Chapter 18 - The Visit to Cellblock 4
By six o'clock in the morning, the snow had stopped, leaving twelve inches of untouched white draped across the county like a burial shroud.
Maisie was safe, sleeping in Mrs. Gable’s guest room under the watchful eye of the old woman, who sat in her rocking chair with her late husband’s Winchester 12-gauge across her knees.
Kevin and I didn't go to Plattsburgh. We drove the battered truck, its tailgate scarred with bullet holes, straight to the county jail in Elizabethtown.
Sheriff Miller was sitting behind his desk, drinking black coffee from a chipped mug when we walked in. He looked tired, the skin beneath his eyes dark and swollen.
"David," Miller said, standing up immediately. "I got a call from an appellate lawyer at midnight. Pendelton. He filed a formal misconduct complaint against me for arresting Courtney yesterday. He’s threatening to petition the state police to strip my jurisdiction."
"Let him try," I said, setting the aluminum canister and the hard drive on his desk. "Because before you let him do that, you need to bring Courtney into an interview room. Right now."
Miller looked at the canister, then at the bullet holes in my jacket sleeve. His expression hardened. "Cell three. Follow me."
Five minutes later, Courtney Vance was brought into the small, cinderblock interrogation room.
The woman who sat across the steel table bore no resemblance to the polished, arrogant social climber who had laughed as my daughter's birthday cake splattered across the grass twenty-four hours earlier. Her designer makeup was smeared across her cheeks, her hair was a tangled nest of bleached blonde, and her orange prison jumpsuit hung loosely over her frame.
When she saw Kevin, her eyes welled with tears. "Kevin... please. You have to tell them. It was a mistake. I didn't know the checks were forged! Pendelton told me—"
"Shut up, Courtney," Kevin said. It was the first time in ten years I had ever heard my brother speak with steel in his voice. He didn't sit down. He stood behind my chair, his hands flat on the steel table. "We found the vault. We know about Julian."
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Courtney’s face went dead white. All the performative tears stopped instantly, replaced by a cold, animal terror.
"Julian?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You... you don't understand. Julian isn't in Manhattan. He's here. He's at the courthouse right now."
