“Where? What are you saying?”
“I went to the jail. They didn’t know where he was. They couldn’t find him in the system. They said he might’ve got moved, but they didn’t know. How could they not know?”
Rage flashed. “Ma! Jesus Christ, why would you scare me like that? I thought he was dead.”
Her mother struggled to get the crying under control.
“He might be dead. He could be dead,” Yolanda said between sobs.
“Don’t say that unless you know it’s true. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
“Why won’t you—you don’t—take this seriously.”
“Mom. They moved him to another prison. That’s all.”
“The guard said if he got moved, there’d be a transfer order. There’s nothing. Nothing. He’s missing from the computer, like he never existed.”
“It’s a mistake. They don’t lose inmates. He’s got to be somewhere.”
“You don’t know. You’re just saying that.”
“You don’t know, either. Calm down, please. I’m telling you, a prison is a bureaucracy. They move people around. It can take time for the files to catch up. That has to be what happened.”
“He said they were gonna kill him, and now he’s goone.”
She wailed like her heart was broken, and Madison couldn’t bear it. She made soothing noises into the phone, fighting tears of her own. What if her mother was right, and something had really happened? It would be her fault for not believing Danny sooner and doing more to help. Mom would think so, too. She’d never forgive her. She had to find Danny and help him fight the case. Enough worrying about the repercussions for herself. The repercussions of doing nothing were a hell of a lot worse, for all of them.
Her mother’s sobs were wearing themselves out.
“Ma, listen. If he was dead, they’d tell us. They might lie, say he got killed in a fight or something. But they wouldn’t claim not to know. This transfer thing has the ring of truth. I’m telling you. Mom? Stop crying, please. He’s alive. I’ll prove it. I’ll find him.”
“How, Madison? How you gonna find him when the guards don’t know anything, and that lawyer won’t lift a finger to help us?”
“Did you ask him?”
“The lawyer? Why would I bother calling that—crook?”
“You’re right. He is a crook. I researched him. He’s got a long history of disciplinary complaints. The detective in the case is dirty, too. Wallace. I don’t like the looks of him from what I see. Was he in court? Did you meet him?”
“No. But Danny says he’s the devil.”
She shivered thinking about him pounding on the door last night, only a piece of wood between them.
“Whatever happened to Danny, those two know about it. I’m going to call Logue and see what he says.”
“He won’t tell you a thing. He’ll just make trouble. When are you gonna call that judge, Madison? She could really help.”
Or hurt. She thought about the plastic bag full of cash taped inside the tank of the toilet in the master bath. When it came to Judge Conroy, the only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t know enough.
“It’s complicated. I think there’s some chance that Danny is right, that the judge is on the take. I don’t want to approach her until I know. Where are you now?”
“I just got home, but I can’t sit still. I’m climbing the walls. I have to do something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Talk to Danny’s friends, or—”
“No. Absolutely not. It’s dangerous. Mom, please. I need you to lie low, take care of yourself. Eat something. Get some rest. Let me deal with this. I can’t help Danny if I’m worried about you. Understand?”
“All right. But you promise you’ll find him?”
“I’ll do everything in my power.”
“Madison.”
“I will find him. Yes. I promise.”
They hung up. Wind gusted, sluicing rain against the windows. She collapsed back onto the pillows, crushed by this day before she’d even gotten out of bed. Would she be able to make good on that promise? She had no idea. She did know that talking to the judge about Danny at this point would be a mistake.
Lucy licked her paws, eyeing her with indifference as she snuggled down into the blankets.
“Fine, stay in bed. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
Downstairs, she made another latte and choked down a few stale crackers. She was starving, and there was nothing in the house to eat but Purina or tuna fish. Opening a can of the latter, she gagged from the smell. But somebody liked it. Lucy came bounding into the kitchen, leaped up on a chair, and sprang over to the countertop, swatting Madison’s hand away with a yowl.
“It’s yours. No need to hurt me.”
Her phone dinged with a text from the judge saying she’d be home by dinnertime. Great. Just what she needed. After everything that had happened overnight, the thought of facing Kathryn Conroy made her queasy. She didn’t trust the judge anymore. She might actually be afraid of her. Yet there was a chance that Conroy knew Danny’s whereabouts or was involved in his disappearance. Madison had to find a way to wring it out of her.
She sat down at the island and ordered groceries on Instacart. When that was done, she started looking for her brother in the most obvious place, because she wanted to cover the bases. The Bureau of Prisons website had an inmate locator that would tell you where someone was housed. All you had to do was enter the inmate’s name or registry number. She tried his name, holding her breath for the few seconds it took for the search to load, in the hope that it would spit out a result and prove his “disappearance” was a mistake or misunderstanding, that he wasn’t lost but simply in transit from one prison to another. But the screen said Inmate Not Found. She tried his registry number, date of birth, different spellings. The results were the same. It appeared that the guards had been right. Danny wasn’t in the registry. From what she could tell, that shouldn’t happen. An inmate who’d been remanded to custody and assigned a BOP registry number should always be findable by the locator. If they were released or in transit, it would say so. But her brother wasn’t listed at all.
The doorbell rang, and she jumped. The judge wouldn’t be back for several hours. Could it be Wallace? She held her breath as she flipped on the video monitor. It showed a woman in a Red Sox cap holding grocery bags. She relaxed. Instacart, that’s all. Madison stood all the way to one side as she opened the door, so she wouldn’t be visible from the street. He could be out there watching.
She poured more coffee, ate some bread and cheese with honey. Fortified, she looked up Raymond Logue’s office number. He had a bare-bones website, just contact information and a headshot showing the red-faced old boozehound with crossed arms and a belligerent expression, under the heading “Let Ray Logue Fight For You.” Yeah, right.
She took a deep breath and called the phone number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Logue?”
“Who’s this?”
“I’m calling because the BOP has been unable to locate a client of yours, and I was hoping you could help me. His name is Danny Rivera.”
Long pause. The mention of Danny’s name had obviously put him on his guard.
“Uh, look, it’s Saturday, lady, and I don’t have my files.”
He sounded like the photo looked, the phlegmy voice matching the watery eyes, a townie accent, hostile.
“Are you saying you don’t remember Danny? You were in court for his guilty plea just last week.”
“Call my office Monday and somebody’ll help you.”
“This is your office. I called the number on your website. I need help now.”
“Look, Rivera pled out. It’s not even my case anymore.”
“That’s not true. He hasn’t been sentenced yet. Until he is, and appeals are exhausted, you’re still counsel of record.”
Another long pause.
“What exactly is your relationship to this inmate?” he asked, suspicion in his tone.