Pam Read online

  They described how the youngest child, Lizzy, had been drowned. There was water in her lungs along with the knife wounds. It was believed that Pam’s mom discovered her drowning the child in the kitchen sink, and when she tried to stop her, Pam grabbed a knife, killing her mother. She was stabbed nine times while the lifeless baby was in her arms.

  Doyle was trying to run up the stairs to get away. It didn’t much to take him down. She stabbed him only twice.

  Mandy was getting ready for her big party.

  She was the worst. She fought for her life. She threw things, screamed, and ran for the window; her room was disheveled, but she lost in the end, taking over thirty chest wounds.

  It was an agonizing short trial. I was so grateful Pam never took the stand, because as the days dwindled I felt more and more contempt for her.

  I didn’t want to hear her talk.

  By all accounts, I should not have been in that court room at all. The stress of it was too much for me. I, too, like Pam, was pregnant. But I had to be there. I guess I had to know why they said she did it.

  I found out.

  The reasons for the murders were jealousy and rage. A mild-mannered Pam had snapped. Just simply snapped.

  That’s what they said.

  It took all of one hour to find her guilty.

  A part of me, as insane as it sounds, blames that séance for it all. Stupid, I know. Maybe karma played a part for messing with something we shouldn’t have. I don’t know. But my life from that moment on was never the same, and it just seemed that bad luck followed me for the longest time.

  It wasn’t until I met this church group, that I realized yeah, the séance was stupid, but we were young. Bad things happened for no reason, not because of karma or an old ghost, but because God had a plan.

  I held on to that at a very rough time. It wasn’t until my life started to settle, and I finally put things behind me, that I got that call.

  A place named Freedom Project.

  They were contacting old witnesses. New evidence. How could that be?

  But whatever they had was freeing Pam.

  She wanted to contact me. They may have been opening the door for her freedom, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to open the door to that part of my life again.

  Chapter Four – Desmond Andrews

  When I first started at Connecticut State Hospital, the case was already fifteen years old. It wasn’t my case, never would be my case, but I was curious as to who this individual was.

  Who was this woman locked behind the door of the modern-day equivalent of a padded cell? Yet, she was awaiting, word had it, her acquittal.

  Whether they cared for her or talked to her or not, there wasn’t a single person unfamiliar with Pamela Dewar. Admitted as Pamela Perkins, her name reverted to her maiden name after her ex-husband, the only surviving member of her slaughtered family, petitioned the court for divorce and retrieval of his name.

  Who would blame him?

  Just like there wasn’t a single person who didn’t know of her, there wasn’t a single person who believed in her innocence. It was a shock to all of us that there was even an inkling of her being acquitted.

  She proclaimed her innocence twice, once when the police arrested her, and the other at her arraignment. That was it. Her former husband testified to the knife in her hand, to watching her plunge the object in the chest of her already dead daughter.

  Her fingerprints were on the knife but so were several other sets of prints. But the number one bit of cement was the scratch.

  Without the husband’s renewed testimony and with DNA testing, her verdict was being overturned.

  In my opinion, the DNA thing wasn’t enough to overturn it.

  I thought no way, no how.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  I was immensely curious because she was the talk of the hospital. Her records indicated that she was transferred to State from Norwich. That when she arrived at Norwich, she didn’t speak, make eye contact or show emotion. She didn’t even react when they took her child.

  So, why was such a docile human being placed in restraints and kept from general population?

  A simple history of her medical records from Norwich including assessments, evaluations, and observations gave those answers.

  Patient exhibits frequent violent outbursts of rage. She has no recollections of these outbursts at a later time.

  On November 12, 1987, patient was found repeatedly striking herself in the abdomen. She stated she did not want the child that she carried to be born into the current environment. At that point, patient was no longer pregnant. She caused no major injuries to her person and had no recollection of the event after sedation wore off.

  They were two of many entries. Hundreds of entries. This led me to believe either her clinical diagnosis was accurate, or the circumstances surrounding the murders and her admission into an institute caused her to snap.

  None of that was my call, though. I was a little too late on the whole thing. To me it was like reading a true crime novel. They were events of the past. I was an outsider making observations.

  Admittedly, I became fascinated with the case. I learned it and even looked up old newspaper articles.

  When I arrived on the scene, her ex-husband had recently died of liver disease. He more than likely drank himself to death, unable to get over the events.

  I never spoke to Pam or anyone who treated her. Everything I learned was from her records and newspaper articles.

  I was young and wet behind the ears in 2001. Once my obsession over the case was discovered, I was relieved of my duties as a residential psychiatrist.

  It probably was the best thing to happen to me. I didn’t lose my license, and I went on to private practice.

  I never let the case go. In fact, I followed it more when news of her actual acquittal reached me. I don’t know why I was so fascinated by it. Maybe because there were things that didn’t add up. Things I wanted to know. I wanted to write a book about it. But there was so much more I needed to learn.

