I was so naïve back then.
***
Dave and I arrived at the jail promptly at ten o’clock in the morning. Just as I had expected, there were news crews and reporters surrounding the square, red-brick building in the center of town, with black letters across the front that read
‘Jessamine County Detention Center.’
We sat in his car in the parking lot across from the jail. So far, no one had noticed our arrival.
“Libby,” he began with a sigh. “There’s something I have to tell you. I’m sorry to tell you now, but I only found out this morning myself.”
My heart started beating a mile a minute, and I could feel my pulse throbbing at my temples. What could possibly be worse than being five minutes away from surrendering myself to jail for a crime I—probably—didn’t commit?
“What is it?” I asked hesitantly.
“It’s about Ryan. Detective Dorne called me this morning. Apparently, he’s known for several days, and even presented this information to the grand jury, which explains a lot, quite frankly.”
“What is it, Dave?” I looked at him and noticed for the first time how handsome he was, even though he was old enough to be my father. His hair was almost fully grey, and his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles, except for the worry lines that were evident around his deep blue eyes.
“Ryan was having an affair. I’m sorry, Libby.”
I laid my head back against the firm leather headrest of Dave’s black Lexus. An affair. Ryan was screwing somebody else. There was the motive they needed. This was why I had been indicted. But how could I not know?
“How do they know for sure? I mean, I didn’t know. You have to believe me, Dave. I had no idea.”
He held out his hand in an apparent effort to keep me from flipping out on him. “I believe you. I don’t think anyone knew, to be honest. But Detective Dorne figured it out after reviewing Ryan’s cell phone records and email history.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Lindsey Unser. Do you know her?”
“No, I have no idea who that is.”
I looked out the window at the place that quite possibly could be my home for the foreseeable future. The more I thought about it, the more things started to fall into place, like a puzzle missing that one stubborn piece you just can’t find. I thought of all the time Ryan spent in the bathroom “reading.” All the “extra hours” at work over the past year. The lull in our sex life. Of course he was having an affair. And I was too naïve to see it. Or too dumb. Or too ignorant. Or all of the above.
“Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, in Detective Dorne’s mind, it’s all the motive he needs. He told the grand jury you found out about the affair and that’s why you killed him.”
“But I didn’t know!”
“I know, I know. And we’ll explain that to a jury if it comes to that, and we’ll point out there’s no evidence whatsoever that you had any idea about the affair. Libby, I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you, but I certainly didn’t want you to hear it from Dorne…or in there.”
“Thanks.”
“Now, unfortunately, we really have to go.”
As soon as we crossed the street, reporters noticed us and swarmed around me like a flock of seagulls, squawking and snapping pictures.
“Did you kill Ryan?”
“Libby, over here!”
“Why did you kill Ryan?”
“Did you know about his affair?”
So the press had already gotten wind of my husband’s indiscretion. That was quick. Good thing Dave had told me just a few moments earlier. What a way to find out—as if there’s any
good
way to discover your husband is screwing around behind your back.
I held my arms up in a vain attempt to cover my face, and Dave ushered me quickly in through the front door.
A guard in a black-and-white uniform scanned his card and opened the second set of doors for us. Dave and I walked right up to the reception desk, where an older female guard was standing at a computer.
“Name?” she asked without even looking up at me.
Dave spoke first. “I’m Dave Rogers, and I’m here with my client, Elizabeth Barrett Carter. She’s here to self-surrender.”
“Social Security number?”
I gave her my Social Security number and stood there chewing on my bottom lip. I hadn’t been that nervous until that very moment. All of a sudden, I could barely breathe.
Finally, the guard at the computer looked up at me. “If you have anything in your pockets, now’s the time to hand them over. Put them in that basket on the desk.”
Dave had warned me not to bring anything with me, so I just shook my head.
“All right then, this is where you say goodbye.”
I turned to Dave, and for a moment, wasn’t sure whether to shake his hand or hug him. He reached in and pulled me into a tight embrace, patting me on the back.
“Arraignment’s just in a few hours.”
Still too nervous to talk, I just nodded my head.
I watched as Dave walked back through the doors and reporters surrounded him. He held up his hands, shook his head, and walked across the street to his car.
