Now that I’ve had a few premonitions, I can usually recognize when the information I’m getting is coming from the future. In this case, I’m sensing immediate danger around O’Neil. It hasn’t happened yet, though. It’s foggy inside my head. Just out of reach but near.
Mitchell’s phone is to his ear. “This is Detective Brennan with the Weltunkin PD. I have reason to believe one of your inmates, Levi O’Neil, is in danger. I need to speak with him immediately.” He pauses. “I’ll have the chief call you if need be, but this is a matter of life and death.” Another pause. “Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hangs up. “They’re going to move him to solitary until we get there.”
Mitchell takes a step toward me. “Piper, how could this guy get to O’Neil in prison? It doesn’t make sense.”
Unless this man is someone who works at the prison. A guard, maybe. Or he could be another inmate. None of these thoughts are giving me a definite yes on my radar. “I don’t know, Mitchell. I just know he’s in danger.”
He nods, and we rush out of the condo.
On the drive, Mitchell calls Chief Johansen to fill him in. He doesn’t mention anything about this being a possible inside job, because it would be career suicide to make an implication like that with absolutely no concrete evidence. Not to mention if I’m wrong, Chief Johansen would put an end to Mitchell using me as a consultant on any future cases.
I call Dad and tell him what’s going on, and he has his own theory.
“Pumpkin, you have to consider the possibility that the real murderer has connections inside that prison.”
“You mean like another inmate,” I say.
“Exactly. If they’re communicating, the killer could easily put a hit on O’Neil without going anywhere near him.” He’s right. And if this guy is as scary as O’Neil’s led me to believe, then he can probably bully any convict into doing his bidding.
“Thanks, Dad. Do me a favor and stay away from this one, okay?” I can’t handle the thought of Dad getting hurt on another one of my cases.
“You do realize I’m your father. I’m supposed to say things like that to you, not the other way around.”
“Who do you think I learned this from?” I ask.
“Tell you what. I’ll agree to this on one condition.”
Mitchell disconnects from his call and turns to look at me. I put my phone on speaker so he can hear.
“You stick with Mitchell. I mean all the time, until this case is closed. Have one of those sleepovers of yours.”
Mitchell laughs. “Will do, sir.”
“They aren’t sleepovers,” I say, shaking my head at both of them. “But fine. Mitchell can sleep on my couch.”
“No can do,” Mitchell says. “I’m bird sitting, remember?”
I forgot. “Dad, can you grab Jez and keep her at your place until we’re finished with this case?”
“Consider it done. Max has never been so well-behaved. Jezebel is actually teaching him right from wrong.”
“She is pretty incredible that way. Tell her I love her and I’ll miss her terribly.”
Dad doesn’t protest because we all know Jez is incredibly smart and will probably understand every word of that. “Will do, pumpkin. Keep me informed, okay?”
“You got it. Thanks, Dad.” I hang up.
“So, you’re sleeping over at my place this time.”
“It’s not a sleepover,” I say. “We’re working.”
“My couch sucks, so you’ll have to take my room.”
“No way.”
“I just bought a new mattress, and seeing as I sleep on your couch more than in my own bed, it’s only been slept on a few times. The sheets are clean, too.”
I wave a hand in the air. “Let’s just focus on O’Neil. I need to talk to him without a glass partition between us. Think you can make that happen?”
“I do. I take it your plan is to read him so he doesn’t have to implicate anyone.”
“Exactly, although I don’t think that will be enough. The damage is already done. The killer knows O’Neil talked to me. He’s going after him now anyway.”
“Chief Johansen said he’ll pull some strings to get maximum protection for O’Neil. He’s now being considered a witness to a murder. Chief wants this guy to be caught. He doesn’t care how, and he’s more than willing to use O’Neil to do it.”
And to use me. He knew I’d be in danger taking on this case, too. “If this guy does get to O’Neil, he’ll come after me next.”
The car jerks to the right as Mitchell whips his head in my direction.
