Who Killed Jenny Schecter? Ch. 01

The Ending You Waited For.

The Ending You Deserved.

Who Killed Jenny Schecter?

A Shane and Carmen Novel

by Alice Pieszecki and O. G. Salli

Chapter 1 Orange Is the New Alice

"McCutcheon!"

They called it "The Farm," but it was just a prison with a touchy-feely nickname, and at this touchy-feely prison they called the guards "correction officers," COs for short, which was a better term than the old one from generations ago, which was "screws." "Screw" was an unfortunate nickname for a guard at a woman's prison, so they didn't use it. And they didn't always call them prisons any more, they called them "correctional facilities," which was more politically correct and euphemistic than "penitentiaries." This one, though, was called Humboldt State Farm and Prison for Women. "Farm" was a cute marketing touch, murderers growing avocados and carrots. As far as Shane McCutcheon was concerned, a prison was a prison was a prison, even a women's prison. Not many inmates came out "corrected," and very few were "penitent" before, during or after they were inside one. Shane didn't like being in a prison. Not one little bit.

The CO who called Shane's name from the clipboard in his hand was a man, a tall dude with blue eyes. He looked like a clean-shaven biker, and his name badge identified him as Perry comma Mark. His attitude was friendlier than Shane had expected. She got up and went to the door where he stood, and passed through while he held it for her. Then, while she waited, he locked it behind them from a big ring of keys. He wasn't carrying a gun, or even a nightstick. He was big enough he didn't need to.

Perry comma Mark didn't say anything more, but walked down the hall to another door, and unlocked it. Like the first door, it had a pane of bulletproof glass with a grid of reinforcing wire in it. He held it open for Shane, who walked through. Again, he followed, locking the door behind them. That's all they did in this place, walk down corridors and hallways, unlocking and locking doors as they went.

As far as prisons went, this one wasn't quite as bad as most people's nightmares, but it was by no means pleasant. It was, on its best days, "neutral." Bland institutional paint on the walls. Bland, boring linoleum floors. Faint odor of some industrial cleaner/disinfectant. COs everywhere, significantly more than half of them women, since this was, after all, a women's prison, and there was never a moment when someone wasn't watching you. There were surveillance cameras mounted high up in the corridor corners, looking this way and that, and no one had bothered to try to conceal them. There were cameras in the waiting areas. Cameras in the yards. And Shane knew that somewhere there was a room with a bank of monitors, and people sitting there watching the monitors. Maybe in the low-security areas it was better, but this was the part of the prison where they kept the baddest of the bad-ass bad girls, murderesses and drug queenpins, the incorrigibles, the hard cases. Smile, girls, you're on uncandid camera.

The CO unlocked a door and let Shane enter the next room, which was the visitation room. It was divided in half by a wall that was solid below and glass above. It was also divided into small sections with side panels for what was laughingly called "privacy." There was a table top on each side, and on each side a telephone without a dial. There was one metal chair in each visitation space, and there were a total of five such cubicles. A woman in her late forties sat in the cubicle at the far end, talking to a 20-something woman who might have been her daughter on the other side of the glass.

"Take a seat," the CO said, and left the room. Shane waited a beat and then heard the lock click behind her. She sighed, and looked around the room. She wanted a cigarette. No, make that a joint. She sat down in the second cubicle and waited.

After a minute a door on the other side of the glass partition opened, and a CO came in, followed a second later by Alice Pieszecki. Alice walked to her side of the partition opposite Shane, sat down in the chair, picked up the telephone, and burst into tears. The phone fell to the tabletop. She held her hands over her face, crying silently, her shoulders shaking.

"Alice, Alice," Shane said from her side of the glass, but of course Alice couldn't hear her. Shane was very close to tears herself. "Hey, come on, Alice," she said gently. She held the phone up to her ear, waiting. She put her free hand up to the glass, palm pressed against it, wanting Alice to do the same.

Alice slowly dropped her hands and pulled herself together. She mopped her face, half smiling through the tears. When she was able, she held her palm up to the glass against Shane's, picked up the phone, and said, "Hey."

"Hey," Shane responded.

"Ya know, in all this time, all these months, this is the very first time I lost it," Alice said.

"It's okay," Shane said softly. "You don't have to apologize."

"I know," Alice said. "I wasn't apologizing. I was just ... you know ... just saying."

"I know. We've all been worried about you. Everybody said to say hello, and that they all love you."

Alice smiled. "Tell them all I said 'Hey.'"

