Detective Marilyn Fox was concerned. She kept her eyes glued on the closed-circuit-camera monitor, which provided her a sharp view of the jail cell. She could see the emptiness of its inhabitant’s eyes as he stared into space, seeming far away. The prisoner sat on the thin, striped mattress, his long legs pulled up to his chest with his elbows resting on his knees.
Marilyn sighed heavily and looked back at her paperwork.
Inside the cell, Grant was beholden to a series of flashes in his mind, punctuated by sharp intakes of air when his body reminded him he was unconsciously holding his breath.
A dark space—utter quiet—a rough wool coat scratching against his cheek—blackness—his own whimpering. “I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll be good.” …
“It was you,” said Carlo’s raspy voice. “Logan died trying to protect you.” …
Eyes the color of midnight searing into him, emanating anger—blinding sunlight in the prison yard—aching shoulders—numb, prickly hands …
A proud youthful voice, “Prison makes you a badass.” …
Deep cerulean eyes. “Don’t say it, Grant.” …
Joe’s devastated face, staring at him across the visitation glass …
A thunderous explosion—her body slumping on the sofa …
Grant rocked a bit on the mattress, his mind stuck in the horrific past.
“She’s right in here, sir.” Marilyn glanced up from her report to find Jerry Stone being led into the observation room by a uniformed police officer.
She rose and nodded. “Thank you, Officer.” The desk sergeant left the room and Marilyn smiled warmly at the parole officer, extending her hand to shake his. “Good to see you, Jerry.”
“It surprises me you’re still here, um, Detective.” Jerry referred to everyone by their last name, but he blushed when Fox almost slid out of his mouth. “I thought you’d be off to interview Taylor and her roommate.”
“Paperwork,” Marilyn replied, sweeping her eyes to the half-written report on the counter. “Detective Hammond had to run off on another call, but he’s going to meet me later. The prosecutor refused to come in after hours so I want to get my interview with Mr. Madsen written down before I forget the key points.”
Jerry had already begun peering at the camera monitor, and after a few seconds he frowned. “I was going to ask you how Madsen is doing, but from his cell and the camera setup I gather he’s on suicide watch?”
She returned his frown. “That’s right. I’m worried about him—he’s taking this all really hard.”
“Taylor getting shot? Having to shoot his cousin?”
“That, as well as discovering his cousin killed his brother.”
Jerry’s eyes widened. “Madsen’s cousin was the one who stabbed Logan Barberi?”
“Yes.” Her mouth tightened. “At least that’s what Mr. Madsen claims. I need to verify that with Ms. Taylor and Ms. Holland—find out if they also witnessed Carlo Barberi’s confession.”
Jerry studied Marilyn. Her face was drawn with fatigue, and it was strange to see the normally spunky detective so down. “You’ve had a long day, with the funeral and all, huh?”
She nodded.
“You sound rather certain you’ve found Logan’s killer, though.”
“If you’d witnessed Grant, um, Mr. Madsen, describe how he discovered his cousin killed his brother, you’d be convinced too. He was a total mess.” She glanced at the monitor and then at her report. “I’ve been so wrong about him.”
With a sigh she sat back in her chair. “The truth is I’m stalling. I don’t want to go visit Ms. Taylor because I don’t want to face my failures.”
“What do you mean, Marilyn?”
“Jerry, is she going to be all right?”
He nodded.
Marilyn sighed with relief. “Still, Ms. Taylor would not have been shot tonight, and Mr. Madsen would not have been arrested, had I done my job right the first time. I was off pursuing the wrong lead while the true murderer, Carlo Barberi, was terrorizing innocent people.”
Not sure what to say, Jerry was quiet for a moment before venturing, “It was a tough case. You did your best, Marilyn.”
“No, I didn’t! I totally screwed up the investigation by assuming Grant Madsen was the killer. Once I heard he was from a prominent Mafia family, on parole, formerly a sailor at Great Lakes right where we found the body, I knew it had to be him. I knew it.” She sighed again. “But when I interviewed him, and he had an alibi …” Her voice trailed off and she looked down.
Resting a hand on her shoulder, Jerry smirked. “Madsen’s not your typical con, is he?”
His hand felt soft and comforting on her shoulder, and it surprised her, given his hard, gruff demeanor. She let out a half-chuckle. “Hardly. I’ve never had a murder suspect address me as ‘ma’am’ so many times.”
“Taylor’s not quite like any of my other parolees either,” Jerry added, letting his hand fall from her shoulder.
Marilyn stood and faced Jerry with a look of tenderness. “I’m glad, um, I’m glad they found each other in the midst of all this mess.”
Jerry returned her gaze and suddenly felt nervous. Darting his eyes away, he looked at the monitor, finding Grant with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, almost folded onto himself.
“I better go talk to him,” Jerry said. “Taylor begged me to help him if I could.”
Marilyn also focused on the monitor. “After I go to the hospital, Detective Hammond and I have to inform Angelo Barberi that his son is dead. That should be interesting.” Still studying Grant, she felt a sadness wash over her. “I guess Mr. Madsen has been trying to get away from his family his entire life.”
Jerry nodded. “Let’s hope he finally succeeds.”
*
Frowning at the grown man huddled in a ball on the makeshift bed, Jerry stood outside the metal bars a few moments before asking, “You okay, Madsen?”
Grant lifted his head with a start to find Jerry watching him. Once he got his bearings he asked, “Is Sophie all right?”
Jerry nodded. “She’ll live.” A long, heavy sigh escaped Grant’s lips as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” Grant murmured, and Jerry wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or God. Opening his eyes, Grant scrambled to his feet to approach the bars.
Jerry’s eyes narrowed. Sensing his disapproval, Grant asked, “What is it, sir?”
“Why the hell are you wearing a White Sox jacket? You told me you were a Cubs fan!” Jerry practically shouted.
Right then a wonderful thing happened to Grant Madsen: a refreshing sensation welled up from within, building and spreading throughout his body, and he found himself actually wanting to laugh. Despite all the horrific events still fresh in his memory, Jerry learning the truth about his baseball allegiance finally made him smile.
Shrugging his shoulders, Grant said, “I lied?”