"Yeah, Ma?" a weak voice said.
"She's here. How're you?"
"Good, so far. It's holding off. Let her come in. Are the kids okay?"
"They're fine. That Game Boy is worth every penny."
"Can I see her? She's there?"
"Right here." Mrs. Cracy put a gentle hand on Nat's elbow and guided her forward.
"Hi, Barb. I'm Nat Greco." She entered the bedroom, feeling completely intrusive.
"Come on in. I'm the Princess of Darkness." Barb Saunders propped herself up on two pillows on a king-size bed, in a formless gray sweatsuit. She finger-raked her short light hair in the darkness. "Mom, you can go. Thanks."
"You need more water, honey?"
"Got plenty." Barb motioned to Nat. "Please, come in. I'd turn on a lamp but I get migraines. I'm trying to hold one off."
"I'm so sorry." Nat entered the room, hovering by the bed as the door closed softly behind her. The bedroom was simply furnished, with an oak chest of drawers on the left wall and a long mirror above it. Photos and a brown jewelry box sat on the dresser, a man's white T-shirt spilled from a plastic hamper onto the shaggy rug, and a child's plastic helicopter lay on its side nearby. A roll of toilet paper sat on the bed and wads of it dotted the floral bedspread. Nat didn't want to think about how long Barb Saunders had been crying. She said, "I hate to bother you today. So soon."
"No, please. You're the only one I wanted to see. As soon as I heard about you, I was praying you'd call." Barb gathered the toilet paper balls and patted the bed beside her. "Would you mind sitting here? My head hurts too much to sit up."
"This is fine. Don't bother yourself." Nat perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. In the dim light she could see the roundish face of a pretty woman, with puffy eyes, maybe blue, and a small, upturned nose that also looked slightly swollen. Her mouth was a Cupid's bow, drawn with grief at the corners. "I'm so sorry about your loss."
"Thanks. Oh . . . boy." Barb's hand went to her forehead, and Nat could see her wincing in the dark, her forehead buckling in apparent pain.
"Are you okay?"
"Hold on. Are you wearing perfume?"
"Yes." Nat didn't have to think. She always wore perfume. Today, her Sarah Jessica Parker.
"Oh no." Barb held her forehead again and eased back onto the pillows.
"What. What is it?"
"Smells like that, they help bring it on."
Your migraine? Oh, no! I'm so sorry." Nat jumped up instantly, backing away. "Maybe this isn't the best time. I can come back."
But I want... to talk to you. I just want to hear how... it was for him, at the end. You were with him, right? At the end? I mean ... the very end?"
"Yes, I was with him." Nat felt stricken, standing off from the bed. Could she do one damn thing right? "Listen, I think I should come back."
Barb let out a low moan, in frustration and pain. "I waited too long to take the Imitrex, and now it's not working."
"This is too much of a strain. Let's not do this now. Let me come back another day. Whenever you want me to. I want to talk to you, too."
"Tomorrow's the viewing, then the funeral. But how about the day after that?"
"Sure, fine." Nat would find the time. She'd be here. The toy helicopter. The widow in pain. Saunders's undershirt still in the hamper. It all hurt, and she hadn't even known the poor man. She backed toward the bedroom door. "I'll come back. It's no problem."
"Get my mom, would you?"
"Sure thing. See you." Nat opened the bedroom door and hurried into the hall.
Relieved, and dismayed, that she had to go.
Chapter 13
Nat and Angus threaded their way to the front door to leave, having gotten Mrs. Cracy upstairs to tend to Barb. The crowd in the living room had grown, and Nat had almost reached the door when she spotted a familiar man among them. At first she couldn't place him, then she flashed on the same face in a different place and time. His brown hair in disarray. His eyes stricken with fear and shock. It was the CO. who had come out of the room where Saunders and the inmate lay dead.
Nat willed the crowded living room back into focus. The CO. was short but brawny, dressed in a blue flannel shirt worn under a black down vest, and he stood near the door with an Asian woman. His wavy brown hair looked as if it had been combed with water, his brown eyes were bracketed by crow's-feet, and he had a faint red bump on his right cheek, near his eye. Angus must have seen him first, because he was already making his way to him. The CO. started to shake his hand, but Angus wrapped him in a bear hug that only caused the man to stiffen. The crowd craned their necks.
Natalie, meet Joe Graf." Angus looked around to Nat, his eyes bright. This man has a right hook you wouldn't believe. He dropped Buford. I mean dropped him."
Nat introduced herself. "I owe you, too, Mr. Graf. Thanks so much for getting me out of there yesterday. I don't know what would have happened without you."
"I was only doin my job." Graf barely smiled, his mouth a tight line, as if he were self-conscious about his teeth. He turned to the petite Asian woman beside him who had a sorrowful expression. "This is my wife, Jai-Wen."
"Pleased to meet you. Sorry it had to be on such a sad day." Nat shook her hand, and the woman murmured a hello in accented English.
