The Pain Nurse (Will Borders: Cincinnati Casebook 1)

“Yes,” she said firmly. “So what are we going to do?”

“The first thing I want to do is find a photo of Gary Nagle,” he said. “Then I want to go visit our friend Lennie.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Will bluffed his way into the Queensgate Correctional Facility of the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Office. Cop-bitching always worked, especially with a deputy he had known for years. The round, hard face of Sheriff Simon Leis looked down on them from a framed photo. It seemed as if he had been in office forever, as a prosecutor, judge, and then sheriff, and, knowing Cincinnati, Will suspected he would remain in office forever. Si Leis would definitely not approve. The deputy looked over the wheelchair and dubbed him “Chief Ironside.”

“You won’t believe how far the DA is up my ass on this one. I had to leave the hospital early to prepare for this case.”

“Fuckin’ lawyers,” the deputy said and signed him in. “I’d file a grievance over it, Chief.” He looked at Cheryl Beth. “Who’s this?”

“Cheryl Beth Wilson,” Will said. “She’s a criminal justice professor. Why she wants to study this stuff beats the hell out of me.”

“You and me both.” The deputy searched her purse. Then Will locked away his Smith & Wesson semiautomatic in one of the gun lockers, as he had done so many times before. The firearm felt heavier now. Everything felt different. The world outside was enchantingly vast, with every sight, smell, and sensation arousing him as it never had before. His apartment seemed surprisingly tiny. He had been confined to large spaces for so long. He was grateful he couldn’t climb the two steps to the bedroom, because then he would see the bed and think of her. The blank institutional hardness of the jail corridors made forgetting easier.

They entered an empty interrogation room and waited.

“You lie well.” Cheryl Beth smi

led at him, but he could see she didn’t completely approve. He offered her a chair but she stayed standing, showing a civilian’s natural discomfort at being inside. He indicated she could pull a chair over to the far wall, closest to the doorway out. She did.

“So have you always been Cheryl Beth?”

“There were four girls named Cheryl in first grade,” she said. “So I used my middle name and just kept using it. I like it.”

“So do I,” Will said.

Then there was a loud thud as the door in front of them was unlocked, momentarily emitting the unsettling noises from inside the jail. A pot-bellied deputy led in Leonard Leroy Corley, charged with assault. Will was momentarily bothered that the charge didn’t specify “on a police officer.” Lennie looked like a different man than Will had wrestled on the hospital floor. Besides the orange jail jumpsuit and shackles, he was clean. The jumpsuit looked amazingly like hospital scrubs.

“Want him cuffed to the table?” the deputy asked.

“No.” Will looked Lennie over and went back to laying out his files. He took his time as the deputy sat Lennie down, and then stood two feet behind him, folding his massive arms.

Cleaned and calm, Lennie looked like he might have been a junior high teacher if the deck of life had been dealt differently, if his face didn’t have a used-up and sorrowful expression. He sat in silence, his handcuffed hands in his lap, his eyes downcast in the prisoner’s survival code: don’t make direct eye contact.

“You can uncuff his hands,” Will said.

“Hoo-kay,” the deputy said, in a world-weary voice. He took the prisoner’s hands and unlocked the manacles, sliding them into his belt. Lennie looked at Will for the first time. Cuffs-off was often the first transaction of goodwill in a prisoner interview. Lennie looked as his wrists, as if checking that they were still there. Will realized he was vulnerable, stuck in the wheelchair, as he had never been before in front of an inmate. It was a chance worth taking.

“Remember me?” Will asked.

“You hurt Lennie.” His voice was high and childlike.

“You remember why?”

“No.” He seemed genuinely puzzled. He looked over Will’s shoulder. “Hi, Cheryl Beth.”

“Hi, Lennie,” she said in a shy, awkward voice. She added, “Are you taking your meds now?”

“Yes, ma’am. I feel better.”

“That’s good,” Will said. He paused. “Lennie, you’re in a lot of trouble. I’m a police officer and you attacked me. You might not have meant to do it. But it’s a big deal.”

“Didn’t mean to…” He stared at his hands, folded passively on the table.

“You can help yourself by talking to me.”

“I’ll talk to you.”