Broken Prey

up: “We don’t use that language here. It’s a little like referring to a paralyzed person as a crip. Most of them are harmless, and their problems are not of their own making.”
    Lucas held his hands up: “Sorry. I know that.”
    Ross nodded at him, laced his fingers over his ample gut, and twiddled his thumbs for a second. “Anyway, the Supreme Court says they get a lawyer. So if they ask, they get one. There are ways to work around that, and we’ll try, but I’m just letting you know that there could be a hangup.”
    “What ways to work around it?” Lucas asked.
    “We’ll tell them that if they want a lawyer, we’ll have to isolate them for a few days before we can bring them up to the visiting room. Just to make sure that they don’t have any contraband concealed inside their bodies. They hate the isolation. That might convince them that they don’t need an attorney.”
    “Is that legal?” Sloan asked.
    “Supreme Court says we can use reasonable security measures.” The friendly old codger smiled a smile that suddenly looked a lot like a prison guard’s smile. “We get to say what’s reasonable. Anyway—we’ll try to get you in.”

8
    ROSS TALKED TO ALL three inmates personally, through the intercom system, told them what Lucas and Sloan wanted, recited their rights, and offered them privileges if they agreed to be interviewed. All three agreed to talk.
    On the way to the security unit, Hart, who was escorting them, said, “The main thing to keep in mind, these guys are desperate for company. Except maybe Chase; we’re losing Chase. His personality is coming apart. Anyway, they’ll want to talk, if you handle it right.”
    The unit was separated from the hospital by a locked security door; Hart pushed a call button, a monitor looked at them, and the door lock released. “They monitor us from the cage,” Hart grunted.
    “How did Charlie get down here, with this door?” Sloan asked.
    “Most of the inmates have duties. Charlie worked as a janitor,” Hart said. “He was suited for it. He could lean on a broom with the best of them.”
     
    TWENTY CELLS LINED the hallway, ten on each side. The walls were steel, with a steel door to one side and a barred window inset in the wall. A flat fluorescent light shone from each window, like a line of exhibits in a museum. They could hear inmates talking back and forth as they went in, and could see silhouettes in most of the windows. Hart called, “Temporary shutdown,” and groans and shouts rang along the hall. Hart punched a code into a wall phone, another camera looked at them, and Hart waved at it. Heavy plastic panels slid down across the windows.
    “They can’t talk with the windows down,” Hart said. With the windows shut, they could still hear a few of the inmates shouting.
    “Didn’t seem to shut them down,” Sloan said.
    “Yeah, they can still hear each other, but they have to yell. Can’t keep it up,” Hart said. “If you keep your voice down when you’re talking, the rest of them won’t be able to hear you.”
     
    THE CELLS WERE NOT LARGE , but they were more spacious than typical prison cells. Each was equipped with a bed, a sink, a toilet, a chair, a desk, all bolted to the floor; fixed lights overhead, and a two-by-three-foot steel dining table that folded down from the wall. A television was built into a wall and covered with security glass; two glass-covered ports on opposite sides of the cell showed video camera lenses.
    Of the twenty cells, fifteen or sixteen had men in them.
     
    CARL TAYLOR WAS A TALL MAN , thin, square shouldered, with high cheekbones, pale blue eyes, and closely cropped hair; he looked like a retired air force major. He was neatly dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and plastic slip-on shoes. He sat at the desk, reading a Bible. He looked odd, Lucas thought, and it took him a moment to put his finger on the oddness. Then he had it: Taylor looked rugged, trim, outdoorsy—but his skin was bone white from a lack of sunlight.
    He was waiting for them: Lucas could sense it. He was too studied in his disregard to be really engaged with the Book. Hart glanced inside the cell, then pushed a metal plate six feet away from the cell window. The outer glass window slid halfway back. “Carl . . . ,” Hart said.
    Taylor turned, raised his eyebrows, as if he were a little surprised to see them.
    “Dr. Hart.” His forehead wrinkled. “I’ve been thinking about it, since Dr. Ross called. I’m no