“This way,” the guard next to me said kindly. The large, very dark-skinned man with perfectly white teeth motioned for me to follow him through the metal detector. Once on the other side, he told me to stand with my back against the wall with a measuring stick taped to it. I did as commanded and stood facing the camera. The guard, whose nametag read
‘Correctional Officer Fugate’
told me to hold still. I stood there with a blank look on my face and waited for the flash.
I was then escorted to a small room off to the side where I went through the humiliating process of stripping off my street clothes. I had hoped the whole “bend over and spread ’em” thing was just on TV, but it was real. Embarrassingly real. The female correctional officer made me squat and cough before she let me stand back up and put on the orange jumpsuit with
‘JCDC’—Jessamine County Detention Center
—written in black across the front.
Two more corrections officers guided me through two sets of iron bars that slid open when they swiped their cards over the card reader. I walked with my hands held out, holding a folded wool blanket, bedsheets, and a pillow in front of me until we reached a dormitory-style room filled with bunk beds and women in orange jumpsuits.
“Here’s your bunk,” one of the guards said brusquely, pointing at the bunk closest to the front entrance of the dormitory. Mine was the top bunk, but I couldn’t tell if there was anyone already occupying the bottom because, like all the other beds, it was made up to perfection.
After the guards left me standing there by myself, I laid my blankets and pillow on the top mattress. Just when I was about to climb up on the top bed and have myself a good cry, a short female with a half-blue Mohawk approached me. The top half of her jumpsuit was folded down, revealing her white wife beater and her full-sleeve tattoos. A hand jutted out in front of me, and the boyish girl looked at me and said, “Name’s Dom. What’s your name?”
“Uh…Libby,” I said shyly as I took her hand and shook it quickly.
“Libby. Pretty name. For a pretty girl, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
I shook my head and could feel myself blushing at the compliment, even though it was coming from a woman.
“What’s Dom short for?” I just had to ask.
“Dominique. Stupid fuckin’ name, I know. That’s why I go by Dom. It’s more…ambiguous. Get it?”
I nodded my head slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”
“So,” she said as she leaned against the bunk bed. “I’m on the bottom here. But that’s okay. That’s how I like it.” She threw her head back and laughed at her own joke. I smiled and gave a weak laugh in return.
“Whatcha in for?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know anything about jail politics. Was I supposed to be honest? Tell them I was in for murder? Make myself seem dangerous and therefore less likely to be messed with? Or did I lie and say it was some drug offense so no one thought I was a husband-killer? Ultimately, I remembered my mom’s words when she told me to always tell the truth because then you have no lies to remember.
“Murder,” I answered her finally. “They say I killed my husband.”
“Whaddya mean
they say
you killed your husband? What does that mean?” Dom asked me with disbelief written all over her face.
“I…it’s a long story,” I admitted. “But I can’t remember what happened. I just woke up and he was…dead.”
“Holy shit,” she said, louder than I wished she had.
“Shhhhh!” I put my finger to my lips. “I don’t want everyone knowing what I’m here for.”
“All right, all right. If we’re going to be bunkies, I’ll keep your secret for ya. But holy fuck! We haven’t had a murderer in here ever, that I can remember. Most the girls in here? They’re here for drugs or stealin’ shit.”
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s only fair if you tell me what you’re in for. I told you.”
“True dat,” she said. “Yo, it’s some crazy shit. They sayin’ I robbed the Ghetto Mart on Main Street.”
“Ghetto Mart?”
“Yeah, you know. The gas station on the corner of Main and Chestnut Street. That’s what we call it, anyway.”
“Oh, I see. Well, did you do it?”
Dom just gave me a knowing smile and shrugged her right shoulder. “No one in here actually did anything wrong, ya know? If everyone else in here gets to be innocent, then so do I. They set your bail yet?”
“No,” I admitted. “I think they’re supposed to do that today, though.”
“Yeah, arraignment is usually at two on Fridays.”
“You seem to know a lot about this place. I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?”
“Who me? Shit no. This is my, what…” she counted on her fingers, “…fourth stay here. But I’m not staying this time. No siree, Bob. My lawyer’s gonna get me off this time. They have no evidence, yo.”
“Well, that’s good,” I said, trying to act like I believed her. Something told me Dom was probably going to spend most of her life in and out of jail. She just seemed like one of those women who seem to fit in better in prison than out in the free world.
