‘‘Charmer,’’ I said as he pushed himself along the hallway on the other side of the Plexiglas.
‘‘He had me at hello,’’ Candice scoffed. ‘‘Come on, let’s see if we can get a word with the warden.’’
We made our way out of the visitors’ room and followed the guard back to the prisoner information desk where we’d first given our names and reason for visiting. Candice pulled out her wallet and flipped it open to her PI license so the guard could inspect it. ‘‘We’d really appreciate any time the warden could spare,’’ she said to the woman behind the desk, who looked completely disinterested in how appreciative we were. ‘‘Wait over there,’’ she said as she picked up the receiver on her desk phone and punched in an extension.
Candice and I headed over to a row of rather bleak-looking chairs and sat down. While we were waiting I glanced out the window and saw the pregnant Hispanic woman I’d been caught eavesdropping on earlier. My radar kicked in and I knew I needed to talk with her.
‘‘I’ll be back in a minute,’’ I said to Candice and headed outside. As I approached the woman, I waved my arms to catch her attention. ‘‘Yoo-hoo!’’ I called brightly. ‘‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’’
The woman stopped and scowled at me. ‘‘What are you, some kind of psycho stalker?’’ she asked as I walked up to her.
I smiled, allowing the insult to roll off me. ‘‘I just want a quick word with you,’’ I said.
‘‘Make it quick,’’ she said impatiently. ‘‘I gotta get back to my kid.’’
I nodded. ‘‘The thing of it is,’’ I began, going for honesty, ‘‘I’m a professional psychic.’’
‘‘Shut up,’’ she said, pulling her head back and eyeing me out of the corner of her eye.
I held up my hand as if I were taking a vow. ‘‘Honest,’’ I said. ‘‘And I know you thought I was being rude back there, but it’s just that you have some really interesting energy and I couldn’t help tuning in on you.’’
The woman turned her whole body to face me. She might not have believed me, but at least I had piqued her interest. ‘‘What did you see?’’
‘‘For starters, you’re having a little girl. Correct?’’
‘‘Lucky guess,’’ she said, crossing her arms. She wasn’t going to be so easy to convince.
‘‘You’re right. But at least now you’ll have one boy and one girl. And your little boy’s around four, right?’’
The woman’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly. ‘‘He turns five in August.’’
‘‘And there’s an older woman living in the house with you—a mother figure who helps watch out for your son while you’re at work, right?’’
The woman nodded, and her large, unblinking eyes told me that I had her full attention. ‘‘What else you gettin’?’’
I smiled. ‘‘So much,’’ I said as I turned the radar to full throttle. ‘‘I’m getting that the man you were talking to is connected to you, but not in a romantic way.’’
‘‘He’s my older brother,’’ she said.
‘‘And you’re really worried about him,’’ I said. Okay, this was technically cheating because I’d seen the lines of worry on her face when she was talking to him, but I’d done all the other stuff on my own.
The woman nodded. ‘‘I am,’’ she said, and her eyes welled up slightly.
My radar hummed, and I had to admit I didn’t like the energy surrounding her brother at all. ‘‘I feel you have reason to be,’’ I said. ‘‘He’s in trouble, and it’s got nothing to do with what he’s doing time for.’’
The woman placed a hand to her heart as one tear slid slowly down her cheek. ‘‘I’m doing everything I can to help him,’’ she said. ‘‘I just need some time.’’
I nodded. My crew suggested there was some legal paperwork being drafted that would require her signature. ‘‘You’ve gone to the authorities,’’ I said.
Her face scrunched up in shock. ‘‘Hell, no,’’ she said.
I cocked my head, wondering how I’d misinterpreted. ‘‘Really?’’ I said. ‘‘Because I’ve got this connectionto some legal paperwork and a hope that it will help your brother out—but I want to warn you, there’s something not good about signing these documents. I’m getting the feeling this will chain you in some way.’’
It was her turn to give me a puzzled expression. ‘‘Chain me?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ I said, nodding to her. ‘‘Like, bind you or trap you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. I want you to be very careful about signing any legal paperwork.’’
She stared at me for a long moment, her face showing conflicting emotions that ranged from despair to anger to hopelessness. ‘‘There’s nothing else I can do,’’ she said and began to turn away.
