Trent hoped the warden was referring to something trivial like the boiler failing or the maintenance crew running out of wax for the dingy floors. He surely couldn’t be talking about the escape of a serial killer as being for the best, could he? Trent eyed Rees. The last thing she needed to hear was that the danger Nikki faced was for the best.
A muscle worked in the smooth column of her throat, as if she was doing her best to swallow the idiot’s words.
The men turned toward them. A wary smile broke across Cassidy’s face. “Special Agent Burnell.”
“Dan Cassidy.”
The detective nodded in Trent’s direction then focused on Rees. His brows lifted in surprise and then lowered.
“This is Risa. Risa Madsen,” Trent informed him.
“I know who she is.”
Strange. As far as Trent knew, the two had never met, and yet Cassidy behaved as though he held something against her.
After more introductions, the warden shook Trent’s hand and then grasped Rees’s. “I’m sorry your sister was involved in this, Ms. Madsen.”
“Thank you, Warden. I appreciate it. What were you talking about when we arrived? What is for the best?”
Trent almost smiled.
At least Hanson had the decency to look embarrassed. He gestured widely with his bony hands, his face animated. “Not for the best, exactly. That was an unfortunate choice of words. But something big had to happen to get the DOC to acknowledge that this facility needs serious renovation. Heaven knows, they haven’t been listening to me. I warned our state representative just last week we need to update security. Thank God, they can’t ignore the problem any longer. I was just looking for the silver lining.”
Trent had had enough of Warden Hanson. He glanced down at his watch. “Let’s get on with this, Cassidy.”
The warden smoothed a hand over the front of his suit coat. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have some administrative details to attend to. Good luck, Special Agent Burnell. Professor Madsen.”
“Thank you,” Trent said pointedly. He turned from the retreating warden and toward the cell.
Cassidy stood in the cell’s open doorway, glaring at Rees. “Why is she here, Burnell?”
“Do you have a problem, Cassidy?”
“I can’t ask? This is my case.”
“As a professor of psychology—someone who has studied Dryden intensely—and the sister of Dryden’s accomplice, she will provide insights that will be valuable. Now let’s get on with this.”
Trent couldn’t help catch the grateful look Rees shot him. A grateful look he hardly deserved. Some nice guy he was, letting her in to see whatever surprises Dryden had left for them. He could only hope she did have some valuable insights. That he wasn’t exposing her to this whole damn nightmare for nothing.
Cassidy’s frown deepened, but he led the way into the cell. The guard who had escorted them remained by the door.
Dryden’s cell was small and nearly barren, with a built-in cot on one wall, a storage unit on the other and a toilet with a sink above on the third. The hall had smelled like sweaty gym socks that had been left in a pile to rot, but Dryden’s cell reeked of something harsh and slightly minty.
“Disinfectant.”
“He cleaned his cell several times a day,” Risa said.
That fit with the Ed Dryden Trent knew. The man was obsessed with control. Controlling his environment. Controlling his victims. A common theme with psychopaths.
“Manipulation, domination, and control,” Rees continued, as if reading Trent’s mind. “Wasn’t that part of your original profile?”
“You know it was.”
“He manipulated Nikki, controlled her. There were other women, too. He talked about them. Women, men, he thought he could manipulate anyone.”
“He might have been right.” Dryden’s case had upended everything in Trent’s life. And in turn, he’d upended Risa’s. He’d broken their engagement and shut her out in an effort to protect her, but all that had done was send her straight to Dryden for answers.
“So why don’t we stop wasting time and look for evidence?” Cassidy gestured to the storage unit. “Or are you afraid that might prove just how involved your sister was?”
“Back off, Cassidy,” Trent said.
“Just saying.”
Trent avoided glancing Risa’s way, and instead turned to the gray wooden storage structure on one wall of the cell. Comprised of shelves, cubbyholes and a writing surface, the unit was filled with stacks of letters, neatly folded magazine pages and a few trinkets. “Has anyone gone through this?”
“When I heard you were on your way, I thought I’d better wait. Wouldn’t want to step on delicate toes.”
Ignoring the jab, Trent pulled out the magazine pages and unfolded them.
Risa turned away and coughed. A good cover, but Trent could see her revulsion. He felt it himself.
Violent pornography was common with psychopaths, but the images on those pages—bound women screaming and crying, whips raising welts and drawing blood—likely went beyond any s/m Risa had seen in one of her studies.
Cassidy’s face remained blank. “What kind of pervert likes to tie people up?”
Risa turned away, a blush tinting her cheeks, and Trent knew she was thinking the same thing he was. A night long ago, playing with his handcuffs after a bottle of wine…
But that had been consensual. A silly game. No pain or humiliation involved. These pictures were abuse, plain and simple.
And this is what Risa’s little sister had run off with. A sadist who got off on another’s pain. And if it weren’t for Trent’s career, his obsession, Risa and Nikki never would have met Ed Dryden.
“How did Dryden get this…stuff?” Risa asked.
Cassidy glanced at the pages. “Had to have been smuggled in. Probably by your sister.”
“Nikki would never have anything to do with this.”
Cassidy shrugged. “She married good old Eddie, didn’t she?”
“He convinced her that her love made him a better person. I doubt he could continue that charade if she saw this garbage.”
“I don’t know. Love can be a powerful thing.”
Trent knew the detective was being sarcastic, but in cases like these, his statement was more accurate than he knew. And though Risa didn’t want to face the truth, Trent could tell the images had shaken her. Badly.
Setting the pornography aside, Trent plucked a stack of letters from one of the cubbyholes and began paging through them. He scanned each page individually, handing it to Rees when he’d finished reading.
Most were from Nikki, long opuses declaring her undying love for the serial killer, her unflagging belief in him, and her bitter resentment of her older sister.
She always has to be right, always has to be better than me… Miss Ph.D. thinks she’s so smart, but she has no idea…
Trent almost flinched at the hurtful words. Envy was probably normal for a troubled younger sister like Nikki. But he knew Rees wouldn’t write this off as mere sibling jealousy. Not Rees. She would accept it like tender flesh accepts a sharp blade. She would internalize it. She would bleed over it.
He forced himself to hand her the next page. And the next.
Once he’d scanned the first stack, he moved on to the next. To his relief, these weren’t from Nikki. Where Risa’s sister’s handwriting was loopy and childish, the hand that composed these letters was pointed and bold, and they were signed Always, Farrentina. But except for the jabs at Rees, the content of the letters was similar. Declarations of love. Promises of care packages. Plans for Dryden’s future outside prison—a future his multiple life sentences were supposed to prevent.