Chapter 14
She was surprised at how little the prison complex seemed to have changed in the years since her absence. The same barbed-wire fences surrounding the perimeter, the same faceless grey walls. Even the fluorescent lighting had its same odd color temperature. Many of the same women - still incarcerated. But what was she expecting really?
Theresa had asked if she was ready to enter the facility as they stepped out of the governmental car. She didn’t think she had shown any reluctance or hesitation, though perhaps being at Wentworth had a strange way of getting inside you. Staying inside you.
Erica could see that some of the women were already in the yard, watching them cross the car park through the fence. She wondered how many of them remembered her, if they recognized her at all.
“I’m sure you were hard to forget,” Theresa laughed softly, as if reading her mind. Erica gave an uncomfortable shrug as she glanced back towards the yard before they entered the building.
They were met by a metal detector and a guard who still needed to check their bags. Erica sighed, recalling the years that she had owned a transparent bag solely to skip this step.
Will Jackson, apparently now the lieutenant governor, would greet them by the front desk. He offered Erica a warm smile, followed by a “long time, no see”.
“I don’t think anyone could have predicted what happened after you left,” he said. Their three sets of feet echoed down the corridors. “You’re probably still the best governor we’ve had in years.” It was a grave chuckle, but even Erica finally smiled.
“Maybe.”
As much as she wanted to look at her feet and avoid gazing around, she couldn’t help herself. It was too familiar. Every so often a prisoner would pass them by, or they would pass by a group. She must have recognized some of them. McConnell...or was it McConnor?Is that Sue? No doubt the confused stares and occasional glares she (and Theresa) received confirmed her earlier wonders.
*
“I apologize for the short notice, but I thought that this was the only way this could possibly work out,” Vera said. They were seated – Dr. Westfall having arrived shortly after their entrance – in the governor’s office. This had changed, Erica mused. The walls were now painted grey, not the deep red she had left them. Will stood with his arms crossed by the door, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Is there anything we should know before meeting her?” Theresa asked. “Rather, anything we don’t know already.”
Vera frowned. She turned in her chair towards Bridget.
“She might say things that are true. But they are not the truth,” Bridget said carefully. Her expression was similar to Will’s. Concerned. “You can’t take anything she says at face value.” She looked over at Erica, their gaze meeting.
*
“My predecessor and my prosecutor, what a pleasant surprise.” Joan Ferguson looked across to the two women sitting before her, her face suggesting something between contempt and polite indifference. “Though, I suppose, Miss Davidson, you have the unique position of both, don’t you?” There it was, that crooked smile. Already calculating.
Erica could feel Ferguson’s dark eyes zero in on her. She had never met her successor, nor did she have the opportunity to pick who it would be. She couldn’t help but wonder if Channing and the board purposely chose someone so opposite of her in both affect and appearance. Ferguson was a tall, imposing, and one might even say masculine-looking, woman. Erica, while certainly not short, felt quite small compared to the giantess seated across from her. While she was aware that her own appearance - that is, conventionally attractive, slight, and blonde – had been to her advantage over the years, this was one of the times that, perhaps, a pencil skirt and Calvin Klein pumps only served to make her seem the more vulnerable party. Especially to the shrewd and particular Joan Ferguson.
She swallowed and removed the portable audio-recorder from her briefcase. She checked its small screen to make sure that the SD card had ample time left to record. Theresa had already taken the opportunity to place the additional files and a notebook onto their small work space.
“Why don’t we get started?” Theresa nodded in Erica’s direction, indicating that she should press record. Before they entered the secured visiting room, she reminded Erica to make sure her phone was also recording their conversation. There was no telling what Ferguson would, or wouldn’t say, before and after the interview “officially” started.
“But we have so much to catch up on,” Ferguson said blandly.
“I think we can skip the small talk,” Theresa offered a small smile. “You do know why we’re here, after all.”
“Honestly, I don’t.” Ferguson gazed up to the security camera in the corner. She knew Vera and Bridget were sure to be watching from outside.
“Well, we’re grateful that you waived your attorney for today,” Erica said. Theresa nodded in agreement.
Ferguson’s stare remained fixed at the corner camera. “Did I? I was not aware. Do you have the proof with you?”
Erica made a small frown. What was Ferguson getting at? She wasn’t certain that they had brought a physical copy of the waiver with them, and if not, there was bound to be one in the governor’s office. She opened her laptop and began to search for an archived copy.
