Finally he allowed a grimace. “I think I may have dislocated it. Can you fix it?”
It had been a long time since the two of them had worked together. She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone covering her backside. Someone who hoped for the same from her.
“Yes, I can. We need to find someplace for you to sit. You’re too tall for me.” Plus, she failed to add, she didn’t want him falling down if he passed out. “It’s going to hurt like hell.”
“Already does.” He followed alongside her. “Don’t tell Gwen, okay?”
Maggie smiled. She was usually the one asking him not to tell Gwen.
CHAPTER 27
Sam hated riding anywhere with Jeffery. As meticulous as the man was about his physical appearance it certainly didn’t carry over to his car. Before she could even climb in, she had to remove a stack of newspapers from the passenger seat, several empty cups, and a jug labeled “swimming pool cleaner” from the floor. It was disgusting. She shook her head while she readjusted the seat, thinking to herself that Jeffery didn’t even have a swimming pool.
Of course he didn’t notice any of this. He was primed for their interview, breezing through each security checkpoint without even flinching at the trunk check or the excessive pat-downs or the warden’s snarky comments.
She had been with Jeffery for every single interview, enduring the body searches that seemed to get more invasive with each visit, with each security check. What bothered her more was how they handled her camera equipment, purposely smudging the lens with their fingerprints. Once a guard even licked the palm of his hand before pressing it against the viewfinder. It was their way of showing they didn’t approve of the interviews.
Jeffery shrugged it off when she told him about the harassment. All she got from him was a raised eyebrow when she showed him the used condom they had left inside her equipment bag after one visit. Of course he could shrug it off. He was the celebrity who charmed them and told them how important they were, sometimes offering to interview them as well. A safe offer, since he knew the prison rules wouldn’t allow it. Still, the guards appeared flattered. The warden, however, was a tougher sell.
So this time Sam took pleasure in the warden’s being put out. They’d bent over backward—not necessarily a good choice of words in a prison—but they had worked hard to get interviews for the documentary. Each step of the way, the warden had made it as unpleasant and uncomfortable as possible.
This time Jeffery had been invited, actually “summoned,” to the prison by one of the inmates. From Jeffery’s vague explanation, an arsonist named Otis P. Dodd had been sending him letters for the last three weeks, insisting that Jeffery talk to him and giving Jeffery details of his crimes as some sort of testament to his expertise.
Sam understood why Jeffery had put the man off. All of the others they had interviewed were murderers. Poor Otis P.—as he liked to be called—had not caused a single death with any of his fires, despite setting about thirty-seven across the state of Virginia. It wasn’t for lack of trying. His last one had been a retirement center. Twenty-three residents miraculously made it out alive.
Otis P. was serving the first year of a twenty-five-year sentence. Sam suspected he was missing the attention and excitement. Truth was, he probably wouldn’t have garnered Jeffery’s attention if it hadn’t been for the warehouse arsons. In fact, Sam wondered if Jeffery even intended to use Otis P.’s interview for the documentary or if he simply was curious what insight the man might share about arson.
Sam was still setting up her equipment when a guard brought the prisoner into the room. He and Jeffery exchanged greetings while his shackles were being connected to iron hooks in the concrete floor. She had already seen a photo of him, yet his large physique and lopsided grin surprised her. If you ignored the receding hairline, Otis P. looked like an overgrown teenager uncomfortable with his size. His boyish face had a look of genuine curiosity and a disarming smile.
“Will I have one of those itty-bitty microphones clipped on my collar?” he asked in a soft, gentle—almost childlike—voice, his eyes looking away from Jeffery and over to Sam.
She pulled a wireless from her case and held it up. “Do you mind?”
“No, I’d like that.” He licked his lips.
To Sam’s relief the guard reached for the microphone to put it on.
She nodded at Jeffery when the camera was ready but it was Otis P. who took her cue.
“I have a gift for you,” he told Jeffery.
The statement drew a stunned look from the veteran newsman that unnerved Sam. She had witnessed plenty of Jeffery’s performances. This was not one.
There was the smile again and another lick of his lips. Then Otis P. added, “I want to tell you where there’s a dead body. A pretty little thing wearing only orange socks.”
CHAPTER 28