A Maidens Grave

enemy.” He found himself looking at the adorable twins, for they were the youngest. Whenever he thought of children he thought of them as being very young—perhaps because he and Marian never had any—and the image of the son or daughter that might have been was thus frozen in time, as if Potter were perpetually a young husband and Marian his bride of, say, twenty-five.
    Look at them, he told himself. Look at them. And as if he’d spoken aloud, he realized that everyone except Derek and Tobe, who were hunched over their dials, had paused and was gazing up at the pictures.
    Potter asked Angie for information about the girl who was about to be released, Jocylyn Weiderman.
    Speaking from memory, Angie said, “Apparently she’s a troubled girl. She was postlingually deaf—deaf after she learned to speak. You’d think that would make things easier and it does help with learning development. But psychologically what happens is people like that don’t take to Deaf culture easily at all. You know what that means? ‘Deaf’ with a capital D ?”
    Potter, eye on the slaughterhouse, looking again for Melanie, said he didn’t.
    Angie lifted an eyebrow to Frances, who explained, “The word ‘deaf,’ small d, is the physical condition of not being able to hear. Deaf, upper-case D, is used by the Deaf to signify their community, their culture.”
    Angie continued, “In terms of Deaf status it’s best to be born deaf of deaf parents and to shun all oral skills. If you’re born hearing of hearing parents and know how to speak and read lips, you don’t have the same status. Buteven that’s a notch above someone deaf trying to pass for hearing—which is what Jocylyn’s tried to do.”
    “So the girl has one strike against her to start with.”
    “She’s been rejected by both the hearing and Deaf worlds. Add to that she’s overweight. And has pretty undeveloped social skills. Prime candidate for a panic attack. If that happens Handy might think the girl was attacking him. She might even do it.”
    Potter nodded, thankful as always that Angie Scapello was assisting the threat management team. Her specialty was hostage psychology—helping them to recover and to remember observations that might be useful in future barricades and preparing former hostages to be witnesses at the trials of their takers.
    Several years ago it had occurred to Potter to bring her along during ongoing barricades, analyzing the data that hostages reported and evaluating hostages and takers themselves. She often shared the podium with him when he lectured on negotiation strategy.
    Potter observed, “Then we’ve got to try to keep her calm.”
    Panic during a hostage exchange was infectious. It often led to fatalities.
    The negotiator asked Frances, “Could you teach our trooper something to tell her? Something that might help?”
    Frances moved her hands and said, “That means ‘Stay calm.’ But signing’s a very difficult skill to learn quickly and to remember. Slight mistakes change the meaning completely. I’d recommend if you have to communicate, use everyday gestures—for ‘come here,’ ‘go there.’ ”
    “And I’d suggest having him smile,” Angie said. “Universal language, smiling. That’s just what the girl needs. If he has to say something more complex, maybe write it down?”
    Frances nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
    “The reading age of prelingually deaf is sometimes below that of their chronological age. But with Jocylyn being postlingual and”—Angie stole back her notes from Henry LeBow, found what she sought—“and having a high IQ, she can read any commands fine.”
    “Hey, Derek, got any pens and writing pads?”
    “Got ’em both right here,” Elb replied, producing a stack of pads and a fistful of big black ink markers.
    The agent then asked Angie if she happened to have a picture of the teachers. “No, I . . . Wait. I think I have one of Melanie Charrol. The younger of them.”
    She’s twenty-five, Potter reminded himself.
    “We’re past the food deadline,” Tobe announced.
    “Ah, here it is,” Angie said, handing him a picture.
    Be forewarned  . . . .
    He was surprised. The woman it depicted was more beautiful than he’d thought. Unlike the other photos, this was in color. She had wavy blond hair, very curly bangs, smooth pale skin, radiant eyes. The picture seemed less like a staff photograph than like a model’s head shot. There was something childlike about