Besides, then I’d be sitting beside the other prisoner, Maddy Stryker, and she scared the bejesus out of me.
And I’d met Jesus once. Nice guy.
So the three invisible souls plus Theresa Mudders all crammed on one side of the van, while the two accused murders sat facing us.
Up front, the radio played a forgotten song as an unseen driver ferried us toward the highway.
Predictably, Conrad began his litany of lies and self-pity, now directed at Theresa. Unlike the detective who had ignored Conrad’s monologue during the drive from the office to the precinct, Theresa remained focused on Conrad, nodding and commiserating in all the right places. Did some of Conrad’s Deal powers linger or was he just really good at gaining sympathy?
He’d certainly played those reporters like a lyre.
The drive through rush-hour traffic to the small city of Milton, where Vanier was located, took forever. Traffic on the 401 grew heavy and aggressive. We’d stop to let one car in only to have three more jam their way in front of us. The words Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services printed on the side of the van didn’t earn us any special treatment.
Tired of being jostled on the hard metal bench (now those cheeks were burning, as well), I was about to push through the metal mesh to the more comfortable passenger seat up front near the driver when Maddy Stryker suddenly struck.
Like Conrad, both her hands and feet were chained to a big D-ring welded to the floor of the van so her only remaining weapon was her head. She head-butted Conrad’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways before his own chains reined him in. That had to hurt.
We’d all jumped at the sudden attack, but Theresa quickly regained her composure. “Now, Maddy, that wasn’t necessary. Why did we feel compelled to assault Shannon?”
Theresa reminded me of the shrink my aunt took me to after my parents died. I hadn’t gone very often, but I remembered the infinite patience with which the doctor had asked me questions.
I hadn’t been inclined to answer either.
Conrad struggled upright again while Theresa waited.
“She talks too much,” Maddy eventually replied, jerking her head toward Conrad.
He cowered at the movement, pulling his hands up as far as they’d go. Raw looking flesh peeked out from beneath Shannon’s jacket. Her—his wrists looked red and in one place, a fine crease of blood paralleled the thin plastic cuffs. Handy if he needed to sign anything.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Conrad remained silent for the rest of the drive but I could tell the wheels were spinning. Could he access Shannon’s thoughts, memories or feelings?
Or morals. Maybe he’d catch something—like a severe case of remorse—and return Shannon’s body to its rightful owner.
But if that were going to happen, it didn’t happen during our ride to Milton.
Finally, we pulled into a bleak expanse of property. As expected, fences, razor wire, and locks figured heavily into the landscaping. Once inside, the big gates clanged shut and the van drove up to a prisoner loading and unloading dock. Two new guards supervised, hands resting on stun guns as Theresa unchained first Conrad, then Maddy from the van. They remained cuffed as they were led through the facility by guards.
We passed occupied cells as we all trooped along the uniformly gray corridors. A few inmates eyed the new prisoners, but nobody called out threats or insults or promised to make either of them their bitch. One older guard welcomed Maddy back. Maddy ignored the sarcastic greeting.
So much for prison drama. I don’t think we’re in Oz anymore.
Maddy and Conrad were assigned a cell together and locked in. Once inside, a guard requested first one and then the other to stick their hands through the bars so that their plastic cuffs could be clipped off. Another guard stood by, stun gun at the ready. I figured it was to keep either prisoner from attempting to grab the heavy-duty cutters. Neither woman tried. After double-checking the lock, the guards departed.
“Top bunk’s mine, bitch,” Maddy announced, vaulting up.
Conrad gusted out the sigh of the long-suffering, muttering under his breath about lawyers and lawsuits. He plopped down on the lower bunk, old springs creaking under Shannon’s 130 pounds. Oh, sure. She’ll tell you she’s 125 . . .
“And shut the fuck up,” Maddy added, making herself comfortable on her chosen bed.
Conrad puffed up and for a moment, the ghostly outline of his demonic form hovered over Shannon’s body. But he bit his stolen tongue and punched the saggy gray pillow instead.
I released the breath I’d been holding out of habit; the breathing, not the holding.
“Dante,” I whispered. As if anyone other than Shannon could have heard me. “Stick close in case you have to materialize. In fact, maybe you better teach me how to show myself and move stuff right now.”
Dante stared at me as if I were speaking another language. Oh, I guess I was. Our scythes carried a universal translator microchip so we could understand each other and the souls we came for. Mostly. Had mine failed this time? I thwacked my scythe on the palm of my hand then held it to my ear. I couldn’t hear any ticking, but then it hadn’t ticked before I’d thwacked it.
“Now, Kirsty? This certainly isn’t the time nor the—”
“Dante. Much as I’d love to see Conrad punished, that’s Shannon’s body and we need to keep it safe and whole.”
His eyes opened and so did his mouth. But then he closed it again and nodded. “You are right. If Shannon gets her body back, it should not be harmed.”
“When, Dante. Not if.”
He nodded again although it didn’t ring with commitment. I could tell he was humoring me. We hunkered down to wait for whatever came next.
