Pam

by Druga, Jacqueline

  She was timid and squeaked out a ‘hi’, her eyes especially wide.

  “You alright?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’m going to go to number three.”

  Again, only another nod.

  Something was up with her. The previous two days she was bright and cheerful. Figuring, I’d ask her later again if everything was all right, I made my way to the computer and logged in.

  I had just opened up the internet browser when she sat down next to me.

  “I’m sorry,” Stacy said softly.

  “For what?”

  She shifted her eyes and then leaned further into me. “I didn’t know what to say.”

  “About?”

  “Pam … I ….” She paused. “Before I say anything. I just need you to know it was my lack of words and approach. I want to help you, I do.”

  “What are you talking about, Stacy?”

  “Are you … are you researching all these unsolved murders …” she dropped her voice even more to a whisper. “To find your children’s real killer.”

  My heart sunk and my hands slipped from the keyboard.

  “Please, don’t get mad at me. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I want to help. Criminal Psychology is my major. I’m not judging you.”

  Slowly, I looked at her. She was sincere. She really was. Her eyes locked with mine. “I’m sorry I lied to you when you first asked.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’m sorry if I’m invading your privacy right now.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. And really … another mind on this could really help. My doctor just listens and doesn’t seem to take it in.”

  “Was that the man that was here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I watched. He didn’t seem interested in what you showed him. Not to start trouble.”

  “None started.” It was after I said that, I smiled. Surprising me, Justin walked in the lab. “Justin.”

  Stacy turned around.

  “Hey.” He walked toward us. “Is there room for one more?”

  “Yes. Yes.” I stood and hugged him. “Please. Justin, this is Stacy. Stacy works here, and Stacy, this is my son, Justin. Why aren’t you in school?” I asked him.

  “I skipped today. I never skip so I figured it was okay.” He reached for a chair.

  “Here, take mine.” Stacy stood. “And it’s nice to meet you. I’m just trying to help your mom.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Justin said.

  “Oh,” I gasped out. “This is wonderful. I’ll have so much help. I copied that entire folder and gave it to Dr. Andrews, but I don’t think he even looked at it again.”

  “We don’t need him.” Justin flung out his hand.

  I sat down.

  Stacy said. “No, we don’t. Have you found a connection at all to those murders you found?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Yes, I did. That is where my problem is. It’s a person.” I looked at them both. “I think we just need to find a way to get her to admit it or find evidence it was her.”

  “Who?” Justin asked.

  “Sharon,” I answered.

  He groaned. “She sounds like trouble.”

  “Who is Sharon?” Stacy asked.

  Justin answered. “She was my mom’s friend since they were little girls. She was the troublemaker. She even tried to stop me from seeing my mom.”

  Stacy added, “If we can tie her to all of these without a link to anyone else, that may be all we need. Maybe find an eyewitness who can connect the dots.”

  I sat back, frustrated. “That’s a problem. Where to begin.”

  “It’s a puzzle,” Justin said. “We’ll find the pieces. Even if we have to find Sharon and get her to talk.”

  I exhaled. “That scares me.” I saw their curious looks. “Because I really feel that a cornered Sharon is a dangerous Sharon. And she doesn’t stop until she gets what she wants.” I opened the folder and removed the article about Richie’s aunt. “This death was no accident. Sharon was the last to see her. I know. I watched her go in the house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Desmond Andrews

  “Now you’re pushing the limits,” James Hathaway told me before I left my office.

  I shook my head, still leaving out details of my case with Pam.

  “You are not a detective. Your obligation is to go to the authorities.”

  “With what?” I lifted my hands. “Tell me. My suspicions? I have no hard core proof. Just a folder full of papers that mean nothing. I’ll tell you, James, when the friend came into my office she was manipulative, cunning, and there was just something dark about her.”

  “From one meeting.”

  “Yes. She said some things to me. Things I need to look into.”

  “What are you hoping to accomplish?” he asked.

  “To get enough to show my patient. To help her.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her what you learned from the friend?”

  “I can’t.” I replied. “She said some very hurtful things about Pam. This is also for me. I don’t want my train of thought being on one place, when something completely different is going on.”

  “So you are going to cheat?” he asked. “Go out and play ‘I Spy guy’?”

  “In a sense.”

  “Why did you call me, then? Apparently it isn’t for my advice on what to do.”

  I hesitated as I gathered my things. “I have a bad feeling. This thing is coming to a head, and I want to cut it off before it becomes deadly.” I moved to my office door.

  “Desmond. This is unethical. If this behavior continues, I will be obligated to do something about it.”

  “I know.” I reached for my door. “And I promise you. I know when I go too far. I will personally hand everything to you if it gets to that point. But right now, I have to do this.”

  My friend, co-worker, and advisor looked perplexed as I left. I knew he was threatening with his words, but like at the institution, when he busted me with my hand in the bag, so to speak, he didn’t turn me in.

  Yes, I was obsessive, and I had my own issues, but I couldn’t sit back and play armchair coach while things heated up. They were without a doubt heating up. Sharon was back in the picture and she wasn’t going anywhere.

