Текст книги "Sight Unseen "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER

7

HOURS LATER, KENDRA WAS STILL staring at the three photos on her dining-room table. She had requested the printouts from Reade, but they hadn’t told her anything more than she’d known back at the FBI conference room.

The Bureau, no doubt, was racing to track down the IP addresses from which they had come and had perhaps even identified one or more of the locations in the photos.

Just as Myatt knew they would.

Her cell phone rang. Lynch.

Warmth and eagerness flowed through her. She was tired of staring at these photos of that monster who was sure that he could block her at every pass. She wanted contact with Lynch, who was every bit as dangerous as Myatt, but not to her.

At least, not in the same way.

She answered the call. “Why do you keep phoning me? I told you to tend to your business, and I’d tend to mine. I think you must be bored with all those Washington types. Not that I blame—”

“I’m outside your condo, Kendra,” Lynch broke in impatiently. His voice was tense. “One of your neighbors was careless enough to hold open the building’s front door for me, but your FBI bodyguard won’t let me within ten feet of your condo without an okay from you.”

“That’s because he’s good at his job. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.”

“I don’t have time to convince him that I’m harmless, so I’m left with the option of either taking him out or having you call him off. I don’t give a damn which one. Choose.”

There was no question he meant it.

“Don’t touch him.” Kendra walked to her door and opened it wide. She nodded to Agent Nelson. “Thanks for being so efficient. My friend tends to be a little rude.”

He smiled. “My job. You’re sure he’s no threat?”

“It depends on who you ask. But not to me.” She stepped aside for Lynch to enter. “I’ll call if he proves a problem.”

“Do that,” Lynch said as he walked into the condo and slammed the door behind him. “I’m feeling edgy, and I’d welcome a confrontation.”

“Not with Agent Nelson. Olivia would never forgive you.”

“What?” Then he dismissed the subject as unimportant. “I heard about your photo lineup today.”

“Unproductive as it was. When did you get back in town?”

“Just now. I came straight from the airport.”

Her brows rose. “All finished in D.C.?”

“Not really, but I got some news that made me think that I was needed back here.”

“We’ve discussed that before. I’m handling this—” She stopped. Lynch had mentioned being on edge and she could see that was an understatement. Definitely not his usual self. “What news?”

“I heard from the FBI lab manager. I’ve guaranteed that he gets in touch with me with any information directly after he tells Griffin.”

She stiffened. “I haven’t heard anything from Griffin.”

“I think they’re still trying to figure out what it means.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s about the clothing you recovered from Corrine Harvey’s house. They recovered fresh skin cells from the sweater. They were able to extract DNA they thought might be from the killer.”

“That’s great.”

“And what’s more, they got a match off the CODIS DNA database.”

“Even better. So why do you look like you’ve just come from a funeral?”

Lynch shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “The DNA is from Eric Colby.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “What? Impossible.”

“Eric Colby,” he repeated. “The first killer you ever put away.”

Kendra’s brow wrinkled. “That doesn’t make sense. How in the hell could—”

“You tell me. He’s been on death row in San Quentin State Penitentiary for the past four years.” He paused. “He’s scheduled to be executed by lethal injection Monday night.”

Eric Colby.

Kendra felt a little light-headed. She moved toward the sofa and slowly sat down. “This is a nightmare. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You look damn shaky. Can I get you something? Glass of water? Shot of brandy? Handful of barbiturates?”

“I feel as if I could use all three.” She looked up at Lynch. “I’ve spent four years trying to forget Eric Colby. When we were walking through the maze of my old cases at the field office Sunday, I did everything I could to avoid looking at his photo. I’ve never felt such darkness, such total evil, in anyone before or since.”

“That’s saying a lot.”

“It’s true. You know … I’m kind of conflicted about the death penalty, but not for him. A lot of people would breathe easier knowing he’s no longer on this earth.”

Lynch nodded grimly. “Count me among them. I read up on him during the flight. I can’t get those crime-scene photos out of my head.”

Eric Colby.

“You said those were fresh skin cells on Corrine Harvey’s clothing?” she asked.

“Correct. First thing I checked.”

“His cells somehow found their way onto her sweater. We were meant to find them.”

“You were meant to find them. Your reward for finding the sweater.”

Eric Colby.

Kendra tried to shake off the chill. “Even though he’s sitting in a prison four hundred miles away … He’s somehow involved. And he wants me to know it. It’s his parting shot.”

