Inside

29

Rick Wallace hadn’t been picking up his cell phone or returning the messages she’d left, so Laurel wasn’t expecting it when he answered.

“Mr. Wallace?” she said, startled by his hello.

“Yes?”

She cleared her throat. “This is Laurel Hodges.”

She got the impression he wasn’t happy to hear from her. “Who gave you this number?”

“You did. Don’t you remember? You said if I ever needed anything to give you a call.”

“Oh, right. That night in Gunnison.” He sighed loudly enough that she could hear. “That seems so long ago.”

He sounded stressed. She felt guilty for bothering him, but she couldn’t believe that he was dealing with any more than she was. And this wouldn’t take more than a second. “Not to me,” she said. “I feel as if a tornado’s picked me up and is still whipping me around. I have no idea where it might drop me, or when.” Although two men from the U.S. Marshal Service had taken her to a different safe house, this one in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the man who’d stayed with her had told her it wasn’t a permanent location. The government was still working on the details of her new identity, which made everything even more difficult for her because she couldn’t settle anywhere. They’d left her waiting on pins and needles. And with no work, no friends, nothing except her children to distract her, she was going crazy, especially during naptime when the house was quiet. The marshal spent most of his time in his bedroom.

“I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting.” He didn’t seem to care about her plight. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to check on my brother. If you won’t give me any way to reach him directly, you have to at least give me periodic updates. I’m in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar city. The Crew killed the last marshal, and I saw one man gun down two others. I think it’s understandable that I’d be a little rattled and need some reassurance to help me adjust to all this upheaval.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t call me every day. I’m busy. I’ve got a lot going in my life, too.”

Was he joking? Could it be anything close to what she was going through? Was someone out to kill him and his family? She doubted it. “Then give me another number. Someone I can talk to now and then. That’s the only way I can get through this. If I know Virgil’s okay, I can go on. But when I’m not sure—”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens to him,” he broke in. “No news is good news, as they say.”

Judging by the curtness of his voice, he was hoping to brush her off, but she wouldn’t have it. “That’s not good enough, Mr. Wallace. If I can’t hear from Virgil himself, I have to hear that he’s making progress so…so I can believe he’ll put an end to this for all of us.”

“I’m not at the prison,” he said. “I have no idea what’s going on there. I’m not as involved in this as you might’ve thought.”

“Then who is? Will you give me the warden’s number? There can’t be any danger in that. How hard could it be for him to tell me that my brother’s fine?”

“You don’t understand. I can’t—”

She tightened her grip on the phone. “Don’t say that, please. You don’t know how frightening it is wondering if I’m really as alone as I feel! If I have to, I’ll call you day and night until—”

“Stop. I get it.” He grunted in frustration, but when he spoke again, she was glad she’d pushed. “Call Peyton Adams. She’s at Pelican Bay State Prison.”

That was where they’d taken Virgil? Wallace had just told her? She hadn’t expected him to give her that much. “And the number?”

“Wait, scratch that. Whatever you do, don’t call the prison or speak to the warden. Let me get you Peyton’s cell phone. Hang on.” She didn’t get a chance to ask who Peyton was. She didn’t care as long as this person was close enough to Virgil to keep her informed.

“I should never have gotten involved in this…. I’ll be damn glad when it’s over,” she heard Rick mutter. Then he recited ten digits and hung up.

Peyton had never dreamed she’d hear from Virgil’s sister. When the call came in, she’d just gotten out of a budget meeting and only answered because she hoped it was Virgil. She had to warn him that the HF was doing what it could to check him out—at least, she thought that was what the call from Buzz signified. And because Buzz’s phone probably wasn’t the only one in the prison, Virgil could be calling from any number, even numbers with area codes from faraway places. There were pay phones on the tiers, but the men had to sign up in order to use them, had limited access and every conversation was monitored.

“Who are you?” Laurel asked once she’d identified herself and was sure she had someone named Peyton on the phone.

“I’m the chief deputy warden.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Peyton wished she did.

“Is Virgil okay? I’ve been going crazy worrying about him. I just…I need someone to tell me that everything’s fine.”

Peyton ducked into the women’s restroom. She’d been walking through the bull-pen area, wasn’t quite at her office, and didn’t want to pass Shelley. She was afraid something in her conversation would pique her assistant’s interest. Shelley had already been watching her a little more closely than usual today. As hard as she strove for normality, her agitation would give her away.