  In fact, in my opinion, she was going to show up more often, and that was where my concern lay.

  How bad, really, was Sharon?

  For Pam’s sake I had to find out more.

  Sharon was vaguely mentioned in Pam’s records. There was more to the story than a few notations.

  My first stop was a protective measure. I stopped by the campus library.

  After parking my car and stepping out, I heard voices. They weren’t soft, either. I stayed back because I clearly recognized Pam’s voice.

  “Why are you following me?” Pam shouted. “I’m going to the police.”

  “With what? This is a public place.”

  Sharon? The second voice was Sharon? I wanted to look, but I was afraid I would be seen.

  “You jumped out at me. Came out of nowhere,” Pam said.

  Sharon laughed. “You are so easy to find. I saw your son. He’s darling.”

  “Stay away from me and my son.”

  Again, Sharon laughed.

  “Everyone is going to know what you did,” Pam argued, her voice quivering some. “Everyone. And then you’ll be put away and I’ll never have to deal with you again.”

  “Oh, I was awfully convenient all those years ago when you needed a pawn. When you were weak and needed someone strong, I was there. “

  “I never asked you to do those things!” Pam screamed.

  Sharon had this weird maddening and teasing laugh. “Have a good night, Pam. I’m here. I’ll be around. You’re not meant to be free. I am and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  After another taunting laugh, I heard footsteps and darted back. I waited in the shadows until I heard the footsteps fade and car sounds.

&nbs
p; At that second, after hearing the exchange, I knew I was doing the right thing, if not for Pam or me, but for that little girl who was helping Pam at the library.

  I walked through the library doors just as the first row of lights shut off.

  “Hello?” A young female voice called out.

  “Hello.”

  “We’re closed,” she peeked around the corner.

  It was her, the young lady I had seen with Pam. The one Pam mentioned was named Stacy. “Stacy helped me print these up. Stacy did this.’

  “I’m sorry, I won’t be long.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. “Are you Stacy?” She didn’t answer. “Here is my medical ID. “

  She reached out, keeping her distance, and took it. “Oh, Dr. Andrews. You’re Pam’s doctor. That’s right I remember you. You were here.”

  “Yes.” I retrieved my identification and after I placed it back in my wallet, I pulled out a card. “Please, do not mention to Pam that I was here tonight. I just want you to have my contact information.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Has … has Pam mentioned the name Sharon to you?”

  Stacy sighed out. “Oh, yeah. She has. The woman sounds sick. And Pam thinks she did some things. Bad things.”

  “I do, too. I’m not saying anything to Pam yet. But my reason for being here is to let you know Sharon has been showing up a lot lately, and she may come here to talk to you.”

  “She’s not gonna try to kill me, is she?”

  “No. No. Just get information out of you. You have a security guard here, anyhow, so you’re safe. Just … when you see her, try to remain calm, try not to react, tell her what she wants to hear, even if it’s a lie, and then call me right away.”

  “Don’t react, okay. She must easily be set off.” Stacy nodded. “I’m a criminal psychology major.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” I reached out and tapped her on the arm. “This will be great practice for you.”

  “Wait,” she called out as I walked away. “What if she doesn’t introduce herself?”

  “You’ll know who she is.”

  Stacy nodded. “Yeah, that was a dumb question. Who else would come to ask about Pam?”

  I smiled. “Lock up. And thank you, have a good night.”

  Stop one was done, on to the next one, and it was a drive.

  Richard Perkins, Senior, had owned the house for nearly thirty years, and the address was easy to find. I had it written on a Post-it and tucked it inside the folder of papers that Pam had dropped off.

  The lights were on in the modest two-story home. It was just after eight thirty; I debated approaching the door. Then I saw him step outside and sit on the front porch.

  It had to be him. Richie’s father.

  A man in his sixties drank from a bottle of beer and stood when he saw me walk up the path to his home.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice rough and raspy.

  “Yes, I’m looking for Richard Perkins.”

  “Why?”

  “My name is Desmond Andrews. I am a private psychiatrist and I also work with state patients.”

  “Why is a psychiatrist at my house?”

  “Then you are Richard.” I stepped closer.

  “Rich,” he corrected. “And yes.”

  “A patient of mine is Pam Dewar.”

  All expression dropped from his face, and Rich chugged that beer.

  “You know you have a grandson. Right?”

  “Yep.” He drank more of his beer. “But I have never met him. Richie and I had a falling out over some things that happened and he found out about.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t really want to discuss Pam. Why are you here? Do you want me to meet my grandson?”

  “That is up to you, and I’m here because of Sharon.”

  “Christ.” He huffed out. “Excuse me. I want another. You?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  He went back in the house as I stood there wondering why he wouldn’t let me in. Then again, I was a stranger. He returned and I immediately asked him, “So I take it you know about Sharon.”

  “Who doesn’t? Anyone that knew Pam knew Sharon. When Sharon showed up it was bad news. Bad, bad, news. We tried. Lord knows we tried to get Pam away from Sharon. Make her go away. But nothing worked. She was attached to her. She’d leave the picture for a spell. But I think now, Pam just hid that Sharon was still around to keep us all quiet. After a while, we just accepted Sharon. No matter how much she disrupted our lives.”

