“Good. Put it on silent.” He added Swonger’s number to the new contact and saved it as “Lea Regan.”
Gibson wondered how Swonger would react if he knew Merrick’s daughter was tending bar in town. Could he be counted on to play things cool? Gibson didn’t think he would take that bet, but beneath all the flagrant stupidity, Swonger was plenty smart. Gibson would be able to keep the truth from Swonger for only so long. Once Swonger figured things out for himself, their fragile truce would be shot.
“Let’s go have a chat with our friend.”
“Cool. What you want me to do?”
“Follow my lead. Back me up. Don’t talk.”
“Why you gotta be such an asshole?”
The gray-blue flicker of a television seeped out under the blinds of Jerome Parker’s downstairs windows. Gibson rapped on the door hard, waited, knocked again, and when he heard the television go silent, took a step back. The door opened on a chain, and Jerome Parker regarded them through the crack.
“The hell you doing banging on my door?”
“Lea sent us.”
“I don’t know you.”
“No reason you would. I’m Quine. That’s Swonger.”
“And I’m Danny Glover. How come I never heard of you?”
“What makes you think she tells you more than you need to know?”
That slowed Parker down. “So what’s she want?”
“She said you came in tonight, yeah? Had a chat? Well, she got to chewing it over. Wanted us to follow up.” Gibson decided to take a chance. A lot of men didn’t like working for women, and misogynists always loved company. “You know how she gets. Pain in the ass.”
Parker chuckled but didn’t unchain the door.
Gibson pushed it a little further. “My opinion? She’s only going to get worse, closer he gets to getting out. Know what I mean?”
Parker didn’t confirm or deny but continued studying him through the crack in the door.
“Fine. Ask her yourself,” Gibson said, reaching for his back pocket. The unmistakable sound of a hammer drawing back on a gun slowed him to a pantomime pace.
“Hey, now,” Parker said. “Slow.”
Gibson held up one hand and carefully withdrew his phone with the other. When Parker didn’t shoot him, he dialed the fake entry he’d made for Lea’s number and held it out so Parker could see the name. The guard made no move to take it, and in the West Virginia night both men listened to it ring. It rang three times before the signal cut out. Gibson cursed and redialed the number.
“You aren’t going to get her out here,” Parker said.
Gibson made a show of letting it ring until it died again. “Can you try her?”
Parker shook his head. “Won’t make any difference. There’s no service out here. That’s why she sent you instead of calling.” Parker was filling in gaps in the narrative on his own. A good sign that a lie was gaining traction. “I don’t know what else I can tell you that I didn’t tell her.”
Gibson nodded in agreement but didn’t reply. Parker grunted and slid the chain off the door. He led them into a den, offered Gibson a seat, and settled into a red leather lounger. Swonger stood away by the door. The room was lit only by a massive Sony flat-screen television, but Parker didn’t move to turn on a light. On screen, a disdainful Humphrey Bogart cradled a black statue. An expansive DVD and Blu-ray collection spanned multiple bookcases.
“So what does she want now?”
Gibson shrugged. “Just felt like there was something she was missing. Wanted me to ask if maybe there was something you’d forgotten.”
“Didn’t forget nothing.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Who?”
“Merrick.”
“He didn’t say anything at all. He was just acting odd after he met with that lawyer. If he was a lawyer. Then when that other visitor showed up yesterday, he got plain spooked.”
That was interesting, but Gibson nodded as if he already knew this part of the story. He wanted to know more about the lawyer who wasn’t a lawyer, but the trick here was not to ask questions that he should already have answers to.
“Spooked how, exactly?”
“You mean besides making that damn phone call?”
“Who’d he call?”
“How should I know? Look, goddamn it, I gave her Slaski. I did my part.”
Gave her Slaski? Gibson paused. Something was off here. Had he misread the situation and nearly blown it?
“I know. That’s good. Just tell me everything you know about Slaski.”
The disgruntled Parker didn’t know much about his fellow guard, only that Slaski had cleared the prison library so Merrick could make a call using Slaski’s phone.
Gibson realized he’d made a major miscalculation. Chelsea Merrick, or Lea Regan, wasn’t her father’s partner on the outside. It was whomever was at the other end of Merrick’s phone call, and Chelsea Merrick wanted to know who that person was, the same as Gibson did. That spun the ball in a different direction. If she wasn’t working for her father, then what was her angle? Was she going after the money herself? If she got to Slaski’s phone first, then there was no chance he’d find Merrick’s contact. Chelsea Merrick would control the board.
“She’s going after Slaski?” asked Gibson.
Parker nodded.
“When?”
“Tonight, man.” Parker checked his watch. “Right now. Guess I’m not the only one she doesn’t tell everything. She’s going after the phone.”
“That won’t work,” Swonger spoke up.
“Why not?”
“’Cause there won’t be no SIM card in it.”
“What the hell’s a SIM card?” Parker asked.
Gibson turned to Swonger. “How do you know it won’t have one?”
“It’ll have one. Just not the right one. That’s how it worked at Buckingham anyway. The guards playin’ Ma Bell had one phone for all their customers. They give you their empty phone for a price; inmates hold on to their own SIM card. Real tight. On their person, twenty-four-seven, so when there’s a search, they can break it and flush it real quick. Guards can’t give ’em up that way either. They didn’t know nothing about no phone numbers.”
“What’s a SIM card?” Parker asked again.
“Subscriber identification module,” Gibson said to shut him up. “A cell phone doesn’t have a phone number without one. SIMs hold users’ personal information.”
If what Swonger said was true, and Gibson believed him, then Slaski’s phone was worthless. The guard was just a mule and wouldn’t know anything. Confronting him would only tip off Merrick, who would shut down entirely or else switch to a different system of communicating for his last few weeks in prison. Either way, unless he stopped Lea, Gibson would lose his only shot at finding Merrick’s contact on the outside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO