Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,50
said. He didn’t add anything else as a guard walked by, lingering near their table for a few minutes before moving on.
“Now,” Ben said, “you know I can’t stay away from my nicotine for long. What do you desire?”
John leaned in close, keeping his hands flat on the table so the guard could see he wasn’t doing anything to break the rules. “I’ve got a problem.”
“I assumed as much.”
The guard had moved on. John resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Ben was scoping out the situation behind him just as John was keeping his eye on everyone behind Ben.
“Precious,” Ben said, “let’s keep in mind the walls have ears.”
The tables, more like. John wasn’t sure whether it was true or not, but everyone in the prison believed there were bugs all over the visitors’ room—some under the tables, some overhead in the fluorescent lights. The cameras were visible enough, sweeping the room back and forth, zooming in on suspicious visitors. You couldn’t trust a priest in here.
In low tones, John told Ben about the television, the credit report, the post office. He told him about the man with the umbrella, careful not to say his name because who knew if the rumors were true.
When he had finished, Ben said, “I see.”
John sat back a little. “What should I do?”
Ben’s full lips pressed together and he put his finger where the black dot was burned into the flesh. “The question, my love, is not an easy one.”
“He’s jacking me up for something,” John said, then, because he wasn’t sure, “Right?”
“Oh, indeed,” Ben agreed. “There’s no other reason for this type of behavior. No reason at all.”
“He’s using me as a cover.”
“He’s framing you, my love.”
John shook his head, leaning in close again. “It doesn’t make sense. This started six years ago. I was in here six years ago. It’s an airtight alibi.”
“True, true,” Ben agreed, tapping his finger to his lip again. “Did he know you got out?”
John shrugged. “He could find out.”
“But did he know?” Ben said. “I must say, my darling, that it came as a surprise even to me when you spoke so eloquently to the parole board. Such a silver tongue.”
John nodded. He had surprised himself.
“Let’s pose a what-if,” Ben suggested. “What if your friend assumed you would rot away here in our little Maison du Feces?”
“Okay.”
“And what if, much to his surprise, he found our little darling boy got out?”
“Yeah?”
“And what if he felt threatened by your return?” Ben leaned in closer. “He has something going, obviously.”
“Yes,” John agreed.
“And he doesn’t want you to interfere with this little side thing, does he?”
“Right.”
“So, what does he do?”
Both men went quiet, tried to think it to the next step.
“I don’t know,” John admitted, frustrated. “I need to find him.”
“You’ve tried all the obvious routes?”
“Yeah.” He had checked the phone book, but the guy wasn’t listed. He’d even tried the computer at the library, feeling like an idiot as he followed the printed directions on how to do an Internet search. Nothing.
John said, “I have to find out what he’s up to.”
Ben fingered the carton of cigarettes, picking at the edge. John knew he was running out of time. “Of course, I could use the contacts from my previous life to get you this fella’s current address.”
“You’ve still got people?” John was surprised Ben was admitting this where he might be heard. There had been “sources close to the case” at the time of Ben’s trial who claimed that he had used the post office’s intercompany mail to send some of his souvenirs to fellow fetishists.
Ben slapped on a wide smile. “Through rain, sleet and snow…but you have yet to tell me the information I need to know.”
The name. He needed the name. John glanced around, opened his mouth, but—
“Hush, hush,” Ben warned.
Another guard walked by, standing just opposite their table. Both men fell silent again, and John stared at his hands, questioning the logic of coming here. Who else could he talk to? He couldn’t get Joyce wrapped up in this. The only people he knew were convicted felons and whores.
The guard moved along and Ben made a funny face. In a lot of ways, this man had been a father to John. How had that happened? How could somebody so evil, so absolutely without any redeeming qualities, be his friend?
There was no explaining it except to say that Ben thought he and John were two of a kind.