Everything Daniel saw and heard and smelled reminded him that this was the most unnatural place on earth, while he grasped with uneasy empathy that the occupants would be here until they died. A wasted life was a tragedy however you looked at it, and the idea of living behind these walls forever was a heavy thing to think about.
Fisher still had an aura of professor about him. He was one of those people who could look nerdy and intellectual, or crazy creepy. Daniel had been told Fisher was the go-to guy for inmates suffering from emotional issues, doling out advice like a resident guru. Fisher had taught psychology on the outside, further proof people went into certain fields in order to try to figure out their own psychoses.
Daniel took a seat across from Fisher, trying to control his reaction to being in the same room with a man who’d occupied so much of his brain for too many years. He pulled a pack of fruit-flavored gum from his pocket and slid it across the table. Fisher’s favorite. Or at least it used to be.
Fisher dug into the pack, offered it to Daniel, who shook his head, then popped a piece in his mouth, leaned back, and closed his eyes, chewing and savoring it for a few moments before looking at Daniel again. “I used to coach girls’ softball. They loved to chew this gum. The smell and taste of it really takes me back.”
That hadn’t been Daniel’s intention, and this shared moment made him feel a little queasy.
Fisher got down to business. “Thanks for coming.” He sounded as if he were meeting a business associate or getting together with a colleague for afternoon coffee. But instead of a tweed jacket or a sweater with elbow patches, he wore an orange jumpsuit, heavy handcuffs on his wrists. He wasn’t shackled to the floor or secured with a belly chain, proof of his elevated status within the prison.
California had the death penalty, something that came as a surprise to many who thought of the state as being too liberal for such a measure. But even before the current capital punishment moratorium, the death penalty hadn’t been implemented that often. In fact, the last lethal injection had taken place at San Quentin in 2006, so the chance of Fisher going anywhere soon was remote. He’d most likely die of natural causes behind prison walls. And even if executions had been more popular in the Golden State, Fisher wouldn’t get the needle until he shared where he’d disposed of his victims. Daniel always figured that was his long game, the missing bodies his insurance.
People wondered what it was about California that produced so many serial killers. It had the inauspicious distinction of having more serial kills than any other state, and also some of the most notorious killers. Maybe it was just a numbers thing—California was a big state and had the highest population. Or maybe earthquake tremors and fault lines had people subconsciously on edge. It was especially perplexing considering how much sunlight the state got; it was sold and embraced as the land of happy people. Maybe in gloomier states people were too cold and depressed to act upon their violent obsessions and fantasies.
“I was hoping to meet with Franco,” Fisher said.
Franco, the detective who’d handled the case from the beginning.
“He’s retired,” Daniel told him. “I’ve taken over his job.”
“You look like you should be working as a barista somewhere while you try out for the occasional TV role. How old are you?” As happened with smells in a confined space, the room had taken on the sweet and fruity scent of Fisher’s gum. Daniel knew right then and there he’d never chew gum again, especially fruit-flavored.
“I’m old enough.” He wanted to say he was older than the women Fisher had murdered, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.
“You don’t look like you’ve really experienced life or dealt with people like me,” Fisher said. His words were an example of how narcissists, with their lack of empathy, didn’t think others were impacted by life in the same way.
“Listen, I can go away and come back in five years. We’ll both be older then.” The snarky comment slipped out before he could stop it, and Daniel gave himself a mental kick. He didn’t want to do anything to lose the guy.
Over the years, Fisher had requested many visits from Franco. They’d always started out promising, with Fisher talking about plans to tell him where the bodies were buried, but Franco had been old-school and had refused to bend to any of Fisher’s demands. Daniel, by contrast, planned to bend like hell to get what he wanted. He’d been after this for far too long to let it slip away now. And there was no denying who was in control here. Fisher was the only one who had the answers they needed. He had nothing to lose. Daniel’s goal was to make sure the conversation didn’t stop.
One side of Fisher’s mouth quivered with the hint of a rusty smile. “Consider this an interview. I want to find out if you’re qualified to work with me, so I’m going to ask you some questions.”
Daniel let Fisher roll.
“Do people call you Dan or Danny?”
“My mother was the only one who called me Danny.”
“Past tense. Is she dead?”
Daniel looked at him, taking in his bloodshot eyes, the broken veins in his face, the skin that had an unhealthy pallor from living years inside. Without blinking, he said, “Yes.”
“My condolences. I lost my mother while I was here in prison. It’s tough when someone you love dies and you’re inside.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“She was a homesteader in the desert. My father up and left one day and she had to raise me all alone out there. You know, back then you had to farm the ground for seven full years or lose it. Somehow she did it.”
It was interesting to see he seemed to admire and care about her. From Daniel’s research, she appeared to have been a good role model, but public perception could often be false, and he’d never been able to find much information on her.
“You married?” Fisher asked.
“Divorced.”
“Being a cop’s hard on a marriage.”
“That’s right.”
“What about kids? Got any?”
“My personal life doesn’t belong in this conversation.”
“That must mean yes.”
Daniel shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” He didn’t mention the dark and twisted relationship that had existed between Fisher and his own daughter.
“Here’s an interesting thing about prison,” Fisher said. “When people come in from the outside, you can smell the world on them.” He inhaled deeply.
Daniel relaxed a little with the shift in conversation. “What do I smell like?”
“The interior of a car that’s been sitting in the sun. The freeway. Like exhaust fumes and diesel. Were you stuck in traffic?”
“It’s California. The interstate was backed up in several places.”
“Does that café outside Santa Clarita still exist? They had the best peanut-butter pie. Have you ever eaten peanut-butter pie?”
“I think I know the place you’re talking about,” Daniel said. “It’s been overrun by cool kids, but it’s still there.”
“I’d love a piece of that pie.”
Daniel’s strategy was to give in to every demand Fisher had as long as it wasn’t impossible. “I can arrange it.” Whatever it took to find the young women he’d killed so the families could have closure. Everybody needed closure. “Better yet, you could actually go there,” Daniel added. “Smell the freeway, maybe even catch a whiff of the ocean if the wind is blowing hard from the right direction.” Highly unlikely unless part of California finally fell into the ocean, but salt air added flair to his offer. And there was always the chance a big chunk of the state would be gone tomorrow.