Justice(23)

“And what do you propose, Warden?” someone shouts.

There’s no way in hell I’m letting him answer that. I am, after all, his back-up. You don’t stand by and let someone shoot themselves in the head. The foot maybe. I step up to the podium beside the Warden. “I’m Det. Joanna Fallon with the Galilee Falls Police Department. I’m sure you have questions regarding this investigation. I’d be happy to answer them.”

A few faces fall, but my old pal Veronica Lilley with The Galilee Standard smirks. She’s actually my first cousin, though we both like to keep that under wraps. I feed her information, and she does the same for me. Like me, she’s the tiniest in the crowd, with the same color eyes and skin, but tawny straight hair. Her hand shoots up along with the others but I choose her, as she knew I would.

“Do you have any leads on how Alkaline managed to get out of his cell? Are the guards suspects?”

“We are investigating every possible avenue,” I respond with the stock answer.

“And how do you respond to the allegation that Alkaline had an accomplice outside the prison? Any leads to who that is, if it’s true?” V asks.

“It appears as if someone picked up Ryder outside the prison, yes. We are asking anyone with information regarding James Ryder to contact our tip line. Next question.”

I field a few more routine questions about the investigation, our suspects, how he escaped, with the usual deflections and vague answers. We might as well be reading from a script. Of course it never remains that easy for long.

“The last time, Alkaline was caught by Justice. Is he involved in this investigation? Perhaps leading it?” the woman from BNN asks.

“GFPD is in charge of this investigation, with help from the Federal Marshal Service, and will remain so. As of right now, as far as I know, there are no plans to officially involve a masked vigilante in the manhunt.”

“But last time Alkaline was free, it took years to apprehend him. Justice was the one who did it. What makes you think the GFPD will have more luck this time?” the same reporter asks.

Bait. These stupid reporters sure do know the right one to bring for a specific prey. My mouth takes over before my brain can stop it. “I want to assure the citizens of Galilee that there is not a single police officer in this city resting, and we will not rest until that murdering psychopath is back behind bars or dead. We will scour this city. Anyone he even glanced at will be put under a microscope. We will cut off all his allies, all his resources. He cannot run. He cannot hide. We will find him.” I look straight into the cameras, my jaw set. I hope to God that bastard’s watching. “Of that, you have my personal guarantee. If you have any more questions, please contact police headquarters or the Bureau of Prisons. Thank you.”

I glance down at V, who holds up her fingers like a telephone, before I walk back into the prison with the others. The reporters shout their questions, but we ignore them. The voices end as the door shuts. The warden looks at me, wary and a little grateful.

“Good press conference everyone,” I say with a smile before turning and walking away.

I am in so much fucking trouble.

***

My phone doesn’t start buzzing for three whole minutes, enough time for me to return to Conover and send him to the cafeteria for lunch. I barely ate at Justin’s last night and forgot breakfast, and my stomach throbs as a reminder of this. After a deep breath, I answer.

“Det. Joanna Fallon.”

“Joanna, this is Grace Pickering.”

If there was a feather, I’d be knocked out of my damn chair. Not who I was expecting at all. I never would have recognized her voice. When she was out on the social scene I noticed her voice was higher, more girly, like most of the women in that set. I swear sometimes I can’t tell them all apart. Same hair, same clothes, same body, same nose, even same voice. You’d think Dr. Avatar fired up his cloning machine again. Grace’s voice is huskier now, and a little surer of itself. I guess a month trapped by a psychopath makes you grow up.

“Wow. This is…unexpected.”

“I got your number from a colleague. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. How are you?”

“As well as can be expected. The police officers parked in front of my penthouse are reassuring. As are the half dozen press vans.”

“They’ll be on you twenty-four seven until we find him. He won’t get near you,” I say with utter certainty.

“Thank you. And how is Justin? I haven’t seen or spoken to him in over a year. I have seen the pictures in the paper though. He’s happy?”

“Blissfully.”