At that moment I clearly saw the face of my boyfriend. ‘‘I know someone who can help you,’’ I said, trying to hold her attention. She looked questioningly over her shoulder at me. ‘‘Here,’’ I said hurriedly as I fished around in my pocket for the coin purse I’d tucked there. After thumbing through my ID and credit cards, I came up with Dutch’s business card and handed it to her. ‘‘I know him. He can help. Think about calling him, okay?’’
Reluctantly she took the card and pocketed it. Then she turned away and waddled to her car. I watched her until she got in, then turned back to the prison— thinking that I didn’t even know her name.
‘‘What was that about?’’ asked Candice when I rejoined her.
‘‘I’m not sure,’’ I said, glancing outside as the woman’s car pulled away.
‘‘Well, the warden is willing to see us at four thirty,’’ she said. ‘‘Gives us half an hour to twiddle our thumbs.’’
I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, weary beyond belief. ‘‘Wake me when he’s ready,’’ I said and drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later I felt a little nudge on my arm. ‘‘Abby,’’ Candice said softly. ‘‘Come on, honey, time to go.’’
I opened my eyes and stretched. ‘‘Man, I needed that little catnap,’’ I said. ‘‘Is the warden ready to see us?’’
‘‘Uh-huh. Come on. We don’t want to keep him waiting.’’ We followed a guard through another maze of bar-lined corridors and up a flight of stairs, after which we were escorted through a locked steel door and into a completely different environment.
‘‘Nice digs,’’ I said, looking around at the attractively decorated lobby where a woman with black glasses and a hairdo that would have been all the rage about fifty years ago glanced up at us as we approached.
The guard in front of us halted at the corner of her desk and said, ‘‘Candice Fusco and Abigail Cooper to meet with the warden, Evelyn.’’
‘‘Thank you, Jeb. I’ll call you when they’re finished.’’ After Jeb left she turned to us and said, ‘‘Please take a seat. Warden Sinclair will be right with you.’’
We sat down in two of the overstuffed and incredibly comfortable lobby chairs—a far cry from the flimsy plastic chair I’d just taken a nap in. After we’d gotten settled, Candice leaned over and said, ‘‘Let me do the talking in here, too, Abs.’’
I nodded and tried to keep my sleepy eyes open. It was hard, given how comfortable I was. After about ten minutes Evelyn’s phone bleeped and she picked up the receiver. Saying something we couldn’t catch, she replaced the phone and stood. ‘‘Warden Sinclair will see you now,’’ she said, coming out from around her desk.
We followed her down a short corridor and waited while she opened a door and gave us a nod. ‘‘In there, if you please,’’ she said.
Candice and I filed in and I worked hard to contain my surprise at the size of the place. It was gigantic as far as offices were concerned. The mammoth room had a heavy oak desk at the far end, and behind the desk a row of huge windows overlooked the prison grounds. Several formal-looking portraits of previous wardens hung on the walls. I was surprised to see that one of the men in the portraits bore a striking rese
mblance to the rather short man with a receding hairline and thin mustache behind the desk who had stood to greet us. The nameplate on the desk read, WARDEN A. SINCLAIR.
‘‘Good afternoon,’’ he said as we hurried across the room to greet him. ‘‘I’m Warden Sinclair.’’
Candice stepped forward as he came around the side of his desk and extended his hand to her. ‘‘Good afternoon, Warden. I’m Candice Fusco. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.’’
The warden pulled his rather thick lips back in what was probably a smile, but it looked to me like more of a grimace. ‘‘You’re lucky that my calendar is fairly clear today,’’ he said as he turned to shake my hand.
‘‘Hello,’’ I said. He gave my hand one quick pump and turned back to Candice.
‘‘I understand you’re a private investigator here to see prisoner Bruce Lutz?’’ he said as he took his seat and waved at us to sit down too.
‘‘Yes,’’ Candice said. ‘‘I used to work for the PI firm of Phitzburger and Weinstein, but I’ve recently gone out on my own.’’
The warden’s eyebrows gave a bounce. ‘‘I know Phitzburger personally,’’ he said. ‘‘How is David?’’
