Hunter: A Thriller (8 page)

And sometimes, a death can even do some good.

He approached the body and went through with the rest of the plan.

“He who refuses what is just, gives up everything to him who is armed.”

—
Lucanus
(Marcus
Annaeus
Lucan
)

Pharsalia
(I, 348)

CLAIBOURNE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY
CLAIBOURNE
,
VIRGINIA
Monday, September 8, 9:40 a.m.

“So, tell me again why I’m doing this.”

Susie Copeland spoke so softly that it seemed she was talking to herself. Annie took her eyes off the road long enough to flash a supportive smile.

From the moment Susie had gotten into the car, Annie was concerned about how fragile she looked. She sat stiffly upright in the passenger seat, hands clutched in her lap. No makeup masked the pallor of her skin. Her wine-red hair, every strand, was pulled back and clipped tight behind her head, emphasizing the new sharpness of her cheekbones. She had chosen to wear a conservative navy pantsuit—loose now, given the weight she’d so quickly lost—and Annie also noticed that she kept its jacket buttoned closed, even in here.

“Susie, I never told you to meet with him in the first place. It was your idea. You can still call this whole thing off right now.”

Her companion shook her head. “No. I’m going through with this.”

They had turned off Interstate 95 some time ago, heading west on a two-lane road that crossed miles of barren fields and bleak villages. The sky was a soiled sheet, and darkening clouds clung to the basin rim of the western horizon, like dirty suds.

“Do you really think he asked for this meeting because he’s feeling remorse now?” Annie asked. “Is that what you’re hoping for?”

“No. Not really. But whatever he’s feeling—that’s not the point. This is for
me
. I need to face him.”

“Okay. I’m just not sure I understand why.”

Susie unclenched her hands, inspected the ragged edges of her unpolished nails. “I’m not really sure, either. I guess it’s about control. About taking back control. From
him
.” Her voice had an edge now. “When he—when they had
me—there was nothing I could do. I was powerless. Nothing I said mattered to them. I begged them to stop. But they just slapped me and told me to shut up.”

Susie lifted her eyes toward the road ahead; they appeared to be unfocused—or perhaps focused on things Annie didn’t want to imagine. Her voice now was very soft.

“I thought I was going to die. I was sure they were going to kill us. I—” She stopped. “Well, I guess they did
kill Arthur that night. It just took us both a while to realize it.”

“Susie—”

“No. I’m okay. I guess I was better able to deal with it than he could. Arthur could never forgive himself. For what they did to me. For having to watch and not being able to do anything about it. He felt so helpless. So
worthless.
” She lowered her head. “God, I miss him.”

“I just wish that there was something I could do for you.”

“Oh, Annie, you are. You’ve been here for me through all this. It means so much that you’d take today off just to be with me. I couldn’t possibly do this without you being here.”

Annie reached out, touched the clenched hands. The skin felt cold and dry. Susie looked away, blinking.

There was nothing to say for a while.

When Susie spoke again, it was to change the subject. “So. How’s that mysterious project you’ve been working on, what, six months now?”

“To be honest, not so great.”

Silence.

“I know: If you told me, you’d have to kill me.”

Annie chuckled. “Not quite. Let’s just say it’s been frustrating. I haven’t been able to crack a puzzle we’ve been working on since I got there. We’ve been testing a theory that would explain—something that otherwise just doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been running down leads, but finding nothing but dead ends. Grant is really good about it, he’s a patient guy. But we’re both going a bit nuts.”

“I could tell that whatever it is has been worrying you. Overall, though, do you like your new gig in DCS?”

“Sure do. Grant’s great to work for. He’s— Oh, we’re here.”

*

They had crested a rise in the road, and a small community appeared before them, about a mile away. On this, its eastern side, they were approaching what looked like an industrial park with a water tower and a vast spread of lawn among the buildings. But as they got closer, the reflected glint of the sun raced along the razor wire atop the concentric fences that circled the compound, sparking like twin strings of fireworks.

Annie slowed as they came to an access road that ran from the complex out to the highway. At the intersection stood a sign, raised gray metal letters embedded in a red-brick wall:

Claibourne
Correctional Center

Virginia
Department
of Corrections

Incongruously, a colorful, well-tended bed of flowers surrounded the base of the sign.

Turning onto the road, Annie sensed the sudden tension in her companion. She drove on toward a parking lot in front of a single-story, tan-brick building whose windowless face peeked from behind the security fence. The flags of the
United States
and the
Commonwealth
of
Virginia
stirred on tall poles on either side of the entrance.

She pulled into a diagonal parking spot marked for visitors and turned off the ignition. She heard a long hiss of expelled breath beside her.

“You okay, girlfriend?”

Susie opened her eyes. “Yes.” She unsnapped her seat belt. “Let’s do this.”

