Блейк Пирс - A Trace of Hope

Keri did know the drill and fifteen minutes later she was seated in an interrogation room, waiting for the arrival of inmate #2427609, or Thomas “The Ghost” Anderson. The guard had warned her that they were getting ready for lights out and it might take a little extra time to collect him. She tried to stay cool as she waited but knew it was a losing battle.

Anderson always seemed to get under her skin, as if he was secretly peeling back her scalp to reveal her brain and read her thoughts. Oftentimes, she felt like she was a kitten and he was holding one of those laser pen lights, sending her scampering in random directions at his whim.

And yet, it was his information that sent her down a road that had gotten her closer to finding Evie than anything else had. Was that by design or just luck? He’d never given her any indication that their meetings were anything other than happenstance. But if he was that far ahead of the game, why would he?

The door opened and he stepped through it, looking much as she remembered. Anderson, in his mid-fifties, was on the shorter side, about five foot eight, with a square, well-built frame that suggested he used the prison gym regularly. The manacles on his muscled forearms looked tight. Still, he appeared leaner than she remembered, as if he’d missed a few meals.

His thick hair was parted neatly but much to her surprise, it was no longer the jet black she remembered. Now it was mostly a salt-and-pepper combination. At the edges of his prison jumpsuit, she could still see portions of the multiple tattoos that lined the right side of his body all the way up his neck. His left side was still unblemished.

As he was directed to the metal chair across the table from her, his gray eyes never left her. She knew he was taking her in, studying her, sizing her up, trying to learn as much as he could about her situation before she said a word.

After he was seated, the guard took a position by the door.

“We’re fine, Officer…Kiley,” Keri said, squinting at his nametag.

“Procedure, ma’am,” the guard said brusquely.

She glanced over at him. He was new…and young. She doubted he was on the take yet but she couldn’t afford for anyone, corrupt or clean, to hear this conversation. Anderson smiled slightly at her, knowing what was coming. This would probably be entertaining for him.

She stood up and stared at the guard until he sensed her eyes on him and looked over.

“First of all, it’s not ma’am. It’s Detective Locke. Second, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your procedure, newbie. I want to talk to this inmate in private. If you can’t accommodate that, then I need to talk to you in private and it’s not going to be a comfortable chat.”

“But…” Kiley started to stammer as he shifted from foot to foot.

“But nothing, Officer. You have two choices here. You can let me speak to this inmate privately. Or we can have that chat! Which is it gonna be?”

“Maybe I should get my superviso – ”

“That’s not on the list of choices, Officer. You know what? I’m deciding for you. Let’s step outside so I can chat you up a little. You’d think taking down a religious zealot pedophile would give me a pass for the rest of the week but I guess now I have to instruct a corrections officer as well.”

She reached for the door handle and started to pull when Officer Kiley finally lost what was left of his nerve. She was impressed at how long he’d lasted.

“Never mind, Detective,” he said hastily. “I’ll wait outside. Just please use caution. This prisoner has a history of violent incidents.”

“Of course I will,” Keri said, her voice now all buttered honey. “Thank you for being so accommodating. I’ll try to keep it brief.”

He stepped out and shut the door and Keri returned to her seat, filled with a confidence and energy that had been lacking only thirty seconds earlier.

“That was fun,” Anderson said mildly.

“I’m sure,” Keri replied. “You can bet I expect some valuable information in return for providing you with such quality entertainment.”

“Detective Locke,” Anderson said in a tone of mocked indignation, “you offend my delicate sensibilities. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other and yet your first instinct upon seeing me is to demand information? No hello? No how are you?”

“Hello,” Keri said. “I’d ask how you are, but it’s clear you’re not great. You’ve lost weight. The hair has gone gray. The skin near your eyes has gotten saggy. Are you ill? Or is something weighing on your conscience?”

“Both actually,” he admitted. “You see, the boys in here have been treating me a little rough lately. I’m no longer in the popular crowd. So I have my dinner ‘borrowed’ occasionally. I get an unrequested rib massage now and then. Also, I have a touch of the cancer.”

“I didn’t know,” Keri said quietly, genuinely taken aback. All the physical signs of wasting away made more sense now.

“How could you?” he asked. “I didn’t advertise it. I might have told you at my parole hearing in November but you weren’t there. I didn’t get it, by the way. Not your fault though. Your letter was lovely, thank you very much.”

Keri had written a letter on Anderson’s behalf after he’d helped her before. She didn’t advocate for his release but she had been generous in her description of his assistance to the force.

“You weren’t surprised you didn’t get it, I gather?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s hard not to hope. It was my last real chance to get out of here before the sickness takes me. I had dreams of wandering on a beach in Zihuatanejo. Alas, it’s not to be. But enough small talk, Detective. Let’s get down to why you’re really here. And remember, the walls have ears.”

“Okay,” she started, then leaned in and whispered, “do you know about tomorrow night?”

Anderson nodded. Keri felt a surge of hope rise in her chest.

“Do you know where it’s happening?”

He shook his head.

“I can’t help you with the where,” he whispered back. “But I might be able to help you with the why.”

“What good will that do me?’ she demanded bitterly.

“Knowing why might help you find out where.”

“Let me ask you a different why,” she said, realizing her anger was getting the best of her but unable to contain it.

“All right.”

“Why are you helping me at all?” she asked. “Have you been guiding me all along, since I first met you?”

“Here’s what I can tell you, Detective. You know what I did for a living, how I coordinated the theft of children from their families to be given to other families, often for massive fees. It was a very lucrative business. I was able to conduct it from a distance using a false name and live a happy, uncomplicated life.”

“As John Johnson?”

“No, my happy life was as Thomas Anderson, librarian. My alter ego was John Johnson, abduction facilitator. When I was caught, I turned to someone we both know to ensure that John Johnson was exonerated and that Thomas Anderson was never connected to him. This was almost a decade ago. Our friend didn’t want to do it. He said he only represented those mistreated by the system and that I was, and this is funny to think about now, a cancer on that system.”

“That is funny,” Keri agreed, not laughing.

“But as you know, I can be convincing. I persuaded him that I was taking children from wealthy, undeserving families and giving them to loving families without the same resources. Then I offered him an enormous amount of money to get me acquitted. I think he knew I was lying. After all, how could these low-income families afford to pay me? And were the parents who lost their children all really terrible? Our friend is very smart. He had to have known. But it gave him something to hold on to, something to tell himself when he took six figures in cash from me.”