Inmate 1577 (23 page)

“You wouldn’t do that,” Scheer said, his glance rotating between Vail and Dixon, no doubt gauging whether or not this was a joke. Or a bluff. “I’ve got a family to support.”

Vail took a step forward. “Tell you what. We’ll ask the woman whose house we just visited back there, and see if she’s in a forgiving mood. Oh, wait. We can’t ask her. She’s dead. Because of you.”

The muscles in Scheer’s jaw contracted, bulging from side to side.

“But,” Dixon said, “if you cooperated and helped us out, tell us who your source was for that article...” She shrugged.

“Then there’ll be no story,” Vail said. “Nothing will jeopardize your job. And you get to keep working at the
Register
until you fuck it up on your own, and get fired.”

“What do you say?”

“I’d say this is blackmail.”

“No, no,” Dixon said. “Creative coercion.”

Vail lifted her brow. “See? Has a nice ring. Don’t you think?”

Dixon bobbed her head. “I didn’t at first. But it’s growing on me.”

“So, Stephen. What’ll it be?”

Scheer looked up at the black sky. Puffs of white were barely visible, and the moon was somewhere beyond, a glowing disc of stark brightness set against the mottled darkness. “I don’t know who my source is.”

Vail shook her head. “I’m disappointed. I thought he was gonna help us, Roxx.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know.”

“What’d you do, meet some guy on a dark street corner? I think you’ve been reading too many spy novels.”

“I got a text. A series of texts.”

“From who?” Vail asked.

Scheer closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“How’d you confirm the information?”
I feel like a trial lawyer. I already know the answer to that question.

“I didn’t.”

Bingo
. “So you get a few texts from an anonymous source, and you run with it? You write an article based on unconfirmed and unsubstantiated claims?”

“I don’t believe him,” Dixon said.

“We’re not convinced, Stephen. You’ve been a journalist a long time. Do you see why that’d seem like bullshit to us?”

“It’s not bullshit. You were...you were right. My job’s on the line. I needed something big. And I needed to get the jump on Clay. This first text came in, and I...I jumped on it. I’ve never done that before. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Vail looked at Dixon. “He’s sorry that he incited a serial killer to kill an innocent woman. And her husband.”

Scheer threw his arms up. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because,” Vail said, “that’s what happens with this type of killer. The worst thing you can say to him—let alone in a national newspaper—is that he’s of below average intelligence. That’d incite him, big time. A guy like this, he’ll act on it.”

“He may even come after you,” Dixon said.

Good touch, Roxx. But I think he’s freaking out enough.
“Give me your phone.”

Scheer jutted his chin back. “What for?”

“I’m gonna check out your story. He sent you texts, I want to see them.”

Scheer bowed his head. “I deleted them.”

Vail slapped her hand against her temple. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t want to get my source in trouble. I didn’t want any record of it. Normally we don’t have to disclose our sources. You know that. Even in a court of law, we’re protected. But carrying it around on my phone all the time freaked me out.”

“What was the number?”

Scheer slowly shook his head.

“You don’t even know the number.”

He sighed deeply. “I don’t.” He turned to face Vail. “Please. I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean for that woman to get killed. I didn’t realize—I thought the info was legit. I just wanted the story...”

“You hear from him again, we want that number—as soon as you get it. And don’t delete it. You hear me?”

Scheer nodded, but kept his gaze on the ground.

Vail gave Dixon a look of consternation, then headed back to their car.

“I’m sorry,” Scheer called after them.

Once in the car, they both slammed their doors.

“You believe him?” Vail asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.” Vail watched as Scheer got back into his Honda.

“So what does this mean?”

“That’s a good question. Who’s leaking that info? I guess we can look into Scheer’s cell number. His carrier will have a record of the numbers of his incoming texts. Even if they don’t store the content, they’ll have the sending numbers.”

“If it’s not a throwaway, it’s worth a shot.”

“Text Burden, pass on what we discovered, and tell him we’ll meet him at the station, give him his car back.”

