8
ROSS TALKED TO ALL three inmates personally, through the in-tercom system, told them what Lucas and Sloan wanted, recited their ghts, and offered them privileges if they agreed to be interviewed. All three agreed to talk.
On the way to the security unit, Hart, who was escorting them, said, 'The main thing to keep in mind, these guys are desperate for company. Except maybe Chase; we're losing Chase. His personality is coming apart. Anyway, they'll want to talk, if you handle it right.'
The unit was separated from the hospital by a locked security door? Hart pushed a call button, a monitor looked at them, and the door lock released. 'They monitor us from the cage,' Hart grunted.
'How did Charlie get down here, with this door?' Sloan asked.
'Most of the inmates have duties. Charlie worked as a janitor,' Hart said. 'He was suited for it. He could lean on a broom with the best of them.'
TWENTY CELLS LINED the hallway, ten on each side. The walls were steel, with a steel door to one side and a barred window inset in the wall. A flat fluorescent light shone from each window, like a line of exhibits in a museum. They could hear inmates talking back and forth as they went in, and could see silhouettes in most of the windows. Hart called, 'Temporary shutdown,' and groans and shouts rang along the hall. Hart punched a code into a wall phone, another camera looked at them, and Hart waved at it. Heavy plastic panels slid down across the windows.
'They can't talk with the windows down,' Hart said. With the windows shut, they could still hear a few of the inmates shouting.
'Didn't seem to shut them down,' Sloan said.
'Yeah, they can still hear each other, but they have to yell. Can't keep it up,' Hart said. 'If you keep your voice down when you're talking, the rest of them won't be able to hear you.'
THE CELLS WERE NOT LARGE, but they were more spacious than typical prison cells. Each was equipped with a bed, a sink, a toilet, a chair, a desk, all bolted to the floor; fixed lights overhead, and a two-by-three-foot steel dining table that folded down from the wall. A television was built into a wall and covered with security glass; two glass-covered ports on opposite sides of the cell showed video camera lenses.
Of the twenty cells, fifteen or sixteen had men in them.
CARL TAYLOR WAS A TALL MAN, thin, square shouldered, with high cheekbones, pale blue eyes, and closely cropped hair; he looked like a retired air force major. He was neatly dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and plastic slip-on shoes. He sat at the desk, reading a Bible. He looked odd, Lucas thought, and it took him a moment to put his finger on the oddness. Then he had it: Taylor looked rugged, trim, outdoorsy-but his skin was bone white from a lack of sunlight.
He was waiting for them: Lucas could sense it. He was too studied in his disregard to be really engaged with the Book. Hart glanced inside the cell, then pushed a metal plate six feet away from the cell window. The outer glass window slid halfway back. 'Carl…,' Hart said.
Taylor turned, raised his eyebrows, as if he were a little surprised to see them. 'Dr. Hart.' His forehead wrinkled. 'I've been thinking about it, since Dr. Ross called. I'm no longer convinced I should talk to these gentlemen.'
'It's up to you,' Lucas said. 'If you don't want to chat, we'll go away.'
Taylor stood and stretched. 'I think we might negotiate some ground rules.'
'There aren't any ground rules,' Lucas said. 'We ask questions, you answer. If you don't want to answer, we go away. It's that easy.'
Taylor stood up and lounged over to the window. 'Nothing's that easy. I-'
'This is exactly that easy,' Lucas said.
Sloan held up a hand to Lucas, then looked at Taylor: 'My friend is in a hurry, because we've got a real mess on our hands,' Sloan said. 'We need your help with this, and we hope you can give it to us. But we're not here for chitchat. We're here on a mission.'
'I see,' Taylor said. He was gravely polite. He stood behind the glass, with no place to sit that was close enough to talk comfortably. He put his hands in his jeans pockets, shrugged, and said, 'I'm happy to do what I can-I understand from Dr. Ross that I will receive some slight benefits.'
Hart said, 'The dinner extras, the movies. That's all he was willing to give.'
Taylor nodded: 'What can I do for you, then?'
SLOAN ASKED, 'Have you heard about the killings of Angela Larson and Adam Rice and his son?'
'Yes.' And now, wierdly, he smiled, a thin smile. While he'd seemed neat and trim and military in his bearing, his teeth were yellowed and ratlike against his pale lips. Lucas felt a crawling sensation along his arms; not fear, just the creeps. 'You've got a real bad boy there, as much as I could tell from the TV'
'Do you think Charlie Pope could do that?' Lucas asked.
Taylor looked up at the ceiling, then back, and said, 'You know, Dr. Grant asked the same thing. I've been thinking about it. To me, it sounds too… artistic… for Charlie. Charlie was a simple fool. He killed a couple of girls because he didn't want to get caught for sexing them. He couldn't figure out any other way to do it. To shut them up,'
'There's been a suggestion that he might be taking after one of you guys, one of…'
Sloan looked at Hart, who granted, 'The Big Three.'
Taylor's eyebrows went up: 'Is that the case? Well, well.' He cocked his head, showed his ratlike teeth again. 'Tell me about this Larson girl. I understand he punished her.'
'He goddamn near beat her to death,' Sloan grated.
'But not with his fists,' Taylor said, looking concerned.
'With some kind of whip,' Lucas said.
'How'd he whip her?' More concern. 'I mean, on her back, or her legs…'
'All over,' Lucas said, incautiously.
Hart said, 'Hey, huh…,' and Taylor's tongue touched his upper lip and his eyes glowed through the glass and he stepped closer to the window and asked, 'How about on the titties? Did he get her titties?'
Lucas involuntarily took a step back, and Sloan said, 'Fuck you.'
Taylor reached out with the flat of his hand and screamed, 'BIGGIE. BIGGIE. OUR BOY WHIPPED HER ON THE TITTIES, HE GOT HER ON THE TITTIES…'
'Jesus Christ,' Lucas said, and Hart slapped the plate that pushed the glass up; inmates were screaming up and down the hall, wanting to know what Taylor had said, or screaming disapproval. Taylor now pressed against the window, banging on it with the flat of his hand. 'Did he eat that cock? Hey, did he eat that cock? Hey, he did, didn't he? HEY BIGGIE, HE ATE THE COCK…'
And from down the hallway, more window slapping, and a high whinnying laugh. 'That'd be Biggie,' Hart Said. Hart's eyes looked frightened.
Taylor had gone berserk, now pounding on the window with both hands. 'BIGGIE…'
'You want to talk to Biggie?'
'I want to look at him, but I don't think there'd be much point in talking,' Lucas said. Sloan was white-faced. Lucas had to suppress an urge to run.
'They did it to him,' Sloan said to Lucas. 'They wound him up like a fuckin' toy and sent him out there to kill people.'
