He shook his head.
“You realize not talking is what drove us apart? Not sharing how we felt is what led to our divorce. For many people, it’s infidelity, or money, or problems with jobs or the kids. For us, it was the silence. And you’re doing it again, Jim. You’re going off alone with your pain and leaving me alone to deal with mine.” Liddy spoke quietly, but she was pretty sure he was getting the message.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, that’s a start. I can’t think of anything that would make a difference, but maybe we can start with how we feel about Bowers.”
“I want him to be put away forever. I want him to never see the light of day again. I want him to be in solitary for the rest of his life. No one to talk to. No one to give a shit about him. It might make me feel better on one level if all the fathers could get together with baseball bats and take a shot at him. But whatever pain he’d be feeling would eventually pass. I’d rather have him suffer for a longer time. So lock him up in a tiny room all by himself for as long as he lives. So he’ll know that every day for the rest of his life will be the same. That’s the worst punishment I can think of.” Jim stared off into the dark night. “Pedophiles are the lowest of the low in the prison population. If he’s ever out of his cell, he’ll be a sitting duck. Maybe from time to time someone there will get to him, beat him up a little. Then he can go back into his little five-by-eight room and lick his wounds. Until the next time.”
“You’re surprising me. You’re the most nonviolent man I ever met.”
“What that man did to our girl . . . what he took from her . . . and all the others . . .” Jim’s voice cracked. “What he took from us. I have no qualms about wishing the worst on him for the rest of his life. His victims suffered, their parents have all suffered. I think he needs to suffer, too.” Jim sounded weary, as if merely putting words to thoughts was an effort. “So what do we do about this revelation? Where do we go from here?”
“First thing tomorrow we call the district attorney’s office, and we ask to meet with the ADA who is handling the case. We tell her we’ve just discovered what Bowers had done to Jess so she’ll add Jessie’s name to the list of victims,” Liddy thought aloud. “We can’t bring Jess back, but we can seek justice for her.”
“How do we get through the rest of this night?”
Liddy thought about it for a while. Then she stood and took Jim’s hand and pulled him off the lounge. “By remembering how full and happy our lives were when we still had Jess. A few months ago, I found some photos from when she was in grade school. I’d like to share them with you. Sometimes the only way through a bad time is to think about the good times. You up for that?”
Jim sighed. “I’m game if you are.”
“Well, come on then. Maybe you could make a fire while I get us something to drink, and then we can sit on the sofa together and look at pictures and talk about our girl.” Jim’s hand still in hers, Liddy opened the back door and went into the kitchen. “I think she’d like that.”
When Liddy called in the morning, the ADA’s assistant told her to leave a message, and if there was time later in the day, she’d get a callback.
“We’re calling about the Bowers case,” Liddy explained. “We believe our daughter was one of his first victims.”
There was a long pause before the woman on the other end told her, “That’s ADA Priest’s case, but she isn’t in right now.”
“We’d like her to return our call. Please. Tell her it’s important.”
Liddy and Jim spent most of the day pacing, waiting for the phone to ring.
“I might just as well have gone into the bookshop instead of paying Evelyn to open up and stay the day,” Liddy complained after several hours passed without a callback.
The call came right after Liddy’d prepared a late lunch and Jim helped her take it out onto the deck.
“This is Linnea Priest from the county DA’s office. I’m returning a call to Lydia Bryant.” The woman spoke briskly, a right-to-the-point tone in her voice.
“Thank you. I’m putting this on speaker so my husband can be part of the call.” Liddy took a deep breath, and launched right in. “Our daughter, Jessica Bryant, graduated from Mid-Coast Regional High School in 2004. She was a member of the basketball team coached by Kenneth Bowers. We believe she may have been his first victim.” Liddy spoke calmly and directly.
“Why do you believe that, Mrs. Bryant?” The ADA was still all business.
“Because she told someone she was.”
“Recently?” The note of skepticism was apparent.
“No. Early in the summer of 2004. Right after graduation.”
“If this is true, I’m going to need to speak with your daughter directly. Where is she now? Tell me how to contact her, and I’ll have an investigator take her statement.”
“That won’t be possible. Jessica—our daughter—took her own life a few weeks after this story made the news. We think she took her life because she felt guilty about not coming forward earlier. That she could have prevented the trauma the other victims went through.” Liddy’s heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. “We didn’t even know.”
Liddy related the story Grace had told her. When she was finished, she said, “We want her name added to the list of his victims.”
The attorney was silent for a long moment. “Your story—your daughter’s story—certainly sounds plausible, especially since she told someone the year it happened. But we won’t be able to add your daughter—”
“Jessica. Jessica Bryant.”
“Your daughter, Jessica, to the case. It won’t be admissible.”
“Why not? I know in my heart this is what happened. If you’d known my daughter, you’d know what a caring, responsible, sensitive young woman she was. She was happy, she was an artist, she—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, I’m sure she was all that and more.” Linnea Priest’s tone softened. “I understand completely, and I am terribly sorry for your loss. But without your daughter’s testimony, the judge would never allow it.”
“But her friend—the person she told—she’ll testify.”
“Without any evidence, it will still be viewed as hearsay, and the defense attorney will object, and the court will agree. I am so sorry. You have my deepest sympathy. But I cannot add her as a victim.”
“I—we understand,” Jim said. “But it’s very difficult for us not to have justice in our daughter’s name.”
“I appreciate your position. I sincerely do. But I hope you will find some small measure of comfort in knowing that justice will be served. For all the young women who have come forward, as well as those who have chosen to remain silent, or who for whatever reason will not be heard in court.” Priest paused. “But I can tell you this, and it will come out at trial: I don’t believe Jessica was his first victim. He coached at a high school in Michigan, and before that, in Indiana. He left both schools in haste.”
“So someone knew what he was before he even came here?” Jim asked, incredulous.