The Inmate's Secret (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 21) by Elle Gray

Author:Elle Gray [Gray, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elle Gray
Published: 2024-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Wellfield Preparatory Academy, Room #139, Montlake District; Seattle, WA

Ms. Crocker seats us in a large room tucked away at the rear of the school, hidden away from view. It’s discreet and private, which is perfect. We sit at one of the half-dozen tables still in the nearly empty room, each with four chairs around it. A row of vending machines sits against the far wall, though most are empty. Given the faded packaging of the chips and cookies that remain in the machines, I don’t even want to hazard a guess as to how long they’ve been in there. On top of the counter is a coffee machine that looks like it hasn’t been used in quite some time.

To our right is a counter beneath a row of windows that overlook an athletic field. Groups of kids are out on the snowy grass tossing a football beneath an azure sky studded with fluffy white clouds. It’s a beautiful day outside, and I find myself a little jealous of the seemingly carefree laughter of the kids running around out there. The walls are all bare, and the room has an air of disuse. I’m guessing it served as a faculty break room at some point in its life but was abandoned when they no doubt built a posher, cozier room for the staff to relax in.

“Thank you for allowing us to speak with your staff, Mr. Booker,” I say.

Six-four at least, with a body that seems just as wide, Jackson Booker is a mountain of a man. The way his chest and biceps strain at the sleeves of his red Wellfield blazer, I’d say he spends a pretty good amount of time in the gym. The man looks like he can bench press a Cadillac, for God’s sake. He doesn’t have a strand of hair atop his head but has a thick goatee, neatly and precisely trimmed, which gives him the look of a distinguished elder statesman.

Booker has a rich, umber complexion and warm, chestnut-colored eyes that radiate kindness. I can tell the man can be a teddy bear, but he also isn’t a pushover as he carries himself with a purposeful, no-nonsense demeanor. Although I have a feeling he can be stern, there’s something about the man that makes me think the students adore him. We’ve only just met, but he seems to have that way about him.

“Of course,” he replies. “Before I allow you to do that, though, I wanted to speak with you myself and see where this is all going.”

His voice is a deep, rumbling bass, and he speaks very precisely with a faint hint of a Southern accent coloring his words.

“Where this is going?” I ask. “I’m not sure I understand the question, Mr. Booker.”

“You have to understand that Ms. Alexander’s death was a tremendous blow to this school—both to the students and the staff. It’s a wound that hasn’t entirely healed,” he says. “I was just a teacher back then, but I remember it very well.

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