“I will find him. Yes. I promise.”
They hung up. Wind gusted, sluicing rain against the windows. She collapsed back onto the pillows, crushed by this day before she’d even gotten out of bed. Would she be able to make good on that promise? She had no idea. She did know that talking to the judge about Danny at this point would be a mistake.
Lucy licked her paws, eyeing her with indifference as she snuggled down into the blankets.
“Fine, stay in bed. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
Downstairs, she made another latte and choked down a few stale crackers. She was starving, and there was nothing in the house to eat but Purina or tuna fish. Opening a can of the latter, she gagged from the smell. But somebody liked it. Lucy came bounding into the kitchen, leaped up on a chair, and sprang over to the countertop, swatting Madison’s hand away with a yowl.
“It’s yours. No need to hurt me.”
Her phone dinged with a text from the judge saying she’d be home by dinnertime. Great. Just what she needed. After everything that had happened overnight, the thought of facing Kathryn Conroy made her queasy. She didn’t trust the judge anymore. She might actually be afraid of her. Yet there was a chance that Conroy knew Danny’s whereabouts or was involved in his disappearance. Madison had to find a way to wring it out of her.
She sat down at the island and ordered groceries on Instacart. When that was done, she started looking for her brother in the most obvious place, because she wanted to cover the bases. The Bureau of Prisons website had an inmate locator that would tell you where someone was housed. All you had to do was enter the inmate’s name or registry number. She tried his name, holding her breath for the few seconds it took for the search to load, in the hope that it would spit out a result and prove his “disappearance” was a mistake or misunderstanding, that he wasn’t lost but simply in transit from one prison to another. But the screen said Inmate Not Found. She tried his registry number, date of birth, different spellings. The results were the same. It appeared that the guards had been right. Danny wasn’t in the registry. From what she could tell, that shouldn’t happen. An inmate who’d been remanded to custody and assigned a BOP registry number should always be findable by the locator. If they were released or in transit, it would say so. But her brother wasn’t listed at all.
The doorbell rang, and she jumped. The judge wouldn’t be back for several hours. Could it be Wallace? She held her breath as she flipped on the video monitor. It showed a woman in a Red Sox cap holding grocery bags. She relaxed. Instacart, that’s all. Madison stood all the way to one side as she opened the door, so she wouldn’t be visible from the street. He could be out there watching.
She poured more coffee, ate some bread and cheese with honey. Fortified, she looked up Raymond Logue’s office number. He had a bare-bones website, just contact information and a headshot showing the red-faced old boozehound with crossed arms and a belligerent expression, under the heading “Let Ray Logue Fight For You.” Yeah, right.
She took a deep breath and called the phone number. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Logue?”
“Who’s this?”
“I’m calling because the BOP has been unable to locate a client of yours, and I was hoping you could help me. His name is Danny Rivera.”
Long pause. The mention of Danny’s name had obviously put him on his guard.
“Uh, look, it’s Saturday, lady, and I don’t have my files.”
He sounded like the photo looked, the phlegmy voice matching the watery eyes, a townie accent, hostile.
“Are you saying you don’t remember Danny? You were in court for his guilty plea just last week.”
“Call my office Monday and somebody’ll help you.”
“This is your office. I called the number on your website. I need help now.”
“Look, Rivera pled out. It’s not even my case anymore.”
“That’s not true. He hasn’t been sentenced yet. Until he is, and appeals are exhausted, you’re still counsel of record.”
Another long pause.
“What exactly is your relationship to this inmate?” he asked, suspicion in his tone.
“I’m a family member.”
“Funny, because I met that kid’s mother, and you’re not her. I could tell the minute you opened your mouth. Who are you?”
It was Madison’s turn to fall silent. She couldn’t pretend to be her mother, but if she gave her own name, he might look into her background, which could lead to him outing her to Judge Conroy.