“He’ll be dead in five days. That doesn’t give us much time to get the answers we need from him.”

“I don’t need anything from him.”

“Kendra … Every day that goes by is another day that someone could die. If we know he’s somehow connected to this, it’s an angle we have to pursue.”

“Which is exactly what he wants,” she said fiercely. “And it’s going to lead nowhere, except where he wants it to lead.”

“You outsmarted him once. You can do it again.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to do it again. I want to turn my head and not turn back until they’re rolling his corpse out of that prison.”

“This isn’t like you. What—” The front-door buzzer rang from the wall-mounted intercom unit. Lynch strode over and pressed the talk button. “Hello.”

After a moment’s hesitation. “Michael Griffin, Roland Metcalf, and Saffron Reade here to see Kendra. Is that you Lynch?”

“Yes, come on up.” He pushed the button to buzz them in through the front door.

“Griffin wasn’t expecting to hear your voice,” Kendra said.

“He thought I was still in Washington. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming back here. They obviously came to break the news to you personally.”

“No matter how many times I hear it, it’s not going to be any easier to believe … or to accept.”

Lynch walked over and leaned close to her. “Listen, Kendra, I know you have some seriously bad history with this maniac.”

She half smiled and tried to joke. “Griffin’s not so bad.”

“The other maniac. Colby. However you want to play this, I’ll back you up. Don’t let them talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

“Just a few seconds ago, you were telling me we needed to follow this lead.”

“They do. You don’t. Not if you don’t think you can. I don’t like your reaction to this creep. Just say the word, and I’ll build a wall around you so strong that Griffin and friends won’t even think about breaking through. Understand?”

That damn protectiveness again.

There was a rap at the door, and Lynch opened it wide for Griffin, Metcalf, and Reade to enter.

Griffin stared at Lynch for a moment before stepping into the condo. “Welcome back. This is an unexpected pleas—” He paused and substituted. “Occurrence.”

“The feeling is totally mutual, Griffin. I just got into town.”

“Huh. Why do I have feeling that my lab has been in touch with you … maybe even before they were in touch with me.”

“With the tight ship you run there?”

Griffin muttered a curse and turned toward Kendra. “So you know about the skin cells we pulled off Corrine Harvey’s sweater?”

She nodded. “The ones with Eric Colby’s DNA? Yeah, old news.”

“I’ve already been in touch with the warden at San Quentin. He’s pulling together a visitor’s list, mail and call logs, and other information he has on Colby. It seems you’re not the only one with a rabid fan base, Kendra. Especially since his execution date was set, he’s become quite popular.”

“Exactly what he wants, I’m sure.”

Reade stepped forward. “The attention will increase exponentially when this gets out, you know.”

“Then don’t let it get out,” Kendra said harshly. “Don’t give him the satisfaction. You can keep a secret for five days, can’t you?” She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Anger, shock, and frustration were all whirling around within her. “Don’t let him play us like this.”

Griffin spoke in a slow, measured tone that was probably supposed to be soothing but only served to make her angrier. “Trust me, we’re not calling a press conference. But we are flying to San Francisco tomorrow morning. We’ll visit San Quentin, inspect the logs, and speak with Colby and the prison personnel who know him best. You’re the only one of us who has any previous experience with him, so we would like you to join us.”

Kendra had known it was coming, but it still hit her like a swift, wicked, kick. “I already know what it’s like to be face-to-face with Colby. It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat.”

“We can certainly understand that,” Griffin said in a tone bordering on patronizing. “But this isn’t really being done for your benefit. Your presence there might provoke more of a reaction from him. He might be more forthcoming.”

“You think the sight of me will make Eric Colby spill his guts?” She smiled bitterly. “Then you really don’t know him. Colby is an iceman.” Her gaze circled the agents. “So what’s the consensus? Do your profilers think we’re dealing with a tag team?”

“No, they’re very cautious.” Griffin dropped down in an easy chair facing her. “Serial-killer tag teams are extremely rare. It’s almost always an extremely solitary pursuit.”

“I’ve never encountered one,” Kendra said.

“Very few investigators have,” Metcalf said. “Thank goodness. But it’s not unheard of for a killer to draw inspiration and even guidance from an incarcerated murderer.”

