He had bought Lightman lunch. But that’s not what pissed me off the most. As dumb as it sounds, what pissed me off above all else, was that he had bought him a tuna on rye, my sandwich. At that moment, I felt as if no one was entitled to eat that amazing taste sensation except those that deserved it, and in my book, Harry Lightman didn’t. They were sitting at a small table facing each other. Levinson had spread their little feast out before them and both men looked to be enjoying the meal. But then I saw something that didn’t fit. Trying to describe it now, in hindsight, makes a lot more sense, but I haven’t come to that part of the story yet, so I will endeavour to describe the events as I saw them in that moment.
The truth is, I didn’t know what I saw, only that it didn’t fit. There was something off. It wasn’t that there was a doctor having lunch with a prisoner, nor that the prisoner, a prolific serial killer, was enjoying a two-course meal paid for by a professional. What I saw that didn’t quite fit was Lightman himself. It was, if I had to put it into words, as if it wasn’t Lightman at all. I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I saw. I was about to share my thoughts with Steph when our eavesdropping came to a sudden halt.
“Can I help you with something?” The voice came from behind us and from the tone, didn’t belong to someone on our side. I turned to see a guard standing there, holding a rifle in one hand. He was tall, at least six-six by my guess, and judging by the way his chiselled jaw was flexing, not happy by our presence. Steph flashed her police ID at him and never faltered.
“Officer Connor, looking for the warden. Know where he is?” She remained as calm as the proverbial, her voice both projected and confident. The guard stood there for a moment, not answering. He was about to speak when Steph took a step toward him and cut him off. “I don’t have all day; now do you know where he is or not?” The guard actually took a step back and judging by the colour that rose in his cheeks, looked like he had just been slapped.
“No, ma’am. Haven’t seen him since briefing this morning.”
“OK then. Any ideas where he might be? I don’t really have the time to go door to door, you know what I’m saying?”
“Maybe try the main building, down the right corridor. He has a room. It’s-” but then the door that I had been peering through opened and Levinson came out.
“Everything OK out here?” he asked then saw us. “Ah, James Lawson,” he said, offering me his hand, “Julius Levinson. And you must be Officer Connor,” he said, turning to Steph. She shook with him, now faded rose colouring her own cheeks. The guard, I noticed, was almost sneering now. Levinson then turned to him, whispered something and the guard turned and walked away, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
“Why don’t you come in?” Levinson asked, opening the door to the room he had just come out of, and before I could object, saw that it now sat empty, Lightman nowhere in sight. I walked in and saw a door on the far side, now closed, but guessed that Lightman had been taken back to whatever cell he called home. Levinson waved at the chairs, offering us to sit. He pressed an intercom button on the wall and when a shrill voice answered, asked for a pot of tea to be brought.
“I’m sorry if we interrupted you, Dr,” Steph said but he shrugged it off.
“That’s OK. Did you manage to order your lunch before you followed me here or will you get it after?” Now it was my turn to blush, the heat rising to my ears, but again, he brushed it off. “That’s OK. I knew that you two would be visiting with me sooner or later. Only makes sense considering the amount of time I am spending with your number one suspect. But tell me, do you really believe that he is breaking out of prison to kill then breaking BACK into prison again afterwards?”
“We are just following up on leads right now, Sir,” Steph offered, but I could hear her anger rising in her tone already. Levinson nodded.
“Yes, of course.” He suddenly rose, walked toward the door and opened it. Just as he did, a nurse approached, carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. “Thank you, my dear,” Levinson said as he took the tray from her and brought it to the table, the nurse closing the door.
“How long have you been seeing Lightman?” Steph asked as Levinson poured the tea. He paused and looked at her, smiling. The smile was as fake as he was.
“Oh, come now, my dear. You can do better than that. I’m sure you’ve already looked at the box of goodies that our good warden gave you, and with it, a complete history of my presence here. And if you haven’t, then you disappoint me.” He resumed pouring the teas then took a cup and fell back into his chair with a thump. “Oh,” he groaned, “getting old is not easy, the pains just seem to creep up on you.”
“Why?” I asked and he looked at me, surprised.
“Why what?” he replied.
“Why are you here? Why do you spend so much time with him? Why did you take a long break then return to seeing him with such an increase in frequency? Why?” He pondered my question for a moment, then smiled that fake smile I was beginning to dread.
“Jim, may I call you Jim?” He didn’t wait for my reply. “Sometimes, and not
