The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  “Stacy May Charms. What else?”

  Jennifer Glassy leaned forward to position a pen at the edge of her blotter before sitting back again. “And what exactly did you want to discuss?”

  The tone was cool, all business. None of the pleasantries they’d exchanged throughout the months they’d spent assessing and selecting candidates for the governor’s early release program.

  Letting the moment stretch, Elizabeth placed her purse on the floor next to her and also crossed her legs. “I think she knew exactly how those drugs were brought into the prison. Maybe she even knew who brought them.”

  Jennifer Glassy tilted her head. “Yes, and so do I. And I told you that when you last came here asking the same questions, Elizabeth. I carried out the investigation myself. We found a syringe in Amy Dixon’s cot, track marks on her left arm, and enough narcotics in her system to fell an ox. Then we found several containers of high-quality heroin in the physical therapy clinic, in Lois Hankerman’s locker. But you already know all this. I don’t know why we’re going over old ground here.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Elizabeth continued, undaunted. “I don’t think this is old ground. I think those drugs are still coming into the prison. And if they’re not, someone’s planning to bring them in.”

  “To what end, Elizabeth? Money?”

  Shocked at the response, Elizabeth said, “Well, of course money. What else?”

  “Because for whoever might be planning such an ill-advised operation, the payoff simply wouldn’t be worth it. Even those on the work schemes don’t have the kind of cash you’d need. Do you know how much these women earn? Twenty-five cents an hour. Tell me how that’s going to make anyone rich.” She sat forward, leaning her elbows on her desk again, irritation radiating from her steely blue eyes. “Do you have any idea what security procedures we have in place to prevent contraband coming into this facility? Procedures I put in place?”

  “I’m not talking about someone walking in the front door with a few ounces of marijuana in their pockets. I’m talking about heavy-duty drugs being brought in by your own suppliers. Drugs that have already taken the life of one of your prisoners.”

  A look of utter incredulity slowly squeezed Jennifer Glassy’s features until her face had twisted into a contemptuous scowl. “What suppliers?” She spread her hands wide. “How would any of our suppliers get any illicit items in here? If you can tell me that, I’d be most interested.”

  The criticism of Warden Glassy’s job—of her security systems—had hit a nerve. Elizabeth should have expected it. But somewhere deep down in her gut, she felt the first real twinge of uncertainty. “I’m not talking about all of your suppliers—just your fabric suppliers.”

  “You mean Millcreek Fashions?” Not a question. A statement of incredulity.

  Bingo! thought Elizabeth. “Oh, so you admit that Millcreek is one of your suppliers?”

  Jennifer raised one hand, dropped it on her desk in utter disbelief. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I don’t see where this is going.”

  “Trish Tomes is where this is going. Can you tell me where she is right now?”

  “How would I know? I’m not her immediate supervisor. I don’t keep track of every officer in the place. And if she’s not on the premises, we certainly don’t keep tabs on all our employees once they leave the building. Who does?”

  Elizabeth tamped down her welling frustration and moderated her tone. “I’m asking has she been in to work today?” When Jennifer just stared at her, Elizabeth dropped her shoulders. “Humor me, Jennifer. You’re not the only one answerable for your actions here. I have reports to submit to my board as well. All I’m asking is that you check your records and confirm when Trish Tomes was last seen here. Please.”

  From the look on her face, Jennifer Glassy was wavering between arguing and simply telling Elizabeth to get out and never come back. Finally she picked up her phone, pressed a couple of buttons, and sat back, stony-faced and with her eyes set accusingly on Elizabeth. “Get me Susan in HR. I need to follow up on one of our officers.”

  There was a long pause, then Glassy smiled, her voice softening as she leaned her head back, blinking at a point just off to her left.

  “Hi, Susan, I’m sorry to bother you so late in the day, but I need some information on one of our C-Block officers—Patricia Tomes. Can you tell me when her last shift was completed?”

  A couple of nods. “Uh-huh. So she wasn’t on the roster for last night?” Another pause, a couple more nods, then she frowned up at Elizabeth. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know.” She hung up and clasped her hands across her lap, her expression one of self-righteous indignation. “She left yesterday after her normal shift. She hasn’t been seen since.”

  “And what time was that?” Elizabeth asked.

  Glassy gave her an intense glare before replying. “Her normal shift ended at two. She wasn’t scheduled to work the late shift.”

  “Her partner said she got a text from her, saying Trish Tomes was signed on to work the graveyard shift. She didn’t turn up this morning. Her partner hasn’t heard from her since.”

  Glassy took a moment before answering. “I really don’t see the significance. Maybe she got waylaid somewhere. Maybe she got stuck in traffic. Or had some important business to attend to in the city. How would I know?”

  “Trish Tomes’s car was located at Millcreek Fashions, not an hour’s drive from here. According to the tracking unit she’d had fitted, it had been there some hours.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You don’t find it odd that one of your own officers was at the premises of one of the suppliers of your prison?”

