“Lady, I don’t give a damn what you do. Just get off my back.”

Allen said, “Promise you won’t tell anyone in the world except Judy. And you’ve got to make her promise she won’t tell anyone else.”

“I agree,” she said. “And you won’t be sorry.”

That afternoon, Dorothy Turner went directly from the prison to the public defender’s office down the street and talked with Judy Stevenson. She explained the conditions Milligan had set forth.

“You mean I can’t tell Gary Schweickart?”

“I had to give my word. I was lucky to get him to agree to let you in on it.”

“I’m skeptical,” Judy said.

Turner nodded. “Good. So was I. But I promise you, when we see your client, you’re in for a surprise.”

(4)

As Sergeant Willis led Milligan into the conference room, Judy Stevenson noticed her clients manner was withdrawn, like a shy adolescent. He seemed frightened of the officer, as if he didn’t know him, and ran quickly to the table to sit beside Dorothy Turner. He wouldn’t speak until Willis left. He kept rubbing his wrists.

Turner said, “Would you tell Judy Stevenson who you are?” He sank back in the chair and shook his head, looking , toward the door as if to make sure the officer was gone.

“Judy,” Turner said finally, “this is Danny. I’ve come to know him quite well.”

“Hi, Danny.” Stevenson tried to hide her bewilderment at the different voice and facial expression.

He looked up at Turner and whispered, “See? She’s looking at me like she thinks I’m crazy.”

“I don’t,” Judy said. “It’s just that I’m confused. This is a very unusual situation. How old are you, Danny?”

He rubbed his wrists as if he’d just been untied and was trying to restore the circulation. But he didn’t answer.

“Danny is fourteen,” Turner said. “He’s a fine artist.”

“What kind of paintings do you do?” Stevenson asked.

“Still lifes mostly,” Danny said.

“Did you also paint some of those landscapes the police found in your apartment?”

“I don’t paint landscapes. I don’t like the ground.”

“Why is that?”

“I can’t tell or he’ll kill me.”

“Who will kill you?” She was surprised to find herself cross-examining him, knowing she didn’t believe any of it, determined she was not going to be taken in by a hoax, but amazed by what seemed to be a brilliant performance.

He closed his eyes and the tears ran down his cheeks.

Feeling herself more and more baffled by what was happening, Judy watched closely as he seemed to shrink back into himself. His lips moved silently, his eyes glazed and then drifted sideways. He looked around, startled, until he recognized both women and realized where he was. He settled back, crossed his legs and withdrew a cigarette from his right sock without removing the pack.

“Anybody got a light?”

Judy lit his cigarette. He took a deep drag, puffed the smoke upward. “So what’s new?” he said.

“Would you tell Judy Stevenson who you are?”