“Well, this is interesting,” Whitmore said.
Mitch’s attention was on his text chat with Caitlyn, who assured him that things with Adam were as good as they could be. He had talked to her about becoming a master gardener after tending the rosebushes at Clean Start, maybe even starting a landscaping business when he got out. An eye to the future was progress for sure. Mitch promised himself that he’d visit his son on the weekend.
But first, the file.
“What is it?” asked Mitch.
Whitmore removed two photographs from the folder. Mitch recognized them: they were pictures of Penny’s arms, taken after her arrest. His medical examiner friend had circled the marks around Penny’s wrists （which everyone had assumed were abrasions from the handcuffs） in bright red marker and put a sticky note directly on the photograph next to the circles.
“Have a look,” Whitmore said, sliding the photograph across the desk for Mitch’s review. “She shared my assessment—doesn’t believe those marks around Penny’s wrists were put there by handcuffs.”
Mitch read the note with widening eyes, keying in on certain words that jumped out at him. Dark brown color … red band on both sides of the mark … slight bruising visible … wearing of the skin … indicative of ligature marks.
“She was tied up,” Mitch said with a gasp. He peered at Whitmore over the top edge of the photograph.
“Tied up,” Whitmore repeated. “I’m not surprised the police and forensics missed it. Handcuffs can leave marks so it’s natural they’d have dismissed them, but I’m nothing if not observant, have to be in this job, and I hadn’t seen marks like those before. What is it that Penny told you?”
“She wasn’t alone,” Mitch said breathlessly.
“Wasn’t alone,” Whitmore repeated. “Meaning maybe Penny’s telling us the truth, Mitch. I guess there’s the proof you were after. Assuming she didn’t bind her own wrists together, she wasn’t alone that night.”
“I’ll get this to the lawyer and call Grace right away, let her know. This has the potential to change everything.”
CHAPTER 42
WHEN MITCH CALLED WITH the shocking news, he was more excited than Grace had ever heard him. His explanation was so breathless and quick that it took her a moment to grasp what he was saying.
“So if your medical examiner is right, and Penny’s wrists were bound, then Mitch—that means she’s been telling us the truth all along.” Grace felt light on her feet and in her head.
“So who was with her?” she asked.
“That I don’t know, and wish I did,” Mitch said.
He offered to meet in Swampscott to discuss the ramifications, and they settled on the war room at Annie’s house. Mitch got there before Attorney Navarro, giving Grace just enough time to review the ME’s report and the photographs for herself before the fireworks started. No defense attorney would welcome an entire strategy being blown apart days before trial.
“Look at these marks,” Grace said, waving one of the photos like a pennant before Mitch’s eyes. “The rope had to have been very tight to leave marks like these. Is there any way to access Penny’s memory to find out who tied her up? Hypnosis? Another dose of ketamine perhaps? Anything?”
“Might be worth a try, but she’s got strong defenses, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Mitch said. “I will concede that this cements for me that Penny isn’t delusional. I had no proof that what she’s been telling us was true. Honestly, I thought she was playing us for fools or engaging in magical thinking. But now … now it’s a different story. She’s not role-playing here, she’s not using alters as an excuse for her behavior. I’m not flat out rejecting Dr. Palumbo’s take, as there are aspects of Penny’s mental illness that align with borderline personality disorder, but right now I fully support Dr. Cross’s diagnosis.”
Grace’s face broke into a bright smile that Mitch mimicked to a lesser degree.
“Are you saying…？” Her voice was full of hope.
“My official diagnosis for the trial will be that Penny has a dissociative identity disorder … meaning she has more than one personality state. Even if Dr. Palumbo was partially right, he was wrong to have assumed an antisocial aspect to her disorder. Your daughter is not depraved.”
Relief washed over Grace and gratitude flooded her heart, so much so that she strode over to Mitch and gave him a long, warm embrace. When they broke apart, a thin film of tears coated her eyes.