mid-flight refueling would be a disaster. Nursing always makes me sleepy, and I’d probably end up napping on the side of Beverly Boulevard. Not a good way to start the day.
The telephone rang while I was struggling to get Sadie to latch on and I almost let the machine pick it up. I might have, but Ruby got there before me.
“Wyeth-Applebaum residence, this is Ruby speaking.” She frowned. “Mama, someone wants to know if we accept collect calls from Dartmore Prison.”
“Yes!” I said. “Always, Ruby. We always accept collect calls from prisons.”
“Yes,” she said into the phone. “We like getting collect calls from prisons.”
I held out my hand. “Give me the phone.”
“This is Ruby, can I help you?”
“Give me the phone, Ruby.”
“She’s right here, but she’s nursing Sadie.”
“Ruby! Give me the phone this instant!”
“Can she call you back?”
“Ruby, if you don’t hand me that phone I’m going to give you a spanking!”
She rolled her eyes and handed over the receiver.My daughter, alas, knows just how realistic my threats of corporal punishment are.
“Hello, this is Juliet,” I said.
“This is Fidelia, Chiki’s cousin.”
I could tell right away that something was terribly wrong. Fidelia sounded crushed, her voice tiny and lifeless.
“What happened?”
“Sandra’s dead. She was killed last night.”
This was not the first time I’d gotten news like this over the telephone, nor even the first time I’d gotten news like this from a prisoner. Each time I had been nothing short of devastated, wrenched by the reminder of the terrible danger of prison, of the lawlessness and violence governing the lives of people inside. This time, however, seemed somehow worse than the others. Perhaps because Sandra was a woman, perhaps because she was a new mother, perhaps because I’d seen her so recently. This time the tragic waste struck me with a terrible force, and it took some moments for me to catch my breath.
“I’m so sorry, Fidelia,” I said, my voice cracking.
Fidelia sobbed suddenly, as if my sympathy had triggered a breakdown in her control. If we had been sitting close together I would have put my armaround her, held her hand, offered some physical comfort. The murmurs I could give over the telephone wire were entirely insufficient.
“What happened?” I asked when her cries had ebbed.
“A shiv, out on the yard,” she said. “I didn’t see it but they’re saying . . .” she paused. “I don’t believe what they’re saying. Even when she wanted to change bunkies, she was careful about how she did it. And since then she’s been real good to everyone, helping them with their legal cases and all. I don’t believe it’s true, what they’re saying.”
I knew that that was as much as Fidelia could tell me. Even if there were no prisoners standing nearby who could hear her, all telephone conversations going in and out of the prison were recorded, and Fidelia was savvy enough to watch her words, especially since the sister of one of the leaders of the guards’ union was no friend of Sandra’s.
“Find her baby, Juliet. Please find Noah. Maybe you think now it doesn’t matter, because she’s dead, but it does. It does matter, more than ever. I’ve got to make sure you find him, for Sandra’s sake.”
“I will, Fidelia. I promise.”
Eleven
W HEN Al wrapped himself in his Los Angeles cop persona, I could almost see his uniform, hovering like a dark blue ghost around his seated figure. He had someone from the warden’s office at Dartmore on speakerphone, and after introducing himself as “Detective Al Hockey, from down in L.A.,” Al spent some time replying to the man’s questions about precincts, with references to the ones he worked in more than ten years ago. Needless to say, he did not mention the time lag. Within a few minutes he had moved beyond the LAPD and was playing U.S. Army geography with the man on the other end of the line. (“I
The telephone rang while I was struggling to get Sadie to latch on and I almost let the machine pick it up. I might have, but Ruby got there before me.
“Wyeth-Applebaum residence, this is Ruby speaking.” She frowned. “Mama, someone wants to know if we accept collect calls from Dartmore Prison.”
“Yes!” I said. “Always, Ruby. We always accept collect calls from prisons.”
“Yes,” she said into the phone. “We like getting collect calls from prisons.”
I held out my hand. “Give me the phone.”
“This is Ruby, can I help you?”
“Give me the phone, Ruby.”
“She’s right here, but she’s nursing Sadie.”
“Ruby! Give me the phone this instant!”
“Can she call you back?”
“Ruby, if you don’t hand me that phone I’m going to give you a spanking!”
She rolled her eyes and handed over the receiver.My daughter, alas, knows just how realistic my threats of corporal punishment are.
“Hello, this is Juliet,” I said.
“This is Fidelia, Chiki’s cousin.”
I could tell right away that something was terribly wrong. Fidelia sounded crushed, her voice tiny and lifeless.
“What happened?”
“Sandra’s dead. She was killed last night.”
This was not the first time I’d gotten news like this over the telephone, nor even the first time I’d gotten news like this from a prisoner. Each time I had been nothing short of devastated, wrenched by the reminder of the terrible danger of prison, of the lawlessness and violence governing the lives of people inside. This time, however, seemed somehow worse than the others. Perhaps because Sandra was a woman, perhaps because she was a new mother, perhaps because I’d seen her so recently. This time the tragic waste struck me with a terrible force, and it took some moments for me to catch my breath.
“I’m so sorry, Fidelia,” I said, my voice cracking.
Fidelia sobbed suddenly, as if my sympathy had triggered a breakdown in her control. If we had been sitting close together I would have put my armaround her, held her hand, offered some physical comfort. The murmurs I could give over the telephone wire were entirely insufficient.
“What happened?” I asked when her cries had ebbed.
“A shiv, out on the yard,” she said. “I didn’t see it but they’re saying . . .” she paused. “I don’t believe what they’re saying. Even when she wanted to change bunkies, she was careful about how she did it. And since then she’s been real good to everyone, helping them with their legal cases and all. I don’t believe it’s true, what they’re saying.”
I knew that that was as much as Fidelia could tell me. Even if there were no prisoners standing nearby who could hear her, all telephone conversations going in and out of the prison were recorded, and Fidelia was savvy enough to watch her words, especially since the sister of one of the leaders of the guards’ union was no friend of Sandra’s.
“Find her baby, Juliet. Please find Noah. Maybe you think now it doesn’t matter, because she’s dead, but it does. It does matter, more than ever. I’ve got to make sure you find him, for Sandra’s sake.”
“I will, Fidelia. I promise.”
Eleven
W HEN Al wrapped himself in his Los Angeles cop persona, I could almost see his uniform, hovering like a dark blue ghost around his seated figure. He had someone from the warden’s office at Dartmore on speakerphone, and after introducing himself as “Detective Al Hockey, from down in L.A.,” Al spent some time replying to the man’s questions about precincts, with references to the ones he worked in more than ten years ago. Needless to say, he did not mention the time lag. Within a few minutes he had moved beyond the LAPD and was playing U.S. Army geography with the man on the other end of the line. (“I
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