by Amy Lloyd
She picked from a buffet table and made small talk with an America’s Got Talent finalist. When Dennis was ready to go on she walked with him to the stage door and held his hand, which shook slightly with nerves she hadn’t known he’d felt, and she kissed him as the lighted sign above the doorway switched to green when the show cut for commercial.
‘Good luck,’ she said, and let go of his hand. He gave her a timid smile as another man in a headset walked him on to the stage. The set was a living room, all pastel colours, a fake window with a permanently blue-sky day painted behind it. The room was cut in half, facing a black space where the cameras and crew faced in. Sam thought of Ed and his sinkhole, the way his house hung half over the abyss.
Another crew member took her to a green room where she could watch the show as it went out. There were others there, the sister of a woman with a rare type of cancer, a man whose friend was on to talk about his best-man speech that went viral. Everyone smiled to Sam as she entered. There was an advert for baby shampoo on the TV and the water cooler burbled as Sam filled a plastic cup.
Then the show was back on and Sam felt the same flip in her stomach she felt every time she saw Dennis on TV. He was sat stiffly on the sofa, his hands resting on his knees. Sam willed him to remember what the media coach had told him about posture, about relaxed shoulders and appearing open.
There were three hosts who sat together on a sofa to the side of Dennis: a man in a suit with Just for Men black hair, a woman in heavy make-up and a yellow dress and a celebrity guest host who smiled too widely as they introduced Dennis with a brief rundown of his case and the new series on Netflix.
‘First of all,’ the woman in the yellow dress asked, ‘you’ve been in prison for over twenty years. Did you even know what Netflix was?’
The celebrity laughed. Dennis smiled but it fell away too quickly as he started to speak.
‘Not at first, no. People explained it to me—’
‘Have you ever watched anything on Netflix?’ the celebrity asked.
‘Not yet, I’m not really a TV kind of—’
‘For anyone who hasn’t seen the first documentary, can you help them understand what happened in your case? It’s one hell of a story, if you haven’t seen it already.’ The man put his note cards down on the table and picked them up again while he spoke. But before Dennis could answer the other hosts started to chat about the lost evidence, the false witness statements. Dennis watched them silently. A camera cut to a close-up of his face just as he looked up and into the lens. Sam jumped slightly, as if she’d been caught staring at him.
‘So what does this new series add to your story?’ the man said, suddenly turning back to Dennis, who stuttered in surprise, unable to formulate the answer he’d practised so many times.
‘Evidence. New evidence. And what led to my being exonerated, of course.’
‘Because there were still a lot of questions left unanswered after Framing the Truth. Will people who have stuck by you since the first film finally get those answers?’
Dennis looked confused. ‘I mean, finally Holly Michaels’s family can have some peace knowing that the man responsible for her murder is finally convicted.’
‘Of course. Holly’s father has previously been quite critical of the media attention surrounding your case.’
‘It must have been difficult,’ Dennis said. ‘They’re such a brave family—’
‘What about the other families?’ the woman in the yellow dress said. She looked at her cards and then smiled.
‘Pardon?’
‘The missing girls of Red River,’ the man said. ‘There was always the unanswered question after the first film – who had been responsible for the disappearance of all those girls? It was assumed that whoever killed Holly also killed the other girls but that theory was incorrect. Holly’s killer – Wayne – he was pretty forthcoming in his confession to the murder and, as it transpired, two other murders that had remained unsolved. But he was adamant he didn’t know anything about the missing girls in Red River. Does this series attempt to answer the question of where those missing girls are?’
There was a long silence. To Sam it felt like a lifetime. She hadn’t seen silence like that on television before.
‘No,’ Dennis said eventually. Everyone at the table stopped smiling, even the celebrity guest, who looked at her cards and frowned.
‘Don’t you think—’
‘The series looks at the failings of the first trial and the ongoing effect of the first movie. It documents my journey to appeal the verdict and my eventual release. It is about the murder of Holly Michaels and the injustice that her family and I endured at the hands of a corrupt group of people.’
Sam felt sick. It was everything he was supposed to say but the tone was all wrong, with none of the inflection he’d practised. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to squeeze his hand and whisper into his ear, Just stay calm, just defuse this.
‘But it’s definitely still a question that a lot of people want answered. It’s something that still follows you around, right? We had a couple of protestors outside the studio this morning. You’re quite a controversial figure! It seems that there are some people who still believe that you are guilty.’
‘But I’m not.’ Dennis shifted in his seat. He leaned in. Sam wanted to pull him back. It wasn’t the right time to lean in, it looked confrontational, like he might pounce. ‘I have been exonerated—’
‘They think you are responsible for the missing girls,’ the woman interrupted.
‘They’re wrong,’ Dennis said. ‘And I’m not here to talk about all that. I don’t have answers for those people.’
