one. Release to serve the remainder of his sentence in Horizon House, a new, fully wheelchair-accessible, community-based residential facility in the City of Belleville. It has private rooms, communal meals, and 24/7 supervision. Belleville is nearly three hundred kilometres from Ottawa, where his offence took place.
“Number two. Employment as an online tutor and instructor with adult male clients in CSC programs, initially on a volunteer basis, but with the potential to expand to educational and employment centres if it works well and if funding can be secured. As a precursor to that, Mr. Rosten will be working hard to familiarize himself with digital and online technology, which was in its infancy when he was incarcerated.
“Number three. Financial support will be available through the Ontario Disability Support Program and private personal investments, and there is the potential to supplement that sum through his teaching.”
During the PO’s entire presentation, Rosten had barely moved a muscle. He seemed to be staring at his hands, which were clasped on the table before him. The board members asked a few questions but showed almost no interest in Rosten’s belated change of heart, preferring to dissect the minutiae of his job plans and his potential to endanger the public.
Green’s mind wandered. He was cast twenty years into the past, once again trying to understand how a promising young professor who had just completed his post-doc and landed a rare tenure-track position in the biology department of Carleton University, who had just bought a big new house in the upscale suburb of Whitehaven, and who had just become the proud father of twin baby girls — how a man on the brink of his dreams — could lure a young college student under the pretence of helping with her studies, drive her out into the country, strangle her, and bury her half-naked body in the woods.
Furthermore, he wondered, how could such a man could return home to hug his young daughters and show up for his class the next morning as calm and self-assured as ever?
No explanation had ever been put forward by the defence during the trial, because the possibility of guilt had never been entertained. So the police and the Crown had been left to wonder. All these years without a credible theory … until now. Was the PO’s theory of repression possible? Green wracked his memory for clues. Had there been any signs of stress in Rosten’s life? Rosten’s wife had stuck by him, loyally providing an alibi of sorts, until the exam comments were released. And until other students, mostly female, admitted receiving similar notes offering private help and described him as flirtatious and full of himself. Then a chill had descended over her demeanour, and, by the end of the trial, she had stopped visiting him in the detention centre. The very day of the guilty verdict, she had packed up the children, climbed into the family minivan, and headed home to her parents in Halifax.
Had she sensed an invisible darkness in him, even before all the evidence was out? Had it remained hidden even from himself, as the PO claimed, or was this latter-day insight just an elaborate sham to win his way out of prison? Green wished he could see Rosten’s face and look him squarely in the eye as the story was told.
The prison school director, Theodore Teske, was speaking now about Rosten’s patience and commitment to the inmates he’d helped in recent years. His involvement had begun slowly, even grudgingly, when he was spending much of his free time hiding out in the prison library, avoiding the threats from other inmates and poring over law books. Other inmates began to ask him questions and he helped them understand the material they were struggling to read. The librarian spoke to Teske and to the chaplain, who encouraged Rosten to form a tutorial group. Bit by bit, Rosten became engaged. His natural love of teaching took over, almost in spite of himself. He treated even the slowest inmate as a challenge.
Green listened first with disbelief but gradually with reluctant surprise. He had never seen any emotion from Rosten but resentment and contempt. If anything, Rosten had conveyed an arrogant belief that he did not belong in prison and had nothing in common with the losers who surrounded him.
How many sides were there to James Rosten, and would he ever reveal his true self? Green found his heart pounding as the school director wrapped up and the board members turned their sights on Rosten himself.
With the flair of a trial attorney, Pierre Anjou slapped his file shut and fixed Rosten with a disbelieving stare. Rosten stiffened, and Green saw Teske touch his arm. To caution him, or reassure him?
“Unlike most of the inmates in this prison, Mr. Rosten, at the time you committed your offence, you had been living a very successful life. You had advanced education and skill, a stable job, financial security, and a loving family. Yet despite all those advantages, you chose to murder a young woman. I’ve read the psychological reports and listened to Mr. Maisonneuve here describe the pressures of university teaching, the exhausting demands of twin babies, your repression of the memory of the crime, but I see little evidence in these reports of the steps you’ve taken to rectify that. No counselling, stress- or anger-management programs. No admission even of the need for them. Then, three months ago, with this review coming up, suddenly you change your tune. According to your file, you’ve spent years fighting your conviction and denying your guilt, and only three months facing the truth. That raises concerns for me. Raises doubts about your sincerity.”
Rosten said nothing. Initially he had tried to meet Anjou’s stare, but as the criticisms mounted, he bowed his head. Wise, Green thought. Staring down a member of the Parole Board of Canada would not advance his cause.
“Was all that denial of your guilt a lie?”
Collectively the crowd held its breath. In the silence Green leaned forward to catch every nuance. The moment had come.
Rosten cleared his throat. “I … I … It was too awful a crime for me to face or admit to. Not just for my sake, but for my family and my children. I have two daughters, and I couldn’t bear the thought of them growing up with such shame in and revulsion of their father.”
“So this repression idea is a fiction? You knew all along that you were guilty?”
“No. But a life sentence provides a long period for reflection, especially when you’re in a wheelchair. Over the years, the reality sank in. I had so much invested in that denial, however, that I kept it up on the outside. I reasoned that as long as my children, my colleagues, and my old friends retained the slightest doubt in my guilt, there was hope for us.”
“So what changed? What happened three months ago?”
Rosten raised his head, appearing more confident about this question. “I turned fifty. And I realized I was never going to get my life back. My daughters and my former friends were gone forever. One of the police officers who put me away helped me to see that. In fact, he’s here in the room today. He pointed out that I still had years, potentially decades, to live. And I realized that, even in spite of myself, I had started to build a new life. Here and now. With the men I taught, the guys I made a difference to, guys who went on to earn a credit or diploma and who came back to thank me.”
“Three months is a very short time to change old habits and make effective preparations. Do you think you’re ready to be released?”
For an instant Rosten wavered. He glanced back at the observers and his eyes locked on Marilyn. A faint frown pinched his brow before he averted his gaze. “I do. I will have close supervision and support, and adequate financial means. I’ve been incarcerated a long time, but further incarceration will not make it any easier. I want to learn to use the Internet for teaching, to manage my chair in public, and face the outside world from this chair, with these scars and this baggage, while I still have good people to support me.”
Anjou pursed his lips, looking unconvinced. At his side, the other