"I will." Shane said. "Is there anything you need? Anything at all? Just name it."

"I guess some clothes. Socks and sweatshirts and stuff. There's a list they give you, stuff you can have. A cake with a file in it."

"I'll get the list," Shane said.

"Cigarettes," Alice said. "They use them as money in here."

"Okay."

"Hey, you haven't complimented me on my outfit. I wore it just for you."

Alice was wearing an orange jumpsuit provided by the prison. There was a white patch stitched over the left breast that said "Humboldt State Farm and Women's Prison," and below it in much larger letters her prisoner number, 92530.

"It's fab, Alice," Shane said into the phone. "It was the first thing I noticed. I think the color does wonders for you."

"You don't think it's a little brash?"

"Well, maybe a little over the top, yes. It makes a statement. But the shape and fit are just, well, really hard to describe."

"I think 'baggy,' 'shapeless' and 'unflattering' say it all."

"I can't disagree."

"But it's comfortable. You can lounge around in it all day. And you don't need to change for dinner."

"No, I guess not."

"They could make a TV prison show about it. Put lots of lesbians in it."

"Absolutely. I'd watch."

"You'd watch anything with lesbians in it. I know I would."

"That's true. How bad's the food?"

"It's tolerable. I don't think managing my weight is going to be an issue."

"No."

Alice heaved a sigh. "Oh, Shane."

"I'm so sorry," Shane said. "We were all so shocked. We couldn't believe it."

"So what's the consensus?"

Shane smiled, sadly. "Half of us think you're delusional, you lost your mind. Maybe a bump on the head, or a brain tumor, or post-traumatic whatsy-whatsis. The other half of us think you're covering up for somebody, but we don't know who or why. Not one of us thinks you did it. Not one. I mean, there's not even anybody who says, 'Well, maybe, under the right circumstances ... .'"

"They're all sweet," Alice said. "I guess I don't project as homicidal material. So which half were you in?"

"Me? I guess I'm in the delusional camp. When I heard you confessed, I was just, like ... I dunno. I was stunned. It made no sense."

"Well, like Ahnold said, 'It's not a tumah.' Who told you I had confessed?"

"The detective. What's-her-name, the sergeant. The one in charge."

"Marybeth Duffy."

"Yeah, her. And she seemed really pissed."

Alice laughed quietly to herself. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Why is that funny?"

Alice looked up. "Sure--" she looked around the room as if to see if anyone was listening. In theory, the visitation room was not supposed to be bugged, but everyone inside always assumed someone was always listening. It was a cardinal belief in prison life. "--of course she was pissed. I threw her entire investigation into the dumper. Everything came to a halt."

Shane's face clouded over. She normally took a lot of time -- sometimes almost geologic time -- processing things. But she'd known Alice for more than a decade. Alice was her co-best friend through all the crazy years of trauma and drama and heartaches and loss, and Shane had always been able to read her, even through all the thousands of surface quirks and dodges and baggage, all the high maintenance that Alice always trailed in her wake. That said, Shane had always known Alice's heart, just as Alice had just about always known Shane's. Sisters from different misters. BFFs, carved in stone.

"I don't get it," Shane finally said, because she didn't.

"C'mon, Shane," Alice said, sitting back with a sly look on her face.

"C'mon what?"

"Yeah, okay, whatever. I get it," Alice said.

"Alice, I have no idea what we're talking about. I swear to God. Help me out here."

Alice looked down at her hands as her fingers played with each other. "You know. Who killed Jenny. That's what I mean."

"You know who killed Jenny?"

"Shane, c'mon," Alice said, no longer smirking.

"I swear I have no fucking idea what you're saying."

"Shane, it's okay. I confessed. It's okay, okay? We're cool."

"Are you saying you really did kill her?"

"Shaaaaaaane!" Alice almost screamed, but keeping her voice low. "No, you idiot! Of course I didn't! Christ! You of all people KNOW I didn't kill her! That's what I'm saying!"

"I don't know what you're saying!"

"Shane, it's okay, I'm never gonna rat you out, you don't--"

"Rat me out? Alice, what the fuck are you talking about? You think I killed her?"

"Shhhhh, be careful. Somebody's probably monitoring us."

"Alice! I don't give a fuck who's monitoring anything! What are you saying? You think I killed Jenny and you confessed to cover up for me? Jesus fuck!" Shane jumped up from her chair and walked in a circle around the room, pulling at her hair in frustration. She ran back to the chair and grabbed up the phone. "Alice--"

"Shane! Jeez, don't go crazy, they'll come in here and throw you out or lock you up! We're in a fucking prison, Shane!"

