Like Father Like Daughter (13 page)

I turned on the tube and clicked through the recordings until I found last week’s episode of
The Bachelorette
. Ryan always made fun of it, but then he’d stick around to find out which contestants received Kaitlyn’s roses. It made me smile at first, but I quickly lost interest in the ridiculousness of my once-favorite reality smut. It seemed so unimportant considering everything I was going through. So I turned the TV back off and laid down on the couch, pulling a quilt my mother had made me up over my shoulders. I was asleep within minutes.

***

It wasn’t until late morning Tuesday that I heard back from Dave. He agreed with me that Mike Thompson was as good a suspect as any. So much so that he had contacted the prosecutor, Brian Gaines, and asked if they had looked into him. Mr. Gaines told Dave that they had, in fact, spoken with Mike and, although he had no real alibi to speak of, they had cleared him as a suspect. There was no evidence, Dave said, that Ryan owed him any money or that Lindsey had hired him to kill Ryan.

“But that’s bullshit!” I cried into the phone.

“I agree. But all we can do now is use Mike Thompson to help bolster our defense. Not only will we tell the jury you loved Ryan and had no motive to kill him, but we’ll show them that there is a much more plausible suspect with a shadier reputation.”

It made sense, in a way. But I was convinced, now more than ever, that Lindsey had orchestrated Ryan’s death and had hired Mike to carry out her dirty work. I didn’t want to have to wait until trial to defend myself. I wanted the cops to arrest them both—now. I resolved to do everything I could to get Lindsey to confess to Ryan’s murder and made a mental note to message her again later. If she was half as stupid as I thought she was, she’d take the bait and say something incriminating that I could use to clear my name.

Chapter 13

Wednesday morning, after yet another reminder call from my mother about my promise to visit Randy in prison, I got dressed and locked up the house behind me.

Big Sandy Federal Penitentiary was about two and a half hours east of Nicholasville near Inez, Kentucky. I spent the whole drive listening to my
Miss Saigon
soundtrack. I had always loved Broadway musicals. Mom and I had seen
Phantom of the Opera
,
Miss Saigon
, and
Les Miserables
when I was a teenager. But
Miss Saigon
had been my favorite by far; I knew all the words by heart.

The federal prison, which sprawled over several acres of former farmland, was made of sand-colored concrete and boasted several intimidating watch towers. It was surrounded by a ten-foot-tall chain link fence with razor sharp loops of wire on top. I parked in the visitors’ parking lot at the north-facing corner of the building.

I joined the flow of visitors streaming into the prison and took my place in line. Being an all-male prison, most of the visitors were women, half of whom had children in tow. I watched the Hispanic woman in front of me as she tried to wrangle two small children, a boy and a girl, while balancing a toddler with a mop of dark hair on her hip. It was a very sad picture.

When I finally made it inside, I was frisked and a correctional officer waved a wand over my body, head to toe, making sure I wasn’t carrying any contraband. The woman in front of me with the three children was standing there as another officer rummaged through her large purse.

“I’ve got something here,” I heard an officer announce as he held up a pack of cigarettes.

The other guards gathered around to see what he had found. I stepped a bit closer to see what all the fuss was about. Then the guard emptied the cigarette pack and produced a little plastic baggie with what appeared to be full of tiny white pills.

“
Por favor
, no,” said the Hispanic woman desperately as she shifted the toddler from one hip to another.

“Trying to smuggle contraband into the prison is a federal offense, ma’am,” the tallest of the officers advised her with a stern look on his face.

“No, they are mine! For my back!
Por favor
!”

I looked at the two older children, neither of whom could have been older than six, and they began crying.

“Mama!” they cried in unison.

“Take her over to Interview A,” said the fat officer, who appeared to be in charge.

“No,
por favor
, no!”

I felt sorry for this woman, even though she was clearly stupid enough to try to smuggle pills in to her children’s father. I wondered what would happen to her—if they would charge her and then she’d go to jail too. What would happen to those poor little kids?

With the distraction now over, the fat guard curled his finger at me, indicating I should step through the metal detector.

