Hidden Truths Read online

  God, he hoped Mara Philippi was locked up in there. For all the pain and suffering she had caused, she deserved to live out her life in McFarrellville Correctional Facility. He didn’t believe she was in there—but he hoped.

  A man stepped out of the motel office. His hair was white blond, his eyes were pale blue. He was probably five feet ten inches and rail thin; if Max had seen him in Kellen’s hospital, he would have thought him suffering from a terminal disease. “Hey! You Max Di Luca?”

  “That’s right.”

  The guy shoved his hands into the pockets of his no-iron khaki trousers and grinned. “I thought so. I looked you up. I saw you play against Notre Dame. I couldn’t believe when I saw your name on the motel roster. Come on in. We put you in the best room.”

  Okay. This was weird. Max trekked across the melting hot asphalt into the motel office.

  It was clean. Smelled clean, looked clean, if a little shabby.

  The man pulled his hand from his pocket and stuck it out for a shake. “Jack Shales. I graduated from U of M three years after you.”

  This guy was younger than Max? He didn’t look it.

  Max shook. “Good to meet you, Jack.”

  Jack continued, “Graduated summa cum laude in Physics with a minor in Mathematics.”

  This guy was smarter than Max? Well, all things were possible.

  Snow White would have envied Jack his complexion. How did someone who lived in the desert, under the unrelenting sun, stay so white? “You work here?”

  “It’s worse than that. I own the place.”

  As he was supposed to, Max chuckled. “I imagine it’s a paying proposition.”

  “Sure is. My wife’s family has had it for years. All the wives, husbands and reporters who want to visit someone at the prison stay here.” Jack grinned wider. “Which one are you?”

  Taken aback by the blatant prying, Max said, “None of the above. I’m here to visit Mara Philippi. I’m one of the people who helped capture her.”

  “I told you.” Jack spoke toward the counter.

  A woman rose from a chair back there. Max hadn’t noticed her; she was less than five feet tall, and the top of her head had been barely visible.

  “My wife, Elyse.” Jack sounded uneasy.

  “Good to meet you.” Max strode over and shook her outstretched hand.

  She was pudgy, soft, with the same pasty-white complexion as Jack. Her shoulder-length brown hair had artful blond streaks and her shrewd blue eyes sized Max up. “Jack has talked about you for years. Nice to know you’re not a figment of his imagination.”

  “Elyse, do you have to?” Jack snapped.

  Elyse ignored her husband. “Mara Philippi, huh? She’s got a reputation in the prison. Serial killer, meaner than hell, thinks she’s the hot shit who doesn’t have to obey the rules. Got herself bit by one of the dogs while she was daring the guards to put her back in her cell. Scary bitch. You say you took her down?”

  “Me and my wife.”

  “Your wife must be one tough woman,” Elyse said.

  Max kept his unblinking gaze on hers. “My wife wrote the book on tough.”

  Elyse couldn’t sustain that kind of challenge. She looked down, picked up a computer tablet and flipped it onto the counter. “We’ve got your reservation. Room seven. It’s a queen-size bed.” She made that sound like a wicked indulgence. “Sign here. You get two bottles of water for every day you stay. We’ve got no streaming TV or whatever, but you can check out any of the DVDs. Mara Philippi, huh?”

  Max had never not wanted to sign so much in his life, but somehow within the last five minutes, this scene had become messy and embarrassing. More important, he knew in a town of this size, he might never find another room.

  He used his finger to sign and nodded.

  “If you helped put Mara Philippi away, what do you need to see her for?” Elyse asked as if she had the right to know.

  “It’s a personal matter,” Max said.

  “I can’t imagine Warden Arbuckle giving you access for a personal matter.” She scrutinized him, trying to pry into his mind.

  Max took the key card, said, “Thank you,” and went out the door.

  Before it shut behind him, he heard Jack mutter, “Damn, Elyse, can’t you ever shut up?”