"I know where the fuck we are, Alice." Shane put her forehead in her left hand like she had the world's worst migraine. Christ, this was crazy. Alice thought SHE was the one who killed Jenny, and for God only knows what deranged reason had confessed to keep Shane out of jail. This was a ton of stuff to process, and the roaring noise in Shane's head was huge. Epic. It was like sticking your head inside a jet engine.

"Alice," she finally said, "I swear to you I didn't kill Jenny. Yes, I was pissed at her, and yes, I wanted to strangle her, the thieving, lying, conniving little bitch. And yes, if she'd walked into Bette's living room right then I might well have strangled her with my bare hands. But we were ALL pissed at her, even you. All of us wanted to throttle her that particular night. But I swear to you ... ." She trailed off, emotionally drained and not knowing where to go from here.

Alice had a new and different look on her face, a kind of shock of her own. It was the realization that she had confessed to shield Shane -- who hadn't done it.

Shane looked up and saw Alice's face on the other side of the glass. She'd been processing like crazy, and now some of the solutions were starting to tumble out of her brain.

"No ... Alice ... no ... ." She stared. "Alice, please tell me you didn't confess to help me because you thought I did it."

The look on Alice's face was the answer.

"I don't believe it," Shane whispered into the phone, massaging her forehead. Alice made an Alice face, funny and "d'oh!" and mock exasperated. "You were willing to go to jail for me? To be convicted of Jenny's murder and spend your life in some fucking prison ... just to protect me?"

"Well ... yeah," Alice finally admitted. "Ya know, I figured--"

"Figured what?"

"I figured, that, uh, you did it, and that if they pinned it on you, they'd convict you ... you know, 'cause you were guilty, and all ... and then they'd send you to jail, and I didn't think you could handle that. Prison would eat you up."

"Why would it eat me up?"

"What, are you kidding? Shane, you wouldn't last 48 hours in here."

"I wouldn't?"

"Shit no! Shane, you're too much a free spirit, a free, wild, untamed ... ummm ... some kind of bird, maybe. Like Carmen always said, you know how she was about birds. Anyway, you'd go nuts in here. And some bulldyke would try to make you her bitch, and, well, frankly, I don't see you surviving as somebody's bitch, ya know? You'd get all uppity and in her face, you know how you are, and then she'd have to kill you, and then you'd be dead, and I didn't want you to get shanked in here by some pissed-off butch with a toothbrush shiv just because you wouldn't be somebody's bitch."

Shane didn't know what to say. She just looked at Alice, slowly shaking her head. Alice made another face. "Shane, you like to come off as all tough and street-smart and don't mess with my shit and all, but everybody who knows you ... ." She stopped.

"Knows me what?"

Alice paused. "Knows that inside, you ... you're pretty vulnerable, and, you know, hurt, and gentle, and not mean-spirited, and very forgiving, and, and ... oh, fuck, Shane, you're too nice. You're too soft inside. You even let Jenny, of all people, push you around. You got all that stuff in your head, and it takes you forever to process stuff, like you always admit, and in here ya gotta be tough and quick and think fast on your feet 'cause this is a dangerous place. And it would eat you up and spit you out."

"Alice, that's the craziest thing I ever heard."

"Yeah, well."

"But thank you. Thank you for wanting to save my life. I don't think anyone's ever done anything like that for me before."

Alice shrugged and looked down. "We go back a long way. We go all the way back to Harvey's funeral. And anyway, that was just the one thing."

"One thing? I don't understand."

But Alice had gone too far and had made a mistake.

"Uh, nothing. Never mind. Forget I said it."

"Alice, tell me. What other thing."

Alice looked away. "Umm ... I thought ... maybe ... you know ... if I confessed to killing Jenny ... then maybe ... "

"Maybe what? Jesus, Alice, just tell me!"

"That you'd come forward and confess. That you would finally see how important this was, and that ... uh ... you couldn't let me, your best friend, take the fall for you."

"But ... but ... but ... I didn't kill her! So why would I come forth and confess to something I didn't do?"

Alice made yet another exasperated "D'oh!" face. "Well, yeah, NOW that's a good question, but back then, a few months ago, it seemed ... um ... "

"Back when you thought I did it."

"Well ... yeah. But you remember how it was, they wouldn't let any of us talk to each other. We couldn't work anything out."