‘‘He’s doing well,’’ Candice said. I could tell she was waiting for Sinclair to ask her why she’d requested the meeting. ‘‘We keep in touch through e-mail, and I’d be happy to send along your regards if you like.’’
The warden nodded. ‘‘What can I do for you today, Ms. Fusco?’’
Candice smiled warmly. ‘‘We’re actually here to help Mr. Lutz,’’ she said. ‘‘We believe we’re on to something that could help him at his parole hearing.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ said the warden. ‘‘He’s hired you?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Candice. ‘‘We were retained by another party.’’
‘‘Who?’’
Another bright smile from Candice. ‘‘I’m afraid that’s confidential,’’ she said. ‘‘But I was wondering if you could shed some light on this recent stabbing incident. Do your guards have any leads about who might have stabbed Mr. Lutz?’’
The warden gave a snorting sound, as if Candice had said something funny. ‘‘That suspect list gets longer by the minute,’’ he said.
‘‘Lutz has a lot of enemies?’’ Candice asked.
‘‘I’d say he’s got far more of those these days than he has friends.’’
Candice hesitated for a moment, then asked, ‘‘How has Lutz’s prison record been?’’
‘‘Up until a few weeks ago he was the model prisoner,’’ said the warden. ‘‘In fact, I’d been prepared to testify to his good behavior before the parole board until he began acting inappropriately.’’
Candice leaned forward slightly in her chair. ‘‘Inappropriately?’’
‘‘The change was quite drastic, in fact,’’ said the warden. ‘‘He began picking fights and getting into skirmishes. In fact, at one point we had to put him in solitary confinement.’’
‘‘Why do you think he began acting up so close to his parole hearing?’’ Candice asked.
The warden shook his head. ‘‘Who knows why these men do the things they do, Ms. Fusco? After all, they’re criminals.’’
I’d been following the conversation quietly in my chair, but just as Sinclair finished speaking, my lie detector went haywire. I discreetly nudged Candice’s foot with my own. She gave my foot a quick glance, then stood up. ‘‘We don’t want to keep you, Warden,’’ she said to him. ‘‘Thank you for your time.’’
We waited in the lobby area for Jeb to come get us, said our farewells to Evelyn, and made our way out of Jackson Penitentiary. I was never more relieved to get out of a building in my life, and that included the once very haunted house I was about to sell. ‘‘Thank God I keep my nose clean,’’ I said to her as we pulled out of the parking lot.
‘‘Not your taste in living quarters, huh?’’
I shivered a little as I watched the building become a little smaller in the side mirror. ‘‘I’d go bonkers in there.’’
‘‘Might be the reason Lutz has been acting up,’’ Candice said. ‘‘Maybe he went a little crazy.’’
‘‘Who knows, Ms. Fusco? After all, he is a criminal,’’ I said, mimicking the warden.
‘‘And how creepy was that guy?’’ Candice said. ‘‘That was one toady-looking dude.’’
‘‘And a liar,’’ I said with a scowl. ‘‘He knows why Lutz was acting up.’’
‘‘He strikes me as the type who likes playing mind games,’’ Candice said, then looked up through the windshield at the darkening sky. ‘‘Looks like we’ve got a nasty storm brewing.’’
I glanced up too. ‘‘Yikes,’’ I said as a flash of lightning in the distance broke against a deep gray cloud. ‘‘And it looks like we’re headed right into it.’’
‘‘You buckled up?’’ Candice asked me as she flipped on the SUV’s lights and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
‘‘Always,’’ I said, noting that she looked a little nervous. ‘‘You okay?’’
‘‘Yeah, I just hate driving in stormy weather. I was in a bad accident when I was a little kid. My sister was driving and we got into some weather she couldn’t handle.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ I said, suddenly remembering that Candice had once mentioned that her sister had been killed in a car accident. I figured this was the same one she was referring to, but I didn’t want to have her elaborate when she was trying to concentrate. ‘‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’’ I said, but just then my left side went all thick and heavy. Ah, shit, I thought as I sat up straight in the seat and tightly gripped the bar above my door.
