Second Grave on the Left

Chapter Ten

By the time we stopped at the Mora County Sheriff’s Department, Cookie was on fire. She was taking charge of the investigation and doing a pretty good job of it, too. If you didn’t count the dropped calls, the slow Internet access, and the lashing from an eighty-year-old woman claiming she was Batman when Cookie dialed a wrong number. Cook was getting a little annoyed with my repeated impersonation of the woman. She really shouldn’t have put her on speakerphone if she didn’t want to reap the consequences.

After we climbed out of Misery, she pushed past me and said, “You’re messing with my flow.”

I tried not to giggle — well, not real hard — and asked, “Didn’t you have surgery for that?”

Unfortunately, the current head honcho was out on business. The clerk told us the former sheriff, Kyle Kirsch’s dad, was now living in Taos with his wife, working in security, so we didn’t get to chat with him this go-around. But the clerk did give us copies of everything they had on the Hana Insinga case for the low cost of a round-trip ticket to a dark and dank basement and the shuffling of a few file boxes.

The clerk herself was too young to remember the case, which was a bummer. But I was sure with all the hoopla going on underneath all the hoopla going on up top, we would ruffle a few feathers just for the asking. If nothing else, we would get Kyle’s attention, and fast. Of course, between the fake FBI agents and my new friends from this morning, we may already have revealed our secret hideout and nefarious plans to stop Kyle Kirsch from taking over the world.

I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

On the way back, we had to pass through Santa Fe, which gave me the perfect opportunity to have a one-on-one with Neil Gossett, a deputy warden at the prison there. Actually, he’d called while we were en route and pretty much insisted that I stop and see him. He had his assistant schedule us an appointment, as prisons were big on appointments.

“Do you think Neil will give you access to that kind of information?” Cookie asked when she got off the phone with her daughter, Amber. From the sound of things, Amber was having a good time at her dad’s, which seemed to ease Cookie’s concerns. “I mean, aren’t visitation records kind of confidential?”

“First things first,” I said as we drove to the prison. I took out my cell and called Uncle Bob.

“Oh,” Cookie said, tapping keys on her laptop. “Your Mistress Marigold just answered my e-mail.”

“Really? Did she mention me?”

She chuckled. “Well, I asked her what she wanted with the grim reaper, and she said, and I quote, ‘That is between me and the grim reaper.’”

“She did mention me! She’s nice.”

Cookie nodded as Uncle Bob answered, his tone brusque. “What have you got?”

“Besides great boobs?” I asked.

“On the case.”

He was so testy. “Do you want the whole shebang or just a partial?”

“All of it, if you don’t mind.”

Thus I spilled our entire case for the next ten minutes while Cookie did some research on her laptop. She barked out a few details from time to time, apparently dissatisfied with my rendition of Kyle Kirsch Takes Over the World: The Musical.

After a long pause that had me wondering if he’d finally succumbed to his blocked arteries, I heard some huffing and puffing and a door squeak just before he whispered, “Kyle Kirsch?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the freaking john. You can’t go around saying shit like that out loud in public. Kyle Kirsch?”

“Yep.”

“The Kyle Kirsch?”

His synapses must have been misfiring. “I have to go to prison now. Let me know when your software has been updated, and we’ll chat.”

“Okay, wait,” he said just before I hung up, “let me look into the missing-girl case. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Me?” I was only a little offended.

“You stir up more hornets’ nests than a twelve-year-old boy with a baseball bat. You’re like Lois Lane on crack.”

“Well, I never. So, do you have anything else for me?”

“No.”

“Darn.”

“Are you going to stay out of trouble?”

“What? K-shhhhhhh. You’re breaking up.” I hung up before he could say anything else. If I was Lois Lane, then Reyes Farrow was definitely my Superman. I just had to find him before the kryptonite demons finished what they started. The fact that I hadn’t seen him all day did not escape me. Did he die? Was he already gone? The mere thought caused a crushing weight to push against my chest. I breathed in deep, calming breaths as we pulled up to the main gate of the prison.

“According to the write-up in the paper, Janelle York is survived by a sister, but she lives in California now,” Cookie said.