“Place your purse here,” he said, pointing at the conveyor belt that was covered by what I guessed was a tiny x-ray machine. I did as I was told.

A female guard ushered me forward and patted me down again after I cleared the metal detector. The tall guard dug through my purse thoroughly and then nodded his head at the female guard. She handed me my purse and a badge that read
‘Visitor’
and told me to clip it to my shirt.

Next, I was ushered into a room filled with tiny tables and surrounded with more correctional officers. Other visitors stepped in behind me, and then an officer with a short, military-style haircut and big muscles bulging out of his uniform sleeves called for everyone’s attention.

“You will have one hour to visit with your loved one. There will be no kissing, no hugging, and no touching of any nature. You will not pass anything to the inmates without express permission from one of us. Anyone who breaks these rules will immediately be ejected from the visiting room. Does everyone understand?”

Everyone nodded and said “yes” in hushed unison, most of them clearly as intimidated as I was.

“Take a seat,” the big officer said. “The inmates will be here shortly.”

I found a seat by the window. The yellow chairs were attached to the matching table, I assumed so no inmate could get upset and use the chair as a weapon. I laid my purse at my feet and sat down on the hard chair.

As I waited, I looked around at all the people who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. They all looked nervous, in an excited, happy kind of way. But not me; I was only there as a favor to Mom. Just so she’d leave it alone…hopefully for another twenty years.

The side door opened with a buzz, and the inmates started filing in. Each of their faces lit up when they found their visitor. There must have been over a dozen inmates, and at first I didn’t see Randy. But then again, I wondered how much he had changed in the last twenty years. Maybe I wouldn’t even recognize him.

But he was at the end of the line. When he saw me, his face lit up too. I just gave a weak wave of my fingers. No smile for Randy. He didn’t deserve it.

He had changed quite a bit since the last time I had seen him, when I was sixteen years old. I could tell it was him, but he had put on a good deal of weight, mostly muscle, especially in his arms and legs. His face was fuller and covered with a grey beard that matched his full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He was pale, of course, from the lack of sunlight.

Each inmate had to be unshackled before they were allowed to enter the visitors’ room. When it was Randy’s turn, he rubbed his wrists after the handcuffs were removed. He was wearing a tan-colored jumpsuit with a white t-shirt peeking out at his neck. He shuffled over to the table, where I was waiting, in white socks and tan rubber sandals.

Randy sat down right across from me, a huge grin spread across his face.

“Libs,” he said quietly. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Randy,” was all I could muster.

“What made you change your mind about coming to visit with me?”

“Mom made me promise.”

“Well, I’ll take it. As long as I get to see you. You look beautiful, Libs.”

“Elizabeth. Thanks.”

“Listen,” he said as he shifted in his seat and laid his palms face-down on the table between us. “Like I told you on the phone, I’m so sorry for everything that has happened to you. But I want you to know, I believe you are innocent. I know you are innocent.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’m a killer, just like you.”

“I just know. And you’re nothing like me.
I’m
nothing like me. I’ve changed, Libby. I’ve been saved. Again. Washed in the blood of the Lamb. God has forgiven me my transgressions…”

“Transgressions?” I laughed. “You call what you did ‘transgressions’?”

“Libby, I know what I did was horrible. I was misguided. I thought I was saving those women. I know how ridiculous that sounds now. But I know now they were people too. Their mistakes didn’t warrant their deaths; we are all sinners in the eyes of God. But He is loving and forgiving and He has forgiven me. I wish you would too.”

I didn’t say anything. I certainly wasn’t ready to forgive him, but I didn’t want to be rude, either. So I changed the topic.

“You know I’m being prosecuted for Ryan’s murder? There’s going to be a trial. Probably next January.”

“I know. Your mom told me.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“I know that too.”

“You keep saying you know I’m innocent. But how on earth can you possibly know that?” Then I bent down and whispered, “I can’t even remember what happened.”

