“Meaning it’s possible she got a letter. And maybe Shana even decided to reply. Except, she realized that the second she wrote back and finally adopted a pen pal after all these years, you guys would take an interest.”

“True.” The superintendent nodded.

“So she took it off-line, so to speak. Reached out through a different communications channel. Maybe with the help of another inmate or guard. Or her lawyer?” D.D. eyed both me and the superintendent questioningly.

“Shana has a public defender,” I supplied. “She doesn’t like him, and I don’t even remember the last time they met.”

“Two years ago,” Superintendent McKinnon provided. “Shana bit his nose. We took away her radio. She claimed it was still worth it.”

D.D. nodded. “All right. We’re getting somewhere now. We have a killer who identifies with Harry Day and who has possibly forged a relationship with Day’s equally homicidal daughter. Cool.”

“The daughter who’s already predicted that we’ll let her out of prison first thing tomorrow morning,” Phil added more slowly. “I’m gonna guess that’s what’s in it for her.”

“Not gonna happen,” D.D. said.

“Agreed,” Superintendent McKinnon stated firmly. “My prisoner, my facility. Period.”

I gazed at both women. And I wished I could share their certainty. Instead, I heard myself murmur, “One hundred and fifty-three.”

“You figured out what that means?” Phil asked immediately.

“No. But knowing my sister like I do, I think we’ll be sorry soon enough.”

Chapter 18

Who am I? Someone who cares.

What do I look like? Nothing special, just myself.

Primary motivation: To offer help to someone in need.

Purpose of operation: It must be done.

Net gain: She won’t feel a thing.

Net gain: She won’t feel a thing.

Net gain: She won’t feel a thing.

Stop thinking. It’s time.

This would be tricky.

Taking a deep breath, practicing once more before the full-length mirror:

Slender glass vial tucked up the tight-fitting sleeve. Then sliding it down into the palm of the hand. Uncorking and pouring as a single deft motion. Then slipping the vial away into left pocket . . .

Too slow. Stupidly slow. Her back would need to be turned, her attention distracted for at least a full minute.

Couldn’t count on that. Not with this target. She would be the most ambitious to date. A woman who trusted no one and suspected everyone. Life had already hurt her once. She wasn’t planning on giving it a chance to smack at her again.

No, this latest endeavor would demand perfection. Genuine smile, steady eye contact, all the right words. Then, when the opportunity arose . . . Fast and fluid. Palming the glass vial in no more than the blink of an eye, while stirring the contents into her drink in less than a heartbeat.