“I know,” she said. “This must sound like gobbledygook to you. And I’m not sure I understand it myself. I guess I can’t help but think there was something Rand wanted to say that he hadn’t said before. Whatever it was, I’m kicking myself for not prying it out of him.”

“Sounds like you did more for him than anyone else did.”

“That’s kind, Doctor, but the truth is, with all the other fosters, there are so many demands on my attention. I should have reacted more . . . affirmatively.”

“Are you saying Rand’s guilt had something to do with his murder?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty foolish right now. For bothering you.”

“No bother,” I said. “What had Rand told you before?”

“At first, he claimed he didn’t remember a thing. Maybe that was even true— you know, repression. Even if it wasn’t, the psychodynamic would be the same, right, Doctor? The enormity of his transgression was just too much for his soul to bear, so he closed up and marshaled his defenses. Am I making sense?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I mean, it was all that boy could do just to get through each day. They claim it’s a juvenile facility but it’s not that at all.”

“There were old scars on Rand’s body,” I said.

“Oh, I know.” Her voice broke. “I heard about each assault but was never allowed to visit him when he was in the infirmary. When we got home he changed into fresh clothes and I took the old ones to wash. When he slipped off his T-shirt, I had a quick look at his back. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but it was hideous.”

“Tell me about the assaults.”

“The worst was when he was jumped by some gang members and stabbed several times for no reason at all. Rand wasn’t a fighter, just the opposite. But did that stop them?”

“How seriously was he hurt?”

“He ended up in the infirmary for over a month. Another time he was surprised from behind and hit on the head while taking a shower. I’m sure there were other incidents he didn’t talk about. He was a big strong boy, so he recovered. Physically. After the stabbing, I complained to the warden but I might as well have spit into the wind. The guards beat the inmates, too. Do you know what they call themselves? Counselors. They’re hardly that.”

“Those types of experiences could make someone jumpy,” I said.