Free Blood of the Lamb by Michael Lister Page B

“But I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed our sessions.”
    I nodded.
    The cell seemed smaller than its six by nine foot dimensions— perhaps it was the bunks, sink, and toilet closing in on us—and we stood closer than we normally would have because of it.
    Unlike closed custody cells, Paul was in a cell only because the open bay dorms were full, so his door stayed open, permitting him the freedom afforded to the entire open population.
    “I wrote some more letters,” he said. “And I got three more back. The one from my sister was great. She said she forgave me and that she really believed I was well.”
    I eyed him suspiciously.
    “I already wrote her back and told her I’d never be well, and that she should never think that. I shared with her my commitment to recovery and how it’s a lifestyle and not a fix.”
    “Good,” I said.
    The cell had the sour sweet smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Occasionally a foul odor from the lidless toilet wafted between us, cutting violently through the other odors like a hostile intruder.
    “The other letters weren’t so good,” he said. “One said I was a bottom feeder and a robber of innocence, and the other one said I should have my, ah, private parts cut off and crammed down my throat.”
    “And?” I asked.
    “And I was expecting it,” he said. “It still knocked me for a loop. I mean, I understand their feelings, but… I don’t know.”
    “Why don’t you come to my office this afternoon,” I said. “Bring the letters and we’ll talk about them.”
    “Thanks,” he said. “Now, whatta you want to know about last night? Let me help you for a change.”
    “When did you go to the bathroom?”
    “I didn’t,” he said. “I just went to get some water. To get out of the service mainly. Bobby Earl was hard for me to take. I just needed a break. I mean, he was so mean-spirited and his solution to everything was an oversimplified formula. You know?”
    I nodded.
    The huge dorm had an open, airy quality about it outside the cells, the cement floors and high, unfinished ceiling amplifying every sound. It was noisy, but none of the sounds were distinguishable.
    “How long were you out there?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “About ten minutes,” he said. “Long water break, huh? Like I said, I was stalling. Am I a suspect?”
    I nodded.
    “I guess I got to expect that,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel any better. Especially having you think it.”
    He took a deep breath, dug a fire ball out of his pocket, pinched the clear plastic wrapper between his thumb and forefinger, and popped it in his mouth.
    “Want one?” he asked.
    “No, thanks,” I said.
    The hard red candy sold in the canteen was all the rage on the compound, but was way too hot for me. I was convinced something that brought tears to my eyes could not be all that good for my taste buds.
    “How much—”
    And then it hit me. That was what was on my office floor. It looked like a pink marble, but it was a partially dissolved fire ball.
    “What?” he asked.
    “How much of the sermon did you hear before you got up?” I asked.
    “Fifteen minutes, maybe,” he said. “Couldn’t’ve been much longer than that. He didn’t preach very long, which surprised me.”
    “That surprised me, too,” I said. Was it because he was too busy killing his adopted daughter, I wondered. “Did you see anyone else in the hall?”
    “Dexter Freeman was hanging around,” he said. “Sort of close to your office door. He was probably trying to get another look at Bunny. A lot of them were.”
    “Anyone else?” I asked.
    “Mr. Malcolm came in,” he said. “And Cedric Porter.”
    “Have you heard anything on the compound since it happened?” I asked.
    He nodded. “Everything,” he said. “You know how it is. Rumors’re flying. I’ve heard everything from Bunny to Officer Coel to you did it.”
    “Me?”
    “That surprise you?”
    I shook my head. “Unfortunately,” I said, “nothing much