Freak (13 page)

He checked his phone and saw that he had a missed call. Morris. After bringing Sheila with him to the prison yesterday, he wasn’t sure he wanted to check the voice mail. His headache had just improved, after all. He closed his eyes. He really hadn’t slept in the past two days, and it was beginning to catch up to him.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the shadow looming over him.

“Thought you were only going to be ten minutes,” Danny said, a little breathless. “I’ve got some names for you to give to Torrance.”

“You finished the letters?” Jerry said, surprised. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes had passed. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to leave her alone so long. “There was still a big pile.”

“That’s the best part. I didn’t have to finish the letters. Once you left, Abby totally opened up to me. She gave me a bunch of names.” Danny handed him a scrap piece of paper. “These are the people who write to her the most frequently. I’m not sure if they’re all real names—some of these might be nicknames, or fake—but it’s a start.”

Jerry took the paper from her. “Nice job,” he said, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. “Might make an investigator out of you yet.”

“Ha. She liked me, that helped. And dude, if any of these pan out, I want a glowing—and I mean
glowing
—evaluation.”

Considering her internship was unpaid, Jerry was hardly in
a position to argue. Hell, he was of a mind to let her write her own damned glowing evaluation just for allowing him to get out of this prison and away from Maddox much sooner than he’d thought.

He called Torrance as they headed back to the parking lot, passing along the names Danny had just given him. Torrance said he’d look into them.

“Before you hang up, thought you’d want to know that I finally got an ID on the third vic,” his former partner said. “Claire Holt, age twenty-six. Ran her prints through the database; she got picked up for a DUI a few months back. It looks like she was working as an exotic dancer in Portland for a few years before moving here a few months ago.”

“And did she start stripping here?”

“Yup. Weird, right?”

Jerry knew exactly what Torrance was referring to. No woman would move to Seattle to strip for a living. There was far more money to be made in the exotic dance trade in Oregon, where the industry was thriving.

“She had to have moved here for another reason.” Jerry was thinking hard. “School? Boyfriend?”

“I’m guessing school since she attended UW part-time,” Torrance said. “I’m heading to the Perfect Peach now. I’ll find out what they know.”

“The Perfect Peach? Never heard of it.”

“Wasn’t around when you worked vice. It’s on Highway 99, north of the bridge. Want to meet me there?”

Jerry hadn’t planned on getting involved any more than he had to in the investigation, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do once he dropped Danny off.

“Give me an hour,” he said.

ABBY STARED AT
the pile of letters. It was funny how you didn’t realize you were in a good mood until the good mood suddenly disintegrated. She had no desire to go back to her cell.

The door opened and Mark was back. He’d taken a quick smoke break, not that she was ever supposed to be left alone, but it wasn’t like she was going to tattle on him. Seeing him made Abby feel a little better, but not much. He was simply a tool, nothing to get excited over, nothing that made her feel anything in particular.

He closed the door behind him. “You all done? Need help getting this stuff back in the bag?”

“That would be nice.”

They started stuffing letters back into the Hefty bag. Mark was watching her closely. “What’s wrong? Thought you’d be feeling good about how things went today. Everything’s happening exactly how you wanted it to.”

She looked at him closely. “You been drinking today?”

He looked away immediately. “It was only a couple of gin and tonics, no big deal.”

“We’re so close to getting everything we want, and you’re pulling this shit?” Abby slammed her hand on the table, and
he looked back at her, startled. “If you get fired, you will fuck everything up for me. Don’t you know that? What do I need to say to you for you to hear me?”

“Relax,” Mark snapped. “You already look too much like my wife, and now you’re starting to sound like her, too? I had a few drinks on my break. I needed something to take the edge off. Being with you, helping you do all this . . . it’s not easy, Abby.”

“Don’t compare me to your wife, you asshole.” God, he was such an idiot. If she didn’t need him, she’d have cut him loose a long time ago. “You’re not going to push me around the way you push her.”

He looked at her, his jaw clenched. “Everything’s going just fine,” he said. “Why are you trying to pick a fight?”

