“Computer records,” John mumbled, running a hand through his short hair. “They could have been switched.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Flynn,” the warden said, “but computer security is tight. This is a federal penitentiary. We protect ourselves against hackers.”
“No system is secure,” John said, jaw clenched.
Rowan nodded to the man on the other side of the window. The man posing as her brother. “He knows the answer.”
Two minutes later, Rowan sat across from the man who’d passed as Bobby for fourteen months. John stood against the wall next to one of the two guards, Roger sat to Rowan’s right, and Warden Cullen stood nervously at her left.
“Who are you?” Rowan asked.
“Bobby MacIntosh, but ya know that,” the imposter said, staring at her and trying to look fearsome, but failing.
Rowan shook her head. “No, you’re not Bobby. Bobby is my brother. I know him. You are not Bobby.”
“Hey, babe, I’ve changed.”
“Tell me how you made the switch,” Roger said.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He shuffled his feet, the chains clinking together, echoing in the silence of the sparsely furnished room.
Rowan glared at him. This man had helped her brother commit murder. “Did you plan it with him? Accomplice to murder. Hmmm. Texas has the death penalty, doesn’t it, Warden?”
“Well, uh, yes we do.”
“I don’t suppose an accomplice is eligible,” Rowan said, her voice flat and hard.
“Well, there are extenuating circumstances where an accomplice may be eligible,” the warden said.
Rowan controlled her reaction. It was bullshit, but the imposter wouldn’t know that. Play up whatever angle they had. Besides, everyone knew Texas had one of the strongest death penalty laws in the country.
The imposter fidgeted, crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Well, let me spell it out. We have your DNA. My DNA is on file with the FBI. Assistant Director Collins,” she motioned toward Roger, “already called for my profile to be faxed here. If you really are my brother, the DNA profiles will prove that.” She glanced at Warden Cullen, who quickly picked up the thread.
“Guard, please call up to my office and see if the fax has arrived from Washington.”
One of the guards left the room and the imposter became visibly agitated. Certainly he had heard of more than one criminal who’d been caught because of DNA. DNA was king at enough trials to make any prisoner wary.
“I, uh-” he began, then stopped.
“Tell me where Bobby MacIntosh is,” Roger said.
“I don’t know,” the prisoner whispered. His eyes darted from Rowan to Roger to the warden. “I think I need a lawyer.”
Roger slammed his fist on the table. “No!”
Warden Cullen frowned at him. Rowan leaned forward. “Sir,” she asked, “what is your name?”
“Lloyd,” he answered, his shackles rustling.
“Lloyd, my name is Rowan Smith.”
He shrugged. “I know.”
“I’m the reason Bobby wanted out of prison, right?” she prodded.
Lloyd hesitated, then nodded.
Her head spun. It
She kept her voice firm and modulated. “Bobby told you about me.”
He hesitated. “I really think I need-”
Warden Cullen interrupted. “Look, Lloyd, I’ll tell you what. Anything you tell us here won’t be used against you, okay? Just answer their questions.”
Lloyd didn’t look convinced. “He’ll kill me if I talk.”
Rowan stared at him. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“Ms. Smith-” Warden Cullen warned.
The guard returned with two pieces of official-looking paper. He handed them to the warden, who read them and nodded. Lloyd paled, his pasty complexion becoming even whiter.
Cullen spoke. “This proves you’re not Robert MacIntosh. Do you want to cooperate or be charged with accessory to murder?”
“Murder? But she’s not dead!”
“Bobby started with others,” Rowan said. “He plans to end with me. But I have no intention of letting him kill me.” She kept her face rigid, her eyes shielded. She knew she looked fearsome; it was an expression the press had loved to comment on when she’d been with the Bureau. It also worked well on criminals.
She couldn’t afford to break down now. Not when they were so close.
Lloyd swallowed, glanced at the warden, then back at her. Rowan didn’t move a muscle, but her heart beat so loudly in her ears she thought for sure everyone could hear. She couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow it.
“I want in writing that I’m not gonna be charged for any of this.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his mouth.
Roger looked at the warden, who sighed and pulled out a legal pad. He hand-wrote a promise on two sheets of paper, signed both, and handed the pen to Lloyd. Lloyd signed them awkwardly with his hands bound and the warden took them. Rowan glanced down. He’d signed them “Robert MacIntosh.”
They weren’t legitimate without his legal name, but no one said anything. Stupid idiot, Rowan thought. No wonder Bobby had so easily manipulated him.
“I met Bobby in the joint in Louisiana. Right when he came in. Young punk kid. We hit it off right away. We looked kinda alike. He told me about you,” he said with a nod toward Rowan. “He hates you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Rowan said through clenched teeth, her mouth dry. She refused to let this guy get to her.
“Well, I got out after ten. He told me to find you. Sure, why not? I had nothing better to do. But you were fuckin’ hard to find. Then Bobby turned me on to Roger Collins here and told me you might’ve changed your name. But he had your social, and that’s what led me to your college transcripts.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
“Well, I sorta followed you. Not all the time, didn’t have to. I knew your name, could check up on you from time to time. Kept Bobby informed.”
“You. Stalked. Me.” It was all she could do not to reach over and squeeze the bastard’s neck.
“Hell no, I didn’t care about you. And it wasn’t like I was always around. I had to keep a low profile, ya know. Work, pay taxes. I landed back in the can on some stupid trumped-up charge, in upstate New York. Was in there for nearly two years. Time off for good behavior.” He chuckled. “Realized something important, though.”
“What?” Roger asked, impatient.
He shrugged and gave a half-smile. “I really like being in the can. Don’t have to work if I don’t wanna. Three squares. Place to live, live for free. I never killed no one, so don’t have death row over my head. I mean, freedom is overrated. I tried to explain it all to Bobby, but he don’t listen.
“I lost track of you for a time and Bobby was antsy; when he heard you were some hotshot writer making big bucks, he sorta flipped. He came up with this all, but it took time. Two years to plan it and have it all come together.”
“How did you trade places?” Roger asked.
“That was easier than I thought. I didn’t think Bobby’d be able to pull it off, but he was so sure it’d work and I thought, what the fuck? If I was caught, I’d get what I wanted, another stint in the joint. If it worked, I’d get to come here to Beaumont. Nice place. Helluva lot better than Louisiana.”
“How?” Roger repeated, his anger evident.
“Bobby staged an accident, gang fight I think. He was taken to the hospital, all cut up. There was a guard outside his room, but not inside. We switched places. I just dressed up like a fuckin’ janitor and walked right in.