At least the bathroom, which was empty, afforded her a small amount of privacy. This late in the day, most of the support staff were packing up to head home. Shelley would be going, too. Hopefully soon.

“He’s fine,” she told Laurel. “Well, as fine as can be expected.” She considered mentioning his injury but decided to put it off for the moment, in favor of satisfying her own curiosity. “I have to admit I’m surprised to hear from you. How did you get my number?” Last she’d heard, they weren’t revealing Virgil’s whereabouts to anyone, even Laurel.

“Rick Wallace gave it to me,” Laurel said. “I hope that doesn’t upset you. He didn’t want to. But I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He doesn’t know what it’s like waiting and wondering. I’m not even in a familiar place, you know?”

“I know.” Peyton tried to imbue her voice with understanding. She certainly sympathized with Laurel and was well aware she’d been through hell. But her mind wasn’t on what she was saying. Virgil had made it clear that he didn’t want Laurel to know where he was, that he didn’t want any link between them. He was afraid The Crew would exploit it in some way. So why had Wallace suddenly coughed up this information as if he was no longer worried about that? And why hadn’t he returned her calls today? She’d wanted to talk about getting some information on The Crew. The police must have a few details about the leaders, at least. Maybe they even had pictures. After what had happened to Laurel, Peyton thought it might be wise to learn a little more about Virgil’s adversaries. That could help protect him. At a minimum, they should send descriptions to the local police, tell them to be on the lookout. It was such a simple thing to do and as far as she was concerned, should’ve been done already. She’d said as much in her last two messages to Rick, but she’d received no response. It felt almost as if he was…avoiding her.

Was he embarrassed about the way he’d behaved? He should be. But he wasn’t that hard on himself. More likely, he was wrapped up in his divorce.

Why did he have to split up with his wife now?

“Virgil’s my only family,” Laurel was saying.

“He’s worried about you, too,” Peyton told her.

“I know. Can you tell him I’m okay? I mean…I’m not really okay. Some days it feels like I’m losing it.” She chuckled awkwardly. “But I’ll hang on. I’ve managed this long.”

“How’s the marshal treating you?” Peyton asked.

“Fine. He doesn’t say much. He does routine checks every hour or so but spends the rest of the time in the bedroom, watching movie after movie.”

“Why does he go to the bedroom?”

“Because I don’t want my children to see the violent movies he watches, especially after what they’ve already seen.”

Peyton stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. “How are Jake and Mia? Are they okay after witnessing the shootings?”

“You know their names?”

“Yes. I’ve seen their picture, too. They’re beautiful children.”

“They’re coping. I’ve told them what they saw wasn’t real, just some actors pretending. They’re young enough to buy it. I think. They also believe we’re on vacation for a few weeks. That’s the only thing I could come up with.”

“This will all be over soon, okay?” She wished there was more she could say to comfort Laurel, but there wasn’t.

“Do you know that?” Laurel asked hopefully. “Or are you just saying it?”

“Like you, I’m praying for it. We have to have faith, right?”

“Right. I get it. Okay. Will you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do anything I can.”

“Tell Virgil I love him. I—I didn’t tell him on the phone when we talked. I…couldn’t.”

“I can do that. Sure.”

“And…can I call you again? Just to check in and make sure everything’s fine?”

“Of course. Call whenever you feel you need to.”

“Thank you,” she said, and they hung up, but Peyton didn’t immediately go to her office. She leaned against the sink and tried to imagine what would make Rick Wallace tell Laurel where Virgil was.

“Wow, you’re working late again?”

Shelley stood in the doorway. Peyton smiled as pleasantly as possible but she resented the interruption. “I won’t be here much longer.” She’d just found some fabulous information online about The Crew. A cop in Los Angeles had posted a website dedicated to L.A. gangs, their signs, colors, philosophy, known leaders, even a bit of their history, and he’d included a whole page on The Crew.

“Okay, well, I’m heading out,” Shelley said. “But before I do, I thought I’d see if you wanted to deal with this.”

“With what?” Peyton asked.

Shelley walked in and plopped a stack of messages on her desk.

Peyton shoved away from her computer. “What’re those?”