“Whoa!” I say, grabbing the door handle. “Easy there. Don’t go helping this lunatic by offing me in this car.”
“Sorry, but did you get the sense you’re next on this guy’s hit list?”
“Not in a psychic vision kind of way, but it only makes sense. He wants to get rid of everyone who knows he’s guilty. That’s O’Neil and now me.”
“And me,” Mitchell says, turning onto the road where the prison is located.
Something feels wrong about that. “You aren’t psychic. You can’t prove O’Neil isn’t the one who killed Amelia Crane. Only I can.”
“I’m a police detective. I can figure this out.”
“No, you can’t. He covered his tracks too well. He pinned this on O’Neil, and the only other person who knows for sure that O’Neil didn’t do it is dead. That just leaves me.”
Mitchell pulls up to the security station and flashes his badge. The guard checks his list, which has Mitchell’s name on it thanks to Chief Johansen, and then raises the gate to let us in.
As soon as we park, Mitchell turns to me. “Like your dad said, you don’t leave my sight. Got it? None of your stunts, Piper. I’m not losing you.”
I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants to keep Mitchell out of this, but there’s the other part that doesn’t want to do this without him. “Partners stick together, right?”
He squeezes my left hand. “Right.”
We get out of the car, and Mitchell brings us in through a different entrance. This one is for the guards. He flashes his badge, and after a few words to the guard, we’re brought to an interrogation room. I stare at the two-way mirror, wondering who is on the other side watching our interaction with O’Neil. It makes me question if maybe the killer is someone who works here rather than an inmate, but I really can’t say for sure. What I can do is say something in this interview that will let me figure out down the road if this is an inside job.
A few minutes later, O’Neil is brought in, his hands cuffed. The guard attaches those cuffs to a metal ring on the table once O’Neil is seated across from us. O’Neil waits until the guard leaves before he starts talking.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
“I believe you’re in danger here,” I say. “Even though you chose to go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit—a crime you actually tried to prevent—you have a target on your head because you talked to me.”
“Did you see that?” he asks me.
I decide to take a huge risk here and play the psychic card in my hand. “I saw us protecting you. We’ll make sure you’re safe. There’s no reason for anyone to kill you when you’ve told us exactly nothing. I’m the one who figured this out.”
“You found the bird. How is Jeffrey?” O’Neil asks.
“How well did you know Amelia?” Mitchell asks him.
“I followed her for about two months. I knew where she worked, where she lived, that she had a pet bird.” O’Neil shrugs. “I was inside her apartment once. I should have taken her. I should have carried her out of there and gotten her away from him. That’s how they convicted me, you know. My prints were at her place.”
All because he tried to save her. “Why were you there if not to get her away from the killer?”
“I was trying to scare her into leaving on her own. I ransacked the place. I didn’t touch the bird, though. I’d never hurt a living creature.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “He can talk, you know. That’s how I know his name. He said ‘Jeffrey wants a cracker.’” O’Neil laughs, but it’s sad. “I gave him one, too. And I told the damn bird my name.”
Something comes to me as soon as he says it. “The bird named you to the police.”
O’Neil nods. “After I confessed, they checked her apartment, found my prints, and while they were searching, the damn bird says, ‘O’Neil.’ Can you believe that?”
I sit forward, intent on reaching for his hand and reading him, but as soon as O’Neil realizes what I’m trying to do, he starts yelling.
“Don’t touch me! Someone get me out of here. Don’t let her touch me!”
I sit back in my seat, and Mitchell puts his arm out in front of me, to protect me from I don’t know what.
The guard comes in and takes O’Neil out of the room.
“We can’t just let him go,” I say. I drop my voice to a whisper so only Mitchell can hear me, just in case anyone is on the other side of the two-way mirror. “He isn’t safe here.”
O’Neil is terrified, and I realize coming here only made things worse for him.
“Mitchell, if he dies, it will be my fault.”
