The common room of Gavin’s jail pod held tables and chairs—all anchored to the floor—where the inmates could play games, or talk, or work on the pecking order. Gavin did his best to avoid it, having learned early in life that a speech impediment and a doughy appearance made him a target for anyone wanting to pick a fight. Knuckle-draggers hated to have their ignorance put on display, thus even the most innocuous conversation could turn deadly. So, when it came time for Gavin to write his letters, he pulled his mattress to the floor and used his bunk as a table.

Outbound mail was subject to inspection by jail staff, and Gavin knew that copies of his letters would find their way to Detective Niki Vang. It brought him joy to picture her reading each, incapable of grasping the significance of what she held in her hands.

After an hour of contemplation, Gavin put pen to paper and wrote the first of his two letters.

Dear Jack,

Keep your chin up old friend, and ignore what you’ve read about me. I did not commit the crime for which I am accused. Life has taken a sad turn for me, but I find strength in the detailed memory of our friendship. Little things like time and distance can’t erase those pictures from my mind. So many times I have thought of you and of our days together, all those years ago. All I can do now is hope that you hold those memories as close to your heart as do I. Did you ever think that our paths would cross again after so much time apart? I must admit, I never expected to be where I am. Every day I find myself stunned that I could be accused of so heinous a crime. Vicious lies are being told about me, and they cut me to my core. As I write this, they are marshalling their forces to bring a case against me based on nothing but a lie. Unafraid, I will meet their challenge, knowing that justice will prevail. Karma shall be my salvation.

Yours in confidence,

G.

Pleased with his effort, he went to work on sneaking his message past the jailers. This second step of the plan involved his next-door neighbor, Gideon Doss, whom he found sitting alone in the common area, a game of solitaire spread in front of him. Gavin took the seat across the table.

“You winning?”

Gideon didn’t look up. “Not yet.”

“Any luck calling your girl?”

Gideon had discovered that his girlfriend had gone to the hospital to visit his cousin—the man Gideon had stabbed. Too broke to buy a prepaid phone card, Gideon called her collect every day, but she refused to accept. Suspicion tormented him to the point that he cried in his cell at night.