It wasn't the D.O.C. duds.
Rosie smiled. "We need to talk." She stepped past Cole Lynch and entered the library followed by Sylvia.
The Counselor's eyes gleamed with intelligence and dead-on animal instinct; they slid over Sylvia while he spoke to the penitentiary investigator. He said, "I have reshelving to finish before my next clients arrive." He motioned to the books stacked on and around his desk.
Rosie pulled back, and Sylvia took over. "We'll stay out of your way." She knew the Counselor had already recognized her—inmates knew everyone whose work took them inside the joint—but she introduced herself formally, and then she motioned for him to proceed with his task. He picked up two heavy volumes. He was well over six feet tall and he reached the top shelves, balancing books, with ease.
Sylvia leaned her butt gingerly against a table that already bowed under the weight of Black's Legal Dictionary and Landmark Supreme Court Decisions .
"Have you heard from Dupont White?"
The Counselor slipped one of the tomes into place. "Killer? The last I heard, he died in that warehouse explosion eight weeks ago—'Blowout at Las Cruces,' as CNN said."
"Killer?"
The Counselor nodded. "He liked people to call him that." Constitution and Society slid into the row.
Sylvia watched Cole as he worked. His thin fingers caressed each binding like it was skin. Here was a man who valued books for the power they could bestow. She knew he would tell her exactly what he wanted to tell her—and nothing more.
She spoke casually. "How long did you know Dupont?"
Cole's lawyer persona was neatly in place. "Since we were kids in California. From the time we all spent at the ranch." He looked at her, gauging what she already knew. "My father was caretaker at Devil's Den. That's what they called it out there. All fifteen hundred acres." He selected another text and glanced at the clock on the wall. His patience was wearing thin.
Sylvia said, "It's possible that Dupont White is still alive."
The Counselor spoke softly. "Don't play games with me, Dr. Strange. I'm one of the smart ones—don't let the inmate greens fool you."
Sylvia heard Rosie exhale.
He reached around and picked up four volumes from beside the desk. They were heavy—at least eighty pounds of paper and leather—and the muscles on his arms bulged. As he moved back to the shelves, he said, "The feds were here six weeks ago. They were closing the case on Dupont White." A leather text landed roughly on the shelf.
Cole hefted another into the air. "DNA from hair and skin fragments will provide proof that he went up with the warehouse." The book slammed next to its relation.
Cole continued, "Dental records are also admissible in court as evidence of death." The next book hit so hard that the entire shelf shook.
Sylvia said, "You were his partner—but you seem happy to believe he's dead."
Cole faced Sylvia. "The last deal we did together, I ended up here, and Dupont walked." He gave her a cold smile.
There was a knock on the glass. An inmate stood just outside the door.
The Counselor nodded to the man. His mouth barely moved when he spoke to Sylvia. He said, "I can name four cons who will refuse treatment from you because the last man you evaluated was burned alive." He raised one eyebrow. "What is it with you prison shrinks? I think you overload on the dark side. Maybe you need some perspective?"
The waiting inmate tapped on the glass again.
Cole addressed both women, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy."
Sylvia said, "Thank you very much for your time, Counselor." She picked up her briefcase.
Rosie was standing by the door, key in lock. As Sylvia turned to follow her friend, she glanced up at
Rosie smiled. "We need to talk." She stepped past Cole Lynch and entered the library followed by Sylvia.
The Counselor's eyes gleamed with intelligence and dead-on animal instinct; they slid over Sylvia while he spoke to the penitentiary investigator. He said, "I have reshelving to finish before my next clients arrive." He motioned to the books stacked on and around his desk.
Rosie pulled back, and Sylvia took over. "We'll stay out of your way." She knew the Counselor had already recognized her—inmates knew everyone whose work took them inside the joint—but she introduced herself formally, and then she motioned for him to proceed with his task. He picked up two heavy volumes. He was well over six feet tall and he reached the top shelves, balancing books, with ease.
Sylvia leaned her butt gingerly against a table that already bowed under the weight of Black's Legal Dictionary and Landmark Supreme Court Decisions .
"Have you heard from Dupont White?"
The Counselor slipped one of the tomes into place. "Killer? The last I heard, he died in that warehouse explosion eight weeks ago—'Blowout at Las Cruces,' as CNN said."
"Killer?"
The Counselor nodded. "He liked people to call him that." Constitution and Society slid into the row.
Sylvia watched Cole as he worked. His thin fingers caressed each binding like it was skin. Here was a man who valued books for the power they could bestow. She knew he would tell her exactly what he wanted to tell her—and nothing more.
She spoke casually. "How long did you know Dupont?"
Cole's lawyer persona was neatly in place. "Since we were kids in California. From the time we all spent at the ranch." He looked at her, gauging what she already knew. "My father was caretaker at Devil's Den. That's what they called it out there. All fifteen hundred acres." He selected another text and glanced at the clock on the wall. His patience was wearing thin.
Sylvia said, "It's possible that Dupont White is still alive."
The Counselor spoke softly. "Don't play games with me, Dr. Strange. I'm one of the smart ones—don't let the inmate greens fool you."
Sylvia heard Rosie exhale.
He reached around and picked up four volumes from beside the desk. They were heavy—at least eighty pounds of paper and leather—and the muscles on his arms bulged. As he moved back to the shelves, he said, "The feds were here six weeks ago. They were closing the case on Dupont White." A leather text landed roughly on the shelf.
Cole hefted another into the air. "DNA from hair and skin fragments will provide proof that he went up with the warehouse." The book slammed next to its relation.
Cole continued, "Dental records are also admissible in court as evidence of death." The next book hit so hard that the entire shelf shook.
Sylvia said, "You were his partner—but you seem happy to believe he's dead."
Cole faced Sylvia. "The last deal we did together, I ended up here, and Dupont walked." He gave her a cold smile.
There was a knock on the glass. An inmate stood just outside the door.
The Counselor nodded to the man. His mouth barely moved when he spoke to Sylvia. He said, "I can name four cons who will refuse treatment from you because the last man you evaluated was burned alive." He raised one eyebrow. "What is it with you prison shrinks? I think you overload on the dark side. Maybe you need some perspective?"
The waiting inmate tapped on the glass again.
Cole addressed both women, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy."
Sylvia said, "Thank you very much for your time, Counselor." She picked up her briefcase.
Rosie was standing by the door, key in lock. As Sylvia turned to follow her friend, she glanced up at
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