  Max held the door open long enough to hear her reply nastily, “I may not have a college edumacation like some people in here, but I know a pit bull from a vacuum cleaner when I see one.”

  Whatever that meant.

  Jack hissed, “I’m sorry I ever came back here.”

  Elyse answered as if this was an old, tattered argument. “I’m sorry I married you.”

  “If you hadn’t told me you were pregnant, marriage would never had happened. Liar!” Jack got louder.

  “Too dumb to wear a raincoat. Too easy to catch. Not worth having.” Max could almost hear Elyse grinning. “My daddy nailed it.”

  “I’m going to get out of this piece-of-shit little town,” Jack vowed. “Get away from you.”

  “I’ve heard it all before. The door’s open. Just go,” Elyse invited.

  Actually, the door was open. Max pulled it closed behind him and slid on his sunglasses.

  Dear God, it was bright here and at the same time…everything about this place, so close to the prison, was depressing as hell. He drove his car into the parking spot before the door with the number 7 on it, got his backpack and went inside.

  First thing he did was rip the bedspread off the bed and throw it in the corner. Heaven knows when it had last been cleaned. He stripped the top sheet all the way down and examined the linens. The review was right. No bedbugs!!!

  The furnishings were old, but the bathroom was clean. There had once been a door that went to the back side of the hotel; it was painted over, the handle removed. He looked out the high window in the wall and saw a pool filled with gravel. A hole in the Sheetrock marked the place where the phone connection had once been. No problem, he had cell service and his Wi-Fi had five bars.

  He placed the two flat pillows against the wall, sat on the bed put his feet up and called home.

  Verona answered the phone. “Max. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m at the motel—”

  “Motel? You’re at a motel?” Verona made it sound like a den of infamy.

  In this case, she might have a point. He hastened to reassure her. “It’s fine, it’s clean, it’s close to the prison. I can accomplish my mission and get out quickly.”

  “What is your mission? Max, what are you thinking, leaving your wife at this moment? Kellen could die while you’re gone.” Verona sounded truly upset.

  “I know, Ma. But Kellen wants to know whether Mara Philippi is in prison.”

  “Kellen is unconscious!” Verona spaced the words.

  “She wants to know she’s leaving us safe, or that she’s leaving us on alert. She saw Mara Philippi at our wedding. If that woman is free—”

  “Mara Philippi? How can she be?” Verona put all her incredulity into her voice. “She is incarcerated in a federal prison!”

  “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I’m here to find the evidence one way or another. I know Mara. I worked with her. I tackled her and brought her down.” He felt a bone-deep satisfaction about that. “All I need is one good look at her face, close up, not through a camera, and I’ll be satisfied one way or the other.”

  “What if you’re hurt?”

  “In a federal penitentiary? How? There’ll be guards everywhere.”

  “She’s vicious, she’s crazy, she kills, and you helped bring her to justice!”

  Patient with Verona, because she was his mother and she was truly scared, he said, “All the reasons I need to know she’s still behind bars.”

  “When you see her face-to-face, she could attack y
ou!”

  With some humor, he said, “I can defend myself.”

  “I saw Silence of the Lambs!”

  Ah. At last, the truth behind her fears. “I’ll try not to let her take a bite out of me.”

  In the background, Max heard Rae yelling, and he asked, “What’s she saying?”

  “I’m tired of talking sense to you both. Here. She can tell you.” Verona put Rae on the line.

  “Daddy.” Rae’s voice was serious. “Mommy is going to get better.”

  Oh, God. Oh, no. All that hope swaddled up in that sweet little body. “Sweetheart…”

  Firmly, Rae said, “God is not going to let Mommy die.”

  “Sweetheart, before I left, we talked about this. The doctors said—”

  Rae interrupted, “It doesn’t matter what they said. Daddy, all we need is a miracle.”

  All we need is a miracle. “Yes. But…”

  In a stern voice, Rae asked, “Daddy, are you praying for a miracle?”

