Smiling, Abby said, “One sec.”
The CO, an older man by the name of Bush, gripped her arm tighter. “Come on, Maddox, it’s not like you’re being released. You’re just going from one prison to another. Let’s go.”
The gate in front of her buzzed open and Bush led her toward the bus waiting for her. It looked like a school bus, only gray instead of yellow, and it had the words WASHINGTON DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS stenciled in large letters across the side beneath the tinted windows. Abby stepped up into the bus and gave the driver a warm smile. From inside his cage he nodded back.
She sat in the first row right behind him, as the only passenger, and caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. They’d put her in bright orange scrubs this time, protocol when moving from one prison to another. Bush removed her cuffs and took a seat behind her.
Creekside Corrections was technically a minimum security prison, but from what Abby had heard, it wasn’t even really a prison in the traditional sense. She’d overheard a couple of inmates talking about it at chow the other day. She suspected they’d wanted her to.
“Visiting hours are every day from ten to eight p.m., and visitors can hang out with you in the rec room,” the inmate named Delilah had said to her friend. With a name like Delilah, you would have thought she’d be pretty. She was not. “And you can do that new Be Smart program if you’re good, get out of the prison, talk to kids about staying straight. It’s like going to fucking summer camp.”
“Well, shit,” her friend Trix had said. They had both turned and eyeballed Abby, who had continued to eat her lunch at the next table as if she weren’t listening. “What do I gotta do to get moved in there?”
“Get famous.” Delilah’s voice was louder than it needed to be. “Or fuck a guard. Take your pick.” The two women had cackled with laughter.
Yes, Abby supposed now, looking out the window at the long stretch of wild grass racing along beside her, everybody had known about her relationship with Mark. Not that it mattered anymore. He’d provided a valuable service to her by getting her that smartphone, which she’d wiped clean of all messages and emails before leaving it with Celia.
Abby sighed. There’d be no time to relax once she got to Creekside. She needed to get friendly with a CO at the new prison immediately if she was to procure a new phone. It wouldn’t be hard, but it would definitely take some work.
Stay focused, she reminded herself as she looked down at the cars passing by below. She saw faces looking up at the bus curiously, but they couldn’t see her through the dark glass. Stay focused and keep your eyes on the finish line.
So far, the plan was working.
She leaned her head against the window, watching the world go by, looking at the sky and the trees, allowing herself to daydream a little. The hum of the bus was soothing.
“We’re here,” Bush said from behind her as they pulled up to Creekside’s gate. Abby sat up in surprise. It felt like five minutes had passed. “Don’t move until the bus stops. And don’t move while I cuff you. I’d hate to bruise you on your first day in your new home.”
Abby held her wrists out, looking thoughtfully at the building through the bus windows. Home sweet home. If it weren’t for the modest-sized sign across the brick wall that said CREEKSIDE CORRECTIONS CENTER FOR WOMEN, she might have mistaken this building for a library, or something equally benign. There was even a landscaped courtyard at the front with wooden benches, flowers, and trees. A high fence surrounded the back of the property, but that was really the only evidence that this place was a prison.
She was off the bus a moment later and walking toward the gate, which buzzed open immediately. A few steps down a concrete path was another heavy metal door, where they buzzed her into the building.
Intake—also known as the “dirty room” because the inmates hadn’t been searched yet—would take maybe ten minutes. Two guards were waiting for Abby in the dirty room, a petite older woman with a neat graying bob and a clipboard, and a younger female with a crew cut who wore latex gloves.
“I’m Sergeant Roland,” the older one said. “This is Officer Pasco.”
“Abigail Maddox,” Abby said, and they all smiled.
Polite, calm, and respectful all around. They always were at Intake, because they didn’t want you to freak out, as so many did on their first day. It took about a minute to get inked for fingerprints and cheek swabbed for DNA, and then Pasco said, “Open your mouth, please.”
The CO’s gloved fingers felt around inside Abby’s cheek pockets and underneath her tongue, searching for any contraband. “Step into the bathroom, please, and undress.”
Abby stepped into a tiny tiled room with no door, just a toilet against one wall and a shower stall with a thin curtain against the other, and quickly stripped. Lifting her arms up over her head, she turned toward the corrections officer, completely naked.
Pasco’s glance lingered a split second longer than necessary on Abby’s naked breasts, enough for Abby to catch it. She allowed Pasco to see her small smile, letting the woman know she wasn’t offended. Hiding a smile of her own, the young CO gently probed Abby’s armpits, then folded back Abby’s ears. She ran her hands lightly through Abby’s hair.
“Lift your breasts, please.”
Abby placed a hand under each breast and complied.
“Wiggle your toes and lift your heels. Good. Now turn around and bend over, please. Cough twice, then spread your cheeks.”
Again, Abby did as she was instructed.
“Ready for scars, birthmarks, and tattoos?” Officer Pasco directed the question to Sergeant Roland once the physical search was completed.
The older CO nodded and clicked her pen. “Ready when you are.”
