Free Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery by Clare O'Donohue

the slippery slope.”
    “So she dragged you down?”
    His eyes flared for a moment, anger and then embarrassment. “No, Kate. I did not mean to imply that. Jenny was just a nice girl, dabbling like all kids do. It was me that dragged her down. I just wasn’t happy with myself, I guess.”
    “Drugs made you feel better?”
    “They made me feel better. They made me feel nothing. And then they ended me.”
    That was a nice line that would fit perfectly with the story I was concocting. Tim was my “life that was wasted because of drugs” character, an almost archetypical prison type. What I needed was for Tim to have a wasted talent or a plan he’d had to give up. Something grand enough to make his current situation all the more tragic.
    “What were your dreams, Tim, before the drugs?”
    “Aside from being a pitcher for the Cubs?” he asked. He looked down at his hands, breaking his gaze for the first time. “I used to like music. I played piano and violin and a little guitar.”
    “So you wanted to be a musician?”
    When he looked back up, his expression had changed. He looked excited, almost like a kid. “Not a rock musician or anything like that.I wanted to be in an orchestra. My mom and I used to watch the Boston Pops on TV every Fourth of July. You know, with the fireworks going off. I thought for a while I’d get good enough to play with them,” he said. “You play an instrument, Kate?”
    I shook my head. Tim was playing his part perfectly, so I needed to play mine. “I don’t have any talent for it,” I said. “But if I did, I think I would like to play the violin. It’s so versatile.”
    “It is.” His smile widened. “I like country about as much as I like the orchestra stuff. I used to play a little bluegrass too. I love the sound of the violin. It’s mournful, you know, longing. And then as a fiddle it’s all playful joy.” He held his hands in the air and played an imaginary violin for a moment. “My folks bought me one when I was eleven. I used to carry it with me to parties. Jenny loved it. She’d dance around when I’d play that thing. Even when she was thirteen, and all skinny legs and long hair, she looked like a goddess.” His voice lowered to a whisper, as if he were talking to himself. “It’s a gift to meet the love of your life that young.”
    The obvious joy he felt at remembering his life before it got so messed up saddened me for a moment. Frank and I had met in high school, a thought I pushed away as quickly as it came.
    “You must miss her.”
    He cocked his head to the side and considered the question for a long time. “I think it would be unfair to Jenny’s family to say I missed her. To look for sympathy because the woman I loved is dead. It might make it seem like I’m not taking responsibility for why she isn’t here anymore.”
    We were scheduled to be in the room for only an hour and we’d run out of time. Andres turned the camera off, and Russell put Tim’s handcuffs back on. As Tim was led out of the room, he turned back to me.
    “Kate.”
    “Yes, Tim.”
    “Just between you and me. Every goddamned day.”

Fourteen
    I ’d brought the books Brick had asked for, so after Russell escorted Tim back to his cell, he brought me to the visitors area. I left Andres and Victor, who seemed not to be speaking beyond what was absolutely necessary, and followed Russell down a long hallway, through two sets of secured doors, and into a large room that had about twenty metal tables in it. The seats were bolted to the tables and the floor. About half the tables were occupied, inmates on one side and visitors on the other, with guards near almost every group. The room was loud, almost deafening. People were laughing, drinking cans of pop, and eating potato chips and other items that were for sale in a vending machine at the back.
    Brick was sitting alone, staring at the floor. When I put my bag of books on the table, he looked up and smiled.
    “I got word that