Scheer’s eyes narrowed. His jaw jutted out. “Is this about Friedberg? Is that why you’re hassling me? Why didn’t he come here himself?”
“You’re not getting it,” Vail said. “This isn’t about Friedberg. It’s about the old woman who was brutalized and killed because of you.”
He rose from his chair. “We’re done here.”
Vail and Dixon did not move. “I don’t think so,” Vail said. “We know about your…personal problems. And we know you’ve somehow managed to keep them under the radar. Maybe you’ve got friends where it counts. But, see, we do, too. And all it takes is one phone call.”
Scheer’s face reddened. “Go to hell,” he said, then walked away at a brisk pace.
Vail sat back in her chair. “Well, that didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. Definitely not as planned.”
“Definitely not.”
Vail watched him yank open the stairwell door, and then disappear inside. She eyed his desk, the papers strewn across it. The files likely contained information that could be material to their case. But she swiveled her seat away from Scheer’s workspace. I’ve crossed the line too many times the past few months. I’ll get the info some other way. Somehow.
Dixon rose from her chair. “Just a guess. But I don’t think he’s coming back until we leave.”
Vail stood up as well, then pretended to notice Dixon’s outfit for the first time. “Jesus, Roxx. You don’t look very professional. Put your jacket on, will you?”
VAIL AND DIXON WALKED BACK to their car in silence, until they exited the building. Then Vail asked, “What do you think?”
“Not to be Captain Obvious, but he’s protecting his sources.”
“But what source could it be? Remember when we were looking at the wine cave murder a few months ago? I kept saying it was all about access. Who had access to the cave? Let’s approach this the same way. Who had access to the information found in Scheer’s article?”
“You, Burden, and Friedberg. The people who handle the files-the file room clerk and the guys at evidence storage. The crime lab. The ME. Potentially other inspectors. The lieutenant.”
“And the killer,” Vail said.
“And the killer.” Dixon chirped her car remote and the doors unlocked. They stood outside it. Dixon reached into the backseat and grabbed her jacket, shoved her arms through the sleeves.
“So…what do we do, start questioning all the people involved in this case?”
Vail thought a moment. “Who would have a reason to disclose the information?”
“Unless it’s something obvious, figuring that out could take a long time.”
“True,” Vail said. “Then how about a shortcut? Let’s look at the phone LUDs and see who’s been talking with Stephen Scheer.”
“If you can make that happen, it’d definitely save us some time.”
Vail pulled open the car door. “If they used their work phones, or department-issued cells, not a problem. If they use their personal cells for work, too, then that makes our job easier. We get everything at once. I’ll send Burden a text, let him know we struck out and see what we can get.”
She sat down, and as she hit Send, her phone buzzed. A text stared back at her. “Gotta be kidding me.”
“What?”
Vail let her head fall back against the seat. “Another vic.”
30
MacNally walked into his cell. The two men watched him but did not speak. The one on the top bunk was fat-large and bald, ink-blurred tattoos that appeared to be homemade adorning his neck and shoulders. A red and black bandana was wrapped around his thick head.
The man on the bottom bed was just as massive, but his bulk was the result of weight lifting in the rec yard. Body art also covered his upper torso, which was bare and sweat-moist.
MacNally cleared his throat. “How are you guys doing?”
“What’re you in for?” the obese man asked.
MacNally tossed his materials on the bed. “Armed robbery. You?”
“Armed robbery, double murder. Rape. You got a name?”
Double murder and rape. Shit. But what did he expect? This was one of the toughest maximum security penitentiaries. Did he think these inmates were going to be upstanding citizens? “MacNally. Guys call me Mac.”
“MacNally. Like the road maps?” The two men laughed.
MacNally laughed along with them. “Rand McNally’s Irish, like me. But he spells it differently.”
“I’m Carl Wharton,” the obese man said. “He’s Kurt Gormack.”
MacNally sat down on his bunk. “What about you, Kurt? What are you in for?”
“Lots a things, I guess. Take your pick.”
“Kurt beat a man to death with his fists. Caved in his skull. But it was justified.”
Justified? MacNally swallowed hard. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Kurt shrugged. “He owed me some money, and it didn’t look like he was gonna pay. I told him that wasn’t the way it worked.”
“How much did he owe you?” MacNally asked, at a loss as to how he should respond-but needing to say something to disguise his revulsion.
“Fifteen bucks. But the amount wasn’t the point. You let some dipshit like that get away with stiffing you, it gets around and your rep’s fucking shot.”
“Yeah. Of course,” MacNally said, hoping they would buy his weak attempt at giving the impression that he understood something he could not possibly comprehend.
Kurt sat expressionless, his thick chest rising and falling at regular intervals. He glanced up at Carl, who appeared to be studying MacNally’s face.
“So what’s there to do around here?” He wanted to get the hell out of there but didn’t want it to be obvious that he found his new cellies appalling.
Carl answered. “It’s fucking prison, Map Man. Take a hike around the cellhouse, get to know your new home. My guess, you’re gonna be here a while.”
“Forty-five.”
A crooked, salacious grin broadened Kurt’s face. “Then it looks like we’re gonna have some fun.”
MacNally didn’t know what his new bunkmate meant by that-but based on what Voorhees had told him, it left him with a sense of foreboding.
And he suddenly realized that “fun” was a relative term.
THE NIGHT WAS NOT MUCH cooler than the day. But the temperature was not the reason MacNally had a hard time falling asleep. He had taken a walk around the rotunda, strolled along the different cellhouses, and got his bearings. He ate dinner in the large mess hall and kept to himself. For a first day in a violent place, amongst men who were some of the worst society had produced, he felt proud that he had made it through unscathed.