“Wow, that’s a bit far to drive. We’re here to see Neil Gossett,” I told the guard.

He scanned a clipboard, his posture like a soldier at attention. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Sure do,” I said, letting a flirtatious smile slide across my face. “My name is Charlotte Davidson, and this is Cookie Kowalski.”

A grin threatened the corners of his mouth. He was too young to be jaded and too old to be naïve. A darned good age, in my book. “I only have you down, Ms. Davidson. Let me call up,” he said.

I widened my smile, which in my experience could open more doors than an AK-47. He forced his mouth to stay grim, but his eyes smiled right back before he turned and strode to the guardhouse.

“Maybe Janelle’s sister came down for the funeral,” Cook added. “I’ll call the funeral home, try to get the contact information.”

As she typed in a search for the number, the guard walked back to us, the grin still trying to push past the harsh line of his mouth. “You’re clear. If you’ll just follow this road around,” he said, pointing to the right, “it’ll take you right to his building.”

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, I found myself once again in the state pen. Well, in Neil Gossett’s office in the state pen, anyway. Cookie stayed in the outside office to do some more research and make a few calls. She was so productive. I heard Neil coming. He greeted Cookie then stopped to speak with Luann, his administrative assistant, the one who met us at the entry and eyed me like I was out to kill her puppy every time I visited. She had pale skin that revealed every bit of her forty-plus years and contrasted starkly with her short black hair and dark eyes. I’d always wondered why she glared at me every time I came in. Never enough to ask, but still. All I got in the way of emotion was distrust, but thinking back to the first time I’d met her, I didn’t even feel that until she found out I was there about Reyes. She seemed almost protective of him, and I suddenly wondered why.

Neil thanked Luann, then started toward his office. He and I went to high school together, but our paths had rarely crossed. Mostly ’cause he was a jerk. Thank goodness prison life had matured him. And because of an incident that happened when Reyes first arrived here ten years ago, which involved the downfall of three of the deadliest gang members the prison population had to offer in about fifteen seconds flat, Neil knew a smidgen about Reyes. Whatever Neil saw left an impression. And he knew just enough about me to believe anything I said, no matter how crazy it sounded. That had not been the case in high school, where I had been called everything from schizoid to Bloody Mary — which was odd ’cause I was rarely covered in blood. But now I could use his newfound faith in my abilities to my advantage, and I was counting on that trust to make my case.

He stepped into the office and cast a knowing glance my way before settling behind his desk. Neil was a balding ex-athlete who still had a fairly nice physique despite his obvious fondness for libation.

“Have you seen him?” he asked, getting right to the point. He was going to be all business for the time being. That worked. And it made sense that he wanted to know where Reyes was, him being the deputy warden of the prison Reyes essentially escaped from and all.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“You mean, you don’t know where he is?” He sounded agitated.

“No.” I tried to sound agitated right back.

He breathed a weary sigh, dropping his deputy warden persona, and his next statement surprised me more than I wanted to admit. “We have to find him, Charley. We can’t let the U.S. marshals get to him first.”

Alarm spiked within me. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s Reyes Farrow,” he said, his tone sardonic. “I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I’ve seen what he can do with pure skill. God only knows what he could do with an actual weapon in his hands.” He scrubbed his face with his fingers, then added, “You know better than I do what he’s capable of.”

He was right. I knew a hell of a lot more than he did. If Neil was anywhere near the town of Clued In, he’d really be freaking.

“They won’t be able to stop him,” he continued, his expression dire. “And when they can’t stop him, they will use any means necessary to bring him down.”

The thought of Reyes being taken down by a group of marshals clamped and glued my teeth together for a long moment, squeezed the chambers in my heart shut. Reyes said it himself. In human form, he was vulnerable. He could be taken down. I wasn’t sure how far Neil would go to help me help Reyes, but I was about to find out. And if I wanted him to trust me, I’d have to trust him. Though the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth would be too much and could do more harm than good, Neil had seen enough to know Reyes was a different animal. I would use that knowledge to reel him in while leaving those pesky little facts that incorporated words like grim and reaper and son of Satan for another day.

“I don’t know where he is,” I said, taking a gargantuan leap of faith, “but I do know he’s being hunted and he’s hurt.”

