They exited the highway and drew to a stop at the prison’s first security checkpoint. The guard on duty checked their IDs and allowed them to pass. They drove through secured metal gates, past twin perimeters of towering chain-link fences topped with looped razor wire. Nick parked, and they walked toward the main entrance. Comparing herself to the prison’s massive scale, Teddy felt small. Maybe that was the point. She was going into a facility of thousands of people, with thousands of thoughts, memories, stories. She took a deep breath, gathering her strength. Her mental shield needed to be stronger than ever.
Nick paused before they entered. “Ready?” he asked them.
He held open the door and ushered them inside. More screenings, more ID scans. Nick checked his weapon and holster. They were processed through a metal detector, followed by a security-wand once-over. A female correctional officer patted down Teddy and Kate; a male CO frisked Nick.
Next they were ushered one at a time through a series of heavy iron-bar doors.
“Turn and face me.” A CO sat in a small room tucked between the doors, situated behind a bulletproof sheet of clear acrylic. “Hands up. Show me your ID.”
Teddy complied.
“Clear,” the CO called out. The next iron door rolled open, propelling Teddy deeper into the heart of San Quentin.
Teddy had known the prison would be crowded. It housed more than four thousand inmates, roughly a thousand more than it had been designed to accommodate. As conscientious as she’d been with her mental defenses before stepping inside San Quentin, they weren’t enough. As soon as she entered the prison, Teddy felt accosted by psychic impressions, coming so fast that she lost her breath. What was different about this place? The desperation? The despair? It had been a while since she’d been around so many people who weren’t psychic. The anxiety that had tortured Teddy her entire life took hold of her body: her stomach churned, her heart raced, her vision swam. She needed to get herself under control. She saw Kate recoil as well, stumbling backward. For a split second their eyes met, and a moment of understanding passed between them. Teddy sent another surge of power to her wall. She took another breath. Remembered that she had a job to do. And that Kate was trying to do it better.
A pair of armed correctional officers escorted them to a row of attorney-client conference rooms near the entrance. Teddy counted five rooms, all of which were occupied. As the COs took up positions on opposite ends of the narrow hallway, Nick pulled Teddy and Kate aside.
“You’ll each have thirty minutes alone with McDonald,” he said.
Well, not quite alone. As an additional safety measure, Nick would accompany each of them into the conference room in turn. He assured them that he wouldn’t interfere with their interviews in any way. This was their show.
In a coin toss, the Misfits had won the privilege of interviewing McDonald first. When the door to the last conference room opened, a CO gestured to her. Teddy walked inside. Nick followed.
When Teddy saw Corey, he looked different than the clean-cut boy in the evidence pictures: shaggy pale brown hair fell in his eyes, and his blue chambray shirt hung loose over his shoulders.
The door closed behind her. As when she’d connected with Clint during the exam, she knew she would have to lower her wall if she wanted to reach Corey telepathically. She felt vulnerable without it up these days, especially in a place like this. She wouldn’t be able to rely on her usual lie-detecting skills, either—even in this room, one-on-one, her body felt like it was in hyperdrive. She’d have only her telepathy from this point forward.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Teddy Cannon.” A chain connected Corey’s wrists to the belt fastened around his waist. It rattled as he shifted in his seat.
“I’m Corey,” he said. “But you knew that already.”
She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. “Hi, Corey.” She smiled, even though she couldn’t dismiss the chance that he’d killed his girlfriend. It made her sick. “I’m here to ask you some questions, see if we can figure a way to get you out of here.”
In the days leading up to the visit, she’d thought a lot about how she’d handle her time. She knew that she wanted to be up-front with him. Tell him she was psychic. She’d never had to tell anyone that before. There weren’t any rules against outing herself, just about mentioning Whitfield. So, Teddy took a breath and began. “Corey, do you know what a psychic is?”
“A psychic? Sure. Someone who stares into a crystal ball, reads palms, that sort of thing.”
“Not exactly,” she returned. “I don’t own a crystal ball, and I have no intention of reading your palm. But if you tell me what happened the night Marlena Hyden disappeared, I might be able to help.”
His brow furrowed. “Do my parents know you’re here?”
“Actually, yeah. They do.”
“A psychic?” He slumped back in his chair. “So the attorney thing didn’t . . .” He studied the ceiling. “God, they must be desperate. My dad’s a scientist, you know that? He doesn’t believe in any of this.”
Corey scooted back his chair and lurched his upper body forward. For one foolish, panicked instant, Teddy thought he was lunging for her. Instead, Corey slammed his elbows on the table. “Damn,” he said, as if her presence suddenly made his situation clear: his parents and his attorney had taken it as far as they could.
The best possible outcome of the meeting was for Teddy to identify where Corey had been on the night of the murder. If she could put his mind on that train of thought, maybe it would make it easier for her to find the memory of that night. “Let’s try to start at the beginning, Corey. Can you
