Bending over, I pulled open the bag, peeling back the sides, the wet plastic slipping from my grip, the warm blood bathing my fingers, as it opened to reveal the lifeless, bloody body of Captain Matthew Skipper, his vacant eyes filled with far more peace in death than they ever had been in life.

I looked back at Merrill, wondering if he’d had anything to do with this beyond what I’d just witnessed.

His opaque expression was implacable. “Kinda poetic, ain’t it?”

I nodded.

“Jacobson got out of Confinement over the weekend,” he said.

I stood and turned to look down toward the compound.

Beyond the medical and security personnel running in this direction, a small group of inmates had gathered in front of the center gate. There in the midst of them, straining to see along with the others, was Jacobson, a wide grin seeping across the wild expression on his pale face.

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Blood of the Lamb Chapter 1

On the day Nicole Caldwell died, I awoke as if from a night of bad dreams with a nagging sense of dread, which only intensified as I arrived at Potter Correctional Institution and was told to report to the warden’s office.

When I opened the door to the admin building, I saw long black cables snaking down the hallway and a bright swath of light, both of which spilled out of Edward Stone’s office. I was greeted by Betty Costin, Stone’s secretary, and a young, menacing-looking black man with an expensive suit and perfect teeth, both of whom held a finger to their lips signaling me to be quiet.

I had never met him, but I recognized the young man as DeAndré Stone, the warden’s nephew. His thuggish posture, expression, and demeanor let everyone know he was hardcore—that no matter where he was or how he dressed, he was never far from the street. Though his designer suit was cut to conceal it, I was sure I detected a holster beneath his arm.

When I took a closer look, he shifted his weight and turned slightly, but it was too late. I was certain now. DeAndré Stone had a firearm on state prison property—a felony punishable by fines and jail time.

Beyond Betty’s office, and inside the inner sanctum of Edward Stone’s, a local TV news crew was busy recording an interview with Stone and three people who looked only vaguely familiar. As I listened, I learned that the man was Bobby Earl Caldwell, a televangelist from New Orleans, his wife, Bunny, and their adopted daughter Nicole.