The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(33)

Today Finley needed two things: a look at the visitors roster for Holmes and a conversation with the inmate he appeared to consider his buddy—Rudy Davis, the one who’d helped him find Jesus. Having a chat with Holmes would be the ultimate coup, but she wasn’t sure even Jack would agree with that level of risk. There was bending the rules, and there was flat-out breaking them—like witness tampering.

She parked in an empty spot, powered her window down, and waited.

Two minutes later her contact, wearing scrubs and an apron, exited onto the dock and hustled down the steps. He surveyed the parking area and walked straight to her car. He opened the passenger door and dropped into the seat.

“Hey,” he said with a nod.

He looked nervous, but that was understandable. She would be concerned if he wasn’t nervous. Overconfidence was rarely a good thing.

“Hey.” She waited for him to make the next move. This was his show; she was just here for the party favors.

“We’ll go through the kitchen.” He reached into his apron pocket, removed a visitor’s badge, and passed it to her. “There’s an office just off the dining room that the guards use sometimes. I can show you what you need to see on the computer in there.”

She clipped the badge onto her tee. Mickey had suggested she dress casually. Jeans and a plain white tee. Worked for her. She preferred casual any day of the week. “What about Rudy Davis? Will I be able to speak with him?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mickey suggested. “One thing at a time. The Preacher has his days where he isn’t approachable.”

“Got it.” She’d been told Davis—a.k.a. the Preacher—was somewhat eccentric.

She followed Kruger into the kitchen and through the hubbub of activity. Feeding hundreds of inmates kept the staff hustling. Once she and Mickey were beyond the dining room, they entered a long corridor with doors on either side. Their destination turned out to be door number three on the left. The space was small with a narrow table outfitted with a computer and two chairs. No windows. No decor on the bland white walls. Nothing to stir or inspire emotions.

“Click the mouse,” Mickey said. “What you’re looking for is already loaded on the screen. I took care of that first to make sure it was up and running when you came in.”

“Thanks.” She settled into one of the chairs. The sooner she was finished and on her way, the better for both of them.

Navigating the application was easy enough. She located the name of the inmate she was looking for, and up popped the calendar for the current month. This was going to take some time. More than four years multiplied by twelve months.

She tapped the mouse and got to it. When she reached a date with a visitor listed, she used her phone to snap a photo of the screen.

There was a single name that didn’t belong to an attorney or a detective associated with the case. Alisha Arrington. She was listed as the inmate’s sister.

The thing was, Holmes didn’t have any siblings. Parents were deceased. No known next of kin.

“I need an image of this visitor.” Finley tapped the screen and stated the date.

Mickey leaned in close to the monitor. “I can get that for you. Maybe not today. I’ll send it to your email as soon as I can.”

“That would be great.”

Scrolling in reverse-chronological order, she spotted that same visitor’s name once each month all the way back to barely a month after Holmes was delivered to Riverbend. The woman—his alleged sister—had abruptly ended her monthly visits in February of this year.

Finley had a new mission for the day: find Alisha Arrington.

Mickey escorted Finley back to the docks. “I’ll keep working on the Preacher. You’ll hear from me if seeing him today is possible.” He hitched his head. “Stay against the building. I adjusted the angle of the security camera away from it. Once you reach the end of the building, walk beyond the pavement, on the grass, until you get to your car.”

“Good deal.” She passed the badge back to him. “Thanks, Mickey. I’ll be looking for that image.”

He nodded and headed back inside.

Finley made the trek as directed, then settled into her Subaru. She checked the time. She still had a few minutes to drive over to unit one of the complex and visit Arlo. Getting an opportunity to speak with the Preacher would be great, but she would take what she could get. Arlo was very good at finding information. Every piece of info, no matter how small, helped fill in the blanks. Sometimes it was the most unexpected tidbit that made all the difference.

Arlo wasn’t one of the worst offenders at Riverbend, which allowed him to meet face to face with visitors in a supervised visitation area. Finley parked and headed into the building. She signed in and waited for the next visitation time. Other visitors were there to see their friends or loved ones. A few minutes elapsed before the bell rang and the current group of inmates said their goodbyes and left the area. Maybe two minutes later the next group was allowed entrance. Arlo was at the front of the line of inmates. He walked straight over to Finley’s table. The thing she didn’t get about Arlo was that he was smart. Really smart. She hoped when he’d served his time he would go to college or do something worthwhile with his life. At thirty, he was still young enough to start over and have a long and full life.

“You’re looking good, Fin.” He grinned.