Graf shook his head. "I got Ron the job, you know. We worked together eleven years."
"He is our best man." Jai-Wen's eyes shone with a film of fresh tears. She had a tiny black brush of a ponytail and wore a burgundy coat with her jeans and white snow boots. "I can't believe he gone. Me and Barb always worry that something happen to Joe and Ron, and all the husband."
"Let's take this outside," Graf said abruptly. "I need a smoke anyways."
"Great, sure," Angus said, as they said goodbye to Jai-Wen and went outside. They hit the cold air and closed the door behind them. Nat walked down the steps to the snowy front walk, and Angus shoved his hands in his pockets again.
"Cold enough for ya?" Graf reached inside his coat and pulled out a pack of Winstons with a green Bic lighter inside.
"Ten degrees colder than in the city." Angus shifted his feet.
"Always that way." Graf shook a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, blowing a cone of acrid smoke. "Everybody wants to know what happened yesterday. Lotta people 'round here work at the prison. It affects everybody."
"I'm sure," Angus said. "I never thought there'd be a riot there, or what happened to Natalie. I'm lucky you came when you did. I’m bigger than Buford, but I couldn't take him. I tell you, that dude is strong."
"He lifts, is why. Always in the weight room."
"Tell me about it." Angus didn't smile. "I knew he was trouble from the jump. What I don't understand is how he got in my class. He and Donnell, they were never in before. Machik is supposed to send me all the applications and he didn't send me theirs."
"Have to talk to him 'bout that." Graf took another drag, sucking deeply.
Nat wanted to change the subject. "Joe, I want you to know that I wish I could have done more for Ron, and I'm sorry."
"He was just doin his job, that's what gets me. That's what's unfair." Graf shook his head, coughing out a puff of smoke. "Nothin shoulda gone wrong. We were bringin' Upchurch into the office to write him up for weed. Then the siren went off."
Nat remembered, shuddering. The siren. The lockdown. Buford.
"Next thing I know, he pulls a shoe shank, a piece of metal they get outta shoes, and he stabs Ron in the chest." Graf's eyes narrowed to slits against the smoke and sun. "Upchurch was a troublemaker, but I never figured him for a killer. Then he tries to stab me, and we fought, and I was able to turn it on him."
"I'm very sorry," Nat said, shaken.
Graf kept his head down, smoking and saying nothing, and Nat and Angus exchanged quick glances. Suddenly Nat wished she smoked, too. It would get her through this conversation, but then she'd have to die.
Graf cleared his throat and finally raised his head, his flat lips unsmiling
. "Heard you did CPR, Ms. Greco."
"Please, call me Nat. I did. I tried CPR, but there was nothing I could do."
"That your scarf they found on him?”
“Yes. I used it to stop the blood, but it didn't help."
"You tried that, too?" Graf managed a shaky smile. "What'd you think you were doing?"
Nat blinked, surprised at the hostility edging his tone. "God knows. Staunching the blood flow. I learned it in camp."
"Camp?"
"Summer camp." Nat knew how stupid it sounded, but it was true.
"You were with him a long time. I looked behind me, but you weren't there. When I figured out what you were doin', it gave me a little hope." Graf dropped his head, blowing another cone of smoke, and Nat watched it curl up and disappear like a ghost in the cold wind.
"I tried for a long time. He was too far gone."
"I never woulda lef' him if I'd known he was alive."
"Of course you wouldn't." Nat realized that Graf must be feeling the same guilt she did. Asking an identical array of what-ifs. "It doesn’t matter if I tried to save him or you did. Just know that everything was done to save him, and it didn't work."
"Talk is that I lef him to die, but I didn't. I thought he was dead."
"Of course you didn't. I mean, he was dead."
"Nobody thinks you'd do that, Joe," Angus added. "You're a hero. You saved us both."
Graf snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "That isn't the way some people see it."
Angus frowned. "What do you mean?"
"No offense, professor, but I got you two out and lef behind one of my own."
"No, that's not true," Nat interjected. "He was dead, and I came and got you and begged you to go get Angus. You had to go. I mean, I was desperate. If you hadn't gone, Angus would be dead, too."
"That's what I figured." Graf nodded, squinting hard. "I mean, Ron looked dead. The wound was to the heart, direct, which is why I went out. I was kinda in shock when I saw you. You were screamin' that you needed the help, so I went. I didn't think to look back, like you did. I didn't think to listen for his heart. I shoulda."
"I didn't, either," Nat said, trying to make him feel better. She had unwittingly made a fool of Graf, in trying to save Saunders.
"People sayin' he wasn't dead. That he begged you to help him. Not to let him die."
Nat stiffened. Had he heard something? Had the paramedic told him? "No, he didn't. I only went to him because he moaned, but that's it. He didn't say anything to me."
Angus looked over, and his blue eyes telegraphed, Good girl.
"Didn't think so," Graf said flatly, and Angus put a comforting hand on the C.O.'s shoulder.
"Don't work her over, Joe. It's good she was there with him. She tried to save his life."
