CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lights out was only thirty minutes from now and as Mark Haddonfield lay in the bottom bunk of his cell, he was having trouble deciding what to do.
If he was going to call Jessie Hunt, it needed to be now. The guards in his unit of the Twin Towers Correctional Facility stopped letting inmates make collect calls from the payphones fifteen minutes before lights out.
Mark was well aware that the jury on his case might very well come back with a verdict tomorrow. He had little doubt about the outcome. They were going to find him guilty of multiple counts of murder. He could see it in their eyes. Once that happened, his access to phone calls might be severely limited.
His mother had wanted to hire a private criminal lawyer to defend him, but Mark told her not to. He was nearly certain that he’d be convicted, and he didn’t want her spending her retirement savings in what was sure to be a futile effort. Besides, the public defender who’d argued on his behalf had done an admirable job. But it was always going to be an uphill battle.
There was a mountain of evidence against him, proving that he was responsible for seven murders. And that didn’t even include the testimony of Dr. Janice Lemmon, who was in the hospital room the night that he’d tried to kill Jessie. The prosecutors were so confident in their case that they hadn’t even called Jessie to testify. Even though he would have liked to have seen her up close again, he understood. They didn’t want to subject her to that trauma, and they didn’t really need her anyway.
The truth was that he didn’t want to subject her to any more trauma, either. After all, she’d agreed to meet with him to discuss some of her ongoing cases. That’s what he’d wanted all along, from back when he tried to enroll in her seminar on criminal profiling at UCLA—to be her protégé.
And in a way, now he was. In exchange for sharing details of cases with her, he’d agreed to renounce his manifesto, an online document that called for his followers to kill her and all of her loved ones. She had promised that even after his inevitable conviction, she would continue to meet with him. He would have liked to think it was because she was warming to him, but he knew deep down that she only came out of obligation.
And he felt an obligation to her, too. That was what the call he was considering making was all about. He wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance.
A few weeks ago, on a prison transport bus returning to the jail from court, another prisoner being held there had made him an offer. Ash Pierce, the hitwoman who had tortured and nearly killed Jessie’s best friend, Kat Gentry, not to mention her little sister, Hannah, had suggested that, with their convictions imminent, they work together to escape.
He’d thought about the idea for a long time, weighing the pros and cons. There was one obvious “pro”—he might escape. Ash Pierce was formerly a Marines special operator and an off-book assassin for the CIA. If anyone knew how to do this, it was her. She’d already escaped from one prison transport vehicle. Was it that big a stretch to think that she could do it again, especially if she had assistance?
But then there was the major “con”—he could die. Pierce might be an expert at evasion and escape tactics, but he certainly wasn’t. He was just a tall, skinny college kid with pale skin, curly blond hair and glasses who’d become obsessed with a teacher and killed a bunch of people when she didn’t pay enough attention to him.
That’s not true , his Jessie told him. You deserved that attention!
Mark looked over at the version of Jessie that apparently only he could see, standing in the corner of his cell. His cellmate, a large, heavily bearded guy named Oscar, had given no indication that he’d heard her.
His Jessie had been both a thorn in his side and a great comfort to him. She had kept him sharp when he committed his murders, reminding him not to leave evidence at the scene and cajoling him to finish the job when he grew faint of heart.
But she’d also brutally scolded him from time to time, telling him that he’d never win over the other Jessie, who only deigned to speak to him because she had to. He knew that his Jessie was speaking the truth in those moments, even as she was lying to him now to make him feel better. He could see himself more clearly now than he could in the past, even if his Jessie was still wearing rose-colored glasses. She only wanted the best for him. But this was his call, not hers.
As he sat up in his bunk and swung his feet over onto the floor, he acknowledged that he needed to be honest with himself about his options. There were others besides escape or death. He could tell Jessie or the jail administrator about Pierce’s plan. If his assistance helped foil the escape plans of someone as dangerous as Pierce, it might earn him some post-incarceration consideration—maybe a single-person cell or more free time in the yard.
