Culligan sat alone at one of the tables, awkwardly, with his tie loose and askew.

“How’d he get in here?” I asked the CO. “He’s not on my approved-visitors list.”

“Warden vouched for him personally.”

Of course. Culligan had all sorts of law enforcement bona fides. I shook my head. “Well, I’m not meeting with him.” This was one of the few rights that inmates had in Valhalla. We didn’t have to see anyone we didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to see anyone who worked for Barrett.

The CO scowled and blocked my way when I turned to go.

“Okay. Tell you what,” I said. “Let me borrow your pen.” Still scowling, she handed it to me, and I wrote a note on the back of Culligan’s card. I’ll talk to Lester. No one else.

I watched at the door as she delivered my note. Culligan read it, then he looked up and across the room to meet my eyes through the glass. He nodded at me and held up a hand in a five-minute signal. Then he got up and left.

Ten minutes later, Lester Willard took his place, and this time I allowed the CO to take me in.

Lester was by far the biggest person in the room, but he looked even more nervous than Culligan had. He didn’t meet my eyes as I sat down across from him.

“Okay, so what’s the message?” I snapped.

He answered in a mumble: “They wanna know what you know.”

Even when he was hanging his head, I had to look up at him. “About?”

“Those papers you put in your briefcase that night.”

“Oh.” I sat back. My motion had missed its mark. It didn’t get the DA’s attention, it got Barrett’s. Now he knew that I knew. Now he could rationalize putting me here.

“You know why I agreed to see you, Lester?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Because I’m curious. How much did you know?”

“About what?”

“The miracle in the jungle. How they turned the sow’s ear into a silk purse.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am.”

That was his default response to every question I ever asked him. “See no evil, is that it, Lester?”

His chin came up slightly. “I do my job. That’s it.”

“No matter how dirty that job might be.”

He didn’t answer.

Two children in the play corner started to wail. I couldn’t tell which of the women they belonged to. None of the mothers or grandmothers broke off talking to even glance their way.

I pushed to my feet. “Well, you can tell your masters that I refused to answer. Because I do.”

He shook his head. “You don’t want me to say that.”

“No, you’re right. Tell them I said fuck you.”

“Ma’am,” he said sharply, and he stood up just as abruptly, all six-foot-six of him. “You need to be careful.”

I scoffed. “They’ve already done their worst. They framed me for murder. What else can they do?”