‘Of course not! Of course you don’t have answers.’ The man tried to lighten the atmosphere that was developing, and the co-hosts shared a quiet, uncomfortable laugh that didn’t reflect anything that was happening between them. ‘But it must bother you, this question mark hanging over your head, no matter that you’ve been exonerated.’
‘Yes,’ Dennis said, ‘it does. Some people will never be convinced of my innocence, no matter how much evidence is presented to them.’
‘What would you like to say to those people?’
Dennis was out of his depth. Sam waited for him to say something but he didn’t, the camera zoomed in on his motionless face.
‘If you had the opportunity to put their doubts to rest once and for all, would you take it?’ The hosts all watched him, waiting for a response.
Sam no longer knew where this was going either, but it was making her uncomfortable. The others in the room were transfixed; she wondered if they even knew she was his wife. A part of her hoped they didn’t. They all seemed to look at him with suspicion. One woman shook her head as Dennis spoke.
‘Yes. But I said already, some people will never be persuaded—’
‘We could help you change those minds,’ the woman said, more to the camera, to the audience, than to Dennis. ‘Backstage we have a trained polygraph expert and one of the leading body-language specialists in America, as well as a man who worked for twenty years as a homicide detective for the NYPD. You could take an interview and put those questions to rest once and for all.’
‘I’m just here to talk about the series …’ Dennis said. Sam saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed, watched him reach for a glass of water and then change his mind.
‘But the series doesn’t tackle these questions, does it? So this is a great opportunity for you. The polygraph would take about half an hour—’
‘They don’t even use those any more,’ Dennis said with a derisive laugh. ‘They are completely inefficient and often entirely inaccurate.’
‘Which is why we have a body-language expert and an experienced detective who—’
‘It was detectives and experts who put me on Death Row for a murder I didn’t commit! So thanks, but no thanks. Can we please talk about the series now?’
‘Are you afraid of what the results might suggest?’ the man said.
Sam knew they wouldn’t let it go. She looked at the time in the corner of the screen and wondered how long until they cut to commercial again. Maybe Dennis could draw it out long enough that they would have to drop it and go to the next segment, she hoped.
‘Look, I’m not taking any fucking tests—’
‘We’d like to apologise for that language and to anybody who was offended—’
‘I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry for that, I didn’t mean to offend anyone,’ Dennis said to the camera.
‘It’s getting very hostile in here,’ the celebrity said, voice laden with concern.
‘I’m not hostile,’ Dennis snapped.
‘It’s not the response we were expecting,’ the woman said, widening her eyes.
‘What were you expecting? That I’d be thrilled at the opportunity to be interviewed by an ex-cop and ambushed with a polygraph test?’
Stop, Sam thought, please stop talking.
‘I am here to talk about the new series. The new series which is about my exoneration. That I am not guilty.’
‘Yes, but you said yourself there are still a lot of unanswered questions surrounding—’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well, you said the new series didn’t address the question of the missing girls—’
‘Because I don’t know anything about the missing girls!’
‘Please don’t raise your voice,’ the woman said.
‘I’m done here,’ Dennis said, standing. He unclipped his microphone and pulled it back through his shirt. It made a whooshing noise as it brushed his skin. A woman next to Sam tutted and the man opposite laughed and shook his head. On screen Dennis continued to talk but the microphone was hanging from his hand and didn’t pick up his voice. He was pointing. He unclipped the pack from his belt and walked away looking back towards the presenters, who spoke to the audience, apologising for the disruption.
By then Sam was sat with her face in her hands, her elbows on her knees, unable to look at the people around her. She stayed there while the music played over a clip of what was still to come on the show and no one in the room said a word.
Dennis pushed the door open and said her name. She looked up and the light hit her eyes all at once; little dots obscured his face.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said. ‘Now.’
Sam felt them all stare as she picked up her handbag and reached to his outstretched hand. He took her fingers in his and pulled her with him, dodging the people who moved towards them in the corridor. When they got to his dressing room a member of security blocked the door.
‘My phone,’ Dennis said. ‘I need to get my things.’
Someone behind the man passed out Dennis’s phone and his wallet.
‘I had a jacket,’ Dennis said. They passed his coat to Sam and then Dennis was pulling her away again, through the lobby and out into the street. Dennis waved to a nearby cab and it rolled towards them slowly, not stopping entirely before Dennis had already opened the door and started to manoeuvre Sam in, his hand protecting the top of her head as she ducked under the door in a strange mixture of protection and control.
Twenty
Back at the hotel, Dennis’s phone lit up with notifications. There was a text from Carrie, ‘Oh Dennis, I’m so sorry xxxxx’, and missed calls from Nick, all of which Dennis ignored, turning his phone off and tossing it inside a drawer.
Sam sat behind him on the bed and rubbed his shoulders until he shook her off. She listened to him rail against the hosts and producers and tried to reassure him that he didn’t look like the bad guy in that situation. But she had glanced at the reaction on her own phone while he was in the bathroom and she knew there’d been a shift. ‘’K, seriously shady behaviour from America’s number-one creepy white guy here …’ a Jezebel writer posted on Twitter, along with a YouTube video of the show that had already been watched tens of thousands of times.