***
Dom sat and explained some of the dos and don’ts of jail to me until it was time for lunch. I followed her when the guards came and made us line up along the wall. They marched us out of the dormitory and down the hall until we reached the cafeteria. I continued to follow Dom as she explained the lunch system to me from a few steps ahead.
“Today is Friday, so it’s pizza day. It’s not so bad, really, ya feel me? Better than Salisbury steak, which is usually served for dinner on Tuesday nights. The mashed potatoes are like cement.”
The cafeteria worker…not sure if she was an inmate or civilian employee…handed me a tray with a square piece of pizza, an apple, and an orange juice in a plastic container with foil on top. When we reached the end of the food line, Dom stood still for a moment.
“Where do we sit?” I asked.
“Well, see, that’s the thing, yo. There are different tables for each group, ya dig? Over there’s the blacks. There’s the beaners over there, and the meth heads right there.” She pointed each group out to me while holding her tray with her other hand.
“So, where do we sit?”
“That’s completely up to you. I sit over there, with the other lesbians. I mean, in here, everyone’s a lesbian…
gay for the stay
…but I’m talking about the tried and true, twenty-four/seven, blue blood lesbians. Now, you’re welcome to sit with us. We’re not as exclusive as the other groups are. But just be warned, whichever group you choose now, you’re going to have to stick with it the whole time you’re here if ya don’t make bail. Ya feel me?”
I thought on this for a moment. I really had no choice in the matter. I was too white for most of the groups, and I most certainly couldn’t relate with the meth heads with missing teeth and open sores all over their bodies. The lesbians it was, then. Dom sat down next to a very large woman with a buzz cut and a snake tattoo wrapped around her thick neck. I slowly sat down next to Dom in the only empty seat.
“Who’s your new girlfriend, Dom?” Snake Tattoo asked as she leaned forward to get a better look at me.
“Oh, I’m not her—”
“Her name’s Libby. And if ya fuck with her, ya fuck with me. Ya feel me?”
Snake Tattoo raised her hands defensively and shook her head.
“Thanks,” I whispered to Dom—my new girlfriend, apparently. At least if everyone thought we were lovers, maybe no one else would hit on me. Dom just brushed me off and said not to worry about it.
***
After lunch, I had an hour of downtime before my arraignment. Dom had already planned a card game with some of her friends, and I begged off by convincing her I was tired and needed a quick nap. In fact, I couldn’t have slept if my life depended on it. But I climbed onto the top bunk, laid my head on the stiff pillow, and closed my eyes just to catch a moment of peace and quiet…well, as quiet as a jail full of females can be.
I said a quick prayer to God, if He was even still listening to me, that my bail would be set at a reasonable rate and I wouldn’t be forced to spend the time preparing for trial behind steel bars. But my mind quickly wandered to the last thing Dave had told me before I walked into this hellhole. Ryan was having an affair. With Lindsey Unser, whoever that was. Some dumb young slut, no doubt. Some cunt with perky tits and a perfect ass who was acrobatic in the sack. Men rarely cheat with nice, normal women with careers and ambition. No, it’s usually the ditzy bimbo who truly believes one day he will leave his wife for her.
And what had Ryan told “Lindsey” about me? Probably a bunch of lies, or at least embellishments. He probably told her I was fat, boring, and never wanted to have sex with him. Really, it was the other way around, and knowing about the whore explained quite a bit in that department. Perhaps he was trying to be “faithful” to her. Or maybe his cup runneth over with crazy, uninhibited sex and he had no room for what I was offering.
But why? That’s the part I couldn’t understand. Our marriage had been nearly perfect the first five years or so. Sex was never an issue and it only became an issue when he—not I—started pulling away over a year ago. That must have been when it started. So what drove him into the arms of some slut bag? Was it truly just about sex? Or was there more to it? Was he in love with her? What was she like? Was she prettier than me?
All of these questions were swirling around my head, making me dizzy, when I was startled by a corrections officer calling my name.
“Carter!” she repeated. “Time for your arraignment. Up and at ’em.”
“Sorry,” I said as I climbed down from the top bunk and stood at attention in front of her. She was shorter than I was, but that did nothing to make me less intimidated.
“Save your sorries for the judge,” she said in a serious monotone. “This way.”
