Now I chose my wardrobe with care. Basic brown slacks, long-sleeved black shirt, dark-brown loafers. Plain and simple. Next I packed a bag filled with an assortment of casual clothes, then lined it with cash before adding makeup, scissors and a couple of hats.

No breakfast. I couldn’t eat.

Seven A.M. I was on the phone with Superintendent McKinnon. I needed to speak to my sister immediately. About our father. Please, if she would just permit . . .

She agreed I could visit after nine.

That gave me plenty of time for the drive to Walmart. Disposable cell, disposable razors, a few other necessities. I finished with more than an hour to spare. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I sat in the parking lot, flinching at every noise. Was the Rose Killer watching me, even now? Had the murderer followed me from my condo building? I tried to pay attention to the vehicles around me, but I was no 007. I was merely an exhausted, stressed-out psychiatrist, engaging in a one-way ticket to self-annihilation.

Rigging my shoe took longer than I’d expected. Finally, the clock hit eight thirty and I drove to the Massachusetts Correctional Institute, hands trembling on the wheel.

Upon entering, I forced myself to breathe slowly and evenly. Nothing here I hadn’t done a million times before. Sign in. Check my bag. Greet officers Chris and Bob by name. Walk through security. The machine buzzing as usual due to my medical bracelet.

Officer Maria was so accustomed to the drill by now, she didn’t even bother with the wand.

A quick pat down, and we were done. Could she have inspected me more thoroughly? Should she have? Then again, I was a familiar face, well-known to all of them after six years of monthly visits. They knew me, they trusted me and they let me carry on.

Officer Maria led me down the corridor to the private visiting room where Shana and I usually met, versus the interrogation room that had been favored recently. I exhaled a quick sigh of relief at this second lucky break.

My sister was waiting for me, hands bound before her, per protocol. Officer Maria took up position outside, where she could see us through the glass window, though she couldn’t hear us. These so-called privacy rooms were generally assigned to inmates meeting with their lawyers. Outsiders could not hear what was said inside, to protect an inmate’s legal rights, but corrections officers could still keep tabs on the inmate, which would pose my first challenge.

All in due time.

For now, I entered the room. I walked to the empty chair. I took a seat.

My sister looked like she’d had the same night I had. Sleepless. Troubled. Agitated. For once, we almost matched.

Perfect.

She frowned as she took me in. “New look for you? I don’t recommend it.”