Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [99]
“I’m here for you, Dolores,” he’d told her solemnly. “I’ll always be here for you. . . .”
At least, for as long as you are useful to me. And after that, well, who knows . . . ?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Sean asked as he parked the car, still not certain he was doing the right thing.
“Absolutely,” Amanda replied without hesitation.
“I don’t know how Lowell is going to react to seeing you,” he reminded her. “And you know I’m going to be showing him some photographs you might not want to see.”
“I’m fine, Sean. If you think Lowell is somehow involved in these killings, I will do whatever I can to help flush him out. Maybe my being there when he’s forced to look at the photos of Derek and Marian might rattle him a bit. I know it’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt.”
“As long as it doesn’t hurt you. And who knows, if you appeal to him to tell what he knows—if in fact he knows anything about this guy Giordano—it could pay off. At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“You’re still thinking about my brother telling you that you should bring in the FBI.”
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind.”
“You’re afraid they’ll take over your case.” She smiled. “Would it help you to know that I remember my brother being afraid of just that same thing on more than one case?”
“I guess no one wants to relinquish the wheel, so to speak. And bringing another agency in feels like an admission that you can’t do it alone.”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with admitting that you need help?”
“I guess it’s the same as admitting to failure.”
“How do you figure?” She frowned. “Where is the failure in taking advantage of every available tool to get the job done? The FBI is just another tool, Sean. Evan learned that on his last big case.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He took one of her hands in his and asked, “Ready to go in?”
“I’m not afraid to see him, Sean. He can’t hurt me now. I’m the strong one now.”
“Damn if you aren’t. I’d put my money on you any day of the week.”
“Then let’s go see what Mr. Archer Lowell has to say.” She squeezed his hand and opened the door.
While not quite as fearless as she’d made herself out to be, Amanda was relatively confident as she strode through the front door of High Meadow Prison. She’d never had a glimpse inside, never known anyone other than Lowell who was incarcerated.
The pungent scent of institutional cleaning fluids, antiseptic and acrid, filled the air inside the long, wide corridor that led from the front desk to the small anteroom off the warden’s office, where they were to meet with Lowell.
“Last chance,” Sean said, his hand on the door of Warden Fred McCabe’s office.
“Lead on,” Amanda told him.
“Come in, come in.” Warden McCabe rose to greet his visitors with an outstretched hand. “Amanda Crosby, I know your brother. Fine man. Good detective. Sean, good to see you again.”
“Thanks for setting this up for me.” Sean held out the lone visitor’s chair for Amanda.
“Sorry about that. All my chairs were commandeered and sent down to the conference room this afternoon. Some big meeting with the insurance people.” He stole a peek at his watch. “Meeting should be starting soon. I need to make an appearance. Anything I can get you before I go on down?”
“Not a thing.” Sean shook his head.
“Well, you go on in”—McCabe nodded toward the room next door—“and you let Corporal Leonard there know when you’re ready for Lowell. He’s at your disposal this morning.”
“We really appreciate it.”
“Anything I can do to help out . . .” Warden rose and gathered a folder, patted his pockets for his glasses, and searched the top of his desk until he found the pen he was looking for. “Anything else you need, the assistant warden is right down the hall. Anything you need . . .”
Smiling absently, his visitors already forgotten, he waved and left the room.
“You ready?” Sean asked.
“You betcha,” Amanda assured him with a smile. Deep inside, however, the faintest thread of uncertainty began to quiver.
Corporal