Rourke frisked him, quickly removing his Glock from a holster at his waist and a backup revolver in an ankle holster. As Rourke pulled out his handcuffs, Harry stepped in front of him.
“Not yet,” he said. He brought a right hand up from somewhere around his waist and it caught Morgan flush on the jaw, buckling his knees and sending him back to the floor.
“Damnit, Doyle, what the hell are you doing,” Rourke roared.
Harry ignored him and crouched down to Morgan. “That was for Jeanie,” he said.
“Who’s Jeanie?” Morgan wheezed.
“The woman you pistol whipped when you broke into my house.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — FIVE
The size of the room surprised Harry. It was small with a long table dominating its center. There were chairs for witnesses lining three walls, and a lone chair, positioned just inside the door and set several feet back from the table, clearly reserved for the inmate seeking parole. Everything-the walls, the floors, even the furniture-was institutional green, a near sickening color that gleamed under the harsh neon ceiling lights.
Walter Lee Hollins had met Harry when he arrived at the prison. His tall, slightly overweight presence had been a welcome sight. He saw Harry to the hearing room, explaining that the board would arrive together.
“It’s their way of avoiding witnesses. They only want to hear from them when they’re in session, only when the hearing is underway,” Walter Lee said.
“What do you think her chances are?” Harry asked.
“You want me to be honest, Harry?”
“Yes, I do.”
“The prison’s overcrowded, Harry. Hell, all the prisons are overcrowded. The administration, and I mean the big boys in Tallahassee, are pushing them to free up some space.” Walter Lee finally raised his head and looked Harry in the eyes. “I think her chances are damn good, Harry. And I don’t think what you or anybody else says is gonna make a damn bit of difference.”
Harry said nothing. Minutes later the door opened and the members of the board entered, a mix of everyday men and women who would decide whether or not he would live his life with his mother’s shadow hovering over him. They were followed by two prison guards, a state psychologist who Harry had seen testify in court, and Calvin Morris from the state’s attorney’s office. Morris positioned himself on the opposite side of the room, distancing himself from Harry. It was not a good sign, Harry thought.
The board chairman called the meeting to order and introduced the other members, along with Morris and the psychologist, who he identified as Dr. Edgar Meeks. He then turned to Harry and asked his name for the record.
“Harry Santos Doyle.”
“And what is your relationship to the prisoner?”
“I’m her son… Twenty years ago I was the other child she murdered.”
The board chair glanced around uncomfortably; the latter part of Harry’s statement had taken him by surprise. “We have received some evidence, some letters written by the prisoner, Lucy Santos, to a John and Maria Doyle. Are they related to you?”
“They’re my adoptive parents,” Harry said.
The board chair made a note on a legal pad set before him, then looked at the other board members. “Are we ready for the prisoner?”
The other board members either nodded or mumbled that they were. The chair nodded in turn to the prison guards who had stationed themselves on either side of the door. They left immediately to collect the prisoner.
Lucy Santos entered the room minutes later flanked by the two guards. She was dressed in an orange prison jump suit that hung loosely over a seemingly frail body. Her hair was heavily streaked with gray, and her dark eyes darted nervously around the room, passing over the board members, Meeks, and Morris, and settling on Harry. She stared at him intently, and when she seemed certain it was him, her eyes suddenly brightened and her mouth spread into a wide-and to Harry-near maniacal smile.
“Harry, Harry,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“The prisoner is to be seated,” the chairman said.
Lucy Santos glanced back at the chairman as though she didn’t understand what he had said. “It’s my boy. It’s my boy, Harry.” She looked back at Harry and again the smile returned.
“The prisoner will sit down, or the prisoner will leave the room,” the chairman said.
Lucy’s hands fluttered in front of her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She hurriedly sat in the chair. “Forgive me. It’s just that I’ve been away from my boy for so long.”
Harry stared at his mother, his stomach tied in a twisting knot. She wasn’t the woman he remembered from childhood. She didn’t even seem to be the same woman he had seen two days ago, and he realized that his mind had been playing tricks on him during that short, angry visit. Now she just seemed old and even more badly worn by the years. Two days ago he had seen flashes of her as he remembered her, as she had been when he had last seen her as a boy, a pretty woman, young and lively at thirty-three. But the subsequent twenty years in prison had not been kind.
The chairman began speaking though Harry had difficulty filtering his words through his own thoughts, his own memories. He continued to stare at his mother, trying to see the woman he remembered standing in the kitchen of their home twenty years ago. She had been laughing then- laughing at Jimmy as he mimicked the small boy next door-and he could almost hear the rhyming words that came from his brother’s mouth, words that told the story of a spider climbing a water spout, his mother laughing at those words, laughing at her small son, all the time knowing that within minutes she would be dragging his drugged body into the garage so she could start the engine of her car and leave him there to die. And she did the same to you, Harry told himself. She did the same to you.
“… and your actions led to the death of your six-year-old son James, and your ten-year-old son Harry. Only the timely intervention by Tampa police allowed your son Harry to be resuscitated. Your son James, largely because of his age and small size, was not as fortunate.” The chairman stopped reading from the papers before him and stared down the long table at Lucy Santos. “You have served twenty years of a life sentence for murder and attempted murder. The prison administration has listed you eligible for parole, due to time served and your lack of disciplinary problems while in custody. Dr. Meeks has found you mentally fit.” The chairman glanced at the state psychologist and received a confirming nod. “The state’s attorney’s office has raised an objection based on the heinous nature of your crimes.” This time he looked at Calvin Morris and again received a confirming nod. It was little more than a pro forma objection, Harry noted. The chairman turned back to the prisoner. “At this time, can you offer us any reasons why your parole should be favorably considered?”
Lucy sat mute for several long moments. Gradually her lips began to move, although no sound came from them at first. Her hands twisted in her lap.
“I committed sins, very terrible sins,” she began. “At the time I thought I was doing good. But now I see that I was wrong. Now I want to make up for my sins.” Her eyes turned to Harry. “I want to make up to my son the terrible thing I did to him.” Her eyes then brightened, almost dancing with pleasure, and her face broke into a beaming smile. “As you can see, my son is here to support me.” She placed a hand over her breast. “This fills my heart with joy and hope. It is a gift from God.”
The chairman raised a hand, stopping her, and turned to Harry. He turned to Harry. “Normally we wait until the prisoner is finished until we hear from the victims. But your mother has raised a point I would like to clarify. Do you, indeed, support your mother’s parole, Detective Doyle?”
Harry peered at the man as though he was mad. “No,” he said. He stood abruptly and stepped toward the table the board was gathered around, and placed the box containing his mother’s letters at the chairman’s elbow. “These are letters the prisoner has written and mailed to me over the past twenty years-one each year on the anniversary of my brother Jimmy’s death. I only came here today to give you these letters. You read them and then tell me if she deserves to be on parole.” Harry stared at the board chair and then each board member in turn. Then he started for the door.