coached in. He leaned forward intently in his chair. “In prison, I saw the difference that basic literacy and a high school diploma can make to the futures of men who never had the chance earlier in their lives. If we teach them to read and write, maybe they won’t end up back in here or on the streets. It’s taken me a long time to stop feeling sorry for myself. My life is not over. There is still some good I can do, and I’d like that chance to make amends. I have walked both sides of the street and that gives me a unique qualification to lend a helping hand to others.”
Damn it, Green thought as he sat back in frustration. Clever bastard. Nowhere in his carefully crafted appeal was there an actual, unequivocal admission of guilt. He had left that to his parole officer. Whether the board members noticed that subtlety, they did not dwell on the issue, choosing instead to ask about the logistics of Rosten’s release plan and his ongoing medical needs.
Finally, Pierre Anjou thanked him and flipped back through the file. “As I said at the outset, the victim’s family has declined to read their statement at this hearing, but requested that it be read out at the close of the hearing. Here then is the submission made by Mrs. Marilyn Carmichael, mother of Jacqueline Carmichael, the victim.”
Anjou selected a single page from the pile and adjusted his glasses. For a long moment he peered over the rims at Marilyn, and then began to read. “When I gave a statement at James Rosten’s sentencing, I tried to describe how Jacqueline’s murder changed my family’s lives. In many ways, ruined our lives. Twenty years later, nothing has changed. The murder took away the warm, vibrant young woman we all loved, made our world a brutal, terrifying place, and destroyed our trust in laws, justice, and basic human goodness. My husband went to his grave recently a broken man, and my remaining two children have left the country and become estranged from me in their effort to run away from the memories.
“I need to pick up the pieces and build a new life. Jackie was a loving, generous girl, and it is her spirit that I must keep alive. Not bitterness, pain, and emptiness. James Rosten has spent the prime years of his life behind bars and he has lost everything including his health in payment for this crime.
“I believe it is time for him too to make what he can of the life he has ahead, and so for my sake and his, I support his release on parole.”
Chapter Five
“I think it’s bullshit.”
Hannah spoke with the cocky assurance that is the hallmark of the young. Before all life’s puzzles and contradictions have a chance to confound her, Green thought wryly. He held his tongue, which prompted Hannah to roll her eyes.
“I mean, come on, Dad. Amnesia? How lame is that?”
“It happens,” Sharon said. She was perched on the edge of her chair, her own dinner neglected while she attempted to wrestle a spoon away from Aviva. When the baby screeched, she abandoned the effort and picked up a second spoon. The floor around Aviva’s high chair already looked like the morning after a street party, but the dog was happily stationed underneath doing cleanup duty.
It was Shabbat, but Sharon had abandoned much of the ritual of the Friday night dinner since the baby’s arrival on the scene. They had retreated to the cramped but scrubbable kitchen and the silver candlesticks were relegated to the counter. Today, Green’s father had declined to come, citing fatigue, but Green suspected — indeed, hoped — that Aviva’s lungs were the main reason. Recently, however, his father’s skin looked greyer than ever and his stoop more pronounced.
Amid the chaos, Green noticed his seven-year-old son casually slipping his Brussels sprouts under the table for the dog. A grin sneaked across the boy’s face, whether at the dog’s enthusiasm or his sister’s profanity was unclear.
“In bad movies,” Hannah countered. “But on a college campus? You should see what it’s like, Dad. College profs hardly older than their students, strutting around campus like their dicks are a mile long —”
“Hannah!” Sharon snapped. Tony burst out laughing, and, to her credit, Hannah flushed.
“Sorry,” she muttered before reaching under the table to tickle her brother. “But he should learn this stuff. He’ll be after the girls himself soon enough and if you don’t want him to be a jerk —”
“We have a little time yet before his education.”
Hannah sighed. “All I’m saying is, these profs have it all offered to them on a silver platter. Hot young girls lining up to score with them to get the inside track, better marks, exam secrets, maybe just bragging rights. The whole place is floating in hormones.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable,” Green said. He could feel his lips tighten primly and he felt a hundred years old. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had been shamelessly prey to his hormones himself.
Predictably, Hannah took up the challenge. “Acceptable’s got nothing to do with it. The temptation is there. Hard to resist. Some profs don’t even try.”
“That’s why there are laws —”
“Exactly!” Hannah flailed her fork, sending a Brussels sprout flying. Modo snapped it from the air. They all laughed.
“Saved by the circus dog,” Green said, rising to pick up plates. “Let’s see what she thinks of dessert.”
Hannah didn’t move. “Why do you never take me seriously? Why is my opinion always a joke, just because you’ve got a hundred years as a cop? I know something about this!”
Green paused to study her. Spots of red stood out on her cheeks and her hazel eyes glittered as they met his. She was just finishing her first undergraduate year at Carleton University and had been frantically cramming for exams and completing papers. In recent weeks, she had rarely surfaced for dinner or conversation. He felt a twinge of worry that he had lost track of her. Perhaps this wasn’t the usual contrary Hannah; perhaps something was truly troubling her.
He planted a quick kiss on her head. “Okay, let’s you and me talk about it later while we do the dishes.”
“I’ve got a paper to do. It’s way overdue.”
“Ten minutes? I could use your input.”
It was half an hour before Sharon had shepherded the two younger children upstairs, leaving Hannah and Green to the peace of the kitchen. Now that silence had descended, Hannah was curiously tongue-tied.
Green busied himself at the dishwasher. “Everything okay, honey?”
“There’s no prof hitting on me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then…?”
“I just think it’s way too convenient, this amnesia crap. The guy murders his student but he’s such a hard-working, loving family man that he can’t live with himself so he forgets the whole thing? For years? Even with all the evidence piling up in court to remind him? Then, twenty years later, when he’s finally got parole coming up, he suddenly remembers? Boy, that’s some trick!”
“I’m not saying I believe it.”
“Good. ’Cause if you did, I’d say you needed a brain transplant.”
“But the point is, the parole board seems to have swallowed it. At least some of the psychologists and counsellors.”
“Then they’re dumb. I’m doing a paper on criminals and amnesia. A lot of them make it up — it’s the best defence, even when you’ve got blood all over you. ‘I don’t remember, it’s all a blank.’ How do you disprove that?”
He turned from the dishwasher to face her. Hannah was in her first year of a criminology degree, but in typical Hannah fashion, until now she had shared almost nothing with them. Now he realized she was wrestling with important issues of justice, evil, and the dark labyrinth of the human mind. Heady ideas for a twenty-year-old, especially after all she had been through in her young life.
She seemed to be asking