Freak (7 page)

Jerry looked away before answering. “I would assume she wants to cut a deal before her murder trial starts next month. And she’ll probably want immunity so she can’t be charged with the murders of the women found in Ethan’s basement.”

Sheila felt her mouth fall open. “And you’re okay with this?”

Pulling down the collar of his turtleneck, Jerry showed her his scar. In the fluorescent light of the hallway, it was raw and fat and purple, and much worse than Sheila imagined. She’d only seen it once before, shortly after he’d left the hospital a year earlier, and it pained her to see it didn’t look much better now.
He must pick at it twice a day
, she thought.

“I know how it looks.” Jerry’s voice was strangled. “I know how it looks because I live with it every day. I sound like Marlon Brando when I talk because she permanently damaged my vocal cords.” He let go of his collar. The knit material bounced back, but not all the way. “So in answer to your question, no, I am not okay with any of this. But it’s not about me now, is it? It’s about the women who are turning up dead with her name carved into them.”

He was angry, but Sheila understood it wasn’t directed toward her. She pushed the down button for the elevator.

“Listen,” Jerry said. “Are you really sure about this? Because if Morris—”

“It’s not up for discussion, Jerry.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then a second later snapped it shut.

They stepped into the elevator, Jerry not saying another word, as Sheila knew he wouldn’t. After fifteen years of marriage, he had to know damn well you couldn’t argue with a woman once she’d made up her mind.

ROSEDALE PENITENTIARY WAS
just outside Gig Harbor, about an hour south of Seattle. Sheila and Jerry made the drive in record time, but the stress of facing Abby Maddox had caused Jerry to scratch his throat the entire way. When they finally arrived at the prison, his scar was bleeding and his collar was sagging.

They sat in the parking lot as Jerry changed into a fresh turtleneck he’d been keeping in the backseat. It was hard not to notice how skinny he’d become, all bones and ribs jutting out from his dark skin.

She looked out through the rain-spattered windshield of the Jeep at the building sprawled out before them. She’d never been to a prison before, and Jerry had mentioned it had been a while since he’d had cause to step inside one himself. It wasn’t anything close to what she’d been expecting. Unlike the prisons in
The Shawshank Redemption
and
Escape from Alcatraz
—which were the only prison movies she’d seen—there was nothing theatrical about Rosedale. It might have passed for a high school, if not for the twenty-foot-high fence topped with coiled razor wire surrounding the premises and the guard tower that overlooked the recreation yard.

Was she up for this? Sheila had only been face-to-face with
Abby Maddox once, and that was a long time ago. Abby had come by the psychology building at the university to visit her boyfriend, and Ethan had introduced them briefly. She remembered being struck by the younger woman’s beauty.

Sheila flipped down the visor mirror and dug through her purse for her signature red lipstick. Maybe it was silly, but the lipstick brightened her face, instantly making her feel more empowered. She didn’t want to see Abby Maddox feeling anything less than her best.

They left the Jeep and made their way toward a set of thick double doors painted a gaudy bright blue. The prison lobby, if that’s what it was called, was large and empty. Dark tile on the floors, beige walls, benches, lockers, and vending machines were on one side, and a long counter sat right in the middle with a metal detector beside it. A stern-looking corrections officer, dressed in a starched white uniform shirt with epaulets at the shoulders, nodded as they approached. Her name tag read
SGT. E. BRISCOE.
She didn’t look surprised—or particularly happy—to see them, but Sheila suspected it might just be her face, which seemed stamped with a permanent scowl.

“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

“We’re here to see Abby Maddox,” Jerry said, sounding like a cop. Sheila had to smile.

The CO didn’t blink. “Identification, please.”

Jerry slid his driver’s license across the counter, along with another card Sheila didn’t recognize. Fishing in her oversize purse, Sheila pulled out her driver’s license as well. The corrections officer looked everything over, typed something into the computer, then checked something off on a clipboard sitting next to the monitor.

“Detective Isaac, welcome. I’m Sergeant Briscoe.” The CO stuck her hand out and Jerry shook it. Sheila noticed he didn’t
bother to let the woman know he was technically retired from PD, and therefore no longer a police detective. “Got a weapon on you, sir?”