What I said startled him. While his expression remained impassive — a true connoisseur of the ever-popular poker face — his emotions lurched at my statement, and I knew in that moment I’d found a true ally. He wasn’t angry with me for having such knowledge about Reyes or hungry for the hunt that would bring his prisoner down. No visceral lust shimmered in his eyes at the thought of the accolades he would receive for capturing an escaped convict.

No, Neil was afraid. He seemed to genuinely care for Reyes. The realization surprised me. Neil worked with hundreds of convicts on a daily basis. Surely compassion fatigue played a big role in his profession. One would think frustration alone would keep any feelings of true concern at bay. But I could feel it. I could feel the connection he had with Reyes. Maybe he’d formed an attachment after having Reyes as a prisoner for so long, knowing all the while he was something more, something not entirely human. Either way, I could have kissed him on the mouth right then and there if he hadn’t been such a jerk to me in high school. Relief at having Neil on my side through this, on Reyes’s side, eased the tension in my stomach, if only minutely.

“How do you know he’s hurt?” he asked, and I could literally feel the emotions warring within him. Concern. Empathy. Dread. They pushed forward and swirled through me like a suffocating smoke.

I blinked through it and concentrated. “I’m going to tell you something,” I said, hoping that leap of faith wouldn’t come to a crash landing in a cactus patch. ’Cause that shit was painful. “And you know that whole open-minded thing you’ve got going here?”

He hesitated, wondering what I was up to, then offered me a wary nod.

I leaned forward, softened my voice to hopefully lessen the blow. “Reyes is a supernatural entity.” When he didn’t react, didn’t even blink, I continued. Mostly ’cause I really, really needed his help. And a little because I was curious how far I could go. How far he would go to learn the truth. “I mean, I have a little supernatural mojo myself, but I’m nothing like him.”

After a long, thoughtful moment, he covered his face with his palms and looked at me through his splayed fingers. “I’m losing it,” he said. Then, rethinking his verb tense, he added, “No. I take that back. I’ve lost it. It’s a done deal. There’s no hope for me now.”

“Okey dokey,” I said, shifting in my seat. I figured I’d just go along with it. No judging. No jumping to conclusions. No buying him a straitjacket for Christmas.

He pressed a button on his speakerphone.

“Yes, sir?” came the immediate response. She was good.

“Luann, I need you to have me committed ASAP. Yesterday, if possible.”

“Of course, sir. Any particular program?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Anything will do. Just use your best judgment.”

“I’ll get on it immediately, sir.”

“She’s a good egg,” he said when Luann disconnected the call.

“She seems like it. And you’re having yourself committed because?”

He scowled at me like his mental breakdown was my fault. “As much as it pains me to admit this, I believe you.”

I fought to keep a relieved grin from surfacing.

“No, I mean, I believe believe you. As if you’d just told me you had a flat tire or it was cloudy out. Like what you said is just an everyday thing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to get worked up about.”

Man, he had changed a lot since high school. And I didn’t just mean the beer pooch and receding hairline. “And that’s bad?”

“Of course it’s bad. I work in a prison, for God’s sake. Things like this just don’t happen in my world. And yet, every bone in my body is accepting the fact that Reyes is a supernatural entity. I’d sooner doubt the weatherman, at this point.”

“Everybody doubts the weatherman, and you’re in my world now,” I said with a grin. “My world is supercool. But I told you that for a reason.”

He refocused on me and raised his brows in question.

“I need your help. I need to know who’s been visiting Reyes.”

“And you need that information because?”

“Because I need to find his body.”

“He’s dead?” Neil shouted in alarm. He jumped up and walked around to me.

“No, Neil, calm down.” I held up my palms in surrender. “He’s not dead. Or, well, I don’t think he’s dead. But he will be soon. I have to find his body. Like I said, he’s hurt. Bad.”

“And you’re thinking someone might be harboring him? Someone who’s come to visit.”

“Exactly.”

He turned and punched a button on his speakerphone again. “Luann, can you get me the names of everyone who’s visited Reyes Farrow in the last year? And I need to know who he’s requested be put on his visitation list, whether they were approved by the state or not.”

