Fox River. Emilie Richards
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the doors opened, then closed behind them. They walked down a short corridor flanked by video cameras. The second kennel looked much like the first, but the track was considerably larger, and a yard fenced in mesh and topped with razor wire was visible through a window.
The guard on duty here was used to Christian and hardly gave him a glance. He was busy watching one of the other inmates walk blindfolded through an obstacle course. A chocolate Lab wearing a leather harness led him through the maze. Javier Garcia, a huge man in blue jeans, walked confidently behind him.
Christian and Bertha strolled over to the guardrail overlooking the course and watched.
Christian explained what they were viewing. “That’s Cocoa. She’s had a little trouble with overhead obstacles.” The dogs had to be trained not to lead their new masters into low-hanging obstacles like tree branches and awnings, even if their masters urged them forward. Guide dogs were trained to practice “intelligent disobedience.” Their own good instincts had to supplant their blind master’s commands.
“She’s catching on?”
“Cocoa’s a winner. Very bright. She’ll make it. But we had one of her litter mates who flunked out the first week. He jumped at loud noises. Very distractible for a Lab. Hopefully by checking out the puppies earlier, we’ll avoid these problems.”
The pastor was silent for a moment as she watched Javier and Cocoa move flawlessly along the track. Then she turned so she could see Christian’s face. “Christian, I’ve been considering this conversation carefully.”
He waited stoically, another survival skill he’d learned.
“I’ve heard something.”
He supposed Bertha heard lots of gossip as she moved from prison to prison. Ludwell wasn’t the only penal institution that trained helping dogs.
She continued. “I suspect I could be accused of interfering with proper procedure for telling you this. Certainly for jumping the gun.”
“I’m listening.”
“Have you heard of a man named Karl Zandoff?”
Christian devoured the newspaper whenever he could. Anyone who could read had heard of Karl Zandoff. He gave a short nod. “He’s on death row in Florida. His appeals are almost up.”
“His execution date’s been set for December.”
“Yeah, and it looks like a date he’ll be keeping.”
“He’s been talking to the authorities.”
“So?”
“Apparently he’s confessed to another murder, one they didn’t suspect him of.”
“Nothing like a rendezvous with Old Sparky to get the juices flowing.”
“I’m told he might confess to more before this is over.”
Despite himself, Christian was growing curious. “Maybe confession’s good for the soul. You’d believe that, wouldn’t you?”
“How about you?”
“I haven’t seen much God in here, Pastor. If we were ever on speaking terms, we haven’t been for a long time. If I had anything to confess myself, I’d do it to my lawyer.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Zandoff told them where to look for the body, and they found it. A case solved. The girl’s parents can finally put her to rest.”
“Girl?”
“A college student in Tennessee. She disappeared ten years ago.”
“I thought all his crimes had been committed in Florida.”
“Now they’re looking at other unsolved murders in the South. Turns out he drifted for a while. Worked construction, followed the jobs. Then he settled in with a wife and couple of kids in the Sunshine State. But he didn’t stop preying on young women.”
Christian knew Zandoff had been caught with a young woman’s monogrammed barrette and a brand-new shovel covered with Tallahassee’s sandy clay loam. That was the crime he’d been arrested for. And when the body was finally located, the two in shallow graves beside it had earned him the death penalty.
Christian searched the pastor’s face impassively. On the track beyond them he could hear Javier praising Cocoa for a job well-done. They only had another minute at most to finish the conversation before Javier joined them.
“I’m unclear as to why you’re telling me this. I’m not Karl Zandoff. I didn’t kill one woman, much less an interstate sorority. If you think his example is going to stir my conscience, forget it.”
“Christian.” She shook her head, as if she really was disappointed in him. “I know you as well as anybody does. You didn’t kill Fidelity Sutherland.”
He studied her. “There were people who knew me as well as they knew themselves, and they questioned it.” One woman in particular, whose face he still hadn’t been able to erase from his memory.
She glanced at the track. “I’m telling you because there’s a rumor Zandoff spent time in northern Virginia between nine and ten years ago. He’s hinting that he murdered a woman here, as well.”
For a moment Christian didn’t make the connection. Then he shrugged. “Lots of people disappear or die mysteriously every year.”
“He worked construction. They’re looking at records.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Somebody working the case told me. I want to call your attorney. Your interests should be represented.”
Javier reached the railing with Cocoa in tow. He had black hair that fell straight to his shoulders and an incongruously narrow face that didn’t fit his broad body. “Did you see that? She’s catching on, and she goes with a real light touch. She’ll be perfect for a woman.”
“Hello, Javier.” Bertha greeted him warmly. “I spoke to your wife last week.”
The big man beamed. “She doing okay, Pastor?”
“She says you have a good chance with the parole board. Should I start scouting out a job for you?”
“You’d do that?”
“I sure would.”
There wasn’t much Bertha Petersen wouldn’t do for her inmates. She believed in every one of them, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was as comfortable with murderers as she was with Bible-thumping evangelists. She wasn’t foolish, she simply believed that God held her life in his hands.
“About that phone call?” She turned to Christian.
He shrugged. He was dismayed to find that for a moment he had almost been suckered by hope. But unlike the good pastor, he had no illusions that God cared one way or the other what happened to Christian Carver. The prison walls were too thick for lightning to strike here.
“I’ll take it that’s a yes,” she said with a smile. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your work.”
“She don’t know what bad asses we really are, does she?” Javier said, once the minister was out of earshot.
“Oh, she knows. She just doesn’t care.” Christian grimaced. “God doesn’t deserve a woman like that one.”
“Hey, man, you could go to hell for saying that.”
“Been there, doing that.” Christian walked away.
5
Julia longed to pace, but that was a recipe for disaster. She’d been raised in this house, but nothing had ever stayed the same. As a child she might return home from school to find that Maisy had rearranged bedrooms or turned the dining room into an exercise studio. Furniture mysteriously traveled from