Kendra looked away from them. “Incarcerated murderer” sounded so sterile, so civilized, compared with the brutal and venomous image she still held of Eric Colby. This time she couldn’t shake the image from her mind. “Aren’t communications with death-row inmates monitored?”

“Depends,” Griffin said. “Mail and telephone are, but in-person visits aren’t. And we all know that it’s distressingly easy to smuggle almost anything in or out of a prison.”

“Like a woman’s sweater?” Kendra asked.

“Or maybe a handwritten serial killer how-to manual,” Reade said. “Thanks to the Web, some of these guys have a worldwide following.”

“That’s depressing.”

Griffin shrugged. “It’s the world we live in. You can sit back and be depressed or do something to change it.”

“Back off, Griffin,” Lynch said. “She’s done a hell of a lot already.”

“I agree,” Griffin turned toward Kendra. “We’ll be on United flight 498 to San Francisco at 7:00 A.M. tomorrow. We’d like you to be with us. A reservation has already been made in your name, and a boarding pass has been e-mailed to you.”

“How efficient.” Kendra picked up her phone from the couch armrest. She glanced at the screen and clicked on an e-mail. “You’re right. It just came in.”

“Then will you do this for us?”

She glanced at Lynch. His eyes were narrowed on her, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Screw ’em. You don’t owe these assholes anything.

Tell ’em to shove this case up their asses.

Kendra stood up and gestured toward the front door. “I need to think about it.”

Griffin was definitely not pleased. “When can we expect your answer?”

“At 7:00 A.M. tomorrow. When you’re on the plane, look over at seat 4D. If I’m there, take that as a strong indication I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.” Griffin stood up. “But just remember something, Kendra. This wouldn’t be like the last time you saw Eric Colby. This time there would be all of us and a squad of armed guards between you and him.”

“She knows all that,” Lynch said. “She said she had to think. Let’s all get the hell out of here so that she can do it.”

“I’m going,” Griffin said testily. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” He motioned for Metcalf and Reade to join him and he glanced at Kendra as he turned toward the door. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”

Kendra watched Lynch open the door as they exited and exchanged words with the guard outside.

Lynch turned back toward her. “Me, too?”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she silently mouthed.

He shrugged and stared at her for a long moment. “If you need me, call.” He turned and followed the other agents out of the condo.

She did need him. She didn’t want to be alone with the memories that were bombarding her. But if he stayed, she would reveal weakness, and she didn’t want Lynch to see her like that. She had to be strong. That was another time, another place. She wouldn’t let Colby beat her now.

But oh, dear God, those memories …

Four Years Earlier

Carlsbad, California

10:40 P.M.

“HOW MUCH FARTHER?” Kendra asked.

FBI Special Agent Jeff Stedler eased off the accelerator as their car hit a dense patch of fog. “Almost there, Kendra.”

A thick, soupy marine layer had descended on the coastal town of Carlsbad, thirty-five miles north of San Diego. The town’s tourist brochures touted the family-friendly resorts and expansive state park, but there was nothing inviting about this dark, lonely stretch of road in a long-abandoned industrial corridor. Large signs proudly trumpeted the cookie-cutter housing developments that would soon wipe the area clean.

“I don’t know why you think I can do this,” Kendra said tensely. “You should take me home.”

“Please. Just give it a shot.”

“I’ll be wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.”

Kendra studied him. Of course he didn’t think so. His belief in her and everyone else in his life was unwavering, if a bit naïve. But she couldn’t dispute the fact that his confidence in people did seem to bring out their best. And that included her. In the seven months she’d been living with Jeff, he’d helped her finally find her truest, best self that had eluded her in those chaotic years after gaining her sight.

But tonight was still a mistake.

He glanced over at her. “Did you read the file I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“And…”

“It made me ill.”

“I’d be worried if it didn’t.”

He’d given her excerpts from the case file of a current FBI serial-killer investigation. It consisted mainly of descriptions and photos of nine grisly crime scenes that had one thing in common: each of the victims was decapitated, with no trace of the head left behind.

She shuddered. “Those photos were horrible. All those people … Even children.”

Jeff nodded. “Two little kids. I talked to the mother of one of them just yesterday. She kept telling me how much she wishes it was her.”

“I’m sure she does. I can’t imagine how someone goes on from that.”

“I can’t, either.”

She was silent. “Looking at those pictures, at first I just felt sick. Then I was depressed. Then I just got angry. I’m pretty much stuck at angry.”

