Love You More: A Novel

The inmate cried, as I leaned over, brushed back the long dark locks of his hair, and whispered like a lover in his ear: “Tell the man in black I’m coming for him. Tell him he’s next.”


I twisted the shank again.

Then I stood up, wiped the shank on my pant leg, and hit the panic button.


Do you mourn when your world has ended? When you have arrived at a destination from where there is no going back?

The SERT team descended as a stampede. The entire facility went to lockdown. I was shackled where I stood, legs swaying, arms lacerated, fresh bruises blooming down my sides and across my back.

They removed Kim on a stretcher, unconscious but breathing.

My fourth attacker, the one who’d brought the shank, left in a body bag. I watched them zip it up. I felt nothing at all.

Erica sobbed. Screamed and wailed and carried on to such an extent, they finally carted her off to Medical, where she would be heavily sedated and put under suicide watch. Others were questioned, but in the way these things worked, they had no idea what had just taken place.

“In my cell the whole time …”

“Never looked out …”

“Heard some noises, though …”

“Sounded like a lot of ass-whooping …”

“I slept through the whole thing, Officer. Really, I did.”

The male inmate, however, told anyone who would listen that I was the angel of death, and please God, please God, please God, keep me away from him.

The assistant deputy superintendent finally halted in front of me. He studied me for a long time, his expression judging me more trouble than I was worth.

He delivered my punishment as a single word. “Segregation.”

“I want my lawyer.”

“Who attacked the CO, detainee?”

“Mrs. Doubtfire.”

“Mrs. Doubtfire, sir. Now, why did the inmate attack CO Watters?”

“Don’t know, sir.”

“You’ve been in prison less than twenty-four hours. How’d you get a shank?”

“Took it off the ho’ trying to kill me.” I paused. “Sir.”

“All six of them?”

“Don’t fuck with the state police. Sir.”

He almost smiled. Instead, he jerked his thumb toward the ceiling and the multiple mounted cameras. “Here’s the thing about prison: Big Brother’s always watching. So last time, detainee, anything you want to tell me?”

“Officer Watters owes me a thank you card.”

He didn’t argue, so maybe he already knew more than he was letting on. “Medical,” he said now, gesturing to my sliced-up forearms.

“Lawyer,” I repeated.

“The request will be sent through proper channels.”

“Don’t have time.” I looked the assistant deputy superintendent in the eye. “I have decided to cooperate fully with the Boston police,” I declared for all to hear. “Call Detective D. D. Warren. Tell her I will take her to my daughter’s body.”





27


Fuck that!” D.D. exploded two hours later. She was at BDP headquarters, in a conference room with Bobby, the deputy superintendent of homicide, and Tessa Leoni’s lawyer, Ken Cargill. Cargill had called the meeting twenty minutes ago. Had a limited-time offer, he’d told them. Needed D.D.’s boss in the room, because if a decision was going to be made, it had to be made fast. Meaning, he was planning on negotiating for something above D.D.’s paygrade. Meaning, she should be letting the deputy superintendent, Cal Horgan, respond to his preposterous demand.

D.D. had never been good at keeping silent.

“We don’t give guided tours!” she continued hotly now. “Tessa wants to finally do the right thing? Good for her. Bobby and I can be cell-side in twenty minutes, and she can draw us a map.”

Horgan said nothing, so maybe he agreed with her.

“She can’t draw you a map,” Cargill answered steadily. “She doesn’t remember the precise location. She’d been driving for a bit before she pulled over. As it is, she may not be able to get you to the exact spot, but figures she can get fairly close, by looking for familiar landmarks.”

“Can’t even get us to the exact spot?” Bobby spoke up, sounding as skeptical as D.D. felt.

“I would arrange for a dog team to assist,” Cargill replied.

“Cadaver team, you mean,” D.D. said bitterly. She sank back down in her chair, both arms crossed over her stomach. She had known, after the first twenty-four hours, that little Sophie Leoni with the curly brown hair, big blue eyes, and heart-shaped face was most likely dead. Still, to hear it said out loud, from Tessa’s lawyer of all people, that it was time to recover the body …

There were days this job was just too hard.

“How did she say Sophie died again?” Bobby asked.

Cargill skewered him with a glance. “She didn’t.”

“That’s right,” Bobby continued. “She’s not really telling us anything, is she? She’s just demanding that we spring her from prison and take her for a drive. Imagine that.”

“She almost died this morning,” Cargill argued. “Coordinated attack, six female detainees going after her, while a male inmate took out the CO. If not for the quick response by Trooper Leoni, Officer Watters would be dead and probably Tessa, as well.”