Dead Giveaway

Semantics, I thought. You may not have bought it, but you sure as hell picked it up. Arguing with him wouldn't get me anywhere, though, so I said, 'I believe Verna Mae's connection to Will might have something to do with her murder. I need more proof. Please tell me about the blanket.'

'I don't know anything about any blanket or any baby or any woman who got killed. That's all I have to say.' He held my gaze.

I swallowed. Jeez, this was unnerving. But though Washington's presence was intense, I could tell by his eyes, the shifting back and forth, he was thinking hard. Had I surprised him? Had he been unaware until now that Will Knight was most certainly his son? Had he never noticed the resemblance when he watched Will play basketball on TV? That wouldn't really have surprised me, however. I'd looked at a photo of my birth mother before I knew who she was and never saw the obvious resemblance between us.

I leaned forward, holding his gaze. 'What's going on, Lawrence? Why are you so upset?'

He laughed. 'Upset? Not me. But you? I think you're as crazy as a shit-house rat.'

DeShay half rose and pointed his finger at Washington. 'Watch your mouth, inmate.'

I put a hand on his forearm. 'No problem, DeShay.' Looking back at Washington, I had no choice but to press harder. 'Tell me who bought that blanket. Was it you? Or did someone send you to pick it up?'

It was then that the thought of this man conceiving a child with Verna Mae flashed through my mind— sort of like a teeth-rattling smack to the face. I couldn't picture her as a seductress of teenage boys. No. That theory was all wrong. Had to be. Maybe Washington picked up the blanket for her that day and now that she'd been murdered, he wasn't about to talk. Why should he risk being even remotely connected to another crime?

Washington straightened, his lips tight, his eyes closed. 'I have nothing more to say.'

Everyone has their currency, I thought. Problem was, I had no clue what was important to Lawrence Washington. Big mistake. I didn't know enough to be sitting here. Yup, I'd screwed up again.

I had nothing and Washington knew it. He stood and yelled for the guard to take him back to the laundry.

Out of the side of his mouth, DeShay whispered, 'Abby. He's splitting.'

'That's okay. We'll be back—when I'm better prepared.'

DeShay sighed. 'You're the boss.'

As we were led out, I spoke to the young guard. 'Washington have many visitors?'

'Not since I've worked here. He sees the chaplain every day, though.'

'Every day? Is the chaplain here?' I asked.

'Sure,' the guard said.

'Could we see him, please?'

The chaplain, we soon learned, had an office behind several sets of locked doors deep inside the facility. We had to wait in a hallway outside while he finished a session with an inmate. I moaned to DeShay about my poor preparation for the Washington interview and he cheered me up by saying I'd done pretty damn good for a rookie.

Finally, the inmate left and the chaplain came out to greet us, his wispy red hair and freckled arms telling us a little something about him before he even spoke. The Irish skin never lies. Not that a man of God would lie, but you never know.

'Jim Kelly,' he said, reaching for my hand first and then shaking hands with DeShay. He was casually dressed in Dockers and a plain white polo shirt.

After we introduced ourselves, he grabbed a hall chair and dragged it into his office. We followed him into a closet-size room.

A pewter cross hung on one wall and a giant box of tissues sat on an otherwise bare desk. The wastebasket alongside the desk was filled with crumpled Kleenex. Though the sadness that shrouded Lawrence Washington had touched me, that full wastebasket gave me an odd sense of satisfaction. It shouted loud and clear that prison is hell, as it should be. At least some of these men cry, and that had to be a good thing.

Kelly sat behind his small metal desk and gestured for us to be seated as well. 'I'm told you want to talk to me about Mr. Washington, but you understand I'm required to keep inmate confidences.'

'We know.' DeShay sat in the hall chair while I took the padded one I assumed the inmates used. 'Just want your take on the guy. We need his help on a case and he's not obliging.'

Kelly steepled his hands. 'I see. That surprises me.'

'Why?' I asked.

'Because I have always found him to be a gentle, cooperative man.'

'Really?' DeShay said with a laugh. 'You mean gentle for a murderer?'

Kelly flushed, his earlobes turning crimson. 'You've met him once, Officer. I've known him for years.'

'He sees you every day?' I asked.

Kelly looked at me. 'Yes. Are you wanting me to put in a word? Help him see the importance of his cooperation?'

'That would be great,' I said.

'Then you'd better have a compelling reason I should do that, Ms. Rose. I have a strong bond with Lawrence and I will not break that trust by convincing him to do anything not in his best interest.'

'Strong bond, huh?' said DeShay, his voice iced with sarcasm. 'You know why he's here and you can forget he killed a girl? God says that's okay?'

Whoa. What was with DeShay? Why had the chaplain struck a nerve with him? Kelly seemed like a good guy.

'God forgives what others can't,' Kelly said calmly. He'd no doubt heard plenty of what DeShay was dishing out.

'God's forgiven Lawrence?' I asked.

'If there was anything to forgive, yes,' Kelly replied.

DeShay groaned in mock agony. 'Oh, so he's innocent in God's eyes? You guys with collars think—'

'You think he's innocent?' I said quickly, interrupting DeShay's off-putting attitude before he did more damage.

Kelly intertwined his fingers. 'I believe he is.'

'Why?' I rested a hand on DeShay's forearm and squeezed, hoping he'd keep his mouth shut.

'In my opinion, Lawrence Washington does not think or act like a criminal—and I've seen plenty of hardcore criminals. What's even more convincing is that the other inmates have told me they think he's innocent, too. Believe me, they know.'

'He could have lashed out in anger the night he committed the crime,' I said.

'Do you know the details of that murder?' asked the chaplain.

'I researched it, so yes.' But not enough, I added to myself.

'Did what you researched sound like someone lashed out at that poor young woman?' Kelly said.

'I read it was an execution-style murder,' I said.

'Good. I've made my point.' Kelly leaned back in his chair.

'Has he told you he's innocent?' I asked.

'That's confidential, but do I really have to answer that question?' Kelly replied.

'I guess not,' I said.

'Do you plan to tell me why you need Lawrence's help?' Kelly asked.

'Sure, if it will get us some answers.' I related all I'd learned so far while a sullen DeShay kept quiet. Something had definitely turned him off to Jim Kelly. I finished my summary, saying, 'I have to tell you this. Will Knight and Lawrence Washington look very much alike. If Washington can provide us with a DNA sample, we might be able to prove those two are father and son.'

DeShay piped in. 'We already have a DNA sample, Abby. He committed a crime in Texas.'

Kelly's relaxed attitude disappeared as he sat straighter. 'You cannot check for paternity with a CODIS sample, Sergeant. Federal law is very strict about how you use the database.'