WITH THE TIME CREEPING PAST eight, they dropped off Burden’s Ford at Bryant Street, discussed Scheer’s anonymous tipster with Burden and Friedberg, and then the two inspectors called it a night. Vail caught a cab back to the Hyatt while Dixon met a friend of hers who lived in the city for a drink.

Vail walked into the Hyatt and took the escalator up to the seventeen-story lobby, where the atrium’s angular lines, pinpoint lights and expansive grandeur still grabbed her attention each time she returned to the hotel.

Resigned, Vail settled her back against the elevator wall, then rotated her head left and watched through the curved windows as the cylindrical car rose smoothly, the lobby diminishing in size as she ascended to the fourteenth floor. The doors slid apart and she made her way down the long open hall to her room. She dialed her son as she walked, and was surprised when he picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, honey. I was just checking in. How are things?”

“Fine.”

He’s going to grow out of this one-word teen-answer phase, right?

“You have everything ready for space camp?”

“I’m not some little kid, Mom. It’s not space camp, it’s Aviation & Space Challenge. It’s an engineering program.”

“I know, I registered you, I paid the bill. I just thought—I’m sorry, Aviation & Space Challenge.”
And they say girls are temperamental?
“Did you see where I packed your toothbrush? Oh, and don’t forget your raincoat. The intro packet said it rains a lot there—”

“I got it, Ma. I’ll be fine.”

Vail slid her card into the slot and the green light flickered. She pulled down on the handle and walked into the dark room. She ran her hand along the wall, fumbling for the light switch. A floor lamp by the window popped on.

“Is Aunt Faye there? I just want to go over a few things with her about getting you to the airpor—”

“She went to bed already.”

“Maybe she’s still—all right, whatever. Forget it. Do you know what time you’re leaving?”

“Early. We’ve gotta be on the road at seven.”

“Then you’d better get to bed.”

Silence.

“Jonathan, you there?”

“Here.”

“Did you call Robby, say good-bye?”

“He came over tonight, we had dinner.”

“That’s great. I’m glad you spent some time with him. All right—enough talk. Go to bed, get a good night’s sleep. I don’t want you getting sick your first day of camp.”
Shit
. “I mean Aviation Challenge.”
Jesus Christ. This is painful.
“Call me if there’s a problem. And have a great time. I wish I could be there to see you off.”

“I’ll call you when I can.”

“Don’t forget your phone charger.”

“Ma?”

Vail set her key card on the dresser. “I just want to be able to reach you if I need to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to you in a few days, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s great. Have a great time. Love you.”

“Love you too.” And then he hung up.

Having her aunt living with them since her ex-husband’s death was a blessing in more ways than one. Being in a career where travel was a reality of the job made it difficult having a teenager, especially one in today’s times where there were so many avenues for a young mind to go astray. Faye’s continuous and steady presence in the house was an unforeseen benefit of all she had endured while handling the Dead Eyes case. She had no idea that Faye’s presence would have such a positive impact on her life.

She realized she was still standing there, staring out the large window at the nightscape and sparkling lights of the Pacific Ocean below her. Looking at it but not seeing it. She reached down to plug in her BlackBerry on the desk to her left—and froze. Lying beside the charger was something that should not have been there.

An oddly shaped brass key.

MacNally lay on his cot the rest of the night but did not sleep. His rectum felt like it was on fire, and his groin and legs ached. He understood what it must feel like for a woman to be forcibly penetrated.

Carl and Kurt smiled at him when they got up to go to breakfast. They gave him a pat on the shoulder as they left the cell.

Carl winked at him. “Good job last night.”

“Nice ride,” Kurt said. “Maybe tonight we’ll try something different.”

MacNally didn’t know what the appropriate response should be. Incite them, stand up for himself—or take it and not say anything that might antagonize them? He chose the latter. He needed guidance, someone who could tell him how to avoid being a lop. He had no interest in being a predator, but there had to be a middle ground...some way he could be left alone to serve out his time in peace.

Forty-five years.
Time?
More like a lifetime.

The way things were now, he would not last a year, let alone forty-five. He would seek out Voorhees. At least he had been straight with him once. Maybe he would be again.

