"Tell me everything or I'll make sure the warden never lets you see your kid again."
"Please, Lisa."
"You think I can't do it?"
The girl thought about her son, Tyrone. He was three years old, as cute and chubby as a puppy. He'd be here in a half hour, snuggling up to her, drawing pictures for her to keep in her cell.
She started to talk.
HANNAH DENZEL KNITTED HER BEETLE BROWS into one long, angry caterpillar as she led the VIPs down the hall to the children's center.
"This way, ladies and gentlemen."
Denny did not like showing "delegations" around Bedford Hills. Today's self-important posse of politicians and police officers was as bad as all the others: the do-gooder prison visitors, the priests, the social workers, the therapists, the nuns, the whole goddamn army of meddlesome outsiders who infested her territory twice a year with their clipboards and recommendations. None of them seemed to realize that these women were vermin. That they were at Bedford Hills to be punished, not saved. It made Denny sick.
The group "oohed" and "aahed" over the children's center, scattering among the pristine workstations and play areas. Warden McIntosh stood watching them like a proud father. Then his face changed. Grace Brookstein was hovering by one of the bookcases looking pale and ill. Damn it. He'd completely forgotten about Grace. The last thing he needed was to have his most notorious prisoner distracting the group's attention from the jewel in Bedford's crown.
He whispered in Hannah Denzel's ear. "Get her out of here. Quietly. She's a distraction."
The prison guard's cruel eyes lit up. "Yes, sir." This was more like it. Walking over to Grace, she grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Let's go, Brookstein. Back to your cell."
"My cell? But I-I can't," Grace stammered. "I'm working."
"Not anymore you're not. Move it."
Grace opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out. Panic rose up in her throat like vomit.
"Is something the matter?" Sister Agnes glided over. "Can I help?"
"No," snapped Denny, pushing Grace toward the door. She resented the Sisters of Mercy's presence at Bedford Hills. Sister Agnes should back the fuck off to her rosary and leave the inmates to the professionals. "Warden wants this one on lockdown. And he doesn't want a scene."
Grace looked pleadingly at Sister Agnes. Help me!
The nun smiled kindly at her friend. "Don't look so woebegone, Grace. You could do with a little rest. Enjoy your afternoon off. We'll still be here tomorrow."
Yes. And now so will I, thought Grace. She could have wept.
IT WAS THREE FORTY-FIVE BEFORE LISA Halliday was able to get out of the children's center. That slave-driving do-gooder Sister Theresa had given her a list of chores as long as her police record. Sprinting to the warden's office, she marched up to the reception desk.
"I need to see the warden," she panted. "It's urgent."
The receptionist looked at the surly bull dyke in front of her and stiffened. "Warden McIntosh can't see anybody today. He has a delegation - "
"Like I said. It's urgent."
"I'm sorry," the girl repeated. "He's not here."
"Well, where is he?"
The receptionist's tone got frostier. "Out. He's in meetings all afternoon. Is it something I can help you with?"
"No," Lisa said rudely. "I want the organ grinder, not the friggin' monkey." She had to see the warden and she had to see him alone. If word got out that she was the fink who'd sold out Grace Brookstein, she'd be finished at Bedford Hills.
"Then there's nothing I can do."
Lisa sank her great bulk down onto one of the hard chairs lining the wall.
"Fine. I'll wait."
CORA BUDDS LEFT HER JOB IN the kitchen at ten of four and hurried over to the children's center as arranged. Two mothers were saying good-bye to their kids while a single, bored guard looked on.
Cora asked one of the mothers, "Where's Grace?"
"In lockdown. Denny dragged her off hours ago. She didn't look well."
Cora thought, I bet she didn't. That's it, then. If Grace is in lockdown, the whole plan goes up in smoke.
She walked into the storeroom alone. Maybe it's for the best.
GRACE SAT ON HER BUNK, STARING into space. She was too drained to cry. It was over. God knew when she'd have a chance to try again. Maybe not for years. Years in which whoever killed Lenny would be out there, free, happy, unpunished. The thought was unbearable.
Mindlessly, she looked at the clock on the wall: 3:55...4:00...4:05...The truck would be there by now. Cora would be loading it, alone, wondering what had happened.
At 4:08, Grace heard the jangle of keys in the lock. Karen's shift must have ended early. At least she'd be pleased the escape plan had failed. The door swung open.
"Get up." Denny's eyes blazed with spite. She'd been brooding all day over Sister Agnes's words to Grace. Enjoy your afternoon off. As if this were some sort of summer camp! There were no afternoons off at Bedford Hills. "You missed four hours of work detail this afternoon, you sneaky little bitch. Thought you were on vacation, did you? A free pass?"
Grace said meekly, "No, ma'am."
"Good. Because there are no fucking vacations in A Wing. Not while I'm in charge. You can make up those work hours, starting right now. Get your ass over to the children's center and start scrubbing the floors."
"Yes, ma'am."
"When you've finished, do it again. And you can forget about eating tonight. You stay on that floor, scrubbing, till I come for you, understand?"