  What was he supposed to say? That God didn’t exist, prayers didn’t work, and miracles didn’t happen? He was the one who had taught Rae about praying and God, and assured her a miracle could always happen. “I am praying for a miracle.” A lie. He hadn’t been praying at all. Right now, he couldn’t even bear to talk to God.

  Rae must have heard it in his voice, because she said, “You have to believe. Mommy’s going to live!”

  “I’ll pray,” he promised.

  “That’s better.” Her little-girl voice lost its stern edge. “Hurry up and find this bad lady, and come home!”

  “I should be home tomorrow.”

  “I love you, Daddy.” The phone went dead.

  Max hung up and sighed, then he did as he’d promised.

  He prayed that Kellen would live.

  He prayed for a miracle.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PRISON DATED from the early fifties, and everything about its architecture screamed of that barren, forcefully modern and completely unattractive age. Its technology, however, was the best, with cameras that peered from every corner, large monitors that displayed every place the cameras watched, microphones that pried, and invasive body scans. This place was a modern airport with less conscience and kindness.

  Max made it through the searches and scans, and was taken to the warden’s office, where Warden Arbuckle welcomed Max with a smile and a handshake delivered over his wide desk. “How good to meet the great Max Di Luca. Jack has been talking about you for years!”

  “You know Jack?” Max asked cautiously. He wouldn’t have thought it. The warden seemed to be everything Jack was not: well dressed, well-spoken, in charge, lightly tanned and with a well-done comb-over.

  “It’s a small town. Everyone here knows everyone else. Gosh, Elyse’s family founded McFarrellville!” Warden Arbuckle gestured at the woman standing against the wall. “Assistant Warden Korthauer is a McFarrell, also.”

  The woman who stepped forward looked nothing like Elyse Shales. She was about Jack’s height and had a sturdy, shapely frame that displayed her guard’s uniform to advantage. It was only when she looked at Max straight on that he saw the family resemblance; those blue eyes displayed Elyse’s critical insolence and a ruthless curiosity. She shook Max’s hand, crushing the fingers, and he let her because he’d been taught not to take up those kinds of challenges.

  But he did take note. “How pleasant to meet you.”

  “Have a seat.” Warden Arbuckle waved Max toward a guest chair.

  Max did not sit. He looked between the warden and the assistant warden. “Which one of you will take me to Mara Philippi?”

  “We have her on video for you right here in my office.” Warden Arbuckle switched on the monitor on his desk.

  Instantly, abruptly furious, Max reached out and caught his hand.

  Assistant Warden Korthauer stepped forward, her hand on her sidearm. “Release Warden Arbuckle.”

  Max ignored her and stared into Arbuckle’s eyes. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  Korthauer’s hand twitched on her sidearm.

  “I don’t make deals,” Warden Arbuckle said frostily.

  “When Warden Hartness from Texas spoke to you, you agreed I would be allowed to visit Mara Philippi face-to-face.”

  Chagrined, Warden Arbuckle looked between Max and Korthauer.

  “We don’t allow that. She’s a serial killer. Visitors can end up dead that way. We can’t afford the liability.” Korthauer had her spiel down pat.

  Without removing his gaze from Warden Arbuckle, Max asked, “So, Arbuckle, should I be addressing her? Is she the one in charge?”

  “No.” Warden Arbuckle shook Max’s grip off his hand. “No, I’m in charge. Assistant Warden Korthauer did her job by earlier reminding me of the liability issues of allowing you to confront Mara Philippi. The video solution is—”

  Max rolled right over the top of that. “I didn’t need to come to McFelonville, Utah, to view Mara Philippi on a video. I could have done that in Oregon—and did. From a distance, yes, it looks like Mara. But I knew her. I worked with her. I took her out when she would have shot my wife, and I want to see her in person with nothing between us but some bars. I want to know it’s really her in that cell.”

  “Who else would it be?” Assistant Warden Korthauer sounded patient and patronizing.

