Never Die Alone

Was he interested in her?

Or was it something else, something a little darker?

As she checked her mirror and nosed her Honda into traffic, she noticed a parking enforcement officer turning down the street. Well, maybe it was a good omen that she’d narrowly escaped getting a parking ticket. Maybe her luck was changing. Maybe today was the day Selma’s daughters would be found.

Or maybe not.

Maybe the girls would never be located.

“Don’t even go there,” she warned, glancing into the rearview mirror.

When her phone rang again, she saw Tanisha’s number and promised herself that she would return the call the second she got home. And Milo’s, too. And she would check in on Selma. Yeah, she didn’t have a lot of time before she met up with Jase again.

At that thought, she actually smiled.

“Wait. What?” Bentz said, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing from Hayes, who’d called him from California.

Donovan Caldwell was dead?

No! Not at the very moment Bentz was starting to believe he might be i

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No joke.” The tone of Hayes’s voice was flat, all business.

“But he’s locked up.”

Montoya, cutting through an alley, shot Bentz a look.

“I know,” Hayes agreed. “Housed in a private cell. Well, at least it’s been private for a few days. There was room for another inmate, of course, but his most recent cell mate was released a couple of days ago and for some reason, some red-tape clusterfuck I think, the other bed was unoccupied. Despite all the prison overcrowding. So the past few nights, Caldwell’s had the cell to himself.”

“Okay. So what happened?” Bentz asked as Montoya gu

“Looks like suicide,” said Hayes. “I mean, the guy was in the cell alone, but who knows what goes on in the middle of the night in the big house? Guards can be bribed. Some inmates have more privileges than others. You know? It’s really too early to tell.”

“Movie stuff.”

“It happens.” Bentz nodded, thinking of the time difference. California was two hours behind New Orleans, so there hadn’t been much time for an investigation. Yet.

“I don’t have all the details,” Hayes was saying. “But apparently he had some sort of tiny shiv, sliced his wrists, but had the guts and determination to leave a message before he bled out.”

“A message?” Bentz felt a niggle of apprehension skitter through his insides. “What was it?”

Montoya wheeled the Mustang around a final corner to the station and slowed for a couple of ru

“He managed to write ‘I’M INNOCENT’ in block letters on the wall of his cell. Written using his own blood.”

“Jesus,” Bentz whispered, a deep sadness stealing over him. He thought of the man everyone believed to be the 21 Killer now dead, at his own hand. Some people would celebrate, believing that a serial murderer had been taken off the streets for good; that he no longer would be chewing through taxpayers’ money; that, if he offed himself, all the better. Good riddance to bad rubbish! But if they were wrong? If Caldwell wasn’t 21? If he’d sliced his own wrists in resignation because he couldn’t take the fate he’d been handed? So out of his mind and desperate that he would take the time to leave a final proclamation of i

“A guard found Caldwell this morning,” Jonas was saying. “He was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late to save him. DOA.” He paused for a second. “Look, because you called about the 21 Killer, I thought you’d want to know.”

“I do. Thanks.”

“Yeah, gotta run.”

Bentz hung up.

“Bad news?” Montoya asked as he pulled into the lot closest to the station and drove the Mustang into a vacant spot.

“Not good.” Bentz had held out a tiny iota of hope that Donovan Caldwell would eventually confess, that he would admit to being 21. Now, that wasn’t going to happen. Ever. Nor would he ever be free from prison, vindicated and released because of the conviction of another perpetrator.

Guilty or i

Once home, Bria

Bria

He’ll call back.

Don’t make a mountain of a molehill. It was two lousy phone calls, nothing to get worked up about.

And yet she did.

So when the phone rang in her hand, she expected the caller to be Milo Tillman. Instead, Tanisha was on the other end of the line. “Didn’t you get my messages?” she demanded.

“Yes, sorry.” She rinsed out the cat food can at the sink. “I was going to call back when I had a little time to talk. I’ve just been busy today. So, what’s up?”

“Obviously you haven’t been online.”

Obviously? “I’ve been out. Why?” Drying her hands, she glanced out the window over the sink and watched sunlight play upon the backyard.

“I called earlier just to ask you about Selma; see how she’s doing. We’re really not that close, you know, even though I tried to keep her company that night after the meeting. I’m not getting much from her.”

“Nothing’s changed. Nothing that I know of. I was about to call her.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Something in Tanisha’s tone gave her pause. “Did something happen?”

“I just saw it on Twitter, from a friend in California. Breaking news.”

“What?” From the tone of Tanisha’s voice, Bria

“Donovan Caldwell? The 21 Killer?”

“He’s not the killer,” Bria

“He’s dead, Bria

“He’s what?” she whispered, disbelieving.

“Donovan Caldwell. He’s dead.”