“I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you or your family. I love Susan. Only want the best for her.”

He was unable to hide his obvious awkwardness and discomfort.

“We need to follow up some of the leads that our physical evidence has produced,” he said. “You could do some of them without anyone noticing. IG of the department walks in and starts asking questions, people get nervous and clam up.”

No wonder he was being civil. He needed my help.

“Like what?” I asked.

“The lab said there were traces of a chemical on Johnson’s pants that’s used in floor cleaner and wax in medical and dental facilities. We’ve traced the exact chemical to two types of cleaners manufactured by PRIDE. The cleaners are used in the medical offices, the infirmary, and the dental offices.”

“We know he was in the infirmary the night before he was killed.”

“But he couldn’t get it on him from just being there—even if he fell on a recently mopped floor. Besides, the chemical on his pants had not been diluted. He’d’ve had to come in contact with an actual bottle of cleaner, and it’d have to have been within a few hours of his death.”

“We need to find out if he ever worked with the cleaner or if his uniform was switched with someone else’s. Happens a lot. Uniform could’ve come in contact with the chemical when another inmate was wearing it.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. The chemical had not been through the washer and dryer, and the uniform had his name tag on it. It actually stuck to the spear. How about Medical and Dental?”

“I’ll check them again as I can. I have to continue my regular work as well. And I’ve been asked to do Ike Johnson’s funeral on Saturday.”

“Find out all you can about him from his family,” he said. “They may know something useful and not know they know it.”

I nodded.

“I think it’s best if we’re not seen together. You do those things. I’ll talk with Fortner, make him feel a part of the investigation, and continue to check with the lab.”

Working together without working together. It was ingenious.

13

Merrill Monroe, my best friend since elementary school, was an African-American correctional officer sergeant in charge of Outside Grounds.

Inmates assigned to his crew were not considered escape risks and were allowed to work outside the gate.

I found him in a garden to the left of the institution, down on his hands and knees showing an inmate just how to plant sugar snap peas.

The light brown sleeves of his short-sleeve CO uniform were stretched tightly over muscular dark brown arms. Every time he moved, his muscles flexed, straining his shirt to the point of ripping.