All of Abby’s scars were noted on the clipboard. There weren’t many. A small one on her shoulder from where she’d once burned herself with a curling iron. A puckered scar on her arm from where her foster brother had burned her with a lit cigarette when she was sixteen. She’d met Ethan shortly after that incident, and he’d taken a bat to the foster brother’s head when she told him what had happened.
Ethan. She felt a dull ache in her chest whenever she was reminded of him. Would she ever be able to think of him and not feel pain?
Abby only had one tattoo, and it was a purple butterfly at the base of her neck. In the body of the butterfly were the initials E.W. Lifting her hair, she waited patiently as Pasco snapped a photo.
“All right,” Officer Pasco said. “Take a shower. Please wear the shower shoes and shampoo your hair.”
Ten minutes later Abby was dressed in her prison issues—blue this time, much better than Rosedale’s gray—and was led down the hall. Creekside seemed brighter than Rosedale, and a fellow inmate actually smiled at her as she passed.
A moment later Abby was seated in front of a round, soft-spoken black woman named Alicia Elkes, who was the superintendent of the prison. This was technically Abby’s orientation. She listened politely as the superintendent gave a speech she had obviously given a hundred times before.
“We have just over two hundred offenders here, and we’re nearly at capacity. That should give you some idea of how small this place is compared to the facility you just came from.” Elkes’s voice was soothing, almost musical. Abby thought of it as the “It’s the first day of your sentence here and I don’t want you to lose it” voice.
“Seems quite intimate,” Abby said.
The superintendent smiled, her cocoa eyes searching Abby’s face closely. “Not much gets by me. I have personally met and spoken to every single offender in my facility, several times, and I expect that over the next eight years of your stay here, you and I will get to know each other quite well.”
“It won’t be eight years.” Abby returned the smile. “I plan to be on my best behavior. I want to be out in the real world in three.”
“Good to hear.” Elkes consulted the paperwork in front of her. “You have been assigned a cellmate, whom you’ll meet shortly. We
don’t have many single cells here, but you might be able to earn one, in time, with good behavior. Another change you’ll find is that the cells are dry. Your showers, toilets, and sinks will be down the hall from your cell.”
Abby nodded.
“Everybody who comes here starts working in the kitchen,” Elkes continued, “so that’s where you’ll be until we decide whether you might benefit from a different kind of job.” The superintendent glanced down at Abby’s file again. “I see you have a bachelor’s degree. In what, may I ask?”
“Applied mathematics.”
“And you were pursuing graduate studies?”
“Yes. In combinatorics and optimization. I’m almost finished, just three courses shy.”
Elkes smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t say I even know what that is, but it certainly sounds impressive. What did you plan to do with your degree?”
“Teach.” It was the standard answer Abby gave everybody who asked. But the truth was, she had never really thought about it. She’d stayed in school to stay close to Ethan.
“Perhaps you could finish your master’s in here. And we have a serious need for tutors, especially in the math area. I see you worked as a tutor at Rosedale. Your experience would be most welcome.”
Inwardly, Abby shuddered. Tutoring inmates for their high school equivalencies had been torture, and she had no intention of doing that again here. “I definitely enjoy teaching.”
“I have to admit, Miss Maddox, that I initially was not very happy when they told me you were transferring here.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Elkes’s gaze stayed on Abby’s face. “Allow me to share my concerns. You’re not here because of your stellar behavior at a higher-security facility, as most transferred offenders are, nor are you here because you were convicted of a nonviolent crime. On the contrary, you’re here because you were convicted of a very violent crime, but you managed to cut a deal with the prosecuting attorney in exchange for helping in the arrest of a serial killer. I have to tell you, it all leaves a very bad taste in my mouth.”
Abby’s instincts told her it was time to shut up.
“I should warn you that I am extremely intolerant of anyone or anything who might disrupt the harmony I’ve personally worked very hard to achieve here over the past ten years I’ve been superintendent. Creekside is a nice place, but don’t let its looks fool you, Miss Maddox. It’s nice for a reason, and that reason is me. I’m the head of this facility, and I run a very tight ship. Make no mistake, we are still a prison.”
“I understand,” Abby said again.
“I hope so,” Elkes said. “Because I’m quite concerned that your notoriety will cause problems. I saw your interview on The Pulse, and I know you’re quite the celebrity on the outside. In here, though, you are Offender 42891. I will not approve requests for reporters to visit you frequently. This is a safe, quiet environment, and I plan to keep it that way. Can I expect your full cooperation?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Glad to hear it. If you treat me, your COs, and your fellow offenders with respect, we will certainly treat you the same, and your time here will be very easy. Respect is the only real currency here, Miss Maddox.”
Abby wondered if the woman had that last line knitted on a pillow somewhere at home.
Elkes skimmed over the rest of Abby’s file, then closed the manila folder and placed her hands on top of it. Her long, perfectly polished coral nails gleamed against her dark fingers. “So tell me, Miss Maddox. What do you hope to get out of your time here?”
Abby knew this question was coming, and she was ready with her answer.
“To grow, mature, and better myself. And to help others learn from my mistakes.” Abby cleared her throat. “Actually, ma’am, I’m quite interested in participating in the Be Smart program. I think I’d be a great asset.”
