Sara (24 page)

forty-three

Mike took the week off from work and was now driving down State Highway 9 toward Florence, Colorado. Jordan Barnes was serving life plus eighty years at the Supermax facility there, also known as the “Alcatraz of the Rockies”. He had finally agreed to meet with Mike on the condition that a correctional officer be present during the visit. He was having a tough ride in prison and he didn’t want Mike adding to his scars and bruises.

             
The penitentiary sat on 37 acres and housed 490 inmates. It had seen the likes of Timothy McVeigh, the Unabomber, and several high profile international terrorists and spies.

             
Mike whistled as he pulled his car to the gate. “You have hit the big leagues, Jordan Barnes.”

             
He only needed about an hour of Jordan’s time to clear up some loose ends that had been troubling his mind over the past year. He hoped to be back home before midnight, spend Sunday with Sara and Jean, then drive Sara to the University of Wyoming on Monday. Sara didn’t know this, but Mike had already reserved a hotel room in Laramie, Wyoming, for the first five days of her college career. He wanted to be close, just in case.

             
Mike signed in and agreed to be searched. He showed his badge to keep some poor security guy from running his finger up Mike’s posterior to search for drugs.

             
Several loud buzzes and slamming steal doors later, he was in a brightly lit room with a long table down the middle and folding chairs on each side.

             
“The prisoner will be along in a few minutes. Just have a seat at the table,” said the correctional officer assigned to keep Mike from strangling Jordan to death.

             
“Is it okay to give him this carton of cigarettes or do you need to see them first?” Mike asked.

             
“The cigarettes have already been cleared, sir. You can give them directly to the prisoner when he arrives.” The officer hesitated for a moment. “I have to tell you, sir, the prisoner will most likely be beaten and robbed of those cigarettes before the day is over.”

             
Mike smiled. “I know,” he said. “I’m counting on it.”

             
The officer returned the smile and nodded.

             
Another loud buzzer sounded at the end of the room and a door opened. Jordan stepped through and shuffled over in leg shackles and belly chains, and took a seat across from Mike. His face was scabbed over in several places and his head had been shaved. When he looked sideways at the officer standing in the corner, Mike noticed a line of stitches behind Jordan’s left ear.

             
“Looks like you are having a pretty rough time in here,” Mike started.

             
Jordan snickered and looked at Mike. “I’m sure that breaks your pretty little heart, doesn’t it?”

             
Mike scooted his chair to the table and Jordan noticeably winced. “Look,” Mike said. “I don’t want to see anymore harm come to you. You confessed to the crimes you committed and kept my little girl from having to relive that nightmare you put her through, on the witness stand.”

             
Jordan snickered again and tried to put his elbows on the table but stopped when the belly chains snapped tight.

             
Mike put the carton of cigarettes on the table and slid them across to Jordan. “I brought these to you as a sign of good will. Something to make your life a little easier in here.”

             
The officer in the corner coughed to cover up a laugh.

             
Jordan looked at the smokes on the table and noticeably relaxed. “Thanks,” was all he said.

             
“What happened to your face?” Mike asked.

             
Jordan turned his head and rolled his shoulders as if readying himself for a fight. “The fucking meth-heads in here,” he snorted. “The bastards keep catching me alone and beating the shit out of me.”

             
Mike tried to show concern on his face but failed. “Why do the meth-addicts dislike you?” he asked.

             
Jordan laughed and snickered. “They don’t dislike me, dumbass.” He shook his head and laughed again. “Boy, for an officer of the law, you sure don’t know nothing about meth-heads.”

             
“Enlighten me then.”

             
Jordan tried to point at his face, but the belly chains snapped tight again, holding his wrists to his side. “They beat me so the next day they can hold me down and pick the scabs off my face.”

             
Now, Mike was truly interested. “Pick the scabs from your face?”

             
“Yeah! The sick bastards eat them. They think they are going to get high off my scabs, can you believe that?” he asked incredulously.

             
“I don’t believe it,” Mike stated flatly.

             
“It’s true!” Jordan almost yelled. “Ask the guard.”

             
Mike looked over to the officer.

             
“Apparently methamphetamine will collect in coagulated blood. The Tweekers will usually only pick on newcomers to the prison because the chances they have used meth recently is greater.” The guard laughed and pointed at Jordan. “I’m not sure why they keep scabbing this guy. They must be getting some kind of high off him.”