There was no point in arguing with stupidity.

“I’m just hungry,” Abby said. To hell with it, she didn’t feel like fighting. She didn’t want him to know how low she was feeling, how desperate she was getting. It was important never to show weakness around anyone. But every day, it felt like the prison was getting smaller and smaller.

“Chow hall is serving tuna casserole, green beans, and some kind of cake,” Mark said.

She grimaced. Disgusting.

“I can get you some pizza.” Mark put the bag down. “Briscoe’s birthday was today.”

“Real pizza?” Perking up, Abby’s mouth began to water. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had real food. “From an actual pizza parlor?”

“Giovanni’s. Thick crust. There’s some left; you want me to get you a couple slices?”

“God, yes.”

He was back a moment later with two giant slices of pizza smothered in cheese, tomato sauce, mushrooms, pepperoni, and sausage. Nothing like the poor excuse for pizza they served occasionally in the chow hall. It smelled heavenly. Abby inhaled deeply before diving in. While she ate, Mark continued to funnel her letters back into the bag.

“How’s the new smartphone working out for you?” The door was closed and locked behind him, but he still kept his voice low.

Abby savored the flavors in her mouth. It was like she’d been eating in black-and-white for the last year, and now she was eating in Technicolor. The only downside to this? Having to go back to bland prison cuisine the next day. “It’s perfect,” she said, her mouth full. “Much better than the last phone.”

“Internet signal okay?”

“It’s good enough.” She reached for the bottle of water beside her. “I’m not complaining. The only problem is, Celia found it.”

Mark froze. “Shit, Abby, I told you—”

“Don’t worry, I took care of it.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He had balls, she’d give him that. But he was forgetting his place, and that was unacceptable. “Watch how you speak to me, Mark,” she said softly.

The CO’s jaw worked. Clearly he had things to say, but he didn’t talk back. Wise decision. Controlling his tone, he said, “So how did you handle it?”

Abby finished off her first slice and licked her fingers. Even the grease was yummy. “Celia doesn’t know it came from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I let her make a couple of calls on it.”

“Christ, Abby—”

“Just to her family. The kids don’t know the difference and her husband will never say anything.”

“You should have hidden it better.”

“I thought I had.” Abby picked up her second slice of pizza. She wanted to savor it, but knew she had to eat quickly. She couldn’t hang out in the conference room forever. “But she found it, and letting her use it once in a while is the best way to ensure she’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’m not concerned about her telling a CO about it.” Mark leaned against the wall, looking unhappy. “I know she’d never do that. I’m concerned about her telling another inmate, who’ll tell another inmate, who’ll tell another inmate, and next thing you know, the damn thing’s being passed around all over the CCU. And that’s when a guard finds it.”

“Mark, seriously. Relax. I told her if anyone else found out about it, I’d destroy the phone completely.” Abby reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Thanks again for getting it for me. I know it was a huge risk.”

He relaxed slightly, as she knew he would.

“What time are you off?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I was off an hour ago.”

That brought a smile to her face. Putting her pizza down, she pulled him close and gave him a kiss. “What did you tell the wife?”

“That I stayed late for Briscoe’s birthday thing. It’s partly true.” Mark smiled ruefully. “By the way, did your lawyer hear back from that TV show? The one that was willing to pay?”

He was referring to the current events show
The Pulse
, currently in negotiations with Bob Borden for an interview with her. Abby needed the money. She and Ethan hadn’t been married, and when he’d died, she’d had no idea where his money went. It definitely hadn’t been willed to her.

“Yes, and he’s trying to arrange the interview for tomorrow morning. They want to air it this week.” Abby finished the last few bites and sidled closer to him. “So what’s going to happen with us when I get out? You going to run away with me?” She was half-joking.

He caressed her, not seeing the humor. “I’ve never loved anybody like this, Abby. I’m leaving her to be with you. You know that.”

It was the right answer, and now he deserved his reward. In a husky voice, she said, “Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate, moving his chair beside hers so that they were both facing the door of the conference room. Sliding her hand under the table, she massaged him through his uniform pants. He was already semi-erect.