“WE SHOULDN’T BE TALKIN’ OUT here in the open,” Voorhees said. “Go to the ladder room.” He gave MacNally instructions on how to get there, told him he would leave the door unlocked, and that he should wait ten minutes before joining him.

Once inside the room, which did, in fact, contain ladders, MacNally presented his predicament as a hypothetical situation.

“Hypothetically,” Voorhees said, “Let me tell you how this goes down. It’s our job to protect inmates that’ve been assaulted or prayed on. So if we weren’t talking about a hypothetical situation here, I’d lock you up in protective custody. And that, well, may not be such a good deal for you. So keep one thing in mind: if all you do is run to me, then you’re gonna be turned out.”

“Turned out?”

“Word’s gonna get out—if it hasn’t already—that you’re a lop, a whore, a prison punk that’s the lowest piece of shit. You’ll be sodomized and traded like a fucking sex slave.”

MacNally started to speak, but Voorhees held up a hand.

“I know what you’re thinking. Do the protective custody thing and we can send you to another prison where they don’t know you.” Voorhees shook his head. “Won’t matter. What happens in one makes its way to another. Cons have ways of communicating. Coded messages in letters home to girlfriends. Classified ads in known magazines where cons send messages to each other.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“First, you’re taking a huge risk even talking to me. Something like this can catch you in the ass big time. No pun intended.”

“Too late. I’m here.”

“Look, MacNally. I’m at the Big L for an eight-hour shift. The other sixteen hours, you’re on your own. See what I’m saying? I can’t protect you.”

“I’m not asking you to protect me. I’m asking—I don’t know what I’m asking. I don’t know how to survive. I’m not like these guys here. I robbed a couple banks, yeah, but I...I’m different. I was doing it to survive, for my son. This may not come out right, but I’m not a bad person, I was just an average family guy who had no—”

“Then you gotta figure out what you gotta do in here, to survive. Some ways, bein’ in here ain’t much different from being out in the real world. Society’s got laws on the outside. In here, we got laws, too. Not just the laws of the prison, but con law. A code. You’ll figure it out. Maybe someone here’ll give you some guidance. Just be careful. They give you something, they’re gonna want something back in return.”

“Anyone ever get killed here? I mean, rape’s one thing. But...”

“It ain’t an everyday thing, but does it happen? Hell yeah. Look at what we got here, MacNally. Murderers, sex deviants, rapists, child molesters, kidnappers, drug addicts, armed robbers, mobsters, bikers. Bad shit’s gonna happen when you put crap like that under one roof. All trying to prove how tough they are, who’s got the most power. The biggest dick. That’s why they’re here. They do bad shit, and if they cause problems at other prisons, they send ’em to us. So. Murder in the Big L?” He chuckled. “Bet on it.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it all, figure out how I can find my place.”

Voorhees laughed, a rough, uneven smoker’s rasp. “Boil everything down, it’s about power. And fear. And anger. Keep those three things in mind, and you may get some kinda understanding of what these assholes are after.”

MacNally nodded.

Voorhees lowered his voice. “I can’t be your friend, MacNally. People’d find out, they’d think you’re either my snitch or I’m fucking you. And it ain’t good for me because I’d look weak to my colleagues.” MacNally started to object, but Voorhees stopped him. “Ain’t important for you to understand. Just telling you like it is.” He shrugged. “Now, you want to feed me stuff, things cons are planning, maybe we can work something out. Shift around your living arrangements. Wouldn’t be hard. We could communicate through kites—”

“Is that what this whole thing’s been about?”

“What whole thing?”

“You people know what Wharton and Gormack are. You see a skinny guy like me and you think,
We can use him
. Put him in with those animals, they’ll fuck him over. Literally. And then if he doesn’t like it, he’ll come crawling to us because he can’t take that kind of abuse. So you turn me into a snitch.”

“Hey,” Voorhees said. “Those are your words. I’m just offering you an out. That’s what you want, ain’t it?”

“Sounds like something that can get me killed.”

“Play it real careful, might get you a ticket outta here.”

“Out, as in released?”

Voorhees frowned. “Transferred. Maybe to a place that’s a little more to your liking.”