The room was small, no bigger than ten feet by fifteen feet, with a table and chairs in the middle.
“It’s what Seattle PD requested when they called.” The CO pointed to the walls, which were bare. “It’s a conference room, no mikes and no cameras.” She made as if to leave, then paused and turned back. “When they bring Maddox in, do you want her kept in handcuffs?”
Jerry and Sheila exchanged a look. Sheila hadn’t thought about that at all. She personally didn’t feel any fear where Abby Maddox was concerned—anxiety, yes, but not fear—but who knew what Jerry was thinking? The woman had attacked him, after all.
“No, I suppose that won’t be necessary,” Jerry said, but the rasp in his voice was more pronounced.
The guard nodded. “It’ll be a few minutes. She’s in the Close Custody Unit, which is on the other side of the property.”
The CO closed the door and they were alone. There were no windows in this room and it didn’t take long for Sheila to feel claustrophobic.
“Not quite what I expected,” she said.
“Nothing like Alcatraz,” Jerry agreed, and they exchanged a smile.
“What was that other card you handed the guard?” Sheila asked. “Along with your driver’s license?”
“Temporary police consultant ID.” Jerry pulled it out of his pocket so she could look at it. It was a plain, laminated white card with his name and photo, with the Seattle PD logo prominently displayed. She noticed it was set to expire in exactly thirty days. “It’s my all-access pass.” He rubbed his collar again.
“There’s nothing they can give you for the itch?” she said softly.
“Nothing that works,” Jerry said, aggravated. He softened his tone. “It’s usually not that bad. It’s worse when I’m stressed. Like now.” His hand went to his collar and he rubbed against the material gently.
“I’m nervous, too.” Sheila wrung her hands together, feeling warm though the room was cool. “This is definitely not something I planned on doing today. Or ever, for that matter.”
“Sure you’re ready for this?” Jerry was watching her. “It’s not too late to wait outside if you want to change your mind.”
But it was too late. Because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the door unlocked and opened.
And just like that, there she was. Abby Maddox, in the flesh.
The young woman stood just inside the doorway to the conference room, expression serene, eyes a deeper blue than they looked on TV, hair longer. She seemed thinner in her loose-fitting prison-issue uniform, and also older than her twenty-four years, but not for any physical reason. It was the way she carried herself, the way she stood there.
The corrections officer who escorted Abby from her cell—a very handsome man in his early thirties, Sheila couldn’t help but notice—removed her handcuffs.
“I’ll be right outside, sir.” The corrections officer was addressing Jerry. The name on his gold tag read OFFICER M. CAVANAUGH . “Just bang on the door when you’re finished.”
“No problem,” Jerry said.
“You’re all right here?” the CO said to Abby.
“I’m good, Mark. Thanks.”
First-name basis with the corrections officer? Was that allowed? Sheila watched the two of them closely. It was subtle, but anybody really looking could see there was a familiarity between them that extended beyond the inmate/guard relationship. Obviously Abby wasn’t shy about making friends, and Sheila wondered just how deep that friendship went. The CO nodded once more and left the room, shutting the door behind him. It locked automatically.
Abby arranged herself in her chair, taking her time, and Sheila took a moment to study the inmate. Even after a year in prison, the younger woman’s skin was luminous. Shinyblack hair, longer now, spilled over one shoulder. Her eyes, an unusually intense shade of blue-violet, resembled Elizabeth Taylor’s, as did her full, naturally rosy lips. You almost forgot she was
“It’s what Seattle PD requested when they called.” The CO pointed to the walls, which were bare. “It’s a conference room, no mikes and no cameras.” She made as if to leave, then paused and turned back. “When they bring Maddox in, do you want her kept in handcuffs?”
Jerry and Sheila exchanged a look. Sheila hadn’t thought about that at all. She personally didn’t feel any fear where Abby Maddox was concerned—anxiety, yes, but not fear—but who knew what Jerry was thinking? The woman had attacked him, after all.
“No, I suppose that won’t be necessary,” Jerry said, but the rasp in his voice was more pronounced.
The guard nodded. “It’ll be a few minutes. She’s in the Close Custody Unit, which is on the other side of the property.”
The CO closed the door and they were alone. There were no windows in this room and it didn’t take long for Sheila to feel claustrophobic.
“Not quite what I expected,” she said.
“Nothing like Alcatraz,” Jerry agreed, and they exchanged a smile.
“What was that other card you handed the guard?” Sheila asked. “Along with your driver’s license?”
“Temporary police consultant ID.” Jerry pulled it out of his pocket so she could look at it. It was a plain, laminated white card with his name and photo, with the Seattle PD logo prominently displayed. She noticed it was set to expire in exactly thirty days. “It’s my all-access pass.” He rubbed his collar again.
“There’s nothing they can give you for the itch?” she said softly.
“Nothing that works,” Jerry said, aggravated. He softened his tone. “It’s usually not that bad. It’s worse when I’m stressed. Like now.” His hand went to his collar and he rubbed against the material gently.
“I’m nervous, too.” Sheila wrung her hands together, feeling warm though the room was cool. “This is definitely not something I planned on doing today. Or ever, for that matter.”
“Sure you’re ready for this?” Jerry was watching her. “It’s not too late to wait outside if you want to change your mind.”
But it was too late. Because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the door unlocked and opened.
And just like that, there she was. Abby Maddox, in the flesh.
The young woman stood just inside the doorway to the conference room, expression serene, eyes a deeper blue than they looked on TV, hair longer. She seemed thinner in her loose-fitting prison-issue uniform, and also older than her twenty-four years, but not for any physical reason. It was the way she carried herself, the way she stood there.
The corrections officer who escorted Abby from her cell—a very handsome man in his early thirties, Sheila couldn’t help but notice—removed her handcuffs.
“I’ll be right outside, sir.” The corrections officer was addressing Jerry. The name on his gold tag read OFFICER M. CAVANAUGH . “Just bang on the door when you’re finished.”
“No problem,” Jerry said.
“You’re all right here?” the CO said to Abby.
“I’m good, Mark. Thanks.”
First-name basis with the corrections officer? Was that allowed? Sheila watched the two of them closely. It was subtle, but anybody really looking could see there was a familiarity between them that extended beyond the inmate/guard relationship. Obviously Abby wasn’t shy about making friends, and Sheila wondered just how deep that friendship went. The CO nodded once more and left the room, shutting the door behind him. It locked automatically.
Abby arranged herself in her chair, taking her time, and Sheila took a moment to study the inmate. Even after a year in prison, the younger woman’s skin was luminous. Shinyblack hair, longer now, spilled over one shoulder. Her eyes, an unusually intense shade of blue-violet, resembled Elizabeth Taylor’s, as did her full, naturally rosy lips. You almost forgot she was
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