”

  “Sure.”

  “I was pregnant during the trial. I gave birth in the hospital, and they took the child. My ex-husband raised the child; it was his. Stephanie told me the boy wants to talk to me. Meet me.”

  I was well aware of this, not because of Stephanie or reports, but because it was all over the news and on morning talk shows. “I saw that on Good Morning Hartford. You don’t want to meet your son?”

  “I don’t know. I do but I don’t think I should. His life is different. Better without me. I’m scared of why he wants to see me.”

  “Maybe because you are his mother,” I suggested.

  “Come on.” She shook her head and released an airy laugh. “I’ve been in a mental institute.”

  “Tell you what. How about I meet with the boy first, see if I can figure out his true intentions, and if I think they are pure and good, we meet here.”

  She fiddled with her hands. “That could work. I would like to see him. I just don’t want to hurt him by not being what he expects. I lost everything.” She puckered her lips, and I saw her eyes gloss over. “To find out I still have him seems too good to be true. Like there’s a catch.”

  “Then we’ll find out.” I pulled my notes and a pen forward. Since she didn’t want to talk about that fateful day, her past, or Sharon, I stayed on the subject of her son. To me it was a positive subject and a good start for a first full session.

  Chapter Twelve - Sharon

  “Did Richie have other women?” my father asked me, before the trial, after the murders and before he lost his mind.

  A strong man, the chief of police, he was forever marred by the case, and eventually it took its toll and he got lost in himself. He’s been in Willow Brook Nursing Home for six years. Too young to be in such a place.

  “Did he?” My father repeated the question when I didn’t answer. “’Cause you know, you repeatedly told me he was a good man.”

  “Richie is a good man. A good father. He just has bad habits.”

  “Like cheating on his wife. He says he was leaving her for another woman? What do you know about that?”

  “Not much. He was always leaving Pam, so she says. But he always stayed. Why are you asking?”

  “Because he said that was why she snapped. Why the kids were killed,” my father said. “And I got to thinking. Marion Blake.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “What about her?”

  “Her body and child’s body were found days before the babies were killed.” He sighed out. “You went to school with her. Did you know her?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “We did.”

  “Did Richie know her?”

  I tightened my lips.

  “Did he?”

  “I think so.”

  “You know more; why aren’t you saying?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “When did you go to Hartford?”

  “We went … a little over a month ago.”

  “That’s when they’re saying she was killed,” my father said. “Did Pam ever leave your sight?”

  “Not for a second. What reason would there to be to kill this woman and her child?”

  “Because her family said she was involved with a married man. That’s why she moved to Hartford, because he didn’t want anything to do with her. I was thinking, just random thinking, she was involved with a married man … and Richie was always leaving for another woman, maybe…”

  “No.” I cut him off. “No.”

  “The state prosecutor is looking into it.”

  I stood. “Did you say this stupid theory to him?”

  “Hey! What the hell is this attitude?”

  “I was there. I was in Hartford. Looking into this is pointing the finger at me.”

  “A little rash of a reaction, don’t you think? What are you scared of?”

  My own father used that moment that we were together to interrogate me. That strained our relationship forever. I know he was under duress about the murderers, they hit home, but why was he interrogating me?

  It had to do with Pam calling out that I knew something about those murders. What was that about? Why would she do that? I wanted to kill her for that. Fortunately, Richie was already pointing his finger at her, and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

  But Hartford was there.

  Despite what I said, my father’s question rang eerily true to me.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  A lot.

  That night in Hartford would forever haunt me, because I know and Pam knows the truth about that evening.

  We went to Hartford under the guise of seeing a Guns and Roses concert. We even bought last minute tickets.

  If people ever wondered why I didn’t tell the truth on the stand, why I thought Pam had to be put away, one word was the answer: Hartford.

  I hated, absolutely hated Marion Blake. She was that girl in school with a perfect smile and hair and the boys just loved her. She was sweet as pie
to all the guys and acted dumb as an ox. Went on to become a hairdresser. Big deal.

  She hated me as well, and I was always the object of her snide remarks. My hair wasn’t curly enough, my lip gloss didn’t shine, stupid shit like that.

  So when she up and left town, I celebrated. Until I went to get my hair done and they all started talking.

