The request had piqued D.D.’s curiosity. Fortunately, it had piqued Adeline’s as well. So here they were, Phil, D.D. and Adeline, sitting at two hastily combined cafeteria tables with PO Candace Proctor and her charge, Christi Willey, in the middle of a space that smelled overwhelmingly of fried food. In particular, spicy orange shrimp. It was making D.D. hungry.

So far, Adeline was playing it smart; she had yet to say a word, letting Phil and D.D. do all the talking.

Yes, Christi Willey had once shared a cellblock with Shana Day. They’d also spent some time together in solitary, after, you know, the incident.

Christi Willey’s rap sheet included half a dozen drug-related charges, including armed robbery to help fund her habit, assault to protect her habit, and accessory to her boyfriend killing a rival to further enable their habit. . . . Given the woman’s jittery movements and ping-ponging gaze, D.D. wasn’t convinced Christi had given up the lifestyle just yet, prison being one of the easiest places to score drugs. On the other hand, Christi was meeting with them of her own accord, with her parole officer present, and given the mandatory drug testing that was no doubt part of the terms of her parole . . .

Who knows? Maybe the woman was clean. Maybe this was simply your brain even after several years of no longer being on drugs.

It was possible.

“Yes, I knew Shana Day,” the twitchy informant was saying now. She wore a tank top, very much not in season, which showcased rail-thin arms. Candace, the PO, had brought over a large basket of fries, maybe to tempt her charge. Christi had yet to touch them.

D.D., despite her deep and abiding love for food courts, had restricted herself to a bottle of water. Phil as well. Adeline had splurged on a fruit smoothie. Something about having never eaten breakfast. So far, Christi wasn’t paying much attention to the doctor, for which D.D. was grateful. Technically speaking, Adeline shouldn’t even be present. Then again, neither should D.D.

“They had this game,” Christi was saying now, her gaze fixed on the table. “It was called the Hooker Olympics. Frankie, Rich and Howard would play it anytime they all worked together. They’d pick three girls, line us up in front of them, then unzip their flies. Whichever one of us got the guy off first won a prize. Maybe a bottle of lotion. Or a couple of extra minutes in the shower. Stupid shit like that.”

The PO reached over and patted her charge’s hand. D.D. had never worked with Candace before, but she seemed to genuinely care about her clients.

“So three COs were involved in this?” Phil asked.