The two newcomers had missed dinner, so trays were delivered to their cell. Maddy demanded the meat off Conrad’s tray. He looked like he might protest, but again, he backed down, although whether wisdom was the better part of valor or the better part of not eating those greasy gray chunks, I couldn’t tell.
They hadn’t been issued uniforms or nightclothes, so Conrad washed out his panty hose in the sink, carefully hung up his suit as best he could without hangers and lay down in his bra and panties.
I glanced over at Dante to see if he were ogling the seminaked female body, but he’d turned his back and was examining the vacant cell across the way. Whoever had been in there before had really trashed it.
Conrad tossed and turned in his bunk. I doubted he would sleep at all and I was glad that while on the Coil, Reapers were free of such bodily functions as eating, sleeping or visiting the little Reaper’s room. The three of us—Dante, Shannon and me—watched over him all night, tensing every time Maddy moved in her sleep.
Surely we were the strangest flock of guardian angels in the history of the Coil.
Chapter 9
It Ain’t Docket Science
THE NEXT DAY began with Conrad and his cellmate being brought breakfast trays. Maddy promptly redistributed Conrad’s breakfast to her own advantage.
Then Maddy harassed Conrad while he dressed, calling him names and at one point, spitting on Shannon’s silk shirt.
To his credit, Conrad kept his head down and fought his way into the unfamiliar panty hose. Maddy tossed one of Shannon’s shoes toward the toilet, but Dante was able to deflect it, making it look like a failed basketball shot.
I so needed to learn to do that.
Then we all shuffled off to the prisoner loading dock. Once again Theresa Mudders accompanied them, perky and compassionate as ever. She even asked their permission to study during the long drive to the courthouse. She informed them she was taking night classes, but she dropped the subject and opened the book when it became obvious neither prisoner was interested in anything outside of themselves and their immediate circumstances.
My mind drifted and I wished for a distraction when Conrad suddenly asked, “What are you studying?”
Theresa wasn’t as shocked as I was. Instead of gaping as I was doing at his apparent interest in someone other than himself, she smiled at him, marked her place and closed her book. “Social work,” she answered, seemingly not at all bothered that she’d told him that not ten minutes before.
She held the book up so he could see the title. It was the same massive text Shannon had lugged around during her final year of undergrad. Putting the “work” in “social work,” I’d teased her. I glanced over at Shannon now, but she stared unseeingly at her feet.
That, if anything, told me how worried and depressed she’d become. Only a year ago, the mere mention of social work would have grabbed her attention, eyes gleaming and brain humming. She’d been so passionate about her chosen field of study that she could almost make it sound interesting.
As Theresa seemed to be doing now.
“Ah,” Conrad nodded, returning her smile. “My daughter was studying—I mean, I was studying social work at one point before I, well, before my wonderful father convinced me that my place was alongside him, working in his successful public relations business.”
“That must have been hard for you. Social work is a calling and to give that up to work in the family business . . . I admire your sense of responsibility.”
Conrad nodded, a thoughtful expression on Shannon’s face. Perhaps he’d never looked at it that way before.
“But Detective Leo said you weren’t interested in working in that business. Was that true?”
“That was misinformation. I love public relations. Besides, my father needed me.” He shrugged. “It was no hardship.”
I glanced over at Shannon again. This time she was listening. “Yes, it was, you bastard,” she snarled, her features dark and angry. “I wanted to go back and finish my master’s, but you always had one more project that needed my special touch, one more client who would only work with me.”
I hated to see Shannon this upset, but I was glad to see her finally understand what a selfish and manipulative creep her father had been. Was. Is.
She stood a little taller now. Well, sat a little taller, actually, as we bounced along in the prisoner transport van.
I knew Conrad had never been supportive of Shannon’s desire to help people. She’d had to fight him to enroll in social work at university instead of business.
Even though I had agreed with Conrad and really wanted my best friend to work with me all the time instead of just during her summer breaks, I had kept that to myself and encouraged her to pursue her dreams. That’s what you do for the people you love, not trick them into doing what you want them to do.
“Besides,” Conrad added, “children should sacrifice for their parents.”
“Oh,” Theresa replied. “I’d always heard it was the other way ’round.”
Behind me I heard gagging sounds and looked over to see Shannon fake-sticking her finger down her throat and rolling her eyes. I couldn’t have agreed more without actually puking.
Theresa placed the heavy textbook on the bench beside her while she and Conrad chatted. She probably thought he needed to take his mind off things. I figured he was just winning friends and influencing people in case he might need her on his side later.
We arrived at the courthouse to find the steps thronged with media, even more than had lain in wait for us at the precinct last night. Someone was leaking info to the press and I guessed it was Conrad’s lawyer, Gill Hammerhead. It was exactly the sort of career-building tactic he’d use to get noticed. The fact that he strolled among the reporters, shaking hands, slapping backs and getting on camera only supported my supposition.
Even over the noise of the crowd, I heard him chant, “If the stapler don’t fingerprint, the judge must acquit.” Jeez. That was so bad it made Dante’s poems sound like, well, poetry.
