Freak by Jennifer Hillier Page B

changed into a fresh turtleneck he’d been keeping in the backseat. It was hard not to notice how skinny he’d become, all bones and ribs jutting out from his dark skin.
    She looked out through the rain-spattered windshield of the Jeep at the building sprawled out before them. She’d never been to a prison before, and Jerry had mentioned it had been a while since he’d had cause to step inside one himself. It wasn’t anything close to what she’d been expecting. Unlike the prisons in The Shawshank Redemption and Escape from Alcatraz —which were the only prison movies she’d seen—there was nothing theatrical about Rosedale. It might have passed for a high school, if not for the twenty-foot-high fence topped with coiled razor wire surrounding the premises and the guard tower that overlooked the recreation yard.
    Was she up for this? Sheila had only been face-to-face withAbby Maddox once, and that was a long time ago. Abby had come by the psychology building at the university to visit her boyfriend, and Ethan had introduced them briefly. She remembered being struck by the younger woman’s beauty.
    Sheila flipped down the visor mirror and dug through her purse for her signature red lipstick. Maybe it was silly, but the lipstick brightened her face, instantly making her feel more empowered. She didn’t want to see Abby Maddox feeling anything less than her best.
    They left the Jeep and made their way toward a set of thick double doors painted a gaudy bright blue. The prison lobby, if that’s what it was called, was large and empty. Dark tile on the floors, beige walls, benches, lockers, and vending machines were on one side, and a long counter sat right in the middle with a metal detector beside it. A stern-looking corrections officer, dressed in a starched white uniform shirt with epaulets at the shoulders, nodded as they approached. Her name tag read SGT. E. BRISCOE. She didn’t look surprised—or particularly happy—to see them, but Sheila suspected it might just be her face, which seemed stamped with a permanent scowl.
    “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
    “We’re here to see Abby Maddox,” Jerry said, sounding like a cop. Sheila had to smile.
    The CO didn’t blink. “Identification, please.”
    Jerry slid his driver’s license across the counter, along with another card Sheila didn’t recognize. Fishing in her oversize purse, Sheila pulled out her driver’s license as well. The corrections officer looked everything over, typed something into the computer, then checked something off on a clipboard sitting next to the monitor.
    “Detective Isaac, welcome. I’m Sergeant Briscoe.” The CO stuck her hand out and Jerry shook it. Sheila noticed he didn’tbother to let the woman know he was technically retired from PD, and therefore no longer a police detective. “Got a weapon on you, sir?”
    “Nope.”
    “Just to let you know, no cigarettes, no chewing gum, and no cell phones allowed.”
    “Didn’t bring any of those, either.”
    “Please sign here.” The CO pushed the clipboard toward him and Jerry scrawled his name in the designated spot. Sheila did the same. Passing them a small plastic bin, she said, “Keys, coins, anything with metal. Belt, too.” She glanced at Sheila’s purse and frowned. “Bags go in the lockers, right behind you.”
    Sheila headed for the row of metal lockers that resembled the kind you’d find in a train station. Most were already taken, but she found one at the bottom that was free. Extracting the key, she returned to the desk. Jerry was already waiting for her on the other side of the metal detector.
    “Go ahead and step through,” the guard said, and Sheila did as she was told. Nothing beeped.
    The CO led them down a long, brightly lit hallway. Toward the end were several doors marked CONFERENCE 1, CONFERENCE 2 , and CONFERENCE 3 . The guard unlocked Conference 2 and gestured them inside.
    “We’re doing it here?” Jerry looked around dubiously.