Page 105 of Secrets in the Dark
“You think he shanked himself?”
“I do. Or he had a friend hit him in just the right place in just the right way.”
“But the blood—”
“The ‘pool the size of Texas’ belonged to one or more other men. And a forensic crew would find DNA so mixed it would be worthless. But trust me, the entire escape was planned from the time the first spoonful of grits went flying,” Mason told him grimly.
“What do you need from me now?” Sewell asked him. “What the hell can I do now to help?”
“Interviews. I need to speak with anyone who was close to or friendly with Dante in any way.”
Sewell nodded. “Start with his cellmate?”
Mason nodded. “Have him brought to an interview room. I’ll observe him for a few minutes before going in. What’s the man’s name and what is he in for?”
“Terry Donavan. His third DUI in a month involved a vehicular manslaughter charge.”
“Sound like an alcoholic and not a cold-blooded killer. Interesting that he was in with Dante.”
“Overcrowding in the system, I’m afraid. Special Agent Patrick Law had suggested we keep Dante in solitary, and we were planning on moving Dante to follow the suggestion.” Sewell paused, winced and shook his head. “We were planning to do the right thing—just waiting on the move. We have some hardened folks here, awaiting their days in court. One man is accused of killing his entire family for the life insurance payouts. Another in here is presumed guilty of five robbery invasion homicides. Sometimes it’s hard as hell to see the forest for the trees.”
“Gotcha,” Mason assured him.
“Observation here,” Sewell said, stopping by a door. “Entry to the interrogation room just down a few steps.”
“All right. Tell the guards not to shackle the man. I’m going to have to build up some trust—get past whatever blind faith he might have in believing whatever lies Dante might have told him.”
“You think Terry Donavan might be involved? He’s...in my mind, the man is a pathetic waste of what he could have been. In here, he’s polite, agreeable and, as it appears, truly remorseful for what happened. Went through hell when he first came in—in fact, the doctor Dante killed helped get Terry through the worst of withdrawal when he came in here. If the kid—”
“Kid?”
“Sorry. He’s just twenty-three,” Sewell said.
“Right. If he’d had help and embraced it, he wouldn’t be where he is,” Mason said.
Sewell nodded. “Step on in. I’ll get Terry in there,” he said, pointing to the stark interrogation room.
“Would you mind seeing if you can arrange coffee and water for us both? Sounds like he’s the type who just might help if I can reach him.”
Sewell nodded. Mason stepped into the observation room, looked through the glass at the room with its simple table—equipped with attachments for shackles when necessary—and gray walls and flooring. That was it. The table, the walls, the floor. Planned for focus.
A minute later, he saw a guard bringing Terry Donavan in to sit. The man sat. But he wasn’t shackled and after he’d been left alone a few minutes, he began to pace the floor.
He did look like a kid. Short hair still showing something of a rakish and shaggy appearance, movements nervous, eyes caught in a concerned face as he walked the few feet within the room.
The guard returned with two cups of water and two cups of coffee. That seemed to perplex the young man even further.
Mason waited another few minutes. Then Terry Donavan sat again, looking suspiciously at his cup of coffee before sipping at it, then letting out a sigh as he apparently decided it hadn’t been laced with any kind of poison.
Mason stepped out of the observation room, nodded to the guard, thanked him and headed on in. He took the seat across from Terry Donavan.
Donavan looked at him nervously.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
“My name is Mason Carter,” Mason told him. “Special Agent Mason Carter. And I need your help.”
“You need help—from me?” Donavan asked nervously. He looked around the room as if afraid someone might be watching him, might see him.
