Falling For The Enemy

As for a rehab program to occupy his mind, it would more likely bore him to death. Besides which, he wasn’t an even remotely viable candidate. The programs were strictly for prisoners nearing the end of their sentences, and she’d bet Reeves knew that. All of which added up to a hidden agenda of some sort.

Since she had a meeting to get to, she didn’t probe Fitzgerald’s motivations further but simply said, “You know, I rarely have anything to do with transfers. The person you should talk to is Warden Armstrong, at Poquette.”

“Yes—in fact I have an appointment with him this afternoon to file the request forms. But I wanted to let you know I’ll be asking him to have you do the mental-health assessment.”

“Oh?” That news made her more concerned about what the hidden agenda might be.

“It is something you occasionally do, isn’t it? Some of the mandatory evaluations? In this case, give your opinion about whether a transfer might benefit Mr. Fitzgerald?”

She nodded. Obviously Reeves had done his homework, and it had included checking into her job description. The realization unsettled her. She didn’t like having a stranger poke around for information about her.

“The staff psychologists at Poquette are more than competent,” she told him. “Why would you request that I assess Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Because of your position. Because your signature on a transfer recommendation would carry more weight.”

“You’re assuming I’d recommend it.”

“I’m hoping you will.”

“Well... Look, there’s a fundamental problem here. The rehab programs are solely for prisoners close to their release dates, and with Mr. Fitzgerald not meeting that criterion...”

Reeves gave her a slow shrug. “I think I’ll be able to get around that by emphasizing his need for more human contact. You see, the way I look at it, there’s an Eighth Amendment violation involved.”

“A what?”

“I feel that his being kept in isolation constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.”

Hayley almost groaned. Sloan Reeves had things figured upside down and inside out.

“After you’ve talked with Mr. Fitzgerald,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll recommend a change of scenery to improve his mental health. If you don’t... Well, I’m sure you will.” With that, he leaned back and smiled at her once more.

It was a warm smile that reached his eyes and turned them an impossibly deeper shade of blue, a smile that under different circumstances she knew she’d have found both engaging and appealing. Under these circumstances, she found it neither.

Maybe her overdeveloped sense of fair play was coming to the fore, but she didn’t want to be involved in any attempt to manipulate the system.

And there was something else, of course. She was annoyed as hell at the way this man had walked in unannounced and told her what she was going to recommend.

THERE WASN’T a law firm’s name on Sloan Reeves’s business card, and several times during her ten-thirty meeting Hayley caught herself wondering whether he had a one-man practice. And whether he specialized in representing clients who were unquestionably guilty. The minute she got back to her office she phoned Peggy Fournier, a detective with the New Orleans Police Department, to find out.

A couple of years ago, Hayley had helped Peggy talk a jumper in off a ledge. During the aftermath, the two women had established that they were both single mothers with young boys. In no time, their sons were buddies, while she and Peggy became the sort of friends who were always trading favors.

If Peggy didn’t recognize Sloan Reeves’s name, locating someone who did wouldn’t take much effort. Since he was representing Billy Fitzgerald, three-quarters of the cops in the city could probably fill her in about him.

When Peggy proved to be on duty but not in the station, Hayley left a message. Then she grabbed a salad from the cafeteria downstairs, took it back to her office and spent the next hour reviewing every last detail in the Poquette psychologist’s intake assessment of Billy Fitzgerald.

He and his wife had divorced long ago, and she’d given him custody of their sole child, a son named Brendan, without an argument. According to Billy, at least. The wife’s version of the story would probably be very different. Something like, if she hadn’t given Billy custody he would have killed her.

His psychological profile, as Hayley had noted during her first reading of it, showed him to be a charming, highly intelligent, extremely manipulative psychopath.

Deciding she had as accurate a read on him as she could get from the file, she set it aside and started in on some backed-up paperwork while she waited for Peggy to return her call. It was close to four o’clock before she did.

“Sloan Reeves?” Peggy said when Hayley asked about him. “Good-looking? Smart enough to win on Jeopardy? Sets the ladies’ hearts aflutter with his smile? That Sloan Reeves?”

“Well, he hardly set my heart aflutter.”

Even as Hayley said the words, an imaginary voice reminded her that the touch of his hand on hers had sent a definite tingle through her. But that was before she’d known anything about him.

“It was more like he set my teeth on edge,” she told Peggy. “But yes, I’d say we’re talking about the same man.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“He walked into my office this morning and informed me that Billy Fitzgerald didn’t like his accommodations.”

Peggy laughed. “Well, Reeves should know. He’s the only lawyer in town with a client list of one. Or I guess it’s two at this point. We might have put Billy away, but so far it hasn’t stopped him from running the Irish Mafia. He’s just doing it through his son, Brendan, now. And I guess that means Reeves is acting as legal adviser to both of them.”

“Wait a minute, are you serious?”

“Hey, the world changes and the wise guys keep up. They’ve got legal advisers, financial advisers, certified public accountants—you name it.”

“Reeves works exclusively for Billy Fitzgerald?”

“I take it he didn’t mention this.”

“No, he didn’t.” And the fact that he was so close to Fitzgerald’s organized crime family—more like part of it, really, than close—made Hayley uneasier still about his visit.

She did her best to force the uneasiness away as Peggy continued.

“What a waste, huh? If he really did set your teeth on edge, you’re one of the few women in the city with that reaction. He’d probably get voted Most Eligible Bachelor in New Orleans if he wasn’t in bed with the bad guys. What exactly did he want?”

The question made Hayley hesitate. Sometimes, in her job, there was a fine line between what was confidential and what wasn’t. Still, she trusted Peggy, and she definitely wanted her take on the situation.

“He came to tell me,” she finally said, “that Fitzgerald is looking to transfer to a different prison.”

“Why?”

“The story is so that he can be in a rehab program.”

“What? They aren’t for lifers, are they?”

“No, and it gets better. Fitzgerald supposedly wants into one for the social contact.”

“Oh, puh-leeze. Like he wants to socialize with his fellow cons?”

Hayley almost smiled. Thus far, Peggy’s take was exactly the same as her own.

“I’m sure the real story is that, for some reason or other, Fitzgerald’s determined to get out of Poquette.”

“And you don’t know why?”