  She spread her hands in astonishment. “Why should I? Trish Tomes was the one who brought in the deal with Millcreek. She’s been there several times over the past few months, discussing the terms of the deal. I appreciated her help.”

  Elizabeth jerked in her seat as though she’d been physically struck. “Trish Tomes is the one who brought in the sewing contract for the prisoners to complete? And you allowed this?”

  “Why not? It was perfect timing. Trish came to me saying that a friend of hers ran the place and they were looking for a manufacturing company that could turn out low-cost garments to supply a number of contracts they’d recently won. The deal was … fortuitous. Everything came together at exactly the right moment. And the terms of the contract turned out to be quite lucrative for the prison. The board has been more than happy with the results, which makes the shareholders happy, and that makes me happy.” She straightened in her chair. “I probably don’t have to remind you that we’re a private organization, Mrs. McClaine. Our shareholders have every right to demand a return on their investment. We need contracts like these to maintain profitability.” Still frowning, she tilted her head, saying, “I don’t know what you think Millcreek is doing, but let me tell you, you’re wrong. We did a thorough investigation into the company background of Millcreek Fashions, and by all accounts, they’re a very reputable company. Any supply organizations we deal with are required to submit to a full examination of their business processes and procedures and account for their financial stability. We’re not stupid. Despite what some people may think.”

  Refusing to rise to the derisive tone, Elizabeth pressed on. There were too many unanswered questions for her liking. “Then are you saying that Millcreek supplies the fabric for the garments you make?”

  Glassy pushed her chair back. “I’ll remind you that I’m under no obligation to answer these questions,” she said.

  “I’d hate to go running to Governor Straussman on this, Jennifer.”

  Warden Glassy’s expression ran the gamut from frustration to a flicker of anger while she considered this, then settled into resignation. “Of course they supply the fabric. It’s part of the deal. They also send us the designs for each garment run. Where else would we get them from?”

  “Can you show me your shipping area? Maybe run me t
hrough the security procedures you’ve put in place? Like I said, humor me. Walt Straussman’s going to ask the same questions. And you’re not the only one answerable to an executive board.”

  Looking as though she was nearing the limit of her patience, Warden Glassy got up from her desk and moved straight to the door. “I’d be more than happy to. This way, Mrs. McClaine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  DAY TWO: 7:04—STACY

  Caitlin’s building looked even more depressing in the early evening light. No street lighting out here. Just an entire block of derelict buildings waiting for some developer to come along and knock down to make way for a new shopping mall, or a parking lot.

  Stacy slowed past the building, looking it over. This time of night, the local inhabitants had surfaced. Small groups of figures stood huddled together in doorways, while several nondescript bodies sat with their backs to the wall beside battered shopping carts, cardboard sheets, and coats arranged over them to keep out the rain. A few looked her way as she turned down the side of the building, but she lost them as she rounded the last corner and pulled the car into the parking lot she’d seen from Caitlin’s window. After locking the car she walked quickly around to the front of the building and squeezed through the gap between the front doors once more.

  Inside was in total darkness except for a faint rim of light outlining a door down the corridor she’d gone down last time. Not Caitlin’s door.

  She stood totally still, listening and waiting while her eyes adjusted, then made her way in the direction of Caitlin’s room.

  “Cait?”

  Movement. Up ahead to her right. Then nothing.

  Stacy sidled along to the doorway and slipped inside the room.

  “I can see you,” a guy’s voice sang. Not the paranoid one. “Come outta there or I’m coming in after you.”

  She stayed where she was.“Where’s Caitlin?”

  “She ain’t here.”

  “How long’s she gonna be?”

  A snigger. “A long, long time. Who’re you? What do you want with her?”

  Did that mean she’d moved on? Surely she’d have said. And who was this guy?

  “How long’s a long time?” she asked.

  The beam of a flashlight stabbed her in the eyes. She angled her head to one side, hand shielding her from the glare.

  “You tell me who wants to know.”

  “I’m a friend of hers. She was going to loan me a cell phone.”

  In the ambient glow of the flashlight, she could just make out the guy—tall, a halo of frizzy hair, something metal pinned to his shirt. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Listen, I’ve obviously missed her. I’ll catch up with her later.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Who you got, Mitch?” Another guy. Shorter than the first. The beam swept briefly across him, and back.

  “Some bitch. Says she’s a friend of Caitlin’s or something.”

  Not cops. Just two dickwads. One, she could have taken. Maybe. If he wasn’t armed.

  Two? It was doubtful. Especially in the dark.

  “Listen, I’m just going to turn around and leave. I don’t need any trouble. Okay?”

  The click of a hammer going back. Dammit. Now she could see it—small, shiny black barrel, his enormous fist making it look like a kid’s toy.

  “Let’s see what you got. Empty your pockets.”

  “I don’t have anything.”

  “Search her,” the guy with the gun said.

  Stacy took a step back, both hands up. “Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do this,” mimicked the second guy in a wheedling voice.

  The first one laughed, but from somewhere out front someone yelled, “Cops.”

  “Shit! Let’s go,” said Mitch.

  “What about her?”

