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accordion file, and they got out of the car. She stepped into the cold and clasped her file to her chest like a security blanket, surveying the scene.
    The prison complex was situated on a large, flat tray of snow-covered land, which looked as if it had been created by cutting the top off of one of the hills. A tall blue water tower stood behind the compound. The prison itself was a sprawling brick edifice shaped like a T, with a public entrance and largish windows at the bottom of the T, in front of a circular driveway. The no-joke end of the prison was the body and top of the T, where the windows were ugly slits. Double rows of cyclone fencing topped with razorwire surrounded that section. The compound was discreetly screened from the surrounding neighborhood by a man-made forest of tall, full evergreens, encircling the entire property.
    “It’s something, isn’t it?” Angus asked. His breath made a cloud in the cold air. “Lovely setting for a place with no windows.”
    “It’s crime and punishment.”
    “So they say.”
    “Didn’t you bring a coat? It’s freezing out.”
    “Too manly. Let’s go.” Angus touched her back, and they walked up a long plowed road, their shoes crunching in the salt and ice patches. They reached the circular driveway, which was lined with black prison vans and a grimy Chevy pickup loaded with lumber and covered with a blue tarp that flapped in the wind. Behind the truck sat a construction trailer with a plastic sign that read, PHOENIX CONSTRUCTION , some white propane tanks, and a pallet of cinderblocks. Ahead lay the prison entrance.
    Nat tried to shake off her nerves, and Angus slowed their pace as they passed a dark blue sedan with its engine running. Two men in dark suits and ties sat in the front seat. Angus pointed. “Look, federales. ”
    “What?” Nat asked, but he was already walking up to the car and knocking on the driver’s window.
    “We don’t need no stinking badges,” Angus said as the window slid down, and the driver laughed. He wore Ray-Ban sunglasses and held a slim can of Red Bull.
    “The original army of one!” the driver said, and Angus flashed a peace sign.
    “Ha! I prefer the loyal opposition.”
    “Who’re you suing today, Holt? Somebody miss yoga?”
    “Don’t give me any ideas,” Angus shot back, and they laughed as the window slid back up. Angus touched Nat’s elbow, and they resumed walking. “Those poor guys, they’re federal marshals, bored to tears. That’s the truest thing about this place. This prison, any prison, whether it’s a supermax or a playpen. The inmates, the C.O.s, the staff—they’re just so damned bored . Everybody who’s ever been inside will tell you. Every day, it’s the same as the last.”
    “Why are marshals here?”
    “The prison takes in federal prisoners on a courtesy hold. They got one guy here, all by himself in maximum security. The marshals maintain an official presence until he goes to trial in Philly.”
    “What’d he do?” Nat asked, as they reached the entrance, a windowless metal door painted red, a strangely cheery color against the industrial brown of the facility. “I mean, allegedly.”
    “Oh, he did it.” Angus smiled wryly. “It’s Richard Williams. Distribution, murder, the whole enchilada.” He pulled open the door and waved her inside.
    “Thanks.” Nat stepped into a tiny room with bars all around, like the elevator to hell. She told herself not to be afraid.
    Or, at least, not to let it show.

CHAPTER 5

    O nce inside the prison, Nat and Angus produced ID, left her coat in a locker, and were ushered through three sets of locked, barred doors, called sally ports. Bulletproof glass covered the bars, which were painted the same cherry red as the entrance. They checked in at the command center and were funneled together through a metal detector and cattle chute to a final set of locked doors, which a female C.O. unlocked and pulled open, greeting Angus with an attitudinal