Dead Secret

milk.
    “You know, sitting in front of a computer doing mischief . . . that’s a pretty safe way to get even with someone. You don’t have to even leave home, you don’t have to worry about confronting anyone, you just hit a few buttons and wreck someone’s life.”
    “It’s tricker than that in this case. The police don’t take kindly to people hacking into their system, and it may have left an electronic trail they can backtrack.”
    “Then why did they take such a risk?” He shook his head. “Diane, you need to come home more often. Get to know us. Let us get to know you again.”
    “I know, Dad. I will.” She searched for a change of subject. “Susan tells me Kayla would like a job in the museum next summer.”
    “Yes, she said that. I didn’t realize until this evening at dinner that you actually run the museum. That’s a big job.”
    “There’s a lot of satisfaction in it. I learn new things all the time.”
    Her father had run out of things to say to her, too. He fingered his glass and downed the rest of his milk.
    “I guess we’d better get some sleep. Maybe the milk will help. Just put the glasses on the sink. Glenda will get them tomorrow.”
    Diane walked with him to his door and went up the back staircase to her room. She locked her door and put a chair under the knob. Then she checked the window to make sure it was locked, even though she was on the second floor and she doubted that Alan could climb anything.
    She got into bed and turned on her bedside lamp so she could look at the photos of Alan she had taken with her camera. They were too dark. She knew they would be, but perhaps the brightness and contrast could be improved. David could do wonders with bad photographs, though she had doubts that there was anything here to work with. She e-mailed them to her computer at the museum and then sent an e-mail to Jin, telling him where to find them and asking him to see what he could do with them. She also sent an e-mail to David and told him to check out Alan Delacroix for an alibi. It had occurred to her that maybe it was Alan who had stabbed her. Though she didn’t know why he would stab Mike. Jealousy, perhaps? But how would he even know Mike? Could Alan have been stalking her?
    It took a few minutes to send the photos and write messages to Jin and David using the buttons on the handset. When she finished, she flipped her phone closed, put it under her pillow and went to sleep.

    Tombsberg Prison for Women looked like a cheap cinder-block fort in the middle of a field of dead grass. It was surrounded by a chain-link fence topped by razor wire.
    The prison was built just after World War II and meant to house only four hundred inmates at most. The current population hovered around two thousand and was little more than a warehouse for women prisoners. Tombsberg didn’t have any educational programs, rehabilitation programs, occupational programs or any other activities to occupy the prisoners’ time. It was riddled with disease, and medical care was better in third-world countries. On any list of prisons, Tombsberg would rank at the bottom.
    Diane and her family arrived in the early morning. Gerald drove. Diane’s father had sat beside him in the front seat while Susan and Diane sat in back. They followed Daniel Reynolds’s car through the gates and into visitor parking and got out of the car. Diane stretched her aching muscles. She longed for a good run.
    “Oh, God,” said Susan. “This is terrible. I can’t believe Mother is in this place.”
    “The warden knows we’re coming,” Reynolds said. “We’ll have to do some paperwork, but it shouldn’t take long.”
    They all made their way to the warden’s office and waited while Reynolds and his assistant made arrangements for Diane’s mother to be released. The waiting room looked as cheaply constructed and decorated as the rest of the place. They sat uneasily for two hours on dingy lime-green couch and chairs, hardly talking.
    Finally the door opened and Diane’s mother stepped through, escorted by Daniel Reynolds. A guard closed the door behind them. She ran to Diane’s father as soon as she saw him. The look on her mother’s face reminded Diane of what she had seen in the faces of refugees.
    “Oh, Nathan, I can’t believe this nightmare is over. It’s been so horrible.”
    Diane’s mother was usually well dressed and well coiffed. Her dark-brown-and-silver hair was now pulled back in a bun at the back of her