“Would you like that information before or after I have you committed, sir?”

He pursed his mouth in thought. Making a decision, he said, “Before. Definitely before.”

“I’ll get them immediately.”

“I just love her use of the word immediately,” I said, vowing to introduce the concept to Cookie. “So, visitors have to be approved?”

“Yes.” He sat back down behind his desk. “The inmate has to turn in anyone’s name he wants to receive visitations from; then that person has to fill out an application, which is submitted to the state for approval before he or she can visit. So let’s get back to this supernatural thing,” he said, a tinge of mystery in his eyes.

“Okay.”

“Are you psychic? Is that how you know Farrow is hurt?”

Always with the PS-word. “No. Not especially. Not in the way that you mean. I can’t predict the future or tell you about the past.” When he eyed me doubtfully, I said, “Seriously, I can barely remember last week. The past is a blur, like fog only blurrier.”

“Okay, then what do you mean by supernatural?”

I thought again about telling him the truth, but just as quickly decided against it. I didn’t want to lose him, but I didn’t want to lie to him either. This was a guy who’d worked with convicted felons for over a decade. Deceivers one and all.

I studied the speckled pattern of his carpet, trying to figure out what to say. I hated the uncertainty of how much to tell someone, how much to hold back. The problem with telling people the truth was that by my doing so, their lives were forever altered. Their perspective forever skewed. Since most people would never believe a word of it anyway, I was rarely put in such a precarious position. But Neil had seen things. He knew Reyes was more powerful than any man he’d ever met. He knew I could see things others couldn’t. But there was a line, a limit to what the human mind could accept as reality. If I crossed it, I would lose his cooperation and his friendship. Not that I really gave a crap about his friendship, but still.

“Neil, I don’t want to lie to you.”

“And I don’t want to be lied to, so this whole thing should be pretty cut and dry.”

With a deep sigh, I said, “If I tell you the truth … let’s just say you won’t sleep well at night. Ever again.”

He tapped a pen on his desk in thought. “I have to be honest, Charley, I haven’t slept all that well since your last visit a couple of weeks ago.”

Damn. I knew it. I’d already screwed up his world.

“I could be wrong,” he continued, “but I’m certain I would sleep better if I knew the whole story. It’s the bits and pieces that are kicking my ass. Nothing is solid anymore. Nothing fits. I feel like the foundation of everything I’ve ever believed in is crumbling beneath my feet and I am losing my grip on what’s real and what’s not.”

“Neil, if I tell you more, the last thing that knowledge will do is help you get a stronger grip on reality.”

“Can we agree to disagree?”

“No.”

“So we are disagreeing?”

“No.”

“So we’re in agreement?”

“No.”

“Then let me put it this way.” He leaned forward with an evil, evil grin. “If you want a gander at those visitation records, I want to know everything.”

Did he just use the word gander? “I don’t think I can do that to you,” I said with regret.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I didn’t tell you everything either.”

My brows snapped together. “What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly think that one little story I told you about Reyes was everything?”

The first time I’d visited, Neil told me the most amazing story. He had just started working at the prison when he witnessed Reyes, a twenty-year-old kid at the time, take down three of the most deadly men in the state without breaking a sweat. It was over before Neil could even call for backup. That’s when he knew Reyes was different.

“Do you think that was all there was to tell?” he asked. I half expected an evil laugh. “I have dozens of stories. Things that … things that are impossible to explain.” He shook his head as he contemplated what I could tell was a plethora of unexplainable phenomena. I tried not to drool. “And quite honestly, Charley, I need an explanation. Call it the scientist in me,” he added with a shrug of his brows.

“You sucked at science.”

“It’s grown on me.”

He wasn’t giving up. I could see the determination in his eyes. That same determination that took our high school football team to state three years in a row. Damn it.

“Tell you what,” I said, slipping into negotiation mode. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

“So I have to go first, is that what you’re saying?”

I smiled in affirmation.

“Damn it. I always have to go first, then half the time, you girls chicken out and run away before showing me yours.”

He’d clearly had too much experience in that area. “You don’t trust me?” I asked, trying really hard to be appalled.

His mouth thinned. “Not even a little.”