But if he was going that route, he needed to do it fast. If Pierce tried to escape on her own before he said anything, he’d have wasted his chance. And he would lose a lot of leverage after he was convicted, likely tomorrow. Right now, prosecutors might be open to a plea deal or special privileges if he was helpful. But after the jury had passed judgment on him, there would be a lot less wiggle room.
Of course, if Pierce found out that he’d squealed, there was a real chance that he’d be dead before he could take advantage of any of the perks for doing it. He didn’t know when or how she’d take him out, but she’d find a way. It was her special gift.
That was a big part of why he’d done nothing up until now. No one could get too angry with him if he didn’t upset the status quo. Jessie couldn’t be upset with him for not warning her about an escape plan if she didn’t know that he knew about it. And as long as he kept his mouth shut, Pierce would likely leave him be. At least that’s what he used to think.
Lately, he’d begun to suspect that she might want to eliminate him simply because he knew too much. Right now, everyone thought she was a reformed amnesiac. That gave her at least an outside chance at a hung jury. But not if he came forward to say she had a Machiavellian plan to break out of jail. And if he revealed her plan, the guards would obviously increase security around her, making any escape that much more difficult. Mark knew he was a loose end and feared she might snip it.
But his fear of what Ash Pierce might do to him was less powerful than his desire to please Jessie, not his Jessie but the other one. How grateful would she be when he came clean about what he knew?
Not as grateful as you think , his Jessie hissed. She’s just using you.
“That’s okay,” he whispered back to her. “I’m using her too.”
He realized that he’d already made his choice. Despite his Jessie’s disapproval, he stood, left his cell, and walked over to the nearest guard.
“I need to make a call,” he said.
The guard looked at him with amused indifference.
“It’s too late,” the man told him.
“No, it’s not,” Mark insisted. “I still have eleven minutes before the cutoff.”
“I’m telling you that for tonight, it’s too late,” the guard repeated, seeming to enjoy himself.
“But this is a really important call,” Mark said, deciding to shade the truth a little. “It has to do with my case.”
“You had all evening to call,” the guard said evenly. “If it was that important, you would have done it earlier. Now it’s too late.”
He stared at Mark and his expression suggested that it would be ill-advised to pursue the matter. There was no point in arguing. It wouldn’t get him to the phone, and it might piss off someone who controlled his circumstances.
“Thank you,” he said, hoping he was projecting meekness.
He turned and headed back to his cell, accepting that he’d have to try in the morning before he was transported to court. He entered the cell and sat back down on his sagging mattress. He did his best to keep his frustration in check. He’d learned the hard way that expressing it in here only led to bad outcomes for him.
Instead he focused on something he did have control of. He thought about what was scrawled in crayon on the underside of his mattress. It was simple enough—the initials “J.H.”, followed by a series of numbers. None of that would make any sense to the guards. In fact, they were more likely to assume it was a bible verse than what it really was: a code.
He smiled to himself as he thought about it. In his box of personal effects, locked away in Twin Towers’ secure storage room, was a necklace with what looked like a large pillar bar pendant. It was admittedly a little elaborate for a twenty-two-year-old dude. But it had to be to hide what it really was.
The pendant was actually a tiny flash drive designed to look like jewelry. And on that flash drive was information that could be useful to any number of people. But it was only intended for one of them: J.H.—Jessie Hunt—the initials written in crayon on the underside of his mattress. And it could only be accessed via the code that followed those initials.
He wondered if he should mention the mattress when he talked to Jessie tomorrow morning in case he was transferred immediately after his conviction. No, that would have to wait. His calls could be recorded, and he didn’t want the wrong person to hear such valuable information. He’d have to wait until he saw her in person to share that tidbit. It was his trump card, and he didn’t want to risk losing it.
For now, there was a more pressing matter. Ash Pierce wanted to escape, and she’d asked for his help. That nugget might not be worth as much as what was on the flash drive, but it had to be worth something. He’d find out tomorrow