The Death Sculptor

Sixty-One

Officer Toledo was a whole foot taller than Alice and as wide as a wardrobe. He had a thick, peppered mustache over thin lips, a shaved head, and sideburns to rival Elvis. He accompanied Alice and Devlin out onto the main library floor and took position to the left of the book-checkout counter – four paces from the main door. There was something in the way his gaze kept reverting back to Alice that made her feel really uncomfortable.

The main library floor had enough seats for a hundred inmates, but at that time there were only a handful of them, scattered around the many Formica desks and tables. Like a scene from an old western movie, they all stopped what they were doing and lifted their heads at the same time to stare at Alice. A quick murmur followed, and it moved around the floor like a Mexican wave. Alice had no interest in finding out what they were saying.

‘What kind of books do you carry in here?’ Alice asked Devlin.

‘A little of everything, ma’am, except crime. We have no crime books of any sort – no crime fiction, no true crime, nothing at all.’ He chanced a smile. ‘As if that would make a difference. We have a big department on religious and school books, you know – math, history, geography . . . all that. Anyone could learn how to read, or complete their lower or high-school diplomas in here . . . if they wanted to. Not many do. We also have a large and up-to-date law section.’

‘What sort of books did Ken read?’

Devlin chuckled and scratched his chin. ‘Ken read everything. He was a fast reader too. But he liked them study books a damn lot. He took them correspondence courses – advanced, college stuff, you know. He had a smart brain on him. Because of them courses, he was allowed to request extra books for his studies. Books we didn’t have here. But because the state bought them, we got to keep them after he was done with them. No one else has ever checked them out.’ Devlin paused, screwed up his face and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. ‘And then there are the books he read in here, sitting at the corner over there.’ He pointed to a desk at the far end of the hall. ‘The ones he didn’t check out. If books are only read in here, then they won’t go onto an inmate’s card either.’

Alice nodded her understanding.

Devlin showed Alice how the library cards were organized and where they were kept – a long wooden cabinet that ran along the entire back wall. In her mind, Alice was already starting to prioritize things. ‘Do you have a medical-books section at all?’

‘Yes we do,’ Devlin answered. ‘A small one. Let me show you.’

They left the book-checkout counter and moved onto the main library floor. Officer Toledo was never more than three paces behind them. Once again, every pair of eyes in the library looked up. Murmurs came from every corner, but again Alice made a point of not hearing any of it.

They carried on towards one of the bookshelves at the back.

‘This is our medical-book section,’ Devlin announced, indicating a small segment on the top shelf. It was comprised of twenty-four books. Alice made a mental note of its numeric range. ‘The only reason we have all those books is because they were part of one of Ken’s courses,’ Devlin said.

Alice asked to be shown two other book sections – psychology and art. She made a mental note of their numeric ranges as well.

‘OK, I just need some pen and paper and I can start.’

‘I can get you a pencil.’

‘That’ll do.’

They returned to the front of the library. Once back behind the checkout counter, Devlin handed Alice a few sheets of paper and a pencil, showed her the drawer in which she would find Ken Sands’s library cards, and left her to her task.

Ken Sands had ninety-two library cards, all of them packed full of book-catalogue numbers. He must’ve been one of those who could read a book a day. As Devlin said, time was something that every inmate had to spare, and it looked like Sands spent every spare second he had reading. It would take her forever to thoroughly check every card. Alice paused for a moment, her brain pondering the easiest and fastest way to work through them. She had an idea, and started jotting down catalogue numbers.

An inmate with a shaved head, who had been sitting quietly at the table closest to the checkout counter, approached Devlin and handed him a book.

‘This is a good book, Toby. I’m sure you’ll like it.’ Alice was way too busy writing down numbers to notice Devlin furtively inserting a slip of paper between the book’s pages. If anybody could get a message to someone outside Lancaster Prison, Toby could.

Police officers weren’t the only ones who looked after their own.