“But rather than using his weapon on a guard . . .” Lucas’s thought tapered off to silence. Both Marty and Josh looked uncomfortable with his line of thought, as they should have. Regardless of whether it was an occupational hazard, nobody wanted to think about getting shivved while working the prison floor.
“You want to talk about guards?” Marty asked. “The one who was on watch when it happened? He quit that same day, right on the spot. A few days after that, he was found dead in his apartment.”
“It wasn’t murder,” Josh said.
“Well, he wasn’t murdered,” Marty corrected. “But the guy did manage to kill his wife before offing himself.”
Lucas gaped. He shot a look at Josh, who appeared smugly satisfied at Lucas’s surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The papers made it out like the guy was upset about losing his job. Washington Corrections gave him the ax after the suicide on his shift, even though he really quit. But the fact that this guy killed his wife before he did the deed? I mean, it’s possible that the wife found out he lost his job. Maybe there was a huge fight and he accidentally killed her and then did himself out of guilt. But then there wouldn’t have been a note.”
“A note,” Lucas said.
“Something to the extent of living forever. Coincidence?” Marty raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. See where we’re going here?”
“The guard, what was his name?” Lucas asked.
“Stew Hillstone. He was a good guy, which was just another thing that didn’t sit right with any of the people who knew him. Stew loved his wife, Donna. He had been talking about taking her to Hawaii for their anniversary. And then he turns around and kills her, stuck her in the back with a kitchen knife and laid her out on the floor like nothing happened? I heard that the cops wouldn’t have known she was dead had it not been for the giant pool of blood beneath her.”
“Did Hillstone talk to Halcomb often?”
Marty lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s impossible to keep track of who says what to whom, but it looks like Stew and Halcomb had something going on. I mean, Stew was friendly with almost all the guys on the row. He felt bad for ’em, even the child murderers. Stew was kind of weird that way. He kept it to himself for the most part, but he and Donna were really religious. They believed in all that forgiveness stuff, you know? Something about forgiving being divine. But the way I figure it, if Jeffrey Halcomb can convince an inmate to kill himself from behind a concrete wall, he can sure as hell get to a guard he interacts with on a daily basis.”
“How could Halcomb and Schwartz talk to each other? Aren’t they in solitary confinement?”
“The cell doors have ports. We call them slop slots, where we slide the food trays through. It isn’t exactly regulation, but maybe some of us are a little too soft for our own good. We leave those ports open for the guys who haven’t been causing trouble, and they can talk to each other through them if they feel like it.” Marty shrugged, his reproachful expression giving him away. He was guilty of leaving the port doors open as well. “It’s hard sometimes,” he said. “These guys are human beings. Locking them up the way they are, it gets to you sometimes. Occasionally we bend the rules because it makes us feel a little less grisly.”
“What do you call that?” Josh cut in. “The ability to make people do what you say.”
“Mind control?” Lucas said.
“You think that Halcomb guy can really do that?” Josh asked.
“I know he can,” Lucas said. “How else do you explain eight kids killing themselves in unison in the name of one man?”
And how else did someone explain why Lucas was living in Halcomb’s former residence? He knew damn well what the man was capable of, and Halcomb was still able to pull one over on him.
All it took was a letter.
You want my story, you live in my house.
Gee, okay, Lucas may as well have replied. What else can I do for you, Mr. Halcomb?
“Good teacher,” Morales said under his breath, “what good thing shall I do, that I may have eternal life?” He looked up at Lucas and Marty. “That’s from the Bible. It’s repeated over and over again.”
Lucas gave him a curious look. Josh looked far away, as if contemplating something he’d never considered before.
“What about the visitor?” Lucas asked, turning his attention to Marty. “Josh mentioned something about a woman. And the gatekeeper receptionist at the front desk—I’ve talked to her many times. She’s verified that Halcomb has cut off all visitation except to one person. That must be her, right?”
“I’ve walked Halcomb down to the visitation room a few times,” Marty said. “In the past few months, I’ve noticed one particular visitor that sees him on a semifrequent basis. I don’t have her name. We have to request clearance to get info like that from the front desk, and we have to have a good reason for asking. Obviously, I can’t do that if we’re off the record . . . which we are.”
“Do you remember what she looks like?” Lucas asked.
“Not really. Halcomb doesn’t often see people the way he was going to see you—you know, one-on-one with guards standing by. He does on occasion, but every time I’ve noticed this woman, he’s been seeing her in regular visitation, behind Plexiglas, just talking through the phone.”
“So what?” Lucas shook his head, not getting the point.
“So when you go to regular visitation you don’t have to surrender all of your belongings. The chick wears these big dark glasses, like Jackie O. She pulls her hair back and wears a scarf. If you took one look at her you’d think she didn’t want to be seen going in and out of the prison, and I guess that’s just as well. Maybe she’s family or something. Whoever she is, Halcomb seems to know her pretty well. Maybe she’s ashamed of that. Or maybe she’s just a Froot Loop who thinks she’s Marilyn Monroe.”
“But there’s no chance . . . ?” Lucas asked.