Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [1]
Vince leaned back against the hard chair, wondering what was going on out there in the hallway. There seemed to be a great deal of activity for so early in the morning. He strained to sit up as tall as his shackles would permit, trying to see what was happening.
Shouts. Running feet slapped the tile floor as they shot past the room. More shouts. More running feet.
Vince smiled. Old Waldo must have made his break. He wondered how long it would be before they’d catch him. He made a mental bet with himself that Waldo would be back in leg irons before noon. What that would do to Vince’s business in court that morning remained to be seen. On the one hand, he resented that Waldo’s little escapade was eating into his personal time. On the other, he applauded the defiance and initiative shown by the old man—Waldo was in his sixties—and thought that any chase he’d lead the locals on was bound to be a merry one. He decided he wouldn’t begrudge Waldo his bit of fun.
Vince was wondering idly if the deputies would shoot Waldo when they found him, when the door opened and a young man in irons much like Vince’s own was shown into the room by the deputy sheriff Vince always thought of as Deputy Dawg, due to his long face that reminded Vince of a basset hound.
“A little company for you this morning,” Deputy Dawg announced as he pointed to a chair along the wall, and the newcomer took it without a word. The guard promptly snapped the handcuffs to the metal arm.
“Don’t remember asking for company.” Vince did the eye thing again because he knew it always rattled Dawg a bit.
“Don’t remember asking if you cared.” Dawg closed the door behind him.
“What do you think is going on out there?” the young man whom Vince recognized from the trip in from the prison asked excitedly.
“What is going on out there?”
“Lots of cops. Lots of cops. A coupla different departments and some state troopers. People running every which way.”
“My guess is that someone might have escaped from custody.” Vince stroked his chin thoughtfully, thinking it made him look wise.
“Really? You think someone’s on the run? Someone from High Meadow?” The young man’s eyes widened even more.
“You were in the van this morning.”
The young man nodded.
“Me, too,” Vince told him. “Me and Waldo—the guy who, I suspect, is on the run out there—we were in max together. There was a rumor that he might decide to fly.”
Vince smiled. Not to make the boy—who couldn’t have been twenty years old—feel at ease, but to make him understand that he was in the presence of a bad dude. It gave Vince the only pleasure he’d had in days.
“You think he’ll get away with it?”
Vince pretended to ponder the question, but before he could speak, the door opened and another prisoner was ushered into the room.
“Here you go, boys,” another deputy sheriff said. “Got another roommate for you.”
The seated men watched as the prisoner shuffled in. Tall and slender, he looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore his brown hair in a crew cut and had the air of one who was vastly amused. He’d been the fourth prisoner in the van earlier that morning. Vince recalled that he’d sat all the way in the back of the van and had not bothered to make eye contact with any of the others.
The deputy secured the new man’s cuffs to his chair before admonishing the prisoners to behave and reminding them as he left the room that a guard would be right outside the door. “He’s armed and he won’t hesitate for one second to bring you down if you so much as move.”
“A bit heavy-handed, wouldn’t you say?” the newcomer remarked lightly after the door shut.
“He’s just trying to scare us.” Giordano shrugged, then added his take on the marksmanship of the local sheriff’s department: “They ain’t that good.”
“Been here before?” the new man asked.
Giordano admitted that he’d spent a fair amount of time here.
The young man was beginning to get restless, squirming in his seat. “What d’ya suppose they’re doing out there?”
“I told you, they’re playing Where’s Waldo?” Giordano turned to the man seated near the windows. “Waldo Scott. He rode