  Max turned on her. “I don’t know. I only know she’s been spotted in Oregon, and she can’t be in two places at once.”

  “Who spotted her in Oregon?” Korthauer asked.

  “My wife.”

  “Your wife who had brain surgery?”

  Max’s rare fury roared to life. He slid a long, slow look at Korthauer. “One wonders why you’re so anxious that I not have the meeting I flew and drove one thousand miles to have.”

  “Surely one thousand miles is an exaggeration,” Warden Arbuckle said.

  Max slid the same hard look at him. “I repeat—I didn’t come this far for nothing. I want to see Mara Philippi in person. I have other connections who would settle the issue.” He pulled out his phone and looked. He had no bars; his phone was virtually useless.

  “We have a dampening field over the prison,” Warden Arbuckle explained. “We can’t allow the prisoners to make contact with anyone outside.”

  “But no, we don’t want you to use your contacts.” Korthauer sighed and gave way. “We misunderstood.”

  Max didn’t call her a liar.

  She continued, “We didn’t prepare for this today. Is it possible for you to come back tomorrow?”

  “I can wait right here while you make whatever preparations you have to for me to see Mara Philippi.”

  Warden Arbuckle and Korthauer exchanged meaningful looks.

  Max did not like the looks or the fact they felt they should wordlessly consult.

  “Korthauer, can we bring Philippi to the glass wall?” Warden Arbuckle asked. “She can’t touch him there.”

  “We’ll have to cancel visiting hours, clear everyone else out.” Korthauer clenched her teeth.

  Warden Arbuckle donned his stern, concerned expression.

  Korthauer said, “Mr. Di Luca, we’ve got to keep you and everyone else safe. Mara Philippi is a dangerous felon. How about this evening? While we arrange the visit, you can get dinner and come back.”

  “All right.” Max was damned well not going to spend more time than necessary in McFelonville visiting a prison.

  Warden Arbuckle sighed in relief. “May I suggest the Desert Diner? They’re on Elm, a little out of the way, but no place is too far in McFarrellville, and they do have the best finger steaks in town.”

  That there was more than one place for finger steaks in McFarrellville said a lot. “I’ll be back at…?”

  “Six thirty,” Arbuckle said. “Don’t be late.”
r />   Max headed for the door, tired, irked and hopeful he had made it clear that he would see Mara Philippi.

  As he reached the corridor, Assistant Warden Korthauer caught up with him and walked with him to the exit. “You do understand we’re the premier federal prison in the incarceration and treatment of serial killers. We have to be vigilant.”

  Max inclined his head. “You do understand my wife is dying and I don’t have time for this kind of prevarication. I need to get back, to assure her Mara Philippi is in fact behind bars.” Even if he had believed that, this game Arbuckle and Korthauer were playing persuaded him they had something to hide.

  “I thought your wife was unconscious.”

  “She can hear me.” He believed that with his whole heart.

  “Right. I’m sorry for your impending loss.” Assistant Warden Korthauer turned to the guard at the outer door. “Would you escort Mr. Di Luca to his car?”

  “Sure.” The guard headed into the parking lot. “Which one’s yours?”

  “The silver Maxima. Why do you have to walk me to the car?” When Max arrived, no one had walked him from the parking lot to the door.

  “Because Korthauer said so. She’s my boss, and I don’t argue with that woman.”

  “Fair enough.” But…hmm. Max got into the car and drove down to Elm Street, and the Desert Diner, where he had the finger steaks, coleslaw, fries and iced tea. Arbuckle was right—good food.

  A glance at his phone told him he had an hour to get back to the prison.

  The drive would take ten minutes.

  When he walked to the car parked against the curb, he saw the left rear tire. Flat as all hell.

  He crouched down and ran his hand over the tread.

  Slashed. How about that.

  A flat tire. A delay to be pounced on. Another day wasted. And the clock was ticking.

  Max rolled up his sleeves and got the spare out of the trunk.