“So the staff knew he hadn’t done it because he was in solitary at the time.”

Another shrug from Shipley. “Likely. I wasn’t in a supervisory position at that time.”

Rafe drew a breath and Mercy could feel his impatience. She gave his hand a squeeze this time. “Warden Shipley,” she said, acting on a sudden hunch, “did Aubrey break the inmate’s neck to protect someone else?”

“The inmate’s neck was broken, yes. I know this because I saw it. It was the first time I’d seen a murder on the job and it’s stuck with me all these years. I’ve always believed that Aubrey did it, but you won’t find any documentation on either of those things.”

Rafe glanced at Mercy, appreciation in his eyes. “Who was the inmate trying to attack at the time that Aubrey ‘probably’ broke his neck?” he asked, turning back to the computer.

Shipley took a full minute to check her notes. “Okay, here it is. The subject of the attack was Benton Travis.”

Mercy fought off her disappointment. Not Herbert Hampton. “What did he look like?”

“Not tall, not short. Average guy. Brown hair. Wore glasses. Spent a lot of time in the prison library.”

Pastor, Mercy thought, both relieved and energized. “Did he start a church there, by chance?”

Shipley looked impressed. “He did. His nickname was Pastor.”

Yes, yes, yes. Mercy had to fight to keep the grin from her face. Benton Travis. Now they had a real name.

“What was Travis in for?” Rafe asked.

“Embezzlement, bank fraud, mail fraud, and forgery,” Shipley answered, then narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Do you have a photo?” Mercy asked, ignoring the question.

Shipley’s eyes narrowed further. “Quid pro quo, Miss Callahan. Why?”

“Because he changed his name, then went on to form another church when he got out,” Rafe answered. “From whom he embezzled. Then he disappeared. That was thirty years ago.”

“Do you have a photo?” Mercy asked again.

Shipley nodded. “It’s in the packet of information I’ll send to Detective Sokolov’s e-mail. It was a shot taken for propaganda purposes, basically. Benton Travis led services in the mess hall on Sunday mornings. We had a chaplain, of course, but the inmates liked ‘Pastor’ better.” She used air quotes. “We got a photo of them in prayer. We thought he was using those services to coordinate criminal enterprise within the prison walls, but we could never catch him doing anything illegal.”

“Thank you,” Mercy said, then remembered something. “Wait. Was Pastor married? Did he have a family who visited him in prison?”

“No, but Waylon had a girlfriend. He met her when he was incarcerated. She was some kind of do-gooder. He had all these tats and she looked like she should be a student at an Ivy League school.”

“Do you remember her name?” Mercy asked.

“Not off the top of my head. If I get a chance, I’ll ask my assistant to go to the tombs and get the visitor logs from that time frame. They haven’t been digitized, so it’s a pain in the ass to search them.”