             
Jordan visibly shuttered. “Sick fucks,” he said.

             
Mike turned to business. “Hey,” he said. “You confessed to killing that Irish girl a few years back, didn’t you?” he asked.

             
Jordan smiled. “Abby,” he said.

             
“Yeah, Abigail Byrne. Did you really kill her, or did you just watch that one?” Mike asked.

             
“Pop killed her,” Jordan said. “He strangled her to death against a tree. She was on her period and it really pissed him off.”

             
“I thought Hunter was in Arizona at a conference when Ms. Byrne went missing?”

             
Jordan hesitated then finally shrugged. “Hell, I don’t remember,” he said. “I think it was after he got back.”

             
Mike nodded. “I see,” he said. “Has your momma been up here to see you?”

             
Jordan sat back in his seat and looked sad. “No,” he said. “You are the only visitor I’ve had.”

             
Mike was actually surprised. “Really?” he asked. “I would have thought that Duncan, or Pastor Gary, or even Virginia would have come by now.”

             
Jordan noticeably frowned. “No,” he sighed. “They hate me, or they’re afraid of me, or something.” He fidgeted for a bit. “Let Jordan take the fall for everything and pretend like I never even existed.”

             
“That’s really unfortunate,” Mike said. “Your step-dad would have come to see you, I bet.”

             
Jordan laughed to himself. “Maybe, but he would have kicked my ass,” he smiled. “Even with that guard over there.”

             
Mike smiled. “When you guys drove up to the quarry that last time, I bet he had a good laugh telling you about how he beat my ass and arrested me.”

             
Jordan wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I drove Mr. Winter’s Bronco up there. Hunter didn’t come up until later.”

             
Mike laughed. “Oh, well you missed a good story then. My nose still whistles when I run.”

             
Jordan laughed and tried to slap his knee. “He was a tough old bastard, wasn’t he?”

             
Mike was smiling broadly. “I wonder who drove that Bronco home?”

             
Jordan was feeling pretty good having someone to talk to. “Probably Pop,” he said.

             
Mike stopped dead and leaned into the table. “Your Pop was dead, Jordan. I shot him. You saw him on the side of the trail as we passed the quarry.”

             
Jordan’s smile faded and slowly became a frown. “Maybe someone stole it then.”

             
Mike stood and slapped the table with both hands. “Bullshit, Jordan!” he yelled. “Who the hell is Pop?” Mike grabbed the cigarettes back. “You are hiding something and you are going to tell me what it is or I am walking out of here and you can rot alone in solitary for all I care.”

             
Jordan sat quietly for a while, then snickered and looked at Mike. “She knows who he is,” he said.

             
“She who?” Mike asked.

             
“She! The girl! Sara! Your fucking daughter!”

             
Mike worked the conversation through his mind again. “Sara knows who Pop is?”

             
“Hell yes she knows. Didn’t you see her staring at him during the trial?” Jordan laughed again. “She had murder in her eyes, buddy.”

             
Mike yelled, “Pop was at the trial?” He leaned across the table and put his finger in Jordan’s face. “Stop playing games with me you little fuck! I want to know who Pop is and I want to know now.”

             
The guard moved behind Mike and cleared his throat. “I’m bringing an end to this visit, sir.” He pointed to Jordan. “Prisoner, stand and back against that wall, now!”

             
Jordan slid his chair back and stood. Before backing away he smiled. “Ask your daughter who Pop is. I bet she dreams about him fucking her every night.”

             
Mike lunged across the table but was caught by the corrections officer. Jordan stumbled backward and fell over his chair, sprawling to the floor.

             
Mike shook from the officer’s grip and threw the carton of cigarettes at Jordan. “Give these to Bubba and maybe he will go a little easier on your ass tonight, you little prick.”

Mike got to his car and immediately grabbed his cell phone. He had to dial three times before he finally got through.

              “Hello,” Jean answered.

             
“Jean, where the hell is Sara? She has her phone turned off.”

             
“She wouldn’t listen to me, Mike. She never has.”

             
“What do you mean? What are you trying to get her to do?” Mike asked.

             
Jean sounded exasperated. “I tried to get her to wait for you Mike. I told her that you took Monday off work to drive her to Wyoming, but no, she said that she wants to do this on her own or she will never get out from under Daddy’s wing.”

             
Mike finally lost his temper. “Do what on her own, Jean? God dammit, where is my daughter?” he yelled into the phone.