Shane sat back in the chair and arched head back, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't believe this."

Alice looked down. "And then, see, after you stood up and said, 'No, she didn't do it, I did it, I killed Jenny,' then maybe Tina would stand up and say, 'No, they didn't kill Jenny, I killed Jenny.' Because Tina was really, really pissed at her, too, 'cause she stole the film to Tina's movie. Tina was my second choice. But what Tina was mad about was basically just a movie, whereas you and Jenny, well, that was all about Jenny fucking with your love life, Molly, your ex-girlfriend, that was more serious than some movie. That's why I thought it was you instead of Tina. But if it had been Tina, then Bette would stand up to protect her, and say, 'No, Tina didn't kill Jenny, I did.' And then around the room, Helena, and Kit, until everybody had given them a confession. Like in Spartacus."

"Spartacus? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Didn't you ever see Spartacus? The movie? Kirk Douglas? And the Romans have captured them all and they want to know which one is Spartacus, because they're gonna literally crucify him, and Tony Curtis stands up and says, 'I'm Spartacus!' And then another gladiator stands up and says he's Spartacus, and soon they're all standing up claiming to be Spartacus. They all confess and lie to protect the real Spartacus."

Shane cradled her head in her hands. This was unbelievable. Only Alice could come up with such an idiotic idea ... and make it seem halfway plausible. Okay, not halfway. But maybe just a little bit plausible. Two percent.

Jesus. What were they going to do?

Shane looked up. "Is there anything more?"

Alice looked guilty.

"Tell me."

"Well ... I just thought ... you know how I am ... this would be an adventure. You know. Alice Pieszecki goes to the Big House. It would be cool. I could get a radio show and maybe broadcast from prison here. Maybe write a screenplay. I mean, I didn't think I'd be here forever. And that part was right, they only gave me twelve years, and with good behavior I could be out in seven, and my book or movie treatment would be done by then, and there would be all these 'Free Alice!' protesters trying to spring me, and a legal defense fund, Lezzies for Justice or something."

Shane just looked at her. "Oh, Alice."

"Yeah, I know. I'm pathetic. Well, I am what I am. What's a little martyrdom on my resume?"

"Didn't you tell any of this to your lawyer?"

"Well, not at first, no. But just before the trial started, I told him my confession was false, and that I was protecting you."

"And what did he say?"

"You mean right after he gave birth to a giant fucking cow and had a shit-fit and did a major hissy all over me? What did he say? After he calmed down and stopped cursing and pulling his own hair out, he said we could try to tell that story to the district attorney, and after the DA laughed himself silly we could plead not guilty and get our asses kicked and instead of fifteen years I could get life instead. So, long story short, I was pretty much stuck with my own fake confession, and we could try to plea bargain it down as low as we could. I mean, hey, seven years for a manslaughter, that's not bad, you know? I thought about asking him if we could change it to, you know, womanslaughter, or even lezslaughter, but he really wasn't in the mood. So anyway, that's what we did. And here I am."

Alice looked up at Shane, but Shane's mind was elsewhere. "Alice, we gotta get you out of here."

"I don't think they like it when you try to break people out of jail in this state, Shane."

"I mean it, we gotta get you out. You're innocent. But what I was thinking was the only way to do it was to catch the real murderer."

"Oh. Well, yeah, there is that. Good plan. Let me know how it works out." She sighed. "You're right, I guess Jenny's murderer is still out there. How you gonna catch her? And how you gonna prove it? And who do you think it was? Tina? Maybe Bette. Bette could do it, you know she could."

"I haven't figured that out yet. I never figured it was any of us, not really. And there's another problem."

"What's that?"

"This is the kind of thing I'm really awful at. Solving puzzles. Analyzing stuff. Figuring shit out. Alice, I'm a fucking hairdresser."

"You need somebody to help you. Who's the smartest person you know?"

"Bette."

"Yeah. But she's a suspect. And if it was Tina, Bette won't help you there either. And anyway she's in New York with Tina. Who's the second smartest?"

"Tina."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably right. And same problem again. Who else is left?"

"Helena. Kit. The cops questioned Niki Stevens, because she was there. But there's no way I'm asking Niki to help. I mean, fuck."

"I don't think Niki did it," Alice said, "not because she's a nice person; she isn't. She's a royal bitch. But she's just too ditzy. It'd be liking thinking maybe Lindsay Lohan was capable of pulling the Brinks armored car robbery."