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Authors: Richard North Patterson
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the window. “Yes.”
“How many times, roughly, had you smoked before that night?”
“In my life?”
“Yes.”
“Five or six.” Caroline gave a small smile. “How could you listen to music.”?” Another shrug. Her profile in the light-and-shade, Brett seemed distant now, enclosed in glass. After a time, she said, “It made my throat raw, and I felt out of control. I didn’t like that.”
“Can you describe how it affected you that night?” Brett seemed to look inward, into some pool of self-doubt. “It’s hard to describe,” she began, and then her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Have you ever seen a silent movie.”? It was like that—flickering images, with black spaces in between. I can’t remember sound …. “
“What do you remember about the cop arresting you’?”
Brett’s eyes closed. “The knife.
“Where was it.”?”
“On the seat.”
“Where le could see it.”?”
Caroline leaned forward. “Did the cop who arrested you give you any warnings—right to counsel, the right to remain silent, that any statements would be used against you?” Brett’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so …. All that I remember was staring at the knife. Nothing seemed to go together.”
“Later, why did you tell them to look for James at the lake’?.”
“It was the way I just described it—the guy who picked me up said someone might be out there, hurt, and it was like I saw James dying. I was still so confused.” Brett looked pale now. “I know how that sounds …. “
“Did he give you the warnings then’?.” Brett’s throat worked; Caroline was not certain that she had heard the question. Then Brett softly answered, “I don’t remember warnings then. Later, I do-with the two of them and the tape recorder.” Caroline fell quiet, thoughtful. Brett turned to her, as if awakened by the silence. “Why does any of this matter?” She sounded less curious than tired. It was as if Brett had lost her bearings, so that no event had more weight to her than any other. For a moment, Caroline wondered how much to tell her. But Brett was bright and, beneath the whipsaw of emotions, Caroline sensed her resilience. “It’s a matter of police procedure,” Caroline answered. “The first cop probably should have given you the warnings before you told him where to look for James. Which means that a decent lawyer may be able to keep your entire statement out of evidence—” Brett stood abruptly. “But I want to say what happened—”
“How,” Caroline cut in, “do you really know what happened.”?” Brett looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“That drugs and alcohol do funny things to memory. What happens is that there are blanks, which you may never fill in. So people end up confusing primary memory—what really happened—with secondary memory. Which is what they wish to remember, or hope they did. Or simply believe is logical.” In the gloom of the bedroom, Brett began pacing. “It almost sounds like you don’t want me to remember.”
“What it sounds like,” Caroline answered with cool emphasis, “is a warning. Not to remember, with the best of intentions, things that never happened. Because they may hang you for it.” Brett spun on her. “How?” Caroline stood, walked over to Brett until they were
face-to-face, and gently grasped her shoulders. She felt so fragile, Caroline thought. Brett looked up at her in weary surprise; something in Caroline’s face seemed to keep her there. “Brett,” Caroline said softly, “you don’t know me at all. But I want you to listen to me, please, for a few more minutes, however hard it may be. Because I’ve been doing things like this since you were a little girl. And whoever handles this case—if there is a case—will need you to think clearly.” Brett gazed up at her. “You won’t do it?”
“I really shouldn’t.” The look on Bret’s face, fearful and abandoned, made Caroline grasp her tightly. “We’re
“How many times, roughly, had you smoked before that night?”
“In my life?”
“Yes.”
“Five or six.” Caroline gave a small smile. “How could you listen to music.”?” Another shrug. Her profile in the light-and-shade, Brett seemed distant now, enclosed in glass. After a time, she said, “It made my throat raw, and I felt out of control. I didn’t like that.”
“Can you describe how it affected you that night?” Brett seemed to look inward, into some pool of self-doubt. “It’s hard to describe,” she began, and then her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Have you ever seen a silent movie.”? It was like that—flickering images, with black spaces in between. I can’t remember sound …. “
“What do you remember about the cop arresting you’?”
Brett’s eyes closed. “The knife.
“Where was it.”?”
“On the seat.”
“Where le could see it.”?”
Caroline leaned forward. “Did the cop who arrested you give you any warnings—right to counsel, the right to remain silent, that any statements would be used against you?” Brett’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so …. All that I remember was staring at the knife. Nothing seemed to go together.”
“Later, why did you tell them to look for James at the lake’?.”
“It was the way I just described it—the guy who picked me up said someone might be out there, hurt, and it was like I saw James dying. I was still so confused.” Brett looked pale now. “I know how that sounds …. “
“Did he give you the warnings then’?.” Brett’s throat worked; Caroline was not certain that she had heard the question. Then Brett softly answered, “I don’t remember warnings then. Later, I do-with the two of them and the tape recorder.” Caroline fell quiet, thoughtful. Brett turned to her, as if awakened by the silence. “Why does any of this matter?” She sounded less curious than tired. It was as if Brett had lost her bearings, so that no event had more weight to her than any other. For a moment, Caroline wondered how much to tell her. But Brett was bright and, beneath the whipsaw of emotions, Caroline sensed her resilience. “It’s a matter of police procedure,” Caroline answered. “The first cop probably should have given you the warnings before you told him where to look for James. Which means that a decent lawyer may be able to keep your entire statement out of evidence—” Brett stood abruptly. “But I want to say what happened—”
“How,” Caroline cut in, “do you really know what happened.”?” Brett looked startled. “What do you mean?”
“That drugs and alcohol do funny things to memory. What happens is that there are blanks, which you may never fill in. So people end up confusing primary memory—what really happened—with secondary memory. Which is what they wish to remember, or hope they did. Or simply believe is logical.” In the gloom of the bedroom, Brett began pacing. “It almost sounds like you don’t want me to remember.”
“What it sounds like,” Caroline answered with cool emphasis, “is a warning. Not to remember, with the best of intentions, things that never happened. Because they may hang you for it.” Brett spun on her. “How?” Caroline stood, walked over to Brett until they were
face-to-face, and gently grasped her shoulders. She felt so fragile, Caroline thought. Brett looked up at her in weary surprise; something in Caroline’s face seemed to keep her there. “Brett,” Caroline said softly, “you don’t know me at all. But I want you to listen to me, please, for a few more minutes, however hard it may be. Because I’ve been doing things like this since you were a little girl. And whoever handles this case—if there is a case—will need you to think clearly.” Brett gazed up at her. “You won’t do it?”
“I really shouldn’t.” The look on Bret’s face, fearful and abandoned, made Caroline grasp her tightly. “We’re
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