  Fortunately for me, I would.

  I was informed by my very rattled office manager that State had made an appointment for a new patient. One that I was to treat on an outpatient basis.

  My officer manger was not enthralled. I, on the other hand, was elated. The new patient I was to see on April 4th was none other than Pamela Dewar.

  Chapter Five – Pam

  Am I well? Not in the least. I was well on October 6, 1986. Yes, I believe that was the last day I was well.

  Did I snap? Absolutely. Not a single person on the face of the earth wouldn’t. I still lack emotions, and I’d like to attribute that to my medication. But it’s gone, anything I ever felt is gone. I am a shell. I will never be whole … ever.

  Once news of the acquittal reached the hospital, I was moved from my normal room to a more scenic one, a reward while I awaited my freedom. I would never be truly free; I was haunted by the past, by the last eighteen years, the deaths of my children. Little faces I saw often in my dreams. In my room.

  Shh. I would never tell a soul that.

  “We know you didn’t hurt us, Mommy,” Mandy said to me one night. “We know.”

  “Who did?”

  But she didn’t answer. She just disappeared.

  It’s funny how the word haunted had come up many times over the years. It even came up in conversation with the Freedom Project when they were reviewing testimony. A coworker of Richie’s who used to bask in my tales of our murderess ghost suddenly turned that against me at the trial, saying that I believed I conjured a spirit who was saying bad things to me. That I talked to people who weren’t there. He even said he warned Richie. No way. He never said anything like that to Richie. And my telling him about the reverend telling me things about the murderess was just a joke. It was a joke I carried on too long because Sharon kept trying to scare me with it.

  Any time she was around, she’d jolt and say she saw him.

  I believed
in the spirit for all of three seconds. But I never said anything at the trial. I believed in the system, innocent until proven guilty. That wasn’t it in my case.

  “Longing?” His mild voice startled me from my thoughts as I stared out the window,

  I turned slowly. “Longing?” I asked.

  “To go out there?” The doctor stepped into my room.

  “No, I’ll be there soon enough.”

  “You could sound a little more excited.”

  I just shrugged.

  “Are you scared?”

  “No, I’m not scared. Not scared at all. Worried, nervous about how it is out there.”

  He nodded. “Have you been learning about how the world has changed?”

  “Not really. I figure I’ll learn that as I go.”

  “It’s changed a lot in eighteen years.” He pulled up a chair. “Sit with me, Pam.”

  I didn’t really want to, but I walked over to the bed and sat down.

  “Can I be straightforward with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I appreciate and am thrilled that you approved us making an appointment with Dr. Andrews. He’s a good man. Used to work here.”

  “I don’t remember him.”

  “He didn’t see you as a patient. You’ll be starting anew with him.”

  I nodded my understanding.

  “I recommended that you be kept here,” the doctor said. “While outpatient care can help …”

  “I have been here for eighteen years,” I said. “If things were gonna change, they would have.”

  “My point exactly. You had an outburst just last week. Do you recall that?”

  “No. And that nurse lies. She has before. You know that. She was in my room, going through my things.”

  “What do you have that she would want to steal?” he asked.

  “My journal.”

  “I’ve read your journal. Really, there’s nothing in there for her to want to steal,” he said.

  “Not that one.”

  “You have another?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “May I see it?”

  “No. It’s mine, my personal thoughts. It’s hidden. She was looking for it.”

  “I see.” He folded hand hands over his crossed legs. I liked him, usually, but right then he was coming off as rather smug. “Pam, won’t you consider signing yourself in here for treatment?”

  “No. Not at all. If you really feel that strongly, then why don’t you just sign me in here?”

  “I tried. I was denied. You would have to sign for treatment.”

  “There you have it,” I told him. “You seem to be the only one thinking I shouldn’t go.”

  “No, the board just seems to think you should go. You’ve been here long enough. But …” He sighed. “Even for some occupational therapy. Just to get you ready to emerge into the world.”

  “I will be fine. Freedom Project got me a little starter apartment outside of Harford. That’s where Dr. Andrews is.”

  “You still have no one.”

  “I have Dr. Andrews to help, and I’ll find Sharon. I will find her.”

  The doctor looked down to this folder. “Sharon? You’re going to find Sharon.”

  “Yes. I told Freedom Project about her.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “Her testimony was stricken from the record, but they would find her for me.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want you to find her,” the doctor suggested. “Have you considered that? She’s part of a past that was pretty bad.”

  “I’ve considered it. But I have to find her.”

  “Because you think she knows something?”

  “I always did,” I replied. “Especially when she lied on the stand. Why would she lie? Mandy didn’t get out of school until ten minutes till three. I wouldn’t get to the bank at least until three. She lied on the stand.”

  “You have maintained that repeatedly, along with other things. So you aren’t returning to Willow Brook.”

  “Not to live,” I said. “But I will. To find clues; someone knows something.” I stood to go back to the window.

  “The figure in the bushes.”

