Page 13 of 1st Shock
“What?” I nearly come out of my shoes. “Meg hates this kind of stuff. It makes her sick.”
“Yes, it does.” She nods, but I see a light in her eyes. “But I just might take you up on the offer, Mr. U.S. Attorney.”
“No.” I pull myself up to my full height. “Meg, this is way out of your comfort zone. Way out of your skill set.”
“Either I go, or I stay here and make myself crazy working on reconstructions.” She gives me a look that says it all. If I don’t want to worry about her obsessing here, I’ll have to take her with me. “At least if I go, I’ll get out of the office and feel like I’m accomplishing something.”
I sigh. Arguing with her is a waste of time. Ditto JJ. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll do my best with this guy, but this could be a crazy lead that doesn’t pan out.”
My sister walks up to me, removing the watch from her wrist and handing it over. “You wouldn’t be heading to that prison if you didn’t believe there’s value in it. I’ll go too, and we’ll keep each other balanced.”
The metal of her watch is still warm from her skin as I slip it on my wrist. Time is definitely not on my side, but my sister is, and the hope I see in her eyes is all I need.
I turn to JJ. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
His grin broadens and he rushes us out the door.
7
Meg
Prisons give me the creeps.
I realize I'm not special in this regard, but I remind myself of that little factoid as our driver pulls through the gate of Hazelton Penitentiary, a maximum security facility that doesn't feel the need to soften the name by usingInstitutionorComplex.
It’s a prison, through and through. Complete with coiled barbed wire on top of high fences and a guarded surveillance tower that reminds occupants their every move is monitored.
Every.
Move.
The driver leaves us at the entrance where we enter a brick building and are met by an officer waiting behind sealed glass. Before we arrived, JJ gave us the rundown, so I know it’s bulletproof. The thought closes in on me, leaves me aching to turn around and stick my head out the door for fresh air. Like I said, prisons give me the creeps. Our credentials are checked, and we’re given visitors passes before being escorted down a long hallway where a guard opens a steel gate. We’re searched and our briefcases scanned by a metal detector. It's airport security on steroids here.
Once we're cleared, I take up the rear and follow Charlie, JJ, and yet another guard through yet another set of steel doors. The guard, Dan, according to his name tag, is a big guy. Maybe six feet with broad shoulders and a cocky walk that’s probably more survival than representation of his personality. When spending five days a week with homicidal maniacs, a commanding presence would be a requirement.
The long, white-walled hallway carries a stench of staleness. As if fresh air hasn't made its way through since the day the building was enclosed. Which, in fact, it probably hadn't. Prisons, after all, weren't meant to be pleasant, breathable places.
We’re ushered through a heavy door that swings closed behind us, theker-thunkechoing throughout the corridor. The further we go into the bowels of the building, the more my nerves jump. My shoulders are already bunched nearly to my ears and I grit my teeth. It's simply not a natural state. More than that, I hate the weakness that comes with the absolute shredding of my nervous system because I'm somewhere I despise.
Prisons and hospitals. Not good places.
The three of us remain quiet, dutifully following our escort through another maze of hallways and solid steel doors until he finally stops.
Before unlocking the door, Dan turns to us. "We've got him in there already."
Judging by the creases in his skin, he can't be more than forty, but for the first time, I notice his hair is already graying. Another result of the job, I'm sure.
"I'll wait out here," JJ says.
We discussed this on the ride over. Three visitors would be overkill. Plus, Charlie intended on getting information from Mickey regarding four unsolved murders. Having our very own United States District Attorney present might give our interviewee a case of locked lips.
Dan nods then turns his attention to Charlie and me. "We'll be right here. Mickey isn't usually a problem, but he's shackled for your safety. While you're in there, the door will be unlocked. When you're ready come out."
"Thank you," Charlie says. "We shouldn't be long. If he's not forthcoming, we won't be staying."
Dan shoves his key into the lock, and I steady myself. Unlike my sister, I haven't spent a lot of time with cold-blooded killers. I don't have the constitution for it. The few times I've been forced to be in the presence of animals like Mickey Wilson, I seem to absorb their rancid energy and it puts me in a funk for days. It's as if they attach themselves and I can't shake them loose.
Which is why I usually leave this stuff to Charlie. This time though, I wanted to see this man. Look him straight in the eye. For Emily.