I didn’t know why I was confiding in him. Perhaps it was the little girl in me who still missed the father she had known growing up. When I was little, Randy was a great dad. He always took me to football games and movies and bought me ice cream. I had no idea that underneath all that kindness was a monster who was murdering young prostitutes at truck stops up and down I-75.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re innocent. Libby, there’s something I’ve been needing to tell you. Something I need you to know. I love you, kiddo. Always have. No matter what I did all those years ago, I never stopped loving you. You’re still my little girl.”

“I am
not
your little girl anymore, Randy.” I knew calling him by his first name rather than “Dad” would sting, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say that word. “I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need you in my life. I don’t want you in my life.”

“Well, be that as it may, I’ve never stopped caring for you. In fact, I’ve had someone looking after you for a long time.”

“You what?”

“An old buddy of mine. He was released on good behavior a couple years ago. He owed me a favor or two, so I asked him to keep an eye on you. I certainly can’t do it from behind bars.”

It took only a couple of seconds for everything to come together in my mind. Wolf Tattoo. The man in the black truck who’d been following me. I knew he looked a little rough around the edges, but I’d never have guessed in a million years he was a parolee watching me for Randy.

“You’ve had me followed?”

“Libs, listen. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“I can’t believe this! I’ve seen your
friend
lurking about and following me for nearly two weeks! But now you’re telling me he’s been following me for almost two years? Un-fucking-believable!”

“I missed watching you turn into a young woman. That’s my own fault. But since I’m never getting out of here, I had to make sure there was someone out there watching over you for me. Someone who could protect you since I can’t.”

“And you chose a convicted criminal to watch over me? Good thinking, Randy.”

“Merle would never hurt you. He’s watching out for you as a favor to me. He was being, well, hurt, here in prison, and I was able to stop the bad guys from hurting him. He owes me his life. When he asked what he could do to pay me back, I told him nothing mattered more in this world to me than you, Libs. So he agreed to look after you. He wasn’t supposed to ever be seen, but I guess he blew that one.”

“You think? I’ve seen him following me for almost two weeks now! He was at the pool the other day, just…staring at me. If you wanted to make me feel safe, well, Randy, you really fucked up this time.”

“Libs,” he began.

“I said don’t call me that.”

“All right, Elizabeth. Listen to me. He won’t hurt you. But if you really want me to call him off, I’ll call him and tell him to back off. But Lib…Elizabeth, think about it. It’s not such a bad thing to have someone looking after you. Especially with what you’re going through right now.”

“Call him off,” I said very plainly.

He held up his hands defensively. “All right. All right. I’ll tell him his debt to me is paid.”

“Is that all?”

He looked behind him at the clock on the wall. “But we have thirty more minutes.”

“I have said everything I need to say.” I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest to show him I was done.

“Elizabeth, please, humor me.”

“Okay, say what you have to say.”

I indulged him and stayed the rest of the visit listening to him ramble about how his life had changed and all but begging me to forgive him. I won’t say I gave in, not all the way. But a small part of me gave in just a little. When he reminded me of all the fun things we’d done when I was little, I couldn’t help but reminisce. I missed my father, I had to admit—but not out loud. And what if he truly had changed? People do make mistakes. Sometimes really, really big mistakes. So I agreed to return to visit with him soon. No promises as to when, just soon. I hadn’t forgiven him completely, but it was a start.

“I wish I could hug you goodbye,” he said after the big burly guard announced visiting time was over.

“We’re not there yet, Randy,” I said, holding my hand up between us in case he tried to break the rules and reach out to me.

“That’s another thing. Call me Dad. Please? After all, you used to call me Daddy.”

“Yeah, well, that was before…”

“I know. I know. Just think about it, will you?”

I nodded, said goodbye awkwardly, and left him standing there.

On the way home I thought about forgiveness. If I could even consider forgiving Randy, what would I have done about Ryan’s…indiscretion if he were still alive? And could I ever possibly forgive Lindsey? No, I thought not. Maybe I could forgive Ryan. After all, we had almost eight years of history together. We were married and in love. But this…
woman
…knew he was married the whole time and chose to willingly have an affair with a married man. And, she quite possibly murdered him or had him murdered just because he wouldn’t leave me. No, there would be no forgiveness for Lindsey. I would see to it that she paid for everything she had done to me and Ryan.