Can you tell her that I’m sorry especially for that guy raping her or whatever happened to upset her so much. And I’ll always love her. Always. Always.

Yours sincerely,
Dean Black

P.S. Cops suck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My lawyer says it’s too bad about that last line. He was really counting on having my boyfriend testify.

They only have two statements for Justine.

The first one is from Ming.

Justine is very nice girl. I don’t speak English. Sorry.

The second one is from some guy I’ve never heard of. He wasn’t on the list of Red Zoned men.

Jack McGee: As I’ve told you numerous times, I met Justine at Ming’s and she told me she had nowhere to go. So I let her sleep in my studio. Around seven days. She never slept. Sleeping seemed very hard for her to do. She’d slip out of my window and come back in the morning and tell me stories about how she’d met a bank robber named Athena, been to a Blue House, talked to a girl named Tahiti. I didn’t believe her, but it was entertaining. On the seventh day, she tired me out. “Jack! Let’s go out! Let’s find a party!” I told her I was 40. We argued. I caught her tearing at her face, flinging herself around the bathroom. She knew the police were looking for her; she knew she wasn’t allowed to go on certain streets. Warnings were of little concern to her. I believe after I asked her to leave, she went downstairs to Ming’s. English? Yes, his English is fine. I never saw her again. An old man called a few times. He called her his little bird. I don’t know his name. A physical description? Very small, skinny, five foot two, I don’t know. Why would I testify? All I could say is I shouldn’t have let her run but I couldn’t have let her stay.

In my cell, I have a little cot with Sears sheets and a little desk of fake wood. I sit at the desk as if I’m a student doing homework.

The Lake of Forsaken Orphans

In the Bushes with the Burnout Boys

I write that in my notebook, then I look at the words I stole from the “discovery.”

When my lawyer went to make a phone call, I ripped out the words I liked, the words I wanted to hold. Dean Black’s letter, and that guy Jack McGee’s last sentence about how he shouldn’t have let her run but he couldn’t have let her stay.

I wonder if Ivy Mercer is in New England yet.

When I saw all the statements by those idiots at Mount Doug, I got depressed and I told my lawyer he should try to find Ivy Mercer. She didn’t really know me, I said, but you should try to find her. She always seemed really intelligent and maybe she could write something about me.