"Six hundred and eight days."

"Congratulations," Nat said, wondering what it was like to count your life in days. Days of sobriety. She was lucky, addicted only to books.

"We're filing an appeal for Willie on Friday, to get him pardoned, so his record won't show his DUI conviction. His experience in the office qualifies him for a number of jobs on the outside, but he needs to get his driver's license back so he can drive."

"This looks great, Angus. You got a pen?"

"Hold on." Angus rose and said to Nat, "Excuse me. Be right back. They're not allowed to have pens, and neither are we."

"Sure." Nat shifted as he left, then realized she was sitting alone with a prison inmate. Two days ago, this would have scared her, but after the riot, it didn't. Ironic. "So, you must be so thrilled to go."

"I can't wait. See my wife and kid, my grandmom." Willie beamed. "But I got no regrets. This place did a lot of good for me, and so did Angus. He helped me get the job in the office. I learned Microsoft Word and Excel, too."

"What do you do there?"

"I keep all the records, so they know when everybody's bit is up. and also infirmary visits, dental, write-ups, what have you."

Write-ups. Where had she heard that term? Then she remembered. Graf had said that just before the riot, he and Ron Saunders had had the inmate in to talk about his write-up. "What's a write-up?"

"When we get disciplined, say. They write us up."

"Do you, in the office, get a copy of a write-up each time an inmate is disciplined?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please, call me Nat. How does that work?"

"The CO. fills out a form and gives it to me through the window in the processing office. I log it in, and that's it." Willie shrugged his shoulders, knobby in his thin T-shirt.

"Then the CO. tells the inmate?"

"No, the other way around. The inmate gets the write-up first, before the CO. gives me the other two copies. I log it in and file one in the disciplinary file and the other in his inmate file."

Nat tried to remember what Graf had said. "Then does the CO. talk to the inmate about it?"

"Sometimes. They bring him to the security office, make sure he understands what the deal is."

Hmm. "Do you remember seeing a write-up for an inmate who was killed during the riot?" Nat had forgotten his name. She'd been so focused on Saunders, no other death mattered.

"Ramirez?"

"No."

"Upchurch?"

"Yes. Did you get a write-up for Upchurch, maybe the same day of the riot or the day before?"

"I don't think so, off the top of my head.”

“Do you usually remember the write-ups that come in?”

“Mostly. This ain't that big a place. No gangstas except in RHU."

Nat remembered something Graf had said. "Did Upchurch ever get written up for marijuana?"

"Upchurch, a write-up for weed?" Willie squinted, confused. "I don't remember that. He got written up for insubordination, runnin' his mouth."

Why would Graf have lied about that? "Did he get written up for insubordination right before the riot?"

"I don't remember, not off the top of my head."

"Did he get written up a lot for insubordination?" Nat thought back. Graf had said Upchurch was a troublemaker.

"All the time."

"By Ron Saunders?"

"No." Willie glanced behind him, but the CO. stood well out of earshot, against the wall in the corridor. "Upchurch had no problem with Saunders. It was Graf used to write him up. Graf was always in his grille."

Whoa. "More than the other C.O.s?"

"Oh, yeah. Picked on him."

"How do you know that? Did you know Upchurch?"

"No, he wasn't in my pod. I knew his name on account of his write-ups, from Graf."

"How do you know that Graf picked on him, and not the other way around?"

"Most of these C.O.s, they're all right." Willie checked over his shoulder, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "But if Graf was the one got killed, nobody woulda shed a tear."

"So why would Upchurch kill Saunders and not Graf?" Nat whispered, but just then Angus returned with Tanisa and a male CO., interrupting the conversation.

Angus handed Willie the pen. "You got a minute to sign. They need you at your cell."

Rats! Nat bit her tongue. Angus had the worst timing in legal history.

"Okay." Willie accepted the pen and signed his name.

"Do you have any questions?"

"You think it'll work?" Willie stood up and handed the affidavit to Angus, who took it and slipped it back in the folder.

"We're doing everything we can, pal."

Tanisa said, "Willie, John will take you back. I gotta get rid of these lawyers."

"Okay." Willie left without a look back, as Tanisa escorted Angus and a preoccupied Nat to the exit door by the new wall. They waited while Tanisa unlocked the door. The CO. fell unusually silent, the only sound the clinking of the crude keys.

"Thanks, Tanisa." Angus touched her arm.

"Yes, thanks," Nat added. "I owe you that jacket."

"Forget it." Tanisa kept her eyes downcast as she unlocked the second barred door and held it open for them to leave. "I'm the one who should be thanking you."

"It was nothing," Nat said, getting her meaning. She retrieved her coat, and she and Angus walked down the corridor, through the sally ports, and out the door. They stepped out into the brutal cold. Nat looked up beyond the razorwire to the sky above, which had darkened to a charcoal wash. Spiky evergreens, burdened with snow, cut a jagged horizon, and a vast white field surrounded them like a chilly embrace.

"So they walled off the room." Angus shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't get it."

I think they're hiding something," Nat said. They walked down the driveway and waved to the marshal, who was on a cell in his car. "I learned a lot of juicy stuff from Willie."

"What'd I miss?" Tell you in the car." Nat shot him a wink.

"Having fun?"

And Nat had to admit, to her own surprise, that she was.

They sat in traffic, going nowhere on the road that wound back through the Brandywine countryside. Cars were lined up ahead as far as Nat could see, their taillights burning red and their exhausts exhaling plumes of white smoke. She used the time to call Barb Saunders and succeeded only in leaving a please-call-back message. She fidgeted in her long coat and checked the darkening sky. At this rate, she'd be late getting home, which would necessitate an explanation to Hank. She didn't remember what happened when Nancy Drew explained things to Ned. She hoped it was a happy ending.

"This traffic is crazy," Angus said. "Must be an accident. It gums up the whole works."

"It's the single lane that's the problem."

"I'll get off this road as soon as I can. 1-95 isn't that far. Or, how about we stop and get some dinner, then try after it's cleared." Angus looked over. "That's not an ask-out."

"Still, not a good idea. I have to get home."

"I hear you." Angus shifted into second. No hand bumped into her knee, which was cold even in stockings. He said, "Let's review. Graf told us that he and Saunders had written up Upchurch for weed, but Willie says that didn't happen. I believe Willie. He's smart."

"Okay, so why do you think Graf lied about the write-up? Or do you think he just misspoke?"

"No, he didn't misspeak. He lied because he didn't want us to know he had bad blood with Upchurch."

"Agree, and that makes me suspicious." Nat turned it over in her mind. "Plus, it doesn't make sense that Upchurch would attack Saunders, if he had an issue with Graf."

"No, it doesn't. It looks bad." Angus shook his head, his eyes focused on traffic. "I hate what I'm thinking."

"What?" Nat asked, but she knew.

"That Upchurch's murder didn't happen the way Graf says it did.” Angus's tone was grave. "Machik must know that, and that's why they're hiding what went on in that room. They've destroyed the crime scene, so there's no way even the blood spatter can be preserved. They must have done an autopsy on Upchurch-they do in every homicide-and I wonder what it shows."