Chapter 5 - File 7310
I followed Rhea's stare. An elderly prisoner named Gloria Moss stood near the infirmary carrying a plastic laundry basket. She was small, gray-haired, and walked as if one knee had never healed properly.
“Gloria?” I asked.
Rhea nodded. “She kept the dates. I kept the names. Sofia kept the paperwork.”
“And the fourth?”
“Her name was Celeste Rowan. She died in 2010. The state called it a fall.”
Rhea pointed to the ink on her shoulder. “File 7310 was the complaint we filed after Celeste died. Someone drew an eye across the folder because there was a camera watching the hallway. Its footage vanished. We got the tattoo so they couldn't erase the complaint from all of us.”
“Why would my father be involved fifteen years later?”
“He was repairing wiring in the old clinic. He found a locked cabinet connected to the wrong power line. When he traced it, he found records of people billed as transferred who never reached their destinations.”
I thought of Dad at our kitchen table, covering the bills in neat columns, always checking a number twice. He was an inspector, not a detective. If something was wrong, he said, write it down and demand answers.
“Where's Sofia?”
Rhea's jaw worked. “Officially, she was moved for medical care.”
“And actually?”
“I don't know.”
Gloria started toward us. A whistle shrieked. Lieutenant Colson strode onto the yard, two officers behind him.
“Moss! Medical appointment. Now.”
Gloria stopped. Her eyes found Rhea's. One hand tightened around the laundry basket.
“She doesn't have an appointment,” Rhea said.
Colson smiled. “You planning to practice medicine, Vale?”
The officers took Gloria by the arms. She did not fight. She only looked at me and called, “Your father told me to remember the red door!”
May you like
Colson pulled her through the infirmary entrance.
A moment later, the doors locked from the inside.
