Wishing Well(73)

Vincent lifted his eyes to give her his attention. The green was flat, the normal smile that curled his lips absent.

“Why could he handle the ball and not a walk through the garden among other people? What was the difference?”

It wasn’t until Meadow remembered this particular part of the story that she’d connected the two events, but now that she knew Maurice had been out on his own previously, she couldn’t help her curiosity.

Rolling his shoulders, the weight of Maurice’s problems were heavy on Vincent’s chest. “I often wondered that myself. It was the reason I was so shocked to find him in the hallway the night of the ball. I guess I’d never considered his escape because I knew, for as careful I was to keep Maurice separate from society, he’d internalized my fear and deemed himself unworthy of human interaction. It wasn’t that he wanted to strike out at people, it was simply that he couldn’t handle the attention or the perceived rejection. Perhaps the mask at the ball made it easier for him to be in a crowd. Nobody could reject him if they didn’t know who he was.”

Not wanting to see any light within the septic soul of the man across the table, Meadow couldn’t help her belief that, despite Vincent’s games, despite the mistakes he’d made, there was a spark of compassion inside him. It was that spark that made it impossible for her to celebrate his death like others would do in two days.

However, she also couldn’t allowed the weakness he showed when it came to his brother to distract her from the answers she’d come to this interview to ask. One, he still hadn’t answered, one she needed to know so that she could soothe her battered heart.

“Who killed Penny?” she asked, her voice calm, her demeanor practiced.

Nostrils flaring with a deep inhaled breath, Vincent’s head tipped back, his eyes closing, “If you read the police reports you’ll see that I did. Her and several other people. The police did an excellent job of investigating the garden around Wishing Well, the cadaver dogs digging up the past.”

Meadow slammed her hand on the surface of the table, “Damn it, Vincent! That’s not an answer.”

The door popped open to Meadow’s left, a guard stepping through to announce, “Day’s over. You’ll need to end the interview for today and start again tomorrow.”

She could see the slow smile stretch across Vincent’s face. “For fucking once in the time I’ve been here, I’m actually happy to see a guard.” His head lowered again, his eyes opening as he threaded his fingers together over the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Meadow. I suggest you use what time you have tonight to focus your thoughts and determine what questions must be asked. We only have a few hours remaining before they stick a needle in my vein, and whatever answers you later remember you needed will be forever buried with me in my grave.”

Glaring at the pompous expression on his face, she stood from her seat a bit too forcefully before turning to stop the tape and retrieve her recorder. She didn’t bother glancing back as she allowed the guard to lead her from the room.



. . .



Spending the night reviewing the tapes, pushing off sleep even when it clutched its greedy fingers over her tired bones, begging her eyes to close her just once, Meadow regretted the loss of the effect she’d hoped Penny’s true feelings for Maurice would have had on Vincent. She’d wanted the words to sting, the realization that his games weren’t as perfect as he’d believed following him into death. But as usual, Vincent had been one step ahead.

However, there was still one secret he hadn’t discovered, a hidden tidbit she intended to use to crush him into dust.

Not all of his victims had been as easy to manipulate as he’d believed. At least one puppet had escaped their strings.

Giving in to the need for sleep, Meadow was flustered to wake with only an hour to get ready and begin the last day of the interview. Not taking the usual care with her appearance as she had before, she quickly grabbed a new set of tapes, her recorder and darted out. Having made the drive faster than what would be considered safe or legal, she was practically running as she approached the gates of Faiville Prison. The same guard from the previous two mornings stood waiting.

“Damn, looks like I just lost fifty bucks. I bet the guys you wouldn’t show today.”

Ignoring his jab, she tucked her recorder beneath her arm. “I’m only a few minutes late.”

Leaning inside the small booth, he tapped in the code on the electronic panel before pulling the heavy key from his belt. “Doesn’t matter, you’ll have to wait for a few minutes anyway. Mercier’s finishing up with another visitor.”

Fury arced through her. “What do you mean another visitor? This interview was supposed to be exclusive.”

The guard shrugged and opened the gate, the hiss a sharp noise against the tension in the air. “Man’s dying tomorrow. His attorney is in there with him squaring up his final wishes.” Eyeing her as she passed him, he laughed. “No offense, but it looks like you didn’t get much sleep last night. You’re not as put together as usual.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she kept from snapping at him again. Smiling sweetly instead, she asked, “How would you sleep after hearing the sordid details of the life of a man who killed four people?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I hate to say it, Ms. Graham, but it wouldn’t bother me much. I’ve worked on death row for thirteen years. I’ve heard stories that would make your skin crawl. Once these assholes are about to walk the final line, they just love to brag.”