“They’re all from the same guy. Rosalee delivered them to me before she left for the night. She said he’s been trying to reach the warden all day long.”

Rosalee was the warden’s assistant. “And Fischer wouldn’t talk to him?”

“He’s been too busy. And let’s face it. This guy’s probably a family member of one of the cons, all in a tiff about how we’re violating his constitutional rights by not serving enough pudding for dessert.” She laughed. “But he said it was urgent and he was so insistent, Rosalee asked me to see if you’d be willing to talk to him the next time he calls.”

Peyton wasn’t particularly interested. She had too much going on already. Virgil and his safety took precedence over everything else. But Shelley’s comment about talking to this guy the next time he called struck her as odd and made her look through the messages. There were at least ten slips in the stack, but not one included a telephone number.

“He wouldn’t leave his contact information?”

“Said he doesn’t have a phone. He’s calling from pay phones.” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that pathetic? He’s probably on drugs. Everyone has a phone these days.”

If he was on drugs, wouldn’t he have given up after two or three attempts? Peyton glanced at the times the calls had come in. Almost once an hour all day long. That was too regular, too consistent, for someone who was high and not thinking straight. “Did he say what it was about?”

“No. Wouldn’t give her any idea. What a nutcase, huh?”

“Rex McCready.” Peyton read the name aloud. She didn’t recognize it. Or…did she?

Swiveling back to her computer, she scanned the webpage she’d just pulled up and, about two-thirds of the way down, spotted the name—Rex “Pretty Boy” McCready. Pretty Boy. The man who’d saved Laurel and her children. The name must’ve registered even though she’d barely had time to skim over what she’d found before Shelley interrupted.

Holy hell… What did he need? Why was he so determined to get hold of the warden?

He wouldn’t have called unless he had a good reason. He was a wanted man.

He obviously knew Virgil was here. Why else would he call? And if he knew Virgil’s whereabouts, so did The Crew. Was that what he was trying to tell them?

If so, it was okay for the moment. The Crew wouldn’t be able to reach Virgil while he was inside.

But gangs sometimes formed alliances, if it was in the interests of both groups. And The Crew would know Virgil’s name wasn’t Simeon Bennett. They’d know he wasn’t a legitimate con here because he’d been exonerated and released from ADX Florence. All they had to do was share that information with the HF, and together with what Weston already suspected, they’d all know the truth.

Pulse racing, Peyton dropped the messages and looked up at Shelley. “What’s today? It’s Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Thursday,” she said, nonplussed. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. Thursday was visiting day for the SHU. Shit! What were the chances?

“I need you to do an errand for me before you go.”

Shelley didn’t seem happy to hear this. She had her purse on her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. “What?” she asked hesitantly.

“Go over to visitation and get me a list of everyone who came to the prison today. Ask specifically if anyone requested a meeting with Detric Whitehead or Weston Jager.”

“That’ll be a pretty short list. Can’t you just call over there?”

Peyton didn’t have time for any argument. An inmate was most vulnerable when he was in the yard or the dining hall. And it was the dinner hour. “I want a list of all visitors, and I want you to get it and bring it to me now. If you don’t move your ass, you can find yourself another job.”

The sharpness of her response made Shelley’s eyes flare wide. “Okay, jeez. I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t do it. I was just saying, if you’re only looking for a list of SHU visitors, there probably aren’t more than two or three,” she grumbled as she trudged off.

Peyton didn’t respond. Her mind was racing through possibilities, hoping it wasn’t already too late to pull Virgil out of the dining hall, if necessary. She would’ve sent word to the C.O.s in gen pop to get over there, but she was afraid her concern was making her imagine danger where there was none. She didn’t really know what Pretty Boy wanted to impart; she was guessing at all of it.

But she was pretty sure she’d guessed right when Shelley returned. She didn’t recognize any of the visitors on the list Shelley slapped down in front of her. None of them matched the known gang members mentioned on the website, either. She’d been scrolling through it and doing internet searches, looking for other names affiliated with The Crew. But the fact that none of the names matched didn’t bring her any relief. Visitors for men in the SHU had to get clearance, which meant The Crew wouldn’t send someone who was likely to be rejected. They’d send someone who didn’t have a record. What was significant was that, after going God knew how long without any visitors at all, Detric Whitehead had a man by the name of Donald Mechem visit him about five hours ago.