“I’ll tell Tony Robbins he should get some of those for his next fire walk.”
“We escaped death by walking on a silver pathway that went straight through the fire and allowed for a way out.”
I thought of Sister Frances. She had experienced a miracle. I didn’t want to think that I had. “Maybe the fire had already burned through. Maybe it blazed a trail for us.”
“We were delivered from that fire.”
“What happened was a fluke of nature, a confluence of unrelated events that allowed for our escape.”
“I don’t think you believe that.”
“Suit yourself.”
“We made it to Neverland together, and our triumvirate is secret sharers of what occurred.”
“Are you having a jailhouse conversion? I always find it amazing how cons get that old-time religion, especially while sitting on death row. Did you have a vision from Saint Quentin himself?”
“I have not had such a conversion, and besides, this prison was not named after Saint Quentin.”
“Then who was it named after?”
“A Miwok warrior named Quintin.”
“How did an Indian warrior became a saint?”
“He didn’t. Sainthood was added when the people of Quintin jumped on the saint bandwagon, wanting to name their city after a saint like San Francisco, San Mateo, or San Jose. I don’t think Quintin would have approved of his posthumous title. While alive, he supposedly refused to convert to Christianity. I find that story much more interesting than the usual tripe attributed to the other Saint Quentin, except the accounts of his torture and beheading. Those are always interesting.”
“Speaking of the usual tripe, should I be contacting your lawyer? Your finding Jesus might fly better than your seasonal affective disorder murderer ploy.”
“Jesus is not what I have found, but I do believe I was delivered from death because my work here is not finished.”
“What work? You are a fucking serial murderer. Oh, excuse me: seasonal murderer.”
Haines only smiled. “You’ll see. It’s only a matter of time before I am delivered from this prison.”
“That’s only going to happen when they wheel you away with a body tag on your toe.”
“Judging by your cuts and bruises, I think you’re the one that should be more concerned about that tag hanging from your toe.”
“Shall I tell the Feds that you’re expecting God to deliver you out of here?”
“Who said anything about God?”
“I need a shower. You want to answer some more of my questions so I won’t feel this visit was a waste of time?”
“You know it was anything but a waste. We’re finally learning how to be honest with one another.”
“If that’s the case, I can see the merits of being dishonest.”
“You’re already well acquainted with such merits. Do you worry that you damned yourself to perdition by lying after you were sworn in at the trial and offered your testimony?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You never read me my rights, but you said you did.”
“You’re wrong.”
What I was saying was another lie. I knew all too well that I had neglected to inform him of his rights on the day of his capture.
“If you say so,” he said.
“I say so.”
Because I wanted to make sure Haines was convicted, I had told several lies on the witness stand, something I hadn’t done before or since. Haines’s sworn version of his capture was the truth, but the jury had thought he was the liar. They hadn’t believed that I had threatened to murder him, and that I had come close to doing so more than once, because I had denied doing any such thing.
“Are we done here?”
“Not quite yet,” he said. “You said the man directing your attack had tattoos. Can you describe them? Or better yet, can you draw them?”
“Why are you interested?”
“Humor me.”
I thought for a few moments and then took a pen to my piece of paper. “One of the tattoos looked like a red
The Weatherman nodded and said, “Typical poseur. That red
I was busy trying to draw the other tattoo, but wasn’t having the success that Detective Nguyen had. “There were a lot of squiggles in the second tattoo,” I said. “They were coming out of an eye, or a circle.”
Haines looked at my drawing, gave it some thought, and then extended his hand and asked, “May I?”
I gave him my pen, although that went against prison rules. He changed my design, making my lines look more like elongated
When I nodded he said, “Black sun.”
“What’s a black sun?”
“There are old and new meanings. In ancient times it meant one thing, but the Nazis made it something else. Today it’s usually viewed as an antisun, or burned-out sun. Some think of it as a black hole.”
“So it’s more of your chaos?”
“Not mine; the world’s chaos.”
“My visits with you are always so uplifting.”
“I feel the same way. Same time and same place next month? We have so much yet to talk about.”
I called for the CO, and from outside our cage he put out a call on his walkie-talkie to summon the rest of Haines’s escort.
While we waited Haines said, “I am glad you survived the attack. You should know that I will put the word out that you are to be unharmed.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“It’s not a favor. When you die, I want it to be by my hand.”
“Great minds think alike. When your judgment day comes, when the death juice is flowing into your veins, I’ll be the guy waving bye-bye to you.”
Haines’s entourage showed up. He backed up to the door and extended his hands through the slot so that his hardware could be reattached. While he was being cuffed, he faced me with a taunting smile.
“Detective?” he said.
“What?”
“Under current circumstances, it is difficult for me to practice my vocation in a professional manner. I have no access to a computer and I’m even denied such rudimentary essentials as a thermometer or barometer, not to mention a weather meter or wind speed meter, but despite all of those limitations I try and keep up with our state’s weather patterns. Necessity being the mother of invention, I have managed to find ways of perpetuating my craft even from the confines of my cage.”
“Is there a point to all of this?”
“If not a point, there is at least a weather forecast. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.”
“Thanks so much for that rhyme. I’ll be sure to keep my yacht in the harbor tomorrow.”
“A Santa Ana condition is forming in the Los Angeles area, Detective. I can feel it stirring in my gut. Strong, dry winds are coming. They’ll start tomorrow, but just wait until the day after tomorrow. That’s when you’ll really feel those killer winds blow.”
He paused, perhaps remembering his days as a television weatherman and the need for occasional dramatic effect. “That’s when all hell will break loose, Detective.”
