by Misty Evans
She’ll ask too many questions; demand answers I don’t want to give. As I punch the security button and try to unlock the door quickly, the strap of my briefcase slides off my shoulder. It whacks the plant sitting just inside the door, nearly toppling it. I snatch the plant and juggle a coffee cup, another creative curse escaping my lips.
“Charlie?” Meg’s voice rings out down the hallway. “Are you okay?”
Of course she knows it’s me. She saw my car in the back parking lot. Escape is futile.
“Fine,” I reply. Time is definitely not on my side today. “Just checking the security alarm.”
I check it on a regular basis, so this won’t raise suspicions. The plant looks a little lopsided and there’s a small bit of dirt on the floor to clean, but I’m not wearing my coffee, so there’s that.
“Are you dodging me?” I turn to find her behind me holding my note. She eyes my briefcase and travel mug.
“What? Of course not.” I point toward the note. “I’m heading to West Virginia about a lead.”
It’s not a lie, exactly, leaving out the specifics of the trip. I watch her face, waiting to see if she believes this is about Miss Jones.
Her jaw sets. She knows I’m not telling the whole truth. “You should wait for JJ. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“JJ?” My pulse picks up. “Why would he go with me to investigate a lead for Juanita Jones?”
Meg balls up the note and throws it at me. “He came by this morning looking for you, and he told me about Mickey Wilson.”
The floor seems to shift under my feet. I’m baffled. Is JJ reading my mind these days?
I share a duplex with my sister, we each have our own side. Meg needs more privacy than I do, but I have more secrets—at least, I think I do—so it suits us well. We’re together almost 24/7, and it works for us, but we need time alone. Besides, she likes to watch public television. Kill me now. I’m more of a Law and Order fan.
My sister senses my confusion, the wheels turning in my head, trying to find a way out of this. “I mentioned our breakthrough to him last night. He said you’d want to talk to Mickey.”
He put two and two together. I’m pissed she told him, but also slightly relieved. At least he isn’t reading my mind. “I wanted to get an early start and didn’t want to bother you. You have things to do here, and Wilson is most likely a dead end.”
She doesn’t argue, just nods once. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“I work well alone.”
All she does is blink, but I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “I meant—“
One hand rises. A stop sign. “I know, Charlie. Going inside a federal prison to talk to a serial killer isn’t my thing. You’re protecting me again, and I appreciate it, but you don’t have to lie. Oh look, JJ just pulled in.”
She gives me an evil smile before turning on her heel and heading back to her office.
I feel like the villain in an old time movie, foiled again.
JJ bangs on the front door, making me jump. I take my time setting my coffee and briefcase on Haley’s desk before letting him in.
He checks his watch, the giant, expensive Rolex that never loses time or dies. “You ready? We’re wheels up in twenty.”
“What are you talking about? I’m headed to Hazelton.”
He grins. “I commandeered a helicopter. I’ll have you there and back in no time.”
Why am I not surprised? JJ has unlimited resources, people who owe him favors. “I’m not spending taxpayer money on this. It’s probably a waste of time.”
“You have to follow every lead, don’t you, Charlie? That’s what I like about you, your thoroughness. Just so happens I need to run an errand to the penitentiary anyway.”
“Is that so?” He’s a slick liar. “In regard to what?”
He taps on his cell and holds the screen for me to see. “I’m on a committee handling the Federal Bureau of Prisons' use of restrictive housing for inmates with mental illness. I need to speak to Warden Delacruz about a couple line items in his audit and bring back files for my boss.”
This man. He makes magic happen and it infuriates me, even when it makes my life easier. “I appreciate the offer but I’m driving.”
JJ shrugs, as it makes no difference to him. “No point in you going at all then. I’ll interview Wilson and be back before you even get there.”
The grip on my coffee cup is getting too tight. I may still end up with stains on my new shoes before this day is over.
Throwing the cup at JJ’s smirking face holds appeal. I restrain myself and look for the silver lining. At least in the helicopter, small talk will stay limited to the case. The noise will require headphones and the pilot will be able to hear anything we say. The quick turnaround is an advantage too. I’ll be home before lunch, and able to at least confirm whether Wilson has anything to do with the two skulls in Meg’s office.
Underneath all of that, I realize I’m slightly relieved I don’t have to go alone. I don’t need JJ with me, but I like the idea that he’ll make the process smoother with Delacruz and be a second pair of ears to listen in on my interview with Wilson. It always helps to have him to bounce ideas off of. JJ is brilliant as well as sexy and annoying. He can frame things in his mind, like cases and criminals, much like I do as a profiler and psychologist. But he always brings new insight to any case I’ve worked.
Meg clears her throat, announcing her presence. “Don’t forget to FaceTime me when you get there.”
“Why?”
“I want to hear what this guy says. Wear your earbud thingy so I can have you ask him questions, if I have any.”
“Why don’t you come along?” JJ asks. “There’s room in the helo, and you can hear what this asshole has to say in person.”
“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 using Institution or Complex.
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 crede
ntials 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, the ker-thunk echoing 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.
For Avery.
Dan swings it open and I follow Charlie inside. The white-haired man is chained to the table, but he angles his rail thin upper body toward us. In the photo Charlie showed me on the ride here, Mickey's hair was dark brown. It must’ve been from years ago because this guy in front of me looks ready for the Early Bird special at the local diner.
This skinny, white-haired old man butchered all those women?
He gives Charlie a long once over. Have I mentioned my sister is beautiful? Her light brunette hair combined with hazel eyes and high cheekbones make her, even at her worst, an absolute stunner. Mickey appreciates this, ogling her with hungry eyes that scream of evil. God only knows what he'd do to her outside these walls.