We were fine for the first hour, even though rain and wind racked the car and lightning crashed all around us. We drove in silence and I nervously watched Candice as she strained to see out the windshield. I kept hoping that the weather would break, but about an hour from home it only got worse, and Candice gave me a quick, rather frightened glance. ‘‘We need to pull over,’’ she said.
‘‘Good idea,’’ I agreed.
We got off at the next exit, not wanting to stop on the shoulder in the severe weather. We were in a remote area, and Candice looked right and left at the stop sign at the top of the ramp, trying to decide which to choose. I was about to tell her to go left, which was what my radar suggested, but she turned right and I didn’t feel like second-guessing her—she was stressed out enough.
The road we were on was long and straight and there weren’t any buildings or driveways for us to pull into. ‘‘Damn,’’ she said as we were about to drive onto a long bridge. ‘‘I think we should go back and try the other direction,’’ she said.
I was about to agree when we felt a tremendous bump from behind. ‘‘What the... ?’’ I said as I squirmed in my seat and saw the windshield of an enormous Hummer coming toward us.
‘‘That son of a bitch!’’ Candice yelled. ‘‘He’s been on my tail ever since we got off the highway! He should freaking know better than to get so close in this weather.’’
Candice put on her turn signal. ‘‘Let’s get off this bridge and pull over to get his insurance information,’’ she said. But just then there was a roar of an engine and the Hummer cruised up next to our backseat.
‘‘What the hell is he doing?’’ I asked, panicking as I saw how close he was cutting to us.
Candice was staring wide-eyed into her side mirror and she barely had time to say, ‘‘Abby, hold on!’’ before we were rammed again, from the side. My neck snapped to the right and my head hit the passenger side window. ‘‘Ow!’’ I yelled.
‘‘Shit, shit, shit!’’ Candice said as she tried to work the steering wheel. ‘‘I think he’s done something to the axle! I can’t get this thing to turn!’’
Again there was a roar of an engine and we were hit for a third time. The blow from the Hummer slammed us into the guardrail on the side of the bridge. ‘‘Jesus!’’ I hissed as I looked out the window a
t the twenty-foot drop into a ravine below. ‘‘Candice! We’ve got to get outta here!’’
Candice depressed the accelerator and we screeched forward a few feet, but the Hummer came at us again and knocked us up onto the curb of the bridge. We were now lodged against the rail. ‘‘Goddamn him!’’ Candice yelled as she shook her fist at the Hummer. The truck answered her by ramming us again.
‘‘Ow!’’ Candice and I both yelled. The SUV wasn’t the only thing taking a severe beating. ‘‘Abby!’’ Candice yelled as she worked at the buckle on her seat belt. ‘‘We’ve got to get out of this car! Can you get out on your side?’’
I unfastened my own seat belt and grabbed the door handle. It clicked and the door opened a centimeter. ‘‘It’s jammed against the guardrail!’’
A second later we heard yet another roar and the screeching of metal as we were knocked against the guardrail and all the way up onto the curb, which caused a section of the guardrail to fall off the bridge. A second later we heard it crash at the bottom of the ravine. Again the Hummer came at us and we both screamed as Candice’s SUV gave a tremendous jolt. The back wheel hitched over the side of the bridge and pitched the front up in the air.
The Hummer backed up, and Candice and I looked behind us at the drop through the back windshield. ‘‘He’s going to push us over the side!’’ Candice yelled.
‘‘Do something!’’ I screamed, my knuckles white as they gripped the dashboard.
Candice bent forward and I saw her reaching under the seat. The SUV teetered like a seesaw, and through the window I could see the Hummer sitting there, revving its engine as it mocked us. ‘‘My gun is under here,’’ Candice said anxiously. ‘‘I know it’s here somewhere!’’
‘‘Hurry, Candice! Hurry!’’ I cried. ‘‘He’s getting ready to ram us again!’’
There was a roar from the Hummer just as Candice pulled her arm free from underneath and came up with a silver Glock Nine. She pulled back on the safety and swiveled in her seat in the second or two before the Hummer reached us.
‘‘Shoot him!’’ I screamed, and three explosions rocked through the car. In the next instant, the Hummer reached us and Candice came flying into me as the crash into the side panel sent everything in motion.