“For what?” Finn pressed.
James smacked Mandy’s rear playfully as he slipped by. “Being the best boss ever.”
All of the color drained from Finn’s face. “Seriously. You guys need help.”
EMMA’S absence for the entire day gave Finn options. Unfortunately, the option he decided to seek was one he wasn’t sure he should follow.
Finn parked his Escalade at Jackson State Prison an hour after he said goodbye to Emma – admonishing her to have a good time and try to relax. He’d known – even then – what he was going to do. He couldn’t find the words to tell her, though.
Finn showed his identification to the secretary in the bubble at the prison. She made a few calls – muttering words Finn couldn’t make out – and then motioned for him to come forward.
“Even though it’s short notice, the warden says that he’s willing to let you in,” she said. “He understands the nature of what’s going on, and he agrees that it’s better to be safe than sorry. If you go down that hallway and turn to the right, there’s a security station to go through. Once you’re done, Lance Pritchard will be waiting for you in one of the interview rooms.”
Finn thanked the woman and started moving down the hallway. He was about to come face-to-face with a notorious child molester – although that wasn’t what he wanted to talk to the man about. Not really. No, he wanted to talk to him about his daughter – and the broken heart and crushed spirit he’d left in his terrible wake.
Once he got through security, Finn waited on one side of the metal table in the small interview room. The security guards had warned him that, while Pritchard had never been violent toward other inmates or prison personnel, Finn was to keep his hands on the table at all times and not get close enough to give Pritchard any leverage.
This wasn’t his first time visiting a prison, so Finn was familiar with the rules. Still, when he heard the door open, his body stiffened in anticipation.
Lance Pritchard wasn’t what Finn expected. He wasn’t a big, beefy guy with malicious eyes and an evil sneer. He was just a regular, ordinary guy. He was in his mid-fifties – although prison life seemed to make him appear older. He was clad in a black-and-white striped jumper, his thinning gray hair slicked away from his face. His shoes were simple, rubber clogs, no laces, nothing that could be misconstrued as a weapon. And his hands? They were shackled in front of him, with chains leading to locking mechanisms at the edges of his waist.
The guard secured Pritchard in his seat, unlocking the chains from his waist and fastening them to the loops on top of the table, and then left.
Once it was just the two of them, Pritchard fixed Finn with a predatory look. “Let me guess, you’re someone who believes I’ve somehow wronged him and you want to come and tell me off?”
Finn frowned. Pritchard obviously believed he was one of his victims. “Not quite.”
“Really? You look like my type.”
If Pritchard was trying to knock Finn off his game – it wasn’t going to work. Finn was antsy, slightly nervous, but it wasn’t because of Pritchard. It was because he was going behind Emma’s back.
“Thankfully, I’ve never met you before,” Finn said, leaning back in his chair.
“Then why are you here? Are you a reporter? I’ve been waiting for a reporter to come and talk to me so I can be on one of those Dateline things. I think I would be awesome in one of those. I want to get the real story out there.”
“I’m not a reporter,” Finn said. “Although, I do happen to know one. I’ll pass along your request.”
“If you’re not one of my boys, and you’re not a reporter, who are you?” Pritchard asked, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you a cop? Are you here to try and pin another crime on me?”
“I’m not a cop,” Finn said. “I do happen to work with a security company, though.”
“Huh. And what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, about two weeks ago, I was at the boat show in St. Clair Shores,” Finn said. “I happened to intervene when a man tried to throw acid on a young model.”
Pritchard was listening – but just barely. “I can’t figure out how this has anything to do with me.”
“The model who was attacked was local,” Finn said, keeping his tone even. “Her name was Emma Pritchard.”
When he had decided on this plan of action, Finn thought the best way to get answers out of Pritchard was to pretend he wasn’t emotionally involved with his daughter. That’s why Finn was purposely playing it cool, like he was just an investigator trying to get insight on a case, and not the man who was fighting tooth and nail to make Emma feel safe.