Protocol aside, no wonder they have him shackled.
"Well," he says, "my lucky day. You're my second visitors, and you're so much more enticing. What do you think, sweetheart? Want to show me your tits?"
And, here we go.
"Knock it off, Mickey." Charlie, ever the cool, professional, offers him her nothing face. The flat-lipped, you're-an-idiot one. "I wasn't willing the last time you asked, what makes you think that's changed?"
His mouth lifts into a half-smile. "Thought you'd take mercy on a locked up old man. Can't blame me for trying."
Um, actually, we can.
Opposite Mickey, there are two chairs tucked under the table. Charlie pulls one out and motions for me to sit. "This is my...associate."
My sister. Always protecting me.
I nod and wait for Charlie to set her briefcase on the floor before sitting down. Once seated, she retrieves the red folder containing case notes and my sketch of Avery. She sets it on the table and takes a second to straighten the folder. As expected, the pause lures Mickey's narrow-eyed and extremely focused gaze. My sister is no dummy. She knows how to work a situation. She also understands the inner-workings of a psychotic mind and right now, a depraved serial killer sits across from her, damned curious about what might be inside.
But Charlie is in no hurry. She sits back and crosses her long legs, placing her hands in her lap. Her interview pose. Casual, but firm.
"I'm working a cold case," she says, her voice direct and unflinching. "I think you might be able to provide background."
The killer's eyebrows hitch. "Background?"
"Yes."
"Like what?"
"Like, you're already going to die in here and we have four women, all young, all blondes, found near the beltway. I think, based on my prior interaction with you, you might know something about these murders."
Go. Charlie.
As usual, she's not taking any guff. She wants answers. So do I.
Mickey lifts a shoulder. "And what? You want me to tell you I killed them so you can provide—what's that word?"
He peers up at the ceiling and makes a humming noise that grates against my already compromised nerves. I know Charlie has a system, a routine, if you will, but this place and man are awful. It's as if someone has opened a valve and every last bit of my energy has drained.
After a full ten seconds, Charlie or no Charlie, I can't stand it anymore. "Closure."
My voice draws his attention and he stares at me. His eyes are a coffee brown dark enough to blur his irises, leaving nothing but two blots of blackness on his face. All is see is death. A shiver runs straight to my heels, but I remain still, refusing to let this filth know he's rattled me.
"Yeah," he says. "Closure."
Charlie waves an elegant hand. "Why not? You're not going anywhere, and it won't cost you anything."
"But maybe it'll get me something."
This we expected. We'd even discussed potential bartering items with JJ. During the conversation, he guided us on reasonable requests versus the hell-no variety.
Charlie maintains her pose, clearly unaffected by the fact she's sitting in front of a serial killer while I’d like to vomit. Given her experience, I'll leave the negotiating to her.
"What do you want?" She asks.
An odd glint fills Mickey's eyes and my stomach twists. I'm no psychologist, but my sister stirs something in him, and it scares the crap out of me.
He leans in a bit and nudges his chin at her. "A look at your tits."
Again with this? For the love of God, if it would get him to admit what he did, I'd show him mine. They're bigger than Charlie's anyway.
I let out a mental sigh and Charlie gives me the side-eye, the one that tells me I'm screwing up her interview. Perhaps that sigh wasn't mental. I sit back and press my lips together, determined to stay quiet and let my sister do her thing.
Flashing her tits at Mickey falls in JJ's hell-no requests, I'm sure. Charlie's as well. "If I recall correctly," she says, "you're a smoker."
"Yeah. No joy in it anymore. Can't get my brand in here. I gotta go with the shit they bring in."
Excellent.
Charlie nods. "How about I have the U.S. District Attorney speak to the warden? Maybe we can get you a couple cartons of your brand."
"Four."
Charlie cocks her head, offers a sultry smile that has that gleam in his eye sparking again. I really wish she wouldn't do that. Prisoner or not, I don't like t
he way he looks at her. As if he'd like to eat her flesh.
"Three," Charlie negotiates.
As much as I understand the unfolding power struggle, it irritates me. We have murdered women to identify and these two are playing games.
"No deal," Mickey says.
Dammit.
I grab the red folder and slide it toward me. Ffffttt, the card stock brushes against the table, the sound snapping the ruin known as my last nerve.
Charlie's head whips in my direction, but I ignore her warning glare. I'm done screwing around. He's toying with us. I flip the folder open and dig through the small stack to the sketch I drew of Avery. Then I slap it in front of Mickey with a thwack that brings another sick smile to his lips. Yes, I've given him the upper hand by letting him see my lack of patience. Honestly, I don't care. I get to walk out of this hellhole while he's stuck.
So, who really has the power here?
Beside me, Charlie finally sets her hands on the table. She appears cool, always the ultimate professional, but I know my sister and I can feel the steam shooting from her pores.
Sorry, sis. I jab my finger against the sketch. "Her."
Mickey glances at the image. "What about her?"
"She's dead. One of the murdered blondes. She fits the profile of your victims. Did you kill this woman?"
8
Charlie
My sister has hijacked my interview with a serial killer.
I want to give her my stop talking face, but that would require I glance at her a third time, and if I do, Mickey will know how frustrated I am. Never let them see you sweat.
"We're waiting, Mickey," I say.
I reach down and pinch Meg's thigh–let me handle this. She flinches slightly, but she knew it was coming so it's no surprise. We used to pinch each other under the dinner table all the time.
I dangle the carrot in front of the killer again. "Answer and I'll get your cigarettes."
