Page 42 of The Perfect Poise

He was also awaiting a visit from Jessie. She had agreed that she would come to see him periodically, even have him consult on cases, in exchange for retracting the manifesto he’d written calling for the death of all her loved ones.

He’d lived up to his end of the bargain, posting a recantation video that was compelling, and to date, effective. Prior to the release of his video, one of his acolytes had murdered Kat’s fiancé, Mitch, while trying to get to her. Another had attacked Dr. Lemmon in her office. If not for her stun gun, the psychiatrist might not be here today. Since the video was posted online three and a half weeks ago, nothing had happened.

But Jessie hadn’t yet lived up to her end of the deal. She owed him a visit, partly because she’d promised, but mostly because she feared what he might do if he got antsy and decided to have his minions go after those close to her again.

Plus, this was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. She was skeptical that Haddonfield would have anything meaningful to offer about this case. But maybe just talking to a man who got a thrill from ending the lives of innocents would give her new avenues of investigation. It was worth a try.

***

They met in the same conference room where they made the recantation deal just two days before Christmas.

Normally, prisoner visits occurred, as one would expect, in the visiting room, but this was a special situation. Jessie sat on one side of the table. Standing at the doors of the room were two prison guards. Notably, neither of them was the guard who had helped tip off corrupt former cop Hank Costabile to her presence the last time she was here, which nearly led to her death.

That guard was busted, just like Walt Crowley, the desk sergeant at Central Station who had secretly helped organize support for Costabile, when his phone number was found in Costabile’s cell phone.

Across the table from Jessie was Haddonfield. Jessie studied the young man who had at first tried to ruin her life and then end it. Mark Haddonfield still looked much like the college student who had once approached her on the quad at UCLA, asking for an autograph. He was the same tall, skinny, now-twenty-one-year-old with pale skin, curly blond hair and glasses. Yes, he looked harder and more guarded than the college boy, but that was to be expected considering his new home. She noted that his gray eyes still had the same manic energy that she’d first noticed over a year ago.

There were some differences. His skinniness, bordering on gaunt, was only emphasized by his dark blue jail jumpsuit. That curly, blond hair had been cut short and his wire-rimmed glasses had, for security reasons, been replaced by ones with bookish, black, plastic frames.

When he walked in earlier, she noticed that the limp in his left leg, a gift from Hannah when he tried to attack her months ago and she dove into his knee, was almost gone after successful surgery.

But he still had splints on the broken middle finger on his left hand and the broken ring finger on his right, which she suspected came from getting on the bad side of the wrong prisoner. In addition to those old wounds, his right cheekbone was badly bruised, and his left eye was black.

“I was starting to worry that you’d forgotten about me, Ms. Hunt,” he said with a wry smile.

“No,” she replied. “I’ve just been very busy. What happened to your face?”

He rolled his eyes slightly at the question, as if to say that they both knew that the consequences for ratting on the person responsible could be severe.

“I accidentally walked into a bathroom door,” he said drily. “The vagaries of public living, I suppose.”

“And did your fingers walk into that same door?” she wondered.

He stared at her for a few seconds with an expression that suggested he still couldn’t believe she was here.

“For a while there, I was worried you hadn’t visited because they’d gotten to you,” he said, ignoring her question.

“They?”

“Whoever that guard was calling right after the last time we chatted,” he said. “I overheard him and tried to let someone know that you were in danger, but obviously, my resources are limited. I was so happy to see that you had survived.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m surprised you had time to think about me, what with your busy schedule.”

He looked perplexed for a second before grinning.

"Oh, you mean my trial," he said. "Don't worry, just because it got delayed a month doesn't mean I won't be facing lady justice."

“Well, I guess it’s my luck that you aren’t sitting before a jury of your peers just yet because I could use your help,” she said, pulling a manila folder out of her bag and resting it on the table.

Haddonfield beamed at the sight of it.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked excitedly, “our first official case together?”

“I suppose it is.”

“May I?” he asked, pointing at the folder.

“Please,” she said.

---