Theresa spoke carefully. “Are you suggesting that neither you nor your lawyer consent for us to be here?” If that was true, and it was recorded, they were well out of bounds for being at Wentworth today. Any information they might have collected would be inadmissible.
Ferguson finally turned her attention away from the camera. “You may want to ask Vera.” Her smile was self-satisfied.
“I found it,” Erica said, sounding almost too relieved. She turned her laptop around so Ferguson could observe the digitized version. “This is your signature, and your lawyer’s, is it not?”
Ferguson peered down to look at the screen, her frown visible. “So it is.” Her eyes flitted up to the security camera and back to Erica. “I would venture that you did a bit of rule bending while you were here too.”
Erica hesitated, turning to Theresa. She gave her silent encouragement, meaning that the senior solicitor should engage Ferguson. If playing into these games lead to the eventual retrieval of more information, so be it. They had all day. Theresa and Erica were both clever women in the top of their profession, they should be able handle Joan Ferguson.
Right?
- - -
“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Vera asked, scrutinizing the CCTV monitor in front of them. She did not like that Joan Ferguson seemed to be addressing her in particular.
Bridget shook her head, her arms tightly folded in front of her chest. “Not really. But, they’re recording the conversation.” She turned to the governor. “Forgive me for asking, but how did you get her and her lawyer to agree to this?” When Bridget had initially asked on the prosecution’s behalf, she didn’t expect to get very far. But, here they were, indeed watching the prosecution speak with Joan Ferguson without one of her lawyers present.
“I’ve learned a few things,” Vera said vaguely. She watched the figures in the monitor, hoping none of those women knew the complete truth. That could make things difficult.
- - -
“I wouldn’t have called it rule bending, necessarily,” Erica said, pulling her laptop back in front of her. She folded the screen down, its click into place seeming louder than usual.
“Oh?” Ferguson asked nonchalantly, folding her manacled hands on the table. “What would you call your relationship with Franky Doyle then?”
Erica’s could almost feel her pupils constricting. Ferguson knew she had hit a nerve and smirked accordingly. Even Theresa perked up a bit in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
“I still never quite figured out where she got your address, but I suppose you never got those letters did you?” Ferguson’s tone was at odds with the smug expression plastered across her face. “Well, they suggested a certainly intimate relationship. I can’t imagine you two haven’t been reunited to some degree, now that she’s out of here.” She paused, licking her bottom lip. “Or maybe you went looking for her.”
Erica’s throat was dry, her hands clenched under the table into her lap. She didn’t know what to say; her brain couldn’t process the information fast enough. Letters? From Franky? What did they say – what were they about? Read by Ferguson. Who else?
“But, it’s possible she’s forgotten all about you and that tongue of yours. I’m sure Dr. Westfall could fill you in.” She directed her attentions back to the flashing red light of the security camera. Bridget felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “You both seem to share a similar weakness, after all.”
Theresa cleared her throat and began to speak, much to Erica’s relief. “Okay, I think that’s enough catching up. Whatever Erica’s relationship to Doyle,” she glanced at Erica from the corner of her eye, though there was no hesitation in her direct manner of speech. “I know for a fact that it was not why she was let go and certainly has nothing to do with why we’re here today. It especially has nothing to do with your attacks on Bea Smith and Allie Novak. Not to mention your previous arson of this facility.” She casually opened up the folder containing a list of everything the State wished to charge Joan Ferguson for. “Need I continue?”
Ferguson grimaced, her cuts at Erica Davidson would have to wait for now.
“That’s what I thought. So why don’t you tell us why we shouldn’t trust the CCTV footage that clearly shows you stabbing Smith no less than twenty times. Because ‘self-defense’ isn’t looking like it’s going to cut it”. Theresa’s light eyes flashed with intensity.
“And here I thought you were going to save this for the court room,” Ferguson said, having regained her composure. She flicked an invisible speck of dust from the table. “You speak well, but you’re quite unlikable. If I remember correctly, that has proven to be your downfall in the past.”
Theresa rolled her eyes, essentially dismissing the statement. “Right, okay. I’m sure no matter how much the jury dislikes me, in this case, they will pick me and all of the people you’ve hurt over you.”
“There was that case, what was it, ten or fifteen years ago...” Ferguson sounded wistful, ignoring Theresa’s rebuttal. “I’m sure Erica would remember it from her time at law school.” Erica’s eyes narrowed in response, not for a moment appreciating being a part of the narrative. “That boy, what was his name? You just couldn’t convince the jury that he killed his brother, could you?”
