it.”
We ride in silence for a bit and when I realize we’re heading south of Chicago I ask, “Where are we going now?”
“To a town just outside of Joliet.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where Stateville Prison is located. You are I are going to visit the one man who I know hates me more than anyone else: Quinton Dilles.”
Chapter 20
Hurley gives me a primer on Stateville Prison as he’s driving. The realization that we are going there spooks me a little, not only because I’ve never been to a prison before, but because I’m afraid I may end up in one by the time all is said and done. Stateville is a Level One facility, which means it serves as home to some of the worst criminals. Though no executions are performed there these days, there have been in the past— as recently as 1998—and the roster of murderous luminaries who have died there includes the likes of John Wayne Gacy and Richard Loeb of Leopold and Loeb fame, though Loeb was murdered by another inmate. As if the presence of thousands of hardened, vicious criminals isn’t scary enough, the facility is also rumored to be haunted.
The building itself is quite daunting, with thirty-foot-high concrete walls topped with razor wire marking the perimeter. After driving through one set of guarded gates, we park in the visitor lot and head inside. Our entry requires us to show picture IDs—no fake identities this time—pass through two gates and a metal detector, and undergo a personal pat-down. Each time I hear a door clang shut behind me, it makes my heebie-jeebies worse.
Our first stop is in a wing of offices, where we are led into one occupied by a gentleman who is dressed in street clothes rather than a guard’s uniform. Hurley makes the introductions, letting me know that the man before us, Maxwell Corning, is an assistant warden. Judging from the way Corning greets Hurley, I gather the two men know one another from the past. Though Hurley introduces me using my real name, he tells Corning I am his investigative assistant, leaving out mention of the fact that I work for the ME’s office.
With the introductions out of the way, Hurley and I take seats across the desk from Corning.
“So, do you have my list?” Hurley asks Corning.
Corning shakes his head. “There isn’t one. The only visitor Dilles has had since his incarceration here is his lawyer, Connor Smith.”
Hurley frowns at the news and says, “I suppose any conversations they’ve had have been privileged?” Corning nods. “That doesn’t help me much. Can you get me a list of his visitors from Cook County?”
Corning leans back in his chair and eyes Hurley with curiosity. “What is it you’re hoping to find?”
“Just a hunch I have regarding an ongoing investigation,” Hurley hedges.
“Okay, I should be able to get that for you before you leave today,” Corning says, sitting up and scribbling a note.
“What about the other piece I asked you about?”
“Well, I do have better news on that front,” Corning says. “Dilles agreed to having you on his approved visitor list so if you want to talk with him today, you can.” Corning shifts his gaze to me and adds, “I’ll have to ask him about your assistant here, though. If he doesn’t okay her, she’ll have to remain behind.”
Hurley turns to me and says, “What are your feelings on the matter? Do you want to wait in the car or do you want to come with me if Dilles okays it?”
I’m not sure. On the one hand I’m curious to meet the man who has already caused Hurley so much grief. On the other hand, I’m spooked by the idea of coming face-to-face with a convicted killer.
Sensing my hesitation, Hurley says, “We’ll have a Plexiglas barrier between us. The visitor area is completely isolated from the prisoners.”
“Okay,” I say, my curiosity winning out. “I’m game if Dilles is.”
Corning gets up and says, “Let me check with him then. Wait here and I’ll be right back.”
As soon as Corning leaves, I turn to Hurley and ask, “What is it you hope to gain from this? Because if Dilles hasn’t seen or spoken to anyone other than his lawyer, it’s unlikely he’s behind all this other stuff, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. He was denied bail and has been behind bars ever since his arrest, but he was housed in Cook County Jail during his trial and wasn’t moved here until after his conviction. So it’s possible he could have talked with someone then.”
“And you think he hates you enough to go to all this trouble just for revenge?”
“Hard to know. The fact that he’s willing to meet with me makes me think he’s still harboring a significant grudge.” He pauses and shrugs. “Maybe all he wants is a chance to tell me off one more time. I can get a better feel for where his head is at if I talk to him face-to-face. And I’d like to get your take on him, too. You have a good sense when it comes to sizing people up.”
Corning returns as I’m basking beneath the glory of Hurley’s praise and says, “You’re in luck. Dilles has agreed to meet with the both of you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the visitors’ section.”
Despite being behind bars, Quinton Dilles looks like money. His nails are well manicured, his hands are uncallused, and his body has a soft, spoiled look to it. His brown hair has grayed at the temples and though it is thinning on top, I can see plugs from a hair transplant. Despite being as tall as I am, he holds his head high, as if he needs to look down his nose at everyone. He’s wearing prison scrubs but if he wasn’t, I’m sure his clothing would be expensive tailored duds.
Greeting people in ankle irons and handcuffs should be a humbling experience, but judging from the smirk on Quinton Dilles’s face, he wouldn’t agree. There is a definite air of smarmy smugness about the man, one that befits someone who is used to the deference and privilege money can buy. Apparently prison hasn’t been able to erase that from him yet, if it ever will. He strikes me as the type who will always have a sense of entitlement about him.
There are two seats on our side of the Plexiglas window. Dilles settles into his chair across from us and leans toward the speaker located in the center of the window. So far Dilles’s eyes have been fixed on Hurley but as soon as Hurley and I settle into our chairs, Dilles shifts his gaze to me.
“So this is your . . . what did Corning call her . . . assistant?” Dilles says. “You do have a knack for attracting lovely women, Hurley.” His eyes shift to my chest. “And I must say, you’re good at picking ones with generous endowments.”
“Knock it off, Dilles,” Hurley snaps.
“But that reporter gal you were screwing had fake ones, didn’t she?” Dilles says with a taunting smile. “How’s she doing, by the way?” He looks back at Hurley, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He has admitted to knowing about Callie and that’s a bit damning, but I can’t tell if his inquiry about her is a casual taunt or a knowing one.
“She’s dead,” Hurley says.
I watch Dilles closely for a reaction, for any physical tell to let me know if this information is something new to him, but there is nothing. The two men stare at one another for what seems like forever until Hurley says, “Tell me, Quinton, how are they treating you here at Stateville? Are the accommodations up to your standards?”
A twitch starts up in Dilles’s lower eyelid, the only indication that Hurley might have struck a nerve.
“I’m making do,” he says with a wry smile. He turns his attention back to me. “Though I have to admit, I miss not having a nice piece of ass like her around whenever I want it.”
Hurley starts to rise from his chair but before he can, I stop him with a hand to his leg. I get a sense that Dilles is used to being able to insult and boss around the women in his life so I decide to rattle his cage a little.
“Have you become anyone’s piece of ass yet, Dilles?” I ask, smiling sweetly. “ ’Cause I’m thinking they’ll like a spoiled softie like you. Come on, tell us,” I goad. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Has anyone made you their bitch yet?”
Dilles’ arrogant facade shows its first real crack as his smile turns down a notch and his hands close into
