Here She Lies

truncated, perhaps, at some point in the process.
    Finally the Chinese woman’s voice rang out: “Okay, that enough. Show over!” She had a strong accent and an unmistakable tone of authority. When I turned to look at her, her gaze was back on the wall. Still, I was grateful. On the floor I collected two uncapped baby bottles of milk that Lexy would never drink. My cellmates all kept clear of the bottles, respecting them, it seemed, and it struck me as an unexpected respite to be here among women.
    I didn’t know what time it was when my attorney arrived, but it felt like the end of the day. There had been a change of guard and the soupy light seemed to have grown dimmer. The new guard, a middle-aged Puerto Rican with manicured fire red claws, unlocked the door and waved me over. I was taken to an interview booth — two counters facing each other in a tiny cubiclehalved by foggy Plexiglas — where a woman in a turquoise blouse introduced herself.
    “I’m Elizabeth Mann. You can call me Liz,” she said in a confident, professional voice. Her bleached blond hair fell stiffly to her shoulder blades and was parted in the middle, dead center. “I’ve been working on your case all afternoon, Anais — or do I call you Annie?”
    “Everyone does.”
    “Anais is just so beautiful.” Her teeth were perfectly straight but yellowed from caffeine and that was when I started to trust her: despite the easy prophylactic of blonding her hair, the rest of her showed the real stripes of her age. She had a superbly weathered face and enough bloodshot in her pretty blue eyes to suggest she worked hard. I knew that Bobby would spare no expense in getting me a good lawyer. Liz Mann. Yes: welcome to my world.
    “Annie’s easier,” I said, “and I’m used to it.”
    We talked. She took notes. I explained everything I knew, which wasn’t much. She and Bobby had spoken at length and she knew about our marital problems and she also knew about Zara Moklas’s murder. She knew all about Kent, who had sworn on a Bible, personally, to her on the telephone, that he had nothing to do with this. What she didn’t know was that I’d lost my wallet.
    “When?” she asked.
    “Thursday.”
    “Where?”
    “Great Barrington,” I said. “Probably somewhere in town — I’m not sure.”
    “How much was in it?”
    “Not much, maybe twenty dollars.”
    “Credit cards? Other kinds of identification?”
    “Lots, I guess. Credit cards, driver’s license, car registration, my Social Security card, some store cards, stuff like that.”
    “Very good,” she said.
    “It didn’t seem like it at the time.”
    “Have you ever heard of identity theft?”
    “Of course.” And then it hit me: my lost wallet. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? The shock of being arrested and held and processed had sent my thoughts reeling in all the wrong directions. “But I canceled all my cards.”
    “How soon?”
    “The next day.”
    “One night is plenty of time for an identity thief. The damage they can do in minutes is mind-boggling.” She leaned forward, so close I could see details of her skin through the thick plastic partition, how her face makeup was a little too dark and how it filled enlarged pores. “Arrest warrants don’t take that long to process through the system. As soon as they’re issued, they’re out there and the police respond to them. I’m not saying this is what happened, but it’s possible that whoever has your wallet got right to work and committed a crime using your identity.”
    “That fast — it’s hard to believe.”
    “I know it is,” she said, “but time the way we think of time doesn’t exist in cyberspace. With enough information, someone can nab your identity in minutes on the Internet, sitting at home in their bathrobe. Believe me, anything is possible.”
    “So how do we prove that?”
    “We don’t. We start by demonstrating to a judge that it’s a possibility and showing that you have no criminal record. We ask the judge to set reasonable bail. We get you out and then we start searching for the proof.”
    “But how?”
    “I’m going to explain everything to you as we go, but first things first.” She stood up and tucked her files and pad under her arm. “I’m going to see if I can get us on tonight’s docket. I’ll see if we can get you an ROR. Otherwise I’ll ask the judge to set bail.”
    I must have looked as bewildered as I felt.
    “Release on recognizance, without having to