Dead Hunt

curves that made her appear vulnerable and feminine. She’d looked at the jury with liquid blue eyes and it had taken them two weeks to decide her guilt. Not because the evidence was only circumstantial, however much the DA tried to poor-mouth about the lack of hard evidence. The jury took so long because Clymene O’Riley simply did not look like the kind of woman who would murder her husband.
Even in prison clothes behind screen wire she didn’t look like a murderer. Diane studied her face. It was a good face for her line of work—if indeed murdering husbands was her line of work. Diane suspected there was a string of dead husbands, but they knew only of the two and could prove only one.
Clymene had regular features, almost generic—if there is such a thing as generic features. Her nose was straight, neither too large nor too small. The same for her lips—not small, but not full lips either. Her eyes were almond shaped but not slanted in any direction, nor did they droop. Her face was perfectly symmetrical—that in itself made it interesting. It was a face that could be made to look beautiful or plain. She could change her hair and eye color and be a different person.
In addition to her chameleon-like attributes, Clymene’s age was hard to estimate. From a distance she could pass for her late twenties or early thirties. A closer look showed she was older, but by how much was impossible to tell—she could have been thirty-five or forty-five. Diane didn’t know how old she was. They didn’t even know her real identity.
Clymene moved her chair forward and sat down. Diane sat in the visitor’s chair and they stared at each other for a moment. Diane tried to read her face, looking for some sign of hostility, remorse, deceit— something. The woman simply looked interested. That was all. No daggers shooting from her eyes. No bared teeth.
‘‘Thank you for coming,’’ she said. ‘‘Frankly, I’m surprised you came. My profiler must have asked you.’’
She said my profiler the same way she would have said my biographer . Diane supposed that’s what he was.
‘‘What do you want?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I want you to check on one of my guards,’’ she said.

Chapter 2
    ‘‘You want me to check on one of your guards?’’ Are you nuts? I don’t have time for this, Diane thought. She stood up to leave.
    Clymene didn’t stand, but she appeared poised as if she might be ready to chase Diane through the wire barrier if she tried to leave.
    ‘‘Please hear me out,’’ said Clymene. ‘‘I know this sounds strange.’’
Diane stood for a second, then sat down again. ‘‘All right, go on,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m listening, but I don’t have a lot of time.’’
‘‘The reason I want you to check on her is to make sure she is all right,’’ said Clymene.
‘‘Do you have reason to believe she isn’t?’’ asked Diane. Now she was getting concerned. What was Clymene up to?
‘‘Yes and no. Let me explain,’’ she said.
Diane eyed Clymene. Her profiler said she never exhibited any of the normal tells of a person who lies. She always maintained eye contact; she was always relaxed. She would be evasive, he said, but he could never find a pattern in her body language that said she was lying. Diane couldn’t either. But that meant nothing. Sociopaths are good liars.
‘‘Why are you concerned?’’ Diane asked.
Clymene smiled. Not a strained smile, but one that reached her eyes. ‘‘I guess that seems strange. But in the world I live in now I depend on—how shall I say— the kindness of strangers. That’s the way it is in here. I own nothing—things are taken away at any moment and my living space turned inside out. I have to be alert to prisoners who suddenly go off the deep end because they received a letter they didn’t like and decide to take it out on me. As I said—that’s just the way it is in here, so kindness from a guard is important. It makes the quality of life a little better. It gives me some protection against the elements here. Grace Noel is a kind guard.’’
As Clymene spoke, her hands were flat on the table, her right over her left. Her nails were short and well manicured. Her voice was calm, her face pleasant, even though the bright orange color of her dress made her look sallow.
She showed no noticeable reaction to Diane’s obvious impatience. Ross Kingsley said she was always self-possessed. She would get frustrated, but never angry. She would