Tony is dragged up the short flight of concrete steps. He can see better now.

A woman steps out from behind an open car door and walks over to where the cops are holding him. She flashes a badge.

“Detective Sergeant Gagnon, New Hampshire State Police.”

Tony twists and scowls. “I got news for you, honey. You’re in the wrong goddamn state.”

The detective holds up a piece of paper. “Then it’s a good thing I brought an out-of-state warrant. Tony Romero, you’re wanted for questioning in the murder of Suzanne Bonanno.”

“Bullshit! They already got the guy for that.”

The detective smiles at him. “Yeah. We think he might be the wrong guy.”

CHAPTER
138

Rockingham County Jail, New Hampshire

Cole Wright barely fits on the metal cell cot. Since lights-out, he’s been turning from side to side, pulling the tissue-thin blanket over his shoulders, trying to get comfortable.

It’s not possible. His hip bones and shoulders press down hard on the thin mattress; he can feel the steel underneath. In the opposite cot, his cellmate is awake, keeping watch. It’s difficult for Cole to grasp that these four walls now contain his life.

He gave Garrett Wilson all the information he had and told him to follow the trail wherever it led. But Garrett’s dead. And whoever really killed Suzanne is still free.

Cole flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He finds patterns in the rust stains and watermarks until exhaustion slowly takes over, his eyes close, and everything fades to black.

He wakes to the sound of banging on the cell bars and the metallic grind of the door opening. Rough hands shake his shoulders, then pull him upright. A flashlight shines in his face.

He sees Knox jump off his cot across the cell. A huge guard with a nightstick holds him back. The guard tells Knox, “We’re here for him, not you.”

“Put on your shoes,” somebody orders Cole. He sticks his feet into his prison sandals and is shuffled out of the cell and down the dark corridor.

Is he being transferred already? Taken for more questioning? “What’s happening?” he asks. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” says one of the guards.

And then they’re through the double doors and in the outer corridor, the same place he was strip-searched and processed just sixteen hours before.

An administrator in a rumpled suit holds out the handset of a corded phone. “For you,” he says.

Cole takes the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. Ready to bust out of the joint?”

“Maddy? I… they just grabbed me from my cell. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Here? Where?”

“Put the administrator back on.”

Cole hands the phone back to the man in the suit, who listens and nods vigorously. “Yes, Madam President. Understood, Madam President. Goodbye, Madam President.” He hangs up.