23
All morning, during work duty, the women had witnessed an obviously distraught Liz.
“What’s wrong?” Doreen asked with concern as they folded towels, placing a pile beside Sonia.
Liz eyed the nearby guard. “I can’t tell you,” she informed them in a low voice, “but I overheard something disturbing. About Bea’s death.”
Doreen gasped, eyes widening. Sonia raised an impeccable eyebrow, but remained silent.
“Do you know who did it?” Doreen hissed.
“Not exactly,” Liz replied, still being careful not to be overheard. She leaned forward. “Lunchtime,” she whispered. “Tell the others.”
They nodded.
Lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough.
***
“Tell us what you know,” Maxine demanded without preamble once they had all gathered around their table. She slumped tiredly in her chair, trying not to broadcast the fatigue that was overtaking her limbs.
“I don’t know anything,” Liz responded with frustration, stabbing her vegetables. “It’s something I overheard. I was meeting with Det—” she abruptly stopped herself, glancing at Sonia. “That is, I was having my session with the psychologist. Just as I was leaving, I overheard screaming coming from the Governor’s office.” Her eyes quickly swept the room before she leaned forward. “It was Kaz. I’m sure of it. She was screaming that Governor Bennett knew who killed Bea, and that she’s covering it up!”
“What the fuck!” Boomer exclaimed, almost knocking over her drink. “Vinegar Tits knows who it is?”
“Wait,” Maxine interjected, shaking her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would the Governor know, but want to cover it up? Surely it’s better for her if the murderer is found.”
They sat silently, pondering Maxine’s words.
“Unless the Governor is protecting someone,” Sonia interjected thoughtfully.
They stared at her.
“It can’t be an inmate,” Doreen stated. “She has no reason to protect an inmate. If she was scared of retaliation against the murderer, she’d just put her into protection.”
The others nodded.
“A screw, then,” Liz replied.
“But why?” Maxine continued to question. “What motive do any of the screws have for killing Bea?”
“I don’t know,” Liz returned, genuinely perplexed. “If anything, I would have thought it would be someone like Juice or Tina Mercado. I can’t think of any screw who had it out for Bea.”
“Except Joan Ferguson, of course,” Sonia pointed out.
“Holy fuck! The Freak…”
“Oh my God…”
“But wasn’t she released earlier?”
“Stop,” Maxine raised her hand, attempting to stop both the talk around her and the exhaustion that was starting to overwhelm her again. “Stop. The Freak was released earlier that day. We all know that. And she was in medical protection before that. There’s simply no way she could have done it.”
The others grudgingly nodded.
“At least not without help from another guard,” Sonia mused.
“No,” Liz said decisively. “I distinctly heard Kaz yell that the Governor herself was covering it up. So if a guard helped the Freak get to Bea, then it was either the Governor, or the Governor knew about it.”
Maxine’s brow furrowed. “But there’s the problem again: I think it’s fairly obvious to all of us that Governor Bennett hates the Freak. There’s no reason why she would help her, and there’s definitely no reason why she would be involved in Bea’s murder.”
“Fuck!” Boomer exclaimed, pounding her fist on the table. “This is doing me head in!”
“We need answers,” Doreen agreed. “We need to talk to Kaz. Immediately.”
Liz shook her head. “Not happening. Kaz was screaming at the guards to get their hands off of her. She was obviously being slotted.”
Maxine sighed. “I guess we just have to wait. Again.”
They each silently returned to eating their meals.
Boomer glared in thought, scanning the lunch room. Her eyes settled on Linda Miles standing beside the door. “Hey, hey!” She exclaimed to the group. “Sonia!” she said, turning to the smaller woman. “You’re rich!”
Sonia patted Boomer’s hand. “Yes, Susan. That’s very good.”
Boomer gave her a withering look. “I’m not a fucking idiot!” She turned to the others. “I mean, why don’t we pay off Smiles to get inside information?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Liz stated thoughtfully. “And it’s certainly worked before.”
“But what if Smiles is on the Governor’s side?” Doreen asked. “If we ask, she may just report us to the Governor.”
“It is a risk,” Sonia agreed.
Maxine sat quietly, thinking over the situation. “What we need,” she said slowly, “is someone who has full access to the prison, but who isn’t an inmate, and isn’t a screw.”
“Huh. That just leaves the delivery people,” Boomer contemplated, “and…”
“The psychs.” Maxine nodded. “Bridget Westfall.”
Once again they fell silent, contemplating the idea.
“How do we know we can trust her?” Doreen asked.
“We don’t,” Maxine replied. “But she made it pretty clear that she’s with Franky. And our current Governor didn’t like it.” Looking around the table, Maxine pulled together her last remnants of energy to smile at the others. “I think it’s time we schedule a session or two with our shrink.”
***
In her spotless home, Joan’s frustration level was reaching a new high.
She had spent much of the morning tracing—from memory—parolees who had been placed in Stanstead House. It had led to… nothing.
It seemed that Derek Channing truly had cleaned house.
Her eyelid twitched in anger as she continued to stare at her silent phone.
***
Across town, in the hospital, Allie blinked.
And blinked again.
She didn’t know where she was.
As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she could see that she was obviously in some sort of medical facility. But where was she?
She tried to turn her neck, but pain suddenly burst from her lungs. It felt like she was being scorched from the inside. She gasped, and the pain only intensified.
Exhausted, she lay perfectly still.
Something had happened. She knew it—it was something important. But what? How did she get here?
She tried to push back in her memory, to remember. There was… happiness. She re-experienced a brief surge of it. It was overwhelming—it felt so big, so strong, so important. It filled her, exploding out of her.
She had been happy.
But suddenly the surge was gone, and in its wake she was flooded by a devastating sense of loss. It was gone—whatever had caused such sublime, overpowering joy was gone. She didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but she was certain: it wasn’t coming back.
In her lonely hospital room, a machine pumping her lungs, Allie wept fiercely, despairingly, for what she had lost.
And for what she couldn’t remember.