“Good. Hold on to that.” Jeff turned on the wipers to clear away the condensation. The fog thinned, then billowed, with each turn of the road.

“Do you really think I can help?” Kendra asked. “I’m not like you, Jeff. This investigating stuff isn’t my thing. I don’t even like doing it.”

“You like helping people. You’ll get used to the rest. And I do think there’s a good chance that you might be the turning point. Nothing else is working for us. It might help to have a fresh set of eyes. Especially if those eyes are yours.”

“Ever since I was a little girl, even when I was blind, people were telling me I should be a detective.” She made a face. “I never thought the FBI would one day say it to me.”

He glanced at her with a smile. “I don’t know that I represent the entire FBI. I’m just one agent you happen to be sleeping with. If my colleagues seem a little skeptical, just ignore them. They don’t know you the way I do.”

“Meaning they’re not sleeping with me.”

“Meaning they haven’t seen you do the things you do. They’ve never watched you walk into a room, pick up on a thousand different details, and immediately give an entire rundown of the place. Or meet someone and hand them their entire personal history.”

“Parlor tricks.”

“They can be more than that.” His expression was intense. “And we can be more than that together. Do you realize how much good we can do? Why do you think I’ve been pushing you? You have a gift, Kendra.”

Jeff was an idealist, and he wanted to pull her along on his quest to save the world. Well, maybe she should go along even if that quest wasn’t her own. She had cared enough to want to live with him and begin to share his dreams. This was just another step. “I don’t know if you’re right or wrong, but I’ll see if—” She straightened on the seat. “There’s something going on ahead.”

The fog was pulsing with white, blue, and red strobes of light. Jeff slowed as they saw that the lights were actually flashers from half a dozen police cruisers parked in front of an old shoe factory.

They stopped and climbed out of the car. The factory’s small front courtyard was overgrown with brush and tall grass. Weeds sprouted from every crack in the sidewalk and parking lot. The brick archway of the worker entrance was lit only by the headlights and flashers of the squad cars. Beyond the entrance was a vestibule that had obviously once held the time clocks. After that was the factory’s main floor, topped by a multipaned skylight ceiling. Kendra could see the beams of high-wattage police flashlights darting against the ceiling and spearing into the foggy night sky.

Jeff handed her a dark blue FBI windbreaker that matched his own. “Here. Put this on.”

“I’m not cold.”

“I didn’t think you were. It’s so the local cops know you’re working with us. Go ahead.”

She slipped on the windbreaker, which was clearly meant for a man Jeff’s size. She rolled up the sleeves and followed him through the archway.

“Are you ready for this?” he whispered.

She wanted to tell him no, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for what lay ahead. She nodded jerkily, then was silent as they walked past a pair of cops securing the entrance. “I … think so. I’ve been preparing myself.”

“It may not matter. Sometimes no amount of preparing helps. If it gets to be too much, just leave the same way you came in. It’ll be okay.”

“Got it. And if I—”

That smell.

A sharp, acrid odor flooded her nasal cavities and burned her eyes.

The stench of death.

She hadn’t prepared herself for that.

They entered the cavernous factory floor, which was illuminated only by the investigators’ flashlights and a stray light from squad-car headlamps against the dusty upper windows. Kendra counted almost two dozen uniformed officers, detectives, and FBI agents pacing around the scene. Some looked busy, but most just looked freaked-out.

Then she saw why.

The remnants of several belted assembly lines could still be seen on the factory’s concrete floor, some more complete than others. Every fifteen feet or so, tall metal poles towered overhead, anchoring the conveyor-belt chassis to the slab.

Each pole had a human head impaled upon it.

Every single one of the victims on Jeff’s list, Kendra realized. The men, the women, the two children …

And their eyes were glued open.

Shock. Horror. Nausea.

“Are you okay, Kendra?” Jeff asked.

“No.” How could she be okay in a world that could produce a human being who could do this? She started to shake. “Terrible. It’s terrible.”

“Take deep breaths.”

If she took deep breaths, she’d smell the stench even more clearly. Didn’t he realize that?

“You can leave,” Jeff said quietly.

“No, I can’t.” Her gaze was held by those faces, by those staring eyes … “They’re looking at me. Can’t you see? They’re all looking at me.”

“Kendra, it’s not that they’re—” Jeff stopped. “This is too rough. You should go back to the car.”