I indicated our surroundings with turned-up palms. “Dude, we’re in a prison. If I don’t hold up my part of the bargain, you can put me in solitary until I do.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

I wanted more, needed more as much as I needed air. My appetite to learn as much as possible about Reyes was insatiable. “You can get it in blood.”

After a long, thoughtful sigh, he said, “I guess blood won’t be necessary. I’ll give you one of the highlights.” He worked his lower lip a moment before choosing. “Okay, there was this one time when I was still a guard, we’d received word that a fight was going to break out. A bad one between South Side and the Aryans. The tension was so thick that by the third day we knew something was going to happen. The men gathered in the yard, eyed each other, inched closer and closer until the shot caller of each gang was nose to nose. And right in the middle of it stood Farrow. We were surprised.”

“Why were you surprised?” I asked, certain my eyes were wide with wonder.

“Because he had no affiliation. It’s rare, but every once in a while, an inmate will go it alone. And he did. Quite successfully.”

“So, he’s in the middle of this fight?” Even though I knew Reyes was okay, my heart still stumbled at the thought.

“Smack dab. We couldn’t believe it. Then men started dropping. As Farrow wound his way through the inmates, man after man fell to the ground. They just passed out.” He paused, lost in thought.

“What happened next?” I asked, my voice full of awe.

“When Farrow got to the shot callers, he spoke to them. By that time, most of the others were backing off, a look of astonishment on some of their faces, fear on others. The shots glanced around, realized what was happening, then the one from South Side showed his palms and backed off. But the Aryan grew furious. I think he felt Farrow was betraying his race or something.”

“They’re so testy about that sort of thing.”

Neil nodded. “The Aryan got in Farrow’s face and started yelling. Then, before anyone knew what’d happened, he just crumbled to the ground.”

I flew to my feet and laid my palms on Neil’s desk. “What did Reyes do?”

He looked up at me. “We didn’t know at first, but he touched them, Charley. Surveillance showed him walking through the crowd and touching them on the shoulder. And they dropped like flies.”

I stood with my mouth agape probably much longer than was appropriate.

“The guards rushed in, found their weapons, searched everyone else, and put the whole place on lockdown.” Neil shook his head as he thought back. “There’s no telling how many lives were saved that day. Including mine.”

That surprised me. “Why yours?”

He studied his hands a moment before answering. “I’m not as brave as I pretend to be, Charley. The Aryans had made a promise to come after me. I’d pissed one of them off when I put him in lockdown after he threw a tray at another inmate.” Neil stared hard. “I would never have made it out of there alive. I know that. And I was scared shitless.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Neil.” I chastised him with a glare then stated the obvious. “So, he saved your life, too.”

“And I’m eager to return the favor.”

“Let me ask you something,” I said, a suspicion niggling the back of my mind. Reyes’s best friend from high school had also been his cellmate. “His cellmate Amador Sanchez didn’t happen to be affiliated with South Side, did he?”

He thought back. “Yes, actually, I think he was.”

Interesting. I wondered had that not been the case would Reyes have done anything.

“I think Farrow would have stopped the fight nonetheless,” Neil said, as if reading my mind.

“Why do you say that?”

“When we stormed onto the yard, I went straight for him. I wanted to make sure nobody else went after him. Partly because I didn’t want him hurt and partly because I knew a little of what he was capable of. I didn’t want any of my coworkers hurt either. I ordered him down and kneeled beside him as the tactical team launched tear gas into the yard. I had a gas mask on, but I leaned down to him.… I just had to know.”

“Know what?”

“I asked him why he stopped the fight.”

“What did he say?”

“At first he denied it. Said he didn’t know what I was talking about, then refused to say anything else, but that could have been the tear gas.”

“Then later?”

“When we were marching the men inside for lockdown, he leaned into me as he waited his turn to be searched and told me he’d seen enough war to last a thousand lifetimes.”

Knowing exactly what Reyes had been talking about, I swallowed hard.

