Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

“How long will examining the equipment take?”

“Fifteen minutes at most. We might stretch it to twenty.”

Griffin glanced at his watch. They were almost at the Como residence, but fifteen minutes would never be enough time to break Tawnya Clemente. And once Maureen stuck her microphone in front of Price and he began his pathetic spiel…

“Code,” Griffin said suddenly.

“Code?”

“Yeah. Code Blue or Code White, I'll settle for any color. If there's a code, they have to shut down the whole prison, right? Clear everyone out, even lawyers and aspiring news anchors?”

“That's right,” Charpentier said, his voice picking up.

“And it could take a while to sort it all out and let everyone back in, right? Prisoners have to be searched and escorted back to the visiting areas. Maureen and Jimmy would have to go back through security…”

“It could take a while,” Charpentier agreed happily. Then he hesitated. Griffin understood. A Code Blue only happened if there was a major disturbance, a guard down, a fight between two inmates. A Code White, on the other hand, was sounded in case of a medical emergency. Either way, something had to happen in the prison first. “The director isn't wild about a news team entering the prison,” Charpentier said finally. “I could talk to him. Maybe now would be a good time for a drill. You know, as a favor to the state police.”

“We would appreciate that favor,” Griffin said.

“Hang on a sec.” There was a pause, the muffled sound of footsteps, then some definitely muffled talking. Moments later, Charpentier was back. “You know what? It turns out Max hasn't had a drill in quite some time. The real thing, sure, but not a drill. And you know how it goes, if you don't practice every now and then…”

“You're golden, Corporal, and tell the director we always approve of good practice. One more thing-”

“Yeah?”

“If the interview does go down… ask the director not to return Price to his cell. Escort him anywhere else, but not to his cell.”

“You don't want him picking up anything he might have stashed there.”

“It's never too early to take precautions.”

“I'm sure the director will see your point. And gee, the cell block is probably due for a surprise inspection, as well. What a wonderfully educational day for the corrections officers.”

“Practice makes perfect. Work on that list, Corporal. I'll be in touch.”

Griffin flipped his phone shut just in time to turn down Tawnya's street.

Twelve-ten P.M. He parked his Taurus in front of her house.

“You go first,” he told Fitz.

The detective positively beamed.

THEY WENT AROUND TO THE BACK DOOR AGAIN. GIVEN that you never knew what bushes were hiding what kind of cameramen, it seemed the thing to do. This time Tawnya appeared after their first knock. In her normal good humor, she took one look at Fitz through the door's window and spat.

Griffin wagged a finger at her playfully. Maybe his charm was returning, because she grudgingly opened the door.

“If you pigs are here about the lawsuit,” Tawnya said, “go fuck a goat. My lawyer says I'm not supposed to talk to you.”

“Colorful,” Griffin observed to Fitz.

“I got more. Keep talking and you'll hear them all.”

“Hello, Mrs. Como.” Fitz eased into the kitchen behind Griffin, keeping the state detective's larger bulk between him and Tawnya. Mrs. Como stood in front of the stove again. Today's culinary adventure seemed to be simmering black beans. The wafting odors of garlic gave the kitchen a homey touch. Not that the bleaching baby diapers had been lacking.

Eddie, Jr., was awake this time, nestled in a baby carrier on top of the kitchen table. He studied Griffin with big brown eyes, then stuck a multicolored teething ring into his mouth and drooled away. Griffin tucked his hands in his pockets before he did something stupid like tickle the baby's pudgy cheeks. He was supposed to be big bad detective here. Clock was ticking, ticking, ticking. Man, babies were cute.

“Maybe we should talk in the family room,” Fitz said and jerked his head toward Eddie, Jr.

“I don't got nothin' to say to you,” Tawnya said.

“Let's go into the family room,” Fitz repeated, more firmly. Tawnya scowled at him, but went.

The minute they were out of the kitchen, Fitz opened fire. “We know what you did, Tawnya. Come clean now, before another girl dies, and maybe we can still work something out. Eddie, Jr., has already lost one parent. You want him to grow up completely orphaned?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Fifty million dollars. For that kind of money, people sell out their own mothers, let alone some boyfriend who's knocked you up but still not walked you down the aisle.”

“Are you talking about my lawsuit? Because I'm not talking about my lawsuit. My lawyer told me I don't have to tell you pigs one damn thing. You killed my Eddie. Now it's your turn to pay!”

“There won't be any lawsuit, Tawnya,” Griffin spoke up quietly.

“Not one red cent,” Fitz emphasized, “not once the public knows what you really did to Eddie.”

Tawnya was good. Real good. She looked at them first in bewilderment, then drew herself up for battle. She bared her teeth. She flashed those long hot-pink nails. “Get out of my house.”

“You need to listen to us, Tawnya. Work with us now, and you can still salvage something for Eddie, Jr.”

“Miserable, fucking, shit-eating, donkey-humping, flea-repelling, toad-hopping jackasses. Get out of my house! ”

Fitz and Griffin didn't move a muscle. Fitz glanced at Griffin. “You're right, the language is very colorful.”

“Goes with the nails.”

“Think she'll attack soon?”

“That'd be nice. Then we can arrest her now, and she'll never see the light of day.”

“Too bad for Eddie, Jr.”

Griffin shrugged. “You know what they say. You can't pick your parents.”

Tawnya foamed at the mouth. Griffin promptly went in for the kill.

“You have thirty seconds to start talking,” he told her, his voice low and intense. “We know you framed your boyfriend. We know you're an accomplice to four rapes and two murders. You come clean right this moment, and Eddie, Jr., still has a chance at having a mother. You jerk us around one more second, however, and we're arresting you. We'll shackle you in front of your kid. We'll drag you out of this house and you'll never see your baby again. Thirty seconds, Tawnya. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”

Tawnya wasn't into negotiating. She growled once, then launched herself at Griffin's massive form. He grabbed her raking hands, slipped his foot behind hers, and neatly face-planted her onto the worn shag carpet. Fitz produced the cuffs. They didn't have time for fooling around. They hauled her, spitting and sputtering, back onto her feet and were preparing to march her out the door when Mrs. Como stepped into the room, dried her hands on a kitchen towel and uttered a single word.

“Stop,” the old woman said.

Some instincts ran deep: they froze. Griffin recovered first. “Mrs. Como,” he said firmly, “we have reason to believe that Tawnya helped frame your son for rape-”

“I did not!” Tawnya screeched. She started squirming again, then kicked out at Fitz, who deftly stepped aside.

“Tawnya is a good girl,” Mrs. Como said.

“Good girl, my ass!” Fitz sputtered, still dodging.

“Good girls have done far worse for fifty million dollars,” Griffin reminded her tightly, and tugged Tawnya away from Fitz.

“Tawnya no do lawsuit,” Mrs. Como said. “I do lawsuit. I want money. For my grandson.”