The Samuel K. Douglas trial was unique. The State had to prove that a ten year-old boy had willingly and knowingly killed his younger brother. At the time, even his parents had been hesitant to join the prosecution but, his mother later came to the conclusion that it was the right thing to do (she later caved on the stand and was all but completely unreliable). Naturally, the jury found it hard to convict this small boy of the murder – later deemed an unfortunate accident. Fast forward five years after the verdict, and little Sammy Douglas, now fifteen and not-so little, had killed his father and left his sister all but handicapped. His mother? She just so happened to be “out of town” and couldn’t imagine that it was her boy who had done this.
It was the one case in Theresa DeKoenig’s portfolio that she had a hard time prosecuting and one of her very few losses. She blamed herself directly for the loss when the Douglas family reappeared in her life five years after the initial verdict, thinking that she had subconsciously not done the right work for the State. After all, what is more difficult than prosecuting a seemingly innocent child for murder and thus breaking apart a family? She swore she could have proved him guilty at the time and prevented even worse damage, but somehow didn’t. How? There must have been something but, it didn’t matter anymore, and she had refused to be the crown prosecutor for the second iteration of the Samuel Douglas trial. She didn’t trust herself to be able to deliver the correct results, knowing full well that she hadn’t been able to the first time through.
Both trials were highly publicized, so it was no wonder that Joan Ferguson knew of them. How long she had been planning the opportunity to remind Theresa of her failures, however, remained to be seen.
- - -
Franky drummed her fingers restlessly on her desk. She couldn’t stay focused. What did a lecture on legal positivism matter when Erica and Bridget weren’t responding to her texts. They had no excuse, as far as she was concerned, and should be providing a play-by-play. A live stream would be better yet.
But fine, maybe not hearing from Erica was okay, as she was likely sitting with Ferguson right this second. That is, if Boomer’s call from earlier was anything to go by.
“Restricted?” Franky looked at her phone, promptly ignoring the call. When the same restricted number called back another two times in less than five minutes, she figured maybe it wasn’t actually a telemarketer. Or at least a very persistent one.
She snorted a laugh at the pre-recorded message, announcing that the caller was an inmate at Wentworth. She should have known.
“Franks!” Boomer huffed into the phone. Franky could hear the excitement in her voice. “I didn’t think you were gonna pick up. Then I dunno what I’d have done.”
“Calm down, Booms. I can’t talk long, I have class like...” she gazed down at her watch. Shit. “About now, actually.”
“You’ll never guess who I just saw being escorted by Mr. Jackson!” Boomer didn’t wait a beat. “Miss Davidson! You reckon she’s finally come back for ya? Maybe she doesn’t know you’re out. I could tell her or give her a good punch for you.”
Franky chuckled lightly at Boomer’s reaction. “She knows.”
“She’s with some other scary looking lady. They were headin’ to Vinegar-Tits’s office.” She apparently ignored Franky’s response, already preoccupied with the thought of finding away for beat up the former governor on her friend’s behalf.
“She’s there to interview the Freak,” Franky said. “If you hear anything about it, call me back, yeah?” She stood outside the door to the lecture hall, tapping her foot impatiently.
Boomer didn’t ask how Franky knew this information already. “Sure, but don’t you want me to smash her up too?”
She watched the digital clock in the front of the hall, waiting for the minute that class was over. She would call Bridget, and demand to know what was going on.
- - -
Erica glanced at her phone. It was still recording, though she was sure it hadn’t heard anything that the other recorder hadn’t already. She saw several unread text messages from Franky – one from Mark; she couldn’t deal with that right now. She glanced up to see Theresa, uncharacteristically silent, and decided that perhaps this would be the best time to take a break.
“How about we take ten?” Theresa had stepped in when Ferguson had been attacking her, she figured she might as well return the favor. “You clearly need a few minutes to remind yourself that this meeting isn’t about us.” Where this surge of confidence had come from, she didn’t know, but hoped it didn’t go away.
Theresa nodded, standing up quickly. She pressed the pause button on the small recorder and alerted the armed guard standing outside. It was hard to ignore the audacious look on Ferguson’s face as she was escorted from the room.
She gave Erica an unreadable expression and exited the room shortly thereafter. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go.
Erica sighed and drew her hands over her face. She needed to get out of here.