Neil fixed a curious gaze on me. “What did he mean? He’s certainly never been in an actual war, and I figured you might be able to answer that one.” He laced his fingers together. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Okay, I had to be honest with him, but I couldn’t tell him everything. That wouldn’t be fair to Reyes. I would tell him only what I had to. “I’m not sure how to say this,” I offered hesitantly, “but Reyes has definitely seen war, tons of it.” I watched Neil, studied him to gauge his reactions. “He was a general in an army for centuries, just not an army from this world.”

“He’s an alien?” Neil almost shouted.

“No,” I said, trying not to laugh. “He’s not. I can’t tell you everything.… He’s just a supernatural entity.”

“That’s it,” he said, rising from his desk. “You’re going into solitary.”

He grabbed my arm and lifted me out of my chair, albeit carefully. “What? I’m telling you shit.”

“No, you already told me that shit, I need new shit, shinier shit. And you’re holding out.”

“I am not. I just—”

“Do you know how many people I’ve told that story to?” He leaned down, his voice a harsh whisper, as if someone might hear. “Do you know how crazy it sounds?”

We were headed to the door. “Wait, you can’t actually put me in solitary.”

“Watch me.”

“Neil!”

“Luann,” he said when he opened the door, “get the restraints.”

Cookie had been sitting in Luann’s office and glanced up from her laptop, frowned in mild interest, then went back to her research.

“Okay, I give.” I showed my palms in surrender. When he eased his grip, I jerked my arm out of his hand then said through gritted teeth, “But don’t blame me when you start wetting your bed at night.”

He smiled at Luann congenially, then closed the door. “You got one chance. If you don’t make it good, you will never see the light of day again.”

“Fine,” I said, jabbing his chest with an index finger, “you want to play it rough, we’ll play it rough. Reyes Farrow is the son of Satan.” The moment I said it, the moment the words slid through my lips, I went into a state of shock. My hands flew over my mouth, and I stood for a very long time staring into space.

Reyes was going to kill me for letting a secret like that slip out. He was going to slice me into tiny pieces with his shiny blade; I just knew it. No, wait. I could fix this. I let my horrified gaze land on Neil. He seemed undecided on the solitary thing.

I dropped my hands and laughed. Or tried to laugh. Unfortunately, I sounded like a drowning frog, but I was rattled, discombobulated. “Just kidding,” I said, my voice straining under the pressure of certain death. I socked him on the arm. “You know how it is when you’re facing solitary confinement. You’ll say the craziest things.”

As I turned to sit back down — and to drop my jaw open to gawk at my own stupidity without him seeing — he said, “You’re not kidding.”

“Pffft,” I pfffted, turning back to him. “I was so kidding. Really? The son of Satan? Pffft.” I chuckled again and sat down. “So, where were we?”

“How is that possible?” He walked back to his desk in a daze. “I mean, how?”

Damn it. I totally gave myself away by floundering like a carp on dry land. I stood again and leaned over his desk. “Neil, really, you can’t tell anyone.”

The desperation in my voice brought him back to me. He blinked up and furrowed his brows in question.

“If there was ever anything in your life that you could not tell another living soul, Neil, this is it. I don’t know what Reyes would do if he found out that you knew. I mean—” I turned and paced away from him in thought. “—I don’t think he would hurt you. I really don’t, but there’s just no way to be certain. His behavior has been … erratic lately.”

“How is that possible?” he asked again.

“Well, he’s been under a lot of stress. And torture.”

“The son of Satan?”

“Are you listening to me?” I asked. Holy cow, talk about screwing the pooch. I screwed the whole litter. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” I’d already made the mistake of telling Cookie before I even considered the consequences. And now Neil? Why not just take out an ad in The New York Times? Put up a billboard on I-40? Have it tattooed on my ass?

“Charley,” Neil said, coming to his senses before me. “I understand. Not a word. I know what he can do, remember? I’m not about to incur his wrath. I promise you.”

With a huge sigh of relief, I sank back into the chair.

“But how is that possible?” he asked for the third time.

I offered a helpless shrug. “Even I don’t have all the details, Neil. I’m so sorry I told you. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really.”

“Bad?” he said, astonished. “How is that bad?”

“Ummm—” I gave it a moment’s thought. “—is that a trick question?”

“I happen to know he’s a good person, Charley. Just because his father is, well, broiled evil on toast. Do you know what true evil is?” he asked.

