Last Witness by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group UK
Published: 2008-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

45

A raspy voice squawked over a dozen hand-held radios. ‘Q-Wing walking! Clear E!’

From almost a quarter-mile of cement hallway away, Dominick and Manny could still hear the buzz of the steel bars sliding open on Corridor E, the final barrier that led to Q-Wing, the prison’s death row. Then the buzz of doors at D-Area, and another squawk of the radio. ‘Q-Wing walking! Clear D!’

Dominick heard him coming then. The prison guard’s boots, heavy on the cement floor, and the jingle of keys, followed by the shuffle of a man in irons and shackles. Like a hundred steel rattlesnakes waving their tails in warning, the rhythmic metal hiss got louder and heavier and more deliberate with each step. It came to a stop, ten feet away, on the other side of the solid steel door that led into the hallway. Metal keys banged off the door, then the buzzer sounded, the lock clicked, and the door opened out.

Dominick looked up from where he sat on the edge of the small conference table. He had been to FSP a few times to interview prisoners, and he always felt his breath catch when that door swung open. In the next moment, he would get to see what these walls had sucked out of a man and what they would now spit back out. The transformation was always bad. More often than not, it was shocking.

He could see the beige and brown uniform of the sergeant and mob of other COs surrounding the flicker of the orange shirt that identified a death row inmate. Then the door slammed shut and the sergeant barked, ‘Q-Wing 10-97, Colonel’s Room. Clear!’

It was against FDLE policy for an agent to get personally involved with a victim, a defendant or a witness in a case. A violation could lead to an investigation by EI – the Office of Executive Investigations – the FDLE equivalent of Internal Affairs. Given his relationship with C.J., Dominick was pushing the envelope by being here, subjecting himself to possible discipline, but he no longer cared. He could feel his heart pound suddenly in his throat, and the air became thick.

The hiss shuffled into the room, nudged by the CO behind him. ‘Let’s go, now! Move!’

He was leaner than the last time Dominick had seen him, but even with his orange shirt and baggy blue pants, he could see that Bantling had been working out religiously. The muscles on his forearms were defined, his neck thick and tight. He wore his salty blond hair slicked back off a handsome, clean-shaven face, but the lack of sunlight on his skin contrasted sharply with the orange, and made him appear pale and ghostlike. His eyes flickered with a look of bemused confusion and he searched the room for the reason he might have been brought down. Then he spotted Dominick and Manny, and a knowing smile worked the corners of his mouth.

‘Call us when you’re done,’ barked the CO. His badge read Sergeant Dick Plemmel. A jumble of keys hung from his belt clip which had slipped underneath his enormous pot belly.

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