“We got a good start with Glenn rolling on him. He’ll testify to save his own ass.”
“Case would be airtight with a confession from Perry,” Rameson said, stirring an endless stream of sugar into her coffee.
“He’s not going to talk to you,” Luke said.
“No shit, he’s not,” she said, eyeing him. “However, a pissed off boyfriend who tries to tell him that he’s never gonna get near her?”
Luke smiled grimly. “Because he’s a weak, pathetic old man.”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “Maybe you’ll be useful after all, dumbass.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Luke pulled open the heavy metal door of the prison’s visitor entrance and stepped into the cramped vestibule. A guard behind glass pointed to the speaker on Luke's side.
He leaned forward. “Here to see Clive Perry.” He felt like he was ordering movie tickets.
“Any weapons or other contraband?” The guard pointed at a poster listing, among other things, cellphones and drugs and slid a clipboard through the opening above the skinny counter.
“No.”
“Sign in.” The guard’s tone was as bored as a seventh grader conjugating verbs.
Luke scrawled his signature on a blank line and wrote Perry’s name next to it. He was surprised the pen didn’t snap in his grip.
“Go on through that door, through the metal detector. Visitors’ desk is on the right,” the guard said, buzzing him through.
The next door opened, and Luke walked into a large waiting room. The block walls were painted a pale, industrial gray. A handful of people waited in plastic chairs facing the desk.
After answering the contraband question again, Luke tossed his sunglasses, keys, and wallet in the tray and passed through the metal detector.
The woman behind the visitors’ desk looked more like a cheerful grandmother than a prison guard.
Her graying strawberry blond hair was pulled back in a bun that tight, frizzy curls were exploding out of. Her round face had a dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose.
“What can I do for you, sugar?” Her drawl echoed West Virginia mountains.
“I’m here to see Clive Perry.”
“Okay, I’m gonna need your driver’s license, please.”
He handed it over and she copied it before returning it to him.
“All right, sugar, you go ahead and have a seat and I’ll send someone to find Mr. Perry. We’ll set you up in an empty room.”
Luke thanked her and took a seat facing the desk. His fingers drummed a silent beat on his jeans.
No matter what, it ended today. Perry’s stalking and manipulations, any threat he posed to Harper, ended today. No matter what.
“Mr. Garrison?”
Luke approached the desk.
“We’ve got you in room B. Just follow Bill here, and Mr. Perry will be in shortly.
“Thanks.” He followed Bill, a guard with a shock of white hair, who topped the scales at maybe 100 pounds.
The room was a dingy ten-foot-by-ten-foot space with a scarred table, an ashtray that hadn’t been emptied for at least a week, and two plastic chairs. The walls were covered with wood paneling from the seventies.