Remembering to leave their purses locked in the car, they got out into the harsh sunlight. The pinging
sound of the ropes bouncing against the metal flagpoles tolled in the chilly breeze. They walked toward the shadow of the covered entranceway.

A man sat on a low wall beside the front door. He wore sunglasses, a gray tweed jacket, gray cord slacks, and fashionably low-cut black boots. He stood as they approached, as if he’d been waiting for them.

“Hello again, Susanne.” He removed his sunglasses and smiled. “Dylan Hunter.”

“Oh!” Susie said. “You were at the funeral home. And you wrote that article in the
Inquirer
yesterday.”

“I did. I hope it didn’t upset you in any way. That’s the last thing I would want.”

“No, not at all,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m grateful for what you said. I just can’t tell you
how
grateful, Dylan.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” He turned toward Annie.

“You remember my friend, Annie Woods.”

The eyes—in the sun, an even-more-intense hazel green.

“I certainly do. We meet again—is it Mrs. Woods?”

“Not Mrs. And it’s Annie.” She offered her hand. His—warm, strong, just as she remembered. She felt rattled again. “That article of yours—I read it, too. I was surprised to see your name on it.”
Wrong thing to say
. “I mean, surprised to see your name so soon after we met. What you wrote—it was infuriating.”

“That’s for sure,” Susie said. “I had no idea those two had juvenile records that horrible. That’s not what the prosecutor told me. He said they had no prior convictions.”

“‘Convictions’ don’t tell the whole story,” he said, still holding Annie’s eyes. And hand. He seemed to realize it at the same time she did. He released it and turned to Susie.

“I never would have agreed to those plea deals if I’d known any of that,” she continued. She nodded toward the doors. “I only wish I could find out more about
him.
”

“Me too,” he said. “I heard about your meeting him here today and thought I might tag along. Maybe interview him. But it appears that the Department of Corrections isn’t as pleased with my article as you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just in there,” he said, hooking his thumb toward the door. “They won’t let me back inside. The Corrections Commissioner sent out an email last night to all his state prison wardens, telling them to refuse any of my future interview requests.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“I agree, Susanne. So, I gave them fair warning.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I don’t deal well with rejection.”

They laughed. Annie liked his crooked little smile. His stomach looked tight and flat beneath the dark gray shirt, and his shoulders filled the jacket. A few strands of gray caught the sun at his temples.

“Anyway, some DOC
muckamucks
are waiting for you. Because of the bad press, they seem anxious to make you happy.”

“You mean because of your article. Well, if that’s the case, then maybe I can change their minds about keeping you out.” Susie turned and marched through the automatic doors.

He looked at Annie, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “After you,” he said, sweeping his open palm toward the entrance.

She smiled and went in ahead of him.

Felt his eyes on her as she walked.

*

For the next ten minutes, they argued it out in the lobby with the warden, his deputy superintendent, and the security staff’s shift supervisor. It took an ultimatum from Susie—a threat to leave and go to the news media—before the warden relented and a compromise was reached. Hunter would not be allowed to interview Adrian
Wulfe
or to remain in the same room with Annie and Susie during their meeting; however, he would be permitted to watch the proceedings from behind the glass wall of a side observation room, take notes, and then write about their meeting, if he wished.

After being signed in and issued badges, they passed through the metal detector, underwent a pat-down from corrections officers, then were led through a maze of security checkpoints. Every time they reached a door, their escort signaled a guard who buzzed them into a waiting chamber; the door behind them locked shut; then another door was unlocked in front of them, allowing them to proceed.

Hunter had been through this drill two months ago, at a prison in another state, while researching a story about frivolous inmate lawsuits. “Nothing cheap here,” his young guide had boasted then, eager to show off the lavish array of inmate amenities. Well-stocked law libraries. A modern gym loaded with expensive workout machines. Infirmaries providing free medical and dental care. A building housing inmate organizations, including a drama club that toured local colleges. A music room crammed with electric guitars, keyboards, drums, and amplifiers. In-cell TVs with access to premium cable channels, for inmates willing to pay for them. Classrooms where thugs could take college courses from teachers moonlighting from local campuses.

“What does this prison offer by way of punishment?” he had asked the guide.

The kid frowned and replied: “People are sent here
as
punishment. They’re not sent here
for
punishment.”

So, some predator rapes a woman. His taxpaying victim then pays to house him where he can build his body to be even stronger and more intimidating. Where he can fuel his fantasies with cable-TV porn. Where he learns how to file lawsuits against the very system that’s pampering him....

Today’s escort stopped outside a final door. As they were waiting to be buzzed through, Hunter noticed a memo on a nearby bulletin board. It was signed by
Claibourne’s
policy coordinator:

A third softball field will be made in the West Field in order to allow more inmates to play softball. The horseshoe pits will be temporarily relocated near the miniature golf course. The bocce area will be relocated at the site of the new gym. And the soccer field will be relocated to the East Field behind the softball field.