Page 62 of Bonded in Death

“No, I’ve got it. It’s right there with Scotland, and we have to time it when we touch base with McNab’s family. It’s, ah…” She checked her wrist unit. “Maybe twelve-thirty-ish. I could be off an hour either way.”

“At night?”

“No, the other way. They’re ahead of us. It’s afternoon there.”

“Stupid, but currently convenient. Start the background checks. Feed them to me as you get them.”

Alone, Eve sat and looked up the prison. It came clear why they called it Five Hells, as it had five buildings. Old stone buildings with guard towers, high walls. Electronic gates and steel doors that looked anachronistic against a place that struck her like it might have held dungeons, torture chambers.

A quick scan of its history told her no dungeons, but they’d had a permanent gallows until the mid-twentieth century.

“Harsh.”

She found the name of the warden, and started her struggle through red tape. After a few redirects, two full scans of her identification, verification of same, she shoved her way through to Nial Meedy.

He looked to her eye as stiff and anal as Summerset, in a black suit, a tightly knotted tie. He had patchy gray hair around a thin, pinched face. Pale blue eyes looked back at her, clearly showing both annoyance and impatience.

“Lieutenant, how can we help the New York Police and Security Department?”

“I need information on an inmate. Conrad Potter, life sentence for various war crimes during the Urban Wars.”

“Our facility houses six hundred and forty-eight inmates, and a number from that era of conflict.”

“At this time, I’m only interested in one. He reportedly died in your facility on November 3, 2056.”

“If you’re implying negligence or malfeasance—”

“I’m not,” she interrupted. “I simply need the details, as they may have some application to a murder investigation in New York.”

“I hardly see any application.”

Yeah, as stiff and anal as Summerset.

“Conrad Potter was responsible for the deaths of two Underground agents, part of a team he worked with during the Urbans era. He was tried and convicted and imprisoned for those crimes and others. Another member of that team was murdered in New York the night before last. I’m primary. The killer left a message which referred back to that era, with the code names of the other agents.”

“I hardly see—”

“I would like information on the man responsible for the deaths of those two agents, as it may apply to the death I’m investigating.

“Got a computer, Mr. Meedy?”

“Certainly.”

“Maybe you could take a minute and look him up. I could, if necessary, go through Homeland, Interpol, MI5 or 6, whichever, but that’s a lot of time and trouble for both of us.”

“One moment, please.”

He snapped it out, then put her in a holding pattern.

Hissing between her teeth, she got up, got more coffee. Sat again. Drank some.

Meedy came back on.

“Your information is correct. Conrad Potter, housed in this facility since August of 2026, died on November third of 2056 from gliomatosis cerebri, previously undetected.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“A brain tumor, Lieutenant. It’s noted in his file he refused any and all cancer vaccines, which is his right. He was found unresponsive in his quarters, taken to our surgery, where he was pronounced. His body was scanned, the tumor—one of extensive growth—discovered.”

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