Chapter 12 - The Woman in Medical
Phelps was escorted off Redwood property before midnight.
The next morning, everybody knew.
Prisons had no official news service.
They did not need one.
Information moved under doors, through laundry carts, across meal trays, and inside looks exchanged during count.
Lucia was still in restricted housing.
Phelps was gone.
But Renee remained in medical.
Ana finally received permission to visit her under supervision.
Renee looked smaller in the medical unit.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Her hands were wrapped around a paper cup.
“You should hate me,” she said.
Ana sat across from her. “Why?”
“I saw him plant the pills.”
Ana went still.
Renee looked at the floor.
“He palmed the bag when he came through the door. I saw it. Then he reached under your mattress.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Renee’s eyes filled.
“Because Tasha came to my bunk before breakfast.”
“What did she say?”
“She knew my daughter’s school.”
Ana felt cold.
“She said Lucia had people outside. She said if I talked, somebody could wait for my sister at pickup.”
“That’s a threat against a child.”
“I know what it is!” Renee snapped.
A nurse looked over.
Renee lowered her voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You owe the truth to the people investigating this.”
Renee wiped her face.
“What if the truth gets somebody hurt?”
Ana had no easy answer.
At her old job, silence had felt harmless because damage happened far away, inside spreadsheets and bank notices.
Here, silence had a face.
A six-year-old girl in a taped-together photograph.
Ana leaned forward.
“They threatened you because they need you quiet. That means what you saw matters.”
Renee looked at her for a long time.
Then she reached beneath the thin medical blanket and removed a folded piece of paper.
“What is that?” Ana asked.
“A list.”
“Of what?”
“Every time Lucia made me buy something. Dates. Amounts. Who picked it up.”
Ana stared.
Renee gave a broken little smile.
“You told me to keep receipts.”
“I did not tell you to keep a ledger.”
“I got ambitious.”
For the first time in days, Ana laughed.
Then she read the last line.
The most recent entry was different.
No coffee. No soap. No stamps.
It said:
May you like
$200 - OUTSIDE PAYMENT - M. COLE ADDRESS.
Renee whispered, “That’s my sister’s house.”
