“I'm fine.”

There's something wrong with her, Sue Ellen Brannigan decided. I'm definitely going to have George get someone else.

Amy's eyes were alight with joy. “I'll give you the biggest sandwiches, Tracy. We'll have a good time, won't we?”

Tracy had no answer.

The VIP tour was a surprise visit. Governor William Haber himself was escorting the prison reform committee through the penitentiary. It was something that Warden Brannigan had to live with once a year.

“It goes with the territory, George,” the governor had explained. “Just clean up the place, tell your ladies to smile pretty, and we'll get our budget increased again.”

The word had gone out from the chief guard that morning: “Get rid of all the drugs, knives, and dildos.”

Governor Haber and his party were due to arrive at 10:00 A.M. They would inspect the interior of the penitentiary first, visit the farm, and then have lunch with the warden at his cottage.

Big Bertha was impatient. When she had put in a request to see the warden, she had been told, “The warden is very pressed for time this morning. Tomorrow would be easier. He —”

“Fuck tomorrow!” Big Bertha had exploded. “I want to see him now. It's important.”

There were few inmates in the prison who could have gotten away with it, but Big Bertha was one of them. The prison authorities were well aware of her power. They had seen her start riots, and they had seen her stop them. No prison in the world could be run without the cooperation of the inmate leaders, and Big Bertha was a leader.

She had been seated in the warden's outer office for almost an hour, her huge body overflowing the chair she sat in. She's a disgusting-looking creature, the warden's secretary thought. She gives me the creeps.

“How much longer?” Big Bertha demanded.

“It shouldn't be too much longer. He has a group of people in with him. The warden's very busy this morning.”

Big Bertha said, “He's gonna be busier.” She looked at her watch. Twelve-forty-five. Plenty of time.

It was a perfect day, cloudless and warm, and the singing breeze carried a tantalizing mixture of scents across the green farmland. Tracy had spread out a tablecloth on a grassy area near the lake, and Amy was happily munching on an egg salad sandwich. Tracy glanced at her watch. It was already 1:00. She could not believe it. The morning had dragged and the afternoon was winging by. She had to think of something quickly, or time was going to steal away her last chance at freedom.

One-ten. In the warden's reception office Warden Brannigan's secretary put down the telephone and said to Big Bertha, “I'm sorry. The warden says it's impossible for him to see you today. We'll make another appointment for —”

Big Bertha pushed herself to her feet. “He's got to see me! It's —”

“We'll fit you in tomorrow.”

Big Bertha started to say, “Tomorrow will be too late,” but she stopped herself in time. No one but the warden himself must know what she was doing. Snitches suffered fatal accidents. But she had no intention of giving up. There was no way she was going to let Tracy Whitney get away from her. She walked into the prison library and sat down at one of the long tables at the far end of the room. She scribbled a note, and when the matron walked over to an aisle to help an inmate, Big Bertha dropped the note on her desk and left.

When the matron returned, she found the note and opened it. She read it twice:

YOU BETTER CHEK THE LAUNDREY TRUCK TO DAY.

There was no signature. A hoax? The matron had no way of knowing. She picked up the telephone. “Get me the superintendent of guards…”

One-fifteen. “You're not eating,” Amy said. “You want some of my sandwich?”

“No! Leave me alone.” She had not meant to speak so harshly.

Amy stopped eating. “Are you mad at me, Tracy? Please don't be mad at me. I love you so much. I never get mad at you.” Her soft eyes were filled with hurt.

“I'm not angry.” She was in hell.

“I'm not hungry if you're not. Let's play ball, Tracy.” And Amy pulled her rubber ball out of her pocket.

One-sixteen. She should have been on her way. It would take her at least fifteen minutes to get to the utility room. She could just make it if she hurried. But she could not leave Amy alone. Tracy looked around, and in the far distance she saw a group of trusties picking crops. Instantly, Tracy knew what she was going to do.

“Don't you want to play ball, Tracy?”

Tracy rose to her feet. “Yes. Let's play a new game. Let's see who can throw the ball the farthest. I'll throw the ball, and then it will be your turn.” Tracy picked up the hard rubber ball and threw it as far as she could in the direction of the workers.

“Oh, that's good,” Amy said admiringly. “That's real far.”

“I'll go get the ball,” Tracy said. “You wait here.”

And she was running, running for her life, her feet flying across the fields. It was 1:18. If she was late, they would wait for her. Or would they? She ran faster. Behind her, she heard Amy calling, but she paid no attention. The farm workers were moving in the other direction now. Tracy yelled at them, and they stopped. She was breathless when she reached them.

“Anythin' wrong?” one of them asked.

“No, n — nothing.” She was panting, fighting for breath. “The little girl back there. One of you look after her. I have something important I have to do. I —”

She heard her name called from a distance and turned. Amy was standing on top of the concrete wall surrounding the lake. She waved. “Look at me, Tracy.”

“No! Get down!” Tracy screamed.

And as Tracy watched in horror, Amy lost her balance and plunged into the lake.

“Oh, dear God!” The blood drained from Tracy's face. She had a choice to make, but there was no choice. I can't help her. Not now. Someone will save her. I have to save myself. I've got to get out of this place or I'll die. It was 1:20.

Tracy turned and began running as fast as she had ever run in her life. The others were calling after her, but she did not hear them. She flew through the air, unaware that her shoes had fallen off, not caring that the sharp ground was cutting into her feet. Her heart was pounding, and her lungs were bursting, and she pushed herself to run faster, faster. She reached the wall around the lake and vaulted on top of it: Far below, she could see Amy in the deep, terrifying water, struggling to stay afloat. Without a second's hesitation, Tracy jumped in after her. And as she hit the water, Tracy thought; Oh, my God! I can't swim….

Chapter 12

New Orleans

FRIDAY, AUGUST 25 — lO:OO A.M.

Lester Torrance, a teller at the First Merchants Bank of New Orleans, prided himself on two things: his sexual prowess with the ladies and his ability to size up his customers. Lester was in his late forties, a lanky, sallow-faced man with a Tom Selleck mustache and long sideburns. He had been passed over for promotion twice, and in retaliation, Lester used the bank as a personal dating service. He could spot hookers a mile away, and he enjoyed trying to persuade them to give him their favors for nothing. Lonely widows were an especially easy prey. They came in all shapes, ages, and states of desperation, and sooner or later they would appear in front of Lester's cage. If they were temporarily overdrawn, Lester would lend a sympathetic ear and delay bouncing their checks. In return, perhaps they could have a quiet little dinner together? Many of his female customers sought his help and confided delicious secrets to him: They needed a loan without their husbands' knowledge …. They wanted to keep confidential certain checks they had written…. They were contemplating a divorce, and could Lester help them close out their joint account right away? Lester was only too eager to please. And to be pleased.