and drunk, eyes alight when Ray had mentioned something about their hotel bar. It was a Friday night, but the neighborhood was crisp and quiet as we walked. All it took was a sudden left turn, and the lights and sounds of restaurants, bars and coffee shops transformed into rows of quiet houses, buttoned up against the early fall evening.
“Why are you asking? I thought you loved Shadow of a Doubt.”
“I do, and don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to have just met the great Kat Thomas, and mysterious Ray Mackenzie in person, believe me. But come on, it’s going to be a whole different thing, actually being on the podcast.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I mean, you did change your last name just to stop people knowing you were Ethan Hall’s sister. This is kind of going to blow that little charade right over.”
I laughed, the sound getting lost on the wind; Samira was always coming up with sayings and aphorisms that weren’t quite right, that she’d plucked straight from the air in front of her. “I know that.”
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
“Anyway, it’s all a moot point until Ethan agrees to it.”
We walked along in silence for a while, our house coming into view, the streetlight that stood sentry outside it turning the red of the cherry tree’s leaves almost neon in the night. “Do you think he will?” Samira asked.
“I think he’ll think he doesn’t have a choice,” I said, although as we ascended the steps to the front porch, I had no idea if that was true or not.
“And what about your family? Kat said she’d want them to be involved right? You really think they’d be cool with that?”
I sighed, thinking about my parents and sister, all three of whom, as much as they loved Ethan, preferred to pretend that none of the nasty business of ten years ago had ever happened. “I don’t know,” I said, sliding my key into the lock, “I’m seeing them for dinner on Sunday though, so I guess I’ll find out then.”
* * *
“Keys, wallets, all personal effects in the trays to your left, and then step through, please ma’am.”
It was just like being at the airport, except instead of boundless freedom and flight on the other side of security, there was the complete opposite. I went through the motions without comment, Kat right behind me, free of her recording equipment and her producer, Ray, as only two of us were allowed during visiting hours at a time. This part of any visit was always the strangest. When Ethan was right in front of me, and I could see his face, hear his voice, I could almost forget where we were, and when I wasn’t there, the reality of it was dimmed, but this in-between part reinforced that reality all too clearly. I’d expected to have to talk Kat through the rigors and rigmarole of prison visitations, but realized that she must have done plenty of prison visits in the past for the first two seasons of Shadow of a Doubt. Her face was blank and mild, although her eyes retained their alert liveliness, and she was unfailingly polite to everyone we came into contact with.
Ethan was already in place when we walked into the visitor’s room. Gone were the days when I had to talk to him through bullet proof plastic and a telephone handset. Good behavior had seen his privileges expand, and now we could sit around a round, concrete table, curved benches fucking up our backs. The windows were high in there, taller than any human and the room had the same artificial lighting of any institution; harsh and unforgiving. Ethan watched us walk across the room towards him, his eyes trained on Kat. He didn’t look at me at all until after I’d introduced them and they’d awkwardly shaken hands. He looked tired and thin, but then he always looked tired and thin, so I tried to look for ways in which he looked different to normal, certain that something was off. It took me a little while to realize, but finally I got it; his eyes. They were alight and alive in a way I hadn’t seen in years. That was why it had taken me so long to figure out; because it had been so long since I’d seen him like this. He looked excited. He looked awake.
Kat had got out her notebook and pencil she’d been allowed to bring in with her and was making note of the date, time and place in grey lead.
“What’s your show called again?” Ethan asked.
“Shadow of a Doubt,” Kat said.
“And it’s an online only thing? Like YouTube?”
“It’s a podcast. It’s audio only. Most people listen from their phones. Obviously, we have a website though, where we post updates, and sometimes transcripts or other artefacts that listeners can read for a deeper understanding and experience.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed, the light leaving his eyes a little. “But people really listen?”
“Yeah, they really listen,” Kat said.
“They average about 250,000 downloads per episode,” I added, Kat turning to me in surprise. “I looked it up last night,” I said, shrugging.
“And that’s a lot?” Ethan asked.
“That’s a whole lot,” I assured him. They had a TV in the rec room, and there was internet access from some ancient computers, but sometimes it was hard to truly fathom just how far the prison, and therefore the prisoners, lagged behind the rest of the world. Ethan lived in a time warp where the word ‘Netflix’ meant DVDs arriving by mail, and Instagram nothing at all. It always brought me up short in conversations with him; he hadn’t even joined Facebook before being imprisoned, that’s how long ten years was in the 21st century. To someone raised on the viewing figures of Friends or CSI, 250,000 people must have sounded inconsequential.
“Okay,” Ethan said slowly, turning his attention back to Kat, “so, what’s the point of your show? Are you going to prove I’m innocent, somehow?”
Kat took a deep breath and shifted in her seat so she was sitting up a little straighter. She was wearing the same yellow head wrap she’d been wearing the night before, a deep yellow color, almost gold, but the rest of her outfit was grey and black, in contrast to the colorful get-up I’d seen her in at the restaurant. “We never set out to prove if someone is innocent or guilty,” she said, “that would mean we were starting from a hypothesis and that’s definitively what we do not do. In both the cases we’ve worked on before there was strong indication that there had been a miscarriage of justice, and I think we’ve been able to help shed light on that, and maybe even bring about some real change. But really this is about figuring out what happened and why there’s still doubt hovering over any one case.”
She spoke like she did on the show, in full, thoughtful sentences that sounded as if they might have been written beforehand, but in this case clearly weren’t. Maybe it was the way she always sounded – it was certainly how she’d come across last night, but I found myself wondering what she’d sounded like before she started podcasting, or when she was two bottles of wine in and sloppy and drunk.
“And is this going to be on the podcast?” Ethan asked, motioning between the two of them to indicate he meant their current interaction.
“No. They wouldn’t let me bring my cellphone or any recording equipment in, so I’m not recording this. I’ll take notes though, and if we decide to go ahead with the show – all of us – then what I’ll probably do is describe this initial interview to the audience. Does that all sound okay to you?”
“Okay. So, how will you actually interview me, then?” Ethan asked, looking puzzled.
“Probably over the phone. If you give your consent, that is. We wouldn’t be able to keep coming back and forth from here anyway,” Kat said.
“Right, okay,” Ethan said, although I thought I could detect a tremor of uncertainty as he glanced over at me.
“Okay, so. Tell me about Tyler,” Kat said and my stomach rolled over. I hadn’t expected her to ask about him, although why not, I’m not sure.
“Tyler?” Ethan asked, his eyes locked on