Of course, of course…

“I think I’ve got it. I need to talk to Mychal Poitier again. And, Thom, bring the van around.”

“The—”

“The van! We’re going for a drive. Sachs, you’re coming too. And you are armed, aren’t you? Oh, and somebody call detention. Have Barry Shales released. The guy’s been through enough.”

Chapter 82

CHAPTER 82

THE SKINNY FIFTY-YEAR-OLD was a lifer in the Department of Corrections.

He was not, however, a prisoner but a guard and had been all his professional days. He actually liked the job, shepherding people through the Tombs.

The nickname of the venue—technically the Manhattan Detention Complex—suggested a place that was worse than the truth. The word went back to the 1800s and was appropriate for a prison modeled after an Egyptian mausoleum, built on an incompetently filled swamp (adding to the aroma and illness that pervaded the place) and situated in the notorious Five Points district of Manhattan—described as “the most dangerous place on earth” at that time.

In fact, the Tombs nowadays was just another lockup, although a damn big one.

Calling into intercoms, using the code word for the day to open doors, the guard now strode down the hallway to a segregated set of cells reserved for special prisoners.

Like the man he was now going to see. Barry Shales.

Over his twenty-eight years as a guard here he had trained himself to have no opinion about his charges. Child killers and white-collar criminals who’d embezzled from people who probably should be embezzled from…it made no difference to him. His job was to keep order and make sure the system ran smoothly. And also to ease the difficult time these people were going through.

After all, this was not prison but temporary detention, where individuals stayed until bail or transfer to Rikers or, in more than a few cases, freedom forever. Everybody here was presumably innocent. That was how the country worked.

But the man whose cell he was now walking toward was different and the guard did have an opinion about him. It was an absolute tragedy that he’d been incarcerated here.

The guard didn’t know a lot about Barry Shales’s background. But he did know that he was a former air force flier who’d fought in the war in Iraq. And that he worked for the government now, the federal government.

And yet he’d been arrested for murder. But not for killing his wife or his wife’s lover or anything like that. For killing some asshole terrorist.

Arrested, even though he was a soldier, even though he was a hero.

And the guard knew why he was here: because of politics. He’d been arrested because the party that wasn’t in power had to fuck over the one that was, by making an example of this poor guy.

The guard came to the cell and looked through the window.

Funny.