"Talk is that I lef him to die, but I didn't. I thought he was dead."
"Of course you didn't. I mean, he was dead."
"Nobody thinks you'd do that, Joe," Angus added. "You're a hero. You saved us both."
Graf snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "That isn't the way some people see it."
Angus frowned. "What do you mean?"
"No offense, professor, but I got you two out and lef behind one of my own."
"No, that's not true," Nat interjected. "He was dead, and I came and got you and begged you to go get Angus. You had to go. I mean, I was desperate. If you hadn't gone, Angus would be dead, too."
"That's what I figured." Graf nodded, squinting hard. "I mean, Ron looked dead. The wound was to the heart, direct, which is why I went out. I was kinda in shock when I saw you. You were screamin' that you needed the help, so I went. I didn't think to look back, like you did. I didn't think to listen for his heart. I shoulda."
"I didn't, either," Nat said, trying to make him feel better. She had unwittingly made a fool of Graf, in trying to save Saunders.
"People sayin' he wasn't dead. That he begged you to help him. Not to let him die."
Nat stiffened. Had he heard something? Had the paramedic told him? "No, he didn't. I only went to him because he moaned, but that's it. He didn't say anything to me."
Angus looked over, and his blue eyes telegraphed, Good girl.
"Didn't think so," Graf said flatly, and Angus put a comforting hand on the C.O.'s shoulder.
"Don't work her over, Joe. It's good she was there with him. She tried to save his life."
"Yeah, right. It's good she did what she could." Graf eyed Nat through the smoke. "Sorry. I do thank you, as Ron's best friend, for what you did to save his life."
Nat smiled, relieved. "You're welcome."
"Hope you didn't try to save the nigger that killed him, too."
Whoa. Nat paled, caught unaware.
"There's no call for that," Angus said quickly, but Graf's head snapped around to him.
What do you know about it, professor? What do you know?" Graf pointed at Angus, the half cigarette burning between his fingers. "You come in once a week, kissin their ass, talkin' about their rights. You don't have to take their shit. What do you really know?”
Angus put up his hands grimly. "Don't shoot, Joe. I'm not what's bothering you today."
"You are, too! What about Ron's rights? Huh? What about his rights? Suddenly Graf threw his lit cigarette at Angus, who dodged it reflexively. Nat jumped, and the butt fell to the ground.
Angus pointed a stiff finger at Graf. "I'll cut you a break, Joe, because you're having a bad day. Next time, I won't."
"I'll hold my breath," Graf shot back, but by then Angus had taken Nat by the arm and was hustling her down the driveway toward the street.
When they were out of earshot, Angus asked, "You okay?"
No. "Yes."
"I didn't see that coming."
"Me neither. Maybe he didn't mean it. He's obviously upset."
"No, he's obviously a racist. By the way, how'd it go with the widow?"
"Sort of okay." Nat didn't elaborate. She was too busy running away.
"Good. You mind if we make a stop? It's not far."
"Where?"
"It's not a date," Angus said with a tense smile, and they hurried to the Volvo, where he answered her question.
Chapter 14
The ride to the prison was barely long enough to get the heat going in Nat's car, much less for her and Angus to process Graf's reaction. She pulled up to the white guardhouse, and the same young guard emerged. This time his cap was on straight, and he wore his most official expression.
Nat lowered the window. "Hi, it's Nat Greco and Angus Holt."
"Sorry, we're in lockdown."
"It's me, Jimmy." Angus leaned over to show his face, and the guard's dark eyes widened.
"I heard you got into it, but jeez! What you got there? You get cut, too?"
"No, just a few bruises and a fat lip."
"Bastards! I heard it started over cigarettes. They're animals" Jimmy's eyes flashed with contempt, and his gaze shifted to Nat, then quickly away. She read his mind-I heard you almost got raped-and flushed, unaccountably embarrassed. Jimmy returned to professional mode. "Anyways, sorry, I didn't recognize the car. I gotta ask you guys for ID. I'm on orders. Tryin' to keep out the riffraff, you know."
“I hear you." Angus shifted to get his wallet out of his back pocket, and Nat retrieved her driver's license, then produced them both.
"Hold on. I gotta write down the number, and I don't have a pen on me." Jimmy turned away, muttering, and went back to the guardhouse.
"This joint is jumpin'." Angus eyed the prison in the distance. "No pun."
Nat craned her neck. State police cruisers, a boxy mobile crime lab, and other unmarked black sedans were parked in the driveway, blocking it completely. The parking lot was full. "What's going on, do you think?"
"Evidence gathering, in connection with the murders. They'll take photos, review surveillance tapes, listen to audiotapes, if they have them-though I doubt this place has that kind of hardware."
Jimmy returned with their IDs. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Nat took hers, slid it back in her wallet, and handed Angus his.
"Warden in, Jimmy?" he asked.
"No, he left a while ago."
"How about the deputy warden?"
"Went with him."
"Machik?"
"He's in.”
"Thanks. See ya."
"Hope you feel better," Jimmy said, stepping back from the car. "Botha you."
Nat parked where she could, and they got out and walked up the road. Men in dark overcoats lingered on the icy driveway near the official cars, talking with state police, their hats low on their foreheads. Nat assumed that the men in overcoats were federal marshals because she recognized one as the marshal they'd seen yesterday, in the driver's seat of the sedan. He waved when Nat and Angus approached.
"Nice shiner, Holt," he called out, his voice carrying in the frigid air. "You owe me money."
"What for?" Angus called back.
"I bet you wouldn't get out in one piece, and you did." He laughed, and so did Angus and the other men-everybody but Nat. She could feel her heartbeat speed up the closer she got to the prison.
"I know, right? Who woulda thought?" Angus caught Nat's eye, and his grin vanished. "Gentlemen, this is Natalie Greco, my colleague."
"Good to meet you, Natalie. I'm Edward Sparer." The marshal shook her hand heartily, and then his gaze fell to her Band-Aid. His expression darkened instantly, and she knew he was thinking the same thing as the guard at the gate.
"Where were you guys yesterday when I needed you?" Nat asked lightly, and they laughed, the tension broken.
"Just glad you're okay," Edward said, smiling. "All's well that ends well, huh? Now, Holt, we don't care about."
"Thanks, honey," Angus said. "So what's the deal? How long they gonna be in lockdown, you know?"
"They're not saying but I think just today. We're already standing down."
"You're always standing down."
"Your tax dollars at work."
Angus snorted. "How much am I paying you to babysit that thug?"
Ha! You mean to freeze my ass off sittin' in a car in the middle of East Jippip?" Sparer shot back, and they laughed. "Not nearly enough, I'm dyin' for a decent cheesesteak."
"When's his trial?"
“February 8. Hey, Williams was a good boy yesterday. Bided his time by himself, nowhere near the RHU."
"You must be very proud." Angus clapped him on the back, they all exchanged goodbyes, and Nat and Angus continued on their way through the parked cars. Angus took her arm and led her up the steps to the metal door with the cheery red paint, hit a buzzer, and showed his face through the window. The door was opened by a plump, middle-aged woman with a lipsticked smile. She was majorly made up, and her ersatz red hair was coiled in old-fashioned pin curls.
"Angus! How are you?" she said, eyeing his bandage. The pancaked foundation on her forehead almost cracked with concern. "You poor thing! What did they do to you? Come in, come in!"