Mickey left her at the infirmary door. She took a breath and went inside. As an investigator, there were times when she had to adopt a different persona. This should be particularly interesting. Inside, the large space was empty. As Mickey had said, the doctor was likely visiting a designated area for a few puffs.
While she was alone, she walked around the room and familiarized herself with where the various items were stored. By the time the doctor showed up, it was time for the inmate’s appointment, and she had a reasonably good handle on the layout of the room.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Schulz.” West looked her up and down as if he could see beyond the boxy scrubs.
“Doctor.” She smiled. “I’m thrilled to be working with you.”
A big grin claimed his face. Before he could say more, the door opened and two guards escorted Holmes into the room. Finley busied herself inventorying the items arranged neatly on the counter while Holmes was settled into a chair, his shackles attached to the floor. Once he was secure, the guards stepped back outside the door to wait.
The prisoner gave Finley a once-over before cutting his eyes away. He didn’t look that different from the five-year-old media images she had seen. Long, unruly dark hair, sort of curly but mostly just tangled looking. He had those really light blue eyes. Good cheekbones, strong jaw. He had all the right features to draw in the young and the naive.
Dr. West went about his examination, and Finley acted attentive, though her services really weren’t needed. Holmes was complaining of lower-back pain and requesting pain medication. She imagined there was a significant number of calls for pain meds among inmates.
The doctor assured Holmes he would check his file and see what he could do. He stepped into his office and closed the door. Through the window in the door, Finley watched him open a file and sit down at his desk to review.
“I haven’t seen you before.”
This was the first time Holmes had spoken directly to her.
“I haven’t seen you before either.” She busied herself with reorganizing the instruments on the tray next to the exam table.
“But I know who you are,” he said, his voice low, for her ears only.
“I know who you are too,” she said with a nod.
“You’re that lawyer whose husband was murdered last year. You work for Jack Finnegan.”
The man watched the news. Give him a gold star. She looked him dead in the eye. “Are you going to rat me out, Charlie?”
He sniggered. “No way. I’m having too much fun.”
“Well, that’s good. Maybe you’d like to tell me about this game you’re playing.”
He produced a properly put-off expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His face shifted into one of regret or sadness. “I sure hated to hear about Sophia Legard. Life has been hard on her. Bless her heart. I told y’all Cecelia was a bad one. She’s the whole reason I’m in here. Anybody who would wish their own parent dead is pure evil.”
Finley barely restrained the urge to roll her eyes. She felt confident he was well aware what evil looked like. He saw it in the mirror each time he looked. “Why did you target the Legard family?”
“You’ve got it all wrong, ma’am. Cecelia sought me out,” he insisted. “She knew what she wanted, and she thought I was the one who could help her. May God have mercy on my soul for being so weak.”
Okay, now she might just vomit. “I don’t believe you, Charlie. This whole thing is just a lie to get attention. You are a liar.” She met his gaze. “No one is going to believe anything you say.”
He grinned. “All I’ve ever wanted was to take care of the people close to me. My family.”
“Or maybe it was just the thrill of driving that Jag a few hundred miles that made taking a man’s life worth the risk? Not really your MO based on all we learned after you were arrested. You primarily saved your violence for those who seemed to deserve it—in your opinion.”
He laughed, a dry sound. “Don’t waste your time trying to figure me out. Just tell Jack he can’t win this one because he doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“This is your chance, Charlie, to say something that might make me believe you,” Finley offered.
“My good friend Preacher tells me everyone has a time to die. I guess it was just Sophia’s time. Like it was her husband’s when he died. What will you do when it’s your turn to die, Finley O’Sullivan?”