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Maybe a return address from the envelope it had been mailed in, written after the clipping had been enclosed. Bear opened his notepad, and Tim slipped the piece of paper in; they'd have it looked at later.
    Bear glanced at it a moment longer before shutting the pad. "Least we know he didn't break out to attend her funeral like that jackass we bagged at his granny's wake in Chino Hills."
    The letter proved to be from Theresa, though it was dated a couple years prior, a few months after Walker's term at TI began. Feminine handwriting crossed the page at a slight downward tilt. The cheap, lavender-tinted stationery, torn from a pad, hadn't held the ink well; some of the letters' upstrokes were smudged.
    Walk, So I started going to a free counseling center out here. The shrink's younger than I am, so we'll see how that goes. I've been doing a lot of work on myself in therapy for Sammy's sake--shit, there I go again. For both our sakes, for Chrissake (I suck at this). And I figured out all these ways I can't hold my boundaries to protect maybe what's best for me and for Sammy. I don't think I'm strong enough to say no to you, Walk, for much of anything, so the best thing I can do right now is to take some time off. Please, please, please don't be upset with me. I know you just got in there and I know you've got no one, but please remember this is me. I love you and I think of you still and always as my baby boy. We went through some times, me and you, didn't we? I know we haven't been in touch much since you went to Iraq. I always thought it's a shame you never got to know the little guy. He's tough as nails, but he's got heart. He reminds me of you when you were younger, before I lost you to the Marines. I bought you this cross, in place of me, I guess. I bought it in titanium, so even you can't break it (kidding). Love you always, Tess
    Tim offered the note to Newlin, who read it before handing it off to Bear. After perusing it, Bear slid it also into his notepad. "Why would he leave this behind? I mean, obviously, it's highly personal. He could have at least flushed it."
    "Points to a rushed escape," Tim said. "Just because it was smartly planned doesn't mean he didn't swing into action quickly when he got set off."
    "So Walker finds out something awful about Senor Hahn at dinner, gouges him that night, knows he's in deep shit unless he flies the coop?" Bear's tone made clear he wanted more to tie down the theory. Like Tim, Bear had started thinking of the man they were pursuing by his given name. A good sign--they were starting to build a relationship with him.
    They stood in silence in the cramped space. It smelled of metal, virile and unforgiving. A familiar smell. Tim tasted it back by his molars, as if he were chewing a piece of foil. He crouched before the Coke-bottle cups, taking in the cell with a long, slow sweep of his eyes.
    One of the COs at the door said, "So what you got, Sherlock? What's mouthwash and piss got to do with the breakout?"
    "Nothing," Tim said.
    Newlin now: "Nothing?"
    "They don't mean anything. They can't. They're a diversion. He wants to draw our attention away."
    "Away from what?"
    Tim studied the twinning holes in the window. "From what he doesn't want us to see."
    Newlin sounded slightly exasperated. "What does he not want us to see?"
    "I haven't figured that out yet."

    Chapter 6
    Tim, Bear, and Newlin sat on frail rolling chairs in the control center, shoulder to shoulder before the TV, watching Walker Jameson work his way through a slab of meat loaf. On the way back, they'd stopped by the infirmary to speak to Jameson's cellie and gotten little from him save a sullen indifference that Tim had found credible. From the tape they'd confirmed that Walker appeared to be wearing no other layers under his tan button-up at dinner. Now a hulking black prisoner whom Newlin identified as a BGF leader cruised up to Walker's table. They spoke briefly, and then, judging by the man's expression, he left