“Oh, the others are awful mad at ’im ’cause ’e told.”

“Will you explain that to me?”

“Oye can’t. Oye don’t want t’get inter trouble like David” “Well, why is he in trouble?” she asked, frowning.

“ ’Cause ’e told.”

“Told what?”

“You know. ’E told the secret.”

“Well then, will you tell me some things about yourself Christopher? How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“And what do you like to do?”

“Oye play the drums a little, but Oy’m better on the ’armonica.”

“And where are you from?”

“England.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Just Christene. She’s three years old.”

She watched his face closely as he spoke in his crisp cockney accent. He was open, earnest, happy, so different from the person she had spoken to just the day before. Milligan had to be an incredibly good actor.

(3)

On February 4, her third visit, Dorothy Turner noticed that the young man who walked into the interview room had a different bearing than she had seen either of the other two times. He sat casually, slouched back in the chair, gazing at her arrogantly.

“How are you today?” she asked, almost afraid of what he might answer.

He shrugged. “Alright.”

“Could you tell me how David and Christopher are doing?”

He frowned and glared at her. “Hey, lady, I don’t even know you.”

“Well, I’ve come here to help you. We have to talk about what’s going on.”

“Shit, I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Don’t you remember talking to me the day before yesterday?”

“Hell, no. I ain’t never seen you in my life.”

“Could you tell me your name?”

“Tommy.”

“ ‘Tommy’ who?”

“Just Tommy.”

“And your age?”

“Sixteen.”

“And could you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

“Lady, I don’t talk to strangers. So leave me alone.”

For the next fifteen minutes she tried to draw him out, but “Tommy” remained sullen. When she left the Franklin County Jail, Dorothy Turner stood on Front Street for a while, dazed, thinking about “Christopher” and of her promise to “David” never to reveal the secret. Now she was tom between her promise and her realization that Milligan’s attorneys had to be told about this. Later she phoned the public defender’s office and asked for Judy Stevenson.

“Look,” she said when Stevenson got on the line, “I can’t really talk with you about it right now, but if you haven’t read the book Sybil, get yourself a copy and read it.”

Judy Stevenson, surprised by the call from Turner, bought a paperback copy of Sybil that evening and began to read it. Once she understood where it was going, she lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking: Oh, come on! A multiple personality? Is that what Turner was trying to tell her? She tried to visualize the Milligan who had trembled so badly at the line-up; she thought of the other times he’d been talkative and manipulative, trading jokes, quick-witted. She’d always attributed his changed behavior to depression. And then she thought of the stories Sergeant Willis told about the slippery character who could get out of any strait jacket, and medic Russ Hill’s comments about the superhuman strength he showed at times. Milligan’s words echoed in her mind: “J don’t remember what they said I did. I don’t know anything.”