“Too late.” She closed her eyes. But she could still see those faces. Particularly the faces of the two little children. She opened her eyes. “Too late for them. Too late for me.” She fought back the nausea and took a step forward. “And they know it. They know someone has to make him pay. I have to make him pay.”

“Kendra, I didn’t think that you would—”

“Get me closer to those heads. Maybe he left something, did something, that will let me find a way to help them.”

“Forensics will do that. It’s not your—”

“Don’t tell me that.” Her eyes were blazing as she whirled on him. “You brought me here. You almost made me come. Now you get me the help I need to make sure the monster responsible will never do this again.”

Jeff hesitated. “Stay here. I’ll talk to Griffin and the local police and get permission. I’ll be right back.”

She watched him start across the room, then forced herself to turn and look back at those heads.

She was becoming accustomed to the horror now that she had made her decision to not let herself be helpless before it. Sadness, anger, shock were still present, but there was also a burning desire for justice … and revenge.

Staring eyes. Broken hearts. Broken lives.

“I’ll find him,” she whispered to them. “Give me a little time. I’ll find him for you.”

Staring eyes …

San Diego International Airport

Present Day

6:40 A.M.

STARING EYES.

Block it out, Kendra told herself, as she looked up from her coffee. She had spent the night before being attacked by memories of that fever dream of a night at that factory and had gotten very little sleep. Now that the decision was made, she must not dwell on it any longer.

Easy to say. She had been able to suppress but never forget the eyes of those two little boys, seemingly following her around the factory floor.

Their faces were frozen, forever seven and eight years old, but their eyes were pleading, begging.

Dammit.

She parked herself at the Stone Brewing Co., well away from the Terminal 2 gate of the San Francisco flight. She didn’t want to run into any of the FBI agents yet.

In case she changed her mind.

She checked her watch. The plane was already boarding. She imagined Griffin standing on the jetway, neck craned, looking around the gate for her.

“Everyone knows you’re here, Kendra.”

She whirled around. It was Lynch. He was already at the restaurant, sitting with his back to the concourse.

He swiveled to face her. “Your bodyguard phoned Griffin the second he dropped you off at the curb outside.”

“Of course he did.” She shrugged. “Which would make it even more awesome if I decided not to go.”

“True.” He smiled faintly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I didn’t get much sleep. I was just thinking about my first night on the Eric Colby case. It was hideous, and I wanted to strike out at everyone and everything. I don’t know if I could have held it together without Jeff there. He believed in me so much … I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“You didn’t. You made him proud.”

“I hope so.”

Lynch closed the newspaper app he’d been reading on his tablet computer. “Do you think about him a lot?”

She nodded. Of course she did. She had watched him die only a year before, in the case that had first brought her and Lynch together. Jeff had been abducted during the course of a murder investigation, and Lynch had made her believe she could save him. He was wrong.

“I miss him.” She hesitated. “But not in the way you might think. We’d broken up almost a year and a half before he died. We didn’t have a future together. But even though I never saw him anymore, I liked living in a world with Jeff Stedler in it. Does that make any sense?”

“It does.”

“And the world is somehow sadder without him in it. He was a good person.”

“So are you.” Lynch motioned toward the concourse. “Are we gonna do this?”

She braced herself and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

San Quentin State Penitentiary

Marin County, California

“THERE’S A CROWD UP AHEAD.” Kendra was gazing out the window of the rental van she was sharing with Lynch, Griffin, Metcalf, and Reade. Metcalf was driving, and they had just completed the forty-five-minute drive from the airport. As they approached the penitentiary’s East Gate, they were greeted by the sight of twenty protestors. “They all have anti-death-penalty signs. Are they here for Colby?”

“They’re here for everybody on death row,” Lynch said. “But yes, Colby’s upcoming execution is what brings them here now. There will be hundreds more this weekend. By Monday night, there will be thousands. On both sides of the issue.”

For an instant, those staring eyes were once more with Kendra, haunting her. “Thousands…”

“It’s their right,” Griffin said.

“I know that.” She looked straight ahead and away from the protestors. “Just as it was our right to put that bastard here in the first place.”

After checking in at the gate, they were escorted to a two-story administration building where they soon found themselves in the office of Warden Howard Salazar, a sixtyish Latino man with wire-rimmed spectacles and close-cropped gray beard.

“When people ask what I do for a living, I say I just take meetings about Eric Colby,” Salazar said sourly as he hung up his phone and rose to his feet. “Or answer the phone from journalists about what happened at the last meeting. It’s pretty much all I do these days.”