  ‘The affair made her leave. First he was gonna leave his wife. Then he changed his mind,’ a hairdresser said.

  ‘It was going on for a while,’ another added

  ‘But she wasn’t the only one,’ a customer interjected.

  ‘She’s pregnant. He told her to get an abortion, can you believe that?’ said another.

  ‘How does his wife not know?

  ‘Shh. Look.’

  One pointed to me.

  I waited until my perm was done, said nothing, and headed immediately to Pam’s house.

  “Has he confessed another affair?” I asked her.

  “Not in a while,” she replied. “Richie quit that. He’s happy. Especially now since we’re trying to have a baby.”

  A knot formed in my stomach, and I told her what I heard. I know it was painful, but she had to know, and if it were true, she needed to confront Richie. For as much as Pam loved him, she couldn’t keep dealing with his wayward behavior.

  We drove to Hartford, saying it was a girl’s overnight.

  But what we really planned to do was find Marion Blake and confront her. Find out.

  Pam kept saying ‘no’, that we were crazy, and I reminded her of the one girl back in high school. How I heard he was fooling around with her and how we stopped that.

  “If she is fooling around with Richie,” Pam said, “then it’s over.”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  All color dropped from Pam’s face. That hit her hard and added determination to find out.

  Through gossip at the shop, I found out where she worked. We waited outside the Snip and Clip hair shop. I had gotten out of the car to peek, and she was in there, sure enough, in a full-on pregnant state.

  Once she emerged from work, we followed her home. We waited a few minutes and knocked on her apartment door. She lived in an apartment above an auto body shop. Nice quiet little place. Didn’t seem big enough, though, for a child.

  She opened the door with a smile, and then that smile dropped. She saw Pam.

  “Since we weren’t friends in high school, I’m curious as to why you are here,” she said.

  “We need to talk,” I said calmly. “Can we come in?”

  She chuckled. “We?” She tossed back her head. “I hated you in school. Why would I let you in my house?”

  “We’re a little older now; can we get past that?” I asked.

  “How you made my life a living hell,” Marion quipped, “that’s not easy to do.”

  “I think you’ve distorted the truth,” I told her.

  Suddenly, Pam, who had been quiet, blasted out. “We aren’t playing fucking games with you! I don’t give a fuck who hated who!”

  “Pam.” I snapped her name. I was trying my best to keep the situation calm. Her outburst wasn’t going to help us.

  “No!” Pam blasted. “Marion, are you having or did you have an affair with my husband?”

  Marion started to close the door.

  Pam lunged forward stopping her. “Answer me.”

  “Pam.” I spoke calmly.

  “Answer me!” She yelled.

  Marion’s eyes shifted back and forth. “You’re nuts.” Again she started to close the door. “Leave now or I’m calling the police.”

  “Just …” I held up my hand. “Answer the question.”

  She exhaled. “I did. It’s over.”

  And I believed we got our resolution. I wanted to leave, but Pam wasn’t done. My mild mannered friend who rarely swore sounded off kilter, like a mad woman.

  “You fucking whore. Are you carrying his baby?”

  “Pam!” I yelled.

  “Yes, but it’s done! He wants nothing to do with the child or me. Yet.” She slammed the door.

  Pam reached for it, but I stopped her, and then she broke down and cried.

  “It’s happening again. How can he do this to me, time and time again?” she sobbed.

  “I know. I’m sorry I brought you here.”

  “I needed to know the truth.”

  I took her in my arms. “Let’s back to the hotel, talk about this, and just get old-fashioned drunk while we figure out what we’re gonna do.”

  She could barely speak, only nodded, and we walked off.

  We did drink that night. In fact, I drank a lot. We debated on going to the concert; after all, we bought tickets, but we had drunk too much.

  I passed out.

  When I woke, Pam was out, sound asleep with an empty bottle of whiskey at her side. We were only a few minutes from Marion’s house; I thought, maybe, that I could talk to her alone. See what her intentions were, what she was going to do about Richie’s baby.

  I didn’t wake Pam. I left a note that I was going for coffee and drove over to Marion’s apartment.

  It was still early, and the auto body shop wasn’t open yet. Hers was the only apartment and as I reached to knock, her door opened all the way.