***
The arraignment was conducted via satellite. The prisoners—including myself—at the JCDC were ushered up one at a time to the podium for their hearings. When it was my turn, I could see, via the split-screen monitor, Dave in the courtroom with the judge. The bailiff called my case about ten minutes into the proceedings. I walked forward as proudly as I could in my orange jumpsuit and tan rubber slippers until I reached the podium. The judge put her thin-rimmed glasses on her nose and picked up a thin blue folder.
“Case number 15-F-2410…Commonwealth of Kentucky versus Elizabeth Barrett Carter. Charge is one count of murder in the first degree. Defendant is here for arraignment. I see here you are represented by Dave Rogers. Is that correct, Mr. Rogers?”
Dave stood from behind the wooden table on the right of the courtroom. “That is correct, Your Honor.”
“Do I have the charges correct, Mr. Gaines?”
The man who was apparently the Commonwealth’s Attorney stood from behind his table on the left. He was tall, skinny and very bald. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“All right then, what says the prosecution on bail?”
“The Commonwealth requests that bail be set at one million dollars.”
One million dollars?
A low murmur of surprise spread across the room I was standing in. Apparently, no one had ever heard such a high bail request before, including the seasoned veterans.
Even the judge seemed taken aback by the big ask. “One million dollars is pretty steep, Mr. Gaines.”
“Your Honor, if I may…the defendant stands accused of the cold-blooded and premeditated murder of her husband. She used a large-caliber handgun to blow a hole through his head as he lay in bed asleep. He never saw it coming. We ask that bail be set at one million dollars to show the defendant we take murder very seriously here in Kentucky.”
The judge took off her glasses and set them down in front of her. “What about you, Mr. Rogers? I’m sure you have an objection to the amount of bail?”
“Absolutely, Your Honor. My client, Libby Carter, is not only innocent, but she has no history of violent crimes. She has deep ties to the community and is by no one’s definition a flight risk. We ask that the defendant be released ROR.”
“Dave, I’m not going to release your client on her own recognizance. She’s being prosecuted for first-degree murder. But I do agree that, with no real criminal history, save for a Theft by Unlawful Taking when she was eighteen, and the fact that she does not pose a real flight risk, I will set bail at one hundred thousand dollars. Ten percent cash or bond.”
She banged the gavel, and just like that, my arraignment was over. Ten thousand dollars. Just what Dave had hoped for. I was ushered back to the dormitory by the short female guard. Dom was waiting for me at our bunk.
“How’d it go, yo?”
“Hundred thousand.”
“Not bad for first degree murder. You got that kinda money? You look like you got that kinda money.”
“I don’t,” I responded timidly. “But my mom’s going to help.”
“Your lawyer will call your mom and get the bail money, then. Most likely, you’ll be out of here before lights out. Lucky bitch.” She said it with a smile, though.
***
She was right. Two hours later, I was advised that bond had been posted and I was free to go. I never even had to spend the night in jail. It wasn’t lost on me how lucky I was, given everything else that was happening. I could have been hit with a million-dollar bail and no hope of ever getting out.
After going through the check-out procedures, I was allowed to walk out of the Jessamine County Detention Center a free—for now—woman. Mom was waiting just outside the front door with her arms open wide. I literally ran into them and let her envelop me in a tight embrace. Though I had spent less than five hours in jail, I didn’t want her to ever let go.
She did eventually. “Thank you so much, Mom.” Those words didn’t seem sufficient for what she had done for me. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money, and that didn’t include the retainer she’d already paid for Dave to represent me. I promised her I’d cash out my 401(k) first thing Monday and pay her back as much as I could.
“Just hold onto it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You might need it to get back on your feet once this whole thing is over.”
***
On the ride back to Mom’s, I told her about Ryan’s affair.
“I know,” she admitted. “I heard it on the news this afternoon. I’m so sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay,” I said, even though it really wasn’t.
“Do you know who this girl is?”
“No, but I intend to find out.”
“Honey, if I were you, I’d let sleeping dogs lie. No good can come from looking into this woman.”
“Whore, you mean.”
“Well, whatever you want to call her, what’s done is done. It’ll probably all come out in the trial. I want you to stay clear of this girl, do you hear me?”
I nodded my head and looked out the car window. I had no intention of listening to my mother on this account, either. The woman who had been screwing my husband was out there somewhere and now I was free, at least until the trial, to track the bitch down and see just what Ryan found so goddamn appealing.