  “She gets this.” He raised the gun, arm level with his shoulder, finger around the trigger.

  Stacy gasped. “Please, no.”

  He squeezed the trigger and nothing happened.

  “Dammit!” he said.

  “You got the safety on, you moron. I told you not to put the safety on.” This from the second guy.

  Then a third guy came crashing through the double doors. “Cops. Get out.”

  The three of them turned and fled on down the corridor, crashing into each other in their panic to escape. Out front, a brilliant beam of light sliced into the central area through the gap between the front doors. Outside she could hear voices calling for the chains to be cut, orders snapped out, dispatching officers left and right, followed by the sound of footsteps and the first thud of the ram on the front doors. With each successive thud, the wedge of light widened.

  Stacy made a dash for Caitlin’s room, hunting among the rags and boxes and crap in the ambient light. No sign of Caitlin. In the second box she found a Nokia phone, and grabbed it just as the front doors crashed open with the pounding of boots and cops yelling orders. All around squatters were yelling, running down stairways, only to be met by cops and running back up again with a pack of cops right behind them. Stacy hoisted Caitlin’s only chair, swung it, and smashed the window. Using her elbow, she knocked out a few remaining shards, then climbed onto the ledge and rolled out, dropping just below it as a guy came running through the parking lot from the rear of the building, with a gun and yelling, “It’s a raid! Get out!”

  Two shots rang out from the window right above her head. She looked up to see a cop leaning out, following the guy in his sights. The instant he withdrew, she did a duck and run around the side of the car, opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. She fired it up and drove down the side in the direction the guy had come from. Two cops coming up the driveway stopped short.

  She flattened her foot to the floor and the cops jumped aside, firing after her. She swung the car around, almost losing it on the turn. She straightened and crashed through a chain link fence at the side of the property, then swerved onto a second driveway. Three cops were running down the side of the building as she passed, but by the time they got to the entrance, she’d spun the wheel and was already heading south.

  In the rearview mirror she could still see lights.

  Was it just a raid on a drug den? Or did someone report her being there? Who knew? But for now, she had a phone, and she had an idea.

  And that was all she needed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  DAY TWO: 7:32 PM—ELIZABETH

  Elizabeth followed Jennifer Glassy through another series of security checks and waypoints to the rear of the building where she stopped at a locked door with a sign affixed that read: RESTRICTED AREA: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

  Glassy stopped in front of the door, and turned to Elizabeth with her hands clasped behind her back. “This is as far as you go. I can’t allow you to go any further.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “Our loading docks. All of our shipments, food and laundry supplies—everything we need to run the prison comes in through here.”

  “Would you mind showing me the security measures you have in place?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, I would mind. Strictly speaking, you shouldn’t even be in here. It’s against Corrections policy to give out any information on security. I’m sure you understand that.”

  Elizabeth shifted her weight. “So bringing me all the way down here was a big charade—your way of telling me to mind my own business?”

  For the longest time, a palpable tension hung between them. Then the warden said, “I can tell you this much, Mrs. McClaine: every, single shipment that comes through those gates—every truck, every pallet—everything, is searched, numbered, logged, checked, and rechecked. Each and every driver who comes through those gates has security clearance before he can even set foot on these premises, and every one of them carries identification in full view until they leave. For every second they’re here, they’re accompanied and overseen by prison personnel. We use metal detectors, screening, an
d full body searches if we have to. We follow Corrections procedures to the letter in this facility, because failing to do so is more than my job’s worth.”

  It was all rhetoric. Elizabeth had spent enough time on the periphery of the political arena to know hedging when she saw it. Even so, deep down was a clanging feeling of disappointment. Even from the glimpse of the security she’d already seen, she couldn’t see how anyone could bring contraband onto the premises.

  “You mentioned drug dogs.”

  Warden Glassy tipped her head in resignation. “Drug dogs are expensive and we don’t always have access to them. But my officers are well trained, and you wouldn’t even believe some of the stories they could tell. You’d have to get up pretty early to get anything past them.”

  “Do you always use the same officers?”

  “We have a total of seven on various shifts. They’ve all been screened and each officer submits to a personal search on both arrival and departure each day. I hope that satisfies your doubts, Elizabeth, because that’s the end of the tour.” And they exited back into the hallway again.

  As they headed back to her office, Warden Glassy made a point of running through the basic procedures in case of riot, disaster, or blackout. By the time they got there, Elizabeth felt as though she knew the place inside out, and yet still couldn’t see how a mouse could get in through the security systems she’d seen without detection.

  “I’m not saying we’re perfect,” the warden told her as she opened her door, crossed her office, and took her seat again. “We do everything we can with the personnel we have.”

  “What if some enterprising supplier simply tosses a package over the fence and someone on this side picks it up? You’re saying that never happens?”

  The warden’s cheeks flushed and her expression stiffened. “Anyone who approaches the outer perimeter is intercepted and questioned. But frankly, I can’t see a major operation the size you’re talking about tossing their product over the fence. And if there are any flaws in supplier security, I’d welcome someone to come in and tell me where they are.”