A Prologue

My name is Zoe Hearty, and I am a killer, but I am not a monster. Certainly not the monster they want me to be.

I made it easy for them to put me away. After Leary died, I had trouble thinking straight. Yet I did what had to be done, and I would do it all again. You might have done the same.

I am, in fact — and this is so cringy and embarrassing — your saviour. I hear you scoffing. I get it. I do.

I look around this cage of mine, the white walls, the metal fittings, the lone window barred and sealed. Hollow sounds of despair echo through the corridors. You put me here for a reason. You call me trash. Filthy Zoe. Crazy Zoe. I might do the same if I was in your place. But I know what I know. And that tears me up. I am your saviour, and I must make you believe me. Otherwise, we are doomed. Your fate, all our fates, mine too, depend on it.

I am not crazy. I wish I was. It would be so much easier. But I have never been saner in all my pathetic life. Logic, or logic as I saw it at the time, drove every decision as it drives this story. Believe me.

So, all I ask is that you let me tell my story. Let me attempt to persuade you. I get you may be incredulous, but keep this in mind: there is proof I have kept secret up till now. I’ll share it with you, when you come to see me. Get me my day in court so I can tell my side, so we can fight this thing together.

Guthry, that pallid, disgusting creep, has given me access to this recorder. The “Doc” no longer considers me a suicide risk, so that is something I suppose. Considers it therapeutic, he said. And it's not like anyone anywhere is ever going to believe me.

His words, natch. But I am confident, Mr. Reid, you will see that I did what I had to, what anyone in my position would have done. I found a logical path and followed it through the turmoil of those desperate events.

Anyway, he is probably up there in his office perving off to the feed from the blinking light above the door. “Surveillance 24/7,” said the committing judge. So welcome, Big Brother Guthry. Put your junk back in your trousers, creep, and wipe the spit off your upper lip.

Listen: they have promised me you will get a chance to evaluate my story, though God knows I do not trust them on that. The thing is: I am telling the truth and I think you will hear that too.

Did you do it? I hear you ask. I never denied it. Why would I? I was in no frame of mind to resist. The police gathered the evidence and it all pointed in the right direction. Me. And then they threw me in here without a trial to shut me up.

You will have to decide if what I did makes me a monster or not. But let me tell you this, long before they died, I grieved for what had been stolen from me. They were gone. Long gone. I do not and never will regret what I did. It was only fitting in the end.

So let me tell you a story of the death of a family and the cruelty inflicted on my poor babes. My poor dead sparrows.

 

Another Prologue

A telephone rings. A loud shrill sound that Reid both loves and hates.

This time it’s his desktop phone. He glances at the digital number of the caller and smiles to himself.

The bait has worked and the fish has bit. He presses the button for the speakerphone.

“Brown, Reid, and Partners. Reid here. How may I help?”

“Guthry, from the Institute. Returning your call.”

“Mr. Guthry! I hope you are having a wonderful day.”

Not that I give a shit, you fascist prick.

As they exchange the necessary opening pleasantries, a knot of tense excitement grows in Reid´s stomach. So close now. So close.

“Your primary interest, I understand, is one of our guests.” Guthry finally comes to the point. “One of our more colourful and infamous guests.”

“Indeed. Zoe Hearty. Thanks for returning my call so promptly.” Not that you had much choice, you shit. We do have you over a barrel. “I take it you have had time to examine our final demands.”

“I wish to point out that I consider this course of action foolish in the extreme, Mr. Reid.”

“My firm´s desire is solely to ensure that justice is done.”

“Very noble, I am sure, but I am worried that you have no idea who you are dealing with.”

“Zoe Hearty never had a proper trial. She was committed to your institute on the whim of a judge and his court order. My firm merely seeks the truth.”

A cross between an exasperated sigh and mocking laughter sounds from the other end of the phone. “The only truth that concerns me, Mr. Reid, is medical. Your Ms. Hearty is a very ill woman, a narcissist with a severe personality disorder. She is also very clever and extremely manipulative.”

“As I said, my firm´s interest is simply in upholding the law. There are a lot of questions surrounding this case—questions we feel have never adequately been answered. That is why we require her testimony.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Reid. But let me emphasise how strongly I feel that yours is a wrong and wilful course of action. The recording she made was purely for medical reasons. Therapy, if you will. It was never meant to leave these premises. Its wider availability can only inflame matters. Think of the families of the victims. Think of those she murdered. ”

“And I am afraid you no longer have a choice in this matter. As solicitors for Ms. Hearty, we are entitled to everything. We will have that recording, one way or another. ”

“I repeat, sir. Your client is a dangerous person. A fantasist. A woman of great charm, but a fantasist. She blames aliens, for heaven´s sake. Aliens. In this day and age. This path you are engaged in can only lead to grief…”

Reid clears his throat hard, stopping Guthry in full flow.

“Mr. Guthry.” An emphasis on the first syllable. “I believe you know my reputation and the reputation of my law firm,. We tend to get what we want, and we certainly intend to get what is due to us: thus, I see little point in debating this issue further. We will look into the case of Ms. Hearty. We will shine a light on the alleged police corruption and investigate the nagging legal issues. Should we find nothing out of place, then so be it, but it is our contention that everybody, Ms. Hearty included, deserves a fair shake. We are not convinced she has gotten that to date.”

“You and your company are making a terrible mistake.” Reid can almost hear teeth-gnashing on the other end of the line, and it is music to his ears.

