the main receiving area. There were two guards at the front desk. She approached them, studying the two men as she waited her turn in line. One of the guards was an enormous black man with a mustache and a forbidding expression. His badge and picture read: S. Robinson. The other guard was pale and overweight, with a crew cut and rheumy eyes. His badge read: B. Witkowski.
Finally she reached the front of the line.
The pale, sweaty guard looked at her with disinterest. ‘Yes?’
‘My name is Alex Woods. I’ve just been here to visit my sister, Dory Colson. She seems very depressed.’
‘Everybody in here is depressed, lady,’ Witkowski said dismissively.
‘I think she might need to be seen by someone.’
‘Like who?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Like a shrink. I think she needs medication. I’m worried that she might . . . try to harm herself.’
‘She can’t,’ said the guard. ‘We keep an eye on them.’
‘She was telling me goodbye,’ Alex insisted. ‘As if she was considering it.’
‘Shrink comes in once a week,’ said Witkowski. ‘She can see him next Tuesday.’
‘We can’t afford to wait. It might be too late by next Tuesday,’ Alex said angrily. Suddenly she realized why her conversation with Dory had given her a sense of déjà vu. She thought of that story she had heard from Uncle Brian about Dory’s father, Neil Parafin, despairing at being abandoned before he shot himself in the driveway of her mother’s house. ‘There’s a history of suicide in her family,’ she said bluntly.
‘Lady, this isn’t a spa. We do things on a schedule here.’
‘No matter what,’ said Alex grimly.
‘We’ve got rules,’ he said.
Alex realized that nothing she could say was going to impress this guard. He had his mind made up about the people in this facility and he wasn’t about to start being sympathetic. To be fair, sympathy for all these inmates was a road with no end. But it was not reassuring to Alex. She looked up imploringly at the other guard. He had listened to the whole exchange but hadn’t spoken.
‘Please. Her name is Dory Colson. Couldn’t you find a doctor to take a look at her? I know all these inmates are depressed, but she seems dangerously so.’
‘What are you looking at him for?’ Witkowski asked irritably.
Robinson ignored his fellow guard. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked.
‘Dory Colson. And my name is Alex Woods. This is my information.’ Alex took out a piece of paper and wrote it down. She handed it to Robinson.
Robinson looked it over thoroughly. Then he looked up at Alex. ‘I’ll give it to the doc when he comes in Tuesday,’ he said.
Witkowski laughed.
Alex could feel herself trembling with rage. ‘She’s a human being. Even if she’s in jail, she deserves to be treated fairly. I promise you, if anything happens to my sister, I’m going to hold you both responsible.’
Witkowski’s lizard-like eyes widened and then narrowed again. ‘Don’t you threaten me, ma’am.’
Alex did not back down. ‘Don’t you ignore my sister,’ she said.
Alex went out to her car and sat down in the driver’s seat, still fuming from her encounter with the guards. Maybe, she thought, if she called the detectives who were working on Lauren’s murder, she could tell them about Joy and ask them to intercede on Dory’s behalf at the same time. It was worth a try.
She looked up Langford’s number on her cell and rang it. The phone went directly to voicemail. ‘Detective Langford,’ she said. ‘I’m . . . uh . . . this is Alex Woods. I just came from seeing my sister in jail and she is dangerously depressed. No one seems willing to get her treatment, and I wondered if you could help. Also, I may know something about Lauren’s murder. A possibility to explore, anyway. Please call me back as soon as you get this.’
Alex ended the call and sat, lost in thought, in the front seat of her car. Then she made one more call. This time, she was successful.
‘Alex?’
‘Hey, Seth,’ she said.
‘You sound terrible. What’s the matter?’
‘How much time have you got?’ she asked ruefully.
‘All the time in the world for you,’ he said.
Alex sighed. ‘I just came from the Suffolk County Jail.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Visiting Dory.’
‘Dory’s back in jail?’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened?’
‘They think she was the one who stabbed me.’
‘Stabbed you? Jesus, Alex. What is going on? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I needed some stitches, but I’m OK.’
‘Why did Dory stab you?’ he cried.
‘I’m not sure she