The Last Widow. Karin Slaughter

he repeated.

      “You shower in isolation. You eat in isolation. If you’re lucky enough to get yard time, it’s not really a yard. They have a pit, like an empty swimming pool. You can pace it off in ten steps, thirty if you walk in a circle. It’s fifteen feet deep. You can see the sky, but you can’t write home about it. They stopped giving inmates pencils because they kept using them to rip open their own throats.”

      Hurley’s eyes were open. He stared up at the ceiling.

      Amanda looked down at her watch again.

      Will checked the time for himself.

      3:18 p.m.

      “Hurley,” Amanda said. “I don’t care about your other charges. I care about returning those two women to safety. So this is what I’m offering.”

      She waited.

      Hurley waited.

      Will felt his stomach tighten.

      “You’ll die in prison. I can’t do anything about that. But I can keep your identity out of the news. I can give you a new name, a new rap sheet. The marshals oversee plenty of prison inmates in witness protection. You’ll be in gen pop, maximum security, but you won’t be caged like an animal while you slowly lose your mind.” She paused. “All you have to do right now is tell me where to find those women.”

      Hurley sniffed. He turned his head to look out the window. Blue skies. Sun on his face. His heart had returned to its slow, lazy beat. He was calm because he felt like he was in control, the same way he’d been back at the car accident.

      At least until Michelle Spivey had opened her mouth and started talking about Hurley’s father.

       He’s your hero … you wanted to make him proud.

      Will said, “Your father’s sick, right? That’s what Michelle said—that he was going to die.”

      Hurley’s head had swiveled around. His eyes burned with fury.

      This was the way into him. Hurley didn’t care about the people he’d murdered. Whatever cause had driven him to commit an act of terrorism was not going to be compromised in a few minutes. Every man had a weak spot. For a lot of men on the wrong side of the law, that weak spot centered around their father.

      “Was your old man a cop?” Will asked. “Is that why you joined patrol?”

      Hurley glared at him. The monitor started throwing off quick beats as his heart rate increased.

      “I bet he was proud when you joined up. Took the oath, the same as he did. His. Son.” Will said the words individually, the way he had heard so many old timers on the force talk about their kids. Not as individuals, but as extensions of themselves. “I bet he’s not going to be so proud when he hears that you helped a convicted rapist abduct another woman.”

      The silence between the beeps shortened.

      Will said, “I remember what it was like when my father died. I was with him in the hospital when he drew his last breath.”

      Amanda said nothing. She knew that the first time Will had seen his father’s face was when he’d identified the man’s dead body.

      Will said, “I’d never held my dad’s hand before. Maybe when I was a little kid and I needed help crossing the road. But never as a man. He was just so—so vulnerable, you know? And I felt vulnerable, too. That’s what it’s like when you love somebody. You feel weak. You want to take away their pain. You’ll do anything you can to keep them safe.”

      A tear slid from the corner of Hurley’s eye.

      Will said, “Toward the end, Dad’s hands and feet were cold. I pulled on his socks for him. I rubbed his skin. Nothing could warm him. That’s what the body does. It diverts all of the heat to the brain and the organs. They can feel you holding their hand, but they can’t hold you back.”

      Amanda had vacated the chair. Will sat down. He pulled it closer to Hurley. He fought the revulsion as he held the man’s hand.

      This was for Sara.

      This was how they found her.

      He said, “You can’t erase what you did, Hurley, but you can try to make up for it.” Will felt Hurley’s fingers clench around his own. “Save those two women. Don’t let them get hurt. Give your dad something that makes him proud of you again.”

      Hurley gulped.

      “Tell us how to find the women,” Will said, trying not to beg. “It’s not too late to protect them from what you know is coming. Let your dad’s last thoughts be that his son was a good man who did some bad things. Not a bad man who couldn’t do good.”

      Hurley’s eyes were closed again. Tears soaked the pillow.

      “It’s all right.” Will looked down at their hands. Hurley was squeezing so tight that the broken skin on Will’s knuckles was bleeding again. “Just tell us how to save them. Be the man your father knows you can be.”

      Hurley stuttered in a deep breath. His tears ran unabated. He looked not at Will, but at Amanda. His mouth moved. There was a clicking in his jaw.

      “Guh—” Hurley’s face creased with exertion. He couldn’t use his lips to form the word. “Guh—”

      “Gilmer? Gwinnett? Gordon?” Amanda gave up on naming counties and searched her purse. “I have something you can write on.”

      “Nuh—” Hurley shook off Will’s hand, frustrated. “Fuh—” he tried again.

      Will leaned forward, straining to hear.

      “Fuh—” He grabbed the rails of the bed, gave them a violent shake. “Fuck off.”