“The recording, Mr. Guthry? Zoe´s story. When can you get it to me?”

A long silence filled with the sound of damp breathing on the other end of the phone.

“I will have it in the post by tomorrow morning. Registered, of course. Thereafter, I appeal to your sense of fair play and discretion.”

“Make sure that it is. There have been enough delays in this matter. Now, will there be anything else? ”

“No, nothing,“ Guthry´s voice is deflated. “Nothing. But I do pray we do not all live to regret this.”

And with that, there is a click and the line goes dead.

 

Chapter 1

We met when we were both high in a dive on the Northside. I was off my face and he was no better. But man alive, was he hot. I mean seriously smoking! His ass in those faded jeans. Buttocks of steel I tell you, and those liquid green-brown eyes. I fell hot and hard. He took me by the hand, and he smiled, his lop-sided, little boy smile. And that was that, apart from the shagging. He took me home, ripped off my clothes, while I tore at his and it was great. Do I need to say more? Hot, steamy sex, as a girlfriend of mine used to say, and lots of it, day and night and night and day. And tenderness in between. But, if I am honest, even then there were signs. Little hints that he was not as sugar candy, as gentle and centered, as he wanted me to believe. Nothing obvious: a hint of a frown, a throw-away remark. Sarcasm. But I was in love, so nothing could pierce the warm cocoon he wrapped around me.

I was studying to be an accountant. He was a few years older than me and in advertising. Already successful, despite being doped and stoned to the gills for most of his days and nights. Got his creative juices flowing, or so he said. Part of the charm back then, and I wasn't all that much better. It was what made him so alluring, I guess. I hated what I was doing, hated it with a passion. I saw him as a way out, an escape.

A weakness, I now see: running away. Something I was a bit of an expert on back then. Ducking shit. Avoiding responsibility. It all goes back to my parents: their protectiveness, their demands. Be a good girl. Smile. Sit just so. Study. Be well behaved. Accountancy would be a good fit, dear, don't you think, Zoe?

And all the time I was screaming inside. Let me out. Let me go. If I want to be a starving artist or a lion tamer, let me. It is my life. Mine. I will live it as I see fit.

But I never had the guts to tell them.

Jimmy, though, was different. A pull yourself up by the bootlaces kind of guy from the other side of town. He came from a truly fucked up family, had educated himself, was driven, and made money. He had his shit about him and knew what he was doing.

I fell hard, and he took me under his wing. I was in love, but I was a fool. I was hardly the first.

#

The honeymoon period lasted a good long time. Great sex, great parties, great friends. Alcohol, drugs, trips on dhows in the Indian Ocean. Sex on beaches in India, in wild German forests, in the dark against walls in hotels, and in amusement parks. A wild ride. Too wild, I now realize. As though we were hurtling on a runaway engine into the future, unaware of the danger we were in. Heedless, irresponsible. We were not fully adults, and yet not children. A man-child and a woman-child in full-grown bodies.

Then I got pregnant. That was Sarah. It took a little time, some agonizing, but we did keep her, though he was a little more than reluctant to begin with. Jimmy proposed in a posh French restaurant. Flowers and rings and people clapping in the background, like a scene copied exactly from a Rom-com. Corny, I suppose, but it was sweet in its own way. I had rose petals in my eyes and a bun in the oven. I gave up studying, at his insistence, and started reading all the pregnancy books, bought all the toys, and decorated the room.

And one day, late in my third trimester, I was gripped by pain. A stabbing knife in my lower back drove me to my knees. Breathing deep and hard, sweat pouring down my face, and fear like a dark chill in my spine.

I cannot lose you, I prayed. Not now. Not so close. This child within me was already my everything. I got to my feet, hobbled to the phone, and called emergency. I don’t remember how, but I made it to the hospital. I awoke in a hospital bed, an Indian nurse with almond eyes leaning over me.

“You'll be alright, now, love.” Her smile was a summer's day and I believed her. I would be fine.

In the end, it had nothing to do with the pregnancy. I had developed a peptic ulcer.

“Too much chili, I guess,” I remember saying, smiling at the tall, pinch-faced doctor.

I remember the look in his eyes, the naked skepticism.

Yes, I did still have an occasional drink. Not many. Just a few. When I was feeling down, lonely. Sitting in front of the TV, feeling like a beached whale. Chocolate, ice cream, pickles, and a glass of bubbly.

Jimmy was not exactly hands-on in those days. He was gone from morning until night and sometimes even on the weekends. And when he was home, I caught him glancing at me from beneath his eyebrows. There was something chilling in that look, like he was trying to work out what had happened to him and where he was. Who I was. He was casually drunk most of the time, but he was successful. A major account had landed in his lap and his campaign was a runaway success. His clients, his firm, were treating him like a Roman emperor. We, or should I say he, had money. He was rolling in it. From the outside, we looked like the ideal couple.

Successful professional family with a child on the way.

On the surface that was true, but there were other deeper truths. We did not talk much, and if I am honest, I was a little resentful. He had his life, while I was stuck at home. My parents did come to the wedding, faces tight and unhappy. We were already not on very good terms but they were completely peeved after I announced I was giving up my studies to be a “Hausfrau”.

It wasn’t all bad though. We still laughed a lot when he was home, we cooked together. We held each other and I still felt loved and embraced.

The alienation came later.