“This has nothing to do with her.”
“It’s not your fault she’s dead, Rachel.”
“Of course it’s my fault.”
Cheryl shook her head and put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean what I said before.”
“You meant it,” Rachel said.
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“And maybe it’s true. I feel sorry for myself, for what I lost. But I pushed too hard, and now Catherine Tullo is dead. She is dead because of me. I got what I deserved.”
Cheryl shook her head. “That’s not true. You were just…”
“Just what?”
“Too close to it,” Cheryl said. “You think I forgot?”
Rachel didn’t know what to say.
“Halloween Night. Your freshman year.”
Rachel turned away. She closed her eyes and wished the memories away.
“Rach?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Rachel told her sister. She stared down at the photograph. “Maybe I am seeing what I want to see. Maybe David is too. Probably, in fact. But there’s a chance, right? He’s got nothing. David—he’s as bad as you imagine. Worse. So let him search. It can’t hurt him. It can’t make him worse. That’s why I didn’t show you the pic. If it’s nothing—and yeah, sure, the odds it’s nothing are pretty strong—then it goes nowhere. No harm, no foul. We end up where we began. You’d have never found out. But if it is Matthew—”
“It’s not.”
“Either way,” Rachel persisted. “Let David and I see it through.”
*
“Here’s the footage from Rachel Anderson’s first prison visit,” Sarah told Max. “As I told you before, this was Burroughs’s first visitor since he arrived at Briggs five years ago.”
The surveillance van was a modified Ford. The back van windows appeared tinted, but they were painted black for complete privacy. Your only view of the outside world—and it was a good one—came from hidden cameras strategically placed around the van. Max and Sarah sat side by side in reclining and ergonomic seats at a workstation with three computer monitors. It was more comfortable than you’d think, what with agents spending hours at a time back here. Two agents sat in the driver’s cabin. One was the tech expert, but Sarah knew her way around the system as well as anybody.
“Can you turn up the volume?”
“There is no volume, Max.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“There was a lawsuit a few years ago,” Sarah said. “Something about privacy being violated.”
“But privacy isn’t being violated with the CCTV?”
“Once Briggs lost the right to use audio in court, they claimed the video was a matter of security and didn’t infringe on privacy.”
“The courts bought that?”
“They did.”
Max shrugged. “So what did you want me to see?”
“Look here.”
Sarah started playing the video. The camera must have been placed on the ceiling somewhere behind David Burroughs’s shoulder. They had a face-on shot of Rachel, who took a seat on the other side of the plexiglass. Sarah hit the fast-forward button, and the two figures moved jerkily. When on-screen Rachel pulled out what looked like a manila envelope, Sarah stopped the fast forward and hit the play button. The speed returned to normal. Max frowned and watched. On the screen, Rachel looked down as though she were trying to muster strength. Then she took something out of the envelope and pressed it flat against the glass.
Max squinted. “Is that a photo?”
“I think so.”
“What’s it of?”
Even with no sound, even with mediocre quality in terms of pixels and lighting, Max could feel everything in that visitors’ room change. Burroughs’s body stiffened.
“I don’t know yet,” Sarah said.
“Maybe it’s an escape plan.”
“I tinkered with it before you got here.”
“What could you see?”
“People,” Sarah said. “One of them could be Batman.”
“Pardon?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll need more time, Max.”
“Let’s also get a lip reader.”
“On it. Legal says we have to apply for a warrant.”
“That privacy lawsuit?”
“Yes. But I forwarded it anyway. I don’t think the pixel quality will be good enough.”
“Can you zoom in more?”
“This is the best I have so far.” Sarah clicked a key. The image blew up. She paused so that the pixilation could catch up, but it never really became clear. Max squinted again.
“We need to ask Rachel Anderson about this.”
“Her lawyer barred her from answering any questions.”
“We have to try. We still have eyes on her, right?”
“Right. She’s home. Her sister came over.”
“Burroughs’s ex?”
Sarah nodded. “She’s pregnant.”
“Wow,” Max said. “We have taps on all the phones?”
“We do. Nothing yet.”
“Rachel Anderson drove with Burroughs for hours. They planned this out. She won’t be stupid enough to use her phone.”
“Agreed.”
“We both know her history,” Max said.
“That me-too article?”
Max nodded. “Any chance that has something to do with this?”
“I can’t see how, Max. Can you?”
He thought about it. He didn’t. Not yet anyway. “How’s the deep dive into the financials going?”
“Ongoing,” Sarah said. Max knew what a slow-go it was to comb through a person’s financials. It was how most white-collar criminals were able to stall for years. “But I do have something.”
“On.”
“Ted Weston.”
“The prison guard Burroughs tried to kill?”
She nodded. “The guy is in debt, totally underwater, but there’s been two recent deposits for exactly two thousand dollars each.”
“From?”
“Still checking.”
Max sat back. “A payoff?”
“Probably.”
“It never made sense to me,” Max said.
“What didn’t?”
“That Burroughs would try to kill Weston.” Max started gnawing at his fingernail. “This is feeling like a lot more than a prison break, Sarah.”
“Could be, Max. You know how we find out for sure?”
“How?”
“We do what we do. We don’t get distracted. We bring in Burroughs.”
“Truer words, Sarah. Let’s drag Weston’s ass in before he has a chance to lawyer up.”
Chapter
22
Gertrude Payne stood on the cliffside of the Payne estate. The moon reflected off the churning waters of the Atlantic. She’d let her gray hair loose and closed her eyes. The wind felt good on her face. The crashing waves soothed her. She could still hear Stephano approaching, but she kept her eyes closed for another ten seconds.
When she opened them, she said, “You didn’t get him.”
“Ross Sumner failed us.”