The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,115

to postpone the hearing until I have the necessary time to confer privately with my client.”

Mo grunted. She glared at Sam, waiting for her to back down. When she did not, the woman said, “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” She reached under her desk and pressed a buzzer. She winked at Sam. “Room’s on the right. Sixteen minutes.”

Charlie pumped her fist in the air, then sprinted toward the stairs. She was so light on her feet that she barely made a sound.

Sam moved her purse to her other shoulder. She leaned on her cane as she dragged through the door. She stopped in front of another door, effectively boxed in as the first door behind her closed. Another buzz, and the second door swung open in front of her.

Sam was besieged by the long-forgotten odors of a holding cell: putrid vomit mixed with an alkaline sweat, the ammonia of urine, the sewage stench from the one toilet that serviced roughly one hundred inmates a day.

Sam pushed herself off with her cane. Her shoes slapped brown puddles of water. No one had cleaned up the flooded toilet. There was only one inmate left in the holding cell, an older, toothless woman who was squatting on a long concrete bench. Her orange jumper bulked around her like a blanket. She moved slowly back and forth between her feet. Her rheumy eyes followed Sam as she walked toward the closed door on the right.

The knob turned before Sam could knock. The female deputy who came out looked burly and brusque. She closed the door, her back pressed to the opaque glass. “You the second lawyer?”

“Third, technically. Samantha Quinn.”

“Rusty’s oldest.”

Sam nodded, though she hadn’t been asked a question.

“The inmate has puked approximately four times over the last half hour. I gave her a pack of orange crackers and one can of Coke served in a Styrofoam cup. I asked if she wanted medical attention. She declined. You’ve got fifteen minutes before I come back in.” She tapped the watch on her wrist. “Whatever I hear when I come in is what I hear. You got me?”

Sam took out her phone. She set the timer for fourteen minutes.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

The woman opened the door.

The room was so dark that Sam’s eyes could only slowly adjust. Two chairs. A metal table bolted to the floor. A flickering fluorescent light hanging crookedly from two furred lengths of chain.

Kelly Rene Wilson was slumped over the table. Her head was wrapped in the cocoon of her folded arms. When the door opened, she jumped up to standing, arms at her sides, shoulders straight, as if Sam had called a soldier to attention.

Sam said, “You can sit down.”

Kelly waited for Sam to sit first.

Sam took the empty chair by the door. She rested her cane against the table. She reached into her purse for her notepad and pen. She changed out her glasses for her readers. “My name is Samantha Quinn. I’m your lawyer for the arraignment. You met my father, Rusty, yesterday.”

Kelly said, “You talk funny.”

Sam smiled. She sounded southern to New Yorkers and she sounded like a Yankee to southerners. “I live in New York City.”

“Because you’re cripple?”

Sam almost laughed. “No. I live in New York because I like it. I use a cane when my leg gets tired.”

“My granddaddy had a cane but it was wood.” The girl seemed matter-of-fact, but the clink-clink sound from her handcuffs indicated she was nervously bouncing her leg.

Sam said, “You don’t have to be afraid, Kelly. I’m your ally. I’m not here to trip you up.” She wrote Kelly’s name and the date at the top of her notepad. She underlined the words twice. She felt the odd sensation of butterflies in her stomach. “Did you speak with Mr. Grail, the attorney who came to see you earlier?”

“No, ma’am, on account of I was sick.”

Sam studied the girl. She spoke slowly, almost as if she was drugged. Judging by the S on the front of her orange jumper, they had given her an adult small, but the uniform was voluminous on her petite frame. Kelly looked wan. Her hair was greasy, speckled with pieces of vomit. As thin as she was, her face was round, angelic.

Sam reminded herself that Lucy Alexander’s face had been angelic, too.

She asked Kelly, “Are you on any medication?”

“They give me liquids at the hospital yesterday.” She showed Sam the bruised red dot near the crook of her right