When Dennis came back she flicked the phone to airplane mode and suggested he call Nick and see what to do next. It was unnecessary. Nick called the room from the hotel lobby and reluctantly Dennis agreed to meet him downstairs.
‘Listen,’ Nick said as they sat down in the bar. ‘I’ve dealt with worse, I promise you. It’s important we write a statement, something that explains you were triggered by the interrogation, OK? Dennis, you’ve been through awful things, awful. You’re bound to have some post-traumatic stress. These guys suddenly taking you into a room to be interviewed by a homicide detective? To strap you to a machine and ask you about school friends who disappeared twenty-four years ago? Unacceptable. No wonder you reacted like you did! And there are people out there who already see it this way.’
‘They do?’ Dennis said, his eyes red and shining.
‘Most people are saying it was completely uncalled for, totally sleazy. And not just for you, what about the families of those girls? Having all that trauma dredged up for some light-entertainment segment on a daytime show?
‘Dennis, I never would have booked you on that show if I’d known—’
‘I know. It’s just such a fucking mess right now.’
‘We can turn this around. Make it a positive.’
But even after releasing a statement the tide of negativity didn’t turn. Today’s Talk had returned to the segment later in the show, the body-language expert and the homicide detective had given their opinions on what Dennis’s behaviour during his interview had suggested. They had both agreed that he was hiding something, that his body language showed defensiveness and that he was evasive, never answering any of the questions directly, like a guilty politician. They were careful not to directly accuse him of any responsibility for the girls’ disappearance but the implication was enough to spark frenzied online discussion, a new wave of petitions calling for Dennis to take the tests.
‘Maybe we should just go to England for a while,’ Sam said after another day holed up in their hotel room. ‘Go somewhere you aren’t quite as, you know, well known?’ She was already tired of hiding, restless and itching for a cigarette.
‘I shouldn’t have to worry about being “well known”! I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I know, but maybe we could both do with a break from all this. So much has happened, we’ve hardly had any time to be together.’
‘We’re together all the time,’ he said.
‘I mean … it’s all about the interviews and the photo shoots and writing your book. We could go away and just concentrate on us for a while.’
‘I don’t do this because I want to. What else can I do? I didn’t even graduate high school. It’s not like you have a job.’
‘I’m not criticising you,’ Sam said, ignoring his comment. She sat next to him on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m saying that now you’ve done so much of that maybe it’s time for you and me to be alone and get to know each other without all this … noise and drama.’
‘We do know each other. You know everything about me,’ Dennis said. He sighed and fell back on the bed.
‘I mean … intimately,’ she said, her face flushing. Dennis flung an arm over his face and groaned. ‘I’m sorry but … it’s not like I don’t think about it!’ Sam tried to control the waver in her voice. ‘Sometimes I feel like you’re not attracted to me.’
Dennis sat up and held her while she cried. She felt ashamed for finally admitting it. And afraid that now there was no ignoring it, there was no way back. Perhaps he would say it was true, that he didn’t feel attracted to her and then he would leave her and she would have no one to blame but herself.
‘It isn’t that simple,’ he said as her tears soaked into his shirt. ‘A lot has happened to me. I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet. It isn’t you. I’m going to need time. Do you understand?’
For a second she was so relieved it wasn’t about her she didn’t think about what he might mean. She told him she understood and he kissed her temple gently. They lay down together, the bed still pristinely made from the morning’s
housekeeping. She rested her eyes while he played with her hair, coiling it around his finger, tighter and tighter, until it hurt.
The next morning when she awoke he was already up, tying the laces of his running shoes. It was only five thirty.
‘Are you going out already?’ Sam asked.
‘My dad’s in hospital,’ he said without turning around. ‘Shot himself in the head. Blew out half his brains. His nurse found him, called nine one one. Now he’s lying in hospital being kept alive by machines at my expense.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sam said, sitting up. ‘Den, I’m so—’
‘It’s fine. It’s not like we were close.’
‘Even so, I’m sorry. Oh Den.’
‘Least he could’ve done was aim right. You know?’ Dennis made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiss. ‘Anyway. Now they’re asking me to come down there – the son of a bitch had me listed as his next of kin. I need to sign papers if I want them to turn off the machines, can you believe that?’
‘Is that what you want?’ Sam asked.
‘They say he’s unlikely to regain consciousness and that even if he did he’d be reliant on the fucking machines for the rest of his life. So yeah, it’s what I want.’
‘When did this …’ Sam looked again at the time. ‘When did you speak to them?’
‘About an hour ago when I finally switched on my phone,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘You looked peaceful,’ Dennis said. ‘You’re a heavy sleeper.’
Sam hugged him and told him she was there for him. Whatever he needed.
‘I need to get out,’ he said, standing and pulling on a thick sweater. ‘I just want some space to clear my head.’
