Jack’s failure to act weighed heavily on Gavin as he busied himself with a small side project that day. He had purchased a simple green folder from the commissary to carry his legal papers. It would have a more important purpose soon—a hiding place for the burner phone’s SIM card. Gavin used a piece of plastic from a pen to jab along a seam until he created a slot big enough for the card.

He had barely completed his task when a voice on the intercom called him to the guard station. He had a visitor.

As he neared the visiting room, he could see his mother’s face on the screen, and it angered him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Can it wait until I get out?”

“Those detectives came to see me again.”

Gavin hadn’t expected that, and he held his expression in check as he considered the news. It should mean nothing to him. An innocent man would welcome a more thorough investigation. “Good,” Gavin said. “I hope they’re getting closer to catching the guy.”

“They asked some strange questions.”

“Like what—and remember, Mom, Big Brother is listening.”

Amy nodded. “They wanted to know about the money I give you.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“What do you think I said? I told them it was an allowance. I’m taking care of my son. That’s what mothers do; they look out for their children.”

“You are a good mother,” Gavin said, doing his best to sound sincere. Amy smiled as if she believed him. Was she really that stupid? Yes, she was. If it weren’t for Gavin, she would have been locked up a long time ago.

His mother and Richard hadn’t been celebrating that night, they’d been arguing. It had been one of those long, simmering fights that grew in heat as the Scotch in Richard’s bottle dwindled, their insults whispered and hissed to hide their acrimony from the neighbors. But their harsh words climbed the ivy up to Gavin’s window, words like cheat, and gold digger, and divorce. He heard Richard say that he was sick of that retarded kid, and Gavin knew what kid he was talking about.

He’d dug his camera out of its bag and trained its lens on the patio below, zooming in to watch his mother and Richard.

Richard had downed the last of his Johnnie Walker Black Label and thrown the bottle to the concrete, smashing it into a thousand shards. Then he’d pointed his finger at Amy and said, “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He struggled to form consonants as the alcohol thickened his tongue. “You think I’m an idiot? I’m done with you…and that defective kid of yours. I’m done with the whole thing. You wanna be a whore, go be a whore.”

Richard turned to stumble his way toward the house and nearly lost his balance as he tried to navigate around the wicker footstool. That gave Amy the opportunity to grab a paver stone from the edge of the flower garden.