Vindicate (Recovered Innocence #1)
Beth Yarnall
Chapter 1
Cora
I got my driver’s license on my sixteenth birthday so I could visit my brother in prison. California Institute for Men in Chino, California, sounds like one of those super-snooty colleges you have to be rich to get into or else be the next generation in a long line of alumni. But this is no college. Chino Men’s, as it’s referred to, is one of the most violent prisons in the state.
That’s where they sent my brother to serve out his life sentence.
Five and a half years later, I’ve made the nearly two-hour trip from San Diego to Chino and back close to a hundred times. Four hours of driving to spend an hour—or more, if I’m lucky—with my brother. If I’ve gotten too late a start and visiting hours are over before my number is called or if Beau’s visitation has been revoked because he’s done something stupid, I don’t get to see him at all.
I don’t count those times.
“Seventy-three,” one of the corrections officers intones.
I stand and give my number to the guard, like I’m in a deli about to order lunch or something.
“Name,” he says.
“Cora Hollis.”
“Inmate.”
“Beau Hollis.”
“Relationship.”
“Sister.” You’d think he’d recognize me by now. I’ve been here so many times. But every time he acts like it’s my first visit and puts me through the same drill.
I’ve already been through the metal detector, searched, and patted down so thoroughly I’m questioning my sexuality. Another guard comes over to lead me to a room full of lockers where I stow my cellphone and car keys. Then I finally get to follow him to the visiting room, where Beau is already waiting for me.
Sometimes it takes me a moment to recognize him. He looks so unlike my brother. This bullshit prison has stolen more than years from Beau’s life. It’s robbed him of his dignity and anything resembling happiness.
I want to give him a hug, but that’s not allowed. Instead, I drop into my seat opposite him. “I put twenty extra dollars in your commissary account this month.”
Beau looks away, picking at the side of his thumb with his index finger. Even as a kid he always did this whenever he was agitated or annoyed. “I don’t need it.”
“I thought—”
His narrowed gaze swings back to me. It’s his mean big-brother look, the one he always tries to intimidate me with. It didn’t work when we were kids and it doesn’t work now.
“I don’t need a present,” he says. “You need the money more.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t take it back out, so you’re stuck with it. Happy birthday.”
“Some f*cking birthday.”
“I’d have brought some pointy hats and balloons, but they wouldn’t fit up my ass.”
“Watch your f*cking mouth.” He’s barely two years older than me, but he’s always taken the job of big brother seriously. Even after all he’s been through.
“You’re a fantastic example,” I tell him.
I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat as Beau’s ever-roaming gaze takes in the room around us. Since being incarcerated, my once fun-loving prankster of a brother has turned into a suspicious, twitchy, hypervigilant, hardened prisoner. I don’t dare comment on the fading bruise under his left eye or his freshly sheared hair. He always looked like he needed a haircut even after an appointment with the barber. But that was before.
Before he was arrested, then convicted for the brutal rape, sodomy, and murder of his ex-girlfriend Cassandra. Before our family was torn apart and life as we knew it changed forever. Before I watched, helpless, as my brother turned into someone I hardly recognize anymore.
“Yeah, I’m not exactly winning Best Big Brother of the Year this year or any year, am I?”
I hate it when he puts himself down. “You’re at the top, as far as I’m concerned.”
He makes a rude noise, but doesn’t comment.
“Did you get my card?” I ask.
“I got it. Thanks. How’s school going?”
“I’m taking a really great online class this summer.” I never got around to telling him that I quit school last year to work and save money for a possible appeal of his case. Or that the job I took is in a law office, where I have ample access to the law library and case reviews.
“It’s not on something stupid like criminal law or how to be a private investigator, is it?”
I shift in my seat.
“Aww, shit, Cora. You promised you’d give up on the stupid idea that you could get me out of here. Why are you wasting your time? I’m a lost cause. Everyone knows it. Take those beauty classes like you always wanted. Face the fact that you can’t do what Mom’s and Dad’s lawyers and the public defender couldn’t. I’m done. You’re not. You still have a life.”
“I don’t believe that, Beau, and neither should you. Those charges were bullshit then and they’re bullshit now. You didn’t kill her. There’s no way I’ll ever believe it and I’m never going to stop looking for a way to get you out of here.”
“Doesn’t really matter if I did it or not. I’m convicted, aren’t I?”