Page 24 of I’ll Be Watching You

“Dave, what happened?” Mom asked.

“Ava, please sit.” He gestured toward one of two chairs. “Margo.”

Mom didn’t move. I gently nudged her forward and she sat on the edge of the seat. I stood behind her, suddenly protective. If this was bad news . . .

I couldn’t think that way. Dad was fine. This was something else. I hoped. I prayed.

I braced myself. Military posture. I hadn’t worn a uniform in years, but the habit was hardwired.

“Ava, there’s no easy way to say this,” Alvarez said. “Cooper was transferred early this morning to a federal penitentiary. It happened before I even got in.”

Mom sat stiff as a board, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Silent.

“Impossible,” I said automatically. “There was no hearing. No warning. His lawyer wasn’t contacted. I saw him yesterday—he didn’t know anything about this!”

“I’m just as surprised,” Alvarez said. “I got a call just before six last night. A federal judge signed an emergency order. It’s sealed, but I confirmed it was filed as an order of protection. I thought the transport would be Friday, because that’s what the clerk verbally told me. But this morning, he was gone before I arrived at eight.”

“Where is he?” I asked. “We need the order, the judge’s name, who asked for the transfer, everything you have.”

“The order is sealed,” Alvarez said. “But it was signed by US District Judge Emilio Hernandez. Two US Marshals picked Cooper up at two a.m. He’s been flown to the administrative facility in Florence, Colorado.”

“Administrative?” I asked. “That’s good, right?” I thought that anything with administrative in the title was maybe for white-collar criminals, or minimum security.

Mom answered quietly. “Supermax.”

“What?” I stared at her. “Supermax? That’s for terrorists and cartel bosses and serial killers. Why the hell would Dad be there?”

“It has to be a mistake,” Alvarez said. “Cooper’s lawyer might be able to get more answers. I’m trying, but so far . . .” He shook his head, looked from Mom to me.

“We need to see that order,” I said. Even if it was sealed, we should be able to glean some information from it. A name, someone to call.

He nodded and picked up his phone.

I couldn’t stop my brain from spinning. This wasn’t random. It had to connect to Liz Swanson. Someone knew she was looking for a file they didn’t want her to see. And that someone got her killed the next morning.

Maybe Dad knew something too. And whoever was covering up Dr. Klein’s murder didn’t want Dad to talk.

But he hadn’t talked three years ago, why would he talk now?

“Did my father say anything?” I asked when he put the phone down. “To you? A guard? Did he have any visitors yesterday other than me?”

“That will be in the logs.”

“Then we want the logs,” I said. “Every visitor, call, letter. The personal effects from his cell.”

“I’ll gather what we have. Cooper was a model prisoner. Well liked by both staff and inmates.”

“Don’t talk about him in the past tense,” I snapped, then took a breath, trying to rein in my temper.

Mom reached over and touched my arm. “Dave,” she said, voice steady. “May we please speak with Cooper’s cellmate? Ken Nelson?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll have Tony bring him to the visitors’ room while I pull the records.”

“Thank you,” Mom said.

I’d met Ken a few times. Sketchy as hell, but Dad seemed to like him. Said he was a good guy. I wasn’t convinced. He was in for fraud and money laundering. But probably a good idea to talk to him.

Alvarez walked us out. Tony was already waiting.