Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

Alice lingered at the door to her cell, standing away from the window in the dark. It was just before the last head count, at 12:00 midnight. The prison was silent and still; the radios and TVs had finally ceased their endless noise. Alice would have no problem with the guard, a little money went a long way with Dexter the Pecker. The problem in the house wasn’t the guards, it was the snitches. Lowlifes would do anything, even finger one of their own.

Alice watched as Dexter sauntered down the hall, right on time. The lights were off in the unit and only a small tensor light shone at the security desk near the unit door, where the other guard thumbed through a hunting catalog, waiting for his break. Regs required him to stay at the desk during the head count, but that didn’t mean he actually paid attention.

Dexter approached Alice’s cell, dipping his head to check each door on the way. There were five head counts a day in the house, including one at 3:00 A.M., but what they called last count was at midnight. It was the best time to execute step one of her plan.

The guard drew closer to Alice’s cell. She shifted in the shadows and double-checked that the screwdriver she’d boosted from the computer shop was still in place. It was. Dexter was only two doors away. Her cellie was in her bed, pretending to sleep. Alice wasn’t worried about the kid. She knew enough to keep her mouth shut.

Dexter was one door away, tilting his head toward the cell. Alice moved directly in front of her door. Dexter reached her door and coughed. At the same moment, he slipped his key inside the knob and extracted it smoothly. She shoved her hand in the door to keep it open, and he passed silently, moving on to check the next cell as if nothing had happened.

Alice stood motionless at her door, watching the other guard in the lamplight below. Through the open door she could hear Dexter’s footsteps as he walked along the concrete balcony, pausing at rhythmic intervals to check a cell door. Her hand began to throb in the heavy door but she didn’t open it wider. She didn’t want that hunter looking up at the wrong time.

Alice watched the other guard turn the pages, then close his catalog and look up expectantly. Dexter reached the last cell door on the tier, then walked down the wire steps to the floor of the unit, his electroplated badge catching the light of the lamp as he reached the security desk.

“Ready, Jake,” Dexter said, his voice faint, and the other guard left the unit. After he had gone, Dexter unlocked the unit door and yawned theatrically, the signal to Alice, then walked toward the outdoor area. As he stood in front of the window, his back to the unit, Alice slipped out the door of her cell, flattened her back against the cinderblock wall, and bolted. She sprinted in a crouch under the windows of the cells, hurried down the stairs in her sneakers, then darted out the unlocked door of the unit.

She was on her own. The hallway was quiet, dead-still, and dim. A line of low-wattage lights down the middle of the corridor lighted her path like a runway. She scooted along the wall, running a finger along the cinderblock, her heart pounding. Not with fear, with excitement. The guards’ break room was down the hall to the right, but nobody would come out now. Dexter had brokered the deal. Alice sprinted around the corner into the corridor that led to the computer room. She arrived at the door and stuck a finger into her sneaker for the key. She fished out the key, shoved it in the lock, and slipped inside, breathing hard.

The computer room was dark and empty, but Alice felt right at home. The monitors were lined up against the wall, their dustcovers sloppy, and the seats in a row in front of them. She’d have met Valencia in this room but for the security camera behind the curved mirror. She couldn’t fix everything. It was probably too dark for the camera to pick her up, but Alice wasn’t taking any chances.

She hurried through the lab to the adjoining storage room and let herself in with the same key. The room was full of dusty cardboard boxes that contained ancient 286 machines, castoffs that ended up here for a rehabilitation that would never happen, like the inmates. Sticking out were some Gateway boxes, with those stupid cow-spots in black and white. They were new computers that some rich bitch donated to make herself feel good, and Alice had been mickeying with the inventory to disappear them. She knew two guards who wanted them for their kids and was about to barter them when the Rosato thing happened.

Alice hunched behind the boxes. The plan was for the guard to let Valencia enter through the other door, off the hall, not the one off the computer room. Valencia would probably be worried, wondering why a meeting about her case had to be held in the dead of night, but she’d come anyway, like a sheep to the slaughter. The weak needed only an excuse. They agreed to their own death.

Suddenly the doorknob twisted open on the other side of the room. Alice edged out of sight, flattening against the boxes at the sound. Valencia would be shuffling through the door in the next second, and Alice knew exactly what she had to accomplish. Put her at ease, then kill her. Alice peeked around the box.

But the silhouette in the doorway wasn’t Valencia’s. The outlined shoulders were massive, the hands huge. The form was Leonia’s. Alice recovered from her surprise a second too late.

Leonia charged like a Brahma bull. Her heavy hand arced through the air and a homemade knife glinted in the light from the hallway. Alice grabbed Leonia’s wrist in midarc and squeezed. The two women wheeled around the room, crashing into cardboard boxes as they fought for the shank. Alice’s arms spasmed with effort. It wasn’t enough. Leonia threw her backward.

Alice fell against the boxes and slid down. Leonia was on her in a split second. The shank hovered above Alice’s chest. Her heart thundered. Adrenaline poured into her bloodstream. She forced herself to think. To act. “No!” she shouted, and kneed Leonia brutally in the pubic bone.

“Ugh,” Leonia grunted in pain and released her grip. Alice rolled to the side, whipped the screwdriver from her waistband, and whirled around.

“You bitch!” Leonia shouted, getting up, and Alice grabbed Leonia by the hair, wrenched her neck backward, and stabbed the sharp screwdriver into Leonia’s throat.

Leonia’s eyes flared wide in shock. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Blood welled around the screw-driver. Leonia struggled to stand up, still alive.

“Shit,” Alice said. It was harder to kill somebody than most people realized, especially a bull like Leonia. Alice shoved the screwdriver deeper, wedging it into the soft tissue near the jugular. She couldn’t pull it out or she’d be covered with blood. Tough to explain to the prison laundry. Suddenly the door opened and Alice turned.

Valencia stood shocked in the doorway, and Alice knew instantly what to do. “Help me, for fuck’s sake!” she whispered, and Valencia stepped forward, already starting to whimper.

“ Díos! ” she said, more a cry than a word.

“Take her knife!” Alice ordered, and Valencia bent over and took the shank from a stricken Leonia and handed it to Alice.

“Thank you,” Alice said, taking the knife. “Now hold the screwdriver.”

“Hol’ what ?” Valencia asked, horrified.

“The screwdriver! Now!” She grabbed Valencia’s hand and placed it on the screwdriver. Valencia turned her head away, like a kid at the dentist, which was convenient. Alice raised the knife and brought it down into Valencia’s chest, burying it deep.

Valencia emitted a baby’s squeak and collapsed to her knees, falling heavily to the floor. It was a solid hit. Alice stood over them both, panting hard, waiting until they’d bled enough. It had gone well. Two birds with one stone. It would look like a prison fight with the inmates killing each other. Alice even took the extra step of wrapping Leonia’s hand around the shank, just to be sure. Her tracks were covered. All the prints were right. The guards would stay quiet or they’d incriminate themselves.