  His words made me stop. “Yes.”

  “Where exactly will you start to find these clues?” he asked. “Have you considered that?”

  “I have.” I walked to the window. “And though I don’t know where to start to look for clues, I do know I can’t start until I’m out there.” My hand rested on the pane of glass. I was done talking. He wasn’t. But soon enough, like always, he’d give up and leave. I just kept my stare on the outside.

  Chapter Six – Sharon

  I had managed to bury her in the back of my mind like a horrendously vivid nightmare. So many years had gone by; there were times I didn’t think it was real. That perhaps it never happened. I was faced with the truth of it when the news talked about her acquittal.

  How was that possible?

  Even the newscasters and talk show people found it hard to believe that the system was setting her free.

  She deserved to be locked away for the rest of her life. Now because of a DNA sample she was going to be released. Richie was convincing in his testimony. Scratch or no scratch, he said he saw her do it.

  What more did they need?

  But Richie was dead. I hadn’t seen him in years. Maybe he changed his story.

  There was a part of me that always felt guilty for lying on the stand. For saying I didn’t see her after three pm, when I did. But I was afraid. I was afraid if I told the truth that there might be the shadow of a doubt that would cause a not-guilty verdict.

  I buried it, put it behind me, thought of her as dead and moved on. I had a child to care for; I was on my own with that child.

  His father wanted nothing to do with him.

  But my days of motherhood were short-lived. I believed for the longest time that Justin’s disappearance was a payback for my lies.

  There was nothing that child did to warrant his abduction.

  I wasn’t living in Connecticut at the time; I had moved to New York. I had to get away; even with my father living in Willow Brook, I couldn’t stay there.

  I visited occasionally, not often and not for long.

  We were at the park; he was playing with the other children. At five, he could do that and I felt comfortable sitting on the bench and watching. I turned my head for only a moment to speak to another mother.

  Only a moment.

  He was gone.

  I never saw him again. They never found any evidence; there were no witnesses. I believe in my heart of hearts he is still alive and imagine one day that a young man will knock on my door.

  Another tragedy in my life.

  Justin’s disappearance was the one and only time I felt a kinship with Pam. My child was gone as well, and they were looking at me as the suspect.

  They suspected me for a very long. Like Pam, I cried my innocence. Why would I hurt my own child?

  The horrific deaths of Mandy, Doyle and Lizzy wrenched in my gut for a long time, and just as I started to move on, Justin vanished.

  It was as if I was never meant to live a happy life, feel normal, safe, not scared.

  Any man I was involved with left; two even died. Any friends didn’t last long. Everything I loved was taken away from me. I moved constantly, one town to the next, working whatever jobs I could. Never good jobs or ones where people would remember me. I stopped getting close to people.

  I stopped calling my father for the longest time.

  When I met those in the fellowship, it was by accident, and after a few weeks of attending their meetings, I swore life would get better.

  Then the news of Pam arrived.

  I thought she was gone, buried forever.

  She wanted to see me, talk to me.

  Suddenly, all I kept thinking of was her children, my child, all the tragedy, the senseless tragedy.

  It was something I couldn’t bear no
r wanted to face.

  Briefly, it crossed my mind to emerge from my inner hiding, face her and face my demons. I dismissed that idea.

  I had hidden from the world for a long time. I wasn’t ready, nor did I want to back track to that life. If Pam wanted to find me, I was going to do my best to make sure it wasn’t easy.

  Chapter Seven – Pam

  I didn’t have a bag to pack, because I never really had any clothes the entire time I was in the hospital. The state provided me with a pair of slacks and a pullover shirt. I’d have to get clothing, but that was the last thing on my mind.

  A state social worker named Stephanie came in to see me. When I saw her walk in with Thomas from Freedom Project, I thought for sure things had changed.

  “You need to know some things,” Thomas said. “There’s been a big media blitz regarding you, and it hasn’t been favorable.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I said I wasn’t guilty, and this proves it.”

  He shook his head. “The verdict was overturned. That doesn’t erase the crime or the fact that a lot people believed your ex-husband's testimony.”

  “I understand.”

  Stephanie intervened. “They are gonna be all over the place when we leave here. I’d like to shield your face as protection. Also, I have papers. It may be wise for you to consider changing your name. You won’t be going back to Willow Brook so …”

  “I will be,” I interrupted.

  She looked at Thomas then me. “That’s not wise.”

  “I’m not staying there,” I told her. “I’ll pop by. I have to. That’s where it happened, and that’s where I start looking for clues.”

  Thomas said, “Don’t expect a warm welcome.”

  “I don’t. I hope no one notices I’m there. And maybe they’ll find a match for the DNA.” I watched as Thomas ran his finger over his top lip. “What?”

  “That’s another thing. The DNA found at the other crime scene, the one that matched the one under Mandy’s finger nail. They found the individual.”

  My eyes widened. “Did he or she confess? This is good news.”