  “Did it happen a lot?”

  “Yeah. And always when we didn’t want her around. She was a bad girl, if you get my drift. Richie was the only one understanding about her. Then again, we all knew Richie called upon Sharon to do things his wife wouldn’t. So, of course, he didn’t want his wife to lose her.”

  “Obviously you know Pam’s been acquitted. She originally was looking for Sharon.”

  “Hope she doesn’t find her.” Rich hit his beer again.

  “Not the case.”

  That caused Rich to choke on his beer. “She’s back.”

  “Yep.”

  “That ain’t good.”

  “I agree.” I paused. “Sharon came to see me. She … told me things, and that’s why I’m here.”

  He grumbled a ‘hmm’. “Sharon spells trouble. You can spot her a mile away. All dolled up all the time. Sharon showed up one night at my house. Things … things happened.” He tilted his head with closed eyes. “And I let it get the best of me. I justified it. If that makes sense.”

  I nodded.

  “But I was wrong. Dead wrong.”

  I had a card ready and I handed it out to him. “Here is my card. Call me if you need me and if Sharon shows up.”

  “You think she will?” He looked surprised.

  “Yeah. I do. Be ready. And thank you for your time.” I turned and stopped. I was going to ask him another question, perhaps his feeling about what Pam thought in regards to Sharon being the killer. That teetered on a breach of confidentiality and I decided against it. I got enough information, information I needed to build my case on Sharon.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight – Sharon

  Fucking bitch.

  How dare she? When I saw her the night before, I was having doubts. Did I really want to destroy her life or just get her out of mine? I only wanted to talk to her. Really, I did. But the moment I stepped toward her she did it. She treated me if I were the one with all the dark secrets. She knows about me? I know about her.

  For eighteen years she was locked away, gone, out of my life and out of my mind.

  Now she’s back and she wants to disrupt my world by accusing me?

  Granted, I am no innocent, and there are things that need to stay buried.

  So many times in the past people would tell me to go away. Leave her alone. Why was it always me?

  The rage I felt swirl inside was one I hadn’t felt in a long time. It left when Pam was locked away. Because I was no longer around to jump to her defense, be the strong one.

  Like with Richie’s aunt.

  Guilty.

  That incident would come up, eventually; she never said anything to me, but she knew. Just like I knew about Connie. Unspoken words over unspeakable acts.

  “Maybe it isn’t a good idea,” Pam whispered to me outside of Richie’s Aunt Marge’s house.

  “It’s what has to be done. Someone has to talk some sense into the witch. She’s two steps away from death’s door and you and Richie need that money. That is his inheritance; she’s promised it to him since he was a kid.” I pulled away from Pam. “I’ll be back.”

  And I went into the house. I didn’t even knock. Marge never locked the doors. One would think she would at eighty-six years old. She was feisty and nasty at times.

  She stepped out of her living room into the foyer the moment I closed the door.

  “I saw you outside,” she said. “Why are you here?”

  “Richie doesn’t
deserve this treatment you have been giving him.”

  “Really? And what business is this of yours. You have a lot of gall stepping into my house. Especially you.”

  “The kids don’t deserve this.”

  Marge laughed. “You think I’m going anywhere soon? The kids can get to know me. Now get out of my house, I am going to bed.” She grabbed the railing and began to ascend the stairs.

  “Wait.” I charged for her. “Listen to me.”

  “What is there to listen to? Richie is a piece of shit and so are you.” She kept on walking. “My money, my business. Be off with you.”

  I took hold of her arm and she yanked it away. “Get your filthy hands off of me. I know. Richie sleeps with the broad and that one sleeps with you. And you …” she laughed. “You not only slept with Richie, you slept with his father. Don’t think I am not aware of that little girl thing you have happening at the salon. I saw. You need help. If you aren’t gone by the time I get to my room, I’m calling the police.”

  My visit, my plea to her was innocent. Pam was so upset. Marge had been turning the entire family on them. I just wanted to try one more time. I reached for her. My hand barely touched her frail arm and she pulled away so hard that she lost her balance.

  I suppose I could have grabbed her better.

  It seemed to happen in slow motion, her arms waving and flapping like a bird as if it would help her balance.

  My fingers grasped her nightgown.

  “Help … me.”

  I stared at her, and then the fabric slipped from my fingers. She sailed backwards, and, four stepped from the bottom, she hit headfirst with a loud ‘crack’, and her body flipped over and onto the linoleum in the foyer.

  I don’t know what cracked. Her neck, I guess. It was twisted and contorted, and a pool of blood formed around her head. Her right hand twitched and her mouth appeared to be trying to eat air.

  My heart didn’t beat faster. I felt eerily calm. She looked pathetic, not the strong woman she always projected. I walked down the stairs, stepped over her body, and walked out the door.

  Pam had left; that was a good thing. I didn’t have to explain or say anything to her. I figured she’d find out soon enough. But Pam never said a word to me. I did it for her. I did it for Richie.