  At that second I knew something was wrong.

  I stepped in, quietly calling out her name, but barely did when this weird stench hit me. It smelled like an old dog pound.

  Two steps into the house I saw the blood. A pool of it by the entrance to the kitchen.

  “No.” I thought. “No,” And I hurried toward the puddle.

  The kitchen was small, and Marion’s body took up the entire length of the floor. She was surrounded by a deep pool of drying blood. Like Sharon Tate, a rope, or rather phone cord, was wrapped around her neck, her body half-undressed. She lay on her side and was covered in so much blood that I couldn’t tell how she died. Stabbed? Shot? I handled that until I stepped closer.

  Her stomach faced the wooden kitchen cabinets. Her pregnant stomach looked like nothing more than a gutted deer. The umbilical cord stretched out of the open wound to the fetus that was attached by a knife to the kitchen cabinet. Pinned there like a memo.

  My stomach churned and mouth filled with saliva. Immediately, my mouth filled with vomit laced with my previous night’s drinking.

  It splattered from my mouth through my fingertips, and I turned to the left, saw the bathroom, raced in and vomited in the commode.

  The whole time I heaved over that toilet bowl, it wasn’t the sight of Marion’s body, it was the baby. The tiny baby no bigger than eight inches, impaled and adhered to the white kitchen cabinet. The knife wasn’t huge, but compared to the size of the unborn baby it was monstrous.

  That child probably got one breath of life.

  It was sickening, and it took a while for my stomach to settle. Once it did, I used my foot to flush and walked back to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Marion’s dead body. “I’m sorry.” I raced for the door.

  Another one of my demons. Another reason bad karma followed me.

  The subject of Marion came up once, and that was when Pam said, “Marion is in Hartford. I’m gonna not think about her anymore.”

  I don’t know for sure if Pam killed Marion, I don’t know. I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell. But I was just as guilty as the person who did it. Because I said nothing about what I had seen and found. Scared that it was my friend’s doing, and that perhaps we’d both be in trouble. I quickly left the apartment, and making sure I didn’t leave a fingerprint, I locked and closed that door tightly.

  I took off, never looking back and swearing I’d never tell a soul.

  It was a bad decision. A horrible, soulless decision. One I regretted even more so now because Pam was free.

  Chapter Thirteen – Pam

  “Tell me about that day.”

  I wasn’t ready to, not yet. I had only been out of the hospital for a week, and I w
anted to start my investigation. But Dr. Andrews wanted to hear my story.

  He had said that, once I told him, he’d feel better about me going to Willow Brook.

  While I could have gone anyhow, a part of me felt as if I needed his permission, his blessing.

  There was something about Dr. Desmond Andrews; he was different than any other therapist or psychiatrist I had seen. He had a keen interest in me and everything I said. I avoided eye contact because for some odd reason, I thought he would look into my mind. That he was trying to see into my soul.

  My paranoia, I suppose.

  “There is nothing in the folder,” he told me. “You didn’t speak at the trial so I can’t even order those transcripts. What did you tell the police?”

  “That I didn’t do it. That someone else did. And that’s all I said.”

  “Tell me about the day.”

  I rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say, what happened that day. Not that I had to lie; I didn’t. I knew he would not break the confidentiality bond. But I rehearsed in my mind because I was nervous about speaking. Terrified about bringing that day forefront.

  “I picked Mandy up at school; it was her birthday. We were having a small family party, and then her friends were coming over for a sleepover.”

  “How were you feeling that day?”

  “Stressed. I had dinner to cook. Things to get ready. Anyhow, we got home, I had errands to run, but I wanted to see if we had candles. I hung all the balloons earlier that day. I was pulling out the drawer and it fell. I tried to grab it and it scratched me.”

  “The scratch,” he said. “The reason for your release.”

  “I told them Mandy didn’t scratch me. I should have told them what she said in the car.”

  “And that was?”

  “That she scratched a boy at school,” I answered.

  “This would be the DNA match of that other crime?”

  I nodded. “They asked me if I remembered the boy. I told them no.”

  He leaned back in the chair. “Why?”

  “I was afraid. I don't know. It was stupid.”