Page 7 of Jon's Helter Skelter Cold Case

Abby abruptly stopped, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the summer sun, and stared hard toward the yard. I stopped as well, not sure what she was looking at, and Jon stopped too. The prison yard had people in it, some of them playing football, others walking around, enjoying being outside. I didn’t see anything nefarious going on, so what had caught her attention?

“Uh, Jon?” Abby’s voice dripped with uncertainty. “I dunno if it’s the light playing tricks on my eyes or what, but…that guy over there? The one leaning against the wall, staring at the ground. I don’t see any guilt lines in him.”

Uh.

Come again?

Jon peered the same direction, shielding his eyes, and—after a taut ten seconds—went “Huh.”

Never a good sound from Jon. “Guys, don’t leave me hanging. What are you seeing?”

“Nothing,” Jon answered, the words coming out slowly while he continued to stare hard. “Nothing at all, and in this place? That’s very much a problem.”

3

Abby was dead right, I didn’t see any guilt lines in the man. Granted, I was somewhat far away, but still, this was a max security prison with a wing that housed psychic prisoners. No one was guiltless in this place. He should be throwing offsomethinglike a neon light.

Not good. Super not good. We had an innocent man in here, and I was damned if I’d leave him.

I did an about-face and went right back in. To hell with whatever we had on schedule after this, it didn’t take precedence over the poor man.

At the front desk, Marge looked surprised to see us again. “Hi, Jon. Forget something?”

“We’ve got a problem,” I told her grimly. “I need the warden.”

“Uh. Oh dear, guards too?”

“Not yet.”

Donovan pitched in over my shoulder, “Nothing of imminent danger, just something problematic.”

Somewhat reassured, she lifted her phone, calling the warden. I bounced impatiently in place while she convinced him to come down. It wasn’t like she could hand me her phone, I’d kill it, so he had to come down in person.

Warden Lopez appeared in a minute flat, an impressive feat considering the size of the prison. His breathing sounded short from speed walking the distance, his heavy gut bouncing with each stride.

“Bane,” Lopez greeted, anxiety running in sparks along his lines. “What the hell?”

I’d known this man for years and had never called for him like this, so he was right to be worried. “Warden, you’ve got a problem. There’s an innocent man in your yard right now. A psychic.”

For a second, both Lopez and Marge stared at me, like they were waiting on the punchline or a “Gotcha!” I could see the confusion swirling in their lines, then the understanding, then theoh shitrealization.

“Which one?” Lopez demanded.

Dammit, it wasn’t like I’d gotten a name. I hadn’t even read the man’s number properly—

Donovan lifted his phone. “This guy.”

See? This was why I had a Donovan. He did brilliant things like taking pictures of people for me. I had no idea when he’d shot it, he’d been so smooth, but he was getting a kiss for it later, regardless.

“Dwayne Evans.”

I was surprised Lopez knew the man off the top of his head. “You know him?”

“His case stands out, since it was disturbing.” Lopez shook his head. “Of course, now I know it was all misjudgment. Dammit, this is going to be hell to undo.”

He wasn’t wrong there. “I want to interview him first.”

“Head to the interview room,” Lopez said, already turning. “I’ll fetch him and meet you there.”

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