Page 72 of Psychopath

“No, say what you were going to say.”

Quinn took a deep breath. “Could I see Zane? Could I thank him?”

“He’s on the segregation unit.”

“I know, sorry. I’ll…I’ll thank him next week.”

Cleo picked up the papers and hugged them to her chest. “Come on.”

Quinn frowned at her. “What do you mean, come on? Where are we going?”

“The segregation unit.”

Cleo didn’t wait for a reply. She handed the papers to Quinn and took off down the corridor with her set of keys at the ready.

Quinn followed closely behind, tipping his head in greeting at each officer they passed. Cleo led him through a different gate, one with chipped green paint. The corridor became narrower, and the temperature dropped enough that Quinn felt the chill through his shirt.

“The segregation unit is in an older part of the prison,” Cleo explained after spying Quinn shiver. She took the next corner, then unlocked another gate. A door with a small window came into view. Cleo strode over and rapped her knuckles against it.

Nothing happened.

“Give him a minute,” Cleo said, glancing at the camera in the corner aimed at them. She waved at it.

A stern face filled the door but brightened upon seeing Cleo.

The man opened the door wide. He was tall, slim, and had shaved strawberry-blond hair. “What can I do for you, Cleo?”

“David, this is Doctor Quinn. He’s conducting a study with prisoners from Greenwood.”

David turned his smiling eyes on Quinn. “Rather you than me.”

“You’ve recently acquired one of said prisoners.”

“Ah.” David snorted. “Zane.”

“Zane,” Cleo agreed.

“I heard he’s done a number on Mackie.”

Cleo nodded. “He did, but Mackie was strangling the life out of Quinn at the time.”

“Which would explain those marks on your neck,” David said, glancing at Quinn.

Cleo hummed. “Well, as I’m partly responsible for what happened—”

“You’re not responsible at all,” Quinn mumbled.

Cleo held a hand up to silence him. “I’d appreciate it if Quinn could conduct his interview with Zane down here.”

David stopped smiling. “That’s—”

“Against protocol,” Cleo interrupted. “But I’d be so grateful.”

David narrowed his eyes. “How grateful?”

“A line of whisky chasers’ kind of grateful.”

“Make it two, and we’ve got a deal.”

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