Unzipping his fly, she snaked her hand inside his slacks and wrapped her fingers around him, feeling him grow harder, and then she leaned over and put her mouth on it, varying the pressure, letting his breathing dictate how fast or slow she should go.

A few minutes later, he groaned, and she knew he was close. Applying more pressure, she lengthened her movement, using her tongue to flick all the spots she knew drove him crazy. His hands gripped the edge of the table and she moved her face away just in time.

She removed her hand from his pants and cleaned herself off with a napkin.

Mark opened his eyes a few seconds later, a lazy smile on his lips. He zipped himself up and tucked in his shirt. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” she said, kissing him.

There was a short knock on the door, and they pulled apart just before it swung open. Sergeant Briscoe was in the doorway,
keys in her hand. The middle-aged CO stared at the two of them, frown lines further aging her face. Then her gaze fell to the paper plate, where a lone bit of pepperoni still sat, evidence of the pizza that had once been there.

“I was going to remind you it’s chow time, but I see you’ve already eaten.” Briscoe’s voice was sharp. “Why isn’t Maddox back in her cell?” she said, addressing Mark.

Suddenly she sniffed the air, and her eyes, naturally narrow and suspicious, grew even smaller.

Abby wanted to laugh. Could Briscoe actually smell what they had just done? Probably, not that it mattered. This was Mark’s problem. Amused, she watched the two COs stare each other down, and thought—not for the first time—that Elaine Briscoe might be an attractive woman if she could just stop scowling. The woman clearly needed a good lay.

Mark stood up. “That was my pizza, Sergeant.”

“Officer Cavanaugh, can I see you in the hallway for a moment?” Briscoe turned to Abby. “Get all this cleaned up and prepare to go back to your cell. I’ll find someone to escort you.”

Mark didn’t look back at her as he exited the room behind Briscoe. Abby didn’t care.

She grabbed her bag of mail, and a moment later, a different CO, someone Abby didn’t know too well, was in the doorway to cuff her and lead her back to the Close Custody Unit.

As she passed Mark and Briscoe in the hallway, her gaze turned briefly in their direction. Their low, heated voices made it clear they were arguing about something. Briscoe was angry, as was Mark.

She passed them with a knowing smile.

A few minutes later, she was back in her cell. Celia was in the bunk above hers, headphones over her ears, watching a rerun of the
Real Housewives
of whatever city on her TV. Abby
lay back in her bed for a minute, then rolled over and reached for her phone, stashed in the air vent just beside her bunk. Downloading her emails and text messages, she saw one that made her smile.

Borden had just texted to let her know that the television interview with
The Pulse
was a go, and that the show had agreed to pay her the money she’d requested. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She was to meet with Rosedale’s superintendent the next day to work out when Bernadette Barkley, the cheesy blonde who’d be interviewing her, would be arriving. She hid the phone back in the air vent and closed her eyes.

She wondered if Bob Borden realized how unethical it was to text her in prison, knowing full well inmates weren’t allowed to have cell phones. Then again, ethics weren’t the man’s strong suit.

The same corrections officer who’d escorted her to her cell appeared again at her door a moment later. “Maddox. You have a visitor.” Her lips pursed. “Again.”

Abby sat up with a grin. Right on schedule. Everything was falling into place.

HIGHWAY 99, ALSO
known as Aurora Avenue North, had always been seedy. It was lined with motels that rented rooms by the hour, twenty-four-hour massage parlors, and gentlemen’s clubs, though the word
gentlemen
seemed laughable. Jerry hadn’t been down this way in a few years, not since he worked for PD.

He pulled up in front of the Perfect Peach, finding a spot right beside Torrance’s unmarked. The building was nondescript save for the large mural painted on the exterior stucco wall, which left no room for misunderstanding that this place was, indeed, a strip club. The mural portrayed a glossy young woman with Jessica Rabbit proportions who had a giant fuzzy peach painted where her ass should have been. One slender arm pointed toward a big black door. There were no windows.