“Nope.”

“Just to let you know, no cigarettes, no chewing gum, and no cell phones allowed.”

“Didn’t bring any of those, either.”

“Please sign here.” The CO pushed the clipboard toward him and Jerry scrawled his name in the designated spot. Sheila did the same. Passing them a small plastic bin, she said, “Keys, coins, anything with metal. Belt, too.” She glanced at Sheila’s purse and frowned. “Bags go in the lockers, right behind you.”

Sheila headed for the row of metal lockers that resembled the kind you’d find in a train station. Most were already taken, but she found one at the bottom that was free. Extracting the key, she returned to the desk. Jerry was already waiting for her on the other side of the metal detector.

“Go ahead and step through,” the guard said, and Sheila did as she was told. Nothing beeped.

The CO led them down a long, brightly lit hallway. Toward the end were several doors marked
CONFERENCE 1, CONFERENCE 2
, and
CONFERENCE 3
. The guard unlocked Conference 2 and gestured them inside.

“We’re doing it here?” Jerry looked around dubiously. The room was small, no bigger than ten feet by fifteen feet, with a table and chairs in the middle.

“It’s what Seattle PD requested when they called.” The CO pointed to the walls, which were bare. “It’s a conference room, no mikes and no cameras.” She made as if to leave, then paused and turned back. “When they bring Maddox in, do you want her kept in handcuffs?”

Jerry and Sheila exchanged a look. Sheila hadn’t thought about that at all. She personally didn’t feel any fear where Abby Maddox was concerned—anxiety, yes, but not fear—but who knew what Jerry was thinking? The woman had attacked him, after all.

“No, I suppose that won’t be necessary,” Jerry said, but the rasp in his voice was more pronounced.

The guard nodded. “It’ll be a few minutes. She’s in the Close Custody Unit, which is on the other side of the property.”

The CO closed the door and they were alone. There were no windows in this room and it didn’t take long for Sheila to feel claustrophobic.

“Not quite what I expected,” she said.

“Nothing like Alcatraz,” Jerry agreed, and they exchanged a smile.

“What was that other card you handed the guard?” Sheila asked. “Along with your driver’s license?”

“Temporary police consultant ID.” Jerry pulled it out of his pocket so she could look at it. It was a plain, laminated white card with his name and photo, with the Seattle PD logo prominently displayed. She noticed it was set to expire in exactly thirty days. “It’s my all-access pass.” He rubbed his collar again.

“There’s nothing they can give you for the itch?” she said softly.

“Nothing that works,” Jerry said, aggravated. He softened his tone. “It’s usually not that bad. It’s worse when I’m stressed. Like now.” His hand went to his collar and he rubbed against the material gently.

“I’m nervous, too.” Sheila wrung her hands together, feeling warm though the room was cool. “This is definitely not something I planned on doing today. Or ever, for that matter.”

“Sure you’re ready for this?” Jerry was watching her. “It’s not too late to wait outside if you want to change your mind.”

But it was too late. Because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the door unlocked and opened.

And just like that, there she was. Abby Maddox, in the flesh.

The young woman stood just inside the doorway to the conference room, expression serene, eyes a deeper blue than they looked on TV, hair longer. She seemed thinner in her loose-fitting prison-issue uniform, and also older than her twenty-four years, but not for any physical reason. It was the way she carried herself, the way she stood there.

The corrections officer who escorted Abby from her cell—a very handsome man in his early thirties, Sheila couldn’t help but notice—removed her handcuffs.

“I’ll be right outside, sir.” The corrections officer was addressing Jerry. The name on his gold tag read
OFFICER M. CAVANAUGH
. “Just bang on the door when you’re finished.”

“No problem,” Jerry said.

“You’re all right here?” the CO said to Abby.

“I’m good, Mark. Thanks.”

First-name basis with the corrections officer? Was that allowed?
Sheila watched the two of them closely. It was subtle, but anybody really looking could see there was a familiarity between them that extended beyond the inmate/guard relationship. Obviously Abby wasn’t shy about making friends, and Sheila wondered just how deep that friendship went. The CO nodded once more and left the room, shutting the door behind him. It locked automatically.

