SEVENTY-ONE
The prison looked different.
When I’d visited last, it had looked sullen and isolated. Now, it resembled a shopping mall on the weekend.
Gathered near the main entrance were maybe five hundred people holding signs and candles. They seemed to be equally divided between those calling for Simington’s death and those who were opposed. The scene was calm at the moment, but I knew as the day wore on, the tension would grow.
I spotted Kenney lurking at the perimeter of the crowd. He saw me, too, nodded in greeting, and walked toward me.
“Surprised to see you,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Not really sure why I’m here.”
“They letting you in to see him?”
“I called earlier and set it up.”
Kenney shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his chin in the direction of the cameras and crowd. “These clowns know who you are?”
“They did in San Diego. Hoping they don’t up here.” “If they swarm you, I’ll come run interference,” he said. “Thanks.”
We stood there, awkwardness filling the space between us. “I’m not sorry for him,” he said. “But I’m sorry you have to go in there.”
I understood what he was getting at, and I appreciated the effort. But at the same time, if he’d known what I’d done earlier in the day, I didn’t think we’d be having the same kind of conversation.
“Thanks,” I told him. “I’m gonna head in.”
He held out his hand. “Good luck.”
We shook, and I nodded without saying anything. Kenney turned and walked back to where I’d first spotted him. He put his arm around a woman whom I’d failed to see initially. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.
His sister.
One more victim.
I looked at the prison and went in for the final time.
SEVENTY-TWO
Security was tighter. I was patted down twice, and my ID was checked three times. I was led to a different area this time, a room off the hallway past the usual visitors’ area. The room was about twenty by twenty, with a table in the middle and several folding chairs.
Simington sat in one of the chairs, a plate with a huge hamburger and a pile of French fries in front of him. Two guards, at opposite ends of the room, watched him with the same pleasure they might watch a late-night infomercial.
He smiled and gestured at the plate. “All day. I get pretty much whatever I want. I’ve got a pizza, a lasagna, a plate of pancakes, and a six pack of Pepsi coming in tonight for the last one.”
When I’d called to arrange the visit, they’d told me he’d be in a different room, but I wasn’t prepared to be so close to him. Not having the glass between us was unnerving. The barrier had provided a buffer for me, something that kept me from realizing he was a real person. Without it, I couldn’t escape that he was a living, breathing human being.
About to die.
I slid into the metal folding chair across the table from him. “That’s great.”
He stuffed a fry into his mouth and nodded. “Like they’re trying to make up for what they’re about to do to me. Oh well, huh?”
There was no anxiety or nervousness about him. His repeated statements that he was fine with all this seemed proven by his attitude and his appetite.
“I guess,” I said.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Surprised you came back. Thought we were done the last time.”
“Me, too.”
He folded his arms across his chest, the tattoo on his wrist flashing at me like a neon sign. “So. You take care of things in San Diego?” I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.” “Good for you,” he said, his voice lower now. “Not really.”
“Yes, it is. It needed to get done.”
Discussing a murder in a prison was doing nothing to alleviate the tension in my body and my mind.
“Been a long time coming,” Simington said. “Never thought it would happen, really.” A thin, dry smile appeared on his face. “Almost didn’t, I guess. But I knew I could count on you.” He reached for one of the hamburgers.
Knew I could count on you.
It had been sticking in my skin for the previous two weeks. Why had he sent Darcy to me in the first place when he’d had no intention of fighting his sentence? Why had he talked to me when he’d spoken to no one else? Why had he thrown out Keene’s name in the first place? His answers had always seemed hollow, but I’d accepted them at the time. Maybe because I’d been looking for some sort of connection with him. Maybe because I’d wanted to believe that some part of him was good. But somewhere in my head and in my heart, I knew there was something else, something much less altruistic, in his actions. And now, finally, I heard it in his words.
“This is what you wanted from the first day, isn’t it?” I asked.
The hamburger was halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“You didn’t give a shit about me,” I said, seeing it all again in my head. “You wanted Keene.”
He set the burger back on the plate and wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants. “What are you talking about?”
“You were never going to work with Darcy,” I said. “You sent her to me to get to Keene. And then you sent me after him.”
He leaned back in the chair and said nothing.
“Gave me just enough to keep me going,” I said, shaking my head at how stupid I’d been. “Just pointing me in the right direction.”
Simington cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on me. “Some things need to get done.”
His voice had dropped an octave, like someone had poured sawdust down his throat. His eyes had hollowed out. And I finally saw the man whom everyone had talked about. The thug, the killer, the man who belonged on death row.
“You used me,” I said.
“You let me use you.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. “Whatever it takes. That son of a bitch was gonna die before I did. I just seized an opportunity.”
I thought of Darcy and Liz. They had died because Simington had been looking for revenge. Revenge that I had carried out for him.
“You’ll find another girlfriend, Noah,” he said. “That’s what you’re really upset about. It’ll pass.”
It was like his words were on tape and they’d gotten stuck in the player, coming out slow and garbled. I ran them through my head again to make sure I’d heard him correctly.
“How do you know about her?” I asked, an invisible spear digging into my spine.
“What?” he said. Something flashed across his face. He realized he’d made a mistake.
I was rewinding the tape in my head. The last time I’d been there, Kenney had said something that hadn’t made sense to me. Something about Simington having old friends visit him. Visitors.
“Keene came to see you,” I said, as much for me to hear as for Simington.
“Noah, look—”
“What did he tell you about her?” I asked, the spear digging in further.
He hesitated for a moment, probably trying to decide whether he should keep up the act. I could almost see the mental shrug, him deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. His face hardened. “He told me you were dating a cop.”
“Did he threaten her?”
“Does it matter?”
The anger was building, but I tried to remain calm. “Did Keene threaten her?”
He watched me, then nodded.
“And you didn’t tell me? When I was here last time, you didn’t tell me?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Keene came here to scare me. Fuckin’ moron.” He waved his hand around the room. “Thinking I’d be scared of him after living here. He was pissing his pants if he was crazy enough to walk in here and be seen with me.”
I sat there, staring at him, my legs starting to shake.
“That son of a bitch told me if you didn’t back off, he was gonna take her out,” he said, his eyes empty. “He thought that would do something for me, make me rethink talking to you. I think he feared me just enough to not go directly after you. But he thought threatening your girlfriend might shake things up.”