I thought about it. I had been trying to leave the obsession and violence and negative energy of homicide investigations behind me, but I could feel the strong pull of what was being offered to me. It was seductive.

“I’m a chaplain now,” I said. “That comes first. But if I can do both, I am willing. I will. But I will not work closely with the IG. Because I don’t trust him.”

“Okay, the reason I’m asking you is because Daniels is Fortner’s boss. Fortner’s looking for a promotion, and he’d sacrifice my institution to get it. I don’t trust the two men together. You, on the other hand, Daniels hates. You’re the best man for the job.”

At that moment, my phone rang.

“Good morning. Chaplain Jordan,” I said into the receiver.

“Chaplain, this is Officer Jones in the control room. Is the warden in your office by chance?”

No, not by chance. He leaves nothing to chance.

I handed Stone the phone. He took it without comment or expression.

“Stone . . . Yes . . . okay, send him over to the chapel right away.”

He handed me the receiver and I hung it up.

“Your new partner has arrived. Before he gets here, I just want to make clear your responsibilities. You are to assist him in the investigation in any way that you can, but I also want you looking out for the institution and its administration—and report to me every step of the way.”

The front door to the chapel opened and the warden stood to open my office door for the inspector.

I remained seated.

When the inspector walked in, he and Stone introduced themselves to each other.

Tom Daniels was fifty-five, but looked sixty-five. His battleship-gray eyes matched his hair, which still showed no sign of receding.

When they had finished shaking hands, Stone sat down again, pulling his pants legs up slightly and crossing his legs. He then steepled his hands together in front of his face as if praying, the tips of his fingers at his lips.

Daniels just sort of collapsed into his chair.

Tom Daniels had the look of an alcoholic. I knew, being an alumnus myself. His face was red and swollen, his nose pink and puffy, spiderwebbed with little blue broken veins.

Though an obvious alcoholic, he was a high-functioning one. He worked hard. Presented well. Yet he was often late, and didn’t produce the results he once had. And though he made a good salary and lived modestly, he was plagued by financial problems.

He was dressed in gray slacks that matched his hair and eyes, a white shirt that matched his pale skin, and a red tie that matched his bloodshot eyes.

The effect of alcoholism on Tom Daniels was severe, but its effects on his family were devastating. Though never beaten nor abused, his wife and daughter had been neglected.