I shrugged my brows.

“When Americans talk of evil, they mean it in a malicious way, cruel and brutal. But that’s not what evil is. That’s simply our take on it.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Evil is simply the absence of good, the absence of God.”

I’d never thought of it that way. “So, you know that Reyes is not evil? That he’s a good person.”

“Of course.” He said it like I was a nincompoop. “But, seriously, he really is? You know, his son?”

“Yes,” I said, regret filling me. “He really is.”

“That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Cool?”

Neil grinned. “Yes, cool.”

“I don’t understand. How is that cool?”

He reclined in his chair and steepled his fingers. “From the moment you arrived last week … No, I take that back. From the moment Reyes arrived in my life ten years ago, I’ve questioned things. I’ve asked myself if there really is a higher power. If heaven exists. If God exists. Part of that, I’ll admit, is seeing day after day the atrocities man is capable of. But then knowing, having a glimpse of this other world, this other reality and not knowing what it was, where it came from. But now…” He fixed an appreciative gaze on me. “In a word, you have reaffirmed my belief in God, Charley. I mean, think about it. If there’s a son of Satan, you can be damned certain there’s a Son of God.”

I shook my head. “You’re absolutely right. I’m just a little surprised at how well you’re taking all of this.”

“Think about it. Jesus loves me.”

Chuckling in relief, I leaned forward and whispered, “Jesus may love you, but I’m his favorite.”

He started to laugh, then paused. He studied me. For, like, a really long time.

“What?” I said, becoming self-conscious.

“If Farrow is the son of Satan, then what are you?”

“Uh-uh,” I said, wagging a finger. “You gave me one; I gave you one.”

He continued to study me, suddenly very curious, when Luann knocked. “Come in.”

She walked in and handed him some papers.

“This is it?” Neil said in astonishment as he settled a pair of glasses on his nose.

Luann had brought him the visitation records he’d asked for. “Yes, sir. He refuses all the others.”

“Thank you, Luann.” After she left, he said, “Farrow has only one person on his approved-visitors list. No attorney. No advocate. Just one guy.”

“Let me guess: Amador Sanchez.”

“That’s right. They were cellmates for four years.”

“They were friends in high school as well.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “How the hell did they end up cellmates? And remain cellmates for four years?”

How did Reyes manage that? He grew more intriguing by the heartbeat. “What did Luann mean, he refuses all the others?”

“Oh, the women, you know.” He waved the idea off with a hand as he studied the records. “Okay, Amador Sanchez visited him the week before he was shot. He seemed to visit fairly regularly.”

“What women?” I asked as he flipped through the pages.

“The women,” he said without looking up. “He doesn’t allow any of them to visit, so we probably don’t have any records. But God knows they try. At least one or two a month.” He glanced at the ceiling in thought. “Come to think of it, they usually fill out an application, try to see him regardless. We might still have copies. I’ll have to check.” He refocused on the papers.

“Yes, you said that. What women?” I asked again, trying to rein in the hot streak of jealousy that ripped through me.

After a long moment that had me plotting his assassination in various ways — I was up to seventeen — he glanced over the rim of his glasses. “All those women from the Web sites.” His tone successfully conveyed the fact that he suddenly found me idiotic.

I began leaning toward a slow death. With lots of pain. Perhaps number four. Or thirteen. “What Web sites?”

He laid the papers on the desk and stared, his expression incredulous. Which was just rude. “Aren’t you an investigator?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you’ve been investigating Farrow for how long?”

“Hey, I just found out who he was about a week ago. Less if you go by Saturn’s calendar.”

“First, remind me never to hire you.”

I changed my mind. It was definitely going to be number twelve. I almost felt sorry for him.

“And second, do yourself a favor and Google him.”

“Google Reyes? Why?”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “Because you’re in for one hell of a surprise.”

I scooted forward in my chair. “Why? What are you talking about? Do women write him?” I’d heard of women who wrote to prisoners. Without conjuring any of the thousands of adjectives I used to describe those women, I asked, “Does he have pen pals?”

Neil pinched the bridge of his nose while fighting a grin. “Charley,” he said, looking back at me, “Reyes Farrow has fan clubs.”