“Sorry to make you take this one more meeting, Warden.” Griffin shook his hand and introduced him to the team.

“At least you may have a different agenda.” Salazar motioned for them to join him in a seating area beneath a large leaded-glass window. “I’m curious about your agency’s sudden interest in Colby. When law-enforcement officials come to see me about a prisoner this close to his being executed, it usually means he may be responsible for more killings than those for which he was convicted. Are you trying to close some old cases while you can?”

“No, nothing like that. But it is possible there’s some connection between him and a current investigation.”

“I see. Well, we’ve pulled together the information you requested. I hope it will help you.”

Reade leaned forward. “Mr. Salazar … What kind of prisoner has Colby been?”

Salazar shrugged. “From the moment he arrived, he’s been a model prisoner. He keeps to himself, he reads, he writes in his notebooks, and that’s about it.”

“How can you say that?” Kendra said. “I’ve been keeping track of him. I know for a fact that he murdered a man within these walls.”

“Self-defense. Child murderers aren’t treated kindly by the general prison population. Over the years, he’s been targeted a few times, but he’s always been able to take care of himself. One of those attacks involved a sharpened railroad spike that had been smuggled in from a work detail. It happened at the athletic track. During the confrontation, Colby wrested it away from his attacker and almost decapitated him with it. There were plenty of witnesses, two of whom were guards. They testified that it was a clear matter of kill or be killed. Of course, the media just saw ‘Eric Colby’ and ‘decapitate’ in the same sentence, and all those other details receded into the background.”

“Does his family visit him?” Lynch asked.

“He won’t allow it. His parents, sister, and a few other relatives have submitted applications to be included on his visitor list, but he won’t approve them. They tried again just last month. They wanted to see him before the execution. He hasn’t laid eyes on anyone in his family since his trial.”

“So who visits him?” Griffin asked. “Friends? His legal team?”

“You’d know better than I if he actually has any friends. From what I understand, he sees no one from the life he had before he came here. But one of the products of worldwide notoriety is that he gets mail every day and he has a mile-long visitor’s list of people with whom he’s exchanged e-mails. Plus, a lot of television and documentary crews come to interview him. He’s an unrepentant monster, and they just eat that stuff up. As for attorneys, he dismissed his early on. His case would probably be tied up in appeals for the next ten years if he wanted it that way.”

“So he wants to die?” Kendra asked.

“He’s never come out and said that. He has agreed to meet legal representatives provided by anti-death-penalty groups. But each time, he’s sent them away. He says they’re trying to tamper with his legacy.”

“Yes,” Kendra said. “He’s become very philosophical about his crimes. He considers them his life’s work. He thinks he’ll live on through them. He believes that will mean he’ll outlive us all.”

“Like an artist and his paintings,” Reade said thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” Salazar said. “Colby is being interviewed for a British news show right now. But if you’d like to see his cell, I’ll walk over with you.”

“Good,” Griffin said. “I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem.” Salazar headed for the door. “Come along.”

Accompanied by a pair of guards, they followed Salazar out of the administration building and through a tall gate that led to the main detention complex. Two gates later, they entered the East cellblock.

“This is where most of our death-row inmates are housed,” Salazar said. “We classify them as either Grade A or Grade B. If they behave themselves, they’re Grade A and put here. Our more troublesome death-row inmates are classified Grade B and put over in the Security Center. Colby has spent time over there after some of his altercations, but he usually stays here.”

Kendra looked up at the huge, double-sided cellblock. It was five tiers high, with each tier holding about fifty cells on each side. The cell doors were standard-issue prison bars, covered by metal security gates with a diagonal crosshatch pattern.

Salazar pointed to a contraption that looked like a ladder on wheels. A telephone was mounted on its upper surface. “Prisoners have telephone privileges every other day, in the morning and evening. This cart is wheeled in front of their cell, and they can reach through their food port and use the phone.”

Kendra heard dozens of television programs wafting down the cellblock. “They have TVs in their cells?”

“They can, if they want to pay for it. It’s two hundred and fifty dollars as a onetime fee. I don’t believe Colby has ever requested one. Though, as you know, money has never been a problem for him. He was a rich kid who became a rich monster.”

They stopped in front of a ground-floor cell. One of the guards spoke into his walkie-talkie, and the door unlocked with a distinct “thunk.”