“But I don’t know any lawyers here. I’m not from here. Don’t you know somebody, or maybe you could just investigate a private lawyer?”
“Not from inside, all they have are defenders, and they’re not good enough.” Zachary looked from Christine to Lauren with a new urgency. “Please can’t you guys help me? I can pay, I had a job selling medical instruments. I was making $65,000 a year.”
“Medical instruments?” Christine was thinking of the medical saw in the kill bag, which she’d read about in the news reports.
“Yes, I work for Brigham Instruments in West Chester, they make medical and surgical equipment. I’ve been working for them for two years, I have money in savings.” Zachary placed his hands on the counter, leaning closer to the Plexiglas, desperate again. “Please, can’t you find me a private lawyer? I need somebody good. You’re on the outside. Go into West Chester or go online. Find me a lawyer in Chester County.” Zachary met her eye, his blue eyes plaintive. “You’re the only reporter who asked me about myself, who asked about me. You’re obviously a caring person.”
“Thank you.” Christine felt touched, oddly.
“If you find me a lawyer, I’ll give you the exclusive. I’ll cooperate with your book, and only yours. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Christine’s ears pricked up. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.
Lauren interjected, “Zachary, I have to ask, in the newspaper accounts, it said that they found things in your trunk that incriminated you, like the bone-cutting saw.”
“It’s my job to have saws in my trunk.” Zachary’s blue eyes flew open, pleading. “My trunk looks like the inside of an operating room. I drive around with samples. I demonstrate bone saws to doctors and surgeons. I don’t use my samples to kill anybody.”
Lauren paused. “Did you tell the police that?”
“My lawyer told me not to. She told me not to say a word to the cops. She told me not to answer any questions. I told you more than I told them.”
Christine found herself almost believing him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes and hear it in his voice. His whole manner seemed genuinely upset. The notion confounded her, but she didn’t know whether to trust her judgment, and she still wanted to know for sure if he was Donor 3319.
Lauren interjected, “Zachary, what about the other things they found in the trunk? The shovel, the garbage bag, they said it’s called a ‘kill bag’-”
“That’s no kill bag,” Zachary shot back, urgent. “My territory includes central Pennsylvania. You ever go out there in winter? You need a shovel to get out of that snow. I keep the garbage bags because I put them under the tires when I get stuck. I practically live in that car, I carry everything I need.” Zachary’s head swiveled from Lauren to Christine. “Listen, I swear to you, on the soul of my sister, I didn’t kill Gail Robinbrecht or anybody else, no matter what they say. It’s a rush to judgment, just because I was there. I never killed anybody. I’m no serial killer!” Zachary shook his head, anguished. “That’s just a story to sell more newspapers. I haven’t been linked to any of those murders by any authority. None of the police from any of those states or the FBI has gotten in touch with me or my lawyer. None of it’s true. None of it!”
Suddenly there was a loud rap at the metal door on the other side of the Plexiglas, and the corrections officer reappeared, taking stainless-steel handcuffs from his thick utility belt. “Jeffcoat, your time’s up.”
“Coming.” Zachary rose reluctantly, anguished. “Please, Christine, get me out of here. I’ll give you the exclusive. Find me a lawyer, please.”
“I understand,” Christine said, off-balance. She had run out of time to ask him, and she couldn’t go home without finding out. “Maybe we could talk again tomorrow? Would that be possible?”
Lauren looked over but said nothing.
“Yes, yes, anytime.” Zachary offered his wrists to the corrections officer behind his back. “We can talk every day if you want. Just help me, please. I’m begging you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Christine headed to the exit doors of the prison with Lauren, shaken to her very foundation as they followed the others out. She wiped sweat from her brow, and her mouth had gone dry. Her mind reeled, her emotions churned. They went through the doors, and Christine felt hit by a wall of humidity, with the sun high in the sky and no trees to shade the prison entrance. They went down the steps and passed the Department of Corrections buses, which were still idling, their engines throwing off heat, making wiggly waves in the sweltering air.
Christine tried to recover as they walked through the official parking lot, neither woman speaking because they weren’t alone. A man and a woman whom she had seen in the visiting room walked in front of them, tugging a toddler along, who had her little arm curved over a plush pink rabbit like a piece of macaroni. Christine noticed the woman walking too fast for the child, who had to scurry on the tiptoes of her sandals to keep up, and she would never understand the casual cruelty of some mothers, who had no idea how precious a gift they’d been given, in a child.
“Are you okay?” Lauren fell into step beside her after the women and the child went to the left toward a battered minivan. They headed out of the official lot, walking downhill along the road.
“I don’t know, I think so. It was so strange.”
“Why didn’t you ask him? Did you chicken out?” Lauren looked over at her, her brown eyes bewildered. Her long, dark hair stuck to the nape of her neck, curling in damp tendrils.
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t chicken out, I even had a plan of how to bring it up.” Christine wiped her forehead with her hand, trying to process what had just happened. “I was warming up, finding out the background information, trying to see if it matched the online profile, but then, when he told that story about his sister dying, it threw me off track.”
“I knew it. I could see, I knew something was happening. All of a sudden you went quiet.”
“I felt terrible for him. For his sister, for his mom. Poor child, poor woman.”
“Well? Do you think it’s him?”
Christine couldn’t answer, her emotions catching up with her all at once. Tears sprang to her eyes. She stopped in her tracks, stricken. She wanted to scream. It was too much. It couldn’t be. She covered her face with her hands, even holding the car keys.
“Oh honey.” Lauren hugged her gently.
“I think it’s him,” Christine heard herself saying, her heart speaking even as it was breaking. “I think he’s our donor. I think he’s my baby’s father.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” Lauren soothed her, then let her go. “You don’t.”
“Oh my God.” Christine was trying not to cry. She had to keep it together. She lowered her hand with the car keys. “How did this happen? This can’t be happening.”
“It might not be. We don’t know for sure until you ask him.” Lauren held Christine by the shoulders, bracing her and looking directly into her eyes. “Remember that. We don’t know for sure.”
“Right. We don’t know for sure.” Christine repeated the words, almost involuntarily, trying to convince herself. Maybe if they could say it enough, over and over, they could make it true.
“Lots of people look like other people. Just last week, I got an email from Britney Keen, you know her, and she thought she saw me in the movies, and I wasn’t at the movies.”
“Right, people look alike sometimes.” Christine sighed heavily, and Lauren let her shoulders go.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay, yes, right.” Christine wiped her face and started walking, with Lauren falling into step beside her.
“Why do you think he’s your donor? Because he was accepted into med school?”