“You want to talk to high school students?” The superintendent was surprised. The Be Smart program was relatively new, and it had inmates traveling in supervised groups to different high schools across the state, talking to kids about the importance of making the right choices and the consequences of making bad ones.
Abby nodded. “Yes. I know the program is in its pilot year, and that you’ve had difficulty getting funding. I think having me on board with my . . . notoriety, as you put it, could actually help you spotlight the program.”
The superintendent appraised her. “I suppose it could. I do have an opening that needs to be filled quickly, so I’ll consider it.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Okay.” Elkes clapped her manicured hands together and then pressed a button beside her. “Now that that’s all out of the way, I’ll have a guard show you to your cell. You’ll start working in the kitchen tomorrow. But for the rest of today, you’re welcome to wander around the facility and figure out where things are. Don’t hesitate to ask the staff anything you need to know.”
“Am I allowed any visitors this afternoon?”
Elkes looked surprised. She checked her watch. It was only three-thirty. “I suppose so. Visiting hours go till eight. If their requests are in the system, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Abby smiled sweetly. “Super.”
A female guard who introduced herself as Officer Perez showed Abby out. No handcuffs—she simply escorted Maddox outside and across an inner courtyard, also landscaped with trees and flowers. It wasn’t long before Abby was in her new cell, alone. Her cellmate, Officer Perez informed her, would be at work until four-thirty.
Abby sat on the bed and looked around. The cell was a little larger than the one she’d had before, and it was clear her new celly liked to read fiction. Paperbacks of John Grisham, Jeffery Deaver, and Stephen King were stacked on the shelves. Maybe the celly would let her read some of them. Not that she planned to be here long.
The intercom buzzed, startling her, and a second later a voice floated into her cell. “Maddox, you have a visitor. You may head to the visitors’ center.”
Abby stood near the intercom. “Can you tell me where that is?”
A pause and then, “I’ll escort you. Meet me at the doors.”
Officer Perez was waiting for her at the entrance to the tier. “Popular girl,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Been here ten minutes and already someone’s here to see you.”
Abby smiled. Right on schedule. Her heart raced in anticipation.
She followed the guard down a long length of hallway, unable to help the bounce in her step. In a strange way this place reminded her of the math building at Puget Sound State—not very big, and very easy to navigate.
A shiver went through Abby’s body as they passed through the double doors and into the secure visitors’ center. The room was large and it resembled a college dormitory recreation room, with a few TVs, a couple of pool tables, several large sofas, and toward the back, several tables for sitting, eating, and conversation.
The CO turned to face her. “Since this is your first day, here’s a quick rundown of the rules. You can hold hands. Any other form of touching—including kissing—can’t last longer than five seconds. At no time are you allowed to exchange any objects other than photographs. There are cameras here and here,” she said, indicating several cameras mounted to the ceiling, “plus there are guards in here at all times. We clear?”
“Clear,” Abby said firmly.
“Have a nice time. You have until eight o’clock.”
Abby stepped around the guard and walked purposefully through the room, ignoring the stares and whispers from her new fellow inmates and their guests. Her reputation had obviously preceded her, but she was used to it. Her visitor was waiting for her by the far window, and Abby smiled, her heart beating faster than it had in a long time.
Their embrace lasted the entire five seconds.
“God, it’s good to see you,” Abby whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Everything is in place.” Warm breath caresse
d her ear. “Soon, baby. Soon.”
chapter 30
JERRY’S RELIEF AT the investigation being over had lasted exactly one week. One measly week of reprieve, and here he was again. He cursed himself silently for not turning in his police consultant’s ID immediately. It was now clipped to his pocket, but it had definitely lost all its appeal.
The body had been found at the Seabreeze Motel off Highway 99 that morning, only a few blocks down from the Perfect Peach. Not quite the same price point as the boutique hotels the previous victims had been found in. Except for the zip tie and the carvings, everything about this crime scene was weird, including the not-so-tiny fact that Jack the Zipper was locked up and couldn’t possibly have committed this murder. As Danny would have put it, what the hell, dude?
Jerry looked down at the woman splayed out on the bed and was dismayed to realize that he was getting used to being around dead bodies. When Torrance had called him to the first crime scene—jeez, had that only been a couple of weeks ago?—he’d almost been sick to his stomach, but now, they were all beginning to blur into one another.
Torrance paced the room, thinking out loud. “This doesn’t make sense. Jeremiah Blake is in prison.”
“I told you we might have the wrong guy,” Jerry said.
“Fuck that. No.” Torrance shot him a look. “We have the right guy. I know we do. All the evidence points to that freak Blake. This is somebody else. The question is, why?”
Jerry had no answer.
His former partner stepped closer to the bed and frowned at the body. “Dark hair, naked from the waist up, zip tie around her throat, ‘Free Abby Maddox’ carved into her back. Okay, all of that is consistent with the rest of them. But this one’s older, in her thirties. Plus the carpet”—he gestured to the floor, where bloodstains trailed from the door to the bed—“tells us that she was killed somewhere else and brought here.”
“So then it’s a copycat.” Jerry shrugged. “Somebody wanted this woman dead for completely separate reasons and used Blake’s MO to cover it up.”