Abby arranged herself in her chair, taking her time, and Sheila took a moment to study the inmate. Even after a year in prison, the younger woman’s skin was luminous. Shiny
black hair, longer now, spilled over one shoulder. Her eyes, an unusually intense shade of blue-violet, resembled Elizabeth Taylor’s, as did her full, naturally rosy lips. You almost forgot she was dressed in drab gray prison scrubs. It was hard not to stare.

Abby stared back at Sheila openly, her eyes taking in every inch of Sheila’s face. After a moment, Abby finally turned toward Jerry, her gaze lingering at his throat a second longer than necessary.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Her voice was low, husky.

It was unclear whom she was speaking to, so Sheila responded. “I didn’t know you’d been asking to see me. I only just found out.”

Abby nodded, then turned her attention back to the private investigator. He was rubbing his throat through his turtleneck once again. Abby caught the gesture and a small smile turned the corners of her lips. “How’ve you been, Jerry? You look well.”

It was a lie and all three of them knew it. Jerry looked older, skinnier, and more tired than he’d ever looked before Abby Maddox entered his life.

“You look exactly the same,” he said stiffly.

“I appreciate you both making the trip all the way down here.” Abby’s tone was polite. “I’m sure you’re both very busy. I don’t get that many visitors.”

“I’m surprised,” Jerry said. “You’re practically a celebrity. I’m amazed they’re not lining up.”

“My visitor’s list has to be approved by the superintendent. Needless to say, most of the people who request visits don’t get approved. But they obviously made an exception for you two.” Abby smiled. “I heard you were reinstated, Jerry. Or, should I say,
resurrected
.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“The proverbial grapevine. So you’re a police officer again?”

“Nope. I’m just helping out with one investigation.”

“And that’s why you’re here. My lawyer told me this morning you might come. Your cop friend was here earlier.” Abby’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sign of displeasure. “Torrance? What an asshole.”

Sheila looked down to hide a smile.

“You told Detective Torrance you wanted to talk to Dr. Tao.” Jerry’s jaw was clenched. “She’s here now, so talk. Start with the dead bodies with your name on them. I think you know damn well this is just the beginning.”

“I don’t know anything for a fact.”

Jerry sighed and looked at Sheila. Abby had been in the room less than three minutes, and already the private investigator was frustrated.

“Why were you asking for me, Abby?” Sheila forced herself to keep her tone light and open. “Was there something you wanted to discuss with me?”

“There’s quite a bit I’d like to discuss with you, Sheila. But not here, not now. It would be a private conversation.” Abby’s expression was difficult to read. “You were with Ethan when he died. I have so many questions. Best saved for another time.”

Sheila nodded, not exactly sure how to respond. The use of her first name jarred her a little. Certainly Abby wanted some kind of closure; Ethan had been her lover, after all. But Abby was a convicted felon and possible serial killer. Sheila felt her heart harden. She owed this woman nothing.

“Can we cut to the chase?” Jerry’s hoarse voice was strained. “We’re here. I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

“What does anybody in prison want?” Abby’s smile was sad.
“I want to get out of this hellhole. I don’t want this to be my life. They’ve charged me with the murder of Diana St. Clair, and there could be more murder charges coming for the bodies they found in Ethan’s basement if the prosecuting attorney gets her way. There’s a very good chance I’ll die in here.”

“My heart bleeds for you.”

Abby’s smile faded.

Jerry cracked his knuckles. “So let’s focus. What do you know about the body that was found this morning?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Bullshit,” he said, exasperated. Sheila noticed his hands were under the table and his arms were rigid. His scar was probably burning.

As if sensing his internal struggle, Abby’s gaze fixed on his throat again, and this time it stayed there. “Is it bad?” she said softly. “The scar?”

“Bitch, go to hell.”

Abby didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I know what I did to you.”

“You’ve got five more minutes.” Jerry’s words were slow and deliberate. “Either you tell us what you know, or we’re out of here. And once we leave, we’re not coming back.”

Abby’s gaze flickered to Sheila, and then she was focused on Jerry again. “I know you hate me for what I did, but I want you to know that I panicked. Ethan, he . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a good relationship. He wasn’t a good person. I spent eight years of my life with someone who turned out to be a monster.”