“You’d be surprised,” he said, smiling. “The trannies are very creative.”
They came to a metal detector. Again the men moved through without incident. Susan, however, was motioned to wait by a rotund female guard. “You wearing a bra?” the guard asked.
Susan blushed. “Excuse me?”
The guard stared at Susan, bored. “No underwire bras—they set off the metal detector.”
Was it Susan’s imagination, or was everyone suddenly staring at her chest? “Oh. No. I’m a lacy camisole girl. I have a really hard time finding bras that fit right. Small cup size, broad shoulders. You know.” Susan smiled amiably. The guard’s breasts were enormous. Like melons. She probably had all sorts of problems finding bras, too.
The guard stared at Susan another moment and then widened her eyes and sighed. “Are you wearing an underwire bra?” she asked again.
“No.”
“Then go through the damn metal detector already.”
“Here we are,” Archie said. He opened an unmarked gray metal door and Susan walked in, followed by Henry and the lawyer. It was a cement-walled observation room, with an impressive plate of one-way glass that looked into another room. It was just like on TV. Susan was charmed. The room was small, with a low ceiling and a long metal folding table jammed next to the window, leaving a space a little wider than an airplane aisle in which to maneuver. A young Hispanic man sat on a stool at the table, facing a computer monitor and a TV with a closed-circuit feed from a camera mounted on the ceiling of the room. He had a meal from Taco Bell spread out carefully in front of him. Bleached napkins stacked. Hot sauce packets lined up. One taco half-eaten, another in queue. The food filled the compact room with the smell of refried beans and cheap hot sauce.
“That’s Rico,” Archie said.
Rico grinned at Susan. “I’m the sidekick,” he said.
“I thought Henry was the sidekick,” Susan said.
“No, man,” Rico said. “He’s the partner. I’m the sidekick.”
Archie’s smile was weak. “Wait here,” he told Susan. “I’ll be back for you in a minute.” He turned around and walked out the door.
“Meet the Queen of Evil,” Rico said to Susan, lifting his chin toward the room on the other side of the glass.
Susan approached the glass and got her first good look at Gretchen Lowell. There she sat. The picture of poise, incongruous in denim pants and a denim shirt with the word INMATE printed on the back. Susan had seen her picture, of course. The media had loved running photographs of Gretchen Lowell because she was beautiful. And a serial killer. A perfect combination. And aren’t all stunning women capable of murder? the pictures seemed to ask. But Susan could see now that she was even more gorgeous in person. Her eyes were large and pale blue and her features were perfectly symmetrical, wide cheekbones, a long, sculpted nose, a heart-shaped face that ended in a dainty chin. Her flesh was bloodless. Her hair, which had been very blond at the time of her arrest, was now a darker shade of blond and was combed back into a high ponytail, showing off her long, aristocratic neck. She was not pretty. That was not the word for it. Pretty implied something girlish. Gretchen Lowell was beautiful in a very grown-up way, in a sophisticated, confident way. It was more than beauty; it was the power of beauty. She radiated it. Susan was spellbound.
Susan watched through the glass, riveted, as Archie entered the room, head down, file under his arm. He turned to close the steel door behind him and stood for a moment facing the closed door, as if gathering himself. Then he took a breath, straightened, and turned toward the woman at the table. His face was engaging and pleasant, a man meeting an old friend for some coffee. “Hello, Gretchen,” he said.
“Good morning, darling.” She tilted her head and smiled. The sudden animation made her features sparkle even more. It was not a fake beauty-queen smile. It was a genuine expression of warmth and pleasure. Or, Susan reconsidered, she was really, really good at the fake beauty-queen smile. Gretchen lifted her hands from her lap to the surface of the table and Susan could see that they were manacled. Susan craned her head and noticed that Gretchen’s feet were shackled, too. Gretchen’s large blue eyes widened playfully. “Did you bring me anything?” she asked Archie.
“I’ll bring her in here in a minute,” Archie said, and Susan realized with a shudder that they were talking about her.
Archie walked toward the table and very carefully opened the folder he carried and fanned out five eight-by-ten photographs in front of Gretchen.
“Which one is she?” he asked.
Gretchen held his gaze, her face still a careful facade of congeniality. Then, with barely a downward flicker of her eyes, she reached out and placed her hand flat on one of the photographs.
“There,” she said. Her smile widened. “Can we play now?”
“I’ll be right back,” Archie said.