"Yeah, right. It's good she did what she could." Graf eyed Nat through the smoke. "Sorry. I do thank you, as Ron's best friend, for what you did to save his life."
Nat smiled, relieved. "You're welcome."
"Hope you didn't try to save the nigger that killed him, too."
Whoa. Nat paled, caught unaware.
"There's no call for that," Angus said quickly, but Graf's head snapped around to him.
What do you know about it, professor? What do you know?" Graf pointed at Angus, the half cigarette burning between his fingers. "You come in once a week, kissin their ass, talkin' about their rights. You don't have to take their shit. What do you really know?”
Angus put up his hands grimly. "Don't shoot, Joe. I'm not what's bothering you today."
"You are, too! What about Ron's rights? Huh? What about his rights? Suddenly Graf threw his lit cigarette at Angus, who dodged it reflexively. Nat jumped, and the butt fell to the ground.
Angus pointed a stiff finger at Graf. "I'll cut you a break, Joe, because you're having a bad day. Next time, I won't."
"I'll hold my breath," Graf shot back, but by then Angus had taken Nat by the arm and was hustling her down the driveway toward the street.
When they were out of earshot, Angus asked, "You okay?"
No. "Yes."
"I didn't see that coming."
"Me neither. Maybe he didn't mean it. He's obviously upset."
"No, he's obviously a racist. By the way, how'd it go with the widow?"
"Sort of okay." Nat didn't elaborate. She was too busy running away.
"Good. You mind if we make a stop? It's not far."
"Where?"
"It's not a date," Angus said with a tense smile, and they hurried to the Volvo, where he answered her question.
Chapter 14
The ride to the prison was barely long enough to get the heat going in Nat's car, much less for her and Angus to process Graf's reaction. She pulled up to the white guardhouse, and the same young guard emerged. This time his cap was on straight, and he wore his most official expression.
Nat lowered the window. "Hi, it's Nat Greco and Angus Holt."
"Sorry, we're in lockdown."
"It's me, Jimmy." Angus leaned over to show his face, and the guard's dark eyes widened.
"I heard you got into it, but jeez! What you got there? You get cut, too?"
"No, just a few bruises and a fat lip."
"Bastards! I heard it started over cigarettes. They're animals" Jimmy's eyes flashed with contempt, and his gaze shifted to Nat, then quickly away. She read his mind—I heard you almost got raped—and flushed, unaccountably embarrassed. Jimmy returned to professional mode. "Anyways, sorry, I didn't recognize the car. I gotta ask you guys for ID. I'm on orders. Tryin' to keep out the riffraff, you know."
“I hear you." Angus shifted to get his wallet out of his back pocket, and Nat retrieved her driver's license, then produced them both.
"Hold on. I gotta write down the number, and I don't have a pen on me." Jimmy turned away, muttering, and went back to the guardhouse.
"This joint is jumpin'." Angus eyed the prison in the distance. "No pun."
Nat craned her neck. State police cruisers, a boxy mobile crime lab, and other unmarked black sedans were parked in the driveway, blocking it completely. The parking lot was full. "What's going on, do you think?"
"Evidence gathering, in connection with the murders. They'll take photos, review surveillance tapes, listen to audiotapes, if they have them—though I doubt this place has that kind of hardware."
Jimmy returned with their IDs. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Nat took hers, slid it back in her wallet, and handed Angus his.
"Warden in, Jimmy?" he asked.
"No, he left a while ago."
"How about the deputy warden?"
"Went with him."
"Machik?"
"He's in.”
"Thanks. See ya."
"Hope you feel better," Jimmy said, stepping back from the car. "Botha you."
Nat parked where she could, and they got out and walked up the road. Men in dark overcoats lingered on the icy driveway near the official cars, talking with state police, their hats low on their foreheads. Nat assumed that the men in overcoats were federal marshals because she recognized one as the marshal they'd seen yesterday, in the driver's seat of the sedan. He waved when Nat and Angus approached.
"Nice shiner, Holt," he called out, his voice carrying in the frigid air. "You owe me money."
"What for?" Angus called back.
"I bet you wouldn't get out in one piece, and you did." He laughed, and so did Angus and the other men—everybody but Nat. She could feel her heartbeat speed up the closer she got to the prison.
"I know, right? Who woulda thought?" Angus caught Nat's eye, and his grin vanished. "Gentlemen, this is Natalie Greco, my colleague."
"Good to meet you, Natalie. I'm Edward Sparer." The marshal shook her hand heartily, and then his gaze fell to her Band-Aid. His expression darkened instantly, and she knew he was thinking the same thing as the guard at the gate.
"Where were you guys yesterday when I needed you?" Nat asked lightly, and they laughed, the
tension broken.
"Just glad you're okay," Edward said, smiling. "All's well that ends well, huh? Now, Holt, we don't care about."
"Thanks, honey," Angus said. "So what's the deal? How long they gonna be in lockdown, you know?"