"It wasn't there one year ago," Dance muttered. "That's why Pell was so stressed. I was getting close to the truth--somebody did get the hammer from his aunt's in Bakersfield and had a fake wallet made up, then planted them there recently. Only it wasn't to frame him."
"Oh, no," TJ whispered.
"What?" Millar asked, looking from one agent to the other.
"Pell set the whole thing up himself," she said.
"Why?" Sandoval asked.
"Because he couldn't escape from Capitola." That facility, like Pelican Bay in the north of the state, was a high-tech superprison. "But he could from here."
Kathryn Dance lunged for the phone.
Chapter 3
In a special holding cell--segregated from the other prisoners--Daniel Pell studied his cage and the corridor beyond, leading to the courthouse.
To all appearances he was calm but his heart was in turmoil. The woman cop interviewing him had spooked him badly, with her calm green eyes behind those black-framed glasses, her unwavering voice. He hadn't expected somebody to get inside his mind so deeply or so fast. It was like she could read his thoughts.
Kathryn Dance . .
Pell turned back to Baxter, the guard, outside the cage. He was a decent hack, not like Pell's escort from Capitola, who was a burly
man, black and hard as ebony, now sitting silently at the far door, watching everything.
"What I was saying," Pell now continued his conversation with Baxter. "Jesus helped me. I was up to three packs a day. And He took time outta His busy schedule to help me. I quit pretty much cold."
"Could use some of that help," the hack confided.
"I'll tell you," Pell confided, "smoking was harder to say good-bye to than the booze."
"Tried the patch, thing you put on your arm. Wasn't so good. Maybe I'll pray for help tomorrow. The wife and I pray every morning."
Pell wasn't surprised. He'd seen his lapel pin. It was in the shape of a fish. "Good for you."
"I lost my car keys last week and we prayed for an hour. Jesus told me where they were. Now, Daniel, here's a thought: You'll be down here on trial days. You want, we could pray together."
" 'Preciate that."
Baxter's phone rang.
An instant later an alarm brayed, painful to the ears. "The hell's going on?"
The Capitola escort leapt to his feet.
Just as a huge ball of fire filled the parking lot. The window in the back of the cell was barred but open, and a wad of flame shot through it. Black, greasy smoke streamed into the room. Pell dropped to the floor. He curled up into a ball. "My dear Lord."
Baxter was frozen, staring at the boiling flames, engulfing the entire lot behind the courthouse. He grabbed the phone but the line must've been dead. He lifted his walkie-talkie and reported the fire. Daniel Pell lowered his head and began to mutter the Lord's Prayer.
"Yo, Pell!"
The con opened his eyes.
The massive Capitola escort stood nearby, holding a Taser. He tossed leg shackles to Pell. "Put 'em on. We're going down that corridor, out the front door and into the van. You're--" More flames streamed into the cell. The three men cringed. Another car's gas tank had exploded. "You're going to stay right beside me. You understand?"
"Yeah, sure. Let's go! Please!" He ratcheted on the shackles good and tight.
Sweating, his voice cracking, Baxter said, "Whatta you think it is? Terrorists?"