Unlawful Contact by Pamela Clare Read Free Book Online Page A

surrounded by high fences, razor wire, and guard towers. She parked in the visitors’ lot in a space reserved for the press, then refreshed her lipstick and checked her hair in the vanity mirror. Not that her appearance really mattered. She wasn’t going to meet Mr. Right in this place.
    She sorted through her purse, transferring everything into her briefcase except for her digital recorder, her press card, and a couple bucks in change for the vending machine in case there were delays and she got thirsty. Having covered the prison beat for four years, she knew she’d speed things up and make it easier on herself and the guards if she took with her only the things she needed for her interview. It cut down on the time the guards had to spend searching her and prevented her from having to rent a locker.
    DOC regulations for visitors were very stringent, an attempt to preempt human ingenuity when it came to smuggling contraband and perpetrating violence. Postage stamps could carry LSD. Pens and pencils could be used as weapons. Cell phones could be used to communicate with criminals outside prison walls. And almost anything—cigarettes, weapons, drugs—could be hidden inside the human body. Once inside the walls, something as simple as a cigarette butt could be used to control, to manipulate, to dominate.
    Sophie locked up her car, dropped her keys in her purse, then picked her way through the icy parking lot. She knew it was stupid to wear heels in the snow, but big snow boots just didn’t look professional. Then again neither did lying sprawled on her butt in the snow. But once she got inside it wouldn’t matter what was on her feet.
    On the other side of the fence, a group of inmates in four-piece shackles and orange uniforms was being herded out of a van. She barely noticed the way their heads turned as she passed or the chorus of catcalls that followed her. It happened every time she came here.
    She stepped through the entrance and walked toward the front desk. A mother with two young children sat in the lobby, probably waiting to visit her husband. A young woman with tattoos on her arm sulked in the corner. A man in a suit—probably a lawyer—chattered in legalese on his cell phone.
    “Hey, Ms. Sophie.” Officer Green smiled and handed her a clipboard. “Whose sob story have you come to hear today?”
    Like most COs, Officer Green was open about his low opinion of inmates.
    “Some guy named Marc Hunter.” Sophie took the clipboard, filled out the Consent to Search form, and handed it back with her press card.
    Officer Green gave a snort. “Mr. Badass himself. Your readers will love him.”
    Her curiosity piqued, Sophie couldn’t help but ask. “Is he trouble?”
    Officer Green handed her press card back and gave her the sort of knowing look that promised inside secrets. “Depends on how you define trouble . He keeps his nose clean, follows the rules—till someone tries to fuck with him. His first week here, he put five guys in the infirmary.”
    It was on the tip of Sophie’s tongue to ask what the five guys had done, but she knew Officer Green would talk for hours if given half a chance. She put her press card back in her purse. “Thanks.”
    She crossed the room, passed through the metal detectors, then watched while Officer Russell searched her purse. A big, beefy man with a crew cut, he was a teddy bear.
    “Here you go, Ms. Alton.” He handed her purse back, then reached for the ink pad.
    Sophie held out her hand, watched as he stamped the back of it with an ultraviolet marker. Visible under a black light, it would have to be verified before she could leave. It seemed like a silly thing to do, given that this was a men’s prison and she was demonstrably not male. But rules were rules.
    “Be sure not to wash that off.” Officer Russell chuckled.
    “Thanks for the reminder.” Sophie laughed at his joke—the same joke he always made when she came through—then headed down the labyrinthine