Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

her, then his need for answers about the situation was reasonable. Had their roles been reversed, Amelia was sure she’d be compelled to ask him for clarification, wouldn’t she?

Yes, she would.

The clatter of the magnetic lock snapped her attention back to the present.

Warden Gillem looked at her and Joseph as he pushed down on a sturdy lever handle. With one hand, the warden held open the door until they had entered the dim space.

White light from dozens of flickering monitors shone on the bald head of the corrections officer who was seated at the wide, horseshoe-shaped desk.

Brushing off the front of his black uniform dress shirt, the man turned to face them. “Afternoon, Warden.” His dark eyes flicked between the two agents. “Are these the two Feds we’ve been waiting for?”

“Agents Storm and Larson.” As he held the door, Gillem gave the man a stern look. “I’d stay to help, but I’ve got my hands full with this lockdown. Agents, this is Phil Mason, one of our security specialists. He knows more about this system than I do, but if you need anything from me, just holler. I won’t be far away.”

Joseph nodded. “Appreciate it. We’ll let you know.”

Waving to a pair of chairs at his side, the man scooted to make room for them. “Have a seat. I had a little time before you two got here, so I’ve got a lot of the footage pulled up and ready for you to look at.”

Amelia accepted the offered seat and rolled closer to the pair of computer monitors at the center of the workstation. She expected Joseph to sit, but he continued to stand.

Amelia propped an elbow atop the matte gray desk and returned her attention to the corrections officer. “What have you got for us?”

Phil pointed to the computer monitor as he pulled up a folder and opened the first file in the list. “For starters, we put the time of Carlo Enrico’s attack between 11:27 and 11:31.”

“Four minutes?” Amelia leaned forward and squinted at the black and white video of one of the prison’s cafeterias. She was used to dealing with estimated times of death in the range of hours, not minutes.

Lifting a shoulder, Phil tapped a key to zoom in on the image. “Other than the cells themselves, just about every part of the building that’s occupied by inmates is monitored by a camera around the clock.” Phil moved the cursor to the shape of a man who was returning an emptied tray to a cafeteria worker.

As Joseph leaned in to get a better look at the video, he rested a hand on the back of Amelia’s chair to balance himself. The faint scent of his woodsy cologne drifted to her at the lessened distance, and the first rush of nausea built in her throat.

Swallowing past the desert in her mouth, Amelia clenched her hand into a fist. She didn’t stop until her nails bit into the sensitive skin of her palm.

She needed to focus.

The sooner they figured out who’d stabbed Carlo, the sooner she could go back to the shoebox office with Zane and forget that Joseph Larson existed.

Until the next time she was stuck on a case with him, at least. But she’d cross that bridge when she got there.

Though she was tempted to shoot Joseph a warning glance, she tilted her head at the monitor instead. “That’s Carlo Enrico.”

“Yep.” Phil kept the cursor on Carlo as he strode past a pair of circular metal tables to make his way around the edge of the room.

None of the inmates seated throughout the space made the slightest movement to indicate that they were aware of Carlo’s existence. Conversations continued unabated, eyes remained fixed on the late morning meal, and asses stayed glued to seats.

As Amelia watched Carlo disappear into a hallway at the other end of the cafeteria, Phil pressed a key, switching the feed over to a new camera, and Carlo came into frame again.

Just in time for them to see him disappear around a corner. The seconds ticked away on the timestamp at the bottom of the video, but none of the inmates took off after Carlo.

Finally, at the 11:31 timestamp, a portly man with a head full of thick, silver hair ambled over to the entrance of the hall. Less than twenty seconds after he stepped into the corridor, he shot back into the common area with speed Amelia hadn’t expected. But even if the inmate was in better shape than he appeared, twenty seconds wasn’t enough time to stab a person fourteen times.

Hurrying up to the nearest corrections officer, the middle-aged man jabbed a finger at the hall.

As the alarm was sounded, the scene descended into organized chaos.

Turning her puzzled stare to Phil, Amelia had almost forgotten about Joseph’s bizarre closeness. “No one followed him from the cafeteria. What other views do you have?”

Phil tapped another monitor that was midway through the second row of glowing screens.

A pair of crime scene techs milled about behind the yellow tape that blocked off the bloodied walls and floor. From where the camera had been mounted high in the corner, they were afforded a view of a hall that led to a T-shaped intersection.

Joseph’s pale blue eyes shifted to Phil. “That camera should’ve caught the entire thing, right?”

Rubbing a hand over his bald head, Phil hesitated as if uncertain what to say. His arm trembled as it reached toward the computer mouse. “It should have. But, well. Here’s the footage.” He used the mouse to drag the recording back to 11:27.

Black and white static covered the screen, and Amelia bit her tongue to suppress a groan. “What was wrong with it? It’s fixed now, obviously. Why was it down in the first place?”

Scratching the side of his face, Phil shook his head. “I noticed it go staticky at about quarter past eleven, and I called the tech guys as soon as I saw it. None of them were able to get to it until after