Page 32 of The Chain House
Warden Wren pressed a button on his desk. A few seconds later a young man in glasses, presumably his secretary or assistant, poked his head in the door. “Jeffrey, find me CO Billy Boyle.” When Jeffrey didn’t do just that, and in fact kept his head in the door like he didn’t know how to respond, Warden Wren said, “What is it?”
“Mr. Boyle,” Jeffrey said. “He, uh, didn’t report for work today, sir.”
“Did he call in?”
“No, sir.”
“Did we call him?”
“Yes, sir. No answer.”
“Send someone to his house. I want him here ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closed. Warden Wren studied Sal, who wore an eager-to-please grin. “Who did Billy Boyle get the manuscript to? Editor? Agent? What was the chain, Sal?”
“If I feel the need to divulge such info, Warden Wren, I shall do so in the coming hours with Sam Harper, and Sam Harper alone.”
“Why?” Sam asked. “Why me?”
“Because we’ve got a documentary to work on.”
Sam straightened in his seat at the mention of his documentary. An interview was one thing, but whatever bonus hours he could grab with Sal before his execution would be gold.
“Before I agree to anything,” Warden Wren said, “give me something.”
“I’ll give you two things at the same time,” Sal said. “Proof I am who I say and also the whereabouts of a body.”
“A body?” Sam asked. “Are you implying there’s more than one body you know about?”
Sal smiled. “How’s this for a start, Sam Harper. Mallard Malone, book four, Hammer and Nails. In chapter seven on page seventy-seven, I believe, you will find that a character … a character, mind you, who was not all that important to the plot, is buried. And I go into great, perhaps unnecessary detail of exactly where that character is buried … In the book, in the small town of Georgetown, Indiana, there’s a red barn a hundred yards down the hillside from the tennis courts of Boyd Central High School, and fifty paces northeast from the front doors of that barn a certain unimportant character is buried. I’ve seen reviews, Warden Wren. I often get hammered for such extraneous detail, but I assure you now they’ll all come in quite handy to the authorities in the coming days.”
Warden Wren’s face went pale. “Are you telling me there’s a body buried in that same location in real life?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Who? Who is it, Sal?”
“Fifteen-year-old Miranda Knox went missing from southern Indiana in the fall of 1999 and her body was never found,” Sal said. “Follow those exact directions, with shovels, and start digging. And there you will find her bones.”
“Did you kill her?” Sam asked, hoping he wasn’t overstepping his bounds, but why else was he here other than to ask questions?
Sal answered, “Of course not, Sam Harper. I don’t murder.”
“Because you get others to do it for you.”
“Touché.”
Warden Wren said, “But you know who did, Sal? You know who killed this girl back then?” He referred to the name he’d written on a notepad in front of him. “This Miranda Knox?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Sam asked, “Is it the Kentucky Cannibal?” Sal smiled, but answered neither yes nor no. After studying past interviews, Sam knew whenever Sal Batise didn’t initially answer a certain question, then the question itself was off the table and would go unanswered. Instead, he altered the question. “Was he a member of your cult? Was he a member of The Collective?”
“Yes.”