Mitchell grabs my left hand. “Come on.” He pulls me from the room, and we approach the first guard we see.
“Where is O’Neil being taken?” he asks the guard.
“We were told to keep him in solitary until we’re informed otherwise.”
He’ll be away from other prisoners but not the guards, and right now, I’m not sure if that will be enough to keep him alive. I don’t know how to protect him.
Then I get a crazy idea. “Can we have him transferred?” I ask Mitchell.
“We can’t, but we could put in a request with the chief. A transfer will take time, though.”
Something we don’t have. “I can’t leave here knowing it could be the last time we see him. I need to read him, but if he won’t let me, I need to make sure no one can get to him.” I don’t know where he is or who is with him. I don’t like any of this.
“Maybe I can get us permission to do rounds with the guards,” Mitchell says. “It will put us in contact with the inmates, and you might get a read off one of them.”
He wants me to sense a killer in a prison full of killers? I don’t bother pointing out how absurd that is. “Give me a list of names. Every inmate, guard, and staff member here.”
“You got it.” Mitchell leads me to an office, and while he talks to someone about getting the information I need, I stare at the empty visitation room. They’ve tried to paint this place so it doesn’t look so gloomy. There are colorful murals on the walls. I have to think it’s meant to benefit the families of inmates more than anything else. I certainly couldn’t imagine visiting a family member in here.
A guard walks by, his eyes on me as if he recognizes me. He pauses and then heads in my direction. I’m sure he’s going to ask for my ID or for the reason I’m here today when visiting hours are over. He can’t see Mitchell inside the office from his angle. But as soon as he reaches me, he wags a finger at me and says, “You’re that psychic P.I., aren’t you?”
I can’t resist. “And you’re that prison guard, aren’t you?”
His head jerks back a bit. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Not even a little bit. Sorry. It’s just odd when people recognize me for what I do and not my name.”
“Sorry, I didn’t even think you might take offense to that.” He seems nice enough. “Your name starts with an A, right?”
“Ashwell. Piper Ashwell.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Your father was a police detective, too. I guess it runs in the family, huh?”
“I guess it does.” My psychic abilities run in the family too, but I don’t volunteer that information.
“So, what brings you here today?”
“A case I’m working on alongside the Weltunkin PD.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Mitchell in the office.
“Anything I could be of help with?” he asks, and the expression on his face tells me the offer is genuine.
“That depends on how well you know Levi O’Neil,” I say.
“O’Neil.” He nods. “He’s the quiet type. Keeps to himself. Out of everyone here, he might be the one who actually feels guilty for the crime he committed.”
Except I’m not sure he did commit a crime. Well, other than perjury. He did lie about murdering Amelia Crane. “Does he hang out with anyone in particular?”
It’s possible the real killer already has someone on the inside sticking close to O’Neil to make sure he stays quiet.
“Not really. He eats by himself and works out by himself. I don’t really see him interact with anyone but the guards.”
The guards. That leads me to my next question. “Is there a guard he interacts with more than others?” It dawns on me that I still don’t know this guard’s name. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me? I didn’t even ask your name.”
“Hancock, and before you ask, there’s no relation to John.”
I laugh. “Duly noted.” I wait for him to answer my other question. The one I really need to know the answer to.
“Let me think. The guard who talks to O’Neil the most is probably Spencer.”
“Does he happen to be here now?” I ask, since I’m not getting any initial reaction to the guard’s name.
“He should be. Let me check.” He gets on his radio. “Spencer, what’s your location?”
“Spencer went home sick about thirty minutes ago,” a voice says in response.
Thirty minutes ago? That was about the time Mitchell and I showed up. That strikes me as more than a little interesting.
“You ready?” Mitchell says, coming up behind me and making me jump.
“Hang on.” I grab the list of names from him and flip through to the sheet that displays all the guards’ names. “Hugo Spencer,” I say as it practically jumps off the page at me. “Bingo!”