Conrad grabbed a passing microphone and repeated yesterday’s performance. He had his “I’m so innocent it hurts” speech down pat now. The crowd ate it up. And wrote it down.
Theresa and the other guard began pushing their charges through the press of press toward the courthouse. Theresa managed to be firm but polite to those reporters who got all up in her face. I didn’t envy her the task of coming between Conrad and his audience.
Finally we all made it to the hallway outside the courtroom. Once again, cold, hard benches played a key role in my life.
Before very long, Conrad’s name was called by the bailiff or court clerk or some official I couldn’t identify. We all shuffled into the courtroom. A few bored-looking men and women who were probably reporters occupied the seats nearest the door.
Conrad was asked to stand while Judge Wilson, complete with dark robe, little white collar and bright red sash, oversaw proceedings. The court clerk read the charges. I worked hard to parse the legal language and twisty wording. It hurt my head, but I gathered Shannon was being charged with only a single crime—that of my murder.
Some legal stuff went back and forth between the Crown prosecutor and Gill Hammerhead. At the judge’s request, Conrad launched into a shorter version of his speech of innocence. By this point, it rolled off his tongue like so much saliva. It brought tears to my eyes and bile to my throat. After having heard it four or five times now, I almost believed it.
The judge presiding didn’t look like she believed much of anything. If you’d told her water was wet, you’d better have some pretty significant—and damp—evidence to support that fact.
She reminded me of Judge Julius back in Hell. If Julius had been black, svelte and attractive. Oh, and also? Human. With less horns, toupees and caterpillars. No, after careful consideration, I decided the Right Honorable Judge Wilson was nothing like Hell’s judge.
In fact, the only way that she reminded me of the judge who’d denied my appeal was that she was all business. Conrad’s plea fell on ears that had heard it all before.
She whipped off her designer glasses and peered over at Conrad. Shannon’s business suit looked a lot worse for wear and I won’t even mention the state of her hair. Shannon had had a lifetime to learn how to manage her shoulder-length brown hair. Conrad? Only twelve hours. What had been an artfully messy bun yesterday was just plain messy today.
“Shannon Rebecca Iver. First off, the Court offers its condolences on the recent loss of your father.”
“My father? He died years a—Oh, I mean, thank you, Your Honor.”
The judge cut him a suspicious look. She knew something was up, but not what. But we needed her to trust Conrad. He’d better work hard to win the judge’s favor so she would set Shannon free and we could get on with trying to bust Conrad down to Hell.
“As pointed out by the Crown, you have no other family.” The judge rustled through her notes. “And, according to the testimony of your colleagues gathered by Detective Leo, you have no friends. In separate testimony from one . . .” She peered over her glasses, running a finger across the page. “Ah, here it is. According to your employee Francesca Tick, you aren’t interested in running the business you inherited. In summary, you have the means, motive and opportunity to get out of town. To wit, I consider you a flight risk. Bail is hereby denied.”
A collective gasp ran through the courtroom.
“But Judge,” Gill Hammerhead jumped in. “My client has no history—”
“I’m not finished, Counsel. If I was, I would have called the next case, now wouldn’t I?” Hammerhead withered under her glare. “However, I do have a special, one-time-only offer for you.”
The entire courtroom sat forward in anticipation. This was like Judge Judy and Let’s Make a Deal all rolled into one.
“I’ve had a cancellatio
n on my docket for day after tomorrow. The parties involved decided to settle out of court. Now, can you, Mr. Hammerhead, be ready for your preliminary hearing by then? If you choose not to accept my generous offer, then your client will be incarcerated until the next opening in the court’s docket, which won’t be more than . . .” She nodded at the court clerk, who appeared to have been expecting this.
“Not more than six months, Your Honor.”
“Six months,” Judge Wilson repeated. “I’ll give you one minute to confer with your client.”
Hammerhead and Conrad whispered together only seconds before responding. “We’ll take the offer, Your Honor, because we are so sure that you will rule in favor of my client’s innocence that—”
“Save it, Counsel, or you won’t have anything left to say at the hearing.”
With that, she did call the next case.
Getting rid of the media circus that accompanied our visits probably had something to do with Conrad scoring a speedy hearing date. It wasn’t like Judge Wilson appeared to have warmed up to him.
We had to wait for Maddy’s arraignment before we could head back to Vanier prison. Conrad and Theresa, followed by Shannon and Dante, filed back out into the hall to wait. I had spent more than enough awkward silence with them, so I hung around to see what was up with our resident murderer.
Maddy didn’t have a lawyer so the Court had appointed her a young, caring, legal aid worker. The universal translator in my scythe wasn’t much good when it came to understanding the legalese, though. Near as I could figure, Maddy had strangled someone during a bar brawl. Nice. Classy.
She had chosen to plead self-defense, which the courts called “guilty with an explanation.” Or maybe “guilty with an excuse.” I wasn’t paying that much attention. It’s not like I wanted her set free. Unlike Conrad, Maddy was granted bail—a huge sum she had no hope of raising.
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