Marle led John to the same room as before.
The guard knocked again. A woman’s voice said come in again. But this time it was a Caucasian with red lips and long brunette ringlets cascading down the sides of her made-up face.
Without her having to ask, Marle unlocked the handcuffs and left the room.
The new woman wore perfume whereas Colette had not worn any. John liked the scent.
“Professor Woman,” the brunette said. “Pleased to meet you.”
She held out a hand. John shook but couldn’t feel it because he was once again numb from too-tight handcuffs.
“My name is Nina Forché,” she said. “I’m your lawyer. Please sit down.”
Forché was wearing a scarlet dress and a blue sapphire pendant. Her fingernails had been painted peach by a professional and her tan came from long hours on a pleasant beach somewhere. She was past thirty but forty was still some years off.
“I’m here to discuss our strategy at the hearing,” she began.
“I don’t remember engaging a lawyer.”
“I was retained by William Pepperdine.”
“Are you on the Path?”
Forché gave John quick smile moving her head and shoulders with a noncommittal shrug.
“How did I get here, Ms. Forché?”
“You mean what brought you to the attention of the NYPD?”
“Yeah.”
“An informant told them that Cornelius Jones’s mother was living with her son in faculty housing at NUSW.”
“Who?”
“Those records are sealed,” she said. “We may never know because that testimony would have no bearing on the murder trial, if such a trial were to happen.”
“If?” John felt sluggish, like some woodland creature coming awake after a long hibernation.
“If we’re smart I don’t believe this extradition request will hold.”
“Why not?”
“They have no proof that you are this Cornelius Jones.”
“None?”
“There are no fingerprints on file,” Forché said. “No DNA evidence, no eyewitness, not even anyone who has ever seen you with the victim. There are no childhood photographs except one in an elementary school third grade annual. There aren’t even any relatives that could offer a close enough DNA comparison.”
“What about France Bickman?” he asked.
“The ticket-taker? He’s of no concern to us.”
“That detective,” John said. “She said that she recognized me.”
“First of all she interviewed a teenage boy,” the lawyer argued. “Secondly, her records say that the entire interview was less than ten minutes. An eyewitness account of a brief conversation with an adolescent seventeen years ago is not enough for an extradition. They must prove your identity with something more than a detective’s say-so.”
“What about the woman living in my house?”
“There is no one living in your apartment and the school has refused New York’s request to search the premises. When we get in to see the judge he will ask you if you are Cornelius Jones and you will say, ‘No, your honor, I am not.’”
“No, your honor, I am not,” John parroted. “No, your honor. Yes, I understand.”
Nina Forché smiled at her student.
23
In the dream John was standing on a long line behind a large, broad-shouldered man. It felt as if he had been waiting forever. His feet hurt and, for some reason, his fingers were numb. The sun bore down and there was nothing to read. He had an iPod but the battery was low. The woman behind him was chattering on a cell phone. He thought about asking her if he could borrow it to call his mother but when he turned to ask she looked away. He tapped the shoulder of the large man in front of him. Maybe he had a phone.
When the brute turned around John recognized Chapman Lorraine, a bully from the elementary school. He hadn’t seen Chapman in many years and the towering giant didn’t seem to recognize him so John came up with a plan.
He said, “Your sister passed up word that she’s at the end of the line and wants you to come get her.”
“My sister?” Chapman said.
“Don’t worry,” Cornelius assured him, “I’ll keep your place in line.”
“Thanks,” Lorraine said, giving John a big smile and even shaking his hand.
As soon as Chapman was gone the line began to move. At first it was a few slow steps. Then they began to pick up speed. A while later they were trotting like soldiers doing double time in a military review.
Before he knew it John was at the front of the line standing before a huge blue door. He glanced behind. Chapman Lorraine was running, screaming something from far back down the line.
“Open please,” John said to the door.
He looked back again; the schoolyard bully was getting closer.
Panicked he turned to the door prepared to pound on it but it was already open. He walked across the threshold and the lofty azure door slammed shut behind him.
Walking down a long corridor on a floor paved with gilded tiles and flanked by bright white walls, John passed many doors, but he knew instinctively that these were not for him.
After some while he came to a bloodred door that glistened as if threatening to revert back into bodily fluid. This was his destination.
“Come in,” a man said though John had not knocked.
On the other side of the bloodred door sat Herman Jones — perched on a bench made from glass.
John was delighted to see his father and immediately took a seat at his side.
“Your fairy godmother tasked me to grant you a wish,” Herman said.
Cornelius thought of the fudge-colored woman, feeling the elation of her existence in his life.
“Are you really my father?”
“Is the answer to that question your wish?”
Dreamer John nodded.
“Yes and no,” Herman said. “I was your father but that was long ago. Since then you have become your own man. Now tell me, why are you here?”
“I was on a line that felt like it went on forever,” John said.
“This is the end of the line,” Herman said sadly.
“John Woman,” Marle Josephson intoned.
John woke up with the paneled ceiling light in his eyes.
“I did what you said,” Marle told John as they marched along.
“And how did it go?”
“Great. I finished the practice test and did okay. Then I read the study book again and saw what I needed. How did you know that would happen?”
“My father taught me.”
“He must’a been a smart guy.”
“Marle?”
“Yeah, John?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Captain Anton got it in his head that he didn’t like you. I think it was because they made him keep you in solitary. It’s not like that’s any great privilege or anything but he was mad that he couldn’t put you where he wanted.”
A few moments went by. John looked around for Andrew the Navajo but did not see him.
“What does that have to do with where you’re taking me?” John asked.
“Anton been holdin’ up your paperwork but then that lawyer, that Nina Forché chick, said you had the right to see the people applied to visit. Anton’s madder’n a motherfucker but ain’t nuthin’ he could do about it.”
“So who is it that wants to see me?”
“I don’t know. I’m just supposed to bring you to the room and wait. Easy for me.”
When the door came open he saw Senta Ray seated in one of the metal folding chairs. She was wearing a fluffy white sweater and tight, faded blue jeans. Her lipstick was